{6}
Spheres of red tangled in weaves through her mind. It seemed unlimited to control. She was reborn in the darkness, by a choice of vengeance. Her body willing accepted the new power that surged through her wounded soul. Lightning pierced through her bones in those moments she endured the extraction of humanity, but the connection she shared with her twin wasn't diminished.
She felt him.
They prevailed against the violent storms of dark power ensnaring their bodies; crimson tentacles worming inside her detached spirit and filling her with venom. She had become dead inside, hardened to the reverent touch of warmth, and absent to the disjointed world around her. Chaos bled into her heart, feeding the rushes of unrestrained power. It was all that she craved to taste.
...We're miracles to them...
"You're not normal, little girl," She opened her grayish eyes to the discarded pieces of wood, barely shards that were scattered on the stone floor. Instinctively she wrapped her scarlet shawl around her trim waist, and followed the shadow of her keeper with cautious steps through the darkened corridor. She refused to trust the man known as Harrison Wells, just by studying his impassive and calculating semblance over his thinned visage. He looked average to reflection, but inside he was something entirely different, almost like he was wearing another man's skin. She detected a form of malice surging within him, but also containable power that seemed unknown.
"Wanda," he called her with the birth name that her parents had given her. "Do you know why you're meant to become feared in this world full of error?"
Despite, being considered a blessing to their war torn homeland, to Doctor Wells, the twins were merely vessels to store concentrated—mutated power that would plague their blood with unbridled strength, speed and enhancements with kinetic energy. In other words, he wanted to perfect them into weapons—loyal assets against the true parallel nature of the speed force. At the moment of observing the family embrace in their impermanent joys, he sought the parents as a removable obstruction.
After the Cold War ended, he resided in Sokovia for twelve years, relishing in the gravity of arising terror and destruction, his debased and brilliant mind wanted a glimpse of what the world could be without justice and four virtues of human error.
To him, Wanda and Pietro were victims of experimental succession; not average children to be loved and cherished in the embrace of their parents. Across the world, in a small neighborhood in the heart of Central City resided another orphan, a victim of necessary circumstance. It became ideal for him to obtain succession, enforcing grief on the chosen subjects in order to extract weakness in linked chain of mortality. With so many limitations to achieve his true goal, he allied his skills and intelligence with a dark force that thirsted for power—HYDRA.
"It's because I'm a monster," Wanda accursed, looking dismally at the red pulse of energy gliding over her pale knuckles. Her eyes flashed with molten embers."A witch."
"Perhaps you have been considered to carry that name, but I can assure you that the only monster that you should fear in here is me... With the power that you can control, you can turn it against your victims and make their deepest fears come alive." He gripped her hand with false tenderness, feeling her desperate needs. He wouldn't evade her. "You're not a curse, Wanda, but a perfected miracle; rebuilding matrix to human will."
She saw it all...Hatred and envy. Pain and sacrifice. A car crash. Two lovers and a demon in yellow, replay in the furls of her mind. Death came to them, and a soul was drained into a husk. A woman screaming as a knife went into her heart. Lightning flashed red and yellow. A unstoppable force of speed.
'Run, Barry-Run...'
All of sudden Wells gripped her wrist, forcing her away, shattering the nightmare as pain sliced through her. "What did you see?" he demanded viciously with unhinged rage teeming in his voice. Wanda fought against his possessive hold, he was hiding the nefarious truth—he was that demon. "Tell me what you saw, little witch?"
Wanda had seen the other side of a mirror, and she felt...A new connection. Hope against darkness. Purity that existed inside of red flares; raw and visceral and powerful. Her soul was attached within that vortex.
She reached for that sailing energy, listening to thunder merging with a racing heartbeat to the anchoring release. Her whole body collapsed into the shadowy void, light faded away. A beacon was lit, not for her, but for this boy that was crying on the inside. For this still moment that gave her a reason to fight. She wasn't alone...Her soul was chasing this...Barry...She wanted to see him, but he could only grant her that freedom.
"I saw a storm clashing in your mind," Wanda finally responded, her tone dipped into a bitter edge to mirror his spite. She didn't look at him. There was noxious aura wavering from him. Poison stirred in his veins, devouring all that she felt as he eased his grip and allowed her to reel back exacting her powers to his control. She desired to astray from his wrath, search for the boy and unite their connection. "You hold greed for power that you can't take, unless you destroy all obstacles that keep you from claiming it...You want that boy...You want to harvest him and rip out his heart."
Wells nearly sneered at her revelation, approaching her shadow with threatening steps. "Perhaps I miscalculated the true potential of your powers, Wanda." He paused lifting his hand and slowly aimed at her chest, the urge to phase his hand into her chest was potent to restrain. The coldness of his touch ghosted over her skin. She was a captive to his will, frozen at the sight of his fingers obtaining speed. "You need to learn what true fear is in order master it..."
"Mommy, please wake up," His trembling hand caressed over her sallow cheek, feeling the coldness penetrate through his fingertips. Flashes of red reflected in his teary eyes in those distressing moments as the voices of the policemen deafened in vacuous haze. He was listening to the frantic paces of his speeding heart. Tears blurred his resolve as he tried to regain clarity on his mother's lifeless face.
He sensed the harrowing presence of the monster in yellow; he knew he was there, but Barry couldn't see him, the shadows created a barrier that made the speed demon unreachable. His eyes only beheld the aftermath of yellow streaks, invasion, drops of blood and broken glass.
Feeling his heart thumping against the feverish swell of constant grief, Barry squeezed his hand into a fist, crushing his knuckles against the wood. The pain overwhelmed him. Flares of anger—red and violent—made tears burn in his eyes as he looked down at his mother's soulless eyes, knowing that she sacrificed her life to save him. The knife lanced through her heart, taking her blood. And he felt sick and frightened. His stomach churned into knots as tears flowed against the ache of a shattering heart.
He was abandoned from his family—from the love that had embraced him every night, security and boundless happiness. All those wonderful things were gone.
It was just him kneeling next to a vacant shell in the darkness as he felt the cold possession of grief leaving him unhinged to grasp the tentative hope that seemed reachable.
"Bear," Joe's fatherly voice echoed through the hazy of tears. He was standing behind the distraught boy, keeping his distance. "I need you to come with me...It's no longer safe here."
"Where am I gonna go, Joe," Barry sniffled, lowering his head. "I've got nobody else to run too..."
"Hey," Joe crouched down to his level, placing his large hand firmly on Barry's shoulder. "You've got me and Iris...Your parents left me as your guardian in case something bad happened. Right now, my home is the safest place for you, but if you want to take some of your things with you, that will be fine. I already talked to the captain about that..."
"It's not fair, Joe," Barry said, his voice held a slurring pitch of remorse. His mind felt disjointed and damaged as images of the man in yellow haunted the depths of his strength.
Inexplicably, he was fighting nightmarish apparitions of yellow, chaotic lightning. His innocence was very resilient against the barest thoughts and torments, but...This monster had ensnared his will. What was the reason for murdering his mother and destroying his family?
There had to have been a reason behind his motives that seemed undeniable, pulsing in his bones and permeating the light of a child's mind.
No matter what had been done to his family, Barry was holding onto the unfurling undercurrents of searing vengeance beneath his pure heart or whatever was left of it...There was no way to describe what he felt or deny the torturous battle that possessed him.
His world had ended. Just like that, everything was taken way. And there was no way of reclaiming what he lost from those damning memories. No, he was vulnerable to become easily corrupted, to make a definitive choice that could lead him to a dangerous road, if he decided to chase the red eyed demon in yellow.
"Tell me this is nightmare..." Barry sobbed, almost drowning in disbelief as his small hand graced over Nora's cold knuckles. He didn't look up at Joe; it was hard for him to digest the pain. "That when I wake up... she'll be here."
He wanted to believe in that. Joe did as well, if the semblance of grief etched in his modest features was any indication, the truth—false hope—seemed far away. With another sniffle, Barry dared a glance over the smears of red of his mother's blouse, scarlet and crimson. The colors he vaguely remembered seeing when the vortex of yellow and red flares sped around him, except the red carried no presence of dread—but comfort and strength. "Bear," The gravity of Joe's voice greeted his subconscious, pulling him out.
Barry blinked and turned his watery eyes to him. "I saw a monster in yellow. He was fast." Something wedged in his heart, he felt breathless as tears fell. "The monster was fighting red lightning...A force that saved me, but not her."
"Listen to me," Joe approached with tentative steps, he eased down to Barry's level. It was obvious that the boy couldn't discard his agony. No child should ever witness those horrors, but somehow he knew that Barry would one day rise above the grief and resolve his closure.
He drew out a heavy sigh, and placed his large hand firmly on Barry's shoulder, holding warmth there. "It's not fair what happened to your mother, Bear, I don't even know if it seems possible to believe...A terrible wrong was done here and you feel like everything has been lost because of it, but you have a family that will show them that you're not alone in this fight."
Those words stroked the anger and frustration brimming at the surface of Barry's heart. Joe saw the light of innocence dimming, if Barry continued to hold that inside and begin a war of consequences and vengeance, then Joe would lose his surrogate son, just like he lost two good friends. He had to shield Barry.
Orphan. That was the one word Barry didn't want to say.
He wanted his mother, but it was impossible...the man in yellow had taken her from him.
"I've gotta fight the impossible, Joe" he whispered, darkness shadowed over his weepy eyes. Pain roared in his regained height, standing firm in divide of his mother's body and the remnants of shattered glass. Barry knew what he could be capable of if he willed it and used the intelligence of his father and compassion of his mother; he could devote himself to spare lives, to make sure young kids would never have to experience this nightmare. The silent emptiness assailed into embers of heat and red flares.
What he had to do wasn't going to be an easy fight, however, he would sacrifice his dreams to find the truth and give his innocent father freedom to live as an honorable doctor once again. It was his defining choice—a heart's pledge to fight for innocence—to prove to himself that he wasn't a coward anymore.
He wiped the wetness off his cheeks, and met Joe's passive stare. His posture became reserved, unshakable as he made a soft declaration to the emptiness of his home, hoping that the monster would hear the strength of his voice echoing in the shadows. "I'm gonna fight to get my dad back...I will find the man in the yellow suit, because I will do the impossible."
Barry awoke to feeling of pressure generating in his abdomen. He couldn't move. Everything was hard to process. He was tangled in a sheet, his back arched against a cushion that felt inclined. He was in the Avengers Tower infirmary, shackled to an elevated bed. The cold metal latched over his wrist preventing him from siphoning his speed. He knew Natasha was near; she brought a sense of peace—an equal connection that he had never shared with anyone before. It seemed inevitable to believe. He knew that she had been there the whole time he underwent the operation.
He could still feel Natasha's hand gracing over his bandaged skin, giving him calmness as the pain reared inside his depths. There was something different stirring, red flares obstructed his vision as he fought to regain clarity, not fiery embers, but energy that carried an intense and mystic presence in the shadows.
Each flare grew stronger with his pulse, dominating his soul as he felt a distant pain that seemed vague to understand—the agony of grief and vengeance that haunted him anew. He couldn't grasp a clear image, hardly a silhouette as he tried to brace himself against the intrusion, before he fully welcomed those vestiges of daring and powerful connection penetrating in his heart, almost like how lightning pierced through the sky. That strength merged in his veins, currents of energy called him to a reckoning, and he watched with firm intent as the handcuff links separated from his skin and broke into pieces.
He saw a wash of shadow cloak over a young woman, trapped behind glass. Carbon plating that was invisible and hard to phase through. Her eyes glowed with livid crimson, hidden underneath unruly strands of brown hair—her face was pale from the lack of sunlight as she wove her fingers methodically into the air, twisting and controlling the red flares and breaking pieces of wood as tears streaked down her delicate and thinned features. She was in pain, fighting the darkness that seized her as pulses of vengeance sped through her.
Barry felt every vibration. The rawness of her pain. There was something he could relate to that wouldn't assail. Something familiar...Encroaching and parallel. A relentless awakening in the fathoms of shadow. He sensed it equally, the reckoning of blights devouring purity—innocence.
He wanted to explore deeper, find this beautiful mystery and save her from that dangerous void. She deserved freedom, not the asylums of isolation. Even though he couldn't touch her, something merged with his soul—an eliciting surrender to grief. This girl was a victim of transference, butchered to become a slave, to harness limitless power and destroy lives. Barry knew that she was searching for a demon of her own, not a man in yellow, but a titan in metallic red and gold armor—Iron Man. This unsettling remorse directed to the billionaire genius—the mind of the Avengers. He was her reckoning.
...You're not alone...
Another flare weaved around his heart, unhurried to the motion of the world. He was frozen in time with her, standing inches from her cell as the labyrinth threatened to consume him.
It was nearly inescapable, the force weighting against him; pushing him closer to the glass wall. Moments became seized by gravity as he took in the sight of the enthralling beauty trapped on the other side. Once Barry obtained a clear perspective on her visage, he realized she wasn't like everyone else; her petite form was clothed in a black corset lace and a red shawl cascaded over her arms. She was dressed almost like a medieval gypsy, mythic and dark-but he wasn't driven by fear of her. She wasn't a terror, just lost and waiting to be found.
"Hey, I'm gonna find a way to get you out of here," He swore, easing his hand over the glass, with a desperate attempt to reach her. A cold rush of dread spiked in his veins. He spun involuntarily to expose the unknown threat. He froze. Blood pumped faster with surges of energy and curiosity as he glanced over the clutter of tables. Something was in there...a phantom approach. His gray eyes trained on the looming shadow, evoking the same pace of a heartbeat, as he felt vibrations riddling in his bones. Barry's focus settled on a deformed hand of tar reaching to phase into his chest—to pierce his heart. "What...No..I gotta save her."
"She's not going anymore, and neither are you, Flash."
That's when he saw it. The blue flares of violent energy that lanced into the darkness. Then, his breath was stolen, he was pinned against the glass, obstructed from her, as soulless black embers bled underneath a demon's face. Gloved fingers left traces of tar over his chest as a pulse of hate skimmed torrents into his blood. He felt drained, almost harvested by the unrestrained monsters thirst for power—chaotic storm. Barry couldn't fight, the sharp dissonances of screams, the pain and rage, it crushed him, compacted him to fall deep into submission. "You will feel this nightmare soon. Everything that you are will be mine to take."
Joe. Iris. Cisco. Catlin... Steve and Natasha. His family—friends. He had to fight. Run faster...Charge through the storm. No matter how pain will strain against his heart, he would fight for their freedom.
He found his race. "You can try, but you wouldn't win!"
The demon snarled viciously at his unyielding declaration, and coiled its clawed fingers around Barry's neck, hoisting him up into a choke hold. Its tarry eyes glanced back at her, a weapon of opportunity to unleash his true control, as the connection was growing stronger with Barry. She would serve as the monster's little puppet of vengeance to tangle in strings...until it will rip them apart. "If she escapes then I have already won this race, Flash."
Barry jerked his weight violently, relenting with all reserves of strength as he was slammed against the glass. Everything felt transferred, chains rattled in the darkness and screams became distant echoes. This was a nightmare being ripped open, all the images he conceived bled out as the claws dug into his skin. Gasping for a pant of breath, Barry wrenched a fist into the chest of his captor, knuckles rolled against inky armor and grazed muscle. "I-I'm gonna stop you." He choked out a dribble of blood, hot tears streak over his paling face. "You will fall..."
"No...They will fall once a new creation is birthed from their ashes."
A flash of blue lightning blinded him, and he was no longer in that shadowy chamber, but trudging over a barren crater in a strange realm, red seeped into the cervices. Heaps of lifeless bodies were scattered in the mist. Invaders loomed high above; alien creatures devoured flesh and broke apart bones. There was no light—everything was consumed by darkness. It was the aftermath of a war. So much death...Innocent lives buried into aches, only glints of bullet and arrows remained intact. "No..." He looked frantically around the rocky wasteland, searching for...the Avengers.
Once he caught a glimpse of bodies mounted on a high peak of stone, he felt gravity forcing him down. The mightiest heroes were defeated—butchered as sacrificial prey.
Everyone was dead.
The Hulk was frozen into stance of a gargoyle, speared with metal spikes that pinned him to the rock. Natasha was laid on the edge, her bruised face turned to look directly at him; teal eyes glazed with lasting tears and soulless. Clint was slumped a level below from her, his vacant body positioned limp, arrows lodged into his back and head bowed down. Webs of blood slid down his biceps and over his bow. Iron Man's suited armor was hollow and Thor was laying on his back, like a defeated king. They were all collected trophies, waiting to be taken from the one who conquered this battle.
In a seize of his manifesting devastation, Barry slammed his fists into the ground, the pulses of untamed rage energized and tore into the rock, creating a rift to slice through the surface.
"Where's Captain Rogers?" His desperate breath came up into a torn hitch as he glanced frantically through the darkness until his resolve found a harrowed glimpse of a body clad in blue, laden against an outcropping wall of stone. Pieces of the alloy from the Avenger's indestructible shield were broken into halves ensnaring reflections of starry light and guiding his stare towards Captain America. "No-No," he chanted breathless, and pushed all his weight closer to the fallen Avenger. Steve's body was broken, the spangled uniform held remnants of ash as he laid flat on his back, motionless.
Evidence that the Captain was the last one to fight—to give it his all, but he sacrificed his life to save the world. Barry's eyes widened as he crawled to the soldier's side, reaching out to grasp Steve's hand. The presence of dread plagued his rampant mind. Torrents of memory of his mother's death raged in his subconscious, the agony seared through his bones and left his soul to unravel.
"Is this a glimpse of what will happen?" he questioned in a faint breath, his voice drowned by the thunderous cacophony of robotic leviathans shadowing above him.
With the monstrous speckle mirrored in his teary gaze, Barry possessed a measure of unrivaled defiance to search for the speed demon; anger was loitering in his veins. He won't surrender to this nightmare. It was a paradox to fight, everything he saw felt real enough to believe it was a possible outcome of a choice of error."If I chose to run?"
'Is that what you always do...Flash?'
The illusion of panic grew electrifying in his blood, and he stared frozen in stupor at the blood embossed over the slate blue material of Steve's tattered uniform. His shaky hand attempted to rest over the star, wanting to feel a strong pulse. His lips curled into watery grimace in those seconds he pressed two fingers over the throbbing vein of Steve's neck. This wasn't the end. "You gotta be alive, Cap," he urged in a breathless sob, not removing his hand. Pain compacted into his chest."The fight isn't over..."
Steve's eyes snapped opened automatically as life recharged within him, blue surges of energy struck his limp body. His bruised lips parted to drain out a choking gasp. He seized Barry's wrist with a pulse of his strength pounding against the clasped bones as the young man alarmingly recoiled back. "Run Barry..." Breath wheezed with desperate hitches as he regained a voice. "Save us...Don't look back…Just keep running."
"I don't know where to go, Cap," Barry returned dismayed, holding the Avenger's hand, refusing to let it slip back to the ground. The light receded from Steve's blue eyes, darkness glazed as blood leaked from his nose and ran over his lips. He died. Bluish fractals of ice solidified over his skin, almost like ice was threatening to encase his body again. "No...Cap...Stay with me!"
'Avenge us...Save the world...Fight for her.'
Barry wrenched his teary gaze away from Steve's desolate face, in order to breathe. He roved over the others, all of them gone—dead. A dark laugh echoed overhead, and Barry jolted to his feet, defensive. Sitting on a levitating throne was a purple skinned titan, wearing a golden gauntlet with glowing stones replacing knuckles. He was the monster who caused all this chaos and death. The destroyer of the world.
The deafening noises of war silenced, and Barry felt the clash of inevitability gauge through his marred soul. Flashes of pain blinded him, as he fell into an abyss of endless white, a different juncture of time. Blinking against the contrast of light, he saw a shadowy form into a man, standing on the edge of the icy ridge.
The face was unclear to memory, almost distorted. Long strands draped into a wolfish mane over his broad shoulder and a sheen of metal formed into his left arm. He held Captain America's broken shield, with immense reverence. Behind him was that beautiful woman in cell with crimson eyes, and in her hands was a small toddler clutching the red leather cowl of the Flash.
'Promise me that you'll avenge us, Barry...Carry on the fight with her.'
Wake up, Bear...Wake up!
The last waves of the fever receded, and he felt a cooling relief pressed against him.
"Barry," He heard the familiar husky tone lulling him back to consciousness, it became a sluggish process to relent against. He escaped from the nightmare, safe and under the protection of the Avengers. Everything so distant to construct, his temples pounded with heavy compression; but the gracing touch of her hand eased him into calming simplicity. His heartbeat was measured with steady pulses with no holds of tension as moments passed and the ravaging tempest he fell into faded.
He was greeted by laves of sunlight, warm and golden. It was just a nightmare—a division of life and death. He had emerged from the coiling fathoms, but never lost sight of those illusions. None of that seemed to become granted with a reckoning. The world became silent, bereft of everything he experienced in the void. Unbidden curiosity of that girl left him reeling for answers that he couldn't stow away.
"Barry, can you hear my voice?" A moan tore from the back of his disused throat. He peeled his eyelids half open, still trying to get a fair clarity of sight. Vibrations were subtle and light as he finally the red haze receded from his vision, and everything melted into blurred depths as he set a resolve on russet curls blazed with fiery streaks, and the angelic face of Natasha Romanoff grew into focus.
She was mounted at the bedside, her hawkish teal eyes were reserved with an impassive glance; and her lithesome frame dressed in leather. She carried a sisterly vibe and her demeanor causal and shot up against the reclined cushion, only to feel pinned with entangled wires tucked under layers of dampened bandages. She grounded him with simple assurance as Barry noticed her hand planted on his shoulder.
"Tasha," he managed to strain out her name, in a heavy intake of breath. Their gazes traded, Natasha offered him a weak smile, and her grayish eyes narrowed at his abdomen. The bullet fragments were removed thanks to Doctor Bruce Banner's steady hands, and the poison extracted with a transfusion containing a sample of Steve's blood. He was in process of healing; the resilience he carried doused the pain as his chapped lips exhibited a dopey smirk. "How long was I out this time?"
With tentative effort guiding her hand, Natasha reached to caress his knuckles. It did seem right to touch him; she felt a strong bond that she never was permitted to accept in the past. Barry was like a little brother to her—someone worth to protect and safeguard from danger. She had opened a piece of her heart to him, granting him a sense of assurance.
These were relative moments that she needed to feel. Even if the bond was not permanent...She had to remain at his side."Don't tell me that you're keeping a record, kid?" she teased back, with a hint of snark and refused to entertain the thought of his discomfort. She leveled her stare with his light gray eyes, watching his struggle to grasp onto relief. "How are you feeling?"
His throat was aching. It wouldn't avail. "When I'm not moving," He winced, his muscles clenched into knots. Pressure still lingered over the stitching. "It doesn't hurt as bad, I'm not saying that it's comfortable, but I want to thank the doctor for removing whatever was left of the bullet inside of me." He smiled brightly, sliding his hand over the gauze. "I'm pretty sure that it wasn't easy—"
"No, it wasn't..." Barry shifted his eyes into the direction of the deep baritone echoing in shadows of the hall. Steve was there, dressed in a plain black sweater, the material sculpted over the expanse of muscle planes and his jeans hugged at his V shaped hip line. As he stepped into the light, Barry noticed a strip of gauze over his right forearm; evidence that Steve had given his blood for the transfusions.
"You were lucky..." The commanding presence of Captain America was evident in his tone. With a shift of unease, Steve trained his slate blue eyes intently over the young man's bandaged torso. "That hit you took was almost unshakable. Doctor Banner managed to extract the bullet while you took a nap."
"Yeah, excessive healing is all part of the speedforce package," Barry lightly joked back, trying to mask another wince carving into his paled face. Nothing seemed to deceive the Avengers who both locked their perplexed gazes onto him for a logical explanation for his accelerated process of healing—not the unfathomable truth about his nightmare.
He literally couldn't dismiss the harrowed images of the fleets of alien ships and Steve's lifeless face. He couldn't accept peace for the horror show he recently envisioned wasn't something to stow away. It was a glimpse of a dark apocalyptic future and everyone's fate rested on a choice.
"The energy that gives me speed creates a reaction that causes the chemicals in my body to merge and restore damages, at a rapid and efficient rate. Whatever I was shot with back in Central City must have breached those defenses and affected my usual heightened resistance to toxins."
There was a strained remorseful hitch in his tone, but he did well to drown it with a faint sheepish grin. He was reeling back into the interweaves of the nightmare that extended further into his heart. "I guess my body just couldn't burn it out."
"Rest up," Steve dismissed, the depth of his baritone leveled with measured authority, but also the warm concern of a valued friend. As he exchanged an even glance with Barry, he involuntarily shifted his weighted form back to the door, echoing out another order. His large calloused fingers gripped over the steel frame, pausing in his steps, he could sense that his friendship was evolving with the younger man, Barry carried a spark of charming defiance, much like Bucky Barnes did; he was hell bent on fighting and too stubborn to admit his pain. Mostly, he was pure of heart. Steve wouldn't let anything douse that fire out. "I want you ready for training tomorrow. We start early."
Barry nodded unabashedly, he knew the penalty for lack of discipline; he even had the vivid fading of scars on his back to prove it from Oliver Queen's excellent marksmanship skills in surprise attacks. "Aye-aye, Cap," he saluted back at Steve, effortlessly. Training would become vital when preparing for the end game; he needed to harness of all of his true strength of willpower and mind to outrun the speed demons and save that young woman from the darkness. He had to chase the ravaging storms and catch the red lightning...He had to become an Avenger.
With an ounce Captain America's blood running through his veins, the weight of future lessened on his shoulders. In a silent declaration that seemed only a whisper against his soul, Barry made his unbreakable vow: I will fight for them.