A/N: Un-betaed. Nauseatingly sweet moments. Probable triggering scenes of slight gore and abuse (if you squint). Insanity all around. Read at your own risk.


A wise woman has once written;

"It is far harder to kill a phantom than a reality."

Well, she was damn right about that.

How could you kill the phantom of the reality that you so deeply coveted?


"Cute."

Barry held back a smile, pretending that he didn't hear that hushed giggle and remained completely motionless—years of practice made it easier, made it feel almost natural to not react to his senses. There was a fluttering touch trailing down the bridge of his nose, the warmth then rested on his cheek, soft palm curved flush against his cheekbone. A rustle, followed by a familiar weight right on top of him, the naked smoothness of toned legs pressed up against the length of his own as the hand on his cheek moved up to comb through his hair.

The sharp nails left dull pressure across his scalp, invoking a moan that he refused to let through his throat. He managed a soft sleepy grunt instead, sounding natural enough to continue on with his façade.

"You're impossible."

Or maybe not.

After all, the sulky comment came with a light slap across his chest.

The smile finally broke through his self-control, stretching across his cheeks till it hurt as he opened his eyes, making an exaggerated show of yawning. He laughed when the second sulky slap reached his arm.

"Jerk," she pouted, looking very much like an angry kitten—with dark eyes narrowed and nails sharp enough to leave marks on his arms. "Why did I marry you?"

"Hey, I did nothing, love," Barry retorted, barely stopping his laughter, his own fingers curled around her bare midriff just above the flimsy purple strap, the contrast of his skin against hers was visually pleasing to admire. "If anything, you're the one who bugged my beauty sleep."

"You're already awake. For hours."

"Oh, no. Why would I be awake at such ungodly hours on Sunday morning?"

She narrowed her eyes at him, deadpanning flatly;

"I can feel your stare, Barr."

"Pics, or it didn't happen."

Barry's smug smirk was wiped out when she reached over his head to snatch the pillow underneath his head and smack him right in the face with the fluffy pillow. Repeatedly, without mercy, until all that was left of him was a defenseless mess of a man slowly dissolving in laughter. When she was done, her warm weight was no longer on his lap as she stood on her knees, hovering over him, hands caging his head. The tips of her hair tickled his cheek, soft and smooth like silk curtain that separated them from the world, making her the center of his world.

God, he's the luckiest man on Earth.

He could only see her face like this when she loomed over him with that cheeky grin and eyes gleaming with fondness. Her lips were soft and sweet, playful and teasing, while her hands were firm clutching his jaw, her thighs were like a strong cage that rendered him utterly helpless—not that it was anything new since she was one of his weaknesses after all.

Barry grunted, arms reaching blindly to pull her flush against his body. By the time he managed to do so, her legs have claimed the mobility of his own—their limbs and sheets tangled in a mess. Her fingers have found his scalp again, raking the manicured nails mercilessly over the back of his head, occasionally tugging on his hair.

When they finally parted, her breath was warm stuttering mess against the side of his neck, her body stretched atop his own as she tried to suffocate him with her deadly hug.

"Good morning, Barr," she huffed, head shifting so that her nose was tucked right under the sharp angle of his jaw, lips peppering gentle kisses down the length of his throat, one of her hand rested over his chest right atop his beating heart.

Barry glanced in her direction, lips curled into a lazy smirk that turned to playful grin when she squirmed and wriggled on top of him. He grinned wider upon seeing her scowl, slipping his other hand under her undone robe to trail teasing path along her naked sides. Her sides were ticklish, allowing him to easily render her into a breathless giggling mess. She has never been able to remain in control when he used that against her.

It was a fun game, to see how long she was able to resist from making any undignified noise and when she did…

Barry went for another kiss, swallowing the tiny squeak she reluctantly gave up. She would slap his chest again—oh that was given, and he deserved it—her face twisted to adorable scowl while he would grin and hum cheerfully;

"Good morning, Iris."

And he knew that the day would be a good day.


The human underestimated them.

Perhaps it was the natural arrogance of mankind, or maybe it was the natural arrogant tendency of all Barry Allen, but the human was completely not expecting their plan. It was risky and reckless because they have no idea how this Barry Allen would react. He didn't seem like a combatant—he was a mellow human, after all, always avoiding physical confrontation—but this man also was one of the few who could defy Flash and got away with it without anything more than an annoyed scowl.

Xozhen initially refused to tread the idea of looking into Dr. Barry Allen's mind.

Too risky. Too dangerous. They have no idea what to expect, or what kind of failsafe security measure Flash has ingrained in the mind of his human doppelganger to protect whatever secret that would be the foundation of his fall—secrets that only the speedster's personal doctors would know. For all that they know, the metagene in the human's body could've been triggered if they probed the wrong way, thus causing them to face another unknown threat.

Unknown threat on a spaceship floating above the most amusing team-up of heroes one has ever seen? That was not a desirable situation at all.

But the idea of having the abomination to remain existing, to let Flash dangled that threat of domination on Xozhen own's race has caused unease and sparked courage in the alien. The multiverse was an ancient knowledge of the galaxy races, especially an old race like Dominators themselves. They were aware of their own doppelgangers. They kept track of each of their alternate universes and kept track of some of Earth's own, simply because Earthlings was a destructive race and one could never be too cautious.

The day Dark Earth solidified as a permanent alternate reality in the plane of Earth's multiverse was the day of fear and panic.

Wrong. Everything on that reality was wrong. It was an abomination—like the essence of evil that was supposed to be eradicated from Earth's multiverse has combined in one place and formed a new reality. The humans on Flash's close ranks were supposed to die in their own reality but Flash saved them all. He took them just before their eventual fall, some were reset to the state where their bodies were less broken—time and reality was being recklessly manipulated for the speedster's personal benefits.

The few months of observation following the event has reported on the continuous recruiting of dangerous humans into the Flash's rank. The speedster acted like he was preparing for another war.

There was no hesitance afterward. The threat needed to be eliminated.

Xozhen leaned over the control table, looking through the memories that they managed to extract from their prisoner. This version of Barry Allen was terrifyingly difficult to breach. He was a mere normal human, but something about this human was strange, invoking unease to the team tasked to probe his mind, despite him being unconscious throughout the whole process. They have knocked him unconscious and ventured through the depth of his mind, but the only thing they could access were his dreams and desires of the past few years—nothing that was remotely helpful to eliminate the man's deranged doppelganger.

It was like majority part of his memories were sealed shut even to Xozhen's advanced probing technology.

So, they chose a different way to gain information. Lower the man's guard through the illusion of his deepest desire. Manipulate Dr. Allen's love for Iris West to gain intel. Human's needs for attachment was one of the easiest things to manipulate, considering that they would do anything for those whom they were attached to. Dr. Barry Allen was no exception.

Xozhen fiddled with the controls, selecting whatever few memories they managed to access so that they could create believable reality for their subject. There wasn't much, to begin with, but it was a start. The bits and pieces of the peaceful loving days of the couple were useful to set up the illusion, but they needed more, they needed so much more than Iris West—

The console beeped, and the hologram pulled up an image, along with a fragment of memory they managed to access. The brain activity response to that particular memory showed a surge of chemicals attributing to affection and fondness, even more than the human's response to his former fiancée. Whoever this child was, Dr. Allen loved her more than Iris West.

Xozhen played the strongest piece of memory linked to the child.

"Yeah, I'd love a daughter too."

Dr. Allen has said that at the same time this image flooded his mind and disconnected his reality from the mute girl he had held captive. He was thinking about this human child while fondly mentioning a daughter—such vivid image has destroyed his awareness of his surrounding at that time. Young Emmy could've used this moment to escape and Xozhen was sure that wouldn't even notice. It was amusing how often this human dissociated and went into a melancholic journey in his mind and no one around him seemed to ever notice.

Xozhen tipped its head, staring at the image contemplatively.

Humans were known to dream of their future younglings after all...

The gigantic alien then inputted a new character into the forming illusion.


"Barry, stop."

The stern tone would've been enough to stop him, especially when it promised a long day of sulky silence, but Barry grinned instead and buried his face against her skin, lips trailing kisses everywhere on the smooth plane of her stomach. She squirmed underneath him, her giggles turned to short breathless gasps by the time he dragged the rest of her untuck top up using his teeth, exposing her midriff to the cool air.

"Barry," she squirmed, thighs buckled together and trapped him between her legs. "Stop it—"

Her giggles were so beautiful that he found no desire to stop molesting her sensitive torso.

He pinned her hands onto the floor after her squirming started been accompanied with desperate pushes.

He was in honeymoon mood for fuck's sake. Let him enjoy it while it lasted.

"Barr," Iris growled, seemingly like she was considering kicking him off, toes pressed dangerously threatening against his hips, too low for comfort. "Come on, don't be a child."

Barry promptly collapsed, letting his body slouched and heavy atop of her. "Don't wanna," he whined, arms coming around to wrap around her waist.

"God," she sighed, exasperated. "You're overly affectionate today, Barry."

He went silent, cheek pressed up against her warm stomach, honestly not wanting to let her go just yet. To be honest, he did feel unlike himself ever since he woke up. He woke up to the screech of his own mind, who demanded him to wake up from this dream. It was loud enough to convince him that the legends of prodigal genius like him would eventually suffer a mental issue was very much real, and he was going towards a life with a second voice in his head now. It was weird, his mind kept chanting this wasn't possible in the first place—to have Iris tucked warmly in his arms—but it was the reality he woke up in, the very one that his heart claimed as truth.

It was far more logical than the other reality his brain seemed to be attached to.

Why the hell would his mind think that 'reality' was a life as a serial killer who has a disturbing task of being the mature one among his own deranged doppelgangers from parallel universe in a dramatic chaotic life; as opposed to waking up being married to the love of his life and led a relatively peaceful happy life.

Come on, one of the two was downright mouthful, bizarre and illogical.

But his mind refused to cooperate and demanded him to wake the fuck up. It was shrieking. His mind was actually shrieking at him like it was a separate entity, demanding him to wake up to the real life.

Barry sent a mental middle finger to his own mind.

He's awake. He's married to Iris. He's happy with the modest lifestyle living in a nice white picket fence house of American dream. This was the real life, therefore…

Brain, shut the fuck up.

His brain reacted with what he could describe as pterodactyl screeches—loud, annoying and painful—all the while pulling out disturbing images of mutilated corpses and the feeling of ecstasy he was supposed to relish to the images.

Barry briefly wondered if he needed to make an appointment with a psychiatrist because this was not normal.

"At least call your mom and dad and tell them that we will be late to pick her up," Iris grumbled but no longer resisting, if the fingers threading through his hair was any indicator.

There was a pang in his chest upon the mention of his mother, but he ignored it, not knowing why he was supposed to feel sad and angry upon the mention of her. He blamed his screeching mind for that and decided to shut the unwanted emotions out. He wanted to enjoy this calmness a little longer, without the voice in his head manipulating his emotions. Thus, he blocked the image his mind was trying to show to him, refusing to acknowledge the sightless eyes of his mother that were staring up at him.

That wasn't real. His mother was still alive, and literally lived 30 minutes away from him—15 minutes if the traffic wasn't being an ass.

That wasn't real.

Iris sighed when his silence remained, seemingly to detect his distress. Her fingers gently pulled him up so that she ended up tucked against his neck, her lips found the length of his throat again—peppering gentle soothing kisses all over his skin, her hand reached up to comb through his hair. He let her pick on the collar of his shirt, face burrowed in the soft thickness of her hair, indulging the comfortable silence a little bit more before they had to get up for the day.

"You know that you can talk to me, right?" she murmured, her breath was warm against his ear.

Warmth. Yes, this was the reality. Nobody died here.

His mind denied it, though.

"It's nothing," he grumbled, nuzzling his nose to her hair. "Just…," a long exhale of exhausted breath, and one glance towards the worried gaze of his wife, Barry immediately cracked a tiny smile. "Just weird stuff my mind came up with."

"I'm up for weird," she hummed, the scratch of her nails against his scalp felt extremely good. "Tell me, love."

Barry wondered why she was so excited to know what his weird mind was thinking.

"I dreamt I have supervillains doppelgangers."

A beat of silence, then; "Wow."

"Yep," he agreed lazily. "I also happened to be one of their doctors and I kid you not those bastards are the worst patients in the history of bad patients."

Iris was silent for a moment, as if she was thinking on a response, thus Barry took her silence to snuggle against her head, wanting the comfort of her scent.

"If they annoy you so much, why not you get rid of them?"

The detached voice of his mind screeched at that unexpected question, while a searing pain spread from his temples to every single part of his head. He whimpered, burying his face in her hair—the pain was so mind-blinding that he barely heard her voice continued asking theoretical questions on how to get rid of his supervillain doppelgangers.

She sounded oddly excited, as if she was oblivious to his obvious pain.

"Iris," he gasped, voice straining. "I can't kill them just because they annoy me."

"Why not?"

Was that him, or there was a hint of scratchy tinge in her voice?

"I can trust you, right?"

Wait, what was that?

Whose voice was that?

"I'm a doctor, Iris," Barry whined, completely ignoring the disembodied voice that sounded eerily like his own despite something within him knew that the voice wasn't his. He blinked the pained tears from his eyes, murmuring sternly, "I don't kill people."

Something within him knew that was a lie too.

Barry grunted, the blinding pain had his vision tinted with dark spots, his mind threatened to shut down—and wake the fuck up from this reality.

It seemed that was the moment when she finally noticed his pain.

"Crap, Barry!" Iris shouted, fumbling around to lay him comfortably on the carpet. "I was…I didn't know," she seemed lost of words, hands reaching out to his own—when exactly has he started clutching his own head?—but she changed her mind and settled to massage the back of his neck instead. "Oh my god, Barry, I'm sorry. I don't know that it will hurt you."

For a moment, he felt like he was on anesthetic, as glimpses of a sterile room with glowing walls shadowed his comfortable living room, making it seem like two images being stacked on one another. Iris was calling out for him, but at the same time, he heard intelligible shrieks too.

God, his head hurt.

Barry heaved a heavy breath, his vision clearing up as the pain receded to mere throbbing in his temples. He let Iris fussed over him, wondering what the heck just happened and how much of those came from the stress of his heavy workload and how much of those were his brain going insane.

"My mind is fucked," he grumbled, nuzzling his face to the curve of Iris' palm, eyes closed in exhaustion.

"Being a genius has a downside too, huh?" she teased, grinning upon seeing his scowl. Oh, she enjoyed equating his brilliance with madness, claiming that she was counting the days he would go all mad genius mode.

She watched too much crap on the TV that he was considering on banning all of those useless shows from his household. Those shows rotted human's brain after frequent exposure.

She had argued that it sparked creativity and not entirely brain-rotting, but that was an argument that Barry didn't want to go through again while he was in this lazy honeymoon mood. That argument alone took out a huge chunk of their weekend date back when they were just trying to get to know each other. He wanted to spend this weekend cuddling his wife damn it, not arguing about the educational value of stupid TV shows.

"I'm cancelling all of your subscriptions of those stupid shows."

"Do it and you'll sleep on the couch."

Barry's scowl was returned with a defiant glare from Iris.

Iris wiggled her brows, grinning all too smugly. "Do it," she challenged. "Cancel my subscriptions if you dare."

Barry closed his eyes in defeat, grumbling under his breath;

"Why do I marry you?"

Iris' retort was interrupted before she could even open her mouth.

Their doorbell rang, and just when Barry was about to cuss the uninvited interruption, the knob jiggled and clicked open. The frantic scuffles at the door were loud and clear even from their location—loud enough that Barry shot a confused frown towards Iris. He wasn't sure if he should be concerned or not at the sudden interruption.

"Hey, do not run in the hallway—"

There were high-pitched giggles, followed by light footsteps tumbling down the hallway, and a blur of bright purple bounced off the floor to crash right on top of him and Iris, chubby little arms clung to his neck tightly as Iris' arm came around to cuddle them into a ball of warmth.

"Daddy~!"

Barry felt cold.

He stared at the giggling child, his body was heavy and frozen in shock, his mind has officially short-circuited, and he was sure that his face was completely drained of blood by this point.

Impossible.

The screeching voice in his mind purred smugly;

I told you so.


"You're horrible, do you know that?"

"Why, thank you for the compliment, love."

"Ain't a compliment, jerk. You messed with his head. That is straight up breaching his trust."

"Failsafe security, babe. Failsafe security."

"And he didn't even know it."

A casual shrug and sardonic smirk, followed by a thud as a gigantic alien fell onto the floor with a hole in its chest.

"Better safe than sorry."

He received a mangled scowl for that giddy comment.

"Don't come whining to me when he retaliates, asshole."


"Barr?"

Barry held a hand in her direction, not wanting her close. When she tried to reach out to him, he backed away to the wall, his chest heaved heavily, his lungs were hurt and strained—it felt tight and suffocating no matter how hard he tried to inhale a deep breath—and his heart, god his heart was beating so fast it felt that his ribcage was about to burst.

"Henry, help—" Iris fumbled with her words, inching closer to him but Barry heeded her no mind.

He barely heard her voice—what with the deep ringing in his ears and the screeching of his own voice in his head—as images upon images flashed through his eyes like some morbid movie.

Red. Red. Red. So many red.

The bile rose up to his throat. He swallowed it, stomaching the nausea like a trained reflex.

"Daddy?"

He blinked the wetness away, looking into the wide freckled green eyes—his mother's eyes, his own eyes—and felt his breath stuttered, picking up an erratic pace. He didn't realise that he was gasping and choking, body trembling and quivered like a leaf against autumn wind—and when the child tried to reach out to him, his teeth clenched into a tight vice, shying away from her touch.

"Grandpa?" the distressed voice sent a painful stab to his chest, causing his body to jolt and pressed even closer to the wall, his arms wound tight around his own torso. "Momma, what's wrong with Daddy?"

Wrong wrong wrong wrongI'mnotyour—

Told ya to wake the fuck up.

The voice in his head sounded oddly calm and smug.

"Barry," Henry's voice was firm and commanding—god, I messed up, I messed up, don't wanna go to the dark, no no no no—and Barry instantly curled himself into a ball when he felt a firm grip on his shoulder. "Son, breathe," it was another command, and he needed to oblige, has to oblige. "Breathe."

His chest hurt for each breath, but he obliged. He obliged, obliged, obliged.

He made out the pale chubby hand tentatively reached out to him from his blurred sight.

The stench of fresh blood assaulted his nose, and he instantly swallowed the bile again.

He closed his eyes and saw red—only dripping red everywhere.

"I don't understand…," Iris murmured, and for a brief moment, Barry heard a tinge of scratchiness in her voice. "What set him off?"

The scratchy tinge of her voice made him thought of gigantic screeching aliens for no apparent reason.

"Barry. Son."

Fuck, Henry was pissed off. No no no no no no please no I'm sorry sorry sorry don'tmakemedontmakeme—

"Barr, you need to breathe," Iris instructed, gently grasping his clammy hand. "Come on, breathe with me."

Come on, Barry-Bear, the high-pitched voice coaxed, worry tinged her voice. Just breathe with me, m'kay?

Yeah. Breathe. Barry needed to do that. Before he returned. Perfect breathing was an important skill set. Amateur liars have escalated breathing when they lie. Stupid tells of normal human. Perfect human has no tells. Perfect human made no amateurish mistakes.

"You're no amateur, aren't you, boy?"

Perfect breathing was an important skill set. Important important important. Hate the dark. Don't wanna go—

The room suddenly faded into pitch darkness.

There were only puddles of red scattered around him, left by the tiny body that was dripping blood everywhere—the very same tiny body that now bore the empty soulless sockets that gazed straight into his soul. Squelch, squelch, squelch—the light footsteps made the nauseating sound as she waddled through the puddles of red.

He tried to back away, but there was nowhere to go. The endless abyss of the dark was cornering him from all sides.

"Bear," she hummed, echoes of voice from the past. "Look at me."

"No."

She sighed and squatted in front of him, the dark abyss of her eyes stared straight into his own. He knew that those dark abysses would be beautiful freckled green, that the pale soft skin of hers wouldn't be marred with pink lines that dripped trickling red and that the back of her head would be covered with beautiful brown curls instead of this gaping skull and spilling brain—

"It has been a long time, Bearry."

Barry curled smaller and whined.


The first step was to be horrified.

"You break him."

"Don't sound so horrified, honey."

Then, you must ignore the playful smirk you begrudgingly adored and started to panic instead. Well, you kinda needed to panic because your personal doctor was dissociating, and it was both creepy and worrying at the same time.

After all, Scarlet Ripper never had a dissociating episode.

Ripper was not in the best of shape when you found him. He was basically the empty shell of the man he once was—empty eyes staring ahead and ears that turned deaf even to the noises of murder in the room. He wasn't even responding to your jibes, no matter how much you insulted him.

He was completely away.

It's not like you cared, but you really really couldn't afford to lose that one person who would bother to offer a shoulder to cry on every time your unstable fuckbuddy drove you crazy.

Speaking of the devil, the guy really needed to sort out his priorities. Fix their doctor first, then torture the giant alien. God damn it, Barry.

"Barry, nobody is home. He is not responding." There. Firm and stern. That ought to get some of the jerk's attention.

"Eh, no worries. That's gonna pass."

A word of caution to self; resist the urge to strangle him, no matter how infuriating the careless words were, you must no react violently. That was a bad idea in general. He's far more powerful than you.

"Barry."

Hopefully his own name will knock some senses in the mad guy.

Come on, dude. Ripper is one of us. Show some concern, will you?

"Savitar."

Nope. He's still as insane and infuriating as ever.

"You break Ripper." That was an accusation. It really was. It was totally not an exasperated resigned sigh at all.

"He ain't that easily breakable, darling," he scoffed—of course he would, who even were you kidding?—his grip tightened on the giant alien commander. "But easily fooled, I see."

The alien screeched and sneered at him, lipless skin stretched out to reveal jagged sharp teeth.

"Humanity's sentiments," it said. "Not that I'd expect you to understand, Flash."

White teeth flashed in a sneering grimace as your insane partner purred;

"Oh, I understand sentiments just fine."


Xozhen has made a grave mistake.

In the hindsight, they should have expected this. Flash has been recruiting dangerous people across the multiverse into his ranks ever since he won the war. This was inevitable and should've been expected. Flash has manipulated the major events on multiple Earths and rescued various villains and criminals from their supposed downfall before he made them his loyal followers.

Dr. Allen was no different.

Without anyone realising it, the events of this Earth have been recklessly manipulated by the speedster.

Xozhen has made a grave mistake by assuming that Dr. Allen was not part of the Flash's ranks just because he was not a metahuman.

"You see…," the speedster hummed, sadistic glee rumbled from his throat. "I do not discriminate when it came to the weird people I keep around."

Weird was a severe understatement.

This was horrifying.

"Barry," Savitar gaped, voice soft and downright horrified. "What did you do?"

"Didn't do anything, love."

"Bullshit."

"I can't do anything when it is already there inside him," Flash sighed, the fall of his breath was so calm and awed that it made him sound like he was madly in love. "Such lovely handiwork."

"Barry."

Flash simply hummed, his hand vibrated threateningly right behind Xozhen's neck, a promise of decapitation should the giant alien decided to fight back. However, the speedster's gaze was not on the alien, or the lifeless carcasses that scattered all over the floor, but instead, it was fixed on his human doppelganger.

The human doppelganger who has straight up went berserk after he regained his consciousness.

Perhaps regaining consciousness wasn't the most accurate description of Dr. Allen's current condition. The human's eyes were dilated, staring emptily ahead. He didn't acknowledge his doppelgangers, despite previously stirring into action from his episode right in Savitar's embrace. He didn't even seemed like he was breathing. The man just stared blankly ahead, not exactly in his conscious mind, but not exactly unconscious either.

Xozhen almost thought that the human would collapse after a few steps—because that was how human was supposed to function.

The alien didn't expect the bloodshed of his own kin right in front of its own eyes.

Despite his eerily empty stare, the human moved like an agile predator, acutely aware of his opponents—all of the offensive team that has made their way into this lab upon the alarm of intruder has been sounded. He rendered them all to shreds of limbs and sliced carcasses. It almost seemed effortless—the way the human leapt and lunged, burrowing the finely serrated edges of his ice blade deep in his opponents, slicing them open and drenching his body scarlet red. It was a dance of madness and blood—with the increasing death count of Xozhen's own subordinates while the human bathed in their blood.

The fact that he was completely silent, eyes empty and soulless made it even more terrifying.

"Barry," Savitar growled again. "What. Did. You. Do."

"Nothing."

"That is not nothing."

Flash froze for a moment, before he turned his head towards the time remnant, his lips curled to a fond smirk, green sadistic eyes softened to awed loving crinkle, the purr that tore from his throat was dripping with pure lust;

"What do you expect, my love? He is Scarlet Ripper."


Sometimes Frost wondered why they didn't see this coming.

Really, they should have seen this coming ever since they received the demand for Barry's surrender.

Barry was so selfless. The very epitome of all the good in the world.

He could've been far richer than he currently was, but nope, he spent a good portion of his wealth to subsidise a number of his hospitals so that even the poorest people in the city could afford healthcare. He spent most of his time working multiple jobs—juggling between lab, campus and hospital so that he could contribute his best to the society. The only non-business social interaction he had was with Team Frost— who are practically unpaid vigilantes to secure peace for the city. People who has seen him with his shelter animals during his increasingly rare volunteerism will know that he has a pure heart filled with all the goodness in the world right at the first glance.

Of course, surrendering himself to the aliens to save the world was right up the doctor's alley.

"He said that it wasn't even a question," Oliver hissed, jaw clenched tight in an angry vice. "I should've known by then."

Frost tried so hard to not be angry with her own mentor. Oliver has tried. She saw how the older vigilante tried to make amends with Barry earlier. They have started anew on a fresh ground. There were no hard feelings between them.

But still, Oliver was the last person who saw Barry before he vanished into the night.

And Barry's sacrifice wasn't even worth it. Not when they just received the alerts of hostile alien ships hovering all over the world—messages demanding revenge of their fallen commander has been broadcasted all over the world. Apparently, someone has attacked the aliens first (everyone collectively threw their money on the military, including Steve, a military man he was), thus invoking fury to the rest of the force when their commander has been "murdered"—as what the ominous broadcast has been repeating.

"We've sent out our elite trackers to track him down," Steve piped from the other side of the strategy table.

Frost nodded numbly.

It was supposed to be comforting—to know that trained elites were out on a rescue mission to retrieve Barry, but the current situation made it difficult to be at ease. No matter how elite the squad was, there was nothing they could do if Barry was already a corpse right now.

Frost bit her lip and tried to dispel that thought.

She hated feeling helpless. This was just like Iris all over again. She could've done something to change the outcome, but everything seemed futile right now and she was at loss.

"No reason to dwell on the unknown," Nat murmured, and as much as Frost was happy to have another lethal girl on her friend list, she found the red-head's professionalism unnerving. "We have a world to defend."

It was amazing on how quick Steve and Banner snapped to attention the moment the words escaped the red-headed woman. They were completely focused on the mission—unyielding and stoic, the perfect image of disciplined soldiers ready to spring into action. Coming from casual laidback team of misfits, Frost found that their stern discipline was creepy.

There was no doubt that Steve's team was trained professionals—considering that they all jumped into action the moment Cisco realized that Barry was missing. Banner immediately designed a tracking algorithm, narrowing down possible locations Barry was taken away and which airspace he could possibly be, while Barnes was out in a blink—already suiting up to track his supposed charge. The fact that both Steve and Nat promptly started planning strategies against the hovering alien fleet made Frost realized how inexperience her team was when it came to dealing with a world-level threat.

The rest of the alliances was barely out of their shock and panic by the time the professional team pulled out a game plan.

These people made Oliver looked like a complete amateur, and Frost has been relying on Oliver to mentor her when she first started out.

They even covered the anti-public panic plan, which was proven important to the current situation because public terror was the last thing that they needed in this time of war.

"We're having an intergalactic war, huh," Palmer murmured under his breath. "Not how I imagine my dream to realise but—"

Sara silenced him with her glare. "Not now, Ray."

Palmer pouted but said nothing.

They went through the plan again, and for some odd reasons, the professionals have given the lead to Frost—despite her obvious lack of experience—and only occasionally they would interrupt Frost to explain things that she missed. The plan at the core was a gamble, considering that they will rely heavily on Supergirl's speed to implant the shock device the Mad Scientist team has mass-produced on the aliens—and the fact that they needed to hold the fort while it's been implanted to every hostile alien on Earth was a bit worrying. It was a generous luck on their side that both Sara and Steve have pulled a few strings, calling up their own back-ups all across the world to protect the other regions on Earth. The world was a big place after all, and this attack was not focusing solely on Central City.

At times like this, Frost thought that it would be nice to have a speedster on the team. It could divide the workload and time for Supergirl to half.

Cisco has pointed out that he may has made a super suit for Matt, but the idea of calling up the ill man to fight on their side while they have failed to protect Barry didn't sound right to Frost. She has witnessed how close the half-brothers were. To ask Matt to fight for them while Barry was at the risk of being found dead was too selfish and wrong. The idea alone made her tongue tasted bitter with bile and nausea.

No. They have no right to impose on Barry's brothers like that. Thus, she glared at Cisco and locked her mouth, not making any comment on potential speedster as an ally.

This would be their fight.

Even though she has to admit that back-up will be nice.


"Rip? Ripper?"

"I won't get too close to him now, honey."

Savitar channelled his deadliest most unimpressed glare towards his partner, lips curled into a scowl at the random bowl of popcorn that has appeared out of literal nowhere and was currently nestled in Flash's arms. The mad speedster wasn't even fazed, but instead has flashed to stand in front of him, hands gently holding the time remnant's shoulders as he leaned close to plant a quick kiss on the scowl instead.

Savitar slapped him away.

"So grumpy," Flash chuckled good-naturedly. "Adorable."

Such laidback attitude was not fitting to the situation, when they were currently standing in the middle of bloody pile shredded carcasses in an alien spaceship they have stolen and were planning to take home with them. And oh, don't mind the trembling serial killer that was literally dripping with fresh alien blood—sure, that was not supposedly to be their concern at all.

"You do realise that we just break the peace treaty we literally signed this morning, right?" Savitar growled, casting a wary glance around the empty spaceship before his gaze landed on their trembling doppelganger.

"Dominators didn't sign that treaty."

"We still break them; Clause 17, paragraph 3 to be specific. It specifically states—"

"That paragraph only apply to curious alien force. This one kidnapped one of ours and in every intention is hostile," he jerked his chin in the dead commander's direction, "to me personally."

"We're stealing Dominator's spaceship."

"Rightful spoil of war," Flash sighed exasperatedly, reaching up one hand to toy with the tip of Savitar's messy bangs, a wistful fond smile was on his face. "Paragraph 8, same clause. Also mentioned in Clause 7, 12 and 23. The last includes alien races who did not sign the treaty, so technically, this ship is legally ours."

Savitar stared at Flash, looking appropriately scandalized. He then inhaled a deep breath before deadpanning;

"You do know that the rest of the fleet is gonna attack this Earth, right?" he shuddered, mismatched eyes darted briefly towards their trembling company. "Once Rip is out of his episode, he's gonna roast your ass for allowing his Earth being invaded."

"They have their heroes to defend it."

"They have no chance."

Flash halted, brows furrowed contemplatively and shifted his gaze from the mess of the control room to the trembling form of his human doppelganger. He slowly edged towards the trembling man;his shoulders slumped, lips curled to a gentle smile and throat bared—an uncharacteristic display of peace and vulnerability.

"Barry," he called, saccharine voice strangely gentle and placating, so unlike himself. "Barry."

It made the hair on Savitar's arms stood on their roots.

"How're you, my boy?" Flash purred, tilting Ripper's chin up so that he could meet the empty soulless eyes—no, there was emotion in those unfocused dilated eyes now—

The pure fear in Ripper's eyes was so raw that Savitar had to look away.

"The Dominators is going to attack our city, my boy," Flash sighed, sounding genuinely saddened.

It took Savitar far too long to realise why hearing his partner spoke like this disturbed him so much. It was the exact reminisce of the memories that weren't his own—the memories of his original, memories of Henry Allen trying to coax Savitar's original comply to things that he didn't want to do back when he was a child.

Of course, those memories were much more domestic, used for common purposes like coaxing Savitar's original to take an afternoon nap, or going to the dentist without biting the poor guy's fingers—domestic bullshit like that.

But it was still creepy and unnerving to hear Flash imitating Henry Allen like this.

"You're a perfect boy, aren't you?" Flash brushed the blood-drenched bangs away from Ripper's face, planting his ungloved hands on the pale cheeks afterwards. "You will protect our city, won't you? You have yet to achieve your mission, considering that there are still useless scums in our perfect society," he sighed, a perfect imitation of the charmingly coaxing Henry Allen in Savitar's own memories.

Fuck.

Savitar knew what Flash was trying to do.

It was the common knowledge among their small circle of friends that Ripper feared his father. Sure, he has freedom now that the guy was gone, and he showed it through his MO as Scarlet Ripper—it was one of his rebellion against his dad when he stuck with gentle method of killing and very seldom slipping into the selection method that Henry Allen would liked him to commit to when choosing his victims—but they all knew that Scarlet Ripper didn't first start out in the recent years.

No. He has started early—so fucking early, back then when old Dr. Henry Allen was still around.

Ripper wasn't aware that they knew this part of history. Flash didn't tell his associates that he has done his homework on everyone in his ranks and has devised at least a dozen of ways to manipulate the situation to his benefits should anything turned unfavourable to him.

Perfecting the impersonation of the man that Ripper feared the most was one of those ways.

Savitar mentally swore. Ripper was going to give them hell once he regained himself back.

Leave it to Flash to piss of the guy who was partly-responsible for his own health.

"My perfect little boy."

Ripper jerked like he was electrocuted upon hearing that pride-filled words, and just like that, the fear was gone in his eyes. He was empty once again, but his move was sharp and perfect, the twirl of his dagger seemed so casual and effortless while the curl of his lips bloomed with pure bloodlust.

Shit, if the heroes thought they have seen Scarlet Ripper in action, they wouldn't see this coming.

They definitely have not met this Scarlet Ripper.


The last back-up they have ever expected on the battlefield was Scarlet Ripper.

But it happened.

Frost was high-up in the air, playing transportation for Cisco and Sara as they infiltrated the alien's command ship when she alerted everyone on field about the unexpected back-up.

"Guys," her icy voice was clear and calm in his comms, but her tension still bled into the device. "We had a Ripper situation in 38th street."

"For fuck's sake," Cold muttered into their shared line.

"Seriously?!" Thea shrieked into the comms.

"To be honest, I'm not surprised," Glider huffed, sounding slightly breathless, the whir of her gun powering up can be heard from her background. "I don't think he would be capable of resisting bloodshed like this."

"He is killing aliens, though," Cisco interjected, clearly having a better view from his position up in the air. "Holy mother of dragons, I do not need those images—"

"Frost, how's the situation on 38th looks like from up there?" Nat interrupted the small scientist, more shrieks sounded from her background.

"Bloody," Frost grunted. "He's taking out a squadron of aliens on his own," she hesitated for a moment. "No, not alone. I think he has a sharp-shooter backing him up."

Nat muttered something in Russian, sounding suspiciously like a displeased comment about not having their own sharp-shooter in the field.

"Any signs of other hostiles on his side?" Steve asked, shooting an alien point-blank in the face, huffing as he round-kicked another one and decapitated that one with the broken glass window he has picked up. "Any hostile metahuman?"

He had to ask that question after accidentally almost-killing the Hartley heir not even ten minutes earlier—all because he has mistaken the unexpected back-up for a hostile. Apparently Cold has called out the favours of any of his willing (former) Rogues to cover a portion of the city.

It was a big city, okay?

Frost took a moment to respond. "Not that I can see. No Iris, no speedsters."

They all ignored the flat, emotionless tone of her voice as she mentioned Iris.

"Ain't you gonna nab the psycho?" Heatwave grunted—there were loud shrieks and what that sounded like blast of heat from his side of the communication.

"On it," Steve grunted, being the closest to the location after all. "Would appreciate a back-up though."

"I got you, baby," Nat has all but purred in the comms, sounding too seductive for comfort.

"Jesus," Oliver huffed, finally contributing to the group interaction.

"I do not need to hear that," Jefferson muttered. "And the old man is scandalised, if you wanna know."

Steve facepalmed while Nat's teasing peal of giggles crackled into their comms.

"But guys….Ripper is a back-up, shouldn't we let him help?" Palmer interjected, sounding unsure all of sudden.

"He's a wanted criminal." At least four different voices growled that into their comms. "A high-profile criminal at that," Frost added.

"But he's helping?" Palmer tried again. "And we kinda need all the help we have?"

Steve rolled his eyes but didn't comment anyway. He looked up, only to meet Cold's gaze as the older man kicked a frozen alien down the building he was fighting on. The former thief jerked his head in the direction of the 38th street, making quick signals that he would have this area covered while Steve went on and confront their unexpected back-up.

"We have landed on the command ship. Proceeding with the plan," Frost reported into the comms. "Supergirl, we're ready for your signal."

"I'm working on it," Supergirl huffed, wind blazing from her side of the comms. "Guys, I think the aliens avoided Japan. No Dominators on sight in Japanese streets."

"Must be the Godzilla."

"Cisco." Team Frost groaned.

"What?!"

Supergirl giggled.

Steve chuckled, completely ignoring the speed limit by now as he sped to the location.

The fact that he has taken this bike from a cowering civilian was completely irrelevant to the current crisis. How the hell was he supposed to get to the location on time while being on foot anyway? He was an enhanced, not a metahuman.

For a brief moment, it seemed like everyone was occupied with the battle and the comms were dead in his ear canal. However, as he rounded around the corner, the comms suddenly crackled to life, and Frost's hesitant voice sounded again;

"Steve? Nat?"

"Yes?" Steve responded the exact same time Nat said, "Hmm?"

"Approach with caution, guys. Ripper looks uncharacteristically violent from up here."

'Uncharacteristically violent' was a gross understatement.

Steve arrived with a halting screech at the street and almost did a double take, just to be sure that he didn't just accidentally stepped into a nightmarish universe. The asphalt was covered in sticky red and its revolting stench engulfed the area like an ominous bubble of death. The piles of shredded limbs and gutted aliens reminded Steve so much back when he was on tour as a mere soldier—the after effects of a mass slaughter that was so familiar to him.

Ripper didn't seem to mind Steve's arrival, though.

No, the man didn't even seem to notice as he was currently occupied with the giant alien he has rendered helpless, the heel of his polished boot pressed dangerously tight against the torn throat of the alien.

"Ggork…ggoork..," the alien struggled to speak, the torn flesh of its arm hung loose by tiny thread of tendon to its bone. It tried to reach out in Steve's direction, beady black eyes seemed oddly desperate.

Steve watched in horror when Ripper silently and methodically drove his foot through the alien's throat, stopping the desperate gurgling sound instantly.

Messy. This was too messy and violent.

This was not the Scarlet Ripper that they have known.

However, he didn't have the time to ponder or obey the standard protocol of arresting a criminal when three sleek daggers flew towards him, aimed directly to his eyes and throat. He barely evaded one and has to resort to the barrel of his rifle to block the other two, rendering that rifle useless the instant the blades pierced through the barrel.

Steve would've gaped in awed horror at the strength of the blades if he wasn't occupied with a handful of red-clad maniac that seemed to be so determined on stripping his flesh from his bones.

Being forced into defense, he eventually ditched the useless rifle onto the ground and went straight to hand-to-hand combat. It was his field of expertise and he had the advantage of raw strength over the serial killer.

It wasn't an easy fight, though.

Ripper made up for his lack of strength with his speed and agility. Steve felt like he was wrestling a slippery snake—trapped with the scarlet killer in an eternal dance that he was clearly losing. Each of his punch didn't seem to bore any effect on the man at all. Ripper was silent. There wasn't even a grunt or gasp that escaped the man's lips even after the punch that has definitely cracked his ribs, or that lucky shot Steve had when he deflected the ice blade onto its own owner. The guy would've had a great number of injuries by this point but, there was still no noise that slipped from his mumbling lips.

The silence was unnerving. The killer seemed to be in some form of trance, murmuring something under his breath like a man losing his mind, but his movements were sharp and precise—ice dagger has made more than scratches on Steve's body. It was by the grace of years of professional training that Steve was able to predict half of Ripper's next targets—most of those were strategically aimed to severe his tendons.

Ripper's precision definitely belonged to a man who knew a human's body like the back of his own hand.

But, it was obvious that the serial killer wasn't as trained as Steve was in close combat. The man was obviously losing stamina and nursing at least some bruised ribs while Steve merely suffered deep gashes here and there, his experience saved him from having his tendons being severed beyond repair. He eventually had his chance to strike when the serial killer suddenly swayed on his legs, seemingly like he was losing balance and was about to pass out right there. Steve took the momentary display of weakness to wrestle the ice dagger out of the killer's loose grip, and held the much smaller body secure in his strong hold.

It was when he had the killer pinned against the hood of an upturned car did Steve finally able to hear the incoherent mumbling of the mad man.

"I need to kill I need to kill I need to kill I need to kill I need to kill I need to kill I need to kill I need to kill I need to kill I need to kill I need to kill I need to kill I need to kill I need to kill I need to kill I need to kill I need to kill I need to kill I need to kill I need to kill I need to kill I need to kill I need to kill I need to kill I need to kill I need to kill I need to kill I need to kill I need to kill I need to kill I need to kill I need to kill I need to kill I need to kill I need to kill I need to kill I need to kill I need to kill I need to kill I need to kill I need to kill I need to kill I need to kill I need to kill I need to kill I need to kill I need to kill I need to kill I need to kill I need to kill I need to kill I need to kill I need to kill I need to kill I need to kill I need to kill I need to kill I need to kill I need to kill I need to kill I need to kill I need to kill I need to kill I need to kill I need to kill I need to kill I need to kill I need to kill I need to kill I need to kill"

Steve gaped, staring into the dilated green eyes of the blond serial killer.

Madness.

This was pure madness.


A/N: I'm still busy. Just dropping this update because I'm excited while writing it. Insane Barry was fun to write. We get more of Barry this time, and I think a healing FrostBarry fluff is up in next chapter. Also, the siblings will probably be up in next chapter too.

Meanwhile, I hope you enjoyed this update~