Allen House
The warm, golden light of the Allen family kitchen was a world away from the cold, red skies of the dungeon. The air smelled of roasted chicken and thyme, a simple, comforting aroma that Barry felt deep in his soul. He watched his mother, Nora, pull a steaming tray of vegetables from the oven, her movements still carrying a faint, wonderous hesitation, as if she couldn't quite believe she was in her own kitchen again.
His father, Henry, was setting the table, a quiet, content smile on his face. And Billy, their adopted son, was already seated, practically vibrating with impatience.
"Smells amazing, mom," Billy said, his eyes fixed on the chicken.
They settled around the table, the clatter of cutlery and the passing of plates filling the comfortable silence. For a few minutes, there was only the sound of a family enjoying a meal. Barry felt a peace so profound it almost ached. This was what he had fought for. What he had moved heaven and earth to get back.
It was Henry who broke the quiet, his voice thoughtful. "Your mother and I were talking today, Bar."
"Oh?" Barry said, scooping up some mashed potatoes.
"We've been… looking at the classifieds," Nora added, her tone cautiously optimistic.
Barry's fork paused mid-air. "The classifieds? For what?"
"For jobs, son," Henry said, meeting his son's gaze. "I can't go back to being a surgeon. Not after… well, everything. And your mother…"
"The world still thinks I'm dead, Barry," Nora finished gently. "We can't just pick up our old lives. But we can't just sit around this house all day, either. We need to do something. Feel useful."
Barry looked between them, his brow furrowed. "You don't have to work. I've got it covered. The Star Labs trust fund is more than enough. You can just… be. Relax. Enjoy being alive."
"That's the thing, Bar," Henry said, a familiar, stubborn warmth in his eyes. "For us, 'being' has always meant 'doing'. I was a doctor. Your mother was a journalist. Sitting around isn't in our nature."
"You could come to Star Labs, then!" Barry suggested, his words tumbling out fast. "Iris is always saying we need better archiving. Or you could help Caitlin with her research. There's a million things to do there, and you wouldn't even have to leave the building."
Nora reached across the table and placed her hand over his. "Barry, that's your world. Your sanctuary. We want to find our own place in this new world. Not live in your shadow."
The words hit Barry with a gentle but firm finality. He looked at his parents—his father, who had spent fifteen years in prison for a crime he didn't commit, and his mother, who had been murdered and then restored to life through timeline-altering miracles. They weren't asking for his permission. They were asking for his understanding.
"Okay," he said softly, the fight going out of him. "Okay. Just… promise me you'll be careful. No… no risky jobs."
Henry chuckled. "I was thinking more along the lines of a consulting gig. Maybe for the CCPD crime lab. I can still analyze evidence, even if I can't hold a scalpel."
"And I've been looking into freelance editing," Nora said. "I can do that from home. Start small."
The tension broke, replaced by a new, hopeful energy. They started discussing possibilities, the ideas getting more and more elaborate and humorous.
"What about you, Billy?" Nora asked, turning the conversation. "How's school? Made any new friends?"
Billy, who had been quietly demolishing a drumstick, looked up, a little startled. "Huh? Oh. School's… school." He shrugged, a classic teenage deflection. "It's kinda boring, to be honest. The lessons are easy. Too easy."
Barry exchanged a knowing look with his parents. They all knew why. How do you stay focused on algebra when you've fought interdimensional monsters and your body can channel the power of gods?
"Anyone giving you a hard time?" Henry asked, his voice taking on a protective, fatherly edge.
"Nah, not really," Billy said, a faint, confident smirk on his face. "They all just think I'm the quiet, new foster kid. It's easier to just… float under the radar. I eat lunch with a couple of guys who are really into comic books. They're cool. They just talk about heroes all lunchtime. It's pretty funny, actually."
Barry felt a pang of sympathy. He knew what it was like to carry a huge secret, to feel separate from everyone else. But Billy was handling it with a resilience that was way beyond his years.
"You know you can talk to us, right?" Barry said. "About any of it. The boring stuff, the weird stuff… the Shazam stuff."
Billy's smirk softened into a genuine smile. "I know. It's just… it's a different kind of test, you know? Trying to remember to raise my hand and not phase through the door when the bell rings."
They all laughed, the sound warm and easy in the cozy kitchen. The conversation drifted, from Henry's terrible ideas for a food truck to Nora's attempts to understand modern social media.
As they started clearing the plates, Barry looked around the table. He saw his father, planning his future with a quiet determination. His mother, rediscovering her voice. And Billy, navigating two impossible worlds with the grace of a hero.
The dungeon, the levels, the credits—it all faded into background noise. This was the real reward. Not power, but this fragile, beautiful, ordinary moment. His family was whole, and they were all, in their own ways, moving forward.
He picked up a dish towel, ready to help his mom dry. The multiverse could wait. For tonight, this was more than enough.