It was such a simple question, but it pulled a bitter laugh from Barry's throat. When was the last time someone had asked him what he needed? When was the last time anyone other than Len had bothered to think about his needs? Maybe it was just that he was so angry at the thought of his own death, but he couldn't remember. People only seemed to care about what he could do for them. They never considered that he might be more than what he could do for them or for Central City.
And now he had Len and for the first time in so long, he felt at peace. He felt happy. He felt like he had something that was his. He had someone who cared about him and who wanted him. He had something good. And at any moment, he could lose it. He could go back and die and never see Len again. And he didn't want that. It was selfish, but he'd rather never go home than lose this.
But what did selfishness matter anyway. He'd done everything he was supposed to do, been the good guy and the hero and done the right thing, and all it had ever gotten him was pain and death. He was tired. He was tired of all of it.
"I don't know," he said quietly, turning in Len's arms and resting his forehead against his boyfriends. "I...don't know. I just...nobody ever asks me what I need. I...I just need this. I need to pretend for five minutes that I'm not going to die and I'm not going to lose this and that sooner or later I'm not going to get sent home and die because somewhere along the line I got it into my head that I could actually make a difference." He closed his eyes, taking a shaky breath. His next words felt so stupid and childish even as they came out of his mouth, but he still said them. "I don't want to die."