And Eddie.
And his mother.
It felt like he was supposed to think of something. He couldn’t remember. His pounding heart echoed in his ears like cracks of thunder. Pain lanced through his head. He had to get Rathaway out of here. That was the key. Remove him from S.T.A.R. Labs.
The Flash was on the verge of blurring. He could feel it. Then it struck him—a desperate plan at best, but he had to try. Instead of fighting it, however, he let the blur happen. Barry forced his hands up and clamped onto Rathaway’s neck. He stared into the other man’s eyes.
“You’re coming with me,” the Flash gasped. His body vibrated faster, and Rathaway struggled to break free.
“What are you doing?” he shrieked.
The world melted around them. The images flickered. He knew he had phased. He could almost feel the plasma flaring to life inside him, ripping into his cell walls, hijacking his speed force. He was an insubstantial statue now, incapable of helping anyone—but he might not have to.
Rathaway’s face blurred in front of him. It looked the way the others had described it. One way or another, the man was trapped now. He wasn’t a threat to anyone. Cisco and the others had time.
Barry blinked and found himself in the lobby of S.T.A.R. Labs. Rathaway wasn’t there, and the lobby looked different. Rather than dark and dusty, the walls gleamed bright, clean, and perfect. Banners hung across the space announced the initiation of the particle accelerator project.
THE FUTURE IS COMING FASTER THAN YOU THINK!
Sunlight streamed through the wide glass walls, but he was alone. A red streak raced past the window, cut into the door, and stopped in front of him. The older Flash bent over, gasping for breath.
“You survived Zoom,” Barry exclaimed happily. Then he shook his head, chiding himself. “Or not. You weren’t alive in the first place.”
“Barry, it’s getting worse.”
“I don’t think so,” he replied. “I initiated the blur this time, and I think I can get out of it whenever I want.”
“No, you didn’t.” Future Flash tried to straighten, but couldn’t. He went to one knee. “You can’t.”
“I don’t believe what you’re telling me,” Barry said. “You’re a hallucination. You’re not real.”
His older self looked up. The sense of hurt on his face touched Barry.
“What do you mean?” the older man said.
“We’re not really here.” Barry waved his arm. “You’re not really anywhere, except in my head, but I’m standing in the Pipeline with Hartley Rathaway. We’re both vibrating at a very high frequency right now, and we’re out of phase. This is a product of my mind trying to deal with a plasma that has infected my body.”
“Yes, that’s right,” the Future Flash acknowledged. “This is all you.”
“I know. That’s what I mean. It’s not real. It’s like a fever dream. I can’t trust anything I see or hear while I’m blurring.”
“I’m not lying to you.”
“I don’t think you’re lying. I just don’t think you know what you’re talking about. You don’t have the answer, because I don’t have the answer. You’re nothing but me.” Barry turned away. “I don’t have time for this. I’ve got to get out of here before someone else shows up.” He had to focus on removing himself from the blur. Ignore the man. Focus on stopping Rathaway.
“I’m trying to help you, Barry.”
“Then tell me how to stop Rathaway.”
“You know that already. Just bring him closer to his power source.”
“That’s real helpful.” Barry closed his eyes, trying to concentrate. “But at least this time it wasn’t ‘run faster.’”
“You won’t save anyone if you don’t do what I say.” Future Flash still labored for breath. His voice became frantic. “You’re the Flash. You are the fastest man alive. If you don’t run, what are you?”
“I don’t want—”
Stop it, Barry chastised himself. This isn’t real. He’s just a figment of my imagination. Think about the microscope. Think about anything else. He had to do something about Rathaway. Render him helpless somehow. The minute they came out of the blur, his opponent would renew his attack. There had to be some way to nullify those crystal shards inside him.
“Barry, please,” Future Flash said. “Why don’t you believe in me?”
But Barry didn’t answer, his attention returning to his hands. Even here, he could feel Rathaway in his grip. A sense of reality in the midst of a dream. He concentrated on that, narrowing his vision. His breathing slowed. He counted his heartbeats as they eased to a rhythmic pace. Everything blurred, except for what was directly in front of him.
Rathaway.
Reality snapped back. He was in the Pipeline, Rathaway frozen in his grip. There was no sign of his older self. His foe drew in a deep, rasping breath. With a massive effort, he shoved the Flash back.
“What the hell did you do?” he slurred.
The Flash wasted no time. He pulled back to throw a punch, but even stunned the man anticipated his move. A sonic wave blasted the Flash down the tunnel, hurling him several hundred feet. Slowing to a roll, he tumbled over one of the meteorite crystals. The quivering string of sound still ran from the crystal to its master.
Rathaway screamed in rage, and energy poured out of his body. The walls of S.T.A.R. Labs shook, beginning to crack, and pipes imploded. The Flash only had seconds to do something. Amid this chaos, he had to restore order.
That’s it.
Scooping up the quivering crystal, he ran. Following the shimmering lines of power, he found another crystal… and then another. As he ran for the next one, his hands started to sear. The energy burned through his gloves. Leaving the Pipeline, he sped around the facility, following the sonic threads like proverbial breadcrumbs. Finally all the lines of power converged on his hands.
He ran back to the Pipeline and slid to a stop next to Rathaway. The man’s arms stretched out above him. Sweat poured down his face. He had lost his glasses somewhere, but didn’t seem to care. All he wanted now was to destroy that which he hated most.
The Flash slipped into the speed force again and began to arrange the crystals around his foe. Pain blossomed as waves of sound vibrated through him. He pushed through the pain, and fixated solely on the complex design that came together in his head.
He created a pattern of linear symmetry, using straight lines to form a curve. Losing himself to the glory of the math, he placed the crystals around his frozen foe, forming lines and angles. When he set the final crystal in place, as if completing the last symbol in a complicated formula, the waves of sound encircled his opponent.
He stopped and watched as Rathaway felt a shift in the power, and his eyes went wide. The crystal array increased the amplitude of the waves, but instead of flowing outward, they bounced back. Vibrations pounded the Piper, and he screamed, thinking it a new assault. Instinctively he continued to use his powers, trying to protect himself, not realizing that the waves that struck him were his own.
The power shook the building to its core. Seeking to contain the destruction, the Flash began to run at superspeed around the crystal formation. He formed a protective vacuum, as well as reinforcing the feedback loop.
The meteorite sang again and its song filled the Pipeline. An ear-shattering symphony of white noise. The crystals vibrated so fast he could barely see them, even at his velocity. They altered their resonance to match the Flash’s, so he increased his speed yet again. He lost all sense of place or time, saw vivid colors and heard unidentifiable ringing sounds. The crystals started to glow, and the heat grew intense, searing them both.
Still he maintained the frenzied speed. The pain increased. He wanted to scream, but wouldn’t be heard. The light from the crystals filled the world. His eyes saw nothing but white. His consciousness started to vanish.
A series of popping noises filled the tunnel. The crystals imploded, crackling inside the speed barrier. The heat vani
shed. The Flash slowed, trying desperately to drag enough breath into his rasping lungs. Fearing that he might’ve killed the Pied Piper, he slowed to a stop, and dropped to one knee.
Rathaway stood like a statue, his mouth hanging open and his expression dazed. He looked down at the Flash and raised a hand, concentrating, trying to inflict some damage. Nothing happened. The crystals in his body had been destroyed, rendering him powerless.
“Where am I?” he said. “The Pipeline? Why?” Rathaway cursed and started to limp away. The Flash tried to get up and follow, but his muscles wouldn’t answer him. Then Rathaway stopped, frozen in place.
The Green Arrow stood a few yards away, bow up and a shaft at the ready.
“It’s over.”
Rathaway appeared as if he wanted to make some comment, but then he simply waved his hand dismissively, and fell back against the wall. He slid to the floor to sit next to his hated foe, wearing an embittered scowl.
“You beat me.”
Barry managed a laugh. “Yes.”
“Harrison Wells wins again.”
44
The Flash ran the streets of Central City. The freedom and the speed felt great.
After the fight, he had spent two full days in the medical bay. Following that came several days of hobbling around Joe’s house, with occasional trips into CCPD to work. Caitlin continued to worry about his stunted healing factor, but Barry reassured her that he felt great, considering the beating he had taken.
He weaved almost leisurely through traffic, making the rounds of the areas hardest hit by Rathaway’s gang. When he could, he helped push progress by moving stacks of lumber or bags of concrete; anything to assist the recovery. Electricity had been fully restored and a safe, reliable water supply had returned. Rebuilding had begun. Slowly but surely, the city lumbered back to its feet.
The Flash pushed himself and swept up the side of a high rise. Reaching the top, he stopped. The city spread out beneath him and he laughed. His leg muscles burned, but that was to be expected. He actually appreciated the sensation. His heart pounded, too. It would take a few days to get back in fighting trim.
He took a deep breath of the autumn air. Thanks to Oliver, he had the tricks he needed to fight off the blur. That should restrain the growth of the plasma and give Caitlin more time to come up with a permanent solution.
“Barry?”
The Flash spun in surprise at hearing a voice up here. Especially that voice. His older self stood across the rooftop. It was impossible. He scanned in all directions. This was still the same roof. The view of Central City hadn’t changed. He could see the demolished CCK Bank from here.
Far above, a jet hung frozen in a darkening sky.
This couldn’t happen. He wasn’t trying to save anyone. There were no stress hormones racing through his system. He hesitated to speak, fearful that he would make it more real.
“You were right, after all.” Future Flash took an unsteady step.
Barry visualized the microscope, and his childhood room, desperately seeking the calm. His older self made another palsied movement, struggling toward him.
“I didn’t know what to do for you,” he continued. “But I do now, though I don’t know if it’s too late.”
Barry closed his eyes.
Breathe. Count. Breathe. Count.
Something touched his arm. He gave a startled gasp, and his eyes flew open. The sky was darker still. His own face stared back. Worn. Sallow. The old eyes were dim and weak.
“I’m sorry, Barry,” Future Flash said. A tear trickled down his cheek. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you this sooner. I know how—”
Then he shuddered and stiffened. His mouth wrenched itself open in silent agony. His muscles clenched. Barry heard a humming sound, or a buzzing. A faint motion quivered between him and his older self.
Old knees gave out. Acting on instinct, Barry caught him. The sudden weight dragged them both to the ground. Barry laid him on the hard roof, kneeling over him. The old man tried to reach up, but quickly surrendered to weakness.
The humming sound persisted, and with a terrible shock Barry saw legs behind where his older self had been standing. A man stood there in full view, wearing a yellow version of his own costume. Eobard Thawne, the Reverse Flash. A wide grin split his face. Thawne’s right arm was extended, his hand vibrating so quickly it was nearly invisible.
The hand that killed the Future Flash.
Barry leapt to his feet with fists raised. The man in yellow held up his hands, palms out. His uniform stood out vividly in the gloom.
“Easy,” he said. “I’m not here to fight, unless you won’t have it any other way. Why do you care anyway? He’s just a hallucination.”
“It was you,” Barry snarled through clenched teeth. “It was you all the time. The blurring. The hallucinations. I don’t know how you did it, but it had to be you. The plasma infected me the day you opened that wormhole. This was some long-term scheme, wasn’t it?”
“No, Barry,” Reverse Flash replied. “You still want the easy way out. You want a villain to blame, but this is all you. I’m you, too, in a way.” He pulled back his cowl and revealed the face of Harrison Wells, the man Thawne pretended to be for so many years.
“Why do you have his face?” Barry winced, remembering.
“Run, Barry, run.”
“You’re not Harrison Wells. You’re Eobard Thawne. I’ve seen your real face.”
“This is how you’ll always see me in your mind. To you, this is my true face. To you, I’ll always be Dr. Harrison Wells—the man who made the Flash.”
Barry stepped back and looked down. The body of his older self had disappeared. The rooftop held no sign of him. He offered Wells a savage grin.
“Maybe you did, but if you’re not real, then what do I care? I’ll come out of it in a minute, and you’ll be gone.”
Reverse Flash took a step closer. He leveled a stare and swung his fist. The blow spun the Flash around and nearly knocked him off his feet. Barry started to respond, but caught himself. He slowly squared his shoulders and worked his jaw back and forth to ease the pain.
“That’s nothing,” Barry said. “I won’t feel it when I come out.”
Reverse Flash laughed. “When I say I’m you, I mean it.” He inched forward, staring into Barry’s eyes. “Look closer.”
In that gaze that he knew so well, the one that haunted his nightmares, the Flash saw something different. Deep under the guise of Reverse Flash, of Harrison Wells, there was another presence. Strange. Inhuman. Unknowable but infinitely powerful. Something yellow oozed inside those eyes.
Plasma.
This wasn’t Reverse Flash at all. It was the singularity plasma that coiled inside him, eating him alive, given form by Barry’s own mind. He had given it the form of the man he hated most. Feared most.
“Oh, God,” Barry breathed.
Reverse Flash nodded slowly. “You’re too late. I’ve taken root in your brain and you have given me form. You can’t defeat me now. I will have every bit of you, Flash.”
“No.”
“Oh, yes. You see, this place where we are, it isn’t a hallucination. You give it form with your thoughts, but when you blur—as you call it—you are stepping into another dimension. My dimension. And soon you won’t be able to depart.” He raised a hand and turned it palm up. Something glowed in the air, almost like a small lightning storm. “This is your essence, your speed, your soul. I’m slowly siphoning it off. Soon I’ll have all of it, and there will be no more of you in your world.”
Barry tried to grab the Reverse Flash, but the yellow-garbed figure was instantly across the roof, leaving a cloud of gravel and dust.
“It won’t be quite so easy, I’m afraid,” the thing said with the voice of Harrison Wells. “The more you use your speed, the more of yourself you lose to me. The only way to get it back is to defeat me.” He pulled up his cowl, and grinned.
“So run, Barry, run.”
The figure in
yellow vanished. A bright trail of yellow stretched through the strangely darkened version of Central City, and disappeared into the distance.
Barry tensed to chase, but suddenly found himself standing in bright sunlight. A chilly breeze swept over the rooftop. He looked up to see the jet trudging across the sky.
The Flash dropped to one knee and struggled to contain his panic.
45
Joe stood at the grill in the small backyard of his house. Normally it would be too chilly to cook out, but this was the last day Oliver, Felicity, and John would be in Central City. With Barry back on his feet, they were heading home to deal with their own crises. So Joe had decided on a barbecue to say thank you and good-bye.
“Looks ready to me.” John lounged on the back stoop, beer in hand.
Joe held his hand over the white charcoal briquettes. “Not yet.”
“You sure?”
“I don’t know how you barbecue in Star City, but here we do it right.” Joe pointed the tongs at John who smiled in surrender.
The back door swung open and Cisco came out. “Hey, Joe, what’re you waiting for? Throw some meat on the fire, man.”
Joe offered a raised eyebrow. “You need to go on back inside.”
John tossed Cisco a beer and said, “Here. Don’t rush an artiste.”
When the door opened again, Oliver emerged, looking impatiently at the grill. Joe instantly gave him a baleful glare.
“Don’t even think about it, man.” John passed out another beer. “Ra’s al Ghul is less controlling over his pit than that guy.”
Joe put a hand over the coals, but he didn’t really care about the heat or the time. He cared about Barry. He should’ve been home by now, but Joe wasn’t going to worry. Yet. Barry was always late. Maybe he got caught helping someone. That would be typical. He absently stretched his hand over the heat again.
The back door creaked open.
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