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areyouscarletcold · 5 years

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Call’s May Favorites: Day Nineteen - Coldflash, Inkheart Au

Also fulfilling my @coldflashweeks bingo square for “Hurt/Comfort” and now on Ao3!

And happy birthday to me!

Nora hadn’t gone down to bed easily. She was too curious for her own good, something Barry knew he probably should have discouraged years ago but couldn’t help but usually be proud of her for.

In cases of life and death, however, her tenacity just exhausted him.

He ran both hands down his face, leaning back against the kitchen cabinets and letting his head knock against the wood. He didn’t mind his daughter asking questions, not really, and she was smart, could fill in the blanks where she saw fit, but it was too late to be having conversations about the past.

Especially when he wasn’t prepared for them himself.

The thing was, part of Barry had known this day would come. He’d run from it for years, bottled up his grief so tight that it seared his soul to pretend nothing was wrong and he and Nora had lived like this forever. Just a father traveling around the country with his daughter, never quite settling down for more than a month at a time before the paranoia struck, or he caught a glimpse of a familiar head of hair.

And then they’d pack their bags and go - again. It didn’t matter where, didn’t matter how; they just needed to be far away from their temporary home as they could get.

He didn’t know how they’d found them after all this time, but Barry wasn’t about to lose the only family he had left. Not to people he knew wouldn’t give a damn about her, except to use Nora as leverage.

It was moments like this that he wanted to glance over his shoulder, meet Iris’s gaze, and plead with her to help him, tell him what to do. It seemed like she always knew just what to say - how to calm Nora down when she had a temper tantrum, how to soothe the grief after his parents died.

How to convince him to do the one thing he’d sworn never to do again, even when she hadn’t known it would doom her to a life...well, wherever she was now.

Someone cleared their throat beside him and Barry nearly jumped out of his skin. He spun around, arms rising to do something - maybe as an attempt to protect himself or shove the intruder away, who knew - but his hands were caught almost immediately, tucked against their chest like this was some bizarre form of defense for Barry. He opened his mouth to shout, but that familiar smirk caused him to falter just long enough to recognize who he was frowning at.

“Should I be flattered that you thought you could take me down with just your fists?” Snart’s voice was unusually soft and he knew it had to be because Nora was sleeping, which was oddly considerate for a thief and a liar, but he still shuddered at the feel of their hands trapped between their chests, the low drawl he’d grown too accustomed to already. “Hardly a hospitable way to greet your houseguest.”

Barry snorted. “Houseguest? Is that what you are, now?”

Snart looked even more amused, as if he recognized the irony too. Which he likely had, the jerk. “Nora seems to think so.”

Her name was a bucket of ice water, a shock back to the reality of the situation, and Barry pulled his hands out of Snart’s grasp, a little surprised when the man let him go willingly. He glared at Snart. “Only because there’s no good way to explain why I was letting a wanted thief into our house. And I definitely don’t appreciate your little visit, by the way. It - Did you really have to barge in during dinner?”

“I believe knocking is considered polite. Not quite ‘barging’ - ”

“Snart.”

The thief held up his hands in surrender. “I’m just saying.”

“I know why you’re here.” That got Snart to quieten, his face going carefully blank in that way that meant he was listening, even if he didn’t want to. Barry wanted to hate that he knew him so well.

Then again, it would be a dream come true for anyone to meet their heroes, right? Some people idolized Harry Potter or Bilbo Baggins - the stereotypical hero model everyone recognized nowadays.

But, no. Barry had to have a crush on the wanted thief in his favorite childhood book.

He could almost envision Iris standing beside him and snickering, reminiscing on how they used to read Inkheart together, her reading out loud because he refused to, and the endless teasing that had ensued. It’d been long before he realized he was bisexual, before either of them could even put it into words, and while the teasing had been nothing but playful, it struck a chord with him now every time he had to look Leonard Snart in the eye because he was real and here and Barry had done this.

And then he would remember the price he had paid to bring this character to life in the first place and that short-lived awe would be snuffed out in an instant.

Too many people had paid the price of his mistakes, and he remembered every last one.

His sorrow must’ve shown on his face because Snart started to tilt his head, eyes narrowing. Barry shook himself out of his memories, though he was unable to stop himself from glancing in the direction of his daughter’s room, chewing on his bottom lip as he aimed to lower his voice and crossed his arms over his chest like the simple gesture would protect him.

“Look, whatever they’ve sent you for, I can’t help them. Honestly. I keep trying to tell them - ”

“I’m not here for Thawne.” The unreadable expression gave way to a stony anger, mixed with something he couldn’t put his finger on, and Snart stepped forward into Barry’s space, either oblivious or uncaring toward the way the latter backed further against the counter. “You know he would’ve come here himself if he could. Doesn’t exactly trust others.”

Or he just likes to manipulate people too much to do his own dirty work, Barry mused to himself with no small trace of bitterness. “That doesn’t explain the whole ‘barging in for an impromptu visit in front of my daughter’ ordeal. Why the hell else would you be here if it wasn’t for Thawne? To steal my silverware again?”

Snart’s mouth twitched. “As tempting an offer as that is - ”

“It was not an offer, you - ”

“I actually came here out of the goodness of my heart.” The sardonic tone didn’t inspire any response aside from a glare from Barry. “Call it a present, of sorts. To pay you back for your...generosity.”

“Generosity?”

“Well, wouldn’t be stuck here if it wasn’t for you, if I’m remembering right.”

Barry sidestepped Snart, his stomach churning as he jabbed a finger in the other’s direction, just daring him to move closer. “I didn’t want any of this to happen,” he hissed. “None of it.”

“Seemed pretty eager at the time,” Snart sneered.

“Right, because trying to fend off a man who might burn down my house and get three strangers out the door is the very definition of eager.”

“And who was it that contacted Thawne first to see if he wanted to go back?”

Barry dropped his hand with a huff. “What was I supposed to do? Again, call the arsonist who tried to kill me? Thawne was the one who stole the book, I figured it was a ‘two birds with one stone’ type of deal.”

Snart’s eyes narrowed. “For someone who supposedly knows all about our world, you’re painfully obtuse. Don’t you know anything about magic and working with sorcerers?”

“Why on earth would I?” Barry had to pause so he didn’t yell his next words, but just gritting his teeth in a poor effort to calm himself down succeeded in making him seethe. “Magic doesn’t exist! Not here, anyways! It’s not like I’ve had time to sit down and experiment or know what the fuck I’m doing or if this even is magic.”

“I think even a troll could’ve told you that.”

“It’s not like I’m reaping anything good out of this whole mess! Because yes, living like a fugitive with a daughter who’s almost a teenager and knows better is the life I wanted from a fucking bedtime story. I’m sorry that I ever brought you three out of that book, but if you’re going to stand here and deal out threats in my house then you’re going to have to - ”

“He’s planning to ambush you both tomorrow.”

“And here I thought you didn’t come here on his behalf. What, like I’m supposed to believe…” Barry paused again, that sickening coil around his insides like a snake seeking its next dinner rising once more. Amidst the anger in Snart’s eyes, there was a hint of sober regret he really didn’t like.

Oh.

Oh, god.

He wasn’t lying, he was serious, and that meant -

“They’ve known your whereabouts for a few weeks now,” Snart said, and at least he had the sense to lower his voice, the harshness fading as Barry had to look away because the walls felt like they were closing in on him and this couldn’t be happening. “Heard him mention they were to bring you both in, no questions asked, alive and well. I don’t know when, I only heard about the time frame.”

Coming to Thawne was one thing, especially when Barry knew he had the upper hand and trying to manipulate - not well, admittedly, but he was desperate even then - a sorcerer whose sole purpose in Inkheart came from showing off his intellect and terrifying decisions that lead to enslaving villages and gaining power through corruption and murder was not his smartest plan.

Having to run from Thawne was another matter entirely, especially when Barry realized too late in his efforts to “help” Thawne that he was the one being watched and toyed with until all hope was close to being squashed out of him. The last time he’d seen Thawne, he barely escaped with his life, and even then he’d prayed Nora wouldn’t be dead by the time he got home.

Thawne was going to do much worse things than Barry had tried to manipulate him into accomplishing.

He couldn’t even hurt Barry - not physically, that is. Attempts at torture had made him clam up faster than anything, and that had ended the moment the asshole recognized his resolve for what it was.

And if he wanted to, it wasn’t like there were many options left to try and hurt him. Barry had no home, no wife, little belongings that actually mattered to him from each move.

The one thing, no, the only thing that could ever hurt him was -

Nausea seized him and Barry made for the kitchen table, grabbing the first chair he saw as he forced himself to breathe. He heard Snart sigh somewhere behind him but he didn’t give a damn what the other man thought, shutting his eyes tight against the surge of panic that felt like it was expanding wider and wider in his chest. A fucking sorcerer from an imaginary world should’ve have this much power over him in a place where magic didn’t even exist.

“Why are you telling me this?”

Snart crossed the room, but thankfully kept his distance from Barry; something about being able to see his dark figure out of the corner of his eye was a simultaneous comfort and grievance. “Let’s just say, Thawne took something from me, and I’d like it back.”

Barry choked on a hollow laugh. “I don’t suppose you’re talking about some diamond, are you? Or did the ‘goodness of your heart’ come from a stupid game of Keep Away?”

“Thawne and I have never had similar goals.” There was that ice again, creeping slow and steady back into his voice. “You know he’d rather stay here than go back. Not when he knows how our little story ends.”

“I’m not in the mood for riddles,” Barry muttered, “so stop the cryptic bullshit, Snart.”

“Well, he’s going to use Nora to convince you to give him that power. And I don’t need to spell the consequences of that out for you in bold print, Barry, do I?”

The confirmation of his fears did nothing to reassure Barry, and he glanced over at Snart’s tight-lipped expression of what he’d swear was rage, which did even less to make him feel better. Though, it didn’t explain why Snart was angry, since he hardly knew Nora and Barry knew he cared about nothing more than money, thieving and getting back home after pestering Barry before he knew Thawne’s plan at all and -

Wait. No.

That wasn’t everything.

He imagined if Iris were here, she’d smack him on the forehead herself, rolling her eyes with a quiet, “You dummy,” to soften the blow. Somehow, that thought was mildly comforting too, in its own way.

“Your partner.” Snart stiffened, jaw clenching before he schooled his features - a millisecond of a reaction, but a reaction, nonetheless - and Barry couldn’t help but feel slightly vindicated. “Thawne’s got him, doesn’t he? Rory, right? That’s the catch of all this. You want me to free him.”

“Absolutely not. If you set foot anywhere within a couple towns’ radius of Thawne, he’ll be on you in seconds,” Snart said, his voice tight as if he were restraining himself from spitting in someone’s face. Whether it was Barry’s or Thawne’s, he wasn’t quite sure.

“But you’re - ”

“He’s not imprisoned.” It looked painful for him to even utter those words. “He stayed.”

But then why -

Oh.

(Maybe that should be his new catchphrase of the night, he thought, a little hysterically.)

Barry didn’t remember much about Mick Rory, but the man had never been much for small talk and brevities, staring with a greedy focus that he’d found eerily akin to Thawne’s at the time, fascinated by the mountains of gold and magic lamps and even the few dozen fairies he’d once managed to read out of some old folktales. He’d also kept close to Snart - always had, if Inkheart’s tale was true. He couldn’t recall the specifics but they’d grown up together, started out stealing and flourished from there, and…

Well, it seemed Rory had grown out of just stealing.

Or Snart had been the one to realize the bad hand they’d been played when Thawne’s shot at getting them home bolted off into the night with his daughter in tow.

Neither painted either’s motivations in a flattering light, but Barry knew Snart. Well enough, at least. And the man was a thief but he was calculating as Thawne, thinking ahead of the curve when he had to, making sure Barry saw him during those first few years when things were still new and Snart demanded for him to bring them home.

It was funny, but after all this time he still wasn’t sure why Snart wanted to return so badly. He and Rory wound up run out of town, after all, barely a penny to their name, never to be seen again. What could possibly be waiting for them back there in a world where autonomy was a joke compared to living?

Snart rolled his eyes and threw himself into the chair beside the one Barry still leaned against for support, lingering on the edge of the seat - cautious, until the end - as he drummed his fingers on the wood of the table. “So, you see, we both have a common goal.”

“I’d hardly call running from a manipulative asshole and wanting to get home the same goal.”

“Neither of us can do anything with Thawne hunting us.” Barry frowned, and Snart shook his head as if Barry was being trying on purpose. “He doesn’t take kindly to people telling him ‘no’, as you know.”

“How badly did you...tell him ‘no’?”

Snart grimaced. “Enough to nearly get sent free-falling into Arabian Nights for it.”

“You - wait, how would he even - ” Barry’s legs almost gave out as his jaw dropped. “He found someone else? Someone like - like me?”

“Not quite. They haven’t done more than swap animals around, monkeys and a few mice and the like. But, it’s his only back-up plan should capturing you fail. And he doesn’t intend to fail.”

Barry hadn’t even considered the idea of there being others out there who could read like him, who knew the pain of this game of chance that seemed like a wondrous gift at first glance. His heart went out to the poor soul, whoever they were, a sudden longing gripping him with both hands like a vice.

But the gravity of Snart’s words sank in as well, heavier than the revelation of another storyteller like him, and he knew what the other was trying to say.

“Nora and I can be out by dawn,” Barry said. “We don’t have much and I can pack it - ”

“They’ll find you just as quickly,” Snart cut him off. “It isn’t just him and Mick. How do you think he found you in the first place, kept track of your every move?”

Spies. Of course Thawne had spies - were they outside now, down the road, just waiting for the lights to go off and for him to fall asleep? What had Thawne possibly promised them, especially if they were ordinary -

Barry’s heart flew to his throat. “The storyteller… They haven’t brought over anyone yet.”

And they couldn’t have, not when these men could have come from passages Barry had read, speeding through them as he hoped to send Thawne back and free Iris and everything would work out so long as he kept reading and reading and reading until -

“He has his own army now,” Snart confirmed, his features softening as he likely read the horror written all over Barry’s face. “All followers or villagers from the book.”

“Fuck. Fuck my - fuck.” Barry buried his face in his hands, despair threatening to take hold and toss him overboard. “I should’ve known, I should’ve - this is all my fault. How am I supposed to run from an army? And Nora, she - ”

“She’ll be fine.”

Barry lifted his head with a snarl. “How? What about this screams ‘safe’ to you? If I take off, they’ll hunt us down again, but I can’t stay here like a sitting duck! There is literally nowhere to go! Even if I could, where would I?”

“Barry,” Snart said, raising an eyebrow, and he really didn’t like the tone the thief was taking, “I’d have thought you’d trust me by now to know when I at least have a plan.”

“Because that is supposed to reassure me?”

“Because I already got three tickets on the first train out of town - which leaves in less than two hours, so we really ought to hurry - and just enough for a car trip to an old friend’s place to lie low.”

He blinked at Snart dumbly. “An old friend.”

“Yes.”

“You have friends that aren’t arsonists? And are also from this world and not your book?”

Snart fixed him with an unimpressed glare. “Says the man whose only company has been his daughter for ten years.”

Barry winced. “Touché. Still doesn’t explain who your friend is, since you seem so keen on trusting them.”

“That is for me to know, and you to go pack and trust me over.” Barry started to protest, but the thief pressed a finger to his mouth, effectively shutting him up. Mostly out of surprise, to be honest, because he couldn’t remember the last time Snart had initiated touch with him that wasn’t meant to be constricting or threatening - including the moment earlier by the sink. He wasn’t sure why but his stomach gave another, weaker twist the longer he stared back at Snart. “You can worry and sleep on the train.”

“I - it’s almost midnight!”

“And? Do you think Thawne’s going to wait until it’s a decent hour?”

“Well, no, but…” Snart didn’t budge, his finger tapping against Barry’s bottom lip pointedly, which was really distracting, and Barry let out a groan, rubbing at his eyes with one hand. “Have you ever even ridden a train?”

“How do you think I got here?”

Right. He didn’t exactly have a driver’s license. Or a car.

Still, uncertainty plagued the back of his mind, hissing and spitting like a serpent of the worst kind.

He was tempted to act childish, push Snart away and go off to bed and sleep for once, but he knew the other man had a point. Bizarre as it was to be listening to him, of all people, especially when he had no idea where they might be going. For all Barry knew, they could be on a train to Thawne’s place within the hour!

But…

Barry did know Snart - or, he had a better sense of him from reading Inkheart, that is. And the thief was calculating and just as ruthless as Thawne when he wanted to be, but if there was one thing he truly cared about more than his lifestyle, it was his partner in crime.

And being outsmarted.

Both of which fell under the umbrella of this situation.

At least Barry had had experience in moving plenty of times before. Nora, though… She was used to it, but what the hell was he supposed to tell her? She was a smart girl, she’d figure it out in a heartbeat, if she hadn’t had an inkling already.

Barry slumped into the chair, shaking off Snart’s finger and heaving another groan into his hands before he peeked up at Snart. The glare was starting to dissolve in the face of Barry’s reluctant defeat, softening once more into something almost amicable.

“Even thieves have hearts of gold,” Iris had once teased him when they were little, poking him between his ribs when he griped at her to stop. His heart ached for the days of silly fights and not a care in the world, back before he’d discovered what he could do.

Before he sent Iris away and brought three criminals to life.

Snart’s knee nudged his and startled him out of the spiral he was edging toward, a light enough touch that Barry wondered if he’d actually felt it. Barry gave him a thin, grateful smile, but he couldn’t bring himself to move.

“She’ll be fine.” His heart clenched for a different reason, unsure what to do when Leonard Snart was offering the barest of comfort instead of sniping at him. “Your little girl’s strong. Does she know?”

Barry shook his head. “I don’t… I don’t even know how to tell her about Iris.”

“Does she have… You know…”

Fear punched a hole through his chest and Barry shook his head again, harder this time. “No. No, god, no. I don’t think so, at least. We’ve never - I haven’t read since Thawne. And I don’t let her do it out loud.”

“Good.” Snart nodded, averting his gaze as he scanned the room. Barry watched his shoulders relax, just for a moment, and he wondered if he was worried about Thawne bursting into the kitchen on no notice or if Nora being like Barry had plagued him that badly. Barry didn’t even want to think about the idea of Nora pulling Toto from The Wizard of Oz out of thin air.

Parents were supposed to be worried about normal things, like puberty and bullying and such, not magic tricks and literal villains from storybooks.

Snart got to his feet, his cool mask already solidifying in place again as he gestured in the direction of Barry’s room (which was both satisfying and eerie because he knew the other had scoped out the house beforehand). “Pack up everything you absolutely need. Then worry about waking her. I’ll get some of that, ah, coffee people seem to love here.”

Barry snorted. “Not a fan?”

“It’s just caffeinated water,” Snart grumbled. “Yet you all seem to love it.”

Barry stood as well, and he had a feeling the thief had only brought up coffee to ease the tension in the room, as evidenced by the quirk to the corner of his mouth when Barry glanced away to hide his own budding smile. Not that he was complaining.

“Alright, fine. It won’t take long just… Please don’t burn the house down. I like this house, even if I’m abandoning it within the hour.”

“I know how to make coffee.”

“There’s a whole scene in Inkheart where you burn water trying to make lunch.” The thief scowled and Barry bit back a laugh. “Oh, and Snart?”

“Hmm?”

“You stole those tickets, didn’t you?”

Snart laughed, as if he hadn’t anticipated the question, and turned to Barry with a broad smirk. “I’ll have you know, I paid for them with my own money.”

“That you stole from someone.”

“Would it make you feel any better if you knew it was being borrowed from a certain sorcerer?”

“Not really,” Barry muttered, but he couldn’t help the way he started to smile again at the implication. “But I guess… If you had to steal from anyone…”

“He didn’t need that much gold anyway.”

“You stole his gold?”

Snart gave him a look that clearly spelled out Barry was an idiot. “What other money-related items was I supposed to take? It’s not as if you read them a stack of cash from books like Rumpelstiltskin.”

“Alright, alright, I get it.” Barry rolled his eyes and headed for the hallway. “Next time I’ll read a newspaper clipping about a robbery, make things more realistic.”

The sound of Snart’s chuckle seemed to echo through the house long after Barry got to packing, bringing a brief levity to his nerve-wracked heart.

At least someone would be enjoying their impromptu vacation.

#coldflash #cf1bingo2019 #barry allen #leonard snart #the flash #me? planning cf aus specifically for my birthday? .......maybe so #call's favorites 2k19 #inkheart au #my aesthetics #my writing #if y'all know what character iris is........you know what i'm also implying here #i actually really want to write this now FCUK #as a full length fic i mean #ideas

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lady-divine-writes · 5 years

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Coldflash - “Not All Endings Are Happy, but We'll Give it a Shot” (Rated PG13)

Summary: Len is going through some changes - big changes. But instead of facing them in Central City, he's running away - from his life, and from Barry. Barry doesn't mind Len running ... as long as he can go with him.

Written for the @coldflashweeks Valentine’s Day Exchange, and @sparroet prompt 'A merfolk au. It can be either or both of them. Something with a happy ending preferred'. I actually wrote both prompts given, but the other story is turning into a monster, and it isn't ready yet. It'll go up when it's done :)

Read on AO3

“You runnin’ again?”

Len, shirtless at the end of this weathered grey and abandoned dock, stops undressing at the sound of Barry’s voice. Len hadn’t heard him approach, too focused on making plans to pay attention to what might be sneaking up behind him. But he also couldn’t care less. Because if it wasn’t Barry - if it was another meta out on the take, or some rival back from the dead looking for revenge - that might solve his problems for him.

But no. It would have to be Barry.

It’s always Barry.

Len shakes his head and rolls his eyes at Barry quoting his least favorite movie of all time – X-Men. That was the movie they saw together the first time Len ever hid out at Barry’s place. Barry thought Len would like it. He figured since Len talked like a comic book villain, he might be into it. But Len hated it. He hated the story, the plot, the reformulation of the characters and the weakening of their origin stories. Basically, the franchise sucks in Len’s opinion, but that’s besides the fact.

Barry chose a quote from that movie to irk Len.

And to prove a point.

Barry knows Len hates that movie because Barry knows Len, inside and out. Not just the big ticket items – the things that any Tom, Dick, and Harry can find on a rap sheet, during a Google search, or splattered on the front page of newspapers across the country, but the tiny, arguably insignificant things as well.

Barry knows that Len’s favorite color was blue long before he ever got his cold gun.

He knows that Len’s favorite cake flavor is German chocolate, even though he eats red velvet now.

He knows that Len’s routine is like a religion to him, that diverting from it tends to set him back a few days.

He knows that Len’s a bit on the obsessive side when it comes to how he keeps his things and where.

He knows how Len takes his coffee – black with a heaping dash of whiskey.

He knows that Len became a pescetarian a few months or so ago (which should have been a huge clue that something was up), even though his diet mostly consists of French fries and beer.

He knows why Len wakes up at night drenched with sweat and panting as if he’d been drowning in his sleep, his head forced under water until his chest is about to explode, then yanked out in the nick of time, long enough to get a single taste of fresh air, just to be plunged again.

Barry knows whom in those nightmares is playing Russian Roulette with Len’s air supply, whose sinister laugh Len hears ringing in his ears before Barry’s voice seeps in and rouses him from his sleep.

Barry knows these things because they’re the things a lover would know.

But the biggest secret Len has been carrying - a secret he’d kept from his sister, his partner, his team on the Waverider - Barry didn’t discover until recently. Which is one of the reasons Len has yet to turn around and face him. Because Len knows that the eyes staring through the back of his neck are filled to their lightening depths with hurt over him keeping it for so long.

Len could use it to get what he wants, to make Barry go away, but he cares too much about him to exploit that.

Barry is right, of course. Len is running. And since he recognizes it’s a dick move, especially after sticking around this long and allowing Barry to make assumptions that he hadn’t reconciled with, he’d hoped he could slip out of Central City without Barry noticing.

No such luck, but at least he gave it a shot.

“Sorry, Red,” Len says, back turned to the man he never wanted to say goodbye to. But that’s why he has to. Barry has become more than a lover. He’s become an anchor, someone Len has begun to rely too heavily upon. That makes Len weak. And Len can’t afford weaknesses. “Time’s up. You know the motto. One and done.”

Barry scoffs. “Yeah, well, one and done was about six years ago, so don’t give me that crap.”

“I know. That’s why I have to go. Gotta stop throwin’ plans out the window until I end up behind bars … permanently.”

“But why would you end up behind bars?” Barry moves forward, stepping carefully along the worn wood of a dock so old it shouldn’t be able to support their combined weight. “You gave up robbing ATMs.” He glances at Len’s cold gun, sitting at Len’s feet, wrapped tightly in some sort of plastic cocoon and ready to go … like its owner. “Didn’t you?”

“Yes, Red. I gave it up,” Len groans, sliding his pants down his legs, taking his underwear with it, mildly concerned about what Barry thinks when he looks at him now. You can’t tell what he is when his skin is dry, can’t see the scales that erupt up his legs like gooseflesh if he even so much as thinks of water, nor the excruciatingly painful fusing together of his bones when they become a single fin. Isn’t that how the fairytale goes? The mermaid gets to have legs as long as she stays on dry land, but the second she touches water, she turns into a fish.

As it turns out, those fairytales may have been documentaries.

Only then does he realize he’s thinking of the movie Splash and groans again.

He’s getting too old for this crap.

“So, why are you leaving?” Barry asks, using his voice to conceal two more creaky steps.

“To save you the trouble.”

Barry takes another step, but Len does, too, dropping over the side of the dock and into the water. Barry rushes to the edge, determined to have his say before his boyfriend swims off and leaves him. He scans the calm, dark water, counting the seconds until his boyfriend emerges. There’s no guarantee that he’s going to. Even with his cold gun and his duffel waiting for him at the end of the dock, there’s a fifty-fifty chance that Len said, “Eff this,” and took off without them. That thought makes Barry’s heart hurt. He knows for a fact that STAR Labs can whip up something that will help Barry track Len under water, but the fact remains …

… if Len left Barry behind, he doesn’t want him to follow.

Caught between racing back to the lab and jumping in after him, the subtle sound of splashing grabs Barry’s attention and he sees Len’s head bob to the surface a few feet away, the bulk of his body shrouded by the water. Barry smiles, relieved that he has a chance to change Len’s mind. His voice trembles with it, but he can blame that on the chill air.

“J-jeez! If you’d told me this was a pity party, I’d have brought a cake. Maybe some streamers.”

“Nice one.” Len wipes a hand over his shaved head and down his face – a hand covered in silvery-blue scales. They catch what sunlight diffuses through the clouds and wink at Barry, and Barry can’t help thinking how beautiful they look, how delicate, how ornate – such a stark contrast to his stern, rough-around-the-edges Leonard Snart.

“You know, there isn’t a place in the world better equipped to deal with metas than STAR Labs.”

“Thanks but no thanks. I’m not interested in becoming a part of your little aquarium.”

Barry chuckles. “Interesting choice of words.”

“I’d rather deal with this on my own.”

“And what exactly qualifies you to do that?”

Len sighs, this witty banter that has become the heart of their relationship, suddenly exhausting to him. This confrontation wasn’t part of his plan. But then, when it comes to Barry, most of Len’s plans fizzle into obscurity anyway. “I don’t think your friends down at STAR Labs would be too happy about accepting me into the fold, do you?”

“Well, you have been an ass to most of them …” Barry stops and looks thoughtfully up at the sky “… all of them, but I think, considering your turn around, they might be willing to overlook it.”

“Bullshit.”

“Au contraire. See for yourself.” Barry reaches into the back pocket of his jeans and pulls out a crimson tube, plain except for the familiar yellow lightning bolt that’s stamped on every piece of Flash tech. Len, against his own better judgement, swims closer, pulled by his curiosity … and his reluctance to leave. Barry pinches an edge of the cylinder between his thumb and index finger and gives it a hard shake. It pops open, immediately quadrupling, continuing to expand in size.

“What … is that?” Len asks, brows cinched together as the object transforms.

“This is a prosthetic tail,” Barry says proudly, holding it up higher so Len can get the full effect. “Otherwise known as a Flash Fin.”

“A … Flash Fin?” Len props himself up on the lip of the dock to examine the material, which looks like a cross between the same fabric Barry’s suit is made of and actual fish skin. And while he does, Barry examines Len. Scales, like the ones on his hands, dot his flesh in odd places like freckles, but they also travel in distinct paths up his arms to his elbows, down his spine from the nape of his neck to the curve of his tailbone, and cap his shoulders. They bring a new and exciting definition to Len’s body, putting emphasis on bones and joints instead of muscle, protecting him like armor.

Streamlining him for speed.

There’s something about that in particular that makes Barry’s skin sizzle straight to his blood.

“A-ha,” Barry says. “Cisco made it.”

“Named it, too, I bet.”

Barry shrugs. “It was kind of a group effort.”

“It’s grotesque,” Len declares, pushing off the dock and dropping back into the water.

“Harsh.”

“And what, pray tell, is it for?”

“I think you know what.”

Len locks eyes with Barry. Yeah, he knew, but he wanted to give Barry the opportunity to back out of it. “The answer’s no, Red.”

“I’m not asking.”

“You can’t come with me. We’ve talked about this before.”

“Not enough, if you ask me.”

“I told you everything I know! We went to this freaky version of Earth that was all water, I fell in, and got bit by a … a something. After that, this happened.” Len lifts his arms out of the water for emphasis. “I didn’t find out until we were home. And the time signature of that Earth? Lost for some reason. Possibly even destroyed. No way back. What else is there to talk about?”

Barry hears the bitterness in Len’s voice and he understands. Without access to that other Earth, there’s almost no chance of them finding out what happened to Len, or how to reverse it. Not unless he gives himself over to STAR Labs for testing. But coming up with a cure? That could take months, possibly even years, if ever. If the ‘fish fry process’ (as Cisco calls it) has mutated Len’s DNA for good, there may be no going back for him. And then all that time spent in the lab would have been for nothing.

But there’s another wrinkle to this whole situation. The crew of the Waverider didn’t encounter the inhabitants of ‘water Earth’ aside from Len’s attacker, and Len never saw the creature that bit him. The only evidence they had was the bite mark - jagged and made from pointed teeth, like a shark’s. There’s a chance that the inhabitants of water Earth aren’t like the half-human/half-fish incarnations of their Earth’s folklore, but completely scaled aquatic monsters, void of a discernible language, society ...

… or sentience.

They won’t know for sure until Len becomes one.

“When you met me, I was already the Flash,” Barry says. “I was known – my strengths, my weaknesses, how I became that way. And yet, we’re still learning about my abilities, my limitations. We know nothing about what’s happening to you. I don’t even know how you feel about it.”

“You belong here,” Len says, swiftly avoiding that subject. “Central City needs their superhero.”

Barry frowns at Len’s dodge. “Maybe. But I deserve a little vacation time. I think the team has things pretty well handled here. And if anything big comes up, I can be back …”

Len smirks. “… in a flash?”

“I was going to say a couple of minutes, but, whatevs. Where are you headed anyway?” Barry asks with another glance at Len’s gun, the weapon an even more sinister presence the more Barry considers its possible purpose.

“You’re always on my case about doing good deeds here on this Earth, so I thought I’d pull an Arthur Curry – become an environmental activist. Take the old cold gun up to Antarctica and fill in that Manhattan-sized hole in the glacier.”

Barry raises an eyebrow, not entirely sure Len’s not kidding. “That does sound noble. It also sounds like a big job. Maybe a little too big for one man. You might need some backup.”

“Backup?”

“Leopard seals, man. I hear they’re … vicious.”

Len blows out a sarcastic laugh. That’s his Barry, beating dead horses and never knowing when to take a hint. “Why are you doing this, Red? Why do you always have to make things harder than they need to be?”

“I want to help you through this.” Barry kneels on the dock, trying to get as close as he can to Len without pushing him away. He curls his fingers into the wood, fighting the urge to reach out and touch him, to grab him back before the swells pull him out of reach. “I want to help you the way my friends helped me. I want to help you find a solution to whatever’s going on with you. I don’t … I don’t want you to be alone.”

“Don’t want me to be alone, huh?” Len rolls his head on his neck in annoyance, his smug grin becoming a grimace. “I don’t need your pity!”

“I’m not pitying you!” Barry snaps, knowing he’s lying a little, knowing he’s bad at it.

Len meets Barry’s gaze, stares him down. “Then try again.”

Barry hears the wood beneath his hands complain, the tips of his fingers sinking in like it’s made of sand. “Okay, how about this: at heart, I’m a selfish, terrible excuse for a superhero, who’s tired of being at everyone’s beck and call, but who can’t seem to save the people in my life that I care about! The people who really matter to me! And if this … this … whatever it is …” Barry gestures in Len’s direction “… is going to take you away from me, and you’re too pig-headed and stupid to get help, then I’d rather spend as much time with you as I can, because, to be honest, I don’t know what my life is going to look like without you in it, so I don’t want to find out what that’s going to look like today!”

That final word echoes off into the distance, leaving a tense silence behind. Len doesn’t say anything, floating in quiet observation of Barry Allen, leaning so far over the edge of the dock, one stiff wind would push him in. Threads of electricity circle his fingertips, bouncing arcs off the surface of the water. But Len’s not afraid of being electrocuted.

He’s afraid he’s about to make the worst decision of his life.

“If I told you to go home, would you go?” he asks.

“No,” Barry answers quickly.

“What if I told you I was hoping you’d keep an eye on Lisa for me while I’m gone?”

“Cisco’s got that one handled. She’ll be fine.”

“I’ll bet,” Len mutters, dipping under the water – a new habit he’s developed when he needs a second to think. “What if I told you I didn’t want you?” Len swallows hard. “If I told you I didn’t love you? Would you leave?”

“No,” Barry says, the reality of those words burning his eyes. He doesn’t think Len is talking about now, but about some point in the future, when he might turn into something undefinable, something so far from human, it isn’t even Len anymore.

Something that doesn’t recognize Barry as the man he loves.

But that’s a chance Barry is willing to take, as long as they take it together.

Len nods. Then he grins. “So, you’re a selfish asshole, huh?”

“I never used those words exactly,” Barry says, prying his fingers out of the now splintered wood, “but that’s the gist of it. Yeah.”

“I guess I can live with that. Toss me my stuff, will you?”

“How about I toss you the duffel, and I take the gun?” Barry shoves Len’s abandoned clothes into the neoprene duffel, then adds his own shoes, socks, and jeans after he undresses. Len watches in amusement, slightly annoyed that Barry didn’t have the decency to go commando if he was going to crash this escapade.

At least he’s wearing a Speedo.

“Not a chance.” Len leaves the bag to Barry and snags the gun off the dock before his boyfriend can confiscate it. “What do you say, Red. Do you think you can keep up with me?”

“I’m offended you’d even ask that question.”

“Oh, and another thing.”

“What’s that?”

“That creepy tail? It stays here.”

Barry looks at the fake fin he was preparing to slip on over his legs, disappointed that he doesn’t get to take it for a spin, especially after all the tricks Cisco said he’d included. But in terms of compromises, this is a small one, so he can’t turn it down.

“Alright,” he concedes, rolling the fin back up, sliding it into the bag when Len isn’t paying attention. He jumps into the water, shocked by how cold it is when it touches his skin, marveling over how at ease Len seems hanging out in this frozen bath from go. The Speed Force inside him, at odds with the icy cold encompassing his body, kicks in like a generator to keep him warm. Moments later, the cold is not an obstacle. “Len?”

“Yeah, Barry?” Len asks, busy securing his gun to his torso with thick straps.

“Can you talk to fish?

“Barry …”

“Ooo, what about whales? Can you talk to whales?”

“Barry …”

“Because it would be awesome if you could talk to whales.”

Len grabs Barry by the shoulder. He drags his body close and kisses him hard, kisses him to feel his lips on his again, the warmth of his mouth – a warmth he no longer has, that’s foreign to him.

But mostly to shut him up.

“Don’t make me regret this, Red. Don’t you dare.”

#coldflash #Barry Allen #leonard snart #Captain Cold #The Flash #merfolk au

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pinkletterday · 5 years

Text

Writer's Year In Review

This year has been a revelation. I went from deeply, irrevocably believing I can't write fiction at all to knowing that I'm actually pretty good at it!

It's given me the confidence to find work as a freelance writer and editor in real life, after years of unemployment and anxious paralysis resulting from chronic illness and trauma. A lot of other factors also helped but the fic writing played a huge role in getting my shit together.

General Fic Stats:

Word Count on AO3: 92284

Fics posted to AO3: 23

Favourite Fic:

Kiss It Better (Westallen).This fic is my baby. I love little Iris and little Barry in it so much, the hurt and confusion in each other they attempted to heal, how that healing carried into their adult love and family. It will always and always be my favourite thing I have ever written. Wee!stallen is my jam, and the reason I ship them so damn hard.

Do Not Go Gentle (Westallen). Ngl, I love this for the sheer amount of truly gratifying comments. Every single one of them have been emotional and flaily. It all makes me feel like I may have finally levelled up. Hallelujah. xD

Funniest Fic:

The Care and Feeding (Queenwestallen). This is my ultimate OT3. This fic, written as a list and discussion is 95% humour and contains some of my best banter and (I feel) characterization. An element I'm really proud of is how I managed to center and include all their important non-romantic relationships in their conversations. Iris's boisterous female friends, Oliver's friends, Cisco and Caitlin's snarky commentary all shoehorned themselves into the list with hilarious and wholesome results.

It's not a popular OT3 but I feel like it's a good first attempt to drag this ship to water. xD

Cutest Fic:

Dancing Queen (Olivarry). Even after a year this contiues to be the fic with the highest kudos ratio (except for the more recent one) and the second most bookmarked. I love getting comments on this because they are all some variation of "my teeth hurt. I have diabetes!" xD Well, I did build it around a rainbow sprinkle icing sugar donut, but there is a significant dollop of angst there in the middle. A flangst donut.

Your Vigil In My Keeping (Westallen). This fic has less than 200 hits but has the highest kudos ratio of all. I guess kid fic isn't everyone's cup of tea, but Wee!stallen is cute af yo. I headcanon the origins of Barry and Iris's steadfast partnership in this story, where her faith and belief in him is as strong as his protectiveness of her, all tied up in the language and innocence of children.

Kinkiest Fic:

WA Smut and Kink Collection. I literally just posted this yesterday lol. So far it's just a face-sitting short, but I have quite a few hard and soft kinks lined up. Westallen needs more hard smut tbh, and they have such a unique powerfully loving dynamic that every kink I'm writing has required me to come at it a little bit sideways with a whole lot of emotional focus.

Saddest Fic:

Three fics I can't choose from.

Do Not Go Gentle (Westallen). This is basically Iris's grief and fear in a raging tempest, and it's strongly implied that the future Nora has warned them of will come to pass regardless of what they do. The fact is that there already is and will be a timeline where Iris loses Barry, just as there must be one where she won't, because that is the nature of potentiality.

The Paradigm of Uncertainty (Westallen). This was a drabble almost, that ruminates on the probability that speedsters do not erase timelines but abandon them, along those versions of their loved ones. It's as @rkwago's brilliant comment says: "Iris hurts in so many weird, cosmic ways that her life is almost an eldritch horror house," which is the most perfect description ever of what it means to be a time traveller's wife.

The Universal Constant (Gen, background WA). A lot of people find the way Barry goes off on Joe cathartic in this fic, and so do I. But it's not so simple. I don't think Joe was wrong to form the views he did, or that anyone was in the wrong really. As @sophiainspace pointed out, it's a mediation of grief and love, their parallels and continuations between parents and children and lovers. The fact that it takes Henry's death for Barry to find the adult language to articulate to Joe why he will always believe in his father's innocence is a tragedy that cuts three ways.

(This fic is also the reason I have a folder in my drive marked "how to get away with murder" and probably a likely reason to get me arrested one day. xD)

Most Popular Fic:

Strangers In The Cold (Coldflash). The Coldflash fandom is a joy to feed. This was my first smut fic which was preceded by an entire chapter of banter about nothing in particular (except it ended up establishing a background that gave birth to the Coldflash vs Olivarry polyam series) And holy wow, for a newbie writer, the response has been amazing. Looking back, I wince at a lot of writing mistakes and its undeniably rough, but it really bolstered my confidence.

(I feel a little guilty that all my other CF stories are still in my WiP folder while I update the polyam series at snail's pace.)

The Shape of Us (Westallen). I wrote this on tumblr half-asleep one night, half as a rambly headcanon...and woke up to literally one hundred freaking notes. What the hell. Now at over 260, it's the most popular fic I've ever posted on tumblr.

I never consciously intended it to be a body-positivity fic but apparently women really relate to the insecurities of growing older and watching our bodies change with marriage, children and the sheer hectic pace of life. Even my non-fandom friends reblogged it simply for its representation of "real women". Barry's response is my own wish fulfillment fantasy; the sort of total acceptance and validation that we wish we could hear it the times we can't find it in ourselves. In light of the virulent body-shaming Candice Patton has been subjected to ever since she was revealed to have gained a fuller figure in S5, I'm very glad to have written it.

Least Popular Fic:

Carry On (Gen) This character study of Oliver Queen only has 135 hits a year after posting, which is par for the course with gen. But has a solid 12% kudos ratio, which means it's probably as good as I think it is. It's one of my favourite and easiest fics I have ever written.

Love Me Like You Do (Olivarry) Lordy, if my first Coldflash smut filled me with confidence, my first Olivarry smutfic all but ruined it. I struggled with it for a long time, unlike SitC, which I suppose shows in the over-descriptions. I got carried away with the quipping and I guess Barry topping at all is really not popular with slash fans?

Still, I'm honestly toying with the idea of deleting and rewriting it. At least it was a learning experience - don't write smut unless it makes you feel horny yourself.

Most Challenging Fic:

Do Not Go Gentle (Westallen). I think the reason stories you knock off in two hours are instantly popular while the ones you slaved over for weeks barely get any attention is because the process is reflected in the ease of reading. But this one is an exception. It was an absolute monster, taking three weeks and several revisions to wrestle into submission - and it paid off in spades! Going by the response, I seem to have achieved the wow factor I was going for.

My only regret is that I posted it on tumblr before the last revision that finally made it work, so that too many readers saw the lacklustre version rather than the polished one.

Honorable Mention:

A Stitch In Time (Olivarry for now, eventual Queenwestallen) Baby's first multi-chapter! Admittedly chapters 3 and 4 have been languishing in my drive for a few months now and this thing has 100% more deleted scenes and outtakes posted to my tumblr than the actual story on AO3. But I'm so proud of it! I learned to write action scenes because of it, how to write climaxes, dream sequences, news articles and tell a story in several different formats. It made me rediscover my empathy for Felicity and write her as a PoV character, think deeply on Laurel Lance's losses and give voice to her struggles, and explore how a real friendship and understanding could evolve between Oliver and Iris out of their mutual love for Barry. (Centering female characters within manpain narratives, ftw! Otoh, I centered Iris so much it veered off the Olivarry rails into Queenwestallen territory on its own)

There is so much meaty conflict and delicious looming disaster in this story that I'm determined going to keep at it, even if slow and steady. If only to bring the light of Barry/Iris/Oliver into the world. xD

Holding On (Olivarry). This real-world disability AU deals with chronic and mental illness and the precariousness and personal demons of that reality. I tore out the rawest parts of my life for this fic and put them on display so that I couldn't bear to show it to anyone for a year after it was written.

I'm very glad I did finally brush it off and put it up because it has struck a chord with so many people, especially other Spoonies. The low number of hits on a fic that deals in hurt/comfort rather stings, as I can't help but think the disinterest is because of the "disability" and "neurodivergence" tags. But I still think it's one of the best things I've written and one I'll always be proudest of.

General Reflections:

Things I've learned over the past year of writing:

- Self-deprecation is not my friend. I need to be honest enough with myself to acknowledge when my writing is good, because either I self-validate and build confidence or I become a black hole of insecurity where validation goes to die. And if I think I'm a bit better than I actually am, it's not just okay but necessary to believe it.

- What I call writer's block is perfectionism, anxiety and physical and mental fatigue. If I don't eat, sleep, hydrate and acheive a relaxed mental state, I won't be able to write.

- Momentum is more my friend than any amount of inspiration and motivation. Sitting my ass down and make it a habit to churn out X number of words a day, even bad writing, will do more to help me than polishing an idea to a high shine.

- If I don't forgive myself for the stories I can't write I'll never write anything. I am doing this for free, to share the love and joy and therefore obligated to no one.

- I'm capable of writing things I don't have the first idea how to write. My fingers on a keyboard can paint the picture my brain can't visualize.

I don't believe in New Year's resolutions, but I am going to make it a personal goal to write at least 15k words per month, learn to stick to a posting schedule where possible. and end next year with an additional 150k words posted.

To everyone who follows this blog, commented, reblogged and liked my posts - I see and remember and appreciate every one of you. You're the reason I feel seen and valued and why I am motivated to keep writing through all the difficulties life throws at me. <3<3<3

#the flash #myfic #fanfic #westallen #olivarry #arrow #oliver queen x barry allen #personal #barry allen x iris west #coldflash #queenwestallen #leonard snart x barry allen #oliver queen x iris west #writing #meme #review #year in review #happy new year #pinknote

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a-redharlequin · 6 years

Photo

Disclaimer: I own nor have made any of the images used in this board.

FlashWeather/ColdFlash AU

One of Barry’s worst nightmares has come true. Yet another nemesis, and one of the worst possible people, has learned of his secret identity; Mark Mardon.

However, Mark has no interest in selling the Flash down the river, or even using it to seek revenge. No, he’s found something much better to use this newfound information for; leverage, or, more specifically, extortion.

During his ‘research’ of Barry Allen and the Flash, he found out something that was worth more to him than retribution; that the Flash can time travel, that it was possible to save Clyde. That he could have his brother back.

Now if he can just convince Barry to go along with it, everything would be perfect.

But Barry has learned his lesson (again) and he’s not about to mess with the timeline (again) for anything less than a catastrophe (…again). No matter how guilty he felt about not being fast enough, good enough, to prevent Clyde’s death.

But Mark’s not taking no for an answer and is pulling out all the stops to get on Barry’s good side, to show that he can change, that he could keep Clyde on, well, not so much the straight and narrow, but at least obedient to the Rogue’s Rules. Something Lisa Snart had made a point of enforcing if anyone wanted to stay in her city.

(Even if Leonard Snart had mysteriously disappeared, it didn’t mean the city’s underworld no longer had a ruler. Honestly, the queen of gold was even more terrifying than the king of cold.)

Barry can’t go anywhere anymore without a certain weather meta dogging his steps, as it seems the rogue has made it his personal mission to make sure the reckless red speedster doesn’t get himself killed before he can save Mark’s brother.

In spite of themselves, their prolonged exposure to one another mixed with Barry’s stubbornness and Mark’s persistence, the two get closer and things between them become more electrically charged than their respective abilities that seem to be trying to draw them together like magnets. As if it weren’t enough that Mark insisted on sticking to him like a burr, but that their powers, when not pitted against one another, seem to feed off of one another like some sort of twisted and orgasmic form of symbiosis that Team Flash are all too eager to study.

But Mark can’t be sure if he really wants Barry, or if his feelings are just desperation mixed with addiction after being alone for so long. Barry feeling much the same, as well as unable to trust Mark’s intentions regarding ‘them’.

Barry’s reservations and denials are breaking down; now he just can’t decide if he’s refusing out of responsibility, or fear of Mark abandoning him once he has what he wants.

When Barry gives in and finds a way to save Clyde and preserve the past and future, things look complicated but promising.

Then Leonard Snart sweeps in like a blizzard, returned from the dead and now a meta on equal footing with the most powerful on top of his already legendary skill set. The only thing seemingly stopping him from an attempt at world domination is his newly chosen career as an (anti-)hero (trust Leonard Snart to figure out how to make super-heroism pay).

Safe to say, Cold is back, and he’s looking for more than a chance at working things out with Team Flash.

Mark had gotten his brother back and just settled into this strange new world order, and had finally been ready to work on proving his seriousness about their relationship to Barry, prove to him they could make things work. The last thing he needed was a rival who already had one foot in the door to Barry’s life and his heart; as if the cold bastard didn’t have enough going for him, he had to make a move for Flash too?!

Now Barry is more confused than ever and his heart is being torn in two when he’s faced with two paths to choose from with yet another crisis on the horizon. Will he go left, or will he go right?

But maybe the right path for them all is more straightforward than he thinks.

Central City collectively holds its breath to see how the Flash’s personal life choices will once again change the course of its future.

#coldflash #flashweather #flash moodboard #coldflashweather

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stillnotginger10 · 6 years

Photo

Pictures and a drabble one-shot for coldflash week!

AO3

This is for the Scifi AU. A little story about how smuggler Len meets Barry, who is part of an alien species that exists only as energy. They don’t have a body of their own, so they possess manmade objects in the universe to interact with other species.

Right now, this story is just this snippet, but I may pick it up again when I have more time. I want to write about Barry and Len’s adventure together! But for now, you can imagine where they go from here and if they ever find Barry a body.

This’ll do, Len thinks as he looks around his new ship.

Or, at least, it’ll be his new ship once he disables tracking and flies it off the space station.

The ship is big, bigger than his usual getaway vehicle, but something about it had called to Len as he looked around the docking bay for the right space ship to steal. Call it a feeling or a hunch, call it an appreciation for the aesthetics of older models, or call it revenge for the owner, Rip Hunter, convincing security that Len’s ship needed to be searched while he was busy taking care of business on the space station.

Len’s deal with the Santinis had gone well, so it was time to go. Before they realized the goods Len had sold them were fake. But with Len’s ship being otherwise occupied by nosy officials, and possibly impounded later if they managed to find one of its many hidden cargo holds, Len was left looking for other methods of transportation. Rip’s ship only had two security measures to bypass; it was practically begging to be taken.

Finding the bridge was easy. The room was large and held a number of chairs as if Rip ever actually had traveling companions. The controls were simple, especially for someone with Len’s level of experience, and before long he had tracking disabled, communications running on undetectable frequencies, and the ship in the air.

The vessel practically ran itself once it was out in open space, so Len was able to sit back and relax once he’d programed it to fly to his meeting place with Mick. Stretching his arms out before curling them behind his head, Len looked around at his newest acquisition. It was old, yes, but it was in good shape. It was large and probably had plenty of room for hiding future cargo that needed smuggling from one place to another. All in all, it was a good find. How nice of Rip to give him the chance to upgrade.

“Hmm, what to call you,” Len wondered aloud.

A crackling sound came over the speakers as if the ship’s intercommunication system had been activated, making Len drop his arms and sit up straight. Had he heard wrong? Was Rip traveling with someone?

“Captain Hunter called this vessel The Waverider,” came a hesitant voice over the speakers.

Len jumped up and looked around, but just as before, he saw no one.

“Who are you?” he growled. “Where are you?”

“I’m in the ship,” the voice came quicker this time.

“Where in the ship?” Len asked, voice low and angry, as he reached for the cold gun holstered to his leg.

“Everywhere,” said the voice. “It’s— It’s hard to explain. Maybe it’s better to say that I am the ship.”

“An A.I.?” Len asked, still tense.

“Not exactly,” the voice said, confusing Len. He was starting to get angry now. How could it be this complicated for someone to explain who and where they were? “Have you heard of the Metas?”

Len relaxed at the word, letting go of his gun. He’d heard of Metas before, but he’d never met one. They were rare to encounter, possibly more because they stayed hidden to avoid humans than because there were few of them. They were a species that existed without a physical body. They inhabited computer systems and who knew what else. Len had once wondered if they could possess any object, but only machines that moved and made noise allowed them to communicate. Many people feared having Metas in their computers, but from what Len had heard, the only damage that ever happened to the machines came from the humans trying to eradicate the intruder. The Metas were a peaceful people who only wanted to watch and explore.

“Never met one,” Len said. It made sense if that’s what the voice was. It explained how someone could be everywhere, how they could be the ship. “You got a name, Meta?” Len knew they didn’t have a gender or appearance, but maybe they had a preference for what to be called.

There was pause, before the voice said, quiet and hesitant again, “I was called Barry once. I liked that name.”

“Barry it is,” Len said easily as he sat down again.

“You’re taking this very well,” Barry said, sounding as if he wasn’t sure if he should bring it up.

“Rip didn't take it so well?” Len smirked at the thought. Rip was controlling and didn’t trust anyone—it’s why he never worked with a crew—so Len wasn’t surprised he didn't like having an uninvited guest on his ship.

“No, he wanted me removed,” Barry said, sounding sad. “He was meeting with someone about it on the station.”

“That’s why you didn't say anything until we were off the station,” Len said. He’d wondered why Barry had waited so long to make himself known, but if he wanted to get away from Rip, then it made sense.

Only silence answered Len, which was answer enough.

“I don't mind a guest,” Len offered. How could he complain about an uninvited guest on the ship when he was one himself? Barry’s kind weren’t harmful. They just liked to study the universe and the species that lived there, and Len had never minded being the center of attention.

“You don’t?” Barry asked, sounding hopeful this time.

“Nope,” Len said, popping the ‘P’. “Wouldn’t mind some company while I’m on my travels. My crew and I tend to split up a lot.” He looked around at the ship, considering. “What do you say, Barry, want to stick around?”

“Just you and me?”

“Just us.”

“It’s a deal,” Barry said, and Len would swear he could hear a smile in the voice.

#coldflashweeks2018 #coldflash #scifi au #agender barry #my writing #the flash #lot #dc #my edits

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