Chapter Text
The car's interior is warm, but Barry still feels cold. Trails of rainwater drip down the windows, distorting the sharp yellow glare from the streetlights and the blinding beams of headlights. Outside, the world is nothing but blots of light in stark shadow.
Barry hasn't touched the small bag of books and toys he was allowed to keep with him in the back of the car, and Lavinia the dragon is lucky that all her organs are stuffing, given how tightly Barry is holding her.
"We're here." Ms. Caroline, Barry's social worker, informs him as the car comes to a stop in the driveway of an unfamiliar house. "You're going to be staying with Mr Frye- remember him?"
"I do." Barry lies.
"Your things are in the back. I'll help you take them inside, okay?" Ms Caroline gets out of the car, helps him out of his booster seat, and starts taking things out of the trunk.
Mr Frye turns out to be the police officer who told him that his mom was dead and his father killed her(not that Barry believes that for a second), a tall blond man with sharp features and piercing blue eyes. "Hey, Barry. Let's get you inside and out of the rain, shall we?"
Barry nods, clutches Lavinia tightly to his chest and loops the bag of books around his shoulder, then sprints towards the door before he can get too soaked.
The Grand Hall of the Royal Palace of the Queendom of Arcera is packed with people of all shapes, sizes and colors- enough people that even with the Hall expanded to its maximum size and all of the seating packed away, half of them have to stand on the support columns and ceiling rafters.
Outside the stained-glass windows, rain pours down in salty sheets from roiling banks of grief-dark clouds, thick enough to blot out the heavens' light completely.
It's a far cry from the usual state of the Queendom's weather- even during the worst storms, you can still see a handful of celestial bodies who don't mind the bad weather, and the only colors that are never found in the ever-shifting Arceran sky are gray and black.
And in the center of it all- the only remaining open space in the Grand Hall- the raised podium where the Queen would normally address the population, the normally vibrant and colorful shiftstone now uniformly the writhing rot-black of fallow aspirations.
The Flash steps onto the podium, and clears their throat. The faint murmur of worried conversation fades to a hesitant anticipatory silence.
"Citizens of Arcera, I suppose you are wondering why I have called you here, and why the Flash is addressing you rather than the Queen." A murmur of agreement. "To put it simply, the Queen is dead.”
The Grand Hall is soon filled with a thundering cacophony of despairing, shocked and horrified noises. Several dozen people fall off the ceiling, and the Flash’s voice is drowned out by the sheer level of noise.
The crowd falls silent as a stocky dragon with dark purple scales and a round head crowned by a glittering frill the color of amethysts descends into the Hall on wide, batlike wings speckled with silver, a bellowed roar of “ORDER! ORDER IN THE HALL!” cutting through any remaining noise.
“Thank you, Lavinia.” the Flash acknowledges, once the crowd is silent. “Now, you have probably all noticed the various disruptions to the land and weather. Rest assured that the Council of Velocity has a solution in the works, and a new Queen will be crowned as soon as possible. Arcera will persevere if we have anything to say about it.”
“You are all hereby dismissed. Please make your way out of the Grand Hall in a calm and orderly fashion.” the Flash instructs, stressing their words with a measure of Royal Edict to ensure that they will be followed.
“Your bags can stay by the door for now- we’ll put your stuff away later, after you’ve got some food and time to process.” Mr. Frye informs him. “I’ll show you around- you’ll learn where things are in time, but for now don’t be afraid to ask for help if you forget or don’t know where something is.”
“This isn’t my home. Don’t treat it like it is.” Barry snaps. “I already have one, and this isn’t it.”
Mr Frye sighs tiredly. “Barry, you can’t go back to your old house. Your parents aren't there anymore and it's an active crime scene. I'm here for you, even if your mom and dad aren't.”
Barry huffs. “Right. Where’s my bedroom? I’m going to bed.”
“Upstairs, but you have to eat dinner first.” Mr Frye informs him.
Barry stomps one foot on the ground. “No, I don’t. You can’t make me!”
Mr Frye sighs. “Barry, you need to eat.”
“I’ll eat in the morning!" Barry huffs, crossing his arms.
Mr Frye exhales slowly and combs his hair out of his face with one hand. "Barry, I know this is hard-"
"You're the reason it's hard!" Barry shoots back.
"...Kid, I'll just reheat some things and we'll both eat, okay?" Mr Frye tries. "You can go to sleep once you've eaten a decent portion."
"Fine." Barry huffs. This is going to suck.
The Council of Velocity has no set number of members or composition. Titles are created and granted to their Holders by a Crowned Royal as needed, and the privileges, powers and responsibilities assigned to each Title vary heavily.
It doesn’t help that not all Titled Nobility are part of the Council(for whatever reason) and that two Councillors having a quick casual discussion in a tea shop is just as much a valid meeting as a formal gathering of every single Councillor in the House of Decisions.
Still, no matter how much the Council of Velocity’s composition grows, shrinks or changes, there are always two constants in its membership.
The Queen, Conduit and living incarnation of the Speed Force, the first and highest of the Crowned Royals of Arcera and sovereign ruler of the Queendom which carries her name.
And the Flash, the right hand of the Queen, the unifying and guiding force of the Council of Velocity and Arcera as a whole and the one Title whose holders can always be trusted to act for the good of Arcera rather than for themselves.
That constancy is what allows the Council’s goals to remain coherent, at least by the standards of the Dreamlands.
And now, the Queen is dead. It’s not as disastrous as it could be- there is a Heir already born and Crowned, and the Queendom of Arcera itself is intact and not under assault, just suffering from the various side effects of having a deceased Ruler and a grieving Heir.
But it does mean that everyone is looking to the Flash as they once looked to the Queen- and the Flash can’t help but be disturbed by having so much independent responsibility pushed onto them.
After all, the Flash is, by definition, a Title without a Name attached. The Flash can always be trusted to act for the good of Arcera rather than themselves because they have no singular, concrete Self, just the accumulated knowledge, skills, wisdom and experience of every single Dreamborn who gave up their Name to become the Flash.
And the kind of Dreamborn who would willingly give up their very Name to serve their people without the hope for future recognition(in any sense of the word) is generally the kind of Dreamborn who doesn’t care if their achievements go unacknowledged and who instinctively shrinks from the very concept of the limelight.
Still, they have to try. Arcera is counting on them being able to act in time, and it’s not like they are in any way incapable of independent thought or initiative. They just greatly prefer to act on the Queen’s orders, with everyone looking to the Queen.
“So. The Queen is dead.” the Flash starts off. “We need to deal with that.”
Several of the Councilors blanch and splutter at the blunt declaration, but a warning growl from ever-trusty Lavinia, High Commander of the Royal Guard, shuts them down.
“Firstly, we have the fact that the Queen is dead at all. A Crowned Royal can only ever be truly killed by a Conduit associated with a related Power, outside of the Dreamlands.” the Flash explains. “The Prince would obviously never kill his mother and the Still, Strength and Sage Forces still don't have conduits. We’d notice if they did.”
“That leaves the Negative Speed Force’s Conduits. And as we all know, the King of Entropia hates the Prince of Arcera with all of his heart. And since he is a Conduit, he can access the Physical, and thus the Queen’s current human body, as easily as you could walk to the store.”
“And before you ask- I know the Physical operates by iron-bound rules and laws incompatible with the basic nature of reality in the Dreamlands, and no Dreamborn could ever hope to survive unaltered in the Physical for long, even if they can survive the ravages of human Disbelief.” The Flash looks around the room, leveling glares on several would-be interrupters. “ Conduits are not Dreamborn. They have ready-made Physical bodies fully compatible with its laws, which are accessible as easily as stepping back through the Gate of Horn and Ivory, and not subject to Disbelief in the slightest. And they know the social conventions of the Physical by heart, having lived there for half of their lives. Any questions?”
“What about the time difference? They live five hundred years apart in the Physical.” the Hawk Prince points out, wings fluttering.
The Flash considers that for a short while. “That does make the process slightly more complicated, but for a Conduit of the Positive Speed Force, time travel in the Physical is as simple as entering their Domain in the Dreamlands, then creating and walking down a road that leads to the time period they want. I’d imagine the same would apply to a Conduit of the Negative.”
“...They can do that?” the Arbiter of Hours asks, the ticking of their eyes speeding up. “I can’t, and you all know what my Title is.”
“That’s because no one other than a Crowned Royal in their Domain has the power to do it. They’re not walking down a path that already exists, they’re forging one that never existed before out of their own power. It's a Royal Edict, not simple oneiromancy.” the Flash explains. "Now, we have a solid plan of action. The Prince will enter the realm soon, and as he is the Crowned Heir, all we need to do is Crown him as full Queen of Arcera."
Barry, unfortunately, did have to eat dinner before Mr Frye would tell him which room was his- doing his best to eat as quickly as possible, using copious quantities of milk to wash down the awful taste of reheated string beans and slightly freezer-burnt meat.
"...I know this isn't your mother's cooking, but all I had on such short notice was leftovers." Mr Frye placates. "I'll try and get you some better food tomorrow, when we've both had a chance to sleep."
"This is mush, not cooking!" Barry gestures to his plate. "There. Is that enough?"
"One more bite?" Mr Frye pleads, somewhat desperate-sounding.
Barry stabs a piece of meat with his fork, chews it and swallows it with the help of a gulp of milk. "There you go. Now, where's my room?"
Mr Frye pauses, shuts his eyes and takes a deep breath, then gets up and starts walking upstairs. "...Follow me. I'll show you."
Barry's new room is mostly empty and obviously a hastily-stocked guest room- given the adult-sized bed, light layer of dust covering the corners and the depressingly bland and undecorated beige wallpaper.
It makes sense- Mr. Frye obviously doesn’t want him except to make himself(not Barry) feel better, and this is just a short notice placement. Barry doesn’t really care, just settling down under the covers of his bed, clutching Lavinia to his chest, and trying to fall asleep.
Mr Frye pauses at the door, looking Barry in the eye. "...I'm sorry, kid. For what it's worth, I don't believe Henry did it, either."
Barry looks up at him. "Stop trying to get me to like you. Just get out."
Mr Frye looks a little hurt, but he sighs and starts to leave anyway. "...I'll be in my room if you need me."
"I won't." Barry snaps, wondering if he's strong enough to push Mr Frye out.
Once he's finally alone on his bed, it takes only a moment to fall asleep and push open the massive Gate of Horn and Ivory separating the waking and dreaming worlds.
He emerges in the Royal Gardens of Arcera, but it takes him a moment to realize it, considering that the sky is filled with roiling black clouds, the flowers have been drowned by the pouring, salty rain, and the color seems to have faded from everything.
“What…what happened?” Barry gasps.
The Flash is at his side within an instant, like they always are when Barry needs them. Their eyes, wide and blank white, search Barry’s face for a moment, the rest of their expression faintly worried.
“...The Queen’s dead, Barry.” the Flash admits, hands wringing nervously. “And since you’re the Prince…well, your grief is doing this.”
Barry stares, and splutters in shock. “I-what? I…She can’t be dead!”
“She is, Barry. No amount of denial will change that fact.” The Flash reaches out to take Barry’s hand. “Please, Barry. Just come with me. Arcera can’t survive without a Queen forever.”
“I don’t want to be Queen!” Barry cries. “Mom’s not dead!”
“You can be King if you want, although we’d have to review some of the treaty wording and that might cause problems down the line-”
“I DON’T WANT TO BE QUEEN BECAUSE MOM’S NOT DEAD!” Barry shouts, interrupting Flash. In the distance, lightning strikes a mountain, cracking it in half and lighting up the sky with golden light.
“Barry, I’m just trying to help you-”
“LEAVE ME ALONE AND GO HELP SOMEONE ELSE! I DON’T WANT TO SEE YOU EVER AGAIN!” Barry shouts, clenching his fists and realizing only too late what he’s done.
Flash’s eyes widen, first in shock then in fear, and with a crack like thunder rolling, they fold in on themself and disappear into a crackle of sparks.
Barry stares at the spot where they disappeared in horror. …He just killed Flash, didn’t he?
Flash wakes up in an alleyway, outside a small suburban home. The instant they solidify, they can feel the alien stasis of their environment- even just being here is slowly picking away at their being. Dreamborn are not meant to exist in the Physical, not even when forced there.
Ringing in their ears is their Prince’s last Edict- leave me alone and go help someone else. It’s their only lifeline, and also their end, because helping a human means being seen, and being seen means Disbelief.
A gunshot pierces the air, and Flash realizes what they have to do- they need to help them, they were made to follow orders, even more than the other Dreamborn sworn to a Royal.
Heart sinking, they race through the streets, trying their best to skip over as much of the terrain as possible in order to not be seen.
There’s a gunman holding up a woman for her wallet, her four-year-old daughter hiding behind her leg even as the unshaven man with shaking hands aims a gun at her head.
The gunman glances up at them, and Flash feels his Disbelief like a thousand razors on their skin, slowly picking away at what they are. It hurts, like nothing else can hurt.
They move, disarming the gunman and knocking him out. The woman looks at him in shock and Disbelief, slightly salved by the hopeful wonder of the four-year-old girl behind her.
“Who…what are you?”
“I’m the Flash.” they respond. And then they leave, because nothing says they have to stay after they help, and every fiber of their being is screaming in agony.
This…this is…why would Barry do this to them? Why would he doom them to a slow Ending, cut to pieces by a thousand people’s Disbelief until they’re not even pieces anymore?
…They thought he loved them. They thought they were brothers.
Except…Barry did love them. He didn’t mean to do this. He still did it.
He’s eight, and a Crowned Royal, and grieving- lashing out at the one person who always just wanted to help him.
They can’t cry, but they want to. Maybe it will make them feel less cold.
The Edict still tugs at them- go help someone else. They need to find someone to help, or disobeying the Edict will pull them apart as surely as Disbelief.
“Flash? Flash? I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it! I’m sorry! Please don’t be dead! You’re my brother, please come back!” Barry begs, falling to his knees. The rain pours down thicker, this time hot and iron-sharp. “Flash…please come back, I need you…”
There’s a sound like a bell tolling, and the Flash re-appears, panting heavily and curling in on themself, eyes wild with fear. “Don’t…don’t do that again.” they gasp hoarsely. “Disbelief hurts.”
Barry’s eyes widen, and he runs forward and grabs the Flash by the shoulders in a somewhat awkward hug. “You’re alive! I didn’t kill you!”
“...You could have, Barry.” the Flash murmurs, voice wavering. “But you told me just to leave me alone and go help someone else . That would still have killed me, but…slower.”
“Where’d…where’d you go?” Barry asks, quiet and halting.
“The Physical. It’s the only place I could go.” Flash shudders. “I had to help people. They…they didn’t Believe. Not the adults, at least.”
“...Are you okay?” The Flash looks fine, but they’re obviously not fine emotionally.
“I…it’s like half of me is missing.” they admit. “But I’m here. I can put myself back together.”
Barry swallows guiltily. “Okay. We…we can workshop it.”