Archive of Our Own ^beta

The world is nothing but light.

White-gold lightning, lashing across the horizon, breaking apart the sky. The air tastes like ozone and fire, the crackle of thunder vibrating in Barry’s bones as he runs. Asphalt peels away beneath his boots, his every stride shattering the ground into sparks. Beside him, another streak of red keeps pace—familiar, younger, steadier.

“Almost there!” Wally shouts over the roar, his voice thin against the storm. His eyes are locked on the fracture ahead—a seething wound in the air itself, where time and energy pour out like blood.

Barry doesn’t answer. He can’t tear his gaze from the breach, from the way it warps the air around it, bending sound, bending reality. The Speed Force shouldn’t bleed like this. It shouldn’t scream like this.

And yet here they are, two men racing the collapse of time itself.

Barry can feel the edges of it already, that pull like hands reaching out of the lightning, wanting him back, wanting him under. He shoves against it, pushes harder, his muscles burning.

It feels almost like coming home.

It feels almost like drowning.

“Keep pace!” Barry shouts, the storm already dragging at his chest, at his bones. His voice comes out harsher than he means, sharp with fear.

Beside him, Wally grins through the strain, that cocky smile Barry knows too well. “I am keeping pace! You’re the one slowing down.”

Barry’s heart twists. Even now. Even in the middle of all this—his boy still jokes, still shines.

But the truth is in Wally’s voice: the strain beneath the bravado, the rasp of lungs overworked. He’s burning himself too hot, too fast. Just like always. Just like Barry taught him.

“Careful,” Barry warns, low but firm, the way he used to say home before dark when Wally was still just a kid running rooftops for the thrill of it. “Don’t push past what your body can take. You can’t save anyone if you burn out.”

“I’m not a kid anymore,” Wally throws back, but there’s no edge to it. Not really. His shoulders square like he’s trying to prove it, but Barry hears what’s underneath. I need you here.

He knows that,

He knows Wally’s not a kid anymore.

He knew it when he gave Wally the mantel of flash.

Barry swallows hard, eyes fixed on the breach ahead. The Speed Force tears the air apart, pulling at him already, its voice a thousand whispers in his bones. It feels like it’s calling him by name.

He’d told himself it was temporary. That he needed time to heal, to breathe. That the world could survive without him for a while. But time hadn’t healed him. Time had taken more.

Iris, gone. His heart carved out of his chest. And Hal—

Hal who had pulled him out of the abyss, who had made him laugh when Barry thought he never would again. Hal who had been fire and fury and tenderness all at once, who had loved him recklessly, who had held him in the dark nights when Barry thought he might break.

Hal who had turned into something else. Something wrong. Parallax. Barry hadn’t seen it, hadn’t understood until it was too late. He’d fought him, screamed at him, broken apart with him. He’d hated him and loved him all at once.

And then Hal had died. Again.

Died to save the world.

And Barry hadn’t been able to stop it. Hadn’t been able to save him.

Even after the truth came out—that Parallax had been a parasite, that Hal had been twisted, trapped—Barry couldn’t shake the guilt. Couldn’t forgive himself for not seeing it. For not saving him. For still loving him through it all.

So Barry had stopped. Stopped running, stopped saving. He wasn’t The Flash anymore. He wasn’t anything but a man hollowed out by grief.

Until tonight.

Until Wally had called. his voice tight with urgency, his boy who carried the mantle now, his boy who had been raised in Barry’s house, at Barry’s table, who Hal had teased mercilessly until he rolled his eyes and muttered—Barry couldn’t say no.

Not when Wally said, “I can’t hold this breach alone. Please, Uncle Barry.”

So here he was. Running again.

Not for the city. Not for the League. Not for the mantle.

For Wally.

“Almost there!” Wally shouts, hair plastered to his forehead with sweat, his grin fierce against the storm. “Piece of cake!”

Barry almost smiles, but the sound that comes out is more a rasp than a laugh. “If you trip here, you don’t get cake. You unravel.”

Wally snorts, and for half a heartbeat, it feels almost normal. Feels like all those nights years ago when Barry stood at the kitchen counter with stopwatches, making Wally sprint block after block until he collapsed on the grass, groaning.

“Hell of a pep talk, bare,” Wally mutters, shaking his head—but the corner of his mouth tugs up anyway. Because even half-broken, even not himself, Barry is here. Running beside him. And that’s enough.

The breach looms ahead, shrieking like a wound in the sky. Lightning arcs wild around it, reaching like claws. Barry feels the pull the moment they draw close—the familiar hook of the Speed Force, stronger now, hungrier.

He grits his teeth, lengthening his stride, even as something inside him cracks.

Because he knows. He knows the current doesn’t want Wally.

It wants him.

“Barry?” Wally’s voice is sharp, carried thin over the roar of the storm. “You feel that?”

Barry doesn’t answer. Can’t. The air is gone from his lungs, stolen by the drag in his chest, the way the current latches on like barbed wire. His every step is harder, heavier. He can feel the lightning trying to split him apart, molecule by molecule.

And even worse his vision starts to split. He sees Wally sees what they’re running around but the other side? There’s glimpses of something else. Glimpses of different moments in time.

“Uncle Barry!” Wally barks it this time, his voice raw with panic. “Talk to me!”

Barry forces breath past his teeth. “Stay steady. Keep your rhythm.”

“You’re slipping.” Wally’s eyes are wide now, frantic as he keeps pace. He knows. Of course he knows. “Barry— fight it. Stay with me!”

But Barry can’t. Not all of him. The current digs deeper, pulling. Not like when he brushes the edge of the Speed Force in a normal run, letting its power carry him forward. This is different. This is possession.

And some quiet part of him—the part that has been so tired, so heavy with loss—whispers that maybe this is fine. Maybe this is what he’s been waiting for all along. To let go. To sink. To stop running away from what’s been chasing him since Iris. Since Hal.

The lightning claws deeper. Barry staggers, skids—then the ground is simply gone.

“Barry!” Wally’s shout cracks across the storm.

Barry turns his head just enough to see him: Wally’s face lit by the breach, terrified, determined, the boy who grew up under his roof, who learned to laugh at Hal’s bad jokes, who once fell asleep against Barry’s side on long nights when grief pressed too heavy for either of them.

Barry mouths something he isn’t sure Wally can hear—I’m sorry—and then he’s gone.

Dragged under

-

Light collapses into memory.

Barry stumbles, momentum still carrying him forward—only to slam hard into something solid. Someone.

They both grunt with the impact. Barry’s hands fly out, gripping warm arms, leather beneath his palms, steady muscle beneath that. He blinks, breath ragged, and the lightning still dancing on his skin sputters out.

“Watch it, Slowpoke.”

The voice hits him first. Familiar. Bright. Smirking.

Barry’s head snaps up, his heart skidding to a stop inside his chest.

Hal Jordan.

Standing there as if nothing had ever happened. As if years and death and Parallax and sacrifice hadn’t burned a hole in the world where he should have been.

Hal looks so young. His hair shorter, darker, the cocksure grin pulling wide across his mouth. His flight jacket slung over one shoulder, Lantern insignia gleaming faintly at his chest. His eyes—sharp, green, alive—sparkle with that infuriating mischief Barry used to swear drove him mad, though it only ever made him want to pull Hal closer.

And the sight of him now—whole, smirking, utterly alive—makes something inside Barry ache so sharp he almost folds. His knees nearly give.

Because he knows exactly what this is. When this is.

The Watchtower hangar. After one of their earliest joint missions together, before the weight of Coast City, before Parallax, before the end.

Memory.

The Speed Force has dragged him into a memory.

Barry swallows hard, still gripping Hal’s arms like they’ll vanish if he lets go. His throat burns. “Hal,” he breathes, voice breaking on the name.

Hal just quirks a brow at him, mouth tugging into that impossible grin. “What, you forget my name already?”

It’s cruel, how easy his voice sounds. How alive he looks. The soft scruff shadowing his jaw, the faint grease smeared on his cheek from tinkering in the hangar, the sharp line of his shoulders beneath that battered jacket. Barry drinks him in greedily, every detail carving deeper into him. Because this isn’t real. He knows it isn’t. It’s a memory—one of the last good ones. And Hal is gone.

Still, Barry can’t let go. His fingers tighten in the worn leather of Hal’s jacket, clutching like a drowning man. He should say something. Should tell Hal everything he never got to—but his throat seizes around the words.

Hal just laughs. “You’re staring. Not that I blame you.” He gives Barry a once-over, eyes lingering, bright with that infuriating spark. “What’s the matter, Allen? Cat got your tongue?”

Barry’s chest cracks. You’re dead. I buried you. I hated you and loved you and I wasn’t there when you—

But the words don’t come out. Instead he manages a smile, brittle and trembling, and forces his voice steady: “Just—making sure it’s really you.”

Hal claps him on the shoulder, solid and warm. “Always me. Unless you’ve been running around with some other guy in green.”

Barry almost laughs—almost. The sound tears in his chest. He wants to stay here. Wants to sink into this moment and never crawl out. Just one more breath of Hal’s cologne, one more sound of his laugh echoing through steel rafters.

But he can feel it—the tug beneath his skin, the pull of the current. He’s slipping, deeper into the stream.

And faintly—so faintly—he hears Wally.

Barry. Don’t drift. Don’t let it take you.

The voice is distant, but the tether is there. Warmth at the edge of the storm. His boy, running hard, refusing to let him go. Barry knows Wally. Knows he’ll keep pulling until his lungs burst, until he’s bleeding lightning. He won’t let Barry vanish, not without a fight.

Barry’s throat aches. He can’t stay. Not here. Not even for this.

He loosens his grip on Hal’s arms, steps back enough to breathe. “You’re in the way, flyboy.”

Hal’s grin sharpens. “I’m in the way? You’re the one who nearly flattened me. Can’t you slow down for two seconds?”

Barry huffs, trying to mimic the way he really said it the first time—casual, easy, like his chest wasn’t breaking open just standing here. “Not really in my nature.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Hal drawls, rolling his eyes. “All speed, no aim. You’re lucky I was here to catch you.”

Barry shakes his head, fighting down the ache rising in him. “Lucky? I’m late, Hal. Iris is going to kill me if I don’t make it back in time.”

Hal leans back against the jet, smug as ever. “Late for what? Another one of those charity dinners she drags you to?”

Barry flashes him a tight smile, trying to play along the way he did back then. “Something like that. And I don’t need you making me later.”

“Please,” Hal scoffs. “You love it when I slow you down. Admit it.”

Barry almost laughs. Almost. His chest hurts too much. “What I love is keeping my girlfriend from wondering if I’ve been flattened by a truck on the way home.”

Hal smirks, eyes gleaming with challenge. “You say that now, but one of these days, you’re gonna realize—”

Barry cuts him off, because he knows exactly how this moment ends. He remembers. He remembers the way he tossed it over his shoulder, half-joking, before sprinting off into the world again. He forces himself to say it, voice light, teasing:

“Don’t worry, Jordan, I’ll be back before you can even think of missing me.”

Hal barks a laugh. “Then I’ll never stop missing you.”

It’s playful. Banter. A quip volleyed back in the way Hal always did. But the words still lance through Barry’s chest, because he knows what they’ll come to mean. He knows how many times he’ll hear them again, echoing like a curse.

The tether pulls harder now. Lightning crackles at his heels, the storm opening wide.

Barry wants to stay. Wants to drink in Hal’s laugh one more time, stand in this moment until it burns into his skin. But he can feel Wally—far away, fighting to keep him anchored. His boy won’t let him go, and Barry can’t do that to him.

So he runs.

And the hangar rips apart into fire and storm

⚡️

Lightning tears at his heels as Barry runs. The hangar dissolves behind him, shards of white-gold breaking apart like glass, leaving him swallowed by storm. He tries to focus on the rhythm of his feet, the inhale-exhale of running, but the Speed Force doesn’t obey rhythm. It yanks him sideways, forward, backward. He sees flashes — fragments of light, fragments of Hal’s face — grins and glares and shadows of things that can’t be real.

He feels Wally, faint, so faint. That tether of warmth through the storm.

Barry. Stay with me. Keep running.

So he does. He runs, even as the storm folds around him, even as the ground reforms beneath his boots—

—and he slams into stillness.

The scent of food hits him first. Garlic, butter, sizzling meat. He blinks, chest heaving, and finds himself standing in the entry of a restaurant, too-bright lights glittering against polished windows. People laugh at tables, silverware clinking, voices carrying in warm hums.

And at the center of it—Hal.

Seated at a corner booth, leather jacket tossed carelessly beside him, his hair pushed back from his forehead. He leans back against the booth like he owns the place, casual and infuriating, a smirk tugging at his mouth as his eyes catch Barry’s across the room.

Late. Barry is late.

The realization slams into him, sharp as a blade. He knows this night. He knows exactly what this is.

Their first date. Something he never thought would happen not after..not after irirs.

Iris had died. Torn from him, leaving the house empty, leaving Wally a boy Already without parents without his aunt. Barry had taken him in because there was no one else, because he couldn’t bear to see Wally lost to the system, because Iris would have wanted him to. But it hadn’t been easy. Grief had hollowed him out; he’d barely been more than a shadow in those first months.

Hal had been there. Always there. Filling silence with noise, with jokes, with sharp words when Barry drowned too far. He’d shown up for Wally, too—teaching him how to throw a baseball, sneaking him ice cream late at night, arguing with Barry about bedtime until Wally laughed himself to sleep. Hal had been Barry’s best friend, the only thing that kept him from unraveling completely.

And somewhere in all that—somewhere between grief and laughter and the ache of moving forward—the friendship shifted. Became something else. Something deeper. Something Barry hadn’t dared name until Hal had leaned too close one night, eyes catching his in a way that made his heart stop.

This was that night. Their first date. Their first step into that “something else.”

Barry’s throat closes. He doesn’t move. Can’t move. He just stands there, staring across the restaurant at Hal waiting for him, knowing how much this night had meant, how much it had terrified him.

Hal raises his brows, amusement sparking in his eyes. “Well, look who finally decided to show up.”

Barry forces his legs to move, his heart aching with every step. He slides into the booth across from him, drinking in the sight like he might never see it again. (Because he won’t. Because Hal is gone. Because this is just a memory.)

“You’re late,” Hal says, voice warm with mock annoyance.

Barry laughs, a hollow sound in his own ears. “I was—caught up. Wally’s science project exploded.”

“Exploded?” Hal leans forward, interested. “The baking soda volcano?”

Barry shakes his head, remembering the mess of vinegar, baking soda, and glitter spread across the kitchen. “That was just the warm-up.”

Hal grins, sharp and dazzling. “Kid’s a genius. Takes after me.”

Barry’s chest aches.

Because Wally does. So much of Wally reminds him of Hal.

He drops into the booth across from him, the vinyl squeaking under his weight, and Hal slides a plate toward him without ceremony. Garlic bread, already steaming, golden at the edges.

“I figured you’d forget to eat.” Hal tears off a piece of his own and pops it in his mouth, chewing like he owns the place. “So I ordered appetizers. Don’t thank me all at once.”

Barry huffs, the corner of his mouth twitching despite himself. His stomach growls on cue. He hadn’t realized how hollow he felt—not just from the run, but from the last year of forgetting to take care of himself. He reaches for a piece, bites in, and the taste is almost enough to make his knees weak.

But he can’t stop looking at Hal. Can’t stop drinking him in, every detail. The way the warm light catches on his hair. The lazy sprawl of his posture, as if he has nothing to prove and everything to give. The quick flash of green eyes, sharp and alive.

It hurts. God, it hurts. To see him here, whole and smiling, when Barry knows this is just a memory. A night long gone. A night he’d been so stupidly nervous for, sitting across from the man who had been his best friend, the man who’d carried him through grief, the man he hadn’t dared hope might want him in return.

He remembers how his palms had sweated, how his words had tangled in his throat, how he’d tripped over nothing on his way into the booth and Hal had laughed like it was the funniest thing in the world.

And yet—Hal had leaned forward then, just as he leans forward now, chin propped on one hand, a smirk tugging his mouth. “You gonna keep staring at me, or do I have garlic on my face?”

Barry startles, heat rushing up his neck. He shoves another bite of bread into his mouth just to keep from answering.

Hal chuckles, rich and low. “That’s what I thought.”

Barry swallows hard, forces his voice steady. “You’re insufferable.”

“Mm,” Hal says, unconcerned. “And you love it.”

Barry shakes his head, fighting a smile that feels like it might split him open. “You’re lucky I even came tonight.”

Hal grins wider, leaning in across the table. “Lucky? You mean honored.”

Barry snorts, finally letting himself laugh. It feels fragile, delicate, like glass. “You keep talking like that and I might just leave you here.”

“Please,” Hal scoffs. “You wouldn’t survive five minutes without me.”

Barry’s smile falters. His chest squeezes, hard, the ache pressing sharper. Because he knows Hal did leave. And Barry hadn’t survived it at all.

He blinks fast, pushes the ache down. Tries to stay here, in the moment, where Hal is alive and teasing him, where the warm hum of the restaurant wraps around them like a shield against the dark. Where maybe—just maybe—this could be the beginning of something instead of another end.

But even as he tries to hold onto it, he feels the edges fraying. The hum of voices dimming, the walls flickering like heat-haze. He’s starting to piece it together. These aren’t just any memories. These are the moments where he’d always been forced to run. Where duty had cut through laughter, where he’d stood at the edge of something good and had to sprint away.

And God, how he wants to stay. Wants to dig in his heels, say fuck the timeline, fuck the Speed Force, fuck everything—and just sit here, across from Hal, basking in that grin until the world collapses around them.

But he knows what happens next. He remembers the way the alarms had gone off that night, the flash of green in Hal’s ring as he straightened, sighing. Their first date, cut short by an attack that neither of them could ignore.

Hal leans back, studying him, one brow arched. “You’ve got that look again. The one that means you’re about to bolt.”

Barry lets out a shaky laugh, trying to make it sound casual, like it had back then, even as his heart tears. “I have to. You know I do.”

Hal’s grin slides back into place, quick and irreverent, like he isn’t disappointed at all. Like he hadn’t been that night. “Figures. Flash always runs out when the food gets good.”

Barry swallows hard, forces the words that had spilled out half-joking, half-pleading the first time. “I’ll be back before you can even think of missing me.”

Hal snorts, tossing a piece of bread at him. “Then I’ll never stop missing you.”

It had been banter then. Nothing more. But now it lands like a knife, twisting in Barry’s chest.

The edges of the restaurant waver again, the storm tugging harder, lightning sparking beneath his skin.

And faintly—Wally’s voice, strained. Don’t let it keep you.

Barry grips the edge of the table so hard the wood groans. He doesn’t want to go. Not again. Not when Hal is right here, alive and waiting.

But he can feel it—the pull that won’t let him stay. And he knows Wally. Knows Wally’s still out there, refusing to let him slip.

So he memorizes the curve of Hal’s smirk, the gleam in his eyes, the warmth of the booth beneath his hands. Then, with a ragged breath, Barry pushes back his chair, rises—

—and runs.

The restaurant shatters into storm and lightning, laughter breaking into thunder

⚡️

Barry runs.

His chest aches, every stride like fire in his lungs. Not from the Speed Force. Not from the storm clawing at his heels. From himself. From everything he’s been trying to outrun—the grief, the sorrow, the weight of knowing he couldn’t save Iris, couldn’t save Hal, couldn’t save anyone who mattered most.

He’s thought about it. A thousand times. What it would mean to go back. To try. To stop Iris from stepping into that moment, to tear Parallax out of Hal before it ever touched him. God, he’s thought about it until the wanting gnawed holes in him.

But he knows. He knows what it would cost. Knows what happens when the timeline is broken. He’s seen it. Lived it. The world cracking open under the weight of his selfishness. He can’t do it again.

And yet—God, he wants to. He wants to hide here, in these fragments. Let them close around him like a cocoon. Pretend Hal isn’t gone, that he hasn’t already buried him twice over. Pretend he hasn’t failed them both.

The storm pulls, surges—until suddenly, the ground solidifies. The air warms. And Barry slams to a stop.

He barely has time to catch his breath before lips crash against his.

Hal’s lips.

Strong, sure, familiar. Hal’s hands fisting in his jacket, tugging him forward, pressing them together with a hunger that steals Barry’s air. Barry gasps against him, the sound breaking into a low, desperate groan as his own arms rise, clutching Hal like he’ll disappear if Barry lets go.

He kisses back with everything he has, every ounce of longing that’s been choking him for years. He drinks him in, drowns in the taste, in the way Hal’s stubble scrapes against his skin, in the scent of aftershave and jet fuel. Alive. Hal is alive in his arms.

Hal pulls back just enough to smirk against his mouth. “You’d think after a year of being together, I’d expect you to be late to our anniversary.”

Barry’s chest seizes. He remembers this night. He remembers rushing in breathless, guilty, already braced for Hal’s teasing. And he remembers how he’d kissed him anyway, too eager to wait.

“I’m sorry,” Barry whispers now, forehead pressed to Hal’s, voice shaking. “I’ll make it up to you. I promise.”

How he wishes he could make up for every wasted moment with Hal.

Hal huffs a laugh, low and rough, before dragging him back into another kiss. “You better.”

The kiss deepens, grows more desperate, more consuming. Hal pushes him back against the wall of their apartment, and Barry lets himself sink into it, hands clutching Hal’s shirt, mouth parting under his. Every second aches, every heartbeat screaming that this is what he should have chosen all along.

He was the fastest man alive. He’d had more time than most people could dream of. And still—still he hadn’t spent enough of it here. With Hal. Loving him. Holding him.

The regret burns like acid in his veins.

Barry kisses harder, like he can make up for every wasted second, like he can rewrite every night he ran late, every mission he chose over coming home. He pours all of it into Hal’s mouth, Hal’s hands, Hal’s body pressed against his—

And for one impossible heartbeat, he believes. Believes this is real. Believes he can stay.

Hal growls low, tugging at the zipper of Barry’s suit, pushing it down over his shoulders. “Finally,” he mutters against Barry’s mouth. “Fastest man alive, slowest damn boyfriend.”

Barry huffs a shaky laugh, curling his hands into Hal’s hair, dragging him closer. “Maybe if someone didn’t keep ambushing me the second I walked in the door—”

“Ambushing?” Hal kisses him hard enough to steal his breath. “This is me being romantic.”

Barry groans, letting his head fall back as Hal mouths along his jaw, stubble scraping his skin. “If this is your idea of romance—”

“You’d better not be complaining,” Hal interrupts, biting at his throat, his hand sliding beneath the half-unzipped suit.

Barry laughs again, but it’s broken, breathless. “Never.” His voice catches as Hal presses him harder against the wall, kisses turning greedy, consuming. For a moment, Barry lets himself sink. Lets himself believe this night isn’t a memory, that Hal is here, alive, his.

The pull of the current is there, though—at the edges of his skin, under his ribs. The storm waiting, hungry. The longer he lingers, the stronger it gets, threads of lightning weaving around him like chains, trying to drag him back. He can feel it consuming him, piece by piece, and he almost doesn’t care.

What’s left of him outside this moment, anyway? Out there is grief, and loneliness, and the hollow echo of Hal’s absence. Here—here is warmth. A kiss. A future that had once been his.

Barry moans into Hal’s mouth, clinging tighter, desperate, like if he kisses him long enough he can drown the current out.

But then—

Dad!

The voice punches through him, jagged and pleading, distorted by the storm but still undeniable. Don’t leave me! Please—come back!

Barry’s breath shatters in his chest. Wally. His boy. Their boy. The one Hal had helped him raise, the one who was out there now, fighting to keep Barry tethered.

Barry wants to ignore it. Wants to let himself be swallowed. But he can’t. He can’t leave Wally like that—not when Hal would never forgive him, not when Hal himself would tell him to go.

Tears sting his eyes. With a ragged sound, Barry tears his mouth away, pushes Hal back—not gently, not like the memory. Not how it went.

Hal blinks, startled, confusion flashing across his face. “Barry—?”

Barry surges forward, kissing him one last time, desperate, trembling. He pulls back just far enough to whisper the words he’d thrown out so lightly that night, but now they taste like blood in his mouth. “I’ll be back before you can even think of missing me.”

Hal frowns, eyes narrowing in confusion, but the familiar quip slips out anyway, automatic. “Then I’ll never stop missing you.”

Barry chokes on a sob. “I’m sorry.”

And then he runs.

Lightning detonates around him, tearing the apartment, tearing Hal, tearing the warmth of home to pieces. He bursts back into the storm, chest breaking open, Wally’s voice echoing in his ears.

Don’t let it take you. Stay with me.

⚡️

Lightning tears away the warmth of the apartment, the taste of Hal still on Barry’s lips, until the storm slams him into ash and ruin.

He doesn’t need to look up to know where he is. The smell tells him—smoke, concrete dust, charred flesh. His boots crunch over glass and bone. The skyline is gone, replaced by jagged rubble clawing at a burning sky.

Coast City.

His knees almost buckle. His chest hollows out. He knows this moment—knows it too well.

Parallax hadn’t come all at once. It was a whisper at first. A flicker in Hal’s eyes, a tension in his jaw. The smallest lapses in his easy grin, his jokes landing sharper than they should. Barry had told himself it was stress—missions, the Corps, the endless weight they both carried.

But then the cracks widened. Hal was angrier, more reckless. He came home from battles seething, pacing like a caged animal, his temper striking quick and cruel. Nights once filled with laughter and teasing turned brittle, arguments igniting from nothing.

Barry had tried—God, he had. But the changes in Hal had terrified him. He’d seen the light dimming in his eyes, seen him slipping into someone Barry didn’t recognize. And instead of reaching for him, instead of asking—what’s happening to you, how can I help?—Barry pulled away.

He ended things.

He told Hal they couldn’t do this anymore, not when Hal frightened him, not when the man he loved was being replaced by someone volatile, unpredictable. He’d said things he could never take back. That Hal wasn’t himself anymore. That he couldn’t trust Hal around Wally anymore. That Barry couldn’t love a stranger. That maybe he never should have.

Hal had begged—furious and broken in the same breath—but Barry had stood his ground. He’d told him to leave.

And Hal had. Straight into the arms of the thing that had been waiting all along.

Parallax.

The parasite slid in through the cracks Barry had left, corrupting grief into rage, twisting love into obsession. And Barry hadn’t seen it. Hadn’t recognized it for what it was until it was far too late

Now—Barry stumbles into the heart of that failure.

Hal is on his knees in the street, ash coating his hands, eyes burning with wild fury. His chest heaves, his mouth twisted with anguish.

Barry’s heart rips open. This is it—the moment that haunts him most. The moment where he should have seen past the anger, should have fallen to his knees and held Hal until the parasite lost its grip.

But he hadn’t. He’d let betrayal and fear blind him. He’d yelled, screamed, told him to never come back. He’d threatened him. He’d turned away when Hal needed him most.

And this memory replays it in perfect, merciless detail.

Hal drags his hands through the ash, clumps slipping through his fingers like sand. His voice is ragged, ruined. “They’re gone. Everyone I loved—gone.” His head snaps up, eyes bloodshot, wild, already shadowed by something darker. “And where were you, Barry? Where the hell were you?”

Barry staggers forward, hands trembling, tears stinging his eyes. “Hal—”

“You weren’t here.” Hal shoves to his feet, rage burning through the grief, a fury that makes him shake. “You’re always gone. Running off to save everyone else while the people who need you—me—get left behind.” His voice cracks. “You’re lightning and excuses. That’s all you’ve ever been.”

The words hit like knives. Barry folds in on himself, sob spilling free. He remembers answering with fire then—anger, betrayal, his own grief turned to poison on his tongue. If you walk out that door, don’t come back. I mean it, Hal. Don’t you dare come back.

He hears his own voice echoing through the rubble, venomous, final.

But he can’t repeat it now. Not when he knows. Not when every nightmare since has dragged him back here.

He can feel Wally close, too close—his tether brushing hot against his ribs, like his boy is running just at the edge of this memory, holding the line. Barry shakes his head, choking on sobs. He doesn’t want Wally to see this. Doesn’t want him to know the ugliest, most damning truth—that Barry had abandoned Hal in the moment he needed him most.

Barry staggers forward, chest splitting. He cups Hal’s face, trembling fingers smearing soot across his skin, and presses a kiss to his forehead. His tears drop into Hal’s hair.

“I’m sorry,” Barry whispers, his voice breaking, desperate. “God, I’m so sorry. I love you, Hal. I always loved you. I should’ve stayed. I should’ve seen. I should’ve—” His words fracture into sobs. “I should’ve saved you.”

Hal blinks at him, confusion flashing for just a moment in those ruined green eyes. His mouth parts, but no sound comes out.

Barry presses his forehead to Hal’s, breath shuddering. He forces the words out—words that once were banter, but now are soaked in grief. “I’ll be back before you can even think of missing me.”

Because he will. Because he sees this too often in his dreams.

Hal sways, still staring at him like he’s trying to understand, like the script has shifted and he doesn’t know the lines.

Barry breaks completely, his sobs shattering into the storm. “I’m sorry,” he whispers again, the words torn from his soul.

And then the lightning takes him.

The city rips away. Hal rips away. Barry runs, blinded by tears, chest hollowed out as Wally’s voice cuts through like a lifeline.

Just a little longer Barry, please!

⚡️

The storm spits him out again.

Barry’s boots slam into hard ground, his vision already seared white by the blaze ahead. His heart plummets. He knows where he is before the scene even resolves, before the screaming in the air confirms it.

Final Night.

And Hal—his Hal—is at the center of it, burning like a star.

The light is too bright, too consuming, eating him alive. Barry’s breath catches in his throat, a raw, broken sound tearing out of him. “No—”

He stumbles forward, arm raised as if he could reach through fire, as if he could drag him down, stop him, hold him just once more. But he can’t. He never could.

“Hal!” His voice shreds in his throat. “Please—don’t—”

But Hal doesn’t look back. His silhouette blazes, his body dissolving into fire and brilliance, sacrifice written in every line.

Barry sobs, collapsing to his knees, hands clutching uselessly at the ground. He doesn’t want to see this again. He can’t.

Because this is the end. This is the end.

The fire swallows Hal whole.

Barry’s vision fractures. His chest splits, air searing his lungs. He can feel himself unraveling, stumbling, falling into the blaze with him. His body shakes, unable to hold the grief, the loss, the rage. Not again. He can’t do this again.

Barry!

Wally’s voice tears through the fire, ragged with panic. Barry, get out of there! Don’t let it take you!

Barry claws at his chest, gasping. The tether burns hot, pulling.

And he runs.

He rips himself from the fire, from Hal’s death, from the memory that still stalks his dreams. Lightning cracks around him, shoving him forward before he can collapse completely.

Wally’s voice floods through, closer now, desperate. Don’t you dare leave me, Dad. Don’t you dare

⚡️

Barry is gasping for air.

Every breath scorches his throat, his chest caving like he’s drowning. His legs feel like lead, each stride a battle. He knows he shouldn’t stop, knows the current will consume him if he does—but God, he’s numb, he’s starving, every muscle screaming for relief.

He’s so, so goddamn tired.

The lightning storm blurs around him, the tether to Wally burning thin. His body sways, knees threatening to give. And then—

Solid ground slams beneath his feet.

Barry stumbles forward, nearly pitching to his hands. His vision reels. He blinks sweat and tears from his eyes, The treadmill whines under the speed, lightning flickering faintly around his ankles. He knows he shouldn’t stop—knows if he slows too much, the storm will take him again, rip him back into fire and ash and screams.

But he can still hear the screams. Hal’s voice burning out into the void, pleading and furious and gone. The memory clings to him like soot, pressing against his ribs until he can’t draw air.

And Wally—God, Wally—Wally’s voice is still in his head, frantic and thin, stretched by distance but sharp with fear. Dad. Don’t give in. Keep running. Please keep running.

Barry’s whole body shakes. He hits the stop button.

The treadmill whines down, the belt jerking beneath his stumbling feet until he catches himself on the rail. His chest heaves, sweat dripping down his temples, stinging his eyes. His legs quake under him, so heavy he isn’t sure they’ll hold.

He leans forward, palms flat on the console, gasping, dizzy. He can’t keep this up. He’s too tired. Too broken. The Speed Force can eat him whole and maybe that’s fine. Maybe he deserves it.

Something drops into the cupholder with a thunk.

Barry startles.

A chilled water bottle. Beads of condensation sliding down the plastic.

And then a towel is slung around his neck, soft cotton brushing his shoulders.

Barry blinks, sways, blinking salt and exhaustion out of his eyes. Slowly, he turns.

Hal.

Standing there like it’s the most natural thing in the world. Same flight jacket. Same sharp grin tugging at his mouth. His hair maybe a little longer, maybe a little neater than Barry remembers, but not different enough to make sense. Not older. Just… changed.

Barry’s chest seizes. His heart stutters.

Hal tilts his head, casual as ever. “You look like hell.”

Barry stares, breathless, body trembling. His throat works, but no sound comes out.

Hal presses the water into his hand, eyes glinting. “Don’t tell me you forgot hydration. Rookie mistake.”

Barry grips the bottle like it’s the only thing keeping him from flying apart. His vision blurs again, sweat and tears indistinguishable. His mind claws for reason—for something.

A memory, he tells himself. It has to be a memory. One he forgot. A night at the Watchtower gym, Hal showing up, teasing him, steadying him when he pushed too far.

That’s all this is. A forgotten moment.

It has to be.

Because the alternative—the thought that this is something else, something real—would break him.

Barry swallows hard, forcing air into his lungs, and wipes his face with the towel. His hands shake. “Hal…” he manages, his voice cracking on the name.

Hal just smirks, steady, bright, like none of the years between them ever happened. “Don’t slow down now, Slowpoke. You’ll lose all that progress.”

Barry’s knees nearly give. His body screams to collapse. His heart screams to believe.

And his mind—his mind is nothing but confusion.

Then Hal steps in close, pressing a soft kiss against his mouth. It’s gentle, lingering, achingly familiar. The kind of kiss you give someone you’ve kissed a thousand times before. Barry trembles, clutching at Hal’s shirt, desperate to keep him here, to keep this real.

The shrill alarm blares overhead, slicing through the haze. Barry flinches, the sound cutting sharp through his chest. A call to run. Always a call to run.

Hal sighs, already reaching to grab the towel off Barry’s shoulders and toss it aside. “Figures. Can’t even make it through a workout without the universe clawing for your attention.” He presses the water bottle firmer into Barry’s hand. “Drink before you drop.”

Barry doesn’t drink. Doesn’t move. His chest heaves, tears stinging hot at the corners of his eyes. And before he can think better of it, he surges forward, kissing Hal hard, trembling, pouring every scrap of grief and longing into it.

“I love you,” Barry whispers against his mouth, voice breaking. His hands cup Hal’s face, his thumbs dragging across his cheekbones like he could carve the moment into his palms. “I love you, Hal.”

Hal blinks, stunned, confusion flickering in his eyes. It doesn’t matter if Barry had said it here in truth. It doesn’t matter if this isn’t how the moment had really gone. Barry needs to say it now. Needs Hal to hear it, even in a memory.

Hal recovers quick enough, a crooked grin tugging at his lips, softer at the edges. “Took you long enough.”

Barry chokes on a laugh, tears spilling anyway. He kisses him again, desperate and shuddering.

The alarm blares louder, insistent. Hal pushes him lightly back with a smirk, wrinkling his nose. “Go. Before they start sending people in here to drag you out. And shower after—you’re disgusting. I’ll be here when you’re done.” His grin sharpens, fond and teasing. “If you’re quick, maybe I’ll even let you buy me dinner before round two.”

Barry’s chest cracks open. He kisses him one more time, slow and aching, then whispers the words he always does: “I’ll be back before you can even think of missing me.”

Hal rolls his eyes, but his reply is softer, steadier. “Then I’ll never stop missing you.”

Barry presses their foreheads together, voice breaking. “I’m sorry.”

And then the storm claws him away, tearing Hal from his arms, leaving only lightning and grief behind

⚡️

Barry’s legs are jelly, his lungs ripping apart with each breath. He clutches the paper bag like it’s an anchor, grease staining his fingertips. The smell of fried food makes his stomach turn—how could he be carrying this? How could he be holding anything?

He lifts his head, blinking through the blur, and freezes.

Coast City.

But not the city he buried. Not the smoking ruin carved into his nightmares. This Coast City is alive, glittering towers reaching for the sun, streets buzzing with life. Lanterns soar above in arcs of emerald light, their rings painting the sky.

Barry’s heart lurches. His knees nearly buckle. This isn’t right.

And then a hand claps his back, jolting him hard enough that the bag crinkles.

He startles, almost dropping it.

Kyle Rayner is beside him, grinning like nothing’s wrong, eyes warm with recognition. “Took you long enough,” he says easily, stealing the bag from Barry’s unsteady grip. “Hal’s gonna think you bailed on him.”

Barry stares, throat locking tight. Kyle. He barely knows Kyle—never let himself. Talking to him was like brushing fingers against a fresh wound. Because Kyle came after. Kyle was the one who had to carry what Hal left behind. As far as Barry knows, Kyle and Hal never even—

His head spins, his breath breaking. “Kyle,” he rasps, voice raw.

Kyle glances back, brow arched like it’s obvious. “Yeah? Don’t tell me you forgot my name already, old man.”

Barry shakes his head, staggering after him. His vision is splitting down the middle. On one side, Kyle striding toward the plaza, bag swinging from his hand, sunlight gleaming on glass towers. On the other side—threads of lightning, the Speed Force storm clawing at him, and Wally running hard beside him, his face tight with terror, screaming words Barry almost hears.

The two layers blur until Barry doesn’t know which is real. But he knows one thing with absolute certainty: this isn’t another timeline. This isn’t some alternate world. No—he can feel it in his bones. This is his. The same line he’s always lived. It just doesn’t make sense.

Because Hal’s dead. And as far as Barry knows, Hal and Kyle never stood in the same place, never shared this easy camaraderie. And yet—

“Barry.”

His gaze jerks forward.

Hal.

Standing at the far end of the plaza, sunlight catching his hair, ring glinting. Alive. Whole. A faint smile tugging his mouth, eyes locked on Barry like they always had been.

Barry nearly collapses. His lungs seize, a sob choking him. This can’t be real. It can’t. But he can see him. He can see him.

Kyle grins, tossing the bag lightly in his hand. “See? Told you your boyfriend was waiting.”

“Fiancé,” Hal corrects smoothly, still watching Barry with that unbearable warmth.

Barry’s heart shatters. His mind claws for something, anything, but nothing holds.

Fiancé?

No, that’s not— that’s not right. He had considered it, sure. They’d been together three years by then. Friends for longer. Hell, best friends for half their lives. They’d even talked about it once or twice, over late dinners, over the quiet hum of the Watchtower at night. But Hal had shrugged, said marriage wasn’t something he cared about, not the way others did. Not the way Barry had. And Barry had accepted that. He’d already been married before, he was happy with what he and Hal were.

So hearing the word now—he can’t make it fit. His mind claws back at him. Fiancé? When? How?

It doesn’t make sense.

Barry staggers, leaning heavily into Hal’s side without realizing it, sweat dripping into his eyes. His breath is ragged, lungs tearing. He’s shaking, vision split between this shining Coast City plaza and the storm of the Speed Force tearing him apart.

He feels it suddenly—pressure at his wrist, a hand yanking. Wally. Clear as lightning, his boy’s grip burning through the blur. Barry jerks instinctively, reaching back—

And that’s when he sees it.

His fingers are fading. Skin dissolving into light, unraveling at the seams.

Hal sees it too. His eyes widen, the faint smirk wiped clean. “Barry—your hands.”

Kyle freezes, bag of food dangling forgotten from his fist, his jaw tightening. “What the hell—?”

Barry’s throat convulses. “I— I don’t know.” His voice breaks. “God, I don’t—” He drags in a shuddering breath, but the words fall out anyway. “I’m slipping. Into the time stream. I’ve been—running. Trying to stabilize Wally—there was a breach, a tear—this..this isn’t real”

Kyle steps in close, steadying him with a hand at his back. His expression hardens, thoughtful, but there’s a flicker in his eyes, like recognition. Like he understands.

Hal’s grip on him tightens. “How do we stop it? Tell me how to make it stop.”

Barry shakes his head, sobs breaking free. “I don’t know, I don’t—” His knees give, and he collapses fully against Hal, clutching at him with fading fingers. He’s shaking so hard he can barely stay upright. “This doesn’t make sense. It can’t make sense. This—this isn’t real.”

Hal holds him tight, voice raw, urgent. “Barry! Look at me. Tell me what’s happening.”

Barry chokes. His whole body is coming apart, his vision splintering so badly he can see Wally and—God, another voice, younger, sharper—Bart?—shouting beside him in the storm. Two layers, two lives, colliding at once. He squeezes his eyes shut, sobbing.

“I was running with Wally. The breach—it pulled me under. And now I’m here, but I don’t know when I am, and it doesn’t matter, because it can’t—” His words break. It can’t be the future. If he lets himself believe that, if he let himself hope— No. No, he can’t.

Kyle’s voice cuts through, sharp but not unkind. “Barry.” His hand squeezes Barry’s shoulder, steady and grounding. “You can’t stay here. You need to run.”

Barry stares at him, vision fracturing into lightning. He knows Kyle is right. Knows it with the same certainty he knows he can’t stay in this moment. His chest heaves with sobs. “I’m so tired.”

Hal cups his face, pulling him up, pressing their foreheads together. His voice is trembling, fierce. “I know. I know you’re tired. But you don’t stop now. You hear me? You run.”

Barry’s dissolving hands fist weakly in Hal’s jacket, clinging like a man already gone. “Hal, I—” His voice breaks, raw. “I love you.”

Hal’s lips find his, desperate and soft, a kiss that feels like a brand. When he pulls back, his green eyes are blazing. “Then run, Barry. Run for me.”

Barry sobs, kisses him again, whispering against his mouth, “I’ll be back before you can even think of missing me.”

Hal’s smile is small, breaking, but steady. “Then I’ll never stop missing you.”

Another kiss, quick and firm, sealing the promise. And then Hal shoves him back—not cruel, not angry, but forcing him forward, forcing him away.

“Go.”

Barry stumbles, lightning exploding at his heels, the world fracturing around him.

And in the storm, Wally’s grip tightens, another voice shouting with his. Pull him! Don’t let go!

Barry runs.

⚡️

The plaza shatters.

Hal’s kiss, Kyle’s voice, the gleam of Coast City—ripped to ribbons in an instant, shredded into storm-light.

Barry slams back into the current, lightning ripping across his body, heat searing his skin raw. His stride falters. His vision fractures into jagged layers—the city still glowing in his mind, overlaid with the blinding chaos of the Speed Force. His body convulses, half here, half gone.

Two hands grab him—one on either side.

“I’ve got him!” Wally’s voice, hoarse, breaking.

“Don’t let go!” Bart yells, his tone cracking with urgency.

Barry stumbles, barely upright, clinging to the tether of their touch. His lungs are ragged, each inhale a knife. Sweat burns his eyes.

“Pull out!” Wally shouts, panic spiking sharp. “We’re done, Barry, you’re falling apart—we have to pull out now—”

A crackle in his ear, distorted but clear enough to pierce the storm: Batman’s voice, low and demanding. Flash. Report. What’s happening in there?

Barry shakes his head violently, chest heaving, refusing the words even as his body crumbles. “No—we can’t stop. Not yet. It’s not stabilized.” His HUD flickers into his vision, red warnings screaming, numbers spiking dangerously high. “Just a few more laps—just a few—”

“Barry!” Wally jerks him hard, their lightning snarling together. His voice is raw, furious. “Look at yourself! You’re unraveling. I can’t hold you together. If you keep pushing, I’ll lose you. I won’t—” his voice breaks, thick with grief, “—I won’t lose you too.”

The words hit like a blade. Barry flinches, Iris’s name flashing in his mind, Hal’s face consumed by fire. Too. Always too.

Before Barry can speak, Bart cuts in, running at his side, eyes wide and wild, voice climbing higher. “No! If he stops now, he’s gone. You don’t get it—he’s already inside it.” He points, panicked, at Barry’s body, light sparking off him in jagged bursts. “Stopping now will swallow him whole!”

Barry gasps, stumbling. He can feel it—the edges of himself dissolving, the current gnawing at him, pulling pieces away. He clenches his jaw, forcing the words through broken breaths. “See? He’s right. I’m fine—” a harsh cough wracks him—“we need to finish this.”

“You’re not fine!” Wally snarls, his grip bruising. “You’re dying! Do you even hear yourself?”

Barry jerks his arm free, staggering forward on his own legs, lightning shattering off him in arcs. “If I stop—if I stop now—then all of this was for nothing.” His eyes burn. “I can’t let it be for nothing.”

Wally’s eyes blaze through the mask, every line of him trembling. “Then swear to me.” His voice cracks. “Swear you won’t let it swallow you.”

Barry meets his gaze. His boy. The son he raised. The son he cannot fail. His throat closes, but he nods once, hard. “I swear.”

For a heartbeat, Wally doesn’t let go. His grip is iron, desperate, as if he could hold Barry in place through sheer will. Then, with a ragged breath, he releases him.

Bart is already surging ahead, lightning scattering like fireworks behind him. “Then run! Faster’s cleaner!”

Barry forces his legs to move, lungs tearing, muscles screaming. His stride lengthens, agony with every step. For a moment he falters—then he digs deeper, picking up speed, the storm bending around him.

Wally catches his left flank, Bart streaks on his right, and suddenly the three of them are in sync, their lightning braiding together, weaving a pattern that steadies the chaos. The storm snarls, fights back—but with every lap the pressure shifts, the rift’s screaming edge beginning to smooth.

Barry’s HUD flickers—red to amber, amber to green. Stabilization climbing. Readings sliding toward balance.

And he feels it. The rhythm. The lock clicking into place. The breath of order in the chaos.

Barry pushes harder, his body breaking and burning, but the tether holds. Their lightning ignites the void, blazing across the storm.

And then—

Light erupts ahead. White-gold. Blinding.

The rift tears open.

And Barry is flung into the next moment.

⚡️

Barry stumbles out of the light and into stillness.

The air is dry, warm, tasting of dust. Sand stretches endlessly around him, dunes rippling gold under the setting sun. The storm is gone—no screaming lightning, no tearing current, only the pulse of his own ragged breaths.

He bends double, hands braced on his knees, chest heaving. Every muscle trembles, his legs close to buckling. He swore to Wally. He promised. A few more laps and the breach would be sealed. He can’t stop—not now. The longer he stays still, the more the current will catch him, drag him under.

But God—he doesn’t want to move.

Because he’s so tired. So damn tired. He’d keep running until the Speed Force burned him away if it meant he could see Hal again. Just once more. One more glimpse of him alive.

Barry squeezes his eyes shut, teeth gritted. His mind claws at what he saw last—Hal and Kyle in Coast City, normal, casual, real. And it hurts. Hurts so much he can barely breathe. Because if it was real—if it was the future—then Hal is alive, and Barry… Barry can’t let himself believe that. Hope is too dangerous. It’ll break him worse than grief ever did.

Something hits his chest with a soft thud.

Barry startles, fumbling—his shaking hands catch it before it falls. A protein bar.

He blinks up.

Hal is descending from the sky, emerald light fading as his boots touch the sand. Lantern suit gleaming, his presence strong and steady. The sunset burns behind him, painting the world in fire.

And his hair—his hair is streaked with gray at the temples.

Barry’s chest caves, his throat closing around a sob. He can’t breathe. He can’t move.

“Took you long enough,” Hal says, voice warm, familiar, steady as the desert horizon. He steps closer, green eyes fixed on Barry’s like nothing else in the world matters.

Barry drops the protein bar, forgotten, his gaze locked on Hal. He staggers forward, hand trembling as he lifts it, fingertips brushing against the silver at Hal’s temple. His voice is a whisper, breaking. “You’ve got gray.”

Hal huffs a laugh, soft and fond. “Only kept it because you like it so much.”

Barry sways, shaking his head, tears spilling down his face. He can’t speak. Can’t understand. His body is unraveling, his spirit on the edge of giving in—but Hal is here. Real, steady, warm.

Hal reaches out, palms settling against Barry’s shoulders, grounding him in place. “Hi, Barry.”

And Barry shatters.

He collapses forward, clutching Hal like he’ll vanish if he lets go, sobs tearing out of his chest. Hal catches him easily, arms wrapping around him, steady and warm, holding him against the heat of his body as if nothing in the universe could pry them apart.

Barry buries his face in his shoulder, gasping. “I can’t—I can’t keep running. I don’t care if this kills me. I just wanted—just one more moment. I don’t care if this is some alternate timeline, I don’t care if it’s fake. I just—” His voice breaks into a ragged sob. “God, I miss you so much.”

Hal’s arms tighten around him, lips pressing briefly to Barry’s temple. His voice is low, rough with something Barry can’t name. “I know. I know you do.” He swallows, holding Barry even closer. “And I’m sorry. I’ve said it before, I’ll say it a hundred more. I’m sorry.”

Barry shakes his head, clutching him tighter, fingers digging into the armor of his Lantern suit. “No—no, don’t. If anyone should be sorry, it’s me. I should’ve realized—I should’ve done something—if I’d seen it, if I’d fought harder, maybe you wouldn’t have—” His voice chokes, the words splintering.

“Wouldn’t have what?” Hal prompts softly, but firmly, tilting Barry’s chin up just enough so their eyes meet.

Barry’s lips tremble. “Died.”

Hal’s gaze is steady, green burning like fire in the desert dusk. “It wasn’t your fault. It wasn’t Wally’s. It wasn’t the Corps’. It was mine. Mine alone.” His thumb brushes Barry’s cheek, grounding him. “I know that. I’ve made my peace with it.”

Barry’s chest caves, tears spilling unchecked. “I love you. I should’ve realized, Hal. I should’ve saved you.”

Hal shakes his head, but his own eyes shine. He leans in, kisses Barry once—soft, slow, a promise and an apology in one. When he pulls back, his voice trembles, but his words are steady. “I love you too. Always. And I’m sorry—for everything I put you through. For everything I’m going to put you through.”

Going to put you through?

Barry blinks, confusion breaking through the grief. His breath stutters. “What… what does that mean?”

Hal hesitates, then his smile tilts, sad and knowing. “Barry… tell me. When you’re in the current—when you’re in the time stream—what do you see?”

Barry’s heart lurches, his chest aching, because he knows. He knows what Hal is asking. The images, the moments—some behind him, some ahead. Things he’s lived. Things he hasn’t. Things he shouldn’t have seen.

But he can’t say it. Can’t admit it. Because if he does, then he’ll have to face the truth: that this is real. That this is still coming. That Hal will come back.

And hope will break him worse than death.

Barry’s knees buckle, sand slipping under his boots. His whole body trembles as the storm claws at him, lightning licking across his calves, pulling, dragging. He can feel it—every second he lingers, it’s sinking hooks deeper into him.

Hal doesn’t flinch. His hands tighten on Barry’s shoulders, steadying him. “Come one bare, you know what this is”

Barry shakes his head violently, tears burning tracks down his face. “Don’t—don’t.” His voice cracks, breaking open. “If I believe this, if I believe in you, and it’s not real—if I lose you again—” He chokes, sobs tearing out of him. “Hal, I can’t. I can’t survive that again.”

Because he can’t face it. It’s too much. He can’t risk the hole Hal’s death carved in him getting any bigger, they’ll truly be too little of him left if he does. And believing Hal’s going to come back? Believing this is his future? Only for it never to happen ? He can’t.

Hal leans his forehead against Barry’s, the storm crackling around them, heat and light threatening to swallow them whole. His voice is low but certain, cutting through the chaos like a blade. “Then you’ll just have to find the will to keep going. Even without me. Find the strength. Find the hope.”

Barry lets out a bitter, broken laugh, lightning sparking around his fists. “Those were you, Hal. Always you. Not me.”

“No.” Hal shakes his head sharply, green eyes burning as fierce as his ring. His hands frame Barry’s face like he’s holding something sacred. “You’ve been my willpower. Every mission, every fight—it wasn’t the Corps. It wasn’t the ring. It was you. The thought of getting home to you. You’re the reason I keep pushing.” His voice catches, then steadies again, iron in its softness. “And I will come home. I swear it.”

The storm roars, sand tearing up around them in spirals, sky cracking with thunder. Barry staggers against him, vision fracturing—Hal in front of him, Wally in the storm screaming his name, Bart’s voice layered behind, desperate. He’s breaking apart, dissolving into light.

“Hal—” Barry sobs, clutching him, trembling so violently he can hardly breathe.

Hal smiles, tender and steady, gray catching fire in the sunset. He leans in, presses a kiss to Barry’s mouth, slow and searing, grounding him against the storm. “I’ll be back before you can even think of missing me.”

Barry’s chest caves. His voice rips raw, trembling against Hal’s lips. “Too late. I’ll never stop missing you.”

Hal kisses him again, harder this time, like he’s anchoring Barry in place, like he’s branding the truth into him. When he pulls back, his voice is fierce, unshakable. “Then hold onto that. Hold onto me. Because I’m coming back. And you’ll be here to see it.”

The desert splits apart, the Speed Force howling, lightning surging like claws around Barry’s legs, his chest, his throat. He’s seconds from being swallowed whole.

Hal cups his face one last time, presses their foreheads together. “Run, Bare. Finish this. I’ll find you on the other side.”

And with a firm push, he shoves Barry back into the storm.

The desert vanishes, the sun vanishes, Hal vanishes—

And Barry runs.

Lightning detonates across the void, the tether snapping hot as Wally and Bart’s voices slam back into his ears, screaming his name, hauling him home.

⚡️

The storm collapses.

The rift screams one last time, then implodes into silence. The air clears, the lightning dies, and suddenly they’re running on nothing but their own legs.

Barry stumbles, his stride breaking. His knees buckle, body crumpling under him. Before he hits the ground, two hands snag him—Wally on one side, Bart on the other. But they’re barely standing themselves, their lightning sputtering, their chests heaving with ragged, gasping breaths.

Together they slow, momentum dragging them down, until the three of them skid across scorched concrete. Barry falls hard, head rolling onto Wally’s lap, Bart collapsing at his side with his palms pressed to the ground, chest heaving like a drowning man.

For a moment, there’s only the sound of panting. Three heartbeats hammering in unison. The sharp tang of ozone hanging in the air.

Barry’s body convulses with tremors, sweat soaking through his suit. His breath rasps, each inhale a jagged knife. Wally’s fingers push through his damp hair, trembling, grounding him, while Wally himself can barely keep his shoulders steady. Bart curls forward on his knees, arms wrapped around himself, teeth grit against the tremors wracking his body.

Then—thunder of boots.

The League.

Batman’s cape whips as he drops to a crouch beside them, his gauntlets already skimming over Barry’s chest, checking vitals. “Talk to me. What happened?” His voice is sharp, but there’s an edge of urgency he can’t mask.

Wonder Woman kneels on the other side, pressing her hand over Barry’s pulse point, eyes narrowing with worry. “His heart is racing—too fast. He won’t hold like this.”

“Medical now,” Batman snaps over his shoulder. “Get J’onn. Lantern, I need containment.”

Kyle’s ring flares, green energy humming as he shapes a shield around them, steadying the raw air still buzzing with Speed Force static. He’s breathing hard, eyes darting between Barry and the two younger speedsters.

Barry blinks weakly, chest convulsing with another sob, his gaze dragging to Kyle’s hand. To the ring. His throat closes, grief and longing twisting sharp. He can’t look away.

“What happened?” Batman presses again, turning to Wally.

Wally shakes his head, panting, his own face pale and drawn. His fingers never stop carding through Barry’s hair, grounding him. “He was—slipping. Into the time stream. The breach nearly pulled him under.” His voice cracks, raw with fear. “I almost couldn’t bring him back.”

Bart lifts his head, still trembling, his voice high, strained. “We had to keep running—if we’d stopped, it would’ve eaten him alive.” He looks down at Barry, wide-eyed. “We almost lost you.”

Barry gasps, chest hitching. Tears streak down his face, fresh and hot. The words claw out of him, broken. “I …saw-Hal.”

The name splinters in the silence.

His body curls, a sob wracking through him. Wally tightens his hold, pulling Barry up against his chest like he can shield him from the world, his own body shaking with exhaustion.

The League exchanges looks, confusion and worry flickering across their faces.

But Barry doesn’t care. His gaze stays locked on Kyle. On the green glow of that ring. His chest aches so violently it feels like it might collapse in on itself.

And through the haze of pain, through the sobs tearing him apart, he hears Hal’s voice again—clear, steady, echoing like a vow:

“Then hold onto that. Hold onto me. Because I’m coming back. And you’ll be here to see it.”

Barry presses his face into Wally’s chest, sobbing harder.

He wants to believe it. God, he wants to believe it.

And for the first time in years—he almost does

⚡️

One Year Later

The Watchtower is quieter than it should be. The hum of its engines reverberates low through the deck, the stars steady outside the wide span of glass. But Barry’s heart is hammering, thunder in his chest.

He hasn’t run like this in months—not for patrol, not for missions. Not even for himself. But now? He’s lightning again, sparking down corridors, boots slamming against steel, breath tearing in his throat.

He doesn’t let himself think. Thinking would break him.

Kyle’s words echo in his comm, the reason he’s here at all: Barry. You need to come up here. His voice had carried something Barry hadn’t heard in years. Not urgency. Not fear.

But reverence.

Barry’s hands tremble as he pushes through the last set of doors. They hiss open with a rush of air.

And there—

There he is.

Hal.

Alive.

Barry stumbles to a halt, the world tilting sideways. His chest seizes, his breath catches, the ground beneath him almost dissolving. Because Hal is standing in the Watchtower’s central hall, Lantern suit gleaming, ring glowing faintly at his side.

His hair is a little shorter than Barry remembers. His face carved sharper by weight and fire. His eyes—God, his eyes—green and alive and steady, fixed on him across the room.

No Parallax. No shadow. No fire.

Just Hal.

Barry’s knees nearly give. His throat closes, sob burning hot. He blinks hard, but the image doesn’t fade. It doesn’t vanish like every cruel trick of the Speed Force. He’s here. He’s real.

For one heartbeat, Barry can’t move. Every muscle shakes with disbelief. He’d told himself hope was too dangerous—that he couldn’t risk believing, not when the Speed Force had dangled it before him like a knife. He’d buried Hal a dozen times in his heart, and still it hadn’t been enough to survive the loss.

And yet—

Here Hal is.

Breathing. Watching him. Smiling, just faintly, like he knows.

Barry runs.

The lightning detonates across the hall, and then Barry is colliding into him, arms locking so tight it’s like he’s trying to fuse them together. The impact nearly knocks them both off their feet. Hal grunts against him, startled, the breath knocked clean from his lungs.

“Jesus—Barry—” The words scrape out of him, rough and bewildered. His hands hover awkwardly at first, caught between instinct and disbelief. “What—what the hell—”

But Barry doesn’t let go. His face presses into Hal’s shoulder, sobs tearing out of him raw and unrestrained. His hands fist in the fabric of Hal’s suit like he’s terrified this is another trick, another cruel dream. “I—” His voice shatters. “I never stopped missing you.”

Hal freezes.

The words crack through him, sharper than any blade. His chest seizes, his throat locking tight. For a breathless second, he can’t move, can’t think. Because the last time they spoke—Barry’s voice had been furious, final, pushing him away. He’d carried that fracture with him into death, convinced it was how their story ended.

And now here Barry is, clinging to him like he’s salvation, sobbing like his heart has been split wide open.

“Barry…” Hal whispers, stunned. His voice breaks on the name. Slowly—like the courage has to crawl its way back into him—he wraps his arms around Barry, pulling him in tight. His body shakes once, a ragged exhale breaking free.

“I missed you too,” he admits, voice cracking, the words torn out of him like they’d been waiting in his chest all along. He buries his face briefly in Barry’s damp hair, blinking hard against the burn in his eyes.

Barry pulls back just enough to look at him, his face streaked with tears, his mouth trembling. Hal’s breath catches at the sight—at the desperation, the devotion carved into every line.

“Bare…” Hal starts, unsure, his thumb brushing sweat and tears from Barry’s cheek. He swallows hard, torn between disbelief and the pull in his chest. “You—after everything—you’re here, like this? You can’t just—” His words falter. His eyes soften. “I thought I’d lost you. For good.”

Barry shakes his head violently, gripping tighter, his voice hoarse but certain. “You never lost me. I thought I lost you.”

Hal’s jaw tightens, his lips trembling into something that’s half-smile, half-grimace. And then—he gives in. He pulls Barry closer again, their foreheads pressing together, his voice thick but steady. “Then you’re not losing me now. I’m not giving you a reason to miss me again.”

Barry sobs, broken but laughing at the same time, pressing his mouth to Hal’s, desperate and alive. Lightning skitters harmlessly across Hal’s shoulders, but he doesn’t flinch. He kisses back—strong, grounding, like the promise Barry’s been waiting for all along.

When they break apart, both gasping, Hal’s eyes search his face, wide and fierce. “I didn’t expect this,” he admits, voice low. “But God, Bare, I wanted it. I wanted this every damn day I was gone.”

Barry’s tears spill harder, his chest hollowing then filling again with something he hasn’t dared feel in years—hope.

And in that moment, the impossible is real.