Barry stepped through the front doors and onto the cracked pavement, blinking against the afternoon light. The city moved around him in layers. Engines rumbled. Footsteps clicked against concrete. Somewhere down the block, a dog barked. He could hear a bus turning three streets away, brakes sighing under the weight.
He pulled in a breath. The air tasted like exhaust, cold air, and rain that had not fallen yet.
Home was muscle memory. Turn right, cut through the side streets, follow the curve of the block until the familiar houses appeared. His feet carried him there before he had fully caught up to the fact that he was awake.
The West house looked smaller than he remembered. The paint near the porch steps had peeled more. The mailbox leaned a little to one side. A dead plant sat in a clay pot by the door, forgotten and stiff.
Barry unlocked the door and stepped inside.
Silence met him. No TV. No music. No Joe humming off-key in the kitchen. The ticking clock in the hallway sounded too loud, each second landing like a soft hammer.
He moved through the living room. Dust lay in thin sheets along the shelves, disturbed only where someone had traced a fingertip or moved a frame. Photos watched him from the walls. Joe with hair a little darker. Iris with braces and a crooked smile. Barry, younger, caught mid-laugh at a table he could not remember.
He reached out and straightened one of the frames. His hand shook a little.
Nine months, he thought. They lived here without me for nine months.
His stomach growled, sharp and sudden. The sound startled him. He realized he felt hollow, like his body had burned through everything it had just to stand upright.
His eyes flicked to the keys on the hook by the door. The small, worn Jitters loyalty card hung beneath them, clipped to a ring.
He hesitated only a moment. If Iris was anywhere, it would be there.
Scene Change
Jitters was louder than he remembered. Steam hissed from the espresso machines. Milk pitchers clanged against metal. Conversations layered over each other, and he could pick out each one if he tried. A woman complaining about her boss. A student reciting equations under his breath. Someone laughing too hard at a joke two tables over.
Barry stood in line hoping to catch Iris, while trying not to look like a guy who had just woken up from a nine month coma. His heart rate stayed steady, but there was a constant buzz under his skin, like his body wanted to move faster than the line would allow.
A barista called a name. A guy reached past Barry for his drink. The motion bumped into another server carrying a loaded tray.
The tray tilted. Time seemed to thicken.
Barry saw every cup begin to slide. Coffee sloshed toward the edge. Glass caught the light as it tipped. A woman at the table below looked up, eyes widening, mouth starting to open.
His pulse jumped. Heat climbed from his chest into his limbs. The sounds around him stretched, voices dragging like echoes in a tunnel. The tray moved, but so slowly he could see the pattern of each ripple in the coffee.
He did not decide to move. His body did.
One moment he was standing in line. The next, he was under the tray, hands flashing out. He grabbed one cup, then another, nudged the tray with his elbow, snapped a lid back into place before it could fly off. The world blurred around the sharpness of his movements.
A blink later, he was back where he had been.
The tray righted itself. Nothing spilled. The barista stared at it, then at the customer. "Uh… that was close."
Barry swallowed hard. His hands tingled. The warmth in his veins pulsed like a second heartbeat.
"Barry?"
He turned.
Iris stood near the staff's lounge, a to-go cup in her hand, her bag slung over one shoulder. For a moment she just stared. Her eyes moved across his face, down to his shoulders, back up. He watched the way her fingers tightened around the cup.
"Iris," he said, his voice a little rough.
She set the drink aside without looking. Then she crossed the space between them and pulled him into a hug. He felt the rush of her breathing against his neck, the quick jump of her heartbeat, the slight tremble in her arms.
"You're really awake," she said. Her voice was thick, but she kept it steady. "I thought they were messing with me when they called."
He hugged her back. "Yeah. I am."
She pulled away slowly, studying him again. Her eyes caught on the lighter strands in his hair.
He tried to smile. "I will, uh, recommend the lightning blond package to you if your interested."
She huffed out a breath that was almost a laugh. Then her expression shifted, something troubling flickered behind her eyes. "I watched you die Barry, your heart stopped beating again and again."
He grabs her hand, and flattens it onto his chest. "It's beating just fine Iris." A prideful smile now plastered on his face.
Her eyes widened at the speed of his heart. "Maybe a little too fast bear." Finally letting go of his chest.
"we should go see my dad first. He has been waiting."
"Is he at the station?" Barry asked.
She nodded. "Come on. I will take you."
CCPD was busy enough to feel like a different kind of storm. Phones rang. Officers moved in tight patterns. Papers shuffled. Every sound layered into the next. Barry walked beside Iris, the brightness of the fluorescent lights pressing against his eyes.
Joe was halfway across the bullpen, arguing quietly with another detective, when he turned and saw them.
The words died on his tongue.
For a long second, he just stared. Barry saw the exact moment recognition hit, followed by disbelief, followed by something so raw it made his chest ache.
"Hey, Dad," Iris said softly.
Joe crossed the room in a few long strides. His hands hovered in the air for a moment, like he was not sure if he was allowed to touch, then he grabbed Barry and pulled him into a hard hug. Barry felt the strength in it, the way Joe's fingers dug into his back like he was anchoring himself.
"I was not done raising you yet," Joe muttered. His voice almost broke on the words.
Barry swallowed. "We both know you raised me stronger than that."
Joe stepped back, eyes searching his face. "You look good, kid. I have questions, but they can wait." He glanced at the clock on the wall, then at the officers gathering near the far desk. "Right now we have a robbery downtown. I have to move."
Another cop hurried over. "Detective West, we're ready to move."
Joe squeezed Barry's shoulder once more. "We will talk when I get back. Do not go anywhere you can't find your way back from, you hear me?"
"I hear you," Barry said.
Joe nodded and headed out with the other officers. The noise in the room swelled, then shifted as people refocused on their work. Iris got pulled aside by a uniform asking for a statement on something unrelated. For the first time since he woke up, Barry found himself standing alone.
He watched a man being led through processing. Mid thirties, jacket torn, hands cuffed in front of him. The officer at his side looked away for a moment to respond to someone calling his name.
The man's eyes flicked down to the officer's holster.
Barry saw the decision happen in his face.
His hand moved toward the gun.
Heat slammed into Barry's veins. The room stretched. The clatter of keyboards, the ringing phone, the low voices all deepened into a slow, heavy echo. The man's arm moved inch by inch, too sluggish for the fear in his eyes.
Barry crossed the space between them in what felt like a single step. He shoved the man's shoulder, knocking him off balance, and kicked the holster just enough that the officer's gun shifted out of reach. Then he was back where he had started.
Sound snapped back.
The suspect hit the floor with a shout. The officer swore, grabbing him. "What the hell was that? You trying to get yourself killed?"
Barry stared, breathing a little faster. No one was looking at him.
He needed air.
He slipped out of the bullpen and pushed through the front doors of the precinct.
The city hit him all at once. Cars rolled past. People crossed the street, heads down, phones in hand. A siren wailed faintly in the distance.
Then there was the squeal of brakes.
Across the intersection, a sedan ran a red light and clipped the back of a turning truck. Metal crunched. The car spun, skidding toward a light pole. The windshield shattered, glass exploding outward in a glittering wave.
Time lurched.
The scream from inside the car stretched into a low, warping sound. The grinding of metal deepened until he could feel it in his bones. Shards of glass hung in the air, spinning slowly, catching the gray light. The deployed airbag crawled forward inch by inch. A child in the back seat sat frozen, eyes wide, tear tracks suspended halfway down her cheeks.
Barry's heart hammered. The warmth in his chest surged into his arms and legs, hot and insistent.
He was terrified.
"This isn't possible," he thought. "Am I going to let them die?"
In the middle of the slow-moving chaos, another voice rose in his mind. Not loud. Not demanding. Just steady and warm.
"You were chosen because of your heart."
His breath shook. He tore his eyes from the frozen shards, to the faces trapped behind the glass.
"I have to help them," he whispered.