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Joe finds Barry sitting in front of the pipeline, knees drawn up to his chest and arms wrapped around as if to hold in all the anger and hurt and fear thrumming at speeds faster than anyone else can hope to comprehend inside of him. Ever since he’s become the Flash, Barry’s had to hold something like the weight of the world on his shoulders. Tucked in on himself like this his son once more seems a small boy, crumbling under the pressure.
Of course, he’s reminded that Barry Allen isn’t just his son when the kid asks in a wearied voice, “Do you think my dad is still alive?”
“Yes. Yes, he is,” Joe is quick to reassure. “Of course.” But he knows there’s only so much he can say right now to bolster Barry’s confidence. This hostage situation with Jesse is a terrible ordeal, made worse by the fact that their best bet to finding Henry is headed by a man Joe’s no longer alone in thinking had a hand in Nora’s death.
As much as it may make things difficult going forward if Barry cannot hide his distaste or mistrust of Harrison Wells, he’s more worried right now that this betrayal by the man his kid has so long admired might break him. Dim the light he has that so many of them love in him. Those people that Barry’s chosen to see the best in, rather than the worst.
His kid’s not the type to give up though, and it’s clear he’s making the effort to listen to him, calm down. But then he wipes at his eyes with the back of a hand, chokes out, “I can’t lose my dad, Joe.”
He gets up from where he’s been sitting a few feet away. “Bear,” he murmurs, wraps his arms around the kid from behind. “Bear, come on.”
He’s preparing to pull his distraught son up to his feet, but then Barry says haltingly, between shaky breaths that are just barely sobs, “I mean I- I haven’t even t-told him.”
Joe pauses. “About?” He’d seen Barry at the jail with Henry telling him to hang on, that he was closing in on his mother’s killer. And the kid had told him how a visit to the prison’s infirmary about a month back or so had led to a supposedly hypothetical discussion about what Henry might have to say if his son were the Flash. It was pretty clear that even despite being behind bars, Henry Allen was remaining well informed on his son’s life.
But then Barry tilts his head up to look at Joe with big eyes sad and anxious. “Oliver. Us being…together. Me being, I don’t know.” Then he ducks back into Joe’s embrace.
Joe squeezes tighter. “Oh, Bear.” He should have seen this coming. All the time he’s had to watch and observe—first his kid’s developing feelings for Oliver, then his growing relationship with him—Henry hasn’t.
“I just- there was never a right time, and I have to be careful what I say in there because someone could overhear and I was- I was—”
“Scared?” He guesses softly, remembering the shame on his son’s face when he’d admitted to Joe his feelings for the Starling man, and feels the way Barry nods against his chest more than sees it. “Of what he might think? Barry,” he chides softly at the second nod and gasping, shuddering breaths that are wracking the kid’s body. “You really think that he’d be upset? Your dad loves you. If there’s one thing I’ve always known about Henry, even when I didn’t believe he was innocent, it’s that he loves his son.”
“That doesn’t mean he has to like this,” is muttered into his arm.
“Well, I think your pop would have something to say about that,” Joe tells him, knows Barry hears it without really listening. “You want to tell him?”
“No,” is immediately blurted, followed by a guilty, “I mean, yes, but I just- I don’t know if I could and I…he said he was proud of me, Joe. For being the Flash. What if he’s not anymore because I’m, you know?”
“Why would that change how he feels about you being the Flash? How he feels about you?”
“It is me though,” Barry insists. “The Flash, me and Oliver…it’s all who I am. And I, I don’t know what I’d do if he didn’t like it, Joe. He’s my dad.”
Even if he’s asking for comfort, Joe knows whatever he gives won’t really get through to him. So he sighs and says, “Well we got to find him first, alright? Come on.” At last, Barry lets Joe lift him to his feet, and he does a final swipe of his hand over his eyes. And he walks right back up to the cortex to rejoin the others, Wells included. If the wheelchair-bound man, Caitlin, or Cisco notice Barry’s red-rimmed eyes and the way his voice is thick and heavy from crying when he asks if they’ve got anything yet, they don’t say anything about it.
There’s really nothing to say. They all know Barry’s upset; sad and angry and terrified for his father. Joe’s the only one who knows, though, that there’s an ugly little fear of his father mixed up in all that, something that Barry’s never felt about Henry before. And Joe doesn’t like it at all. With some chagrin, he realizes that as good of a surrogate he’s been in accepting Barry for the love he’s found, he’s all but forgotten that it’s not just his approval Barry craves.
Well that’s something Joe’s going to make sure he gets.
---
Nice as the change of scenery’s been these past couple days, Henry could’ve done with a bit less of the maniacal father-son Trickster pair. And the box of cleavers and knives dangling precariously over his head, definitely less of that.
But it’s worth it for the rush of wind and sound around him as he is moved faster than he can even comprehend out of danger into an open street. His savior stands just feet from him, a young man strong and tall and decked out in a head to toe suit like the superheroes in comic books he used to get wheedled into buying at every opportunity in long-gone days.
“All right,” he says, a smile growing, one of pride and awe. He knows this man.
That’s his son.
The Flash tugs off his mask and Barry’s grinning at him with relief and joy all over his face, but saying nothing. Waiting for him.
A shocked laugh makes its way past his lips and he has to clamp his hands down on Barry’s shoulders, needing to reach out and feel that yes this is real, this is his boy. And all he can think to say is, “You always did look good in red.” They laugh, and hug, and it’s the best feeling in the world to hold him in his arms. For the first time in nearly fifteen years.
Barry is as reluctant as Henry to part, it seems, and even runs him back to STAR labs instead of Iron Heights for a quick little tour of this Flash operation he has going. Henry meets Dr. Caitlin Snow, Cisco Ramon, and Dr. Harrison Wells himself, all pillars of support for his son.
But Barry, still, is oddly reticent. He might have pictured him excitedly going over what each and every piece of machinery does on that crash course with Cisco or beaming when Caitlin proved so warm and welcoming or puffed up with pride when Harrison Wells called him an extraordinary man. Henry feels he’s still missing things, that he’s not being given the full story, and he hates how despite both their efforts his incarceration has still placed a distance between them.
With nothing left to say, however, he’s the one to turn to Joe and offer his wrists. “It’s time, Joe.”
But the other man shakes his head. “No.”
“No?”
“No,” the detective repeats again.
A little dazed, Henry manages, “Ok,” and the two walk out of the room like the old friends they once were. He’s still getting used to this, Joe’s renewed belief and sympathy towards him. For so long they’ve been at odds; the detective thinking him a murderer, and Henry conflicted thinking him both a savior of his son and usurper of his position. Joe, as he’s said before, is lucky. So, so lucky to have had such a role in Barry’s life. The only thing that’s kept him from turning resentful with envy is how much the man so obviously appreciates it.
They haven’t said much, but they only get out of view of STAR labs until Joe’s pulling over into an uninhabited, undeveloped lot. Henry, in the backseat, looks around in confusion. “What’re we doing here?” There’s a wild thought for a second that the other man’s going to tell him to run, that he’s not taking him back, but even knowing Henry’s innocence Joe’s too much a stickler for the rules for that. And Henry doesn’t want to be an escaped convict, much less would he know what to do if he were one.
The detective has his phone out, is texting somebody. “Needed to give you two somewhere to talk besides the lab.”
“Who two?” But then there’s a streak of yellow electricity crackling down the road towards them and Barry is suddenly there, leaning in the open driver’s window.
“Joe, what’s the matter? You both ok?” He looks about to shove his head all the way through to get a proper look at Henry, but Joe’s raising a placating hand.
“Everything’s fine, we’re not in trouble.” Then the detective is motioning his son back so he can step out of the car, pulls the side door open which Henry takes as his own cue to get out. “But there’s something you said you couldn’t tell your dad in Iron Heights. Now seems like a good time.”
Henry feels his eyebrows raise, particularly when Barry pales and looks back and forth between him and the other man, his expression almost betrayed. “Joe—”
“Hey,” the detective places his hands on Barry’s shoulders, makes him hold his gaze for a moment. “It’ll be fine. You can do this.” Then he pulls him into a tight hug. Barry’s eyes are squeezed shut and he holds on for a long moment, like he’s scared to let go. It makes Henry’s heart constrict in his chest. When they finally part, Joe gives Barry a nudge towards him, sending him a surprisingly fierce warning look over the kid’s shoulder that he better not screw this up.
Well Henry’s never needed anyone to tell him how to handle his own son, not even Joe West. So he reaches out, places a hand on Barry’s back and inclines his head in the other direction, a silent suggestion. “C’mon, slugger.”
They walk, and even when Joe gets back in the car to wait, they keep walking. Barry’s eyes are fixed on the ground, kicking loose stones and bits of gravel across the lot. He’s trying not to let the wait get to him, but he imagines he might be looking just as anxious as Barry does when his son chances a quick glance from under his eyelashes.
“I’m seeing somebody,” his son suddenly blurts, and Henry takes a faltering step forward before stopping.
“I thought things didn’t work out with Linda,” is the first thing that comes to mind.
Barry blinks. “Linda? Oh, no. Not her,” and though it’s a bit shaky, it’s managed to get a brief laugh out of him. “I mean, that probably would’ve gotten awkward. She works with Iris.” Henry tries not to grimace at the mention of the other West. On his advice, Barry had gone to the young woman—a little girl still in his mind’s eye—and confessed his long-held feelings, and gotten nothing but rejection for it. “And anyway, I couldn’t really tell her about this,” his son waves a hand back in the general vicinity of STAR labs.
Now Henry feels more than a little lost. “Isn’t Caitlin engaged?”
And they’re good at mirroring each other’s expressions, it seems, because Barry’s face takes on a baffled one to match his own. “Uh, yeah dad. Why are we talking about Caitlin?”
“Well I’m guessing that whoever you’re seeing knows about all this, if that was a problem with Linda,” he elaborates.
“No, no! Not Caitlin,” Barry hurries to say, now that he’s gotten Henry’s train of thought, looking embarrassed and so desperate to be anywhere but here that it hurts. “You haven’t met him.”
“Him?” His son’s face starts to turn another brilliant shade of red that does not look good on him when coupled with his wide horrified eyes and the hand that’s been slapped over his mouth as if to stop himself giving anything else away. Which is going to make things difficult considering Henry has a lot of questions, starting with, “Well does ‘him’ have a name?”
Barry’s hand comes away from his mouth slowly, looking dumbstruck. His voice is fainter than a whisper when he asks, “…What?”
And Henry has to chuckle, then says, “You know I like to keep up with your friends and dates.”
“But—”
“But what, Barry?” He sobers up now, places both hands on his son’s shoulders. “You think it matters to me if it’s a Linda or a, well—”
“Oliver,” Barry supplies quietly, like he’s worried being too loud might somehow shatter this moment as if it’s some calm before a storm.
“—Oliver,” Henry continues on regardless. “Look, we’ve never talked about this, but just because your mother and I found love with each didn’t mean we thought that was the only way. She’d want you to be happy, just like I do. Is that how this Oliver makes you feel?”
Barry sniffs once, tears brimming in his eyes as he nods. “Yeah. Yeah, he really does.”
Henry smiles warmly. “Then that’s what matters. What’s always mattered. Cause we love you, son.”
And he wraps him in yet another hug, something he could never tire of, especially when Barry nearly collapses into it, clutching at the coat they’ve given him to wear over his prison clothes. Henry doesn’t think he’s ever not going to feel useful again, not when Barry is resting his head on his shoulder slack with relief and taking big gulps of air like he’s coming down from some kind of panic attack. Henry places one hand to the back of his head, secures him there, while the other rubs circles on his back, soothing but firm. “That’s it, Barry. It’s alright.”
Barry’s keeps trying to speak, disjointed things like, “Dad, I—oh God, thank you—I couldn’t take it if—if you—dad.”
“Hey,” he says, gently admonishing. “There’s nothing you need to thank me for. Though I gotta wonder—did you really think you couldn’t tell me this in Iron Heights?”
Barry’s calming now, and he takes a final breath before pulling back a little, scrubbing a hand over his face. “Oh. Well, no, it’s just—Oliver’s kind of like me. What I do, without the super speed. That’s kind of how we know each other.”
“Ah, so that’s why it’s not something to be talked about in mixed company,” he replies, and Barry nods. Then he can’t help the slight grimace when he adds, “And I’m guessing that means I won’t be seeing him during visiting hours.”
The relieved beaming smile Barry’s been wearing since Henry made it clear his thoughts on the whole thing dims slightly. “Probably not. But, he does know about you. Turns out the magazine’s wrong; it’s not a turnoff.”
He recalls their conversation about Linda Park and Barry’s chances were she to know about his incarceration, can’t help but smile. “Well then, now I know he’s got good tastes.” They both have to laugh at that. “We ever do something like this again, you’ll have to let Oliver know to be in town.”
“We are not doing this again,” Barry says in a tone that means no argument, even if he’s still grinning a little bit. And he lets Henry throw an arm over his shoulders as they walk back to the car, so he can’t be too bothered by the joke. And maybe he hasn’t gotten to ask all his questions, but what’s most important for Barry to hear has been said and it’s long past time to go. Barry holds the door open for him and Henry slides into the back. Then the door is shut, his son drums his hands on the roof of the car and smiles wide and warm at both Henry and Joe. “Have a nice drive.”
“Sure, Bear,” says Joe.
“You bet, slugger,” says Henry.
Then his son is zipping off with that same blur of color and lightning. Henry lets loose another incredulous laugh, catches Joe giving him a knowing look in the rearview mirror.
“Kid sure is something else, isn’t he?” The detective and foster father asks of his—their—son.
“Yeah, he is,” Henry agrees, just as proud. Then his tone softens as he says, “Joe, I want to thank you for this. For helping him with this.” He nods out to the lot to indicate the conversation he arranged that Henry hadn’t even known was needed.
“Oh, it was no trouble,” the other man replies, perfectly nonchalant. He lifts up an old magazine, finger tapping over some article about one of Starling’s billionaires. “Found some reading tucked away in here, Iris tends to leave these lying around.” Tap, tap goes his finger twice more before he sets it aside, but that’s given enough time for Henry to scan the article title.
About Oliver Queen.
Whether Joe sees his wide-eyed stare as he turns the key in the ignition and pulls the car out onto the road, he doesn’t know. But he does know he’s got a hell of a lot more questions.