I blink a few times, letting my eyes adjust.
White ceiling.
Same cracked tile near the corner. The soft beep of the monitor keeping rhythm beside me. The smell of disinfectant. Everything looks… normal. Too normal, after whatever that was.
Then I turn my head.
Emma is sitting in the chair beside my bed.
And for a second, my brain refuses to process it.
She's still Emma—but worn down. Dark circles sit under her eyes like bruises she couldn't cover.
Her hair is tied up messily, strands slipping free like she stopped caring halfway through fixing it. Her shoulders are slumped forward, posture heavy with exhaustion.
She's holding my hand.
Tightly.
I swallow. My throat feels dry.
"Wow," I say, my voice rough but working.
"You look terrible."
Before she can react, I add, forcing a weak smile,
"Did I miss something ? I just took a nap."
The silence that follows is… wrong.
Emma doesn't laugh.
She doesn't roll her eyes or tell me to shut up.
She just stares at me, lips parted, eyes slowly filling with something fragile and dangerous.
"Barry…" she whispers.
I frown. "What ?"
She looks down at our joined hands, then back at my face, like she's afraid I might disappear if she looks away for too long.
"You didn't… you didn't just sleep," she says quietly.
I shrug as much as the tubes allow. "Sure felt like it."
Her grip tightens.
"Barry," she says again, voice shaking now, "you were gone."
I feel a knot form in my stomach. "Gone how ?"
She hesitates. I can see her fighting herself—whether to protect me or tell me the truth.
Finally, she exhales, long and unsteady.
"It's been six months."
The words don't land right away.
"Six… what ?" I ask.
"Six months," she repeats, barely louder.
"Since the lightning. Since you collapsed. Since you didn't wake up."
My heart stutters.
"That's not funny," I say automatically.
"I know," she says. "I know."
I turn my head slowly, scanning the room like it might argue with her.
And then I see it.
A calendar on the wall.
The page is turned.
November.
The date.
22.
My breath leaves my lungs all at once.
"No," I whisper.
I stare at it, waiting for it to change. For my brain to catch up and correct the mistake.
It doesn't.
My fingers tremble against the sheets.
"Six months ?" I repeat, quieter now.
Emma nods, tears spilling over. "I came every day. Every single day. I thought—" Her voice breaks. "I thought you were never going to wake up."
Something cold settles in my chest.
Six months.
Six months of hospital lights.
Six months of Emma sitting in that chair.
Six months of Luke gone.
Of Sam locked away.
Of Vought moving pieces while I lay still.
I look back at my sister.
She looks older.
Not in years—
in weight.
"I'm sorry," I say before I can stop myself.
She laughs, broken and wet.
"Don't. Don't you dare apologize."
She leans forward and presses her forehead against my arm, shaking.
"Just don't do that again," she whispers.
"Okay ?"
I close my eyes.
Somewhere deep inside me, something hums—low, electric, patient.
Six months lost.
And I know, with terrifying certainty, that the world didn't wait for me to wake up.
My mind can't hold onto it.
Six months.
I keep repeating it, like saying it enough times will make it make sense. For me, there was lightning, pain, darkness… and then I woke up.
No dreams. No sense of time passing. Just a blink.
Minutes.
That's what it feels like. A few minutes stolen from me.
But the world disagrees.
My thoughts start tripping over each other, stacking faster and faster. Questions collide in my head—How did I survive ? What happened to everyone ? What changed ?—until it feels like my brain is running ahead of itself, unable to slow down.
And then something… shifts.
The room feels wrong.
Not blurry. Not distant.
Slow.
The steady beep of the heart monitor stretches out, each sound longer than it should be. I turn my head and see Emma's eyelids droop as she blinks—and it's like watching a leaf fall through syrup.
Too slow.
My breath catches.
I notice things I shouldn't: the faint crack in the wall behind the IV stand, the way dust hangs in the air instead of drifting, the subtle vibration of the floor beneath the bed.
Then the door bursts open.
Doctors rush in—at least, that's what it should look like. Instead, they move like they're underwater. Their shoes lift and fall in exaggerated arcs, coats flaring behind them in lazy waves.
One of them opens his mouth to speak, but the sound doesn't reach me yet.
I can hear my own heartbeat.
Fast.
Too fast.
' What is happening to me ? Is it the Speed Force ? '
I turn back to Emma. She's still leaning close, eyes wet, her lashes trembling as another slow blink begins.
I can see the exact moment her pupils shift, the tiny muscle in her cheek tightening as she breathes in.
I don't even realize I've tensed until—
The world snaps back.
Sound crashes into me all at once.
"—his vitals just spiked !"
"Barry, can you hear me ?"
"Emma, please step back—"
Everything is normal speed again. Chaotic. Loud. Real.
I suck in a sharp breath, heart pounding, hands gripping the sheets.
"I'm here," I say quickly. "I'm okay. I think. I'm okay."
Emma backs away, confused, wiping at her face.
"Barry, you just— you started staring. You scared me."
Before I can answer, another sound cuts through the room.
Footsteps.
Fast. Desperate.
Then the door flies open again.
"Barry !"
Mom's voice cracks as she says my name.
Both my parents rush in, my dad right behind her, his face pale, eyes wide like he's afraid this is another false alarm.
Mom doesn't even slow down—she's at my bedside in seconds, hands on my face, my hair, my shoulders, like she needs to confirm I'm solid.
"Oh my God," she breathes. "Oh my God, you're awake."
Dad stands there for half a second longer, frozen, then his composure breaks. He steps forward, placing a hand on my arm, gripping just a little too tight.
"Hey, champ," he says softly. His voice shakes despite the smile he's trying to hold.
"Welcome back."
I swallow hard.
They look like they've been holding their breath for months.
"I didn't mean to scare everyone," I say, my voice coming out smaller than I expect. "I just… went to sleep."
Mom lets out a broken laugh that turns into a sob. She presses her forehead against mine, careful of the wires.
"You were gone," she says. "For so long. We talked to you every day. We didn't know if you could hear us."
"I'm sorry," I whisper again.
Dad shakes his head immediately. "No. No, none of that. You're here. That's what matters."
Emma steps closer, standing between them and squeezing my hand again.
"You should've seen them," she says, trying to smile through tears. "They refused to leave. Nurses had to kick them out."
"I did not refuse," Dad protests weakly.
"You absolutely did."
For a moment, despite everything, there's something warm in my chest.
Family.
Alive. Together.
I lean back against the pillows, still trying to steady my breathing.
Mom and Dad exchange a look—worried, careful.
"The doctors said there might be side effects," Mom says gently. "From the lightning. From the coma."
I nod, but inside, I know it's more than that.
Because for just a moment…
The world moved like it was standing still.
And I don't tell them that yet.
—-
Going home feels unreal.
The doctors don't want to let me leave. I can see it in their eyes—the way they keep glancing at the monitors, at my chart, at me, like I'm a puzzle they're afraid to put down.
They talk about more tests, more scans, weeks of observation.
My parents don't budge.
"He just woke up," my mom says firmly. "He needs his home. His bed."
In the end, against a storm of medical reluctance and clipped warnings, they let us go.
The car ride is quiet.
Too quiet.
I stare out the window, watching familiar streets pass by, and it messes with my head.
Six months should have changed things. Buildings should look older. The world should feel different.
But everything looks exactly the same.
Like time only forgot me.
My legs ache with every small movement. A deep, sore pain, like I ran a marathon without realizing it. I shift in my seat, wincing.
"Sorry," I mutter.
"That's normal," Dad says from the driver's seat. "Muscle atrophy. You'll get stronger again."
Emma, sitting beside me, looks… lighter. Tired, yeah—but smiling. Really smiling.
When we pull up in front of the house, she opens the door before the car even fully stops.
"I call dibs on winning," she says suddenly, stepping out.
"Winning what ?" Mom asks.
Emma grins, eyes bright. "Race to the front door."
And then she's gone.
She takes off running down the driveway, laughing, hair flying behind her.
"Emma—!" Mom starts.
Dad sighs. "Absolutely not."
They both turn to me at the same time.
"Barry," Mom says carefully, "go slow."
I nod.
But something about Emma running—about how alive she looks—sparks something in my chest.
I smile.
"I'll just…" I say.
I step out of the car.
The moment my feet hit the ground, my heart kicks hard against my ribs.
Thump.
Electricity.
That's the only word for it.
It surges through my legs, through my arms, along my spine like lightning finding a path.
My muscles tense, coil, beg to move.
Before I can second-guess it, I push off the ground.
For a split second, I'm still next to the car.
Then—
I'm not.
The world stretches.
The driveway vanishes beneath me. The air tears past my ears. My heartbeat roars, each pulse detonating with power. I don't feel my legs touching the ground anymore—just motion, pure and unstoppable.
Too fast—
The house slams into my vision.
I don't have time to stop.
BOOM.
I crash straight into the front door.
Wood explodes inward with a deafening crack. One of the hinges rips free, the door swinging violently, hanging by the last latch as I'm thrown backward.
I hit the ground hard.
Pain detonates in my arm—sharp, blinding. I cry out, curling instinctively, clutching it to my chest.
""BARRY !""
Footsteps pound toward me.
Emma reaches me first, dropping to her knees, face drained of color. "Barry—oh my God—Barry !"
Mom and Dad are right behind her, panic written across their faces.
"Don't move," Dad says urgently, already kneeling. "Barry, talk to me."
"I—I'm here," I gasp, teeth clenched against the pain. "My arm just—hurts. A lot."
Mom's hands hover over me, terrified to touch, eyes flicking between my arm and the shattered door.
"What happened ? You were right next to the car—"
Emma looks from the broken door to me, her eyes wide.
"Did you run ?" she whispers. "It's as if you teleported."
I swallow, breathing hard.
My arm hurts. My body hurts.
But my mind—
My mind is on fire.
Thoughts race faster than I can stop them, replaying the moment over and over. The surge. The speed. The way the world bent around me like it couldn't keep up.
The voice.
The light.
The name she gave herself.
The Speed Force.
I stare at my shaking hand, still faintly buzzing, like static trapped under my skin.
Now there's no denying it.
No pretending it was a dream.
I look up at my family, all of them scared, all of them real.
"It's okay," I say softly, even though my heart is pounding like thunder. "I think I know what this is."
They don't understand yet.
But I do.
Now it's official.
The lightning didn't just wake me up.
It changed me.
I have the Speed Force.
I'm a speedster.