The debriefing room at FOB Courage was technically designed for eight people. Currently, it held three: Tony (having finally extracted himself from the Mark I and looking disturbingly comfortable in borrowed fatigues), Barry (still in his suit because taking it off would reveal the arc reactor, which raised questions they weren't ready to answer), and Rhodey (looking like a man watching his best friend juggle chainsaws while riding a unicycle).
"Okay," Rhodey said, rubbing his temples. "Let me see if I have this straight. You—" he pointed at Tony, "—were held captive for thirty-seven days, during which time you built a miniature arc reactor—"
"Miniaturized," Tony corrected. "There's a difference. Miniaturized implies intentional engineering brilliance. Which, granted, still applies, but—"
"—and a suit of armor—"
"The Mark I. She's beautiful. Crude, but beautiful. Like a monster truck made of hope and spite."
"—and you—" Rhodey turned to Barry, "—are from another dimension where a city called Central City exists, you were struck by lightning from a sabotaged particle accelerator, gained superpowers, and then got yeeted across realities to land in Afghanistan just in time to get captured by the same terrorists holding Tony."
"That's... actually a pretty good summary," Barry said. "Though I'd use 'transported' instead of 'yeeted.' More professional."
"I'm going with 'yeeted,'" Rhodey said flatly. "Because that's how my brain feels right now. Yeeted. Directly into the sun."
Tony leaned back in his chair, looking far too pleased with himself for someone who'd just escaped a terrorist compound. "So, obviously, we can't tell anyone that story."
"YOU THINK?" Rhodey's voice went up several octaves. "Barry, do me a favor—run at superspeed for a second."
"Um. Okay?" Barry stood and blurred across the room. One moment he was by the door, the next he was by the window, then back in his chair. Total time: maybe half a second.
Rhodey watched this, his expression perfectly blank. Then he turned to Tony.
"Tony."
"Yes, Rhodey?"
"If we tell the military that we have an interdimensional speedster who can run through walls and shoot lightning—"
"To be fair, the lightning thing is very draining—"
"—they will lock him in a black site so fast it'll make his superspeed look slow. They will dissect him. They will study him. They will absolutely, one hundred percent, not let him just walk around free."
"Hence why we need a cover story," Tony said brightly. "Which is where you come in! You're good at military stuff. Regulations. Plausible deniability. Creative paperwork."
"I'm an Air Force pilot, not a miracle worker."
"You're Rhodey. Same thing."
Barry raised his hand like he was in class. "Can I make a suggestion?"
"Please," Rhodey said. "Because these two brain cells I have left are begging for help."
"What if—and hear me out—what if I'm not from another dimension at all?" Barry leaned forward. "What if I'm just... a guy? A normal guy who was part of a classified program that went wrong?"
Tony snapped his fingers. "YES. That's what I was thinking! We lean into the tech angle. Make it sound scientific enough that people buy it, but classified enough that they can't ask too many questions."
"Okay," Rhodey said slowly, his strategic mind clearly engaging. "Keep talking. What kind of classified program?"
"Enhanced performance," Tony said, warming up. "Experimental augmentation. Something I was consulting on before the whole kidnapping situation. Black budget, need-to-know basis, very hush-hush."
"And the superspeed?" Rhodey asked.
"Chemical enhancement combined with proprietary bioelectric stimulation," Tony said smoothly, like he'd been planning this for hours. Which, knowing Tony, he probably had. "The suit contains micro-regulators that stabilize his enhanced metabolism. The arc reactor—which everyone's going to ask about—provides supplementary power to prevent cellular degradation."
Barry blinked. "That's... actually not that far from the truth. I mean, the arc reactor really does stabilize me."
"The best lies are built on truth," Tony said. "It's like a sandwich. Truth, lies, truth. The lies are the tasty filling that makes it all work."
"That's a terrible analogy," Rhodey said.
"Your face is a terrible analogy."
"We're adults. We're using adult words."
"You started it."
"I'm ending it." Rhodey pulled out a notepad and started writing. "Okay. So. Barry Allen. Age twenty-five. Background?"
"Forensic scientist," Barry said. "That's actually true. I worked for Central City Police Department as a CSI before... everything."
"Good. Keep as much truth as possible." Rhodey wrote quickly. "We'll say you worked for a police department somewhere on the East Coast. Small enough that records are spotty. Then you were recruited into a classified DOD program—"
"Why DOD?" Barry asked.
"Because DOD runs half the black budget projects in this country, and they're terrible at keeping track of all of them," Rhodey explained. "If anyone tries to verify, they'll get stonewalled by classification protocols. It's perfect."
Tony grinned. "See? I told you Rhodey was good at this."
"I hate that I'm good at this," Rhodey muttered, still writing. "Okay. You were recruited into... let's call it Project Swift. Experimental enhancement program aimed at creating rapid-response personnel. Military applications. Search and rescue. That kind of thing."
"That actually sounds plausible," Barry said.
"It sounds plausible because I'm plagiarizing from three different actual programs that got shut down for various reasons." Rhodey tapped his pen. "The enhancement worked—too well. You developed abilities beyond what the program intended. Side effects included increased metabolism, enhanced perception, and bioelectric generation."
"The lightning," Barry said.
"The lightning," Rhodey confirmed. "Which is technically possible in nature—electric eels, certain fish—so we're just saying the enhancement process amplified your bioelectric field to weaponizable levels."
Tony was nodding enthusiastically. "This is good. This is very good. What about me?"
"You were consulting on the power supply issue," Rhodey said. "Project Swift participants were burning through calories at an insane rate. Couldn't sustain the enhancement without constant refueling. You were brought in to develop a solution."
"The arc reactor," Tony said, touching his chest. "Which I built to keep shrapnel out of my heart, but also—"
"Also serves as a prototype for the Swift program's power supply issue." Rhodey was writing faster now. "You built one for yourself after the cave—medical necessity. You built one for Barry because his enhancement was destabilizing without an external power source."
"Why was Barry in Afghanistan?" Barry asked.
"Field test," Rhodey said immediately. "The program wanted to test the enhancement in real-world conditions. You were attached to my unit as a civilian contractor—which explains why there are no official military records. You were captured during the same ambush that took Tony."
"And the suit?" Barry gestured to his red-and-black outfit.
"Prototype tactical gear designed to work with your enhanced physiology," Tony said. "The fabric contains conductive threads that channel your bioelectric field, preventing random discharges. The armor plating protects impact points. The boots have heat-resistant soles to handle the friction from high-speed movement."
"All of which is actually true," Barry said, looking down at himself. "You really did design it for all those reasons."
"Like I said—best lies are built on truth." Tony leaned back, looking satisfied. "So. Barry Allen. Age twenty-five. Former CSI turned unwilling superhuman via classified military program. Enhanced by science, stabilized by arc reactor technology, wearing a suit that's one part tactical gear and two parts 'don't ask questions.'"
"Why did the program discharge him?" Rhodey asked.
There was a pause.
"Medical reasons," Barry said quietly. "The enhancement caused unforeseen psychological effects. Made it difficult to adjust to normal-speed perception. The program determined I was unsuitable for continued service and granted an honorable discharge with full benefits and a strict NDA."
Rhodey looked at him for a long moment. "That's... actually pretty good. Explains why you're no longer military but can't talk about the details. Anyone tries to investigate, they hit the classification wall."
"Plus it's not entirely untrue," Barry added. "The speed thing really does mess with how I perceive time. Everyone moves so slowly now. It's like watching a video buffer constantly."
"Noted, and slightly horrifying," Rhodey said. He looked at his notes. "Okay. This could work. It's not perfect, but it's plausible enough that most people won't question it. The ones who do question it will get shut down by classification protocols."
"What about long-term?" Tony asked. "Barry needs papers. Identity documents. Bank accounts. He can't just exist on a handshake and my good word."
"Your good word is worth approximately nothing," Rhodey said. "But your money is worth considerably more. We'll set him up with full documentation—driver's license, social security number, birth certificate, the works. I know people who know people."
"Legal people?" Barry asked hopefully.
"Define legal."
"People who won't get arrested?"
"Then no," Rhodey said. "But they're good at what they do. By the time they're done, Barry Allen will have existed on paper since birth. It'll just be a very boring life with very few records. Homeschooled, few friends, kept to himself. Explains why nobody remembers you."
"That's... actually kind of sad," Barry said.
"Your real life involved watching your mother get murdered by a time traveler," Tony pointed out. "I think 'boring childhood' is a step up."
"Fair point."
Rhodey finished writing and looked up. "Okay. Here's how this plays out. I brief the brass with this story. Tony backs me up—he's a national asset and weapons manufacturer, they'll believe him. Barry, you stick to the script. Don't volunteer information. If someone asks you something you don't know, just say 'that's classified' or 'I'm not authorized to discuss that.'"
"I can do that," Barry said.
"Good. Because if this falls apart, we're all going to have a very bad time." Rhodey stood. "I'll start working on the documentation. Tony, you need to call Pepper and let her know you're alive before she murders everyone at Stark Industries."
"She wouldn't murder everyone," Tony protested. "Just the people who deserve it. Which, granted, is most of them."
"Call. Pepper."
"I will! After I—"
"TONY."
"Fine! Bossy." Tony stood, then paused. "Hey Rhodey?"
"Yeah?"
"Thanks. For not thinking I'm crazy. For helping with this." Tony's voice was uncharacteristically sincere. "I know this is insane. But Barry helped save my life. I owe him."
Rhodey's expression softened. "You're my best friend, Tony. Your crazy is my crazy. Even when your crazy involves interdimensional speedsters." He turned to Barry. "Welcome to Earth-Tony, kid. It's weird here, but you'll get used to it."
"Earth-Tony?" Barry repeated.
"It's what I'm calling this dimension now," Tony announced. "Because clearly it's the one where I make all the interesting decisions."
"That's not how dimensional designation works—"
"It is now!"
Rhodey headed for the door. "I'll go start lying to my superiors. You two try not to phase through any walls or build any arc reactors until I get back."
"No promises!" Tony called after him.
The door closed.
Tony and Barry sat in silence for a moment.
"He's good," Barry said finally.
"The best," Tony agreed. "Known him since MIT. He's saved my ass more times than I can count. Though this might be the weirdest one yet."
"You think this'll work? The cover story?"
"Honestly?" Tony shrugged. "Sixty-forty odds. Maybe seventy-thirty if Rhodey's charm offensive works. But it's better than 'hi, I'm from another dimension,' which has zero-percent odds of ending well."
Barry nodded slowly. "Thank you. For doing this. You didn't have to."
"Kid, you shot lightning at a truck to save my armored ass. You stayed and fought when you could've run to safety at any time. You honored Yinsen's sacrifice by helping me survive." Tony's voice was serious. "This is the least I can do. And besides—" his trademark grin returned, "—I'm Tony Stark. Making impossible things happen is kind of my whole deal."
"Your whole deal is making impossible things and being insufferably smug about it," Barry corrected.
"Accurate."
They sat there, two impossible people in an impossible situation, waiting for the next impossible thing to happen.
Outside, Rhodey was already spinning the best lie of his military career.
And somewhere, in the space between dimensions, the Speed Force hummed its approval.
Her champion had found allies.
And that changed everything.
—
# Official Channels and Unofficial Favors
The formal debriefing took six hours.
Six hours of Barry sitting in an uncomfortable chair, reciting the cover story until it felt more real than his actual memories. Six hours of stone-faced intelligence officers asking the same questions seventeen different ways, looking for inconsistencies. Six hours of Tony providing corroborating details with the kind of effortless confidence that came from genuinely not caring if people believed him or not.
Major Sarah Chen, Defense Intelligence Agency, was currently on her third pass through Barry's "recruitment" into Project Swift.
"And you were approached by whom, exactly?"
"A DOD recruiter whose name I was told not to disclose," Barry said, sticking to the script. "Classified personnel. I was told the project designation, the general parameters, and that it involved experimental enhancement for rapid-response applications."
"And you agreed? Just like that?"
"I was told it would help people. Search and rescue, disaster response, that kind of thing." Barry met her eyes. "I'm a CSI. I spent my career trying to help people get justice. This seemed like an extension of that. A way to help more people, faster."
It was close enough to the truth that it didn't feel like lying. He *had* wanted to help people. That's why he'd become a CSI in his world. Why he'd been at the particle accelerator that night—to witness science that could change lives.
Chen made a note. "And the side effects? The bioelectric generation, the enhanced perception—you weren't informed these were possibilities?"
"I was informed there were risks. I wasn't informed they'd be this significant." Also true. The Speed Force entity hadn't exactly come with a user manual.
"Mr. Allen." Chen leaned forward. "I'm going to be direct. Your abilities are unprecedented. The DOD is going to want to study them. Understand them. Potentially replicate them."
Barry felt ice in his stomach. This was it—the moment where they tried to turn him into a lab rat.
But Tony, sitting beside him, just laughed.
"Good luck with that," Tony said cheerfully. "I've been trying to figure out how his enhancement works for the last month. Best I can tell, it's a unique interaction between the enhancement process and his specific genetic and metabolic markers. You can't just inject someone with whatever cocktail they used and expect the same results."
"We'd still like to try—"
"And I'd still like a pony, but we don't always get what we want." Tony's voice went cold. "Major Chen, let me be very clear. Barry Allen is a human being, not a research specimen. He was enhanced without full informed consent—don't give me that look, you know as well as I do that's how black budget programs work—and he's suffered significant psychological trauma as a result. The fact that he's cooperating with this debriefing at all is more than you have any right to expect."
"Mr. Stark—"
"Plus, he's under my personal protection as of right now. I'm hiring him as a private consultant for Stark Industries. Which means if you want to study him, you'll need to go through our legal department." Tony smiled pleasantly. "And our legal department is very expensive and very mean."
Chen's jaw tightened. "That's not how this works."
"That's exactly how this works. I'm a civilian. He's a civilian. You have no legal authority to detain either of us, and if you try, I promise you the media shitstorm will be visible from space." Tony leaned back. "So here's what's going to happen. You're going to finish your debriefing, file your reports, and classify this whole thing so deep that nobody will find it without a presidential order. Barry's going to come work for me. And everyone's going to walk away happy. Aren't we all happy?"
Chen looked like she wanted to argue. But Tony Stark had just survived thirty-seven days of captivity and was a critical national asset whose cooperation was necessary for ongoing weapons development.
Except he was shutting that down too, Barry remembered. This was going to get complicated.
"We'll need monitoring," Chen said finally. "Regular check-ins. Medical evaluations—"
"Through private physicians of my choosing," Tony interrupted. "All results provided to you on a quarterly basis. Redacted as necessary to protect proprietary Stark Industries technology integrated into his stabilization system."
"That's not standard protocol—"
"Major Chen, with all due respect, there's nothing standard about any of this." Tony gestured to Barry. "You have an enhanced individual who can move faster than most surveillance systems can track, phase through solid matter, and generate bioelectric discharges. If he wanted to disappear, he could. If he wanted to be uncooperative, you'd never find him. The fact that he's sitting here, answering your questions, working with you—that's a gift. Don't waste it by trying to put him in a cage."
Silence filled the room.
Chen looked at Barry. "Is that your position as well, Mr. Allen? That you'd rather work privately than continue with the program?"
Barry thought about everything that had happened. The Speed Force training. The escape. Yinsen's sacrifice. Tony's promise to build something that mattered.
"I never wanted to be a weapon," Barry said quietly. "I wanted to help people. If working with Tony Stark means I can do that without being locked in a lab somewhere, then yes. That's my position."
Chen studied him for a long moment, then closed her file.
"I'll need to confer with my superiors," she said. "But provisionally... I think we can work with this arrangement. Provided Mr. Allen remains cooperative and available for consultation if needed."
"Absolutely," Barry agreed.
"And provided Stark Industries provides technical documentation on the stabilization technology—"
"Redacted versions only," Tony said. "Some of that tech is proprietary and unrelated to Barry's enhancement. But we can provide enough information to satisfy your requirements without compromising my company's intellectual property."
It wasn't a victory. But it was a draw. And right now, Barry would take it.
Chen stood. "We'll reconvene tomorrow for final documentation. Until then, both of you are restricted to base. Mr. Allen, you'll need to surrender the suit for analysis—"
"No," Barry said immediately.
"Mr. Allen—"
"The suit contains integrated systems that regulate my bioelectric field," Barry explained, which was true. "Without it, I risk uncontrolled discharges that could damage equipment or injure personnel. It's a safety issue."
Chen looked like she wanted to argue, but Tony cut in.
"Tell you what. I'll provide a detailed technical schematic of the suit. You can analyze that all you want. But the physical suit stays with Barry. Non-negotiable."
Another staring contest. Another draw.
"Fine," Chen said finally. "But I want those schematics by tomorrow morning."
"You'll have them," Tony promised. "I'll even include helpful annotations. I'm very helpful."
Chen left, looking like she needed a drink and a vacation. Possibly in that order.
The moment the door closed, Barry slumped in his chair. "That was exhausting."
"That was the easy part," Tony said. "Wait until we get back to the States and the real bureaucracy starts. You're going to be filling out forms until your enhanced speed perception makes you want to claw your eyes out."
"Looking forward to it," Barry said dryly.
The door opened again. Rhodey entered, looking satisfied. "Okay. Got some good news."
"I could use good news," Barry said.
"I've got wheels in motion." Rhodey sat down, pulling out a folder. "Called in some favors. A lot of favors. Favors I'll probably regret later. But it's happening."
"What's happening?" Tony asked.
"Barry Allen is about to exist." Rhodey opened the folder, revealing documents. "Birth certificate, dated twenty-five years ago, filed in Amador City, California. Small enough that records are spotty, big enough that it's plausible. Parents listed as Henry and Nora Allen, both deceased—car accident ten years ago."
Barry flinched. His parents' names. Even if the details were wrong, hearing them hurt.
"Social security number, issued at birth. School records—homeschooled through high school, which explains why nobody remembers you. College at Central City University—small state school, forensic science program, graduated three years ago."
"There's no Central City University," Barry said.
"There is now," Rhodey said. "Small, underfunded, recently shut down due to budget cuts. Records are being transferred to state archives, which are a mess. Anyone tries to verify, they'll find just enough documentation to confirm you existed without finding enough to contradict our story."
"How—" Barry started.
"Don't ask questions you don't want answered," Rhodey said firmly. "Let's just say I know people who are very good at creating paper trails that stand up to scrutiny. By tomorrow, you'll have a driver's license, credit history, bank account, the works."
"This is illegal," Barry said.
"This is necessary," Rhodey corrected. "The alternative is you don't exist, which makes it very easy for certain government agencies to make you disappear into a black site. This way, you're a real person with real documentation. Harder to make disappear. Harder to experiment on."
Tony was grinning. "Rhodey, you beautiful criminal mastermind."
"I'm not a criminal. I'm just... creatively interpreting regulations."
"That's what criminals say."
"Shut up, Tony."
Barry looked at the documents—his new life, fabricated but functional. Birth certificate. Social security card. Even a college transcript with realistic grades (mostly Bs, a few As, one C in organic chemistry because apparently even fake Barry struggled with organic chemistry).
"Thank you," Barry said quietly. "Seriously. This is... this is everything."
"Don't thank me yet," Rhodey said. "We still need to get you through customs, immigration, and about seventeen different security checkpoints. Plus the press is going crazy about Tony being found alive. The moment we land in the States, it's going to be a circus."
"I love circuses," Tony said. "I'm great at circuses. I'm the ringmaster of circuses."
"You're the clown," Rhodey said.
"That's rude but fair."
Rhodey pulled out another document. "Okay, here's the plan. We leave tomorrow on a military transport. Tony, you'll get debriefed by Stark Industries security the moment we land. Barry, you'll stay with me until we can get you properly processed and documented."
"Where will I stay?" Barry asked.
"Tony's arranging an apartment in Malibu," Rhodey said. "Close to Stark Industries headquarters. You'll officially be a technical consultant, which gives you legitimate employment and income."
"Paying job," Tony added. "With benefits. And a very generous salary because I'm generous and also because you saved my life."
"Tony, you don't have to—"
"Kid, I'm a billionaire. The money literally means nothing to me. What means something is making sure you have a life here while we figure out how to get you home." Tony's expression was serious. "You didn't ask to be stranded in this dimension. The least I can do is make sure you're comfortable while you're stuck here."
Barry felt something tight in his chest loosen. He'd been so focused on survival, on escape, on keeping his promise to Yinsen, that he hadn't really thought about what came after.
But here was after. And it involved friends who had his back.
"Okay," Barry said. "Okay. So I become a consultant, I get an apartment, I exist on paper. What then?"
"Then we figure out your situation," Tony said. "The Speed Force thing, the dimensional barrier, how to get you home. I'll put resources on it. Scientists, engineers, theoretical physicists who'll think they're working on something else but will actually be solving your problem."
"And in the meantime?" Barry asked.
"In the meantime, you live," Rhodey said. "You figure out who Barry Allen is in this world. You learn to use your abilities safely. You decide what kind of hero you want to be."
"If I want to be a hero," Barry said.
"You're already a hero," Tony said firmly. "You were a hero the moment you chose to help me instead of running for safety. The suit doesn't make you a hero. The speed doesn't make you a hero. The choices do. And you made the right ones."
Barry looked at his hands—still faintly crackling with Speed Force energy. Thought about Yinsen's last words. *Don't waste your speed on things that don't matter.*
"Okay," Barry said. "Then I guess I'm a hero. A consultant hero. With an apartment and a fake identity."
"Best kind of hero," Tony said. "Now come on—Rhodey's buying dinner."
"I'm not buying dinner."
"You're definitely buying dinner. You're the only one with access to a commissary right now."
"I hate you."
"You love me. It's why we're friends."
They left the debriefing room—three men who'd been through hell and come out the other side changed. Tony, no longer content to build weapons. Barry, no longer just a CSI from a world he couldn't reach. Rhodey, caught between military protocol and loyalty to his friends.
Outside, the Afghan sun was setting, painting the desert in shades of orange and gold.
Tomorrow, they'd fly home.
Tomorrow, Barry Allen would officially exist in a world that wasn't his own.
Tomorrow, everything would change.
But tonight, they'd have dinner, tell stories, and pretend that the impossible situations they'd survived were just temporary detours on the way to something better.
Because that's what heroes did.
They survived. They adapted. They kept going.
Even when the world they were going to wasn't the one they'd left behind.
---
**Somewhere over the Atlantic Ocean**
**48 hours later**
The C-17 Globemaster transport was not comfortable.
Barry had learned this approximately six hours into the flight, when his enhanced metabolism made it impossible to sleep and there was literally nothing to do except stare at the cargo bay walls or watch Tony fidget with a tablet Rhodey had reluctantly provided.
"I'm bored," Tony announced to the cargo bay at large. "I'm so bored. I'm experiencing new dimensions of boredom. I'm bored in colors that don't exist yet."
"We've been in the air for six hours," Rhodey said without looking up from his paperwork. "We have eight more to go. Deal with it."
"Eight more hours of this metal coffin with uncomfortable seats and no in-flight entertainment? I want to file a complaint."
"File it with the Air Force. I'm sure they'll care deeply about Tony Stark's comfort."
"They should! I pay taxes! Probably! My accountants pay taxes!"
Barry, sitting across from them in his suit (which he still hadn't taken off because it contained the arc reactor), couldn't help but smile. This was familiar—Tony being insufferable, Rhodey being the long-suffering voice of reason. It reminded him of Joe and Iris's banter back home.
Home.
The smile faded.
"Hey." Tony had noticed. "You okay?"
"Yeah," Barry lied. "Just thinking."
"About?"
"Home. My world. The people there." Barry looked at his hands. "Iris doesn't know what happened to me. Joe probably thinks I'm dead. My dad's still in prison for something he didn't do. And I'm here, flying over the Atlantic to a country that's mine but isn't, about to start a life that's completely fake."
Silence in the cargo bay, broken only by the engines.
"It's going to be okay," Tony said, and his voice had lost its usual sarcasm. "I know it doesn't feel like it right now. I know you're displaced and everything's wrong. But we're going to figure this out. We're going to find a way to get you home."
"You don't know that."
"I don't," Tony admitted. "But I'm going to try anyway. Because that's what I do. I solve impossible problems. And you, Barry Allen from another dimension, are my new favorite impossible problem."
"I'm flattered," Barry said dryly.
"You should be. I don't commit to many things. Mostly just scotch and bad decisions. But I'm committing to this. To helping you." Tony leaned forward. "And hey—while you're stuck here, you've got friends. You've got resources. You've got a genius billionaire who owes you his life. That's not nothing."
"It's not nothing," Barry agreed quietly.
"Plus, you can run really fast and shoot lightning," Rhodey added. "That's objectively cool regardless of which dimension you're in."
"Thanks, Rhodey."
"I'm a giver."
The plane hit turbulence, and Barry's enhanced perception caught every microsecond of the shaking. Not dangerous, just annoying.
"How long until we land?" Barry asked.
Rhodey checked his watch. "Seven hours, forty-three minutes. Give or take."
"Great," Tony muttered. "More time to contemplate my life choices and lack of in-flight movies."
"You survived thirty-seven days in a cave," Rhodey pointed out. "You can survive eight hours on a plane."
"The cave had a project. I had something to build. This is just... sitting. I hate sitting. Sitting is the enemy of progress."
"Then sleep."
"Can't sleep. Too much adrenaline. Too much trauma. Too much unprocessed emotional baggage." Tony paused. "Also the seats are terrible."
Barry laughed despite himself. "You know what? I think I'm going to be okay."
"Damn right you are," Tony said. "We're all going to be okay. Eventually. After therapy. And possibly medication. But okay."
The plane flew on through the night, carrying three men toward an uncertain future.
A genius who'd decided to stop building weapons.
A speedster learning to be a hero in a world that wasn't his own.
And a soldier trying to hold them both together while reality shifted around them.
Eight hours later, they'd land in America.
And Barry Allen's new life would officially begin.
For better or worse, the Flash had arrived in the Marvel Universe.
And nothing would ever be the same.
---
Hey fellow fanfic enthusiasts!
I hope you're enjoying the fanfiction so far! I'd love to hear your thoughts on it. Whether you loved it, hated it, or have some constructive criticism, your feedback is super important to me. Feel free to drop a comment or send me a message with your thoughts. Can't wait to hear from you!
If you're passionate about fanfiction and love discussing stories, characters, and plot twists, then you're in the right place! I've created a Discord (HHHwRsB6wd) server dedicated to diving deep into the world of fanfiction, especially my own stories. Whether you're a reader, a writer, or just someone who enjoys a good tale, I welcome you to join us for lively discussions, feedback sessions, and maybe even some sneak peeks into upcoming chapters, along with artwork related to the stories. Let's nerd out together over our favorite fandoms and explore the endless possibilities of storytelling!
Can't wait to see you there!