Barry Allen x Flash | imagines

risks

Warning: mature language and scenes
first person
word count: 4,900
11:45 pm | your own demons have led you into the life of crime — can you ever be forgiven?

I remember the moment it happened. I was sitting in the lobby of Central City General Hospital, and I had my fingers crossed. Hell, I'd never been totally religious, but there I was saying my prayers. I had old and new tears coming slowly. I wasn't sobbing, but I couldn't make the tears stop. I was praying to God, begging him for a miracle.

"(y/n)?" A solemn voice echoed. I looked up, my brother's doctor waving me over to him. I took a deep breath before approaching him.

"Yes?"

"I'm really sorry . . . With reluctance I tell you that the cost of your brother's medical expenses exceeds the insurance company's $1 million limit. All expenses from here on out will have to come out of pocket," he informed me. His eyes were sad. My breath caught in my throat. "Can I . . . May I obtain a card to put it on?"

I nodded, numb as I pulled my credit card out of my wallet. My brother's cancer came back, and our insurance company decided to stop paying after $1 million. Initially, the insurance seemed reasonable. Who passes $1 million in medical expenses in their lifetime?

The ones who get sick. The ones who suffer. The ones with unbelievable bad luck.

I couldn't breathe, mainly because I didn't have the money to pay for such things. An MRI alone would cost me tens of thousands of dollars. I gave the doctor a weak smile.

"I . . . tell him I said goodnight. I need to go figure this out," I said to him. He nodded at me, and I turned in my seat. I grabbed my leather jacket and took a deep breath. My brother had no one but me. Both are parents were deceased, and any living family we had was either not in contact with us or not speaking to us purposely. I had no one but my brother. And I had to do something about it.

I looked down at my leather jacket, remembering when I used to have money. I had spent $500 on the jacket. It was Italian leather, and it was now my most prized possession. When my brother's sickness came back, all my money and time was fed right back to the hospital. I sold my jewelry, my designer bags, and forced myself to move into a small apartment on the wrong side of town. It was worth it; I wanted my brother to live. No money in the world would stop me. Absolutely nothing. When someone means the world to you, you go to hell and back to help them. No matter what the cost.

11:59 pm | a few days later

I stepped back to admired my work. I had constructed a nice ensemble, constructed from the Italian leather of my jacket and flexible materials I purchased at a craft store. I had made a tighter and sturdier jacket by cutting off excess fabric and fitting the jacket to my measurements, custom. I used mostly a thick latex, in order for it to be flexible to move in. With the extra fabric, I made fingerless gloves and a comfortable mask, fit over my eyes nicely. I grabbed the jacket first, pulling it around my frame.

It fit like a glove, pinching in at my waist and curving around my frame. I fixed my leggings underneath the jacket, letting it take most of the attention. I grabbed a few things off my desk. They were holsters to be fitted around my thighs, filled with trinkets like small knives and small explosives. None of the explosives were enough to damage much; I meant to use them as distractions.

I grabbed my newly polish boots, their heels making them just feminine enough for me. I never meant to do things like this, but if I was going to, I would at least make an effort to look the part. The gloves and mask were last to come on, and I examined myself in the mirror.