Cisco, Caitlin, Barry. I'm editing a prompt a little to just be "Please, stop." All I ask for Cisco whump. Please and thank you.
And Dammit Hedgi Day begins! Set after 3x23
At first he ignored the sound of his name. It wasn’t real.It didn’t matter. What mattered, theonly thing that did, was finding the rightfrequency. It shouldn’t have been so hard. He didn’t need to vibe the past,or the future, or another world, and those would have been the only places heheard that voice calling. Not this time, this place. Caitlin had made herself clear. He had, asalways, as much as it tore him in half, respected her demand for solitude. Soshe would not be here. Her voice could not be real, and he could shake it awayand keep searching.
“Cisco,” came her voice again, more forceful, too solid tobe memory or mere possibility. Herealized that the blur of the world around him was not the Star Trek Rebootlense flare of a Vibe, just a trick of tired eyes. A body pushed too close tothe limits. (but what did that matter? Wasn’t science about pushing limits?Wasn’t being a hero? Wasn’t family? Like Ronnie, he’ long since committed tohis course of action. He needed only to follow through, and damn the consequences.)
“Caitlin?” he managed after a moment, trying to remember howto form words with a too-dry mouth. The name felt distant. He watched her browfurrow, the crease in her forehead above her nose there. Concern? Anger? Hecould have told, once. Second only to Ronnie and maybe The man they’d thoughtwas Wells in translating Caitlin’s body language and expressions, when everyoneelse was content to just assume quiet displeasure and escape with their lives.Once. Not now.
“What are you doing?” she asked. Was that harsh tone angeror fear? Concern? Before this wholeterrible mess had started, he might have called it all three, that she wasworried for him. Now, he wasn’t sure. Hecould still hear her calling him pathetic, the shield that was Killer Frost upand active. It hadn’t been long ago.Just the other week was the last time he’d vibed it, unbidden, unwilling. He flexed fingers he’d woken unsure he stillpossessed, feeling phantom frostbite. Those were the worst dreams, now, ever since the ones of Eobard Thawneshredding his still-beating heart had eased months back.
He ignored the question, closing his eyes. He could feel it, just beyond reach, see itas if through a sheet of pale silk, or butcher paper—outlines, the sparks ofthe storm, Barry. Soon. Soon he’d be able to claw through the curtain, tear itto shreds. He had to. He had to.
“When was the last time you slept? Ate?” Caitlin’s voicebroke through. He finally looked at her. Where her eyes blue? No, that was the fadingvibe. Amber. Soft warmth. Her hair wasstill pale.
“I’m fine,” he said, trying to stand and failing. He’d never really recovered from the secondattempt to punch a hole in the speedforce. That had been days ago, or maybeonly hours. He wasn’t sure. But while he couldn’t stand, he could thing, hecould vibe, he could find the frequencies and follow them and play them,exposed strings in an upright piano with the backing shattered.
“You need to—Cisco, what are you doing to yourself?”
Cisco looked from her to the workspace. His headset, freefrom Harry’s manipulations. Machinery that hummed for his ears alone. Latentlightning, just waiting.
“What does it look like?” he croaked. “I’m bringing Barryback. I’m bringing him home. I have to.”“No, you don’t,” Caitlin spat, or wasit Frost, that middle ground? “Cisco, you can’t, this isn’t safe—““And what is?” he asked, tired. “You can stay if you want. I meant it. Thiscan—I still want this to be a home for you. Again. I just. I have to make thisright. I’ve seen how—how it all goes if I don’t. And what we can have—what youall can have—if I do—if I get it right. It’s not a hard choice. But do what youwant. I guess it doesn’t matter what I say. You’ve already made your choices.And I’ve made mine.”
He reached for the headset, steeling himself. He could seeCaitlin’s mouth opening as he jammed it on, hit the button. Anything she saidwas lost to the storm. The lightning crackledand split like the veins in a hand, the roots of a tree, coursing through him.Every nerve lit and sang with the pain of the speedforce.
And there was Barry. Gaunt, weathered, lightning-lit. Hiseyes sparked gold, the last bright thing about him. He seemed to be looking atsomething Cisco couldn’t see, didn’t want to see. All he could focus on wasBarry, reaching out a wavering, faltering hand. He tried to call out, to reach out, to drag Barry back through theCisco-shaped wound in the speedforce, the hole he’d created with his own body.
It wasn’t that the not-wind of the storm stole the words.They simply never were. The vibrations hummed around him and refused to bend tohis will. And yet, Barry turned, and the emptiness on his face was replacedwith something even worse. Heartbreak, and grief, and refusal to accept. Ciscowondered if Barry was realizing the cost of coming, if he felt in his own bonesthat Cisco had pushed his body far past its breaking point, and now at lastthat debt had come due. There would be no returning.
“Cisco,” Barry said, and now his hand was solid. For amoment Cisco thought it was relief, until he realized the fading pain came fromhis own hand dissolving, scattering into pinpoints in the nebula surroundingthem. “Please, stop, go back, get out of here, I’ll stay, please.”
Too late, Cisco thought, but did not have the time to say.
