Chapter 46 – "You Never Listened"
Dante didn't come back to STAR Labs.
Not the next day.
Not the next week.
Not for two whole weeks.
The Cortex had never felt so hollow without his quiet presence—his biting remarks, his bored looks, the way he'd drink straight from the coffee pot like it was normal.
Now, there was only silence. And the guilt they all tried not to speak about.
.....
At CCPD, life moved on without questions.
Dante mopped the halls in silence, the bucket rolling behind him, wheels squeaking slightly on the tiled floor. He wore his worn janitor's uniform. His hood was up. Eyes down. Not a word spoken.
Barry passed him once in the hallway. For a moment, he slowed—maybe to say something, maybe to try.
But he didn't.
He walked right past him, jaw clenched.
Dante didn't even glance at him.
.....
The pain of what happened to jay lingered.
They all felt it—especially Barry. The man he'd trusted, the mentor figure, the supposed hero from another world. Jay had helped them, trained with them, laughed with them.
And then he was just… gone.
Dragged through the breach. Killed, maybe. Or worse.
None of them questioned it at the time. They mourned. They blamed.
They blamed Dante.
They all trusted jay but when Dante spoke about him they start thinking about jay really they start thinking he's really hiding something
But then jay died helping them
The guilt ...
The pain of doubting a friend
They all felt it and they all blamed Dante for it
They all saw him as the reason jay died
But dante didn't speak
Didn't argue
And he took it. The pain the guilt .All of it. With nothing but silence.
Until Cisco vibed the helmet.
....
It happened late at night, long after the others had gone home. The breach closer helmet still sat on the console—dusty, forgotten. A relic of failure.
Something about it called to him. Maybe it was guilt. Maybe it was instinct.
Maybe it was Dante's silence, echoing louder than anyone else's words.
Cisco picked it up, closed his eyes, and let the power flow.
He saw it.
The truth.
.....
Jay Garrick wasn't dead.
Jay Garrick wasn't even Jay Garrick.
He was Zoom.
All along.
Cisco gasped as he stumbled back from the vision, the helmet clattering to the floor. His chest heaved. Sweat beaded at his temples.
The betrayal was total.
Jay—Zoom—had manipulated them from the start. Every kind gesture. Every warning. Every moment of vulnerability. All of it had been a game.
He hadn't just fooled them.
He'd mocked them.
And the worst part? Dante had told them.
Cisco sat alone in the Cortex, hands trembling.
"…we didn't listen."
...
He told Barry first.
Barry didn't believe it—not at first. He yelled. Denied. Punched a hole in the Cortex wall.
Then he sat down. Quiet. Eyes wide and glassy. The pain settling in.
Caitlin couldn't stop shaking. "But he—he helped us."
Ronnie was just angry. At Jay. At himself.
But mostly?
At how they'd treated Dante.
Cisco whispered it aloud. "He warned us. Right to Jay's face. And we… we blamed him."
They remembered his words like a curse spoken too late:
"I don't believe in second chances. I believe in death. And if your secret hurts one of them, I will rip your head off and use it as a chair."
They thought he was being cruel.
But Dante had seen it.
Felt it.
He'd known.
...
Three days passed before anyone dared to find him.
Barry went first, guilt in every step. He entered CCPD and saw him down the hall, cleaning near holding cells. Same uniform. Same hood. Same silence.
Barry walked up, heart pounding.
"Dante…"
The mop didn't stop.
"I saw what Cisco saw. You were right."
Still, nothing.
Barry swallowed. "We're sorry. All of us. We should've listened. You tried to protect us, and we made you the enemy."
Dante turned slightly.
Not fully.
Just enough to let the silence answer back:
You never listened. Not once.
Barry's voice cracked. "Say something. Please."
But Dante didn't.
He dipped the mop again and kept cleaning.
...
Caitlin came the next night.
She found him on the roof of CCPD, sitting under the stars. No coat. No expression. Just that same stone-faced stare into the distance.
"I used to think you were cold," she said. "Harsh. Detached."
She sat beside him, knees pulled to her chest.
"But now I get it. You were just honest. You didn't want to pretend things were better than they were."
Dante didn't look at her.
She nodded anyway. "We don't deserve your forgiveness. I know that."
He still said nothing.
Caitlin blinked quickly and stood up.
"…but I'm sorry."
She walked away.
And Dante stayed.
Alone.
.....
Cisco was last.
He didn't try to find him.
He just left something in Dante's locker at CCPD.
A folded piece of paper.
On it were six words, scribbled in black ink:
"Next time, I'll believe you first."
.....
Back at STAR Labs, the team was quiet. Different.
The laughter hadn't returned.
The trust hadn't healed.
And Dante?
He still hadn't come back.
The Cortex felt colder without him.
Because even when he'd said little… even when he had sat in silence… Dante had been their shield.
Their early warning.
Their monster who guarded them from worse monsters.
Now, his silence had become something else.
A reminder of what happens when you don't listen.
---
You can contact me through my official page on the following Accounts:
telegram:
miraclenarrator
tiktok:
miracle_narrator
instagram:
miracle_narrator