Chapter 87 – A Brother's Silence
The Cortex was unusually quiet.
Cisco and Wells had been working for hours, their eyes barely blinking as lines of data streamed across the screens. They had finally pieced together fragments of Dante's past—addresses, names, a few faint echoes in police records—but nothing about the Black Order directly. Still, one location stood out: the house Dante lived in after his mother died. A broken home buried deep in the darker part of Central City, a place where dreams didn't just die—they were buried and forgotten.
Cisco turned toward Barry, holding the printed file like it was a weapon. "Okay," he said, his voice serious. "This is it. You have to go back to when Dante was 17—one year after his mom died."
Caitlin, sitting beside them, added softly, "That's when Leon disappeared without a trace. If you go back to that time, you'll see what really happened."
Barry nodded, slipping on his suit. He wasn't going back in time to stop a villain or save a life. This time was different. He was running to uncover the truth—truth wrapped in shadows, loss, and silence.
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Dante stood alone on top of S.T.A.R. Labs, watching the city's distant glow. When Barry activated the treadmill and the hum of the Speed Force began to rise, Dante closed his eyes. He could feel it—the ripple of time. He whispered under his breath, "I'm sorry," but did nothing to stop him.
---
Barry ran.
He ran faster than he had in weeks, pushing through the layers of time, breaking through the speed barrier until he reached the moment he needed. He emerged in a dark, damp street. The buildings around him were cracked, lifeless. No laughter, no music, no hope.
He changed quickly into plain clothes, blending into the shadows as he walked until he saw it—a small, weathered house at the end of the block. Its porch light flickered like a dying heartbeat.
There was a child outside, sitting on the steps, looking up at the stars. His face was calm but broken. Tears still shimmered in his red eyes. Barry knew instantly—this was the youngest brother. Dante's baby brother.
Then the front door opened.
Two boys stepped out.
They looked eerily similar—both tall, thin, and young—but where one had vibrant red hair, the other had deep black hair and piercing dark eyes.
The black-haired boy shoved the other, knocking him to the ground and screaming, "You coward little shit! You're supposed to be the oldest! You take care of the family, not me! God damn it!"
Barry blinked, stunned. That didn't make sense. He knew from Cisco's research that Dante was the middle child. And Dante was the redhead, right?
But here, the black-haired boy looked up, pain etched in his face—and Barry recognized him. That was Dante. That was the real Dante.
The redhead—Leon—was on the ground
That made no sense to barry
Why does leon have red hair and eyes
Why does dante have black hair and eyes
Wasn't the other way around??
"But... Dante said leon was the oldest?" Barry whispered. Nothing made sense anymore.
The youngest cried, "Dante, stop, please!" His voice was soft, broken.
Dante's eyes welled with tears. He let go of Leon and staggered toward the youngest, dropping to his knees and wrapping his arms around him.
Barry's heart broke watching it.
Then came the part that changed everything.
A year passed in a blink—time slipping forward. Barry didn't move. He stayed in the shadows, letting time adjust and settle around him.
It was night again.
Leon and the youngest were walking home from a corner store, laughing gently. Leon had changed. He was more stable, more protective. Barry could tell he was trying.
But then it happened.
A blur of red lightning tore through the night. In a blink, the youngest's neck snapped. A sickening crack echoed down the street.
Barry's body froze. His breath caught.
"No…" he whispered. "No, no, no…"
The red lightning vanished. It wasn't a storm. It was a speedster. But not from this time—this was years before the particle accelerator explosion. It didn't make sense.
"That speedster came from the future," Barry muttered. "Someone… went back… to kill him."
Leon's scream shattered the night.
He dropped to the ground, shaking, cradling his little brother's lifeless body. Blood pooled beneath him. He screamed until his voice cracked and then screamed again.
Dante arrived moments later.
He didn't move.
He didn't speak.
He just stood there.
And then his legs gave out, and he collapsed beside his brother's body. His hand trembled as he touched the cold face of the youngest. Tears flowed freely, silently.
Barry wanted to run to them. He wanted to stop all of it.
But this was the past.
He couldn't change it. He could only witness it.
Then Dante's body began to tremble. His hair—black as night—began to shift. Slowly, as if responding to something inside him, it started turning red. His eyes turned crimson—not from blood, not from anger. From grief. Pure, raw, monstrous grief.
Barry stepped back in shock. "His hair… his eyes…"
This wasn't a power surge.
This was a transformation.
Then, in a moment of silence so loud it deafened the world, Dante picked up a rock. He stood above Leon, who still sobbed beside the body.
"It's your fault…" Dante's voice was hoarse, trembling with hate and sorrow. "If you didn't work with the gang… he'd still be alive…"
Dante always was angery about leon job he always told him that job well get them all killed
And now the youngest brother died and in Dante broken young heart he put all the blame on Leon
And then—he did it.
He brought the rock down onto Leon's head. Blood splattered the ground.
Leon collapsed.
Not dead.
But broken.
His body shivered in the cold.
Barry turned away for a moment, unable to watch.
And then Dante picked up his youngest brother's body. He held him close, whispering apologies, prayers, maybe curses. No one could hear.
He didn't look back at Leon.
He just walked away.
Carrying a piece of himself that would never come back.
Barry stood in the darkness, breathless.
The truth wasn't just painful—it was horrifying.
This wasn't just about a villain or a mysterious speedster.
This was about brothers.
About death.
About guilt that never left.
And about what the loss of love does to a person who was already hanging by a thread.
Barry whispered to the wind, "He wasn't born the Black Order… He was made."
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