1. The New Frontier
Barry awoke with a start.
In and of itself, that wasn't unusual. After all, he rarely slept soundly and barely slept at all.
But it was still out of normalcy for him to wake up with the screaming nightmares of his mother's death in vivid, fresh detail and to see Bruce's (not the one that he knew well, but the one that he had come to known briefly) and Kara's deaths in a variety of manners.
He was still lying horizontally on his bed from where he had collapsed earlier, his phone right there on his stomach where he left it. Picking it up, he clicked the power button. 4:28 PM. Okay, so he had passed out for a good chunk of the day, but it was still September 27th, which meant he still had two days until the lightning struck—not that it was important to be there, but it still made for an easy landmark date—and one more day before Zod made his appearance.
That all meant that he still had enough time to sneak in a shower before trying to find the Justice League.
Bleary-eyed, Barry stumbled into the shower and cranked it to about as hot he could take it, relishing in the hot water to wash away all the grime of the multiverse. He was pretty sure that he still had residue from continuities that didn't exist anymore trying to hide out on his body. After a thorough scrub, stepped out, dried off, and got dressed. And by getting dressed, he got dressed about as fancy as Barry Allen could be.
After all, he was off to see a billionaire.
Never in his life had Barry ever seen Wayne Manor in such pristine condition. Even at the end of his original timeline, Bruce had just been in the early stages of renovating the husk of a mansion into the future headquarters of the Justice League. In contrast, the Wayne Manor that Barry saw before him was nothing less than a palace, with neatly trimmed hedges, perfectly cut grass, and pristine marble throughout. It looked like Bruce, at least in this timeline, was perfectly content living in a mansion rather than in a lakehouse.
He paid his taxi fare—which cost him way too much to be comfortable out of his thin wallet—and walked up to the intercom.
"Alright Barry, you've got this," he said out loud to himself. "Don't worry. They're old buddies of yours. Right? No, not here, idiot." He shook his head, smacked once on the side of the head for good measure, and hit the intercom button.
After a few moments, it clicked. "May I help you, sir?" a pristine British voice came through. Alfred, it had to be.
"Uh, hi, yes," Barry stammered. "I'm—I'm Barry, Barry Allen. I'm here to see Bruce… I mean, Mister Wayne."
There was a short pause. "Unfortunately," Alfred replied, sounding like he didn't think it was that unfortunate, "Master Wayne is currently on a business trip. May I take a message?"
"Well, I mean, erm," Barry verbally stumbled, "can I still come in? I can talk to you instead. It's," he gestured, as if Alfred could see him—though maybe Alfred could since Barry had no idea if there was a camera pointed at him, "really, really important." He paused. "I swear. Bruce is going to want to hear this."
Another short pause. "I'm afraid that won't be possible, Mister Allen. If that would be all?"
"Please, Alfred," Barry pleaded. "Look, once you hear me out, nothing's going to be the same. We all need Bruce to know because he's frankly like the only one that can figure it all out." He looked around and leaned in closer to the intercom. "It's about his night-time stuff."
"Mister Allen," Alfred's clipped tone came through, "you are currently standing on private property. I will ask you to vacate the premises immediately or be considered in trespass, at which point I will alert the authorities. Good day." The intercom clicked and went dead.
Barry cracked open his wallet and counted out the meager number of one dollar bills he had. It wasn't enough for the taxi fare back to the bus stop, which meant he was stuck walking back to the stop—a brisk ten-mile journey away—before catching a bus back to town.
And it was actually going to be a walk, considering he didn't exactly dress sweaters to spare in his wardrobe.
One long and sweaty walk, a three-hour bumpy bus ride, and a bagel-sandwich stop later for a quick dinner, and Barry found himself walking back to his apartment contemplating the secrets of the universe he now found himself in as the sun made its last dip under the skyline of Central City. A phone call to Thomas Curry had confirmed that Arthur did indeed exist in this timeline, but he wasn't around and wasn't easy to get ahold of either. Victor Stone was still just, well, Victor Stone, quarterback extraordinaire, and not a super cool, ass-kicking Cyborg yet. Same look, though, so that was at least comforting to Barry that there would be a familiar face in this world, even if it wasn't the Victor that knew him. He found nothing on Diana, which was frankly to be expected considering he didn't remember hearing about her until Superman died.
Oh, and Clark Kent was apparently won a Pulitzer with none other than Lois Lane at the Daily Planet. And he sometimes wrote articles on Superman, a fixture of the Metropolis skies. Some things didn't change after all. Except for the fact that unlike Victor, Clark looked noticeably different. So, some things did change. And apparently his answering machine at the Daily Planet said he was off covering some expedition in the Arctic, so that was a lot of help to find the guy. He could probably run all day in the Arctic Circle and not find Clark.
Which left Barry back at square one—a square that was suspiciously shaped like a bat and named Bruce Wayne. Except he was getting ghosted by him anyway, so he was basically back to square zero if that existed.
A sudden thought intruded into his mind as he fumbled for his keys. Was Kara in this universe? She didn't exist in his original timeline, but as it was already quite different than what he had known, all bets were off. Still, even if she did exist, there was no way he was going to be able to get to Russia—or wherever she was in the world, if she was on Earth at all—to get to her. He pushed it out of his mind as he pushed his apartment door open. It was pitch black inside at this point, and he flicked the light switch and paused.
"Barry Allen," a handsome, if rather young-looking, man said, sitting in his little black-faux-leather recliner. "Bruce Wayne."
The man had some of the same features that reminded Barry of Bruce—a strong jaw, a slick haircut, and a nice suit. But the similarities ended there. Where his old Bruce had brown eyes, the new one had bright blue ones. The old Bruce usually had a little stubble, while the new one was clean-shaven. The old one had wrinkles and was going on fifty. The new one didn't look a day over thirty.
Barry raised a finger and pursed his lips, searching for words. Finally, he settled on, "This is going to sound weird, but I don't think it was entirely, uh, unexpected for you to say that."
'Bruce' furrowed his brow slightly, almost imperceptibly were it not for Barry's heightened sense courtesy of the Speed Force; he could see the muscles in Bruce's face move. "I was told you had something important to tell me. Something that concerned… activities of a nocturnal nature."
The last half of Bruce's statement made the hairs on Barry's neck stand up straight. Yeah, this Bruce Wayne was still, most definitely, one hundred percent the Batman.
"Yes," Barry emphatically nodded, "if you're saying what I think you're saying. And what I think you're sa—"
A hot-white pain split through Barry's skull like he had just taken Steppenwolf's axe to the head, and he crumpled to the ground in agony as he yelled. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Bruce run over to him, but his vision went black before he could think of anything else.
"Absolute best of the best."
"Don't be afraid, Barry. The light keeps the dark away."
"Barry, where are you? It's almost synchronized!"
"On the count of second-degree murder, I sentence you to life in prison without parole."
"Not every problem has a solution. Sometimes, you just have to let go."
"Son, I'm proud of you."
"We are a people of hope, not war."
"And our valedictorian of 2011, Barry Allen!"
"You already did. You already did."
"Hey, you're Barry, right? I'm Iris. Iris West."
"I am everything you're not!"
For the second time in a single day, if it was still the same day, Barry woke up with a start. His eyes dotted around, trying to take in as much of his surroundings as they could in the relative darkness. He couldn't make anything out, though what he did feel was a relative sense of bliss as he sunk into the soft pillow and firm mattress under him and the silk sheets on top of him enveloped him in warmth.
And then the pain returned, though far less than it had been before. This time, he just squeezed his eyes shut like he was dealing with a particularly aggressive migraine. The pain flowed as knowledge filled in the gaps of a lifetime. Not all of it, but pieces. A birthday cake there, a toy he was particularly fond of there. Images of a mother and father he didn't recognize but that he knew in his heart and mind were his parents. A red-haired woman that he nervously asked out on a date that was Iris but looked nothing like Iris but that he knew was still Iris somehow. It was like the life of the Barry he had become embedded itself into his mind, intertwining with the memories that had already been there.
Two sets of memories. Two lives. One Barry Allen.
So, his head hurt. Because as fast as he could run, Barry still only had one brain (and arguably so at that).
"Holy shit," he yelled out loud, filtering through the new set of memories. It wasn't complete and gaps persisted, but the bulk of his life and, frankly, the important things had made their way over.
Footsteps sounded out on the carpet from outside, and within a few moments, a gentle knock on the door.
"Master Allen, I am coming in," a distinctly accented tone spoke through the door. After a few moments, it clicked open, and a gray-haired man walked in. In one hand, he carried a tray of breakfast foods like a waiter, and tucked underneath the other was a folded set of clothing. The tray was placed on Barry's bedside table, the clothes on a nearby dresser, and Alfred strode over to the curtains and pulled them apart with little flourish.
"My name is Alfred Pennyworth," Alfred said, turning to Barry. "I am Master Wayne's butler and handle all of the necessary duties here at the estate."
"Estate?" Barry groaned, one hand covering his eyes from the blinding light of the early morning sun. Clearly, it was not the same day. "Wait, am I at the Manor?"
"Indeed," Alfred replied, his clipped tones radiating a distinct and somewhat cold vibe. This Alfred certainly looked harsher than the one that Barry had known—shorter, stockier, and generally a little less friendly on the face. The Alfred Barry had known was prone to joke and seemed like a techy old uncle. This one looked like he could rip Barry's arms out if he got too annoyed.
"Where… where's Bruce?"
Alfred paused on his way out of the room. "Master Wayne is in the lounge. I suggest that you wash up, eat up, and join him when you are ready." With that, Alfred closed the door behind him, and his footsteps retreated down the hall.
Barry slid his legs off the bed and groaned again, one hand going to the side of his right temple. The only thing he could hope for at this point was that the migraine would eventually subside. Gingerly, he limped over to the en-suite bathroom and pushed the door open. Inside, he was greeted with a vast bathroom that, in all honesty, likely dwarfed the square footage of his entire apartment in Central City.
"Yeah, Barry, he's a billionaire," Barry muttered to himself before making his way to the sink. The cold water shot out of the faucet after he twisted the knob, and he splashed a copious amount on his face and winced slightly as some of it splashed onto his bare chest. He blindly grabbed for one of the nearby towels stacked on the countertop to dry himself off and paused as he stared at his chest. Or more specifically, down his chest at his abdomen where a faint but distinct six-pack looked back.
"Huh, that wasn't there before."
Barry dried his chest off and patted down his face before looking up at the mirror. And froze again for the second time in twenty-four hours. He stared into his face, leaning closer to the mirror with each passing second until he could nearly kiss his own reflection. And stared. Blue eyes—not brown—stared back. His jaw was slightly broader than he remembered it being, his cheeks fuller than they had been. Finally, he rifled through his hair with a hand, rubbing the hairs back and forth to make sure it wasn't a wig and a badly constructed prank.
"Why the shit am I blond?" Barry yelled. The blond guy in the reflection yelled it back.
It took a solid ten minutes for Barry to examine himself in the mirror, another twenty to shower—he had to take full advantage of Wayne Manor's fantastic water pressure—and another ten to freshen up and get dressed. By the time that he rounded the main staircase down to the foyer, it had been nearly an hour since Alfred had visited his room. He just hoped that Bruce was still waiting for him. And he was also still not over his new look, but that was going to have to wait.
He entered what looked to be a comfortable looking library through open double wooden doors. Two walls opposite each other were filled with books with the third home to three sets of massive windows. In the middle of the space was a large leather sofa facing the window and a singular leather recliner facing the door. Said leather recliner contained the billionaire that Barry was looking for.
"Ah, Barry," Bruce said warmly, putting down his book on a nearby table and standing up with a brilliant smile. He reached out a hand as he walked over, and Barry couldn't help but take it in a handshake. It was almost magnetic. "I hope you're finding the Manor comfortable. I told Alfred to be on his best behavior."
Barry noticed that Bruce's smile didn't quite reach his eyes.
"I've been okay, yeah, you know," Barry nodded, trying to match the faux smile with one of his own and miserably failing. "You've got, uh, nice comforters."
Bruce flashed that award-winning smile again. "Alfred picks the best." He gestured at the sofa. "Come, sit. Perhaps something to drink? It's a bit early, but I'm sure we can make an exception."
For his part, Barry just sat down on the sofa like a schoolboy about to be lectured. He wasn't quite sure if he preferred the slightly more threatening Bruce from the night before or the one in front of him. Perhaps if he prayed hard enough, he could get the brooding Bruce he remembered from his past world back.
"I'm… okay," Barry mumbled. He tried smiling again, but felt it come out more as a grimace. "I don't drink."
Bruce nodded slightly and took a seat in his recliner, crossing his legs as he examined Barry.
"So, Barry, what was it that you wanted to talk about last night?"
Barry thought for a moment, then just spoke. "Look, I'm just going to be straight with you. I know you're the Batman."
Bruce's smile didn't change.
"And you're going to think I'm crazy, but I—I'm not even supposed to be here. I'm from a completely different world, and I did something stupid that I tried to fix, but now I'm here so it didn't work…" Barry trailed off as he continued to look at Bruce, whose expression didn't change. A few moments of silence between them passed before Barry couldn't handle it anymore.
"Okay, clearly you know something I don't."
Finally, Bruce leaned forward, dropping the smile. He stood up.
"Not exactly," Bruce said. "Follow me."
Barry stood up immediately, but all Bruce did was walk over to one of the bookshelves and pulled a book. Blackout curtains automatically began to lower themselves down the windows, and the heavy wooden doors to the lounge swung closed and locked. After a solid moment of silence, the bookshelf itself clicked and descended into the floor, revealing an elevator that descended into the depths of the mansion.
After a moment of reverie, Barry noticed Bruce looking at him.
"Something tells me you already know what's down there," Bruce said. "So, let's go." He stepped into the elevator and Barry followed. A button push later, and they were descending at a brisk pace. Soon, the rock of the elevator shaft turned into open air, and Barry could see the grand scale of the Batcave before him. It was differently laid out from either of the Batcaves he had seen before, but essential elements remained the same—running water, stalactites, a central platform with what could only the Batmobile, occasional bats flying around.
It was the lair of the Batman.
The elevator came to a stop and Bruce pushed the metal grate open. The path led to a set of stairs that climbed toward what looked to be a computing hub. Huge displays with various graphs and images dominated the space, and the chair that sat in front of the computer console was occupied by someone who was typing away.
"Alfred?" Bruce called out. The typing stopped.
"I'm a little hurt," a distinctly feminine voice spoke out. The chair swung around to reveal a beautiful woman with chin-length dark hair and green eyes sitting in it, her legs crossed and a mischievous smile playing on her lips. "Unless you think Alfred is sexy."
"Selina," Bruce smiled, pulling her in for a kiss. "I thought you were still in bed."
"I woke up and didn't see you there. Decided to prep for the docks tonight—Maroni's got a lot more men than I originally thought." She looked past Bruce's shoulder at Barry. "And is this the boytoy you brought home last night?" She slipped out of Bruce's embrace and slid a hand onto Barry's shoulder. "You must be Barry. I'm Selina."
"H—hi, Barry" Barry stuttered as he tried to smile for a third time. "I'm Selina." He frowned. "Wait."
Selina laughed, a light sound that filled the air. "You are a cutie, aren't you." She rubbed Barry's cheek and slipped right past him in one smooth motion. "And Bruce, I'll see you later."
Barry turned to see Selina walk—or perhaps strut, more accurately—away, her hips swaying with each step. He snapped his head back at Bruce, eyes wide.
"I, uh, I didn't mean to…" he trailed off.
Bruce snorted. "That's Selina. You'll get used to it." He walked forward and took the seat that Selina had just been in. A few taps of the keyboard later and the display repopulated with various pop-ups. "I took the liberty of running some tests on your blood last night."
"I'm sorry, you did what?" Barry exclaimed, walking forward to the chair. "That's—"
"They corroborate what you've told me so far," Bruce continued. "Your blood is unlike anything I've ever seen." He turned slightly to look at Barry. "And I've seen a lot. Either you're a metahuman, or you're not a human at all."
"Wait," Barry responded, "so you, you know about aliens and," he gestured, "all that stuff?"
Bruce spun around fully, his hands clasped together as he leaned back into the chair. "Barry, what do you think Superman is?"
"A Kryptonian," Barry immediately replied.
"I was going to say an alien, but thanks. Now I know what species of alien Clark is."
"Hold up, you know that Superman is Clark Kent?"
Bruce smirked, clearly pleased with knowing more than Barry did on the matter. "We've worked together before. Let's just say that I helped him with a problem he had, and he did the same for me."
Barry ran a hand through his hair—his very blond hair that didn't quite feel like his old head of hair. "So, I guess the Justice League is together and everything?"
The smirk promptly disappeared and was replaced with a frown. "Justice League?"
"Oh, heh," Barry grinned. "I guess you're not ready for that one yet."
Bruce eyed Barry critically before turning back to his computer. "The reason that I decided to loop you in like this is because your story checks out and your timing is… fortuitous, I hope." The display changed to an infographic of Barry himself, complete with every piece of important information that Barry didn't think Bruce should've had access to in the first place. "Barry Allen. Born 1992. Mother murdered under mysterious circumstances when you were thirteen, and your father was convicted of second-degree murder for it. Life sentence, Iron Heights Penitentiary."
"He didn't do it," Barry said, almost reflexively.
Bruce stopped for a moment. For a second, Barry thought he was going to spin around again to face him, but instead Bruce continued to speak. "I understand. Dipped in and out of foster homes for the next few years until you graduated high school. Top marks. Central City University. You're on track to graduate next semester, a year early and summa cum laude if you keep your course work up. Double major in Criminology and Psychology, with a minor in…" Barry could almost hear the frown forming on Bruce's face, "… Primatology?"
"The study of primates," Barry helpfully supplied.
"I know what primatology is," Bruce replied. "I'm just wondering why you chose it."
Barry shrugged. "I needed a minor and it was pretty interesting. Or at least…" he thought through his new memories for a moment, "the lady who sold it at the info booth made it sound pretty interesting."
"Right," Bruce muttered in response. "Anyway, before yesterday, you were a perfectly unremarkable, if high-achieving, American twenty-something. Then suddenly, you called for me, alluded to knowing far more than you had any right to know, and are now spouting about the multiverse while you have the blood of—well, frankly, I'm not even sure if it qualifies as human blood, but you have it coursing through your veins." Bruce spun around and stared at Barry. "And you experienced a seizure when I did try to talk to you."
Barry was silent as he looked back at Bruce.
"In isolation, maybe—just maybe, I could rationalize some of those points with a reasonable sounding explanation. But in its totality, I can only conclude that something is afoot. Your story, as insane as it sounds, does fit in the missing puzzle piece."
Bruce paused and took a deep breath while rubbing the bridge of his nose. "And what, you said that you can run faster than anyone?"
"Well," Barry said, almost sheepishly, "sometimes I do say that I'm that fastest man al—" Barry cut off as he saw Bruce suddenly move, a throwing motion from which emerged a familiar but different shape. A batarang. Flying at him.
Time slowed. Blue lightning flickered out, arcing out from him into the metal railings and grating that made up the platform they stood on. With a sigh, Barry reached out and plucked the batarang out of the air. Time resumed.
Bruce sat back in his chair again. "So, you're really fast."
"Yes, though I'm going to say that calling it 'really fast' is really an oversimplification."
"Hm," Bruce hummed. "That's a useful power. And I could use that power right now, which is why your timing might be lucky for all of us." He spun halfway and tapped a key before spinning back to Barry. Behind him, the display changed to a schematic of a satellite.
"What is that?" Barry asked.
"A high-tech, state-of-the-art WayneTech deep space satellite that sits just past Jupiter. It's equipped with an array of sensors and cameras, and it monitors for deep space activity," Bruce explained. "And we lost contact with it two days ago."
"Deep space…" Barry said out loud. His brow furrowed.
"This is the last image it captured and sent back before it went offline." The display flickered again, and a shiver ran down Barry's spine.
It was the Kryptonian ship that had haunted his nightmares for years. The one that had hovered above Metropolis all those years ago, that had threatened to destroy not only the city but the entire world. And that nightmare had reignited just days ago. He couldn't get it out of his head—the older Bruce dying in the crash, dying in his arms. Kara falling against Zod again and again no matter what he and his younger self—the 'Anti-Flash'—had tried.
"You know what it is," Bruce stated matter-of-factly.
"It's the Kryptonians," Barry replied flatly. "They've found Superman, and now they're coming to get him."
"I didn't know that specifically, but I did know that whatever it was, it couldn't be good." Bruce stood up. "So, in response, I'm putting together a team. People with special abilities. The strongest in the world."
"I'm in," Barry immediately interjected.
Bruce paused for a moment, looking into Barry's eyes as if he was searching for something.
"Okay then," Bruce finally replied. "You're in." He turned for a moment before looking back at Barry. "And what was it that you called it?"
"The Justice League," Barry murmured, his eyes still glued to the display and to the image of the Kryptonian ship.
Bruce nodded. "Well then, Barry, welcome to the Justice League."
To Be Continued
Notes:
Here is the casting that I use to visualize the characters. I've also included where the exact look I imagine them to be is from.
Casting:
Barry Allen: Charlie Hunnam (Pacific Rim)
Bruce Wayne: Scott Eastwood (The Fate of the Furious)
Alfred Pennyworth: Sean Pertwee (Gotham)
Selina Kyle: Kristen Stewart (Gabrielle Chanel Ad)