Whenever Barry leaves Iris, he taps a fist to his chest.

It means one thing: I love you.

Standing in the room with him, she wants to hold onto him every time, afraid that she will be haunted by the image of Barry standing hale and hearty before her in one moment and closed behind a casket in the next, forever wondering why she didn't stop him. She dreams about it at times, Barry disappearing like mist in front of her, the hint of his next smile still lurking in the shadows before them. Sometimes she kisses his forehead, other times she squeezes his hand, and still others she stands across from him, trying to let the distance unfurl peaceably between them, as though he is merely drifting out to sea and will return with the high tide.

In that simple fist-tap to his chest, he makes a promise: I will return to you.

But on the ninety-fifth day since his return from the Speed Force, something goes terribly wrong.

. o .

"Hey, big guy," Wally huffs, straining to squeeze under the beam impeding his access to the speedster trapped in the corner of the room. "Don't move, all right? I don't want any more stuff coming down on top of us."

Barry shivers in place, sending off thin clouds of golden dust. He makes a low, apologetic noise, explaining in a sandpaper rasp, "High – fly – sky – die."

"No, no dying," Wally replies. He yelps when his shoulder catches a sharp-edged piece of concrete, swearing and pressing a hand against it. "Everyone's safe," he continues, voice weighed down with the concrete around him. "Why'd you run back, Bar?" he asks, crawling on, hoping both to distract and understand him.

For Wally knows that no matter how flustered he is, Barry doesn't act without reason. Wally has seen it in action countless times, an inexplicable response transformed into a reasonable reaction as a larger part of the picture is unveiled. Something self-destructive like clawing at his own arms or banging his head on the wall makes sense in the context of greater pain or frustration. Refusing to move is self-defensive, guarding against and seeking retreat from sensory overload. And his speech, however scrambled, conveys some deeper meaning, some more basic impression, even if it not the answer to an asked question.

Barry makes a low noise and repeats softly, "High – sky – die."

Wally reaches a dead-end, a jumbled wall of concrete separating him and the last three feet or so to Barry's pocket in the rubble. With the building so tenuously rearranged, he doesn't dare phase through the mess. He sinks back onto his heels in the tiny space and lets out a deep breath of frustration. "Cisco?" he tries. "Need you. Keep a thirty-foot radius from my location. The building came down."

"Got it." He doesn't hear the breach open, but he does hear the muffled sound of Cisco's voice above him. "That's a lot of rock," he announces. "I can't lift it all."

Wally presses optimistically at the slab between him and Barry, but it doesn't budge. "Can you lift this piece?" he asks. When Cisco doesn't respond, he repeats it with as much oomph as he can summon, wincing at the way the rocks around him shift.

"Gonna have to move all the stuff above it, too," Cisco says, tone high, uneasy. "Are you sure you can't dig him out? Try going under it."

Wally just shakes his head. "I can't," he says, and there's a tightness in his voice he can't attribute entirely to rational disagreement. It's already dark and claustrophobic down here, with sharp edges and heavy concrete pressing in on him on all sides. If he goes under the slab and can't find a pocket to emerge in—he shudders at the thought. "There's no clearance."

"Got it," Cisco repeats. Then, inhaling deeply, he explains, "I want to shave some of the top off. Hang on."

Wally knows the exact moment rocks disappear as a small cascade of dust and rubble tumbles over him. "Whoa, whoa, whoa!" he shouts, and Cisco immediately halts, freezing the rocks in place. "We're avalanching," he tells him sharply. "Don't take off any more of the head or it's all coming down."

From the other side of the rocks Wally hears a faint, "Yellow stars like fast cars."

"I'm here," Wally assures, his own breath coming out at a slightly hyperventilating gasp. "Just hang in there, we're working on it."

"Tombs aren't made of rock," Barry interjects. "Tombs are made of ash."

The image is visceral enough, given its immediate applications, that it clicks: "We fill the void spaces, we're not gonna make it."

"Tombs without rooms," Barry agrees. "Like crushed catacombs."

"Cisco!" Wally shouts. "Don't move the rocks. If they settle, we'll drown."

"Gotta get you outta there, buddy," Cisco reminds, but he carefully releases the pressure on the overhead. A thin hail of dust pelts downward, but the movement doesn't trigger a world-ending tumult of stone. Wally dares to exhale. "I can't Vibe either of you out of there," Cisco warns. "Come back out, we'll find another way."

The advice is so tempting Wally wants to cry for relief, but he hears a thin whimper of, "Fast cars" and swallows the urge to flee. With sudden conviction, he announces, "I'm gonna try breaking the rock."

"Wally—"

"This is gonna happen fast," he warns, "so I need you to be ready to hold as much as you can in place above me." When Cisco doesn't respond, he says, "As much as you can, Cisco. I know that's not all."

"Just come back out," Cisco tries again. "We'll find another way."

"I don't think we have time for another way," Wally says, and it sinks in his stomach like a stone, the reality of the weight around him, the crushed catacomb entombing them. "I'm gonna move on three. You ready?"

Cisco shouts back, "On your mark."

"Three—two—one!"

And the world around him freezes him as Wally brings up a vibrating hand, moving faster than the stone around him can flee as he slices through it, and rubble begins to tumble down around him. He lunges forward, bursting through the wall, and sees Barry curled-up in the corner, a broken-off bar driven all the way through his left leg. Barry's gaze lifts slowly, meeting Wally's eyes, and then his eyes light up gold and he blinks at Wally in Speed-time. It's a tremendous feat, syncing up with another speedster, but Barry pulls it off effortlessly.

Rocks are coming down in slow-motion, stabbing and jabbing at them, filling up the space, and before Wally can properly react a monster of a boulder crashes into his back. He abruptly loses focus, slowing down, and the rest of the world spirals out of his control as rocks thunder down around him.

But instead of drowning, he feels himself vanish as a warmth like liquid honey pours over him, head-to-heel, rendering him untouchable. He can hear Cisco shouting, can even hear the hum of Barry's Speed as he grips Wally's wrist and vibrates both of them, but he doesn't respond, doesn't move. Cisco digs rubble with enough verve that there's an opening above them in seconds, a small sliver of light breaking through the all-consuming darkness. Then the warmth begins to fade and Barry's grip disappears, but the rocks do not eat them alive.

They hover, ominously substantial, and Wally hears Cisco gasping for breath above them. The gap is large enough to shimmy through, and he can almost feel the fresh air surging in his lungs. A hunger like his own heartbeat surges through him, almost turns him traitorous, but instead he turns to Barry, folded in the dark, and takes hold of the bar in his leg.

It's easier to slice off at the base than pull it through and risk a bleed out. Wally does just that, slicing it with a smooth glide of his hand, vibrating at tremendous speed, and Barry lets out a scream fit to tear a hole through the firmest hearts as Wally endeavors to get them both partially upright, both partially through the new gap created by Cisco.

With unexpected strength, Barry yanks out of his grip, and for a moment Wally fears he will have to argue with the man, that he will have to convey that he must leave, then he cannot stay in this dark and terrible place, but then Barry twists and snags something from behind himself, dragging it carefully forward, into their tiny hollow. Wally is almost afraid to touch the shape that emerges, to discern what thing Barry has tried and failed to save, but the beast presses its snout against Wally's knee, and he recognizes a German shepherd in the dark, covered in dust and scrapes but decidedly alive.

Amazed, Wally assures, "We'll get the dog out. Let's get you out now, okay?"

Barry insists in an old, heavy tone, "Four first."

From above, an officer shouts, "We're lowering a rope, okay? Tie this around your hip and shoulder."

"There's two of them," Cisco is explaining. "One's injured."

"We're going to get you both out," the officer assures. "Tie this around the injured person's hip and shoulder and then hold onto them."

The rope arrives, and Barry looks at Wally. "Four first," he says again, tone like gravel, hurting and sharp but still present.

So Wally helps his shaking hands loop the rope around the shepherd's chest and shoulders properly, calling above, "Canine coming through first."

In amazement, the officers reel her out, and the shepherd gets hold of the rocks and hauls herself out about six feet from the surface, to applause from above. "All right, all right, coming back to you – no more canines?"

"No, just the one," Wally assures, as Barry shuts his eyes and leans forward, resting his forehead against Wally's shoulder. "Thank you," he adds, squeezing Barry's back. He can feel more stones being moved aside above them, the rope returning to them. He wraps it firmly around Barry and obligingly takes hold of him, assuring, "We've got you. We're going home.

"We're going home."

. o .

It's on the news that night.

"Eighty-one people and nine police canines were successfully evacuated from the CCPD shortly before the building collapsed during the latest metahuman attack. Thanks to the tireless efforts of Vibe, Kid Flash, and The Flash, there were no fatalities. Minor injuries were treated on the scene. Several civilians were taken to St. Andrew's for evaluation and treatment, but all are expected to pull through.

"One police canine was trapped after the collapse. Vibe, with assistance from Officers Alison Davy and Gary Field, unearthed Canine 4-2-11. Miraculously, she had not been injured.

"To the astonishment of onlookers, Kid Flash and The Flash were then hauled from the wreckage. Both speedsters left the scene before further evaluation could be conducted, but their speedy escape indicates that all is well. Indeed, Vibe confirmed briefly, 'If you don't see them, we're doing our jobs right.'

"We hope the same good fortune will continue to follow Central City. I'm Linda Park with Central City Picture News."

. o .

After they take care of Barry's leg, Wally runs him and Iris home. Barry sits heavily on the floor without waiting for assistance, and Iris tucks her arms around Wally, hugging him tightly. "Thank you," she tells him sincerely.

"Wasn't gonna leave him," Wally promises, squeezing her back.

"I know. Thank you for coming home," she clarifies.

Wally just squeezes her again. Letting her go, he walks over to the speedster sitting on the floor beside the couch, bandaged leg in front of him, eyes half-lidded. He looks up at Wally and smiles that slant-mouthed smile. "Fast cars," he murmurs, holding out a hand, an invitation.

Wally takes it, squeezing it and replying, "Like yellow stars." Then, crouching, he lets Barry's hand go and taps his fist gently against Barry's heart. "Always coming back for you. Okay?"

Barry nods and closes his eyes, but a tear slips out anyway. "Okay," he echoes, and it's all Wally can do not to cry in front of him, too.

He leaves them be, and sleeps better at night knowing that both Barry and Four sleep well, too.

. o .

When Wally is gone, Iris kneels beside Barry. "Bar?" she asks. He opens an eye sleepily. "Can I—?" She holds a hand palm-down over his knee, and he nods. Letting it rest on his knee, she strokes her thumb against his leg. She's still shaking a little, still overwhelmed from the broken bits of dialogue Cisco dared to relay and the dozens of things she didn't hear, couldn't hear, and he blinks at her before resting his hand over hers.

"Red?" he asks, quietly reverting, red-like-irises. She doesn't mind. Sitting up, he rubs a hand over his face and murmurs, "Okay." Lowering his hand, he looks right at her and assures again, "Okay."

She cups his face in her hands, and brushes her thumbs over the tears there – pain, joy, relief, and so many things he cannot say. "You came home to me," she says, and it is love, and forgiveness, and rejoicing all at once.

He yawns, and she kisses his forehead; Speed-purring, he closes his eyes, and she does not try to reel him back to consciousness. Instead she slides into the space next to him, and he curls up on his side. He rests his head on her thigh, and she nests her hand in his hair, and together, they fall asleep, and it is like love between them.