Runnin' Home to You

Prologue

         

Barry ran a hand over his fair-skinned face and let out an exhausted sigh. His green eyes stared at the oak desk with stacks of finished files on the left and three unfinished ones on the right. An already open file was staring right back at him, daring him to continue working through the night. It had been a long day at CCPD, having more cases of criminals being caught than in the past six months. There had been reports of more criminals taking advantage of either the people of Central City or Central City itself; Barry knows why too. Ever since the Singularity and the battle with Eobard Thawne, Barry stopped being the Flash because he believed all of it was his fault. He has distanced himself from Iris, Joe, Cisco, and Caitlin. It may seem like Barry doesn't love them anymore, but it is quite the opposite. Barry loves them all too much to let them see a damaged monster that is Barry Allen, a.k.a, the Flash. It's not like Barry completely abandoned his city, he cares too much to do that. He only reserved himself to rebuilding buildings and businesses around the city late at night; it was the least he could do to repay for the damage he produced.

He has caused so much pain and grief for everyone: Eddie died to stop Eobard Thawne because Barry couldn't and Ronnie sacrificed himself to stop the Singularity because Barry wasn't fast enough, even one-third of Central City was destroyed with several people killed and more injured. Every awful event that happened to either his family and friends or the people of Central City revolved around him not being fast enough; which is ironic since he is a speedster.

What's the point in having superpowers if the people I love end up hurt? Barry questioned himself. It was the individual question swimming in his head currently with the revelation that he only got his powers because a fake Harrison Wells needed them for his personal gain. Thinking about all the recent events gave Barry a migraine.

God, I wish I could get drunk. Barry thought with his face buried deep in his hands. To Barry, downing countless bottles of beer would be fantastic in being able to forget, just for a night; however, his high metabolism prevented him from such wishes. The CSI turned his head to the window to see it was dark outside. He then tilted his head down to look at the time on his watch: 10:30 pm.

That's when Barry realized he had been lost in thought for five hours. His arm reached over his desk to grasp the handle of his new favorite mug. He sipped on the remaining black coffee until the red mug was empty. Barry stood up, grabbed his satchel and coat, and flashed out of the lab and to the nearly-finished CC Jitters. While Barry ran around the city, he closed his eyes.

He lets the wind brush past his body. He let the speed force pump through his blood and carry him wherever he wished. He let the electrifying feel of adrenaline run his body on auto-pilot. He let the memory of two men look at him with such love flood through his brain... wait what?!

Barry skidded to a stop right in front of Jitters.

"What the hell?" Barry asked no one, shaking his head as if to get rid of what he saw. That was the second time this month he had the memory flash. It had been happening the moment last Christmas when he found out the Reverse Flash was real; it became frequent when he found out who the Reverse Flash was under the mask. It was never different, though. It was always the same memory of the two men repeated, sometimes in more detail. Barry received a weird feeling whenever it happened. Every time he saw the two men, he felt a tingle of adoration for them. The more flashes of them, he gets, the more confused he becomes. He never told anyone about it, not even his own father, Henry. He didn't know what was happening to him, but he was sure that if he brought it up to anyone they would think that he was crazy. Barry made a silent vow to himself at until it got too crazy, he would not tell a soul about what was happening to him.

Why does this keep happening to me? He desperately asks himself, as if the answer would magically appear in front of him. Of course, with life, it didn't, and Barry was stuck with another question to ponder from numerous long days and nights.

Barry's shoulders slumped in defeat and his sigh matched his exhausted mood. He took three deep breaths before speeding into Jitters, doing his new nightly duties yet again.

This is for the best of the city, he told himself, for the best of the city.