Beau Alderman ⚡ Barry Allen (momentums) wrote in dunhavenic, @ 2017-10-09 23:23:00 |
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Entry tags: | !narrative, * terri, c: beau alderman |
WHO: Beau Alderman & Marie-Antoinette Alderman--> Barry Allen & Nora Allen
WHEN: Sept 10, nearly 4AM
WHERE: Beau's dorm and family home ; Barry's childhood home.
SUMMARY: Beau has a startling first memory.
WARNINGS: Parental Death & Loss
Prompt: 😱
Running through the speed force was like an explosion of energy, being everywhere and nowhere at once until he was back in his childhood bedroom. A feeling of dread seeped into his bones. He knew what he was there for, and what was happening just downstairs. The planetary mobile spun behind him, his fish tank half-empty, covers thrown haphazardly. “MOM!” The scream was horrible. He’d heard these shouts and screams in his dreams for years. He heard them sometimes when he was waking, triggered by a child calling for their mother from a few steps behind. Steeling himself, he went down the stairs. The shouts continued, one name after another, his mother urging him to stay back. His father’s voice joined the chorus, screaming for his mother. It sounded like a freight train cycling through his childhood home. The lightning storm whipped through the living room, but it wasn’t a storm at all. It was just...speedsters. Some version of himself and the man who killed his mother. Not this time, though. This time, he could save her. He could… As he watched the fight from the cover of a doorway, the fight paused just long enough for a simple, silent message. He was looking at himself - a version who knew more than he did now - and he simply held out a hand, shaking his head. So it was for nothing. He couldn’t save his mother. She was destined to die here and he...he had to lose her all over again. “RUN, BARRY! RUN” his father’s voice echoed, though the words seemed almost slow, even as he watched his other self grab that child that he had once been, carrying him to safety. He had at least been spared this. He had been spared the helplessness. He found that he couldn’t watch. His mother screamed for him, her voice ragged and torn as she wailed, “BARRY! NO! NO!” He closed the door, leaning heavily against the wall, but he couldn’t drown out her horrific screams. A sob caught in his chest, his eyes burning with tears even as those screams wrapped around his heart like a vice. He couldn’t save her, but he couldn’t protect himself either. The blade pierced her chest. He could almost feel it, as though he was the one who was soon to die. When all was quiet, he weakly pushed off from the wall, peering back into the living room. It was in a state of destruction. That was the same, as it always had been. His father was unconscious, and he would be blamed for this...he was always blamed for the murder of his beloved wife, and there was nothing that Barry could do to stop it, no matter how much he wanted to or how hard he tried. The quiet groan from his mother drew his attention. She was frail and helpless. It tore at his heart like nothing else ever had, but he immediately went to her, crouching down beside her, “It’s ok. It’s ok. You’re ok.” His voice was rattled to his own ears. “Please, my husband, my son...are they--” she patted at his arms, desperate to know their whereabouts. “They’re ok. They’re both safe. I promise,” his voice cracked, his suit and mask feeling terribly warm. That bright red spot on her chest didn’t seem all that innocuous, but it would keep growing, and the wound was worse than it might first appear. Knowing that didn’t make him feel better as he tried to comfort her, but at least...she wasn’t alone. At least he might give her some comfort. “Who are you?” The fact that she didn’t know ate away at him, but would it change things - would it hurt things - if he told her? “I’m y--” he choked on his own words, swallowing thickly and trying to find the right words. Finally, he settled on, “I’m The Flash.” “I don’t understand.” It was the almost frightened look in her eyes that broke him of his decision. His lips pressed together, a sob barely contained in his chest. He took in a shaking breath, reaching up to pull back his hood, uncovering his face for her to see. He didn’t say anything at first, attempting a small smile as he looked down at her prone form, “You look just like my father.” A wet sounding chuckle passed his lips. This was no laughing matter, and there was no humor in it, but for this moment, he got to hear her voice again. He got a new memory with her, as painful as it may be, and she would know who he would grow to be...that he would look like her father. “This isn’t going to make any sense,” he warned her gently, sniffling all the while, “But it’s me, mom.” A shocked little, “Oh?” passed her lips, a near gasp rattling in her chest. “It’s Barry,” he laughed in spite of himself, oddly relieved to have her know who was there with her. Maybe if he kept smiling, she wouldn’t be so afraid. “Barry?” “Your Barry,” he assured her. “Oh, my beautiful boy,” she had to say those words, the ones she always had...the ones that broke his heart in a million pieces all over again. She breathed in deep, but tears streamed down both of their faces as she reached up to take his face in her hands. He held onto her wrists, and for a moment was unable to do or say anything except cry. Barry needed to hold onto these last few moments, because it might be all that he ever had with her. It was still more than he’d ever gotten. “I got a second chance...to come back here,” he told her, a quiet sob stifling him for a moment. He was trying to be brave for her, to do the right thing and ease her mind, but it was more difficult than any other trial he’d ever been through. This was a test of his strength unlike anything else would ever be, “To tell you that I’m ok.” He managed the words, though his throat felt raw and closed. She smiled weakly, nodding along with his words, so he continued, “Dad and I are both ok.” Though the sentiments were a relief, he could tell that her strength was waning fast. She didn’t have much time. All he wanted was more, though. All he wanted was to slow down time so that he would never lose her again...to stop the whole world in its tracks. “And we love you, mom.” He felt her hands there against his cheeks, gentle but as real as anything else he’d ever experienced with her was, “I love you.” Those words broke him, and he couldn’t hold back the sob that squeezed his chest. “Love...you,” her words were barely whispered breaths, but he heard them all the same. She was fading, but words that they’d never gotten to speak were the hardest of them all. “Good...bye....Good-bye, Bar-ry,” her words were broken by staggered breaths, but her hands fell away from his cheeks. He nodded softly, acknowledging that he heard her and that it was ok. The fight left from her limbs. She let out her last breath, and her muscles relaxed. It was then that it really hit him. “Mom?” he asked softly, but there was no response. No ‘I love you.’ No ‘my beautiful boy.’ No ‘goodbye.’ It was just silence and the sound of his own weeping. “Mom?” he asked again anyway, and again. There on his knees beside her, he leaned down and rested his head against her chest, sobbing and unable to wake her up no matter how much he wished that he could. He was now the one that was helpless, and she...she was gone. With a shuddering gasp, Beau sat straight up in his bed. A fine sheen of cold sweat clung to his skin, and his face was sodden with tears, though he’d been asleep just moments before. A panicked sense of dread washed through him, and he was out of his bed in moments. He grabbed his keys and cell phone off of his desk, shoving his feet into slip-on shoes, and storming out of his dorm fast enough that he didn’t even lock the door. Whatever grogginess that had clung to his mind in those beginning few moments had vanished now. He was clear-headed and terrified. He thought about calling, but he was afraid that the phone would ring and ring without answer. Instead, he peeled out of the parking lot too fast - faster than any law-abiding driver ever should have. He was usually the one following rules and going by the book. He was the one who never wanted to disappoint anyone by being less than what was expected of him. He was the kind of person who called ahead to let someone know he was going to come over, just so that they wouldn’t be unpleasantly surprised. He was not usually the kind of person who sped at three times the speed limit down darkened streets while the clock glowed a cheery 3:48 AM. Beau barely missed taking out his family mailbox, his car pulled up partially in the driveway. He yanked the keys from the ignition, and ran up to the door with his heart pounding, but as he reached for the doorknob, he paused. His hand was visibly shaking. He couldn’t open that door for a long few moments. He was sick at thinking what he might find on the other side. Swallowing thickly, it took him several tries just to get the key into the lock, and when he did, he finally opened the door and pushed it open. The living room was tidy, as it always was, and there was no evidence of foul play. There was no blood on the rug, no glass scattered, and no frames knocked askew on the walls. He took the stairs two at a time. His parent’s bedroom door was open, as it usually was. They left it open for Lucienne, but he slipped in quietly. His father’s snoring continued, and as he approached his mother’s side of the bed, he could see her chest rise and fall in the light from the window. Relief hit him hard enough to take him to his knees and steal the air from his lungs. It was in that quiet moment that his mother woke, blearily blinking at him near her bedside. She didn’t startle, though her tone was somewhat confused and beautifully tinged in that accent that she’d never quite lost, “Beauregard?” Her insistence on using his full name was endearing now, whereas he’d felt it was annoying just a few days ago. “I didn’t mean to wake you, Maman,” his voice cracked even on a whisper, and her brows drew even more as she propped herself up to look at him. “Did something happen, mon cher?” Just the simple concern in her voice broke what little resolve he had left, and Beau barely stifled a sob. It took mere moments for his mother to sit up in the bed properly, pulling him closer so that she could hug him and do her best to console her grown, yet emotionally distraught son. At some point, his father’s snores stopped, but he said nothing. After letting him weep for several moments, she encouraged him to look up at her, even in the dim lighting. With a mother’s touch, as only she seemed to be able to do, she brushed away a few of his tears, “Talk to me, my beautiful boy.” He swallowed past a thick lump in his throat at those words...how he’d been afraid he would never hear them again. “It was a...a dream, I think,” he shook his head softly, “But it felt real. I woke up, and I was so sure you...you were g--” he choked on the words, unable to say it. Gone. She pulled him closer, and he allowed her to do it, though it had been a few years since he’d let her coddle him this way, “I will always be here for you, Beauregard. Tu es ma vie. It was just a dream.” “Je t’aime, Maman. Je t’aime,” he was calming now, but he had to say it. She had to know. It seemed the most vital thing in the world, with his mind playing tricks on him so. “Je t’aime aussi, mon coeur.” |