Iris pushed her apartment door closed with tired arms, leaning against the plank of wood in despair. She sighed to herself and closed her eyes.

She could still smell him around the house. See him. Hear him. Sense him. It was like what they always joked he was.

"The West's white shadow."

It was only teasing as a kid, but now, now it couldn't be more true.

It had been a fortnight. Fourteen days since her Barry Allen killed himself in this ver apartment. She had willed herself to return here after it happened, she refused to let the last thing she had of Barry rot away.

No one was the same. Most of the team was haunted, empty, broken. It was like Barry was the glue which held them all together. Like he brought this light with him. But now, it was gone.

What was here though, was new. On the table, was an old looking box. It was strange. She didn't have any deliveries. She dropped her keys on the counter and slowly approaced the box, afriad of what she might find. Opening it slowly, she sighed in relief and confusion as she found... tapes?

13. To be exact. There was also a set of headphones and a strange looking rectangle that was probably used to play the old fashioned plastic hardware. But, who would've left tapes for her at a time like this?

Usually it would be flowers or 'we're sorry for your loss' cards. Maybe even a box of chocolates to go with them. But, tapes? It seemed so different. So dorky. So...

...Barry.

But that couldn't be. He died. Her love of her life killed himself two weeks ago. The sweet kid had left everything he ever cared behind to pick up the pieces. He was gone.

Wasn't he?

She slowly sat down in a chair next to table, shakily fumbling with the first tape and the headphones. What was this? Who would leave this?

After about 5 minutes of fiddling with the tape, she managed to settle down and prepare to listen.

She pressed play.

"Hey, it's me. Barry. Barry Allen. Live and in stereo."

Her heart stopped and her breath hitched.

"That's right. Don't adjust your whatever you're hearing this on. It's me."

She wouldn't dare. It was him.

"And I hope you're ready. Because I'm about to tell you the story of my life. More specifically, why I'm not living it. Yeah, that's right. In case you didn't already know, I'm dead. And I'm about to tell you why."

It hurt her inside on how calm and collected he sounded.

"Now, if you're listening, that means you are one of the reasons I'm dead. There are 13 reasons why I'm not here, and you're one of them. If you're listening, I guarantee you're name will pop up. I promise."

Iris gasped to herself. She felt sick. How did she kill Barry? How did she fail him?

"Now, there are two rules. Number one, you listen. To them all. Number two, you pass it on. When you hear your tape, and don't worry I won't tell you which tape is yours, pass it on to the name after yours, unless that person's dead, then skip to the next one. AFTER you have finished listening, of course. Number 13, you get to keep the tapes. It's up to you what you want to do with them, destroy them, keep them, whatever. Don't break the rules. You broke me, so you owe me this. You all do."

Her heart thudded in her chest. She had no idea what Barry was talking about. She had no idea what any of this was about. But if Barry wanted her to listen. Then she would.

"I remember hearing someone say something once. And ironically, it applies. You ready? You can't stop the future, you can't rewind the past, all you can do if press play. Ironic, right? So go on. Press play."

She did as she was told, her anxiety only climbing with each moment passing.

"Without further ado, let's continue. You ready, Caitlin? Congratulations. You're first on the list..."

And Iris couldn't press pause.