maskormenace | 2⚡ TEXT

[ in a bid to try and remember the memories he has lost to flashpoint — a realisation our fast hero hasn't had yet — barry turns to the realm of fandom. what better way to jog his memory than to write some fic? isn't that what the therapists told a young bartholomew allen? (he doesn't know. this isn't his first piece of memory fan fiction.) ]

[ this graces the network in the middle of the night. ]

UN: BEARY

The air crackles with golden electricity. Slick with ice is the street the Flash skids along, easily pulling himself to a confident standing position despite the ice on his shoes and the slightly poor finish to his run.

Captain Cold stands before him, Cold Gun in hand. His parka covers most of his face, and his goggles are as blue as the fabric. "Hello, Flash," he purrs.

"Captain Cold," the Flash says, a little respectively. "What brings you out so late?"

Captain Cold almost shrugs. "I was bored," he drawls. "The nighttime circuit around here isn't as fun as it used to be."

"You can blame your friends for that," says the Flash. He stand with his hands on his skinny hips, face a blur when the captain studies him.

Captain Cold's lips twist. "Want to have some fun, Flash?"

The Flash shakes his head. "No thanks. I've had enough fun for today."

"Oh well," Captain Cold almost pouts. "Save a dance for me next time. I've got my best dancing shoes on."

"And best dance floor," The Flash nods toward the thin layer of ice on the street.

It's now Captain Cold shrugs. "Call it practice. Giving to the poor what they want."

"And what's that?"

"I'll tell you later," he smirks. "During our next dance."

The Flash doesn't look displeased. Glancing at the Cold Gun and then back at Captain Cold, he nods his head, knowing that this is it.

"See you around, Captain." The Flash doesn't take off immediately, glancing at the Rogue who is almost like a friend. With another respectful nod, he's zipping along the street, a little clumsily on the thin ice as he disappears into the night.

Captain Cold watches him go with a little smile.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[ The usual wouldn't have prompted a one am literary masterpiece. An ode to the joy of Big Belly Burger, maybe, or her homemade mac and cheese (straight from a box). Iris can't quite help raising her eyebrows, waiting for him to finish his train of thought.

No matter what tangent he spirals off into, he always finds his way back to the point in the end. That wouldn't have changed, even with their temporary detour into another universe. ]

Thinking about what? [ She shifts a little, gently nudging him. If the fanfic was a sign of things, maybe he misses the thrill of heroing it up with Team Flash (and not the Justice League)? ] How things were back home...?

[ there's a crinkle to his eye as he tries that on for size. it feels about right to be worrying about how things are back home, with kid flash and — ]

[ wait, that doesn't belong there. back home is a man with glasses and a raspy voice, and perhaps a wheelchair … no, that's not right, either. his gut tells him no. ]

[ he knows what he's left behind back home, but rather than being able to snatch it up between his fingers within seconds, barry finds he's lagging behind it. it's almost like he's back in his normal shoes, trying to outrun a bully and to try and catch that damn bus before he's captured. ]

Yeah. [ it sounds like he's just come to that conclusion, as if iris has plucked the word he's been running after for him. ] It's not like home here. [ his gut tells him as much. glancing over at her, he gives her a small smile. ] Everyone's cool, and there's Lego villains, but … [ brows furrowing, he takes a moment — a long, normal pause — to think of what he wants to say next. ] Sometimes I feel out of place. Don't you?

No? [ She swallows, shaking her head as she meets his gaze. While she can understand that sentiment - Dad and Wally aren't here; they're rebuilding their careers from the ground-up; and Central City isn't even a blip on their world-wide map. They're not in Kansas anymore.

But truthfully, she can't say she's feeling the same: ] As long as I'm with you, I feel just fine.

[ Is that sappy?? God, it's the truth. She's home whenever she's with him, whether it's their Heropa apartment or the old flower shop where she used to work. ]

I know that we are all out of place, and nothing's like what we remember... is that it? The whole alt-timeline thing?

[ barry knows it isn't. he's been misplaced in time twice — on earth-2, where everything simultaneously excited and overwhelmed him, and in the past, where he was overcome with a deeply setting sadness. despite the fact he can't recall either of those events, save for the monorails he believes to be in central city of earth-1 when they truly belong in earth-2, something within him tells him otherwise. which only makes his attempt to remember something concrete without second guessing it an utter failure. he should've posted westallen fic to the network. no one would've second guessed the chemistry. ]

[ what he wants to tell her is that, yes, of course, that's what he means. so badly he wants to fit back into those comfortable converse shoes he knows he wears, but barry, despite having a very short history of lying to iris, can't quite do it. hadn't he chased her even as the flash? despite caitlin's reprimands to not see iris, he'd still sweep into rooms and onto the rooftop of jitters and try his best to make her see him, even though he never wanted her to see him — just in case. ]

[ instead, he comes out with: ] I don't know. [ and he looks like he's trying to figure that out with a furrow to his brow. ]

[ just as quickly, he shakes his head, writing it off. lips quirking upward, ] I think I've just got Speed Force flu or something. You finally stop running at full speed and everything catches up with you.

[ except barry has never stopped running. ]

[ That uncertainty worries her. As much as Iris would like to believe that he simply has speed force flu, she's not sure the answer is so simple. She takes a moment to lightly press the back of her hand against her forehead before she lightly touches his -

Their temperatures are the same. No glaring differences, no Force Flu. Hopefully. ]

You don't feel like you're running a fever...

[ Maybe it manifests differently, with some aching feeling of displacement, rather than high body temperatures and a lingering cough that refuses to disappear. Iris can't shake that nagging feeling off, no matter how much she wants to. It's not like this is the first (or last) time he'll ever be sick. Iris pulls back, biting on her lip. ]

Maybe you'll feel better with some rest? [ She doesn't think twice about offering this, either, given how he's been thinking: ] I um, I can stay with you until you fall asleep.

[ if her hand on his forehead doesn't throw him, it's her offer that does. he doesn't quite know how sickness works now that he has the speed force thrumming inside of his entire cellular makeup. does he get sick? does a five day flu now last for five minutes, if not five seconds? the last time he'd gotten a cold, he'd been put on bedrest because of his disgusting he had looked and felt. now … ]

[ it'd been something to say, to excuse himself for not knowing. now, he wonders if it's closer to the truth. ]

You don't have to do that, Iris. [ the need to reject any help has always been there, located somewhere on his kneecap. he shakes his head, feeling like he needs to say more … ]

[ instead, he doesn't seem to follow that line of thought. ] Yeah. I'd like that.

[ while she may feel the need to stay with him for him, he feels the need to accept her offer for her. ]

[ lips curving upward, he teases, ] Just try to keep the snoring to a minimum.

[ Her laugh is sharper than usual - even with his Speed Force flu, he's still got that sense of humor she loves. Like she'll fall asleep faster than him! She's not even working three jobs anymore!! ]

What snoring?

[ It's a futile attempt at rebuttal, and she knows it as she looks around for some napkins to wipe off the Cheeto residue on the edges of her fingertips. After wiping them on a napkin, she flops onto the other side of his bed, careful to stay above the covers.

Iris doesn't plan on falling asleep, after all. Just staying long enough to make sure his dreams are peaceful, and not the terrible, nightmare-ish kind that illnesses can bring to the forefront. ]

Also, um - [ she smiles, shyly this time: ] I want to stay. I wouldn't have offered if I didn't.

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