Well, here we are. I felt like this would be a good closing point for the story, and it serves as a good foretaste for things to come as well.
Once again, my deepest thanks to Nimbus Llewelyn, Sparky She-Demon, and redpearl-cao for all their beta-ing help. I am truly grateful. And thank you also most sincerely to everyone who's left kudos, followed, and reviewed.
The Abzorbaloff was invented by William Grantham, whose name I mixed around to create Gwrianilliamthan.
Anyway, here we go, one last time:
Barry sighed as he slung his backpack over his shoulder and headed out the gates. It had been just over a month since he'd left the Doctor, and he'd been getting back into normal life. It was difficult, no two ways about it, but not having to deal with the fate of the world, and knowing what day and what place he was waking up in every morning were definitely nice. And he wasn't alone, either-he'd never been much of a social guy, but he'd gotten involved with this group of fellow nerds in London who'd also heard stories of the Doctor and were, like him, interested in the impossible. After coming back to normal life, he'd kept going to the weekly meetings.
By now they'd mostly veered off the Doctor and into discussing all kinds of impossible stuff, or just hanging out, cooking, talking about literature and poetry, or discussing their own sculpture and poetry. They'd shared their own stories, and Barry had told them about the Yellow Blur. Nowadays, when the conversation got close to the Doctor, he would gently veer the conversation away. Because Martha was right…sometimes, he could be like fire.
"Hey, guys," he said with a wave as he entered the basement of the old library.
"Hi, Barry!" chorused LINDA.
Barry was actually a pretty good singer (he and Kara had once done an a cappella performance of Anything You Can Do), and that day, he made music with the others; Elton, Ursula, Colin, Bliss, Bridget, and her daughter Sarah, whom Barry had found about a week after coming back to Earth. When you could race fighter jets, cruising through London to find someone wasn't too difficult. Bridget and her daughter had spent some time together getting reacquainted, but eventually Sarah had agreed to hang out with them. The looks on both faces when they forgave each other, and the admiring look Kara had given Barry when he told her about it, had made everything worthwhile.
He was right in the middle of leaning on his microphone, belting out his troubles to the world, when the lights abruptly died.
Power cut?
But no, the lift was descending, its inhabitant cloaked in shadow. Ahead of him, the person, whoever it was, stepped forward and raised their arms. Barry clenched his right fist, preparing to change into his suit if necessary.
"Lights!" the stranger bellowed. They flickered on, and Barry saw a short, human-looking male of apparent middle age in a black coat and hat. He held a cane in one hand, and a suitcase in the other. Barry lowered his arm, but kept himself tense. He knew far better than to trust appearances, and if this…man…wanted to mess with his friends, he would have to get through Barry first.
"So, we meet at last," he pronounced. "LINDA."
The man, who introduced himself as Victor Kennedy, refused to shake hands with Elton, claiming to have a skin complaint called "X-zema." Barry's eyes narrowed. In his experience, monsters could often look like human, but there was almost always a giveaway. Unusually pale features, differently-colored eyes, zippers in the forehead…or, perhaps, an unwillingness to be touched.
"Sorry, don't mind me asking, but who are you?" Elton asked.
"I am your salvation."
Right. Not pompous at all, then, Martha's voice snarked in his memory.
Victor pulled out a laptop and showed them a clip of the big-eared Doctor exiting the TARDIS. Barry thanked whatever higher power was listening that it had apparently been taken before they'd met.
"Listen," the man said. "Listen to the sound of the universe."
Barry had to smile at that, but the grin was swiftly wiped off his face as Elton staggered back to the stairs, looking haunted, and telling them how he'd heard it as a kid. One night, he'd come downstairs, and found his mother dead without a mark on her. Barry winced internally—part of how he'd bonded with Elton was over the experience of having lost their mothers to something impossible.
Kennedy handed out research assignments, and as the group left, Barry decided that when he got back to his dorm, he'd call Mr. Smith and do a bit of research himself, into just who "Victor Kennedy" was. Because while he'd just been hanging out with his friends, that had been one thing…but this guy was oddly focused, and he was not letting his friend the Doctor get hurt, either.
One week later, as they prepared to leave the classroom where they hung out (Bliss having mysteriously disappeared), Barry asked Victor if he could talk to him in private.
"Of course," the man almost purred. "I'll see everyone next week."
Barry waved at his friends, pasting a grin onto his face that he dropped as soon as the lift had ascended.
"I wanted to talk to you, Victor," the speedster said quietly. "I've been doing some research."
"On the Doctor?"
Barry showed his teeth. "On you. Would you care to explain just why you have no records of any kind?"
Victor opened his mouth, but Barry held up a hand. "Yeah, yeah, you've got a birth record on file…but guess what? I did some digging. One email address, that's never been used. No college degree. No criminal history, not even a speeding ticket. No license, for that matter. No appearances in court, not even for jury duty. No social media. And you know what? Neither of the parents listed on your birth certificate has any of those, either. I have a friend with very good computer skills, and he tells me that you don't appear on anyone else's social media pages, either. Not so much as a crowd shot. There's no trace of you, none at all. So who are you, what the hell happened to Bliss, and what do you want with the Doctor?"
Victor Kennedy froze, then leaned back in his chair and smiled.
"You're very clever, Mr. Allen."
"So they tell me."
Victor rolled his shoulders, then shrugged elaborately and rose, shifting into a large, pale green form with a strip of black hair. If he expected Barry to be impressed, though, he was disappointed. The speedster's only reaction was to settle his weight and narrow his eyes. The faintest spark of lightning flared across his irises.
"My name is Gwrianilliamthan. I'm from the planet Clom, not that that means much to you, ape."
"Clom," Barry repeated thoughtfully. "I would've expected Raxacoricofallapatorius."
The green alien snorted. "Raxacoricofallapatorius is our sister planet. I spit on that slime."
"Mmm."
"You don't seem very surprised by me. Have you met aliens before?"
Barry snorted. "I've battled Daleks, Cybermen, the Nestene Consciousness, Zygons, Sontarans, and an evil Time Lord. You're pretty small fry."
"Small fry? We'll see about that."
The alien vaulted over its desk at Barry, who dodged aside easily, slipping several feet away with a quick burst of super-speed. The inhabitants of Earth and Clom faced each other, eyes narrowed.
"Now. Where's Bliss?"
"You really don't want to know," came a voice, apparently from mid-air.
"Bliss?"
"He absorbed me into himself!" she called. "Get out of here! Don't let him get you, too!"
"Then how do I still hear you?"
Smirking, the alien turned around and bent over slightly. For a second, Barry thought his foe was doing something unspeakably rude, but then he noticed his friend's features, engraved on the alien's…backside.
"Oh my God. Bliss!"
"Run, Barry, run!" she cried, before it turned back around to face him, and it was Barry's turn to roll his shoulders and narrow his eyes. When he spoke again, it was with the perfect calm that lay in the icy plains on the far side of berserk rage.
"That. Was a. Mistake," he growled.
"And what are you going to do about it? You're a human."
Now Barry grinned at him, baring his teeth in a way that a wolf or a shark would've recognized. "Yeah. I am. But I'm more than just a human."
In an instant, he'd changed into his suit, and pulled the cowl over his head. He remembered words the Doctor had spoken, only half in jest, prophecies delivered so long ago in ancient Pompeii, and the name settled over him.
"I'm the Flash. You like absorbing stuff, big guy? Absorb this."
With that, he ran in a circle around the creature, moving faster, and faster, and faster, until he was nothing but a reddish-orange blur whipping around in a circle.
"No. No! What are you doing! Stop!"
With one final rotation, Barry whirled and let his lightning cascade over his shoulder, down his arm, and into the alien creature, which let out a gargling scream, then flew backwards. He hit a bookshelf. That broke, and the alien went through it. Then he hit a cinderblock wall. That didn't break. The alien did.
"This world, and its people, are protected," the Flash said quietly. "Why don't you absorb that?"
Then he turned away and sped up the stairs. He had an alien body to dispose of, a friend to mourn, and homework to finish. But in many ways, the life of the Flash had only just begun.
Finis
Well then.
52 chapters, just over 18 months, and more than 122,000 words. I started this as a little pet project, and now look at what it's become. I can't believe we're finally finishing Book 1!
Never fear, though: There will be at least one more book, possibly two, detailing Barry's adventures as the Flash and hero of Central City. Additionally, coming next will be a series of short pieces entitled Flash Fiction. Some will be missing moments, some short stories, some about side characters in this 'verse who don't interact with Barry at all. It won't be up for a while; I have grad school to do, and a lot of writing to finish. But all will be revealed in time (and the more reviews I get, the faster I'll write). For now, though, I bid you all a very fond farewell.
As a very wise being once said, "This song is ending. But the story never ends."
