Age Eleven

"Baby, how would you feel about Barry staying here for a while?" Iris sits in her Daddy's lap, fingering the soft satin material of his necktie.

"That would be cool," she answers. "I always wanted a brother."

"This—could be a little different, Sweetie," her father continues. "You know what happened to his family, right?"

"Uh huh," she answers.

"Barry still—he doesn't like to remember it how it happened, so if he says something weird, try not to react too much, ok?"

"Ok, Daddy," she answers, leaning against his chest.

That night, Barry Allen and all of Barry Allen's emotional baggage move into the West house. Iris doesn't talk a lot. She tends to be shy around new people, and she's only met Barry a couple of times, down at the police station.

He doesn't have much stuff with him. A lot of the things in his family's house have been confiscated for evidence. But still, it's all boy stuff—cargo pants and comic books and posters of cars and planes, which fascinates her; she likes the things people call boy stuff, sometimes. Her dad helps Barry put up a few things on the walls, to help him feel a little bit more at home.

Iris retreats to her room after a while, not sure where she's needed in the moving process. Maybe, she thinks, it's easier if you get a brother the normal way. Then he has to like you, or at least tolerate your existence.

Tap tap tap

Someone knocks on her almost-closed door. "Coming, Daddy," she says.

"It's Barry," says the voice on the other side, and she opens the door to reveal her new foster brother, with comic book in hand.

"Hi, Barry," she says.

"Hi, Iris," he replies. "Your dad told me you like Superman, so I brought you this."

"Thanks," she answers, taking it from him carefully.

"Also—" he hesitates. "Thanks for letting me live here." He hightails it back to his new room, and Iris smiles to herself, hugging her new comic book.

Barry likes living with the Wests. At least, he would if either of them believed him. He can see in their eyes that they both think he's delusional whenever he mentions the night of his mother's murder. Joe tries to get him to admit the truth; Iris doesn't say anything.

The script plays out pretty much the same way every single time. Barry runs; Iris tells; Joe comes. The boy doesn't blame Iris. In fact, some subconscious part of him is glad whenever Joe's police car comes up next to him, outpacing his running form. Not that he realizes it consciously.

After another "I hate you," Barry storms off to his room, missing the irony that Joe West is the only reason he has a room. Except, he doesn't miss it for that long.

Iris bursts into his room without knocking. "Barry Allen, what is wrong with you?" Her eyes flash fire. She may be a kid, but she can certainly be scary when she wants to be.

"Huh?" Barry sits up on the edge of his bed, glad that he hasn't let his unshed tears out. He doesn't want Iris to see him cry.

"Why do you treat my dad like that?"

"He won't believe me, Iris. I hate him."

Iris sits next to him on the bed, her shoulder touching his. "No, you don't. My dad is the only reason you have somewhere to live that isn't a group home."

"I wouldn't expect you to get it," Barry retorts. "You're little miss perfect."

"Shut up," says Iris, but she hugs him, hard, before leaving his room.

Iris leaves Barry's door cracked open, the way Joe prefers it, and the boy is about to close it all the way when he hears low voices outside in the upstairs hallway.

"Did you talk to Barry?" Joe's voice asks.

"Yeah," Iris answers. "Don't be too hard on him. He's about to cry."

Barry shakes his head. How does she know? How does she always know? He doesn't have long to ponder before Joe barges in, in exactly the same manner as his daughter. "Hey, kid," he says. Barry stretches out on the bed, turning his face toward the wall, hoping it will dissuade the policeman from invading his space.

No go. Joe West moves his feet over and plops down on the end of the bed.

"Should I start packing?" Barry asks.

"What?" Joe replies, clearly confused.

"I figured one of these times, you'd send me back."

With that, Barry finds himself forcibly turned around by two huge hands. Joe sits him up, not letting go of his thin shoulders. "You listen to me, Barry Allen," he says, "I'm. Never. Going. To. Send. You. Away." He punctuates each word like it's the most important one in the world. "You, me, and Iris are a family now. Don't tell me I'm not your father. I know that, kid, but I'm going to take care of you, whether you like it or not."

Joe finally lets go, and Barry can't hold the tears in any more. After all, he's not really that tough. He just likes to act like it. He settles back onto his bed, sobbing into his pillow. Joe doesn't say anything else. He just rubs circles onto the boy's back and sits with him until he's cried out.

Two weeks later, Joe takes Barry to Iron Heights. He doesn't really blame the kid—not for any of it. He's never had a chance to find any kind of closure with the father he idolized.

It's ugly, just as the policeman knew it would be. At least they let father and son have a forbidden hug. Joe has wanted to hug Barry lots of times, but the boy wouldn't let him, and he refuses to force the issue.

The ride home is silent. Joe ventures a gentle, "Want to talk about it?" but is met with nothing, not even a look in his direction. He lets it go.

They get home to Iris before dinner time, and Joe notices something weird: Barry cleans his plate, and he puts it in the sink, no reminder needed. The next morning is even stranger. The kid gets himself up for school and goes through his entire morning routine without a single complaint or missed step. It's like Joe suddenly has two Irises in the house, not his sweet daughter and a troubled boy who doesn't want to be there.

The next day, it happens all over again, and Joe is so confused he corners Iris while Barry is in the shower. "Sweetheart, have you noticed anything weird about Barry?"

"No," she answers, shaking her head. "He seems ok."

That's the weird part, Joe thinks. He seems ok, and he shouldn't be ok, not after what the policeman witnessed in the prison. Still, the good streak continues all week, and Barry doesn't try to run away even one time.

Finally, Friday rolls around, the day Iris and Barry take the bus home and wait an extra hour for Joe to finish paperwork at the office. He comes into the house, tired from his day, and finds Iris nowhere to be seen and Barry on the couch, motionless.

"Where's Iris?" is his first question.

"Upstairs doing homework," the boy answers listlessly.

"Don't you two usually do your work together?" Joe asks, trying to figure out if his kids have had a fight of some kind.

"I told her I wanted to wait for you alone," Barry answers, not looking at him.

Joe sighs and sits on the couch next to the little boy. It's time for the other shoe to drop, he figures. "Did you get in trouble at school?"

Without answering, Barry hands him a sheet of paper. It's a spelling test, and at the top it says, "93% B+ Great job, Barry."

"I'm sorry, Joe. I'm really sorry!" The boy's voice breaks.

"Huh?" asks the policeman, more confused than ever. "This is a really good grade." He takes a big hand and cups Barry's chin. "What's this about?"

"I should have gotten a hundred," Barry says, his tears brimming over. "I studied REALLY hard!"

"Nobody's perfect, son," Joe answers, hoping this is the issue and that he can easily fix it. But Barry just cries harder.

The policeman thinks back through the week, trying to understand. He casts his mind back to Iron Heights, and it's then that it hits him. "This is about what your dad said, isn't it?" He asks. The boy nods between his sobs.

"That's why you've been so perfect all week," Joe continues, "because your dad told you to be good."

The kid leans forward and buries his head in his knees, but Joe West has had it. "C'mere," he says, not giving Barry a choice. He's about twice the kid's height and three times his strength. For the first time ever, he pulls Barry Allen into his lap and holds him.

For a few seconds, the boy fights, but then he settles into Joe's arms, and the policeman shifts him to a comfortable position against his chest. "Barry, what your dad wants most is for you to be happy. I'm sure about that. That's what I want and what Iris wants, too. You don't have to be perfect. Just be a kid."

Barry doesn't answer, but his sobs gradually subside. Joe continues to hold him, trying to communicate with his arms what he doesn't know how to say. After a while, he looks down and sees that the boy has fallen asleep against his shoulder. As carefully as he's ever held Iris, Joe picks him up and carries him to his bedroom, laying him gently on his bedspread.

"Joe," says a sleepy voice, just as he's about to leave the room.

"Hmm?" he asks.

"Will you come back when it gets dark?"

"Of course I will, son. Just like I always do."