Chapter Text
a few weeks had passed since he had turned away from Superman and taken the first step towards a path of redemption. He had begun assisting Batman’s group of rebels, putting his speed and knowledge to use against his former allies. Despite the distrust and cold shoulders, Barry threw himself into the work, desperately wanting to prove that he was genuine. Slowly, the resistance had started to thaw, ever so slightly, as he kept showing up, kept helping.
Now, he stood side-by-side with Bruce once again. Only this time, it was on the battlefield.
“Rift’s destabilizing,” Bruce called out, voice tight and controlled in the midst of the chaos. His cape billowed behind him as he surveyed the sky with a narrow gaze, every line of his body tense. “We need to focus all efforts on keeping civilians safe.”
Above them, a jagged tear in the sky was widening, spilling light and energy in a haphazard fashion. It shimmered with volatile power, crackling and shifting violently, threatening to consume the city below. Each pulse sent shockwaves that rattled windows and sent debris crashing to the ground.
Heroes and villains alike paused in their battle, briefly lowering weapons and powers as they glanced up at the impending catastrophe. It wasn’t the first time they’d faced a situation like this — a reality-threatening event so dire that they had no choice but to ignore their usual quarrels and focus on saving the innocent.
“Get everyone out of the radius!” Wonder Woman’s voice rang out, carrying the authority of a commander. Her eyes flashed with determination as she locked eyes with Bruce. “We’ll buy you time.”
“I don’t need time,” Bruce muttered, watching the rift closely. His attention flickered to the only one among them who might be able to contain such chaotic energy. “I need a miracle.”
Barry’s heart pounded as he looked up at the rift, feeling the pull of the Speed Force vibrate through every cell in his body. He’d heard of tears like this — cosmic, unexplainable anomalies — but never in his life had he been this close to one. It roared with an insatiable hunger, threatening to consume everything.
He swallowed hard, his mind racing.
“I can close it,” Barry said, stepping forward. His voice was firmer than he felt. He locked eyes with Bruce. “I can channel the energy, direct it back into the rift. But—”
“But it’s dangerous,” Bruce finished grimly. He took a step forward, his gloved hand coming up to rest on Barry’s arm. “You don’t have to do this, Barry.”
Barry glanced around at the scattered resistance members — Wonder Woman, Green Arrow, Black Canary, and a handful of others, all waiting for someone to take charge. Waiting for him to step up. His gaze landed back on Bruce, seeing the unspoken words in his eyes.
If you go, you might not come back.
“I can’t not do it,” Barry whispered, voice soft but resolute. He took a deep breath, steeling himself. “I have to try.”
Without waiting for a response, Barry turned and took off. He surged forward with a burst of speed, racing up the side of a building until he was level with the rift, the energy from it making his skin prickle. For a moment, he stood suspended in midair, staring at the chaotic tear in reality. Then he began to run, his legs pumping furiously as he built up momentum.
Faster. He needed to go faster.
The Speed Force sang through his veins, a familiar song that was both a comfort and a warning. He felt it tugging at him, urging him forward. He gritted his teeth and pushed harder, red lightning sparking off his body in bright arcs as he forced himself faster than he’d ever gone before. The world blurred around him, colors and shapes melting together as he broke through barrier after barrier.
He reached the edge of the rift, and with a shout of effort, Barry channeled all the speed he’d gathered, all the energy he’d built up, and aimed it straight at the tear in the sky.
The effect was instantaneous.
The rift responded with a violent lurch, the edges pulling inward as Barry poured everything he had into it. The sky shook, the ground trembled, and a collective gasp rang out from the spectators below as they watched in awe and horror. The raw power was almost too much, threatening to rip him apart, but Barry held on, his body a blur of light and speed as he continued to run.
The rift shrank, bit by bit, until with one last, desperate burst of energy, it sealed itself shut.
There was silence.
For a split second, the world seemed to hang in suspended animation. Then Barry was gone, the speedster disappearing in a flash of red light, leaving nothing but a faint scorch mark where he’d stood.
“Barry!” Bruce shouted, but his voice was swallowed by the sudden silence that followed the rift’s closure.
--
Barry Allen was still reeling when he emerged from the Speed Force. The overwhelming energy that had once coursed through his body was now dulled, replaced by a crushing sense of weakness and disorientation. He was achingly slow, every step like trudging through thick mud. His once bright red suit was scorched and frayed, the colors dimmed, almost as if they reflected the state of his spirit.
The rift had almost taken him, swallowed him whole, and if not for the connection he’d felt to something deeper within the Speed Force—a feeling of purpose, of sacrifice, of peace—he wasn’t sure he’d have made it back at all. But Barry knew one thing for certain as he stumbled across the field he’d landed in: he’d survived. Somehow.
With a groan, he tried to get his bearings. He’d pushed himself far beyond his limits to close that rift. He didn’t even know where he was. The field seemed endless, and there was nothing but the occasional tree dotting the landscape. Barry groaned as a wave of pain washed through him, his body spasming as sparks of electricity flickered over his suit. He felt like he was burning from the inside out, the Speed Force still simmering in his cells, unbalanced and wild.
He tried to run, to tap into his speed, but his legs barely cooperated. He managed a jog, each stride trembling and uneven. He nearly tripped more than once as he pushed himself onward, but the thought of Batman—of Bruce—waiting for him, not knowing what had happened, kept him moving. With every second, he found his pace quickening, the world blurring around him as he coaxed the Speed Force into obedience. It hurt, the energy scorching his veins, but he needed to make it back.
By the time he stumbled into the underground base beneath Gotham, he was on the brink of collapse. The corridors were dimly lit, and his vision swam as he leaned against a wall for support. Everything felt distant, muffled, like he was underwater. He forced himself to keep going, his breath coming in labored gasps as he called out.
“Bruce!” The sound echoed through the empty halls. “Bruce…”
His knees gave out, and he crashed to the ground, barely managing to catch himself on his forearms. His head spun, the dim lights above blurring and doubling. He tried to push himself up, but his body refused to obey. He could only call out once more before his strength finally gave out, his voice breaking with exhaustion.
“Bruce…”
It was Batman who appeared, not Bruce. The dark figure rounded the corner, cape trailing behind him like a shadow made manifest. Barry’s eyes, unfocused and glazed, managed to track the figure as he staggered closer. Barry tried to speak again, but his body was done, and he slumped forward.
---
Batman was furious. Days passed without a word. No one had seen Barry since the rift had closed, and Bruce refused to entertain the idea that he might be gone. He stayed up late, scanning every possible location, reaching out to every contact he had, but the search always came up empty.
Until one morning, when the alarms blared at the entrance of their secret base.
The cameras showed a single figure stumbling towards the hidden entrance — Barry. He looked like a ghost of his former self, his suit charred and torn in several places, sparks of residual Speed Force energy zipping and crackling around his body. He moved sluggishly, almost drunkenly, as if he could barely stand.
“Batman,” he croaked, voice hoarse and broken. “Bruce…”
By the time Bruce reached him, Barry was already crumpling to the floor. He caught the speedster just in time, easing him down gently, his heart pounding in his chest.
“Barry, I’m here. Stay with me.”
But Barry only groaned in response, his body shuddering as another shockwave of energy pulsed through him. Bruce could feel the static charge buzzing against his gloves, see the small arcs of lightning that danced across Barry’s skin. He was dangerously overcharged, the Speed Force burning through him like a live wire.
“Get the medics!” Bruce barked, and within seconds, a team of doctors and aides were there, surrounding them. Someone handed him a sedative, and he injected it into Barry’s arm, hoping it would calm the chaotic energy surging through him.
Barry’s breathing evened out slightly, his eyes fluttering closed as he mumbled something incoherent. The doctors moved quickly, stabilizing him as best they could, then transferred him to a secure room with energy dampeners to help regulate the excess Speed Force.
For three days, Barry remained unconscious, fighting off the effects of what was known as Speed Force Sickness — a dangerous condition that happened when a speedster pushed themselves beyond their limits and became overloaded. It left them weak, disoriented, and vulnerable, and there was no telling how long it would last.
Bruce never left his side.
Barry stirred on the fourth day. It was a slow, groggy process, like surfacing from the bottom of the ocean. He blinked blearily, his body heavy and numb. The room was dimly lit, and it took a moment for his eyes to focus on the figure sitting beside him.
“Bruce?” he rasped, his voice barely a whisper.
Bruce’s head snapped up, his gaze locking onto Barry with an intensity that made the speedster’s heart stutter. The usual stoicism was gone, replaced by a raw, unguarded relief.
“You’re awake,” Bruce murmured, voice low and almost reverent. He leaned forward, his shoulders visibly relaxing as if a weight had been lifted from them. “How do you feel?”
Barry blinked, trying to process the question. How did he feel? Every inch of him ached, his muscles sore and his head pounding. He felt… drained. Exhausted in a way that went beyond the physical.
“Like I got hit by a truck,” he muttered, a weak attempt at humor. A small smile tugged at Bruce’s lips, and the sight made something warm bloom in Barry’s chest.
“You scared the hell out of me,” Bruce admitted quietly, his voice softer than Barry had ever heard it. “You’ve been out for days.”
Barry’s eyes widened in surprise. Days? It felt like he’d been trapped in a dream, time slipping away from him. He shifted slightly, wincing at the sharp pain that flared up in his side.
Bruce’s hand moved, almost reflexively, hovering over Barry’s arm as if unsure whether to offer support or not. “Don’t move too much. You’re still recovering.”
Barry nodded slowly, his gaze drifting over the room. It was a private medical bay, and from the look of it, he’d been here a while. He turned his attention back to Batman, noticing the way the man’s posture seemed just a little too rigid.
“Have you been… here the whole time?”
Batman didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he stood up, moving to the edge of the bed, his gaze intense as he looked down at Barry. “You scared us,” he said finally, his voice low. “You— I thought we lost you.”
Barry’s breath hitched, and he struggled to sit up, ignoring the flare of pain in his chest. “I’m sorry, Bruce. I didn’t mean to just run off, oh god allyourpeoplemustbesomadijustleft —”
Before he could finish, Batman’s gloved hand reached out, resting gently on his shoulder. It was a simple touch, but it held a weight that Barry hadn’t felt in a long time. “You don’t have to apologize,” Batman said softly. “You did what you had to do. And you came back.”
The words were simple, but they carried a depth of emotion that left Barry speechless. He nodded slowly, his throat tight as he fought back a new wave of tears. He wasn’t used to this, to being cared for so openly, to having someone worry about him like this. Not anymore.
Batman’s hand lingered on his shoulder for a moment longer before he pulled back, the familiar stoic expression slipping back into place. “Rest,” he ordered, the tone leaving no room for argument. “I’ll be here if you need anything.”
Barry watched as Batman turned away, heading toward the door. For a moment, he thought Bruce would leave, but then the man paused, glancing back over his shoulder.
“Thank you, Barry,” he said quietly. “For everything.”
And with that, Batman was gone, leaving Barry to stare after him, a soft smile tugging at his lips despite the ache in his chest. Maybe things weren’t perfect, maybe they’d never be the same again, but for now, for this moment, he felt… safe. Wanted.
And that was more than enough.
Two days passed in a blur of rest and recovery, punctuated by Alfred’s quiet presence and Batman’s occasional check-ins. Barry drifted in and out of sleep, his body slowly regaining its strength. He was aware of others coming and going—voices murmuring outside his door, the quiet hum of conversation—but he never stayed awake long enough to see who it was.
When he finally felt strong enough to get out of bed, he was surprised to find the base quieter than usual. He shuffled down the hall, leaning heavily on the wall for support, and was met with a mix of surprised and relieved expressions from the few people he passed. There was a warmth in their eyes that hadn’t been there before, a softening of the usually guarded looks they gave him.
Barry wasn’t sure how to feel about it. He was used to distrust, to suspicion. He wasn’t sure he deserved whatever this new emotion was, but he couldn’t deny that it made something in his chest loosen. For the first time in a long while, he felt… welcomed.