Chapter 5: Only a Few Seconds
Barry Allen always told himself he'd quit patrolling the city after midnight. That was the deal: get home at a reasonable hour, maybe catch a few hours of sleep, maybe even surprise Iris with coffee in the morning. But here he was, a red streak weaving through the city's quieter corners, because something always seemed to need fixing between two and four AM.
"Love my life," Barry said to himself as
He was just about to call it a night when he caught a sound that didn't just quite belong . . .
a sharp, indignant shout, followed by a string of words Iris would never let him repeat at home. Rounding the corner into a sleepy side street, Barry spotted trouble: a skinny guy in a too-big hoodie was wrestling with a little old lady who looked like she'd just left bingo night.
The old woman was giving him hell, swinging her purse like it was a medieval flail, and judging by the "thunk" Barry heard, that bag was packed with more than loose change.
"Hands off, you hooligan!" she barked, landing a solid hit square on the mugger's shoulder. He staggered, surprised, but then his face twisted, and he tried to yank the purse away for real.
"Lady, just give me—" he started, but she cut him off with another furious swing, this one catching him in the knee.
Barry couldn't help but grin as he watched from across the street, barely visible in the shadow of a lamppost. "Honestly, man, you picked the wrong grandma tonight," he muttered, and zipped forward, appearing behind the mugger just as the old lady's purse caught the guy in the thigh for good measure.
The mugger, annoyed now, shoved her back
—harder than Barry liked—
and the old woman wobbled, but didn't fall but it was a close call. She looked up, spotted The Flash's red-and-gold, and her eyes went wide. "Oh, the Flash! About time, dear!"
The mugger spun around, knuckles white around the purse strap, only to find, Well, The Flash standing inches away, hands on hips in full superhero pose. "You know, I've seen some dumb villains in this city, but robbing someone's grandma at three in the morning? That's a new low, pal. You want to rethink your life choices before I call your mother?"
The mugger, maybe not the brightest bulb, actually tried to swing at The Flash, why? I personally couldn't tell you.
Barry sidestepped so fast he barely had to move. The punch hit nothing but air, and Barry tsked, shaking his head. "You're really not making your case for parole here."
He grabbed the purse strap, spinning the mugger in a slow, embarrassing pirouette before letting go. The man stumbled, fell face-first onto the curb, and groaned. Barry handed the purse back, careful to dust it off first. "Ma'am, you pack bricks in this thing?"
She straightened her hat with one hand and took the purse with the other, a satisfied smile on her face. "No, just 2 thermoses, some knitting needles, my paperbacks, "The Long Petal of the Sea", "The Thursday Murder Club", and then my copy of "Captivating Stories, Interesting Facts and Fun Trivia for Seniors" for my book club, and a few cans of soup. You never know when you'll get hungry."
Barry winked. "Well, you've got a mean right hook. If you ever want to try out for the Justice League, let me know."
She laughed, a bright, crackling sound that lingered in the quiet street. "You're sweet, but I'm retired. Besides, I'd put the rest of you to shame."
Barry flashed a grin at the mugger, who was still trying to figure out which direction was up. "You, on the other hand, are going to spend the rest of the night with the local police. Maybe try apologizing to every grandma you see."
He zipped away for a second, then reappeared with a pair of zip-tie cuffs
—standard Flash-issue, of course. A few quick loops and the mugger was neatly secured, muttering about "crazy old bats" and "superhero interference" under his breath.
The old lady patted Barry's arm as he walked her to the corner. "Thank you, son. You're a good boy. Now go home before your wife worries."
Barry blushed, just a little, and nodded. "Yes, ma'am. You take care."
He watched her disappear into a well-lit building, then glanced at his watch—3:57 AM. He groaned. "Iris is going to kill me."
But as he sped off into the night, he couldn't help but smile.
Some nights, saving the city really did mean making sure someone's grandma got home safe, heavy purse and all.
But still the story of Barry Allen would go on for a little longer that night, the Scarlet Speedster, was in the middle of what he liked to call "the midnight shuffle"—a blur of red and gold darting down empty city streets, tying up loose ends and chasing the last echoes of trouble before sunrise, basic stuff, nothing too exciting tonight.
He checked his watch, the hands blurring even for him, and winced.
Almost 4 AM. He could already picture Iris's face: somewhere between "concerned wife" and "mildly homicidal." He'd been late before—
flowers, candy, elaborate apologies, but after the first couple of times, she saw right through it. Maybe this time, if he explained he was helping save a busload of nuns, she'd go easier on him. Then again, maybe not.
He was halfway through rehearsing his next excuse, which technically wasn't a lie, btw, something about cosmic gorillas, when it happened.
4 am hit and oh boy did he feel it hit . .
The world didn't just slow down.
It stopped.
Full stop, zero motion, everything frozen mid-breath. Barry felt it in his bones first, that little shiver in the Speed Force, like someone had unplugged the universe and plugged it back in wrong.
For a split second, he was the only thing moving in a city that had become a photograph. Neon signs hung in the air, the hum of electricity gone silent, raindrops stuck inches above the pavement. It was like running through molasses, every stride getting heavier, every heartbeat booming higher, deeper, and louder in his own head.
He tried to push through it, tried to draw more power from the Speed Force, but all he got was resistance
a wall that wasn't angry, just impossibly stubborn. The harder he fought, the more it felt like something was watching him, not cruel or hostile, just… playful. Like he was a kid caught cheating at tag, and the universe had decided it was time for him to sit one out.
He didn't know how long he fought it
two minutes, maybe, stretched out into an eternity as his brain ran laps around reality. Finally, Barry laughed, a short, breathless sound, and threw his hands up as if surrendering to the air itself. "I give, you win," he muttered, feeling the strange force let go. For less than a blink, he was frozen, utterly still, and then everything snapped back into motion.
It hit him like a wave, vertigo, dizziness, the kind of spinning nausea that reminded him of his first time phasing through a wall. He stumbled, nearly tripped over a trash can, and darted onto the sidewalk, before a car could hit him, or more likely, he hit the car, slumping onto a park bench. For a moment, he just breathed, hands shaking, trying to make sense of what just happened.
"That was weird. Very weird," he muttered, scanning his surroundings. Everything looked normal again. The city was awake, cars moving, streetlights flickering, the world blissfully unaware it had missed a beat. His watch ticked along as if nothing had happened, but Barry knew better.
He pulled a small notebook from his pocket, the one Iris had given him for "important science stuff" (and, secretly, to keep him from scribbling notes on napkins). He flipped to a new page and wrote:
4:00 AM — something happened.
He stretched, rolled his shoulders, and tried to shake off the lingering tingling in his limbs. He didn't know what caused the freeze, but he knew it wasn't anything natural. Magic? Maybe. Something cosmic? Absolutely possible. Whatever it was, it wasn't finished with him yet.
"Better check in with the League, see if anyone else felt that. But first… flowers. And then home to face the music. Love my life," Barry said to himself with a crooked grin. He started to run, already thinking about how he'd explain being late again. "I wonder if I'd feel better or worse knowing it was magic. Probably worse. Definitely worse."
And then he was gone, a red blur against the waking city, the only man alive who could say he'd raced the universe, and, just for a second, lost.