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Iris never used to dream much. She might have had the occasional nightmare, sure, as any kid did, about going to school naked or fighting terrible monsters. But for the most part, when she slept, her brain successfully pressed the ‘off’ switch on itself and peaceful nothingness engulfed her until morning.
Then, of course, Eddie died.
The first night after the event - after blood bloomed from his chest, after she tried to cling to his still-warm corpse, after his body was swept away into some bullshit vortex - she’s in her old bedroom in her dad’s place, and is supposed to be knocked out for the next few hours at least, thanks to some pills Caitlin had knowingly given her. But she wakes up in a shock, the first dream she’s had in years clinging to her, Eddie’s blank eyes and cold skin still with her.
The dreams continue, with mostly the same structure. She’ll be in their old apartment and she’ll go to find Eddie, having woken in their bed without him. She finds him in the kitchen, or the living room, or about to leave for work, and she calls his name, and when he turns to face her, blood is already spreading across his chest.
She tries medication, hypnosis tapes, even goes to see a grief counselor for a while. But nothing heals the heart like time, and she goes about her life as if she isn’t waking each night with tears streaming down her cheeks and a shriek stuck in her throat.
Besides, it’s not like she’s the only one in pain. She’s barely seen Cisco or Caitlin in months, her dad wakes around with guilt like it’s a tangible thing, and Barry…Barry will barely look at her. When she does see him, she thinks that at least she can wear make-up to hide the bags under her eyes.
But Team Flash regroups, rebuilds. Life goes on. Eventually, Eddie no longer waits for her when she closes her eyes, only making a brief appearance when the new Wells comes along, with an awfully familiar face she supposes he can’t help.
The dreams don’t quite stop, though. They just…morph into something else entirely.
In these new dreams, she’ll wake in her own apartment, or even her dad’s place, and she’ll climb out of bed to the smell of breakfast being cooked, coffee being brewed. She’ll wander to the kitchen, the feeling of contentedness filling her up like a glowing light, and she’s only wearing a man’s shirt, buttoned haphazardly down to her thighs. She enters the kitchen, and there’s a man there, torso bare and facing away from her to the cooker. She pads over to him, and sun’s streaming through the window, and she’s ready to curl into him and-
And she wakes up, the pattern of freckles and unruly chestnut hair still vivid in her mind.
At first, she thinks she’s just getting confused. (Well, actually, her actual first instinct is to deny the dreams are even happening, but two weeks in, even she’s not that obtuse.) She’s used to the domesticity, and she’s a little bit lonely, and her subconscious is just inserting Barry into the fantasy because he’s her best friend. Then, as he and Patty become a real item, she think she’s just wanting what she can’t have.
Eventually, she has to come to the conclusion that her subconscious is a little faster at working things out than her actual mind.
But she tries not to think about it too much. Barry is with Patty, after all, and she wants him to be happy, no matter how much it hurts deep in her gut to think of Patty getting to wake up to the kind smile and warm coffee.
There’s other stuff going on, anyway: there’s more meta-humans to report on and stop, she’s working out her place in the team at STAR labs, and then, she finds out she has a mother and a brother. Dreams are hardly a priority when real life is eventful enough.
-
She’s in her own apartment, about to chuck a ready-meal into her microwave when she gets the text from her dad:
‘Bear n Patty broke up. im on shift 2nite can u check in on him?’
(One day, she’ll get her dad to no longer use text speak - it’s an ongoing battle of theirs.)
No more than fifteen minutes later, she’s outside her old home, having spent the entire car ride over telling herself that she’s sympathetic. She’s certainly not happy or pleased or excited by the news, definitely not.
It’s only after she presses the doorbell that she realises this will be the first time she and Barry have spent truly alone since her dreams began starring him.
She’s about to work herself up into a panic about that fact when the door opens, the echoes of the doorbell still ringing out, and Barry’s there, looking tired and only a little surprised at her appearance.
Iris steels herself mentally, slapping a smile on her face as she sings, “Movie night!” before he can ask what she’s doing here. She brandishes the DVD in one hand, and pushes past him into the house, not giving him the opportunity to make excuses or send her away. She’s well-versed in comforting Barry, has been ever since he was first brought to their house in the middle of the night, and she knows that he’ll say he wants to be alone when he definitely does not.
She’s a whirlwind around the house, putting in microwave popcorn and then slotting the disc into the DVD player, and then finding the comfiest blankets from the cupboard. Take that, Flash, you’re not the only one who can multitask.
They curl up on the sofa like old times, and the movie plays, though Iris can hardly concentrate with his arm behind her, resting on the back on the couch, and her knees curled up and leaning on his thigh. They’re been in this position since kids, through college, through her boyfriends and his girlfriends, so it absolutely shouldn’t be making her feel nervous, or her pulse feel quick.
“Joe told you, huh?” he asks, apropos of nothing, almost quiet enough that she could pretend she didn’t hear him.
But she twists her lips. “Yeah.” Then she tilts her head to look up at him, to ascertain his expression. “Is that okay?” She realises he hadn’t told her himself yet, and she feels a little cold at the thought of them growing that apart that he wouldn’t.
“I was going to text you,” he says, as if reading her thoughts. He sighs. “She figured out I was the Flash.”
Iris works hard to tamper the flare of jealousy that rises in her, the idea of Patty being the one to wait on rooftops as well as wait in bed-sheets. “Oh?” She asks lightly. “How did she react?”
“I think she might have been okay with it,” he says, looking at the TV screen, though Iris could not tell you any of the plot as she watches his expression. “I just- I realised she was great for me as just Barry, you know? I liked her, and she liked that side of me. I’m just not sure how she would’ve been with the Flash as a boyfriend.Or that she really understood all of me.” He makes a frustrated sound. “Does that sound stupid?”
“Not at all,” she says, perhaps a little too quickly. His gaze is still focused at the movie, though she can tell from his profile that he’s lost in thought, and she twists so she can place her hand on his knee to draw his attention. “Barry, I have every faith you’ll find someone who gets all the different parts of you. CSI and the Flash, clumsy dork and brave hero. Even the weird part of you that hates mint candy.”
“Yeah,” he says, finally looking straight at her as he echoes, “Someone.”
-
She opens her eyes slowly, eyelids heavy, and she’s in her dad’s place, which might be weird if this obviously wasn’t just another dream, another fantasy her subconscious can’t help but loop every time she shuts her eyes.
She throws off the covers and, yes, all according to pattern: she’s only wearing a guy’s shirt, plaid and big enough to drown her. She smells coffee and pancakes, and she knows what to do next, lips curled in a soft smile and eyes still hooded from sleepiness.
She pads down the stairs and into the kitchen, and the sight is as familiar as it is pleasing. The freckled bare back, the eggs frying, the sweats hanging down to his bare feet. Sometimes she’ll wake up at this point, but she isn’t surprised that the dream continues. She pads forward, feet light on the cold morning stone, arms outstretched and vision foggy.
“Iris?” She hears him say, and he sounds amused, and her subconscious has apparently perfected the tone of his voice.
She floats forward and nestles into his side, pulling his arm up and over her shoulders, humming with her eyes still half-closed.”Coffee?” She asks around a yawn.
He’s frowning at her, which he doesn’t usually. Usually he’s only too happy to oblige, having already made the coffee- but oh, there he is, keeping one arm around her while he uses the other to put a mug under the coffee machine and press the button. She makes a content sound that can only be compared to a purr, pressing her nose into his chest, positioning herself between the cooker and the warmth of Barry’s chest. He hands her the coffee and she sighs happily, curling her free hand around it.
She’s so warm, sleepy and content, that she continues with the dream, knowing her alarm will go off any minute, and she tilts her chin up to press her lips against Barry’s, gently moving them in a close-lipped, soft kiss.
He makes a small sound, almost like surprise, which is a weird change in the usual events, but then he reaches up to cup her face, and kisses back, and this is so much better than usual, so much more intense and real.
She wants this to be real so much her gut aches. But she’ll take what she can get while the dream continues, and she trails her free hand up, up to curl into his scruffy hair, pressing her body into his, and he curls over her, and oh, maybe this is going to be one of those dreams-
But then he wrenches away, and she can’t help the small sound of annoyance. Dream Barry usually plays along, so why-
She opens her eyes properly, forcing them wide and focused as she takes in Barry, takes in the way she can actually see all the details of his face and the shock of his expression.
She drops her coffee as she realises that maybe, this isn’t her usual dream. That maybe, this isn’t a dream at all.
“Fuck,” she breathes. “You- I- I was supposed to be dreaming.”
Last night comes back in full, surround-sound, car-crash detail. They’d watched two more movies after the one Iris had brought, and Iris had fallen asleep on the couch. She vaguely remembers Barry helping her up, maybe even carrying her to bed? And he must have lent her one of his own shirts to sleep in since she didn’t have any pajamas here.
She just kissed Barry. Not in a dream, in real life. Fuck, indeed.
“You- you dream about kissing men in your kitchen a lot?” he asks, sounding a little more high-pitched than usual, and she supposes this is probably a lot to surprise him with first thing in the morning.
“Ah,” she says, and summons up all her bravery as she says, “No, not really. Just, um. Just about kissing you.”
He visibly swallows, and his lips twitch - possibly in a smile, but he’s obviously fighting with himself to keep his expression in check. “What does that mean?”
“Well.” She goes for broke. “I guess it means that I’m really, selfishly, glad you broke up with Patty? And if you give me, like thirty seconds to brush my teeth, we can maybe kiss some more now that I’m properly awake?”
His answering smile is nearly blinding, and he doesn’t even give her two seconds before he leans in to kiss her a proper good morning.