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Barry stared at the ceiling, mind elsewhere. He couldn’t fall asleep. When did he go to bed? He thought it was hours ago. How long had it been since he had actually slept? Weeks? Months? It started when he woke up from that coma. All the Particle Accelerators fault. Whywhywhywhy?
He sat up, clutching his head. Why couldn’t his brain just shut up?!? It was hard enough to slow his thoughts enough to sleep when he was just a genius, not a speedster. Now, he barely had time to process a thought before the next one was there. Everything was too fast, too much. His head was constantly crowded, loud. Constantly bombarded with more thoughts. The thoughts never left either, he could never be rid of them, pressing against his skull, racing, demanding attention.
The scarlet speedster let out a strangled gasp, half laugh, half sob. He swung his legs, that’s funny, he thought his limbs would never be tired again, how come now just the effort to leave his bed made him want to collapse? over the side of the bed. He stumbled into the bathroom, clutching at the counter, staring at the haggard face that peered back. Tired brown eyes set into slightly sunken sockets. Dark circles surrounding those dead orbs. Sickly pale face, skin stretched too tightly over the sharp bones.
Barry fumbled in his drawer, reaching for the foundation and concealer. He never thought he’d be glad for Iris making him watch those videos on makeup application. He dusted over the bags under is eyes. Made them disappear. Made over his whole face. He blinked at his reflection. There, now he looked more normal. He wasn’t normal. He was a freak. He hadn’t slept in so long. Couldn’t interact normally when he had 8 hours a night. God, what must people think of him!
He went to work, was late, got yelled at. Everything was normal. He was fine. Nothing wrong with him. Maybe, nothing was wrong with him. Maybe he just was wrong. Flash duty as usual. If no one pointed out or noticed his reaction speed was just a fraction slower? Who cares, it was still way too fast for other to register. If his smile looked pasted on, jagged? Well, he was known for awkward. Just dismiss it. If his laugh was tinged with bitterness and hysteria? Well, he never expected people to care about how he was. It wasn’t a laugh. It was a scream. Helpmehelpmepleasei’mdrowning.
Weeks of this. Of laying there, fighting back tears. Of dragging his aching, exhausted body to and fro. Of no one noticing. Of him slowly fading. It wasn’t until after a confrontation with the Rouges that anyone said anything. He had just gotten back to S.T.A.R. Labs. He had forgotten to use setter, so when he pulled off his mask, some make up had come with it.
“Dude,” Cisco called, confusion and a bit of frustration leaking into his tone, “Did you get make up on my suit?”
Caitlin glanced up, “Why would Barry be wearing make up? Don’t be absurd, Cisco.”
Cisco huffed, but let it go. Neither noticed the flash of genuine fear that flitted across Barry’s face. Neither noticed how his body tensed, ready to take off at the slightest provocation.
No one ever noticed anything. Maybe if they had, the Flash wouldn’t have collapsed in the middle of a fight. Maybe his brain wouldn’t have completely shut down, the lack of sleep finally catching up to him. Maybe Central City’s hero wouldn’t have died before anyone acknowledged him. Maybe a CSI, a son and a best friend would have survived.