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samanthalightning · 4 years

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She's Got A Date-EoWells X Allen!reader- Part IV

*The GIF is not mine. All rights to the owner*

Part III

Summary: After getting wasted last night, you meet up with Barry and he offered you some advices. Based 1x03

Warnings: None. Just a tad angsty.

***

Extremely groggy, currently having a mind-splitting headache and has the worst case of hungover, it was a miracle that you woke up early— well, thanks to your siren-like alarm. You hate yourself for drinking like a viking and like your liver regenerates like Barry.

Last night was a blur— or at least the part you got home. You blacked out. You have absolutely zero recollection of how you ended up in your bed, in your pyjamas, and your car parked the wrong way. You figured you drank and drove, you might have someone to do with that one. You are so lucky no one caught or Joe would've made sure you won't see the light of day. But everything prior that was still very much intact in your mind. Everything.

You were supposed to meet up with Barry for breakfast today at Jitters. You were headed there anyway for some coffee. It's not far from your apartment, which was nice, because you don't trust yourself with driving hungover as much as driving drunk.

When you arrived at Jitters, Barry was already there. He waved as his eyes caught you entering. You smiled in return. You went to him, put your bag on the floor and took a seat on the stool. Cups of coffee were on the table, it seemed like Barry had already gone through half of his coffee.

"I already ordered for you," he said. "And I got you this ham and cheese sandwich from that bodega." He placed a brown paper bag in front of you.

"Thanks," you mumbled, taking a sip of the coffee. You rummaged through the bag, and took the foil-covered sandwich. It was still warm. Your favorite bodega was all the way downtown. It's a trip to get those treats, which is why you almost never get them. Thank God for Barry and his super speed.

You quickly removed the foil and took a large bite. You groaned happily as you chew. Coffee and greasy sandwich; it was heavenly and bitter. It hits the right spots, it feels as though a part of your soul re-entered your body.

Thank God for Barry and him knowing you so well.

Barry chuckled amusedly at your reaction. "Had some fun last night?" He teased, pointing to your sunglasses covering your eyes.

In your defense, it was very bright outside today.

You rolled your eyes, not that he can see through the lens— or can he? You didn't know. "Just had a few drinks with Iris," you said.

He nodded, half convinced, took a sip of his coffee. "Once upon a time I was falling in love but now I'm falling apart," he sang in a low voice, but enough for your heightened hearing to hear.

Your head quickly jerked up to him, eyes mortified. "How did you know that?" You whispered. Your thoughts ran wildly. Maybe someone took a video of you drunk as hell, and maybe you're trending on all social media platforms or maybe you became a meme.

He shrugged, pursing his lips. "I don't know, you belted those notes in the streets last night,"

Perplexed, you look at him, and it's like he was waiting for something to click while smirking devilishly. Then it dawned on you. All of those questions you asked earlier were answered. He took you home. Which makes sense why he got these sandwiches for you.

"Oh my God," you groaned, burying your face in your hands, cheeks turned into a dark shade of red. Though, you still remember nothing.

Barry laughed hysterically. He loved teasing you so hard.

"Yeah. You called me last night, begging me to pick you up, because you're too drunk to drive," he said as his laughing ceased. "You both refused to enter the car. You started screaming, giggling like 5-year olds. I was lucky the street was dead."

Oh poor Barry. You can imagine, he must be so embarrassed.

It was a relief that even if you're drunk, you didn't risk driving. Maybe you're not as hopeless as you think you are.

Still, you dwelled in your embarrassment.

"So, who is it?" He asked. You look up to him again, eyebrows furrowed with once again cluelessness and confusion. You had a hunch what he was talking about, but it's always safe to pretend you don't know. It can't hurt them. He looked at you incredulously. "Come on, Y/N. You were talking the whole car ride. About some guy, and how things are so complicated and you were tired of it. I've never seen you like that before—"

"—clearly haven't seen me in a frat party before," you snickered, taking off your glasses.

"I'm serious. What is that about?" He insisted firmly, anticipation and a squint of frustration was evident in his face.

You grimaced, mentally hissing at yourself. You couldn't just zip your mouth and reveal your secret. Might as well announce it.

You messed up. You can lie, but what's the point? He's Barry. If he's anything, that's persistent. He tried breaking in Iron Heights.

"I'm dating someone," you confessed.

Barry blinked, clearly caught off guard with your confession. He expected it, but what surprised him is that you hid it from him. He stuttered for a while, before he was able to form a coherent sentence. "Oh. Okay. What happened?"

You sighed, looking down at the table. You took another bit of your sandwich, taking your time to chew. Contemplating whether to elaborate. It's pretty heavy to unload, you didn't expect telling your brother you're dating someone so secretly. And for sure he won't be able to take it all at once. You have to be vague.

"He—he doesn't want anyone to know we're dating, because there are certain consequences that come with it," you explained. It felt foreign to talk about your love life. For the past 6 months, you kept it all to yourself. The bad, the good. You bottled it up inside.

He raised an eyebrow, concern crossed his features. "And you're comfortable with this?"

"At first. But then it felt restricted and suffocating," you explained.

"Did you talk to him about this?"

You nodded. "Yes. He wasn't very convinced. I honestly don't know what to do," you huffed, slumping your shoulder.

It ain't rocket science to figure how deeply i troubled you. It breaks his heart that his little sister is going through some stuff, and she was going through it alone.

"Talk some more. Be honest of what you're really feeling," you thought was pretty rich and ironic coming from him. "You're part of this relationship as much as he is. You have a say in this, and if you don't feel like this isn't working out for you, then maybe you shouldn't be in it at all."

His words hit you like a brick— thousands of bricks hitting you all at once, if you're being accurate. It hurts, because it was right. It hurts, because it deeply matters. You felt the sting in your heart, your jaw tightened. You don't want to think about it, but he's got a point.

Barry was worried with your lack of response, as you think deeply in the distance. "I'm not saying break up with him, okay? I'm just saying this is something you should really talk about and consider. You can't bottle it all up." He doesn't want to screw up his sister's love life or push her to do something that might hurt her, but not exactly disregarding the advice he made.

When he's not being a total dork, he's pretty wise.

You pressed your lips is a hard line, taking it all in. "I know," you murmured.

You weren't able to say anything after that. So did he. It was some heavy weight of emotional stuff to unload to your brother. Your hungover was gone, and who knew these kinds of talks are better than coffee and grease.

Barry decided to break the silence. "This explains so much," he laughed and so did you. You weren't pretty subtle. "Do I know him?" He quirked an eyebrow.

You hesitated, but it's not like Wells' is the first that will come to his mind. Gradually, you nodded. "Yes. But I'm not gonna say who!"

"He isn't someone like Oliver Queen, right?" He half-joked, but deep inside he meant it.

You almost spat your drink. "No!"

Barry went to the precinct, and you headed to S.T.A.R Labs.

You tried to act as normal as possible, even though what Barry said deeply affected you. Thank God Caitlin arrived before you, so you wouldn't have to deal with interactions with him.

You couldn't still believe how much emotion you felt last night; how intense it is. You minded it, but you didn't think you would actually get drunk about it. You have no idea how to deal with it, and if it's the right time to deal with it. You can't go on and help your brother save the city, while your mind is filled with thoughts about him.

Right now, you choose the city.

As soon as Cisco arrived, which wasn't very long, you worked on finishing the pipeline.

It wasn't easy though, you worked on the same thing, be in the same room, act like you didn't get hammered because of him last night. Every time you spare him a glance, and he would look back and he would smile, having no idea what you were going through, it would break your heart just a little bit more. Each minute that you let your feelings be unknown, Barry's words sink into you furthermore. But it occurred to you that the reasons why it was hard were also the reasons why you should keep it together.

The prison was done before lunch. He and Cisco worked over-overtime last night, so there wasn't really much to do, but set it up. It came up together well; durable, functional. The cells slightly look like pods, and given Francisco Ramon's obsession with Star Wars, it makes sense. The test run will happen when 'The Mist' is captured, since Barry doesn't want to participate. But rest assured, you and Cisco worked on it very hard to make sure it works.

Now with the biggest task done, the only thing left to do is go through a bunch of workload and have lunch.

"Hey, Caitlin and I are gonna grab lunch, wanna come?" Cisco asked, putting his coat on. "It's that new place that serves amazing cheap steaks and burgers,"

You realized that the place he was talking about was the very restaurant that you told Wells.

You shook your head. "No, you guys go. I already ordered some food." You smiled, declining.

"Okay, your lost. That place is amazing," he elaborated, clearly pleased with the place. It's Cisco, though. And food.

You snorted, turning your eyes back to the computer. "As I heard," you murmured underneath your breath with a tinge of bitterness, as Cisco strided out of the cortex.

On the bright side, someone from this place already went there. But much to your dismay, it wasn't you.

Your phone dinged. You picked it up to check, and it's what you have been waiting for. The delivery guy is right outside the lab. You quickly headed down to pick it up. You gave the delivery guy some tip, before excitedly went back inside.

You were salivating when the intoxicating smell of Chinese food filled your nostrils.

When you got up, Wells was there. He took a waft of the take-out foods. "Is that from Mann-Lee?" His eyes lit up in recognition. He was the one who introduced you to the restaurant. He said it's the only Chinese place he likes, because it tasted like the food he had in Shanghai. Of course, he's been to China.

You nodded, placing it on the desk. You quickly took out every box of food in the bag, and dug into your chow mein happily and satisfied, not bothering to take a seat.

"Did you order some for me?" He asked.

Unable to speak due to your mouth being filled with noodles and potstickers, you nodded. "It's in the box," he chuckled at your attempt to speak.

He helped himself and rummaged inside the bag's remaining contents. Upon opening one, his face fell, seemingly disappointed. He opened another box only to be disappointed again. He was looking for something specific. Your wonder started to grow, watching him.

He turned to you, and you raised an eyebrow. "Did you order some of their Beef Broccoli?"

"No. Did you want that?" You inquired.

"Yeah." He forced a half-smile, waving his fingers dismissively. "It's okay. I'm fine with Kung Pao Chicken; it's decent enough,"

For some reason, your mood soured. Decent in Harrison Wells' vocabulary means it's not good enough; he doesn't hate it, but he doesn't love either. You felt bad that you didn't know what he actually likes, but in your defense, he never says, and he lets you eat it. He never complained.

"You don't have to eat it if you don't like it," you said. You didn't want to watch him suffer eating something he doesn't like while you enjoy your own lunch.

"No, it's fine," he assured you.

"No, Harry. I mean it— you don't have to eat it," you insisted with more vigor in your tone.

He ignored you, and took a bite of the chicken. You scoffed in disbelief, frustration fueled in your chest. You want to stop him as he continues eating, but you decided against it. It's too petty to get angry about, not worth it.

You eat your lunch in peace, every time you turn to Wells, he would wince every now and then when he takes a bite. You don't know what about Kung Pao Chicken he doesn't like, but he doesn't just like it. You tried to let him go through it, but you're starting to get annoyed. And of course, you couldn't stop yourself.

"Okay, stop," you suddenly spoke, putting your food aside. "You don't have to eat, you don't like it." You tried to grab the food out of his grasp, but he swerved swiftly.

"Y/N, I said it's fine!" Wells said, displeased at your attempt to take his food away.

"It's not! You don't look fine— you don't like it!" Your voice rose a little.

He exhaled audibly. "It's just food,"

"I know it's just Kung Pao Chicken that I ordered that you don't like, so just admit it and stop eating!" You spat.

He scoffed in disbelief. "What is wrong with you? I am eating it!"

"But that's the point!" You snapped loudly. "You don't have to do anything you don't want to do— you never do!"

Realizing what you've said, you shut your eyes. Your hands flew to each side of your head, fingers weaved through your hair, tugging on them. You needed to calm down and take breath, and be rational. The last you want to do is do something reckless and irrational.

"Is there something wrong?" He questioned firmly.

You mentally grimaced at the question. It was a stupid question; it's basically screaming at his face. "Nothing," you muttered.

Of course he didn't buy it. You weren't exactly selling it well. Or at all.

"It's something. You're enraged over food," You don't honestly know how he can keep his tone down, but it was evident he was agitated. You hate it so much right now.

You sighed wearily, refusing to face him. Afraid of what might happen if you do.

"Let it go, Wells," you pleaded through your gritted teeth and clenched jaw.

"No. I'm not gonna stop until this is settled. Tell me, what's wrong? Did something happen?"

He continued on, pushing you to speak. The idea of unloading all of your hidden burdens entered your mind, but you don't have the emotional capacity to face the fact that this is taking a toll on you. You tried to hold your ground, but his voice overwhelmed you.

You pushed your chair back, getting on your feet and facing him.

"Everything is wrong, Harrison!" You shouted, your voice boomed inside. Wells almost flinched. "Everything is wrong with us!"

Wells shook his head, baffled. "What do you mean?"

"I mean I can't take this any longer,"

"Can't take what?"

"This—" you gestured to you and him. "—This arrangement we made!"

Wells sighed, distressed, catching on what you were saying. "I thought you were okay with this,"

You chewed on your bottom lip, as you folded your arms across your chest. When you spoke, your voice dropped into a whisper; you couldn't control it. "I thought so too. Then last night, Iris vented out to me." You paused. You struggled to keep it together, now pressing your tightly folded arms on your chest. You continued. "They were having problems, same as us. I gave her some insights about everything, and then I realized that's how I feel!"

The underlying problem he thought he got handled was more intense than he thought. Time was running, you couldn't pick more of an impeccable timing, and the team could waltz in anytime while you were having this fight. He couldn't afford anyone finding out about it.

He took off his glasses, and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Y/N, this is not the time for this," he said.

You snorted, your anger erupted in your veins. You were tired of avoiding the elephant in the room.

"When is the perfect time? When it's too late? When we break up?" You didn't want to say it, but it was at the tip of your tongue, waiting to be asked ever since you realized it.

His expression hardened. You already see the gears working. "Y/N, don't go there," he murmured, not glancing up to you.

"Why?" Your voice cracked into an almost sob. That was it. The tears found their way and pool at the rim of your eyes. "I tried to make myself believe that I understand, but I couldn't help but think that maybe you're scared that if things don't work out you won't have to deal with other people, thinking that you slept with a 24-year old girl."

Soon, every emotion you were feeling last night came rushing back to you; the confusion, the anger, the love and the pain— towards him and yourself. It seeped, not only to your heart, but through your very bones and weary soul. All too soon it became overwhelming, your chest tightening, your stomach knotting, struggling to keep it at bay.

Thinking it was one thing, but saying was a whole new realm of pain you didn't know you existed, let alone capable of feeling.

He glanced up to you, eyes staring into you meaningfully. "I would never think that. I made so many enemies, Y/N. Before and after the accelerator exploded. The last thing those people want is to see me happy and that puts you in danger," he reasoned.

You tried to steady your shaky voice. "I know. But your reasons and your excuses, they won't matter in the long run. The press, Joe, our friends, my brother— everything they say won't matter to me, because they're not the ones who loves you like I do, and they're not the one in a relationship with you." You told him, staring back, before turning away, as they threatened to fall.

You inhaled sharply. "I love you, Harrison Wells. And no matter what they say about us or you or me, I'll love you. Damn, you put my brother in a 9-month coma, but I loved you nonetheless!" You pointed your index finger at him in the air.

He let you speak, taking it all, as waiting for you to finish, let it all out and explain his side. And then, you'll be swept off your feet again, as if all of your feelings and thoughts didn't exist in your mind before. Barry was right. You couldn't believe you were getting to this point, but he was right.

"But I don't wanna hide anymore. I want to do more. Be free. If you don't want anyone to know that this relationship is happening, then maybe we shouldn't happen at all," You stated.

You both were silent, the tension was thick and you could cut a knife through it. Suddenly you couldn't move, like all of your energy was drained from your body.

You turned away before you could see his reaction. The pain was unbearable; it's best if you don't see it.

Mustering all the courage and strength you have left and your body, you took a step to leave the room. He tried to stop you by reaching out, but you recoiled, before his fingertips graze your skin.

"Don't,"

You strided out of the cortex, your shoulder straightened, held up high to hold your tears, but every step you take, the control you have dissipates. Slowly, your tears overflowed. You wiped the tears, though it didn't make any difference, your tears fell and fell, soaking your neck. Soon, all hell broke loose, sobs racked your body, your hands flew to your mouth to muffle your voice.

Wells was left with nothing, but the sound of your footsteps received, your muffled sob through the walls; thousands thoughts and emotions, and the weight of your words.

***

My parents are fighting. This one made me genuinely sad. Anyway, I'd really appreciate it if you share this and give it some love. Thanks!

Part V

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deathloveshischicagopizza · 4 years

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Oops?

Hey! So! I’m not dead! Surprised? Me too!

This story was written for my good friend @comfortably-chaotic-mind - I love them, please go follow them and read whatever they post. Some ColdFlash written just for you, buddy, since I know I haven’t written much...and this is honestly kind of garbage and not in any way explicitly ColdFlash until the end, and I might eventually continue it in a real story (probably not). But anyway! Good job with school! Here you go!

Oops? a ColdFlash Fic for @comfortably-chaotic-mind - 4700 words

“Allen.”

He glanced up, fingers pausing their furious typing but still hovering over the keys. “Yeah?”

“There’s some guy at the door, says he knows you.”

Barry’s brow scrunched. “Who?”

His roommate shrugged. “Didn’t give a name. Said he was your friend, asked me to get you.” A pause, and he looked over his shoulder almost nervously. “He’s creepy, dude—I think he might be on the run. Who the fuck you hangin’ out with?”

Realization dawned, and he laughed. “Oh, okay,” he said, still laughing. “Yeah, it’s fine. It’s just Len—you can let him in.”

“You sure?”

Barry rolled his eyes. “Yes, Hal. I promise he won’t steal your stuff.”

His roommate’s eyes narrowed at that. “Even more suspicious,” he muttered, but he disappeared back into the hall.

There were muffled voices—Hal telling Len where to find him—and then the front door shut and the TV in the living room turned on. If he listened really carefully, he could hear quiet footsteps on the creaky stairs.

The door to his bedroom-slash-office opened again, and he turned back to his computer. The data report wasn’t going to finish itself. It didn’t take long for the door to shut, and then a man’s figure came to lean against the desk beside his arm.

“No Cold-Gun today?” Barry asked, conversational. “How bold of you. You know, without that thing, I could take you to jail whenever I want.”

The man scoffed. “We have a deal, Scarlet—I don’t kill, you don’t turn me in. I haven’t killed anyone, so…”

He rolled his eyes. “What do you want, Snart?” he sighed. “And how did you even find me?”

“I asked Vibe.”

Barry waited for him to continue, but he left it at that, so Barry finally stopped talking and looked up with a raised brow and a completely nonplussed expression. “What do you want, Cold?” he snapped.

Len just frowned. “What are you doing here, Scarlet?”

“What do you mean?” He gestured pointedly around them. “I’m working.”

“You work in Central City,” the man corrected, almost…grumbling.

Barry shook his head, face scrunching in utter confusion. “No, I mean—I had to go back to school.”

“Back?”

“Yeah? Back? This is where I went to get my degree in the first place, and now I have to take an updated course. Just a few weeks. I should be back by next month. I’m even getting paid for it.” He grinned, though it almost immediately fell when Len just stared at him. “What?”

“When did you get your degree?”

“Every CSI has a college degree, Snart. It’s mandatory.”

“No. When were you in Coast City?”

He shrugged. “I moved the summer after high school. School for three years, training for one, and then I went home.” The other man was silent, and his brow scrunched in concern. “Why?”

Len shook his head. “No reason,” he said quietly, glancing around the room. The way he said it indicated that there was, in fact, a reason, but that he would not be disclosing it. “What are you doing back?”

“Refresher course,” Barry replied slowly. “They updated the curriculum for the new tech we have now, and Singh offered to send me back here instead of doing the course in Central, since Coast City is way better in the university department.”

The other man didn’t ask anything else, still looking around the room, and the speedster sighed deeply.

“Look, Snart, I have a lot of work to do, so if there’s a reason for this visit, please get to—”

“What was it like,” he interrupted, the words rough and halting, as if he were forcing them out of his throat, “for you, when you were in your coma?”

Barry blinked in surprise. “How do you know about that?”

“Humor me, Scarlet.”

“I…” He hesitated before shaking his head. “Well, it was hard, at first. Not just because I woke up with superspeed, but—when I was…asleep…I was just dreaming. About anything, everything—and it didn’t really feel like anything more than just regular dreams and stuff. And then I woke up, and it had been, like…nine, ten months without me even noticing. So I had to deal with that.” He sighed. “The world just kind of…I mean, the world doesn’t stop because a random CSI is in a coma. No one really cared—No one other than Iris and Joe, and STAR Labs kinda. So, yeah. It was rough for a while. Everything had changed, and I didn’t even get to see it.”

Len was quiet for a long moment. Barry watched him carefully, searching for any sign as to what this was all about.

Finally, the older man sighed and shook his head. “How did you know it was me at the door?”

“Hal’s description,” he replied without hesitation. “He’s pretty intuitive about stuff. Said you looked like you were on the run, and creepy, and suspicious, but if he thought you were actually dangerous, he would have come out and said it. And you’re the only one I know that could pull that off and still say, I’m a friend of Barry’s, can you get him? with a totally straight face.” He shrugged. “Anyone else who might have done that is still in Central. I got an update last night—they all went out to celebrate Caitlin’s first official catch.” He grinned.

Len rolled his eyes. “You left a bunch of newbies to protect the city,” he sighed disapprovingly.

Barry frowned. “You know, when we first met, I was a newbie,” he pointed out. “I had only been a speedster for like—a month.” He huffed. “Cisco and Iris have it under control for now. It’s fine. The city’s in good hands.”

“I don’t like it.”

The speedster paused, head tilted as his eyes narrowed. “Why?”

“I just don’t. A lot can happen without the Scarlet Speedster around.”

“There are three other speedsters in town right now. I think they’ll be fine.”

“None of them are you.”

“What’s your point, Len?” he sighed, exasperated now. “Did something happen?”

“No.”

Just then, Barry’s alarm sounded, startling him. It was noon: officially lunchtime. He huffed, shutting down his laptop and standing to stretch. Then his phone started beeping again—not his alarm, this time, but his text-tone. And then it started ringing. Like, ringing ringing, in the way it only did when Cisco’s latest installation was being put to use.

He had only let him put the app on his phone a few weeks ago, before going to Coast City, just in case. If several people called him at once, he could choose which he wanted to answer rather than hearing the busy-line beeping noise when he answered the phone.

Barry raised a brow and reached for the device.

Len grabbed his arm, pulling him back. “Don’t answer that,” he all but ordered. “Trust me.”

“Why?” His face scrunched. “What’s going on?” he demanded.

“They’re just going to tell you that I’m on my way here,” the man explained carefully. “And since I’m already here, you don’t need to know.”

“How did you get here so fast, then?” Barry retorted.

“Kara lent me her generator.” Len shrugged. “She was…strangely nice.” His brow rose. “I’m guessing you only told her the good parts, and not that I’m a criminal?”

The speedster ran a hand through his hair. “Maybe? By the time I met her, you were with the Legends.” He paused. “How did you meet her?”

“Long story.”

“Obviously, I’ve got time.” He crossed his arms and glared pointedly. “What the hell is going on, Len? What did you do in Central that has everyone trying to get ahold of me? When did you get back from the Waverider? Why are you here?”

“I didn’t know where else to go!” Len shouted, expression crumpling. “Mick won’t talk to me, Lisa’s underground, Sara thinks I’ve lost my mind, and the rest of the crew—they can barely look at me after what they did! What they let me do!”

Barry was utterly confused, now, and he took a slow step forward as if approaching a scared, wounded animal. “What are you talking about?” he asked carefully.

“I died, Barry.”

He froze—actually froze, standing stock-still like a robot shutting down. This was… “What?” he asked. “What…That…What?”

Len sighed, slumping down into the vacated office chair. “The Time Masters were—They were gonna let Vandal Savage wreck the timeline. Kill whoever he wanted. They said they had to, to ensure the world’s survival.”

“What does that mean?”

“In a couple hundred years, we’re going to be invaded by Thanagaar—an alien planet with a warlike people. And the Time Masters don’t think we’ll make it unless Savage is there to help us. So, they let him do what he wants, shape the world into what he thinks is best, and he’ll save the world.”

“It’s Vandal Savage, Len. He can’t be trusted.”

“I know,” he snapped. “We all knew that.” He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “We decided to destroy their time-keeping device. The Oculus, they called it. It held the records for every timeline, every little change that would or could occur. Destroy that, and time is guided by freewill.”

“And?”

“And the only way to destroy it was to stand right next to it, holding down the button until it exploded.” He looked up, watching the horror dawn across Barry’s face, and nodded. “Ray was going to be the one, thinking his Atom suit would protect him, but we saw that it wouldn’t. And then Mick tried to step in, because Rip convinced him it was the way to repent—by saving his friend. I couldn’t—I couldn’t let him die.”

“Len…”

“I couldn’t let Mick die, Barry,” he snapped. “Not like that. Not when I—I was the one who dragged him into the whole thing. Into the Legends. He followed me, after everything, after everything I did to him, and…and I couldn’t do it.”

“I get it.”

“I knocked him out, took his place…blew up the Oculus. Took out half the Time Masters, too.”

“And then?”

“I died. Disintegrated. Became…Nothing.”

Barry reached out to set a hand on his shoulder, brow scrunched in sympathy. “How long?”

“I don’t know.” Len shook his head. “Days? Years? Centuries? I…I wasn’t sleeping, exactly, or dreaming. It was all…real. And then you were there. Every time I managed to pull myself together, every time I relaxed into the pain enough to think…You were there.”

He was confused again. “I don’t remember…”

The man was already shaking his head. “An older version of you,” he clarified. “You were…maybe thirty?” He sighed. “There were so many fragments, different timelines…It’s hard to keep track. Most of them didn’t make sense.”

“Why?”

“I’d rather not say. If you don’t mind.”

Barry shrugged. “That’s fine, I guess. It’s your trauma.” He sighed. “So this was maybe…three, four years in the future.”

“Most of it.”

“And the rest?”

Len looked away at that, silent for a minute. Then, quietly, “The last one was a few weeks ago. He brought me back to the Waverider.”

“He?”

“You…Future-You.” He chuckled softly. “I fell through a wormhole onto his kitchen floor.”

Barry laughed. “I’m sure that was surprising.”

Len shrugged. “He didn’t seem surprised. But it could have been because he was older.”

“What do you mean, he didn’t seem surprised?”

“He…” Hesitation, again. “He just leaned over and said, Finally. Then he helped me up, explained some science stuff that I couldn’t understand, and offered to take me back to my time.”

“How old was he—I?” Barry stuttered.

“Forty? Maybe forty-five?” Another shrug. “You might have been older, though—I had a feeling. Speedster aging must be slower.”

“Strange.” He shook his head. “How long did you stay with the Legends?”

“Not long. Like I said, they can barely stand to be around me.” He sighed. “It didn’t take much to get them to drop me off in 2016.”

“You still haven’t told me how you met Supergirl. She’s on another Earth, Len—the Waverider couldn’t have taken you there, and I don’t think you have any favors left with Cisco. So how did you meet?”

Len nodded, thoughtful. “That…is complicated.”

“More complicated than literally dying?”

“Yes.”

Barry huffed and sat down on his bed, crossing his arms. “Hit me with it, then.”

“First of all, I didn’t meet her this year. I met her…probably at least fifteen or twenty years from now. It’s all a little fuzzy.”

“Why?”

“She—Well, her team, really…They were the ones who pulled my threads together.” He shook his head. “They didn’t mean to, not really—they were looking for some sort of robot, or something—but they got me out first. I was unconscious for that part. Woke up in a hospital bed next to Kara’s.”

“She was hurt?”

Len shook his head again. “Not exactly…More drained. The machine they used drew power from her. She insisted it was fine, that she just needed some Vitamin D, and she’d be fine.”

“Her power comes from the Sun.”

“I know that now—I didn’t know back then.” He sighed. “She asked who I was…and when I told her, she immediately asked if I knew you and Oliver.”

“Of course she did,” he muttered. “And then?”

“I don’t remember a lot of it,” Len admitted. “She gave me one of her spare generators, and then I woke up on Older-Barry’s kitchen floor.” A scoff. “And then I get home to a crew that no longer wants anything to do with me. They dropped me off in Central. I looked for Lisa, but it looks like she’s underground—she’s not at any of her usual safehouses.”

Barry grimaced, shifting slightly in his seat. “Um…”

The former villain narrowed his eyes. “What’s that, Scarlet?”

He winced. “Lisa’s not underground, Len.”

“What are you talking about? Is she in jail?”

“No…” Barry sighed. “She’s on Earth-2.”

“Why?” Len demanded, lurching from his seat.

“Because she’s sick,” he said calmly, holding his hands up in a placating gesture. “Harry—Earth-2 Wells knew a doctor who specializes in her condition, one who’s much better than anyone we know on this Earth, and we sent her over there to get help. Cisco’s probably on his way there right now to tell her you’re back.” He paused. “Actually, she’s probably with the you who lives there, now that I think about it.”

“What?” That made him pause in his anger, at least, now confused and concerned. “Why?”

“I don’t think you want to know,” Barry hedged. “But she’s in good hands, I promise.”

“Just tell me, Barry.”

“Fine,” he sighed. “The doctor I told you about, the specialist? It’s her—Earth-2 Lisa Snart is a bio-engineer with a Medical Degree. Basically, she’s Caitlin. Minus the ice powers and with the addition of some pretty sweet inventions.” He grimaced. “Her brother is…the Mayor. Of Central City. They killed their dad when they were kids—self-defense.”

Len was quiet for a moment. Then: “You’ve met, then?”

He nodded. “Twice, actually. Once on accident…and then again when Harry introduced us to Lenny and Doc. They’re…nice. Safe. Very protective, which isn’t surprising.” He grinned. “Last I talked to Lisa, she was awake and feeling a lot better. She hasn’t had an episode in almost two months, and her brain activity is back to normal. She sounds better, too—more like herself. Even flirted with Cisco when they talked, which she hadn’t done in a while…”

“She’s okay, then?”

“Not at a hundred percent yet,” Barry warned with a shrug. “But yeah. She’s safe. Happy. Feeling better than she did when she first came to us.”

“What happened?”

“She just—Showed up at Joe’s one night, out of nowhere. I think it was maybe a month or so after you left—she had called Cisco before that, asking if we knew where you were, and we told her, and she was pissed at me for some reason.” He laughed, just a little. “Then she just shows up out of nowhere at Joe’s house, scares the hell out of me when she just walks right through the front door. Which was locked.” He shook his head. “Apparently, she stole your key?” His brow raised.

Len just smirked. “Lock-picking gets tedious after a while.”

“Where did you even—”

“Iris should be more careful about leaving her purse lying around.”

“…Whatever.” Barry huffed. “So, anyway, Lisa just walks in one night—middle of the night, out of nowhere—sits right next to me on the couch, scaring the hell out of me. She looks at me, and I could already tell something was messed up with her, because she just…she didn’t look right. She looked tired and sad and…sick.” He sighed. “She looked at me for a minute and then said, Don’t freak out. You know, like she hadn’t just appeared out of nowhere. And then she said, I need your help. And I was like, With what? And she told me she ran into an old boyfriend and he did something to her.”

“What the f—”

“Not that,” he assured quickly. “That was my first thought, but she kind of lost it when I asked her, and—yeah. So then, when she calmed down from that, she got this headache…migraine…thing, and that was when I first saw her get one of her attacks.” He grimaced. “It was…bad. Weird, and scary, and it actually kind of freaked me out.” A sigh. “So, uh, I called Caitlin first, and then Cisco and Harry, and asked them to meet us at STAR Labs. Harry had actually seen something like it before, on his Earth, and he knew a specialist—other-Lisa—who could help. So we took her there. She insisted that I had to come with her, and she wouldn’t let me leave until she was with Lenny and Doc, until she was sure she could trust them.”

Len thought this all over for a moment. “What exactly did this attack entail?”

“Hard to describe…” Barry thought about it. “She kind of…exploded? Not her body, but like…her spirit, kind of. Like an astral projection, except she couldn’t control it enough to actually appear as a person.” He sighed. “We met the ex-boyfriend a few weeks later…Roscoe?”

“Dillon.” He sneered. “He’s still around?”

“Not anymore,” the speedster said darkly. “He was a metahuman…some kind of tornado-hurricane-spinning abilities. Cisco called him Topsy-Turvy, but after he just kept coming and coming…it was an accident, but he died.”

“How did he hurt Lisa?”

“As far as we can tell…She was working on some sort of mercenary work or something, and he was robbing a bank, and they…literally ran into each other. She got thrown into a wall, got a knock on the head, and apparently the concussion triggered some kind of ability she didn’t know about.”

“She wasn’t in Central—”

“When the Particle Accelerator blew.” Barry nodded. “Yeah, we know.” He winced. “You’re not gonna like our theory on that.”

“Why not?” Len asked, very slowly.

“Because it might be my fault.”

He blinked, surprised. “What?”

“Turns out…I kind of…give off small amounts of Dark Matter because of the Speed Force…mostly when I run.”

“And?”

“And, the people that I transport, if they carry a metahuman gene, could, theoretically, absorb that Dark Matter in the same way that people affected by the Particle Accelerator did…and, theoretically, this would make them more likely to develop an ability when exposed to violent trauma.” A pause. “I transported Lisa a handful of times when we were helping you guys last year, and even before that for different reasons.”

Len didn’t say anything to this, instead looking down at his hands.

“I’m sorry, Len,” Barry said quietly. “If I’d known…”

“It’s not your fault,” he told him. “You didn’t know.”

“I…”

“Not every bad thing that happens is your fault, Scarlet,” Len said with a smirk. “It’s alright.”

Barry huffed. “Fine.” He was quiet for a minute. “If you want, I can take you to her. You know, so you can see for yourself.”

He thought about it for a bit before shaking his head. “No,” he decided. “If she’s getting what she needs, I don’t want to interrupt it. If Cisco does tell her and she wants to see me, I’ll go, but for now, she needs her rest.”

The speedster nodded in understanding. “Okay.” His phone was still ringing, and he looked at it. “I’m just gonna tell them that everything is fine.”

He picked up the device, ignoring the calls, and opened the group chat, which was full of about a hundred messages that all said pretty much the same thing. He sent out a text saying, Yeah, he’s here. Just wants to talk about some stuff. Everything is fine. Thanks, I’ll let you know later. Love you guys.

With that, Barry sighed and slipped the phone into his pocket. “So, what are you going to do now?” he asked the former villain.

Len just smiled. “Not sure. I could go back to robbing banks…but I don’t really need the money. Maybe I’ll offer your team some help in Central.”

“What do you mean, you don’t need the money?” His eyes narrowed.

“Blowing up the Oculus had a few benefits.” He shrugged. “I know all the lottery numbers for the next five years. I’ve already made four-hundred grand.”

“Len…”

“Technically not a crime.”

“Still.” Barry shook his head with a deep sigh. “Fine, whatever. Well, I’m sure STAR Labs could use the help. And I’ll be back in no time…as soon as I finish this course, which is…not what I expected.”

“Too hard?”

“Too easy,” he corrected, scoffing. “I’ve read all the material, and the projects are all…solved with very little effort. Nothing near as challenging as my actual job in Central. Science there is always complicated.”

“Because of the metas.”

“Yeah.” He shrugged. “Superpowers make regular science look way easier than it did in college.” He nodded at the computer. “Actually, after the paper I’m working on right now, I only have two more and a final exam. I could be done by next week, if I wanted. I just don’t want Singh to think I rushed through it.”

“He already trusts you more than any other CSI, Barry. I think he trusts you to do the work on your own schedule.”

“Maybe.”

“Then I’ll see you back in Central next week.”

“I—”

“Next week, Barry.”

A sigh. “Fine. Next week.” His phone buzzed, he looked at the message and laughed. “Harry says your sister is attempting a prison break to try to see you. You might want to visit her.”

Len chuckled. “Alright then. I suppose it’s time to tell her what’s happened.” He stood, holding out a hand when Barry followed suit. When their hands clasped, the villain-turned-legend pulled the speedster forward until they were almost hugging. “I’ll see you soon, Scarlet.”

“See you soon, Cold.”

And with the press of a button, Len was gone, leaving Barry to wonder exactly what just happened.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

6 Weeks Later

“Barry…”

“Iris…”

She sighed. “This is getting unprofessional.”

He laughed, a little nervous. “What are you talking about?”

“You and Len.” It had taken a while for everyone to get used to each other, but now he was just Len instead of Cold. Progress. “You guys have got to stop flirting in the field. It’s weird.”

“We do not flirt.”

“You’re literally blushing, Barry.” Her tone was amused now. “Do you have a crush?”

“Iris,” the speedster all but whined, pulling a t-shirt over his head. “This is weird.”

“Why? Because we dated?”

“Yes!”

“Barely.” Iris rolled her eyes. “Barry, it’s fine. You have a crush on Len, it’s fine…but you should probably tell him.”

“No!” he said immediately. “No, that’s—That’s a bad idea.”

“Why? I’m pretty sure he likes you.”

That made him pause. “Really?” He bit his lip, looking at her. “You think so?”

“Lisa keeps teasing him about it.” She nodded. “And you’re both clearly attracted to each other, and you’re always flirting, so…Why not just come out and say it?”

“What if you’re wrong?”

“I’m not.”

“What if it ends badly?”

“What if it doesn’t?” Iris laughed brightly. “Barry, sometimes you get in your own way. You just gotta go for it sometimes. Take a leap of faith. It’s gonna be okay.”

Barry was quiet for a long time, and Iris eventually left him to his own devices.

Ultimately, he decided to go for it; he went to find Len. Unsurprisingly, he was at “their” spot: a diner across from Jitters and CCPD, filled with leather booths and chrome and the smell of fresh homemade pie.

Barry slid into the booth across from Len, who looked up from his phone with a smile. “Hey, Scarlet. Look at this.”

He turned the device around so the speedster could see. “What’s that? Oh—Oh, that’s so cool!” He grinned. “Lisa-Squared?”

“Yeah. Lisa drew up the models, and Doc built it. It came out pretty neat, I think.”

“It did, yeah. I like the melting feature—there won’t be ice-streaks all over the city.” He laughed. “Of course they’re gold—Lisa’s choice, I’m sure.”

“Naturally.” Len shrugged. “You can’t take the Gold out of the Glider, I guess. Not completely.”

“No, I guess not.” Barry leaned his head on his palm, elbow on the table.

The newly-branded Citizen Cold raised a brow and put his phone away. “Something on your mind, Barry?”

He shrugged. “Iris came to talk to me today.”

“What about?”

“She said that we flirt a lot when we’re in the field.” He scrunched his nose. “I told her she was crazy, and she looked at me like I was an idiot…not unlike you’re looking at me right now, Len—what the hell?”

“Barry,” he said quietly, slowly, “I don’t know how to break this to you, but almost everything we say to each other is banter…which is a form of flirting.”

“But—But,” Barry sputtered. “But!”

“What’s wrong, Scarlet?” Len teased. “Can’t keep up?”

He frowned, almost pouting. “You never said anything,” he accused.

The other man shrugged. “I was told not to.”

“By who?”

“By you. Older you—The one who brought me back. He said you had to figure it out on your own.”

Barry stammered again, arms flailing. “What the hell!” he said, frustrated. “That’s stupid!”

“You’re calling yourself an idiot?” Len clarified.

“Yes! I’m an idiot, now, but like—that’s just stupid.” He sighed. “I mean, I guess it makes sense to keep the timeline the way it should be. But still.”

They were both quiet for a long minute. Long enough for a waitress to come by and take drink orders and then bring them back.

Once she disappeared, Barry took a sip of his soda and then suddenly blurted, “Will you go with me to Jesse’s party on Earth-2 this weekend?”

Len raised a brow. “Are you sure that’s a good idea? That’s a lot of pressure.”

“It’s just a party, Len,” he said with a grin. “All our friends will be there, and we can be together without doing the awkward first-date thing…I mean, we already did a lot of that without realizing. Unless you want to…”

There was a pause as he thought about it, enough to make Barry almost panic, but Len nodded slowly. “Alright. But I have two requests.”

“Shoot.”

“One: If Caitlin makes her Speedster Alcohol, you have to stop drinking at least two hours before we leave. I want you sober when we head out.”

“Why?”

“Because, two: I want to go for a walk. We’re not doing the first-date-awkward dinner thing, and movies aren’t something we have time for, but we can go for a walk and talk about things.” A pause. “It’s important, to me.”

Barry thought about this, about what it might mean, but he didn’t see a reason to say no. Besides… “That sounds nice. Okay. I won’t drink too much, and I’ll stop before we leave so we can go talk. It’s a deal.”

“It’s a date, Scarlet.”

“A date, Cold.”

#coldflash #for a friend #coldflash fic #fanfiction #i'm a huge dork #here you go #i guess #brief hal jordan mention even though i hate him i hope you're happy

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coldflasher · 3 years

Text

okay so not to get all meta on main (again) but i am, if nothing else, a chronic overanalyser, and the lack of coldflash content is slowly liquidising my brain. so ANYWAY, i was thinking about family of rogues

and i mean, on some level, i am always thinking about family of rogues, this is not unusual behaviour. but i was thinking specifically about how incredible it is that len didn’t kill barry in that episode.

i mean, think about it. this is leonard snart. there are, canonically, only two people in the whole world he cares about: mick and lisa, both of whom he would do anything to protect. in this moment, lisa is in life-threatening danger from their abusive father, who len knows damn well wouldn’t hesitate to kill his own daughter to get what he wants, what he wants in that moment being barry’s death. there is a bomb in lisa’s head. lewis could detonate it at any second, he has his finger on the button. lisa’s life hangs in the balance. all len has to do to guarantee her safety - at least temporarily - is shoot barry.

and len hesitates.

not just for a split second. he freezes (no pun intended.) he stops and agonises over what to do, whether to kill barry to guarantee lisa’s safety. he knows that every second of hesitation is putting lisa in greater danger. and it’s not like len is, if we’re being honest with ourselves, particularly concerned about murdering people. his canonically established reasons for not killing are a) convenience, bc murder is more likely to make the cops chase after him, and b) bc barry asked him not to as part of their deal, which is basically just a) with slight rephrasing. this is a man who froze a security guard to death just bc he was the first available person to test his new weapon on. a man who derailed an entire train full of people just to make a clean getaway. len is not someone who shies away from killing (as is made evident when he shoots his own father approximately ten seconds after the bomb is removed from lisa’s head, with NO hesitation WHATSOEVER.)

so i’m just in complete AWE of the fact that len pauses even for a second, that he lets his sister’s life hang in the balance rather than just killing barry on the spot. it’s not like he and barry are close - shipper goggles aside, they’ve had just a handful of interactions. i think len likes him, sure; he finds him entertaining, he enjoys their little skirmishes... but it’s not like barry is anyone majorly important in his life. he’s some guy that len flirts with ahem, fights with on occasion. when it comes down to him and lisa, there’s no contest. so the fact he hesitates is just??? unfathomable??

the safest thing to do would be to comply with his father’s orders, because every second len resists is another opportunity lewis has to detonate the bomb. but unlike lewis’ bullet - which barry caught with very little difficulty - the cold gun is made to stop barry specifically. if len shoots him at such close range, with this weapon specifically designed to take down a speedster, that’s it. game over. and len knows it.

so he hesitates.

*screeches*

and of course, cisco removes the bomb safely, barry tells len, the dilemma is resolved. but that doesn’t change the fact that this is a MASSIVE thing len has just done, and a very telling decision on his part, that a man who purports to be so cold and calculating has what should be a very easy decision on his hands: whether to save his beloved sister by killing a man he claims to hate, or whether to put her in danger by refusing to do so... and yet he’s so obviously conflicted about what to do.

*takes deep breath and screams into the void*

now if we’re really going down that road, there’s also a LOT i could say about the fact that len trusts barry’s word instantly when barry tells him that the bomb has been safely deactivated. because if you look at len’s full-body relief, the way he goes limp with it for a second, you can see that there’s no doubt in his mind that barry’s being honest, and lisa is safe. that’s a hell of a lot of trust for someone like len to place in barry’s hands. and yeah, sure, we know barry is good and honest and kind, and a hero, and he’d never lie about something like that - but the fact len just instantly accepts that lisa is safe just because barry says so, that for all his trust issues it never even occurs to him to question it or demand proof before he turns on his father and takes out the threat... I’M FOAMING AT THE MOUTH HERE, PEOPLE

anyway my point is FAMILY OF ROGUES IS GOD TIER TELEVISION AND THAT MOMENT OF HESITATION SAYS MORE ABOUT LEN’S FEELINGS FOR BARRY THAN I COULD WRITE IN 100,000 WORDS OF FANFICTION, GOODNIGHT

#my post #family of rogues #nah im still not over it #daniel craig voice: it makes no sense. compels me though #WHY DID HE HESITATE. FOR BARRY. HE BARELY KNOWS HIM #AND YET HE IS STRANGELY DRAWN TO HIM. AND WANTS TO KEEP HIM ALIVE #TO THE EXTENT HE'D RISK HIS OWN SISTER'S LIFE BEFORE PULLING THE TRIGGER #THAT'S HOMOSEXUAL BEHAVIOUR YOUR HONOUR #long post for ts

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holycafe · 4 years

Note

i wish you would write a fic where Len is a meta too and they accidentally swap powers for a day

“Snart!” Barry shouted, gaining the thief’s attention. Lazily, Snart turned to face him, smirk planted firmly on his lips.

“It looks like you’re getting slow, Flash,” Snart drawled back, and Barry glared at him. Normally, Barry enjoyed fighting against Captain Cold, enjoyed their casual banter loaded with Snart’s dramatic flair and puns. But today was not a normal day.

Barry was tired, and on-edge, and he just wanted his powers back, goddammit.

You see, last night started like any other: Barry was doing his thing, patrolling the streets, keeping Central City safe; he’d just finished saving an old couple from an apartment fire on Oak Street when he heard a man yelling for help. The guy was standing outside of the apartment building, looking panicked and irrational like he was about to run back inside the burning building. Barry sped forward, putting his hands out to stop the man before he’d even started moving.

But the second that Barry’s hand made contact with the guy’s arm, something happened. Barry wasn’t sure exactly what it was at the time, but he felt suddenly drained. Empty. He blinked at the man, unconsciously taking a step back from him. The guy turned to look back at Barry, a slow smirk growing on his face. Without warning, the guy punched Barry squarely in the jaw, knocking him down to the ground in one blow. Barry’s head swam for a moment, and by the time the dizziness had passed, the guy was running away, already halfway down the street.

Barry jumped to his feet and tried to run after him, but he couldn’t call on the speedforce. And that’s when Barry realised what was wrong. The guy, whoever he was, had stolen Barry’s powers!

Barry’s team had to come to pick him up, Caitlin becoming increasingly worried by Barry’s vitals. Apparently, the Flash suit was showing a significant drop in Barry’s core temperature. Though Barry didn’t feel cold…

The team didn’t figure out what was going on until after Barry was back at the labs and Cait was trying to draw some of his blood for tests, only for the needle to turn to ice in her hands the second it tried to pierce Barry’s skin. Somehow, Barry had lost his own powers and gained Snart’s instead.

After that, it was just a waiting game.

But they didn’t need to wait for long. Snart hadn’t even given it a full 24 hours before donning his parka and racing around the city. The guy hit casinos, shipping yards, and art exhibits alike; no place was safe from Captain Cold with super speed. It wasn’t until Snart broke into a bank, clearing out only one safety deposit box in the entire safe, before Barry’s team discovered a pattern to Snart’s crime spree: he was robbing the Santini family blind, going after anything and everything they owned. He was clearly working down a list of locations, hitting the biggest places first so as to make the largest dent in the Santini stronghold.

Once they’d figured out the pattern, Barry found out what the next biggest place to hit would be, and that was how he found himself staking out a jewellery store and cornering the supervillain before Snart would have the chance to escape with his loot.

“Game’s up,” Barry called. “Now, are you going to give me my powers back willingly, or am I going to have to take them with force?” Barry asked, willing the cold energy in his veins to activate in preparation, his hands misting.

“Tell you what,” Snart drawled. “If you win, I’ll cooperate,” he said. “But if I win, you’ll let me go on my merry way.”

“-Careful, Barry,-” Cisco warned over the comms, “-You don’t have enough control over your powers to fight Cold yet.-”

But what other choice did Barry have?

“Deal,” Barry said, turning his comms off so that he didn’t have to listen to his team’s protests, and Snart smirked in reply.

There was a moment of complete stillness between them, where they only looked at one another, seeing who would make the first move.

Then Snart was running. Barry threw his hands up and felt the heat drain from the room, slowing Snart down. But not slow enough for Barry to be able to land a punch. Snart skidded past Barry, laughing.

Barry spun around and sent a blast of cold energy Snart’s way, enough to blow out the windows of the store and leave them singed white with frost, but Snart was able to dodge the blast without issue.

Snart ran directly at Barry then, Barry prepared his body for the blow he was sure to receive, not fast enough to duck out of the way. But Snart dodged around Barry at the last second, his lightning trail skimming against Barry’s skin and leaving goosebumps in its wake.

Barry spun around again, trying to keep Snart in front of him at all times. He couldn’t leave his back open for attack. But Snart was moving again, Barry only managing to catch a glimpse of his lightning. Barry spun around as fast as he could, frantically trying to keep his eyes trained on his opponent. But Snart was too fast, managing to stay ahead of Barry at every turn, and Barry was quickly becoming dizzy as the world around him dissolved into blurs of colour and flashes of lightning.

The sound of Snart’s laughter filled the air.

Barry shot ice down at the floor, hoping Snart would lose his footing on it as Barry had done so many times before. But Snart was able to dodge the glistening patch of ice without issue.

He ran past Barry again, this time coming to a stop.

When Barry’s eyes finally focused on him, he saw sparks licking at Snart’s boots, the fur of his parka alight with dull embers.

“Let me put that out for you,” Barry said, aiming another blast Snart’s way. But Snart managed to dodge it as he had all of the others, his parka left discarded on the floor. This time when Snart ran past Barry, so close that Barry felt a spark of electricity where their shoulders brushed, Snart slowed down just enough to whisper into Barry’s ear.

“Too slow,” Snart taunted.

When Barry turned around, Leonard was standing there and grinning. Barry hesitated before making his next move, distracted by the vision of Snart without his parka. He looked naked without it, bare and open. Barry’s eyes skimmed down Leonard’s body, a feeling in his gut twisting not-uncomfortably which only amplified ten-fold when Leonard winked at him.

But then Snart was running again, and Barry got his mind back in the game as it continued, whirling back and forth trying to catch the temporary-speedster off guard while Snart became nothing but a blur.

Barry stopped spinning around as he began to feel lightheaded again. The store was covered in so much ice, the temperature dropped so low, that it must have been affecting Snart’s speed. But, still, Barry could not keep up.

He closed his eyes for a second to keep the world from spinning, inhaling deeply and focusing on the heat inside the room, trying to draw out more and more of it. That was when he realised that Snart’s speed was giving off its own type of heat.

Barry concentrated on it, feeling the power it gave off, the energy brimming under the surface. He could feel it now against his skin, the heat radiating from the speedforce. He could feel the movement of it around the room, zipping back and forth and narrowly dodging the patches of ice.

Barry opened his eyes and lifted his left hand to fire another cold energy blast, directing it to where he knew Snart would be.

It hit him on the shoulder and sent him flying backwards and into the wall behind.

Barry winced, knowing exactly what it felt like to be hit like that with these powers. Snart groaned, rolling onto his back and staring at the ceiling above. Barry moved forward, standing above Snart and preparing himself in case the man tried something else. But Snart just grinned up at him and raised his hand for Barry to grab, which he did, helping Snart back up onto his feet.

“Not bad,” Snart huffed.

“Not bad?” Barry rolled his eyes. “I knocked you onto your ass.”

“Yeah, but I could have taken you out about 20 times over,” Snart said, smirking.

“Yeah, sure. Then why didn’t you?”

Snart paused before answering, shrugging. When he did speak, his voice was much quieter than earlier.

“Maybe I want my powers back too,” he admitted, and Barry could believe that. His own powers had become like a second skin to him, and it didn’t feel right to be without them. “Don’t get me wrong, Kid,” Snart continued, his voice more playful again. “I enjoyed taking yours out for a test run. But it’s just not the same.”

Barry opened his mouth to speak again, but the sound of sirens got his attention first. He hadn’t paid much thought about the police until just now, but their fight must have set off a few alarms or at least alerted the neighbours to what was going on. The cops were on their way, and Barry needed to make sure that neither himself nor Snart was still here when they arrived.

Snart must have had the same idea because he started smirking.

“Hold on tight,” he drawled, and then Barry felt his feet being pulled out from underneath him followed by a sensation similar to that of falling, only more controlled than that, while the world blurred around him.

A second later and Barry’s feet hit the ground again. He stumbled and looked around, trying to place his surroundings as the world slowly stopped spinning. Barry didn’t know why, but he’d always assumed that being carried at super speed would feel the exact same way as running in it. But it wasn’t. It was so vastly different that Barry needed a few seconds before his brain could catch up. He was standing in a warehouse now, and Snart was beside him, smirking.

Barry huffed out a breath, trying not to show how the short run had affected him while moving his hand up to his face as he began to remove the cowl from his head. But Snart’s hand was holding Barry’s wrist back instantly, preventing him from moving. He could feel sparks of electricity coming off of Snart’s skin even through the fabric of the Flash suit, and Barry felt his breath catch at it. It wasn’t a painful sensation. Just… odd. Unexpected.

Barry met Snart’s eyes, and Snart released Barry’s wrist again, taking a step back.

“I wouldn’t do that just yet, Scarlet,” Snart warned, his voice low. Then he looked over his shoulder, Barry followed his gaze to find Lisa Snart leaning against a doorway. “Bring him in,” Snart called to his sister, and then Lisa nodded and disappeared, arriving back into the large warehouse floor seconds later with Mick Rory who was dragging a guy in by the scuff of his jacket collar. The guy was bound at the wrists and had a gag tied around his mouth to keep him from speaking.

It was the same guy who Barry had seen outside the apartment building last night, the meta who had somehow stolen Barry’s powers.

Barry turned back to Snart, a question in his eyes.

“He ran into me, quite literally, last night on the corner of 5th and Oak. After that, I realised I didn’t have my powers. But I did have yours,” Snart explained and then shrugged. “Didn’t take me long to get the truth out of him. Seems he’d stolen your speed and planned to sell it on to the highest bidder.” Barry turned to look at the guy again, noticing the bruising along his jaw which certainly hadn’t been there the first time the two had met. “Luckily for you, I got them instead,” Snart drawled.

Barry considered that statement and nodded. As strange as it was to admit, Barry really was lucky that Snart was the one who’d been given Barry’s powers. He shuddered to think what someone with more nefarious plans would have done with super speed and no Flash to stop them…

“Can we get this over with?” Mick grumbled, pushing the meta he was escorting to the floor at Barry’s feet.

“Sorry, Flash,” Lisa drawled. “Mickey here’s just a little grumpy that he missed out on getting meta powers again.” She laughed and then eyed Barry dangerously. “And he’s not the only one.” She said that last part so quietly that Barry almost didn’t hear it. But he did, and he got chills from Lisa’s stare. Barry got the feeling that, if it were up to her, she would be the one leaving here with super speed. It made Barry tense.

But Snart had given Barry his word that they would cooperate and, despite everything that had happened between them over the years, Barry trusted him.

Snart brushed past Barry, lifting the meta up from his knees and producing a knife to cut the guy’s binds. The guy instantly pulled the gag out of his mouth and sucked in a deep breath of clean air.

“Are you going to play nice?” Snart drawled, and the guy nodded. Barry thought he had an idea about how he’d got that bruise on his jaw… “Good,” Snart smirked, pleased. “Switch us back.”

The guy lunged for Barry’s arm instantly, eager to obey, and Barry felt the speed force return to him, filling him up and making him complete once more. Barry tested it by vibrating one of his gloved hands and sighed in relief as his powers were quick to comply. Barry looked to Snart, seeing the man’s eyes glowing that unearthly blue which they sometimes did when he used his powers. Snart grinned wickedly and the glow faded.

Lisa threw a pair of metahuman handcuffs Barry’s way, and Barry snatched them up in mid-air, lightning-fast. Barry dropped down to attach the power dampeners to the meta’s wrists as the three Rogues in the room turned to leave without another word. But there was one question still on Barry’s mind which he needed answering, so he flashed forward, dropping his hand on Snart’s shoulder to stall him before he could leave.

Lisa and Mick turned back, alerted by the sudden static in the room which Barry’s speed produced. Snart looked at Barry for a moment before turning back to his crew, nodding to let them know everything was fine and they could leave. They did.

Barry waited until they were out of the room, then he dropped his voice low enough that the meta handcuffed a few feet away couldn’t hear him before he spoke.

“Why did you really agree to switch back?” He asked, knowing that Snart could have got a lot of use out of Barry’s powers if he’d kept them for just another day or two. Based on his actions of the last few hours, he could have single-handedly kicked the Santini crime family out of Central City and taken control for himself.

But he instead let Barry win.

Snart looked at him, his blue eyes staring deep into Barry’s soul before he finally answered.

“The city needs its hero,” Snart said, his voice unfiltered and vulnerable, more real than Barry had ever heard it before. And there was something about the way he said it, the way he looked at Barry, the way he stood crowded so close to Barry’s body…

Barry swallowed thickly as something bubbled in his chest, and Snart’s eyes dropped to his lips. There was an electricity between them, a tension which Barry had felt countless times before but never acted on. But now, with Leonard’s words ringing in Barry’s ears, with the meaning behind those words singing in his chest, Barry wanted to act. He wanted to surge forward and capture Leonard’s lips with his own, wrapping his arms around his body and pulling him flush against Barry. He wanted to see what noises he could draw out of Snart’s mouth, feel Snart’s skin against his own, bite, and taste, and bury himself inside Leonard’s embrace.

Barry began to lean forward, his heart racing.

But then Snart’s eyes snapped up, the icy blue making Barry freeze, locking him there so close and yet so far. Leonard’s eyes flickered over Barry’s shoulder, reminding him that they weren’t alone in the warehouse and that the metahuman that had swapped their powers was still here.

“We’ll pick this up later,” Snart drawled, and Barry nodded, breathless. They stayed in each other’s space for a moment longer before Barry finally got the strength to move back.

Soon, he thought, watching Snart hesitate before he turned and walked out of the warehouse.

‘Later’ couldn’t come quick enough…

#coldflash #len x barry #leonard snart #barry allen #captain cold #the flash #my writing #writing prompt #dc #pieprincesswritesfics #pieprincesswritescoldflash #pieprincesswritesdc

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moriavis · 4 years

Note

For the prompt ask: Barry has winter depression and Len would like to help him feeling better...

Here you go! Full disclosure -- my depression is year round, so I hope I presented SAD decently. Thanks so much for the prompt!

(Also on AO3.)

~*~

Leonard frowned as the seconds ticking away in the back of his mind turned into minutes. The Flash was a no-show. Again. A guy could get a complex with how often the kid ditched date night.

Not that Barry knew Leonard considered these heists dates. He was polite and remained very discreet about his personal fantasies.

The security guard, divested of his gun and sitting cross-legged on the floor, cleared his throat. "Um. Don't think he's gonna show, Mr. Cold." He didn't look afraid, even with the cold gun leveraged in his general direction.

Leonard closed his eyes and counted to five. "Who, exactly, do you think I'm waiting for?" The guard looked like he wasn't sure he should say more, and Leonard lifted his cold gun, pointedly aiming for central mass.

"The Flash!" he blurted out, avoiding Leonard's face. "He must be busy, right? And Heatwave's already gone with the money. You're not here to kill me, so you must be waiting on him."

Leonard blinked and holstered his gun. "I'm flattered you've kept such a close eye on my super villain career."

The guard ducked his head. "I'm a fan."

Leonard grinned, his sour mood vanishing. "Delightful. I think I'll take your advice. It's been a pleasure."

Leaving the bank was as easy as getting in, and with Mick safely out of reach with their loot, there was no reason he couldn't take a detour. He changed his destination from his safehouse to head to Barry's apartment—he always liked to creep around where he wasn't supposed to be, and Barry's tardiness might have worried him. Just a little.

The door was locked, but it was only a second of work to jimmy the simple lock open and step inside. The apartment was dim and quiet, and Leonard took the opportunity to poke around. Books and clothes were scattered in the front room. There was an empty plate and a coffee cup in the sink, and the fridge was mostly empty.

He was about to go into the bathroom to poke around the medicine cabinet when he heard stilted breathing down the hall, and he followed the sound to its source. "Barry?"

Sparks lit up the dark room, and Leonard blinked spots from his eyes as the overhead lights turned on.

"What're you doing here, Snart?" Barry's arms were crossed over his chest—he was obviously angry and defensive, but Leonard had anticipated that as an acceptable risk. More importantly, the mound of snack wrappers littering the night stand told him what he wanted to know. Barry hadn't been sharing his evening with anyone, and to be honest, he didn't look great. His eyes were red-rimmed and a little swollen, his hair greasy and matted on one side.

"You missed my highly publicized bank heist," Leonard said. "You look like shit, kid. You okay?"

Barry laughed, looked surprised that he laughed, and turned away from Leonard, hiding his face in one hand. "Great. I'm feeling bad enough that my Rogues are checking in on me."

Leonard frowned and asked, a little more sharply than he intended, "Other Rogues've been checking on you?"

Barry turned back to face him, still struggling to keep the emotions off his face. Leonard almost told him not to bother. "Don't be jealous of the other Rogues, Snart."

Leonard rolled his eyes. "I'm just trying to figure out if I needed to re-evaluate our working relationship." He caught of whiff of Barry and wrinkled his nose, taking a step back. "Take a shower, kid."

Barry scowled and ducked his head to scent check, and his face went through several stages of embarrassment before he settled on resignation.

Leonard stepped out of the room and went to the kitchen, waiting until he heard the water running before he decided his next move. He shrugged out of his parka and gun holster, draping them over the back of a chair before he explored Barry's pantry. He pulled out some pasta, and he didn't spend any time trying to decipher his motives as he began preparing a simple dinner of spaghetti and marinara.

Barry was out before the food was done, and he watched Leonard from the bar that divided his kitchen and living room. "What are you doing?"

"You've been eating crap all day," Leonard pointed out. "Thought you might appreciate something more substantial." He plated the pasta and set it in front of Barry. "Wanna tell me what's up?" Barry averted his eyes and took a cautious bite of the pasta, so Leonard turned his attention to the dishes.

"Why are you being so nice to me?" Barry whispered, so low Leonard almost didn't hear it over the sound of the water.

Leonard made a small hmm of acknowledgement, but didn't bother to explain anything. It would give too much away, and he wasn't quite ready to untangle his thoughts.

"I've always been like this," Barry confessed. "It's not very cold here, but it gets cloudy and dark and… I guess everything's just harder. After I got my powers, the swings got worse. My brain chemistry's a little...off."

Leonard nodded, although he didn't look back at Barry until he was done with the dishes. "You got a feel good-movie you like to watch?"

"You're going to laugh," Barry protested.

Leonard crossed his heart. "Nope. Cross my heart and hope to die."

Barry narrowed his eyes at him like he was still expecting Leonard to be a jerk about it and said, "Singing in the Rain."

Leonard nodded. "Mick likes that one. I'll get it queued." Barry's eyes widened, and Leonard crossed his arms. "Or I could go. Just figured you shouldn't be alone. If anyone else was available, they'd here, right?"

Barry nodded. "Iris and Joe are at work." He looked at Leonard a moment longer, a slow, hopeful smile crossing his face. "I'll make the hot chocolate if you'll get the movie ready?"

"Deal." For a moment, he wanted to reach out, touch Barry's hand or ruffle his hair, and the urge was like a glass of cold water, shocking him back into awareness. It was too easy. This domesticity wasn't his to keep, and he needed to remember that. Next time, they'd be back on opposing sides, and their roles would be clearly marked.

He got the movie ready, and Barry followed him into the living room a few minutes later, passing him a mug. His cocoa had mini marshmallows.

Maybe, Leonard thought, as Barry settled onto the sofa next to him without a hint of hesitation, he'd let the lines blur a little tonight. It was the nice thing to do.

~*~

#my fic #tumblr prompt #coldflash #Anonymous

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supremegreendragon · 4 years

Text

Giving a Gift

The usual bright and cheerful demeanor that Barry exuded on a daily basis had been diminished for the past week. The reason for this change – crippling anxiety.

Christmas used to make him giddy with excitement. Even after his mother’s untimely death and his father’s unjust sentence, Christmas never failed to put a smile on his face. That was thanks to the West family giving him a foundation in which to fill his life full of love, and that had granted him the ability to love in return.

So, when Joe and Iris West noticed a change in Barry’s behavior, they grew worried. Despite her best attempts to get to the bottom of things, Iris couldn’t find out anything from her foster brother. So, it was up to Joe to figure things out. It was time to fill in the role as a father once again. Not that he minded. As a matter of fact, Barry’s love for him made his paternal instincts sore, even if they weren’t biologically related.

He went into the kitchen where Barry was munching on some Christmas cookies and milk. Who would ever guess this kid was the Flash, thought Joe humorously. The only thing missing in this picture was Barry wearing his old Santa themed pajamas.

“Hey, Joe.”

“Barry,” Joe nodded, grabbing himself a cup of coffee just to look innocent, “Ready for the Christmas season?”

Here Barry tensed up, “Oh. Not yet.”

“That’s unusual. You’re always ready. Remember when I told you that you had to wait until after Halloween to do Christmas shopping?”

“Yeah,” Barry produced a genuine smile at the memory, “This year’s no different. I’ve bought everyone’s present….it’s just.”

Joe saw his opening, “Just…what?”

“Well, I’m trying to figure out how I’m going to give one to a certain someone.”

“A certain someone? Who?”

Barry didn’t say anything, but Joe could see the blush on his cheeks. Joe took a swig of his coffee, trying to ease the pain of his growing headache. This boy would be the death of him.

“Who Barry?”

“You don’t know him,” Barry said finally, “But he’s someone special to me. And….he doesn’t know I’m planning on getting him anything.”

There was a long pause. Joe had to repeat Barry’s words in his head to fully understand what he was hearing.

“This is a crush, isn’t it?”

“…..yeah.”

“And you’re sure I don’t know the guy?” Joe pressed.

Barry hesitated at first, looking all around the room, his eyes darting anywhere but Joe. He bit into a Rudolf cookie, munching away at Rudolf’s famous nose.

“I’m sure. He’s someone I met after I became the Flash and well….he’s not anyone you would talk to on a regular basis.”

“Can you at least tell me his name?”

Joe had interrogated people before. He had seen countless times the moment someone was caught in a lie. He knew the way their faces looked when the mask cracked open. That was the face Barry had on now.

“Uh….Charles….” his eyes darted to the cabinet that contained all the cleaners, “Clean.”

Did…..did he really just make up a stupid name like Mr. Clean? It took all of Joe’s willpower not to erupt in laughter. Okay, he would respect Barry’s wishes not to tell him, for now. But if a man had captured Barry’s heart, then Joe was determined to meet him one day. Even if he had to threaten Barry by grounding the 26-year-old to his room.

“And why would it be so hard to give Charles his gift?”

“He doesn’t know I like him. And when we see each other, we don’t have much time to talk…..” Barry conveniently left out the reason why they had no time. Joe didn’t press it.

“Okay, so let me ask this. Do you want him to know you gave him the gift or do you want to go the secret admirer route?”

“Second option.”

The boy was brilliant, but man could he overlook the simplest things. Joe gave him a blank look.

“Well, you are the Flash. You could just swoop in and put it somewhere he would find. It’s not like he’d notice.”

“Joe, you’re a genius.”

The police force surrounded the bank with their cars. Taking cover with his crew, Joe had his gun raised, waiting for the crooks to come out at any moment. Joe knew immediately who he was dealing with, for the upstairs windows leaked out a spiderweb of ice. Only one person could do that in this town.

Joe took the megaphone, “Snart! Come out with your hands up. We know you don’t have any hostages.”

After a beat, Captain Cold came out, his gun in his hand. He walked toward them slowly, he and his men who trailed behind him. It was the calm before the storm.

“Guess they were closed for the holidays. We’ll steal from them later,” Snart said coolly.

“It doesn’t work that way. Drop the weapon and put your hands in the air.”

Snart readied his gun. They weren’t leaving without a fight. Before Joe could issue another warning, Snart blast a spray of ice, freezing two police cars into crystalized statues. Joe had to tumble away for fear of being frozen as well.

A sudden streak of red came over, unarming every crook that was supporting Snart from behind. Snart fired at the streak. His accuracy was getting dangerously better, for Barry grunted in pain. He slowed to a stop, his leg steaming blue from the frosty energy.

“Sorry, Scarlet. But you don’t get to ruin my fun,” Snart said. He came forward. Joe was about to run over to protect Flash. He worried that Snart was planning on finishing the job. But just as he was about to tackle Cold from behind, the crook tossed something in Barry’s way. Joe raised his gun. Barry held up the item that Snart had given him. It was a Christmas card. Barry opened it up and smiled.

“Aww…thanks, Len.”

“Merry Christmas.”

“Still have to take you to Iron Heights, though.”

“You can try,” Len smirked teasingly.

Meanwhile, Joe couldn’t believe what he was seeing. Why were the two acting like such friends? And why was Barry all red in the face? Joe felt his protective fatherly instincts screaming at him to kill Snart.

Barry jumped to his feet, wincing at the pain. He fought through it. It seemed that Len hadn’t hurt him too much. Barry turned into a human tornado, circling through the crowd as fast as a blur. One by one, the men behind Snart were cuffed by an invisible force. In a blink of an eye, Snart’s gun was pried from him and he was cuffed as well.

Joe looked at Snart, who stared at the new present in his hands. A snow globe with figurines of the Flash and Captain Cold fighting in a blizzard. There was a little bow on top. Joe couldn’t believe his eyes. Barry used his powers to give Snart a gift….

….Did that mean that Snart was…..?

Joe gave Barry a stern look. Barry sheepishly smiled back at him, knowing full well that they would talk about this later. Meanwhile, Len didn’t seem to mind that he had been captured. He was transfixed on the snow globe.

“Ah. You’re sweet, Scarlet,” he said, causing Barry to blush. Joe glared. No no no! He felt like one of those fathers who didn’t want their son dating a bad boy. He grabbed Snart and began dragging him to the police car.

“Come on, Mr. Clean,” he grumbled at Snart. Snart gave Barry a confused look, to which Barry only laugh.

“I’ll explain later. Merry Christmas, Len!”

#barry allen #the flash #coldflash #fanfic #12dayscf19

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crimsondomingo · 5 years

Text

Whumptober Day 31: Embrace

Oh wow, it’s over. Which means tomorrow I start the perilous journey of NaNoWriMo. I’ll be keeping you all posted with snippets and word counts to keep me honest.

Enjoy this last little whump for Halloween!

-----

The first time Len saw Barry, he thought his face in the window was strikingly handsome. He'd hoped to run into that handsome face at the mailbox or corner store, but serendipity never seemed to happen.

Then one day, Barry called him, though his line did seem a bit crackled. The perils of old houses.

“Hi! Um… you don't know me, but I live next door. I’m Barry Allen. You're Leonard Snart, right?”

Barry. He finally had a name. “Call me Len. What can I do for you, neighbor? Cup of sugar?”

Barry laughed, infectious and playful. “No. But is it true… that you're a medium?”

Len hesitated. He hoped Barry wasn't a talented actor planning to mock him. “I am. But I’m a skeptic first, always. The unexplained usually has boring answers, but on the rare chance there's an actual spirit, I've been known to be able to see and hear them. Why do you ask?”

“I think my house is haunted.”

Len was the new man in town. Barry had lived in his house his whole life, grew up there, and when Len went over, he didn't appear to be lying at his expense.

He was also much cuter in person than through a window.

“Cold in here.” Len shivered after shaking Barry's hand.

“See! Isn't that a classic ghost sign?”

“Or problems with your heater.”

Barry nodded shyly. He had a very simple style, soft brunette hair, and green eyes. The cozy compactness of the house and Barry’s office space in the living room made it seem like he rarely left. Maybe that's why Len hadn’t run into him.

“Tell me what else you've noticed. If I can explain it away, will that ease your mind?”

“Of course! But what if it is a ghost?”

“Then we'll talk to them.”

Barry beamed.

The tour of the house turned out as Len expected. No real signs of a haunting, just faulty wiring, old pipes, all keeping Barry awake at night and causing minor memory gaps, like whether or not he'd left a cupboard open.

Usually, people were pleased when Len explained things away, but Barry looked disappointed.

“Who did you think was haunting you?” Len asked as they sat on the sofa downstairs.

“My parents,” he answered softly. “They died in this house.

Len stiffened. Oh.

“It was before you moved here. I was just visiting, staying the night. I had an apartment downtown then. This… man came in while we were sleeping. I heard the struggle, heard Mom scream, but…” His eyes filled with ready tears. “There was so much blood… I managed to fight the man off, the police caught him a few blocks down, but… I was too late to save them.”

“I’m so sorry, Barry.”

He shrugged with a modest smile. “I guess I haven’t gotten out much since then. Is it wrong that I sort of… wanted the house to be haunted?”

“No. You wouldn’t be the first person who said that to me.”

“Thanks for checking anyway.”

“Would you… like to tell me about your parents?”

Barry met his gaze fondly. “Over… coffee?”

Barry made the coffee, busying himself while he talked, and Len simply listened.

The next time Len went over, Barry told him about his job, writing for a paranormal website about conspiracy theories and monster sightings. “I’m a skeptic too! I always look for the signs that something’s a hoax. But I like to think some of the fantastical might be real.”

The time after that, Len told Barry about the first time he saw a ghost, how he’d lived with it since, how he made a living from it.

“And I promise I only ever scam people if they deserve it.”

Barry laughed.

They were always at Barry’s house, never Len’s. Len wasn’t sure how to ask Barry over when he seemed so tied to his own home. It was sad, but Len thought, with a little more time to mourn, he’d be alright. The last thing Len wanted to do was push him.

In the end, Barry pushed first.

When he kissed Len.

It was in the kitchen, by the sink, making coffee again, while Len was pulling down mugs from the cupboard. The sudden firm press of lips almost made Len drop them, but he steadied himself and shifted into the kiss to push it deeper.

After that, Len was determined to get Barry out of the house, but the day he planned to try, Barry startled as he saw someone coming up his walk.

She was lovely. Barry’s same age, petite, with dark skin and long dark hair, but with the saddest expression as she came almost all the way up to the door only to stand immobile.

“Do you want to see what she wants?” Len asked Barry, who was hidden behind the curtains in the living room, staring at her.

“I-I can’t. We don’t talk anymore. Len, can you… can you go ask?” He looked so distraught, clutching the edge of the curtains.

“Of course.”

It was hard to tell if the woman would have ever finished her trek to the door, but when Len stepped out of the house, she jumped back.

“Who are you?”

“I’m the neighbor. Len Snart.” He held out his hand.

She gingerly took it. “What were you doing in there?”

“Visiting Barry. How do you—”

“You see him too?” she asked in alarm.

Len felt a chill take root at the base of his spine. “What do you mean? How do you know him?”

“We grew up together. I don’t know why I agreed to be the realtor for this place, I just thought I owed the Allens when they asked me.”

“Aren’t the Allens…dead?”

Len listened to Iris’s explanation—Iris West, Barry’s childhood friend, who’d seen and heard glimpses of Barry but shouldn’t have.

Because Barry Allen died over a year ago.

Len didn’t go into detail about his own part to this story, other than to say he was a medium, and then lied that he’d only been curious and introduced himself to help Barry.

“Can you help him?”

“I’ll try.”

The slow sinking dread when Len walked back into the house was suffocating.

“What did she want?” Barry asked.

He looked so vibrant and whole. Len had never once doubted…

“Barry, what do you remember from the night your parents died?”

“I already told you that.”

“Tell me again.”

Barry did, but it merely ended with him fending off the attacker and finding his parents dead.

“Are you sure about that?”

“What are you talking about?”

“Do you remember getting stabbed?”

“I… I mean maybe, but what does that matter?”

“You were really hurt, Barry. They weren’t able to save you.”

“What…?” Barry backed up toward the staircase.

“You were right when you called me. Your house is haunted, but not by your parents.”

“Don’t say that. How can you say that?” But even as he gripped the banister for support, Len saw how his form began to change, looking less solid, more ashen and rippling.

Len reached out to him, but for the first time, his hand passed through him.

Barry shrank back in horror, only to lurch forward to try to touch Len in kind, but just the same, his hand passed through him.

“I can't touch you anymore…”

“You have to move on, Barry.”

“Don’t say that!” The walls of the house tremored from his shriek. “I want to stay. With you…” He tried to touch Len again, but still, he went through him. “Please… I can't be dead…”

“I’m sorry, Barry, but it’ll be okay.”

“How can it be okay?!” The house shook again.

“Because your parents are alive.”

That snapped Barry’s eyes wide and everything went still.

“They were badly injured too but you saved them when you took on the attacker. They lived. You’re the one who didn’t. They can't see you though, only get a faint sense of you. Most people are like that. But they missed you so much, they couldn't bear to be around with only an echo of you.”

“They're alive…” Barry whispered. “I didn't fail them?”

“You were a hero, Barry.”

As Barry started to sob, ghostly and transparent now, Len wanted nothing more than to comfort him, to hold him close, and kiss those tears away.

Barry sank toward him, and Len was certain he'd pass right through him like before, but in that desperate breath, Barry was solid, sobbing in Len's arms and clinging tightly when he realized he could.

“Barry, are you sure you want to stay?”

“Please… for a little while. With you?”

Len held Barry securely in their embrace. The Allens wanted to sell the house, so he’d buy it and sell his own, for as long as they could make this work.

“Okay, Barry.”

#whumptober2019 #no.31 #coldflash #happy halloween #ghost barry

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areyouscarletcold · 5 years

Note

“Please don’t go…” for coldflash pleaseeee and if it isn’t too much to ask is it okay to have snart be the needy one :((

“Please don’t go...”

***

Of all the things Barry had uncovered about Leonard Snart over the year they’d been dating, somehow stumbling upon him in their apartment bundled in a mountain of wooly blankets with a fierce scowl on his face, nose redder than a freshly-picked strawberry, was the funniest thing ever.

Len’s scowl deepened the longer Barry tried to hide his laughter, hand pressed over his mouth tight as he kept accidentally letting out little snorts. “So happy my suffering is amusing you, Barry.” The fact that his words came out slightly stuffed up just made Barry laugh harder.

“I’m sorry, I just - the sheer irony of Captain Cold with a cold is priceless. I’m kinda shocked you’re not making more jokes about it yourself.”

“Yes, because joking around while my head throbs like someone threw several anvils at it is what I want to be doing right now.”

Barry crossed over to the sofa with the tea Len had made and forgotten to grab before he crashed under his massive pile of blankets, pursing his lips as Len scrutinized him with familiar wariness. Though, he was pretty sure it was just because he was worried Barry would take a picture of him in this vulnerable state or something.

And Barry was definitely taking a picture for Iris and Lisa later. And maybe another for himself, because he had a feeling Len was cute when he was sick and sleepy.

Len was cute all the time, who was he kidding?

“Do you need any aspirin?” Barry asked after Len took a few huge gulps of tea. Len grimaced, likely due to how cold the tea had gotten while he was trapped under all those blankets, unwilling to move.

“Yes. Definitely.”

Barry moved toward the bathroom and his phone buzzed before he got two feet away from the sofa. He frowned at the alert and bit back a curse. There was a raging fire two blocks away.

Normally Barry wouldn’t care, would rush right over and handle the situation, but he hesitated, glancing over at Len. What if Len got worse or needed something before he could get back? Granted, he seemed ready to sleep soon, and it was almost seven at night, but part of him bemoaned the idea of having to leave Len on his own.

He really didn’t want to abandon those citizens trapped in the building since he was one of the only Team Flash members available right now. Wally was off at the beach with Iris for the day and Cisco was preoccupied with a date that had started three minutes ago. He didn’t know where Caitlin was but he hoped she wasn’t too busy.

“What is it?” Len’s eyes fluttered and his scowl softened, just a little. Jeez, it didn’t look like he’d slept at all. Barry should have checked in on him earlier, but work had been so hectic.

“A - uh, it’s a Flash alert.” Barry held up his phone so Len could see the screen.

The scowl devolved into something close to a pout, and Barry caught himself starting to smile at how petulant Len’s expression became. “Please don’t go. You just got back.”

“I can text Caitlin and ask if she’d take this one with Frost,” Barry assured him, already sending off a pleading text to Caitlin. It wasn’t as if this would be the first time she and Frost had handled a fire gone wrong, after all.

“But they’ll want the Flash.”

“Well, they can handle a little bit of Frost every once in a while.” Barry smiled when Caitlin said (luckily) she was in the area and on her way to the incident now. “She’s got it covered.”

The crease between Len’s brows furrowed deeper but Barry zipped off to the bathroom to grab the aspirin before he could get another word out. He offered the medicine to Len and watched as he took it with a huff.

“’m not special,” Len murmured, his words slurring a little as he shut his eyes, leaning back against the sofa. Barry sat beside him, resting an arm behind Len’s head, but if his boyfriend noticed, he said nothing of it.

“What do you mean?”

“People need help. ’m just sick.”

Barry chuckled and scooted closer so his hip pressed against Len’s side. Though, whether he could feel it through all those blankets was beyond him. “True. But, like I said, Cait’s got it covered. And maybe the Flash deserves a break so he can take care of someone else.”

Len’s lips twitched. “Don’t go soft on me, Scarlet.”

“Uh huh.” Len opened one eye to glower at him and Barry didn’t bother to hide how wide his grin was in the face of Len’s sleepy expression. “Whatever you say, Lenny.”

Send me Needy/Vulnerable Dialogue Prompts to boost my motivation

#coldflash #the flash #leonard snart #barry allen #my writing #might be slightly ooc sorry #but i got an idea and it was hilarious at the time ajksdhf #anon #ask meme

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qlala · 3 years

Note

Is it cheating to submit a fic request for the pride post you just made? I neeeed the whole thing (I'm on my laptop, but insert the big gay eyes emoji)

fjskdgjslg "big gay eyes emoji" you know what? just for you. just for you i have written this. i'll clean it up and upload to ao3 later but for now: have 2.7k of len dragging a sunburnt, tipsy, and glitter-covered barry back to his apartment, and happy pride!

Len wasn’t the type to begrudge anyone a good time, especially when the good time involved loud music, leather harnesses, and throwing water bottles at cops. Central City’s annual pride parade came as close as it got to challenging that attitude; families, fellow queers, and queens descended on the city waving more flags than the United Nations after a hurricane, all decked out in color combinations that Len hadn’t been able to keep straight since the ‘80s.

The end result was the kind of crowds that could make a grown man feel claustrophobic in the middle of a city block, and that was without the visible haze of alcohol wafting off the whole event.

But what the parade lacked in personal space, it made up for with one very important commodity: unattended wallets.

The flock of sunburnt twinks in denim cut-offs made Len’s job almost too easy—a hand on a sweat-slicked lower back, a flash of blue eyes, and most of them wouldn’t have noticed their wallets going missing if Len had dangled their IDs in front of their faces afterwards. (While there were plenty of women dressed in just as little clothing whom Len certainly wouldn’t have minded getting within robbing distance of, he’d found queer women as a group to be less enthusiastic about uninvited touching and more enthusiastic about wallet chains, even when three sheets to the wind off of canned rosé.)

He’d taught a dozen visiting suburbanites the importance of not keeping valuables in their back pockets by the time he spotted a familiar profile in the crowd.

His usual red getup wasn’t much more modest than some of the outfits Len had already seen, but even knowing the shape of that body didn’t prepare Len for seeing Barry Allen stripped to the waist, bright-eyed and flushed and shimmering all over with a fine dusting of glitter. Len noted, on auto-pilot, that it didn’t seem like he’d put any of the glitter there himself; he was standing dangerously close to a drag queen throwing handfuls of the stuff on anyone who got within arm’s reach of her. It set the sun refracting off every dip and plane of muscle across Barry’s chest and stomach. Barry’s hair, already wild and dark at the roots with sweat, was full of it.

Len’s feet were carrying him closer before he gave himself permission to move. Barry managed to drag Len into his orbit at the best of times; visibly tipsy and dripping sweat, Len would’ve had better luck resisting the turning of the earth.

Up close, Len could take that Barry had lost his shirt somewhat recently; the slight touch of pink spanning his shoulders and chest had nothing on the serious flush across his cheekbones and the bridge of his nose. He had a spray of new freckles as well. They were barely distinguishable under the haze of glitter stuck to his skin, but Len noticed them at once, the change unmistakable on an otherwise unchanging face (not a scar to be seen, even after three years of running into burning buildings and jumping in front of bullets; Len was equal parts frustrated and relieved).

It looked like someone had painted a few strokes of color across one of his cheeks at some point, but it was smudged to hell and back. The back of one of Barry’s hands was stained a tell-tale matching purple, and Len could only guess at what it had been at the start of the day.

He stepped into Barry’s space as easily as he had the rest, taking care to keep Barry between him and the source of the glitter, and hesitated for the briefest moment with his hand above Barry’s spine. He’d never touched Barry like this, skin to skin; the gloves had never come off between them, metaphorically or literally. Kept things neat.

Nothing about Barry was neat right now. He turned even before Len touched him, and the movement brought Len’s hand into contact with his side instead. It took everything in Len not to pull it back in a flinch, and he met Barry’s curious glance with a tightly-controlled smirk.

He’d expected Barry to step back, maybe add a bit of blush to those already-pink cheeks. Instead, Barry’s eyes took a belated second to focus, and then he gave Len a face-splitting grin.

“Snart!”

That time, Len did have to pull backwards to avoid Barry dragging him in for a hug. To think he’d been concerned about a hand.

Barry didn’t seem the least bit put out, smiling loose and easy like Len hadn’t iced him to the door of a bank vault the last time they’d seen each other. He hadn’t taken Barry for such a cheerful drunk—he seemed inclined toward melodrama on a good day—but Len would take it over any of the alternatives.

“Barry. Fancy seeing you here. And so much of you, at that.” He let his gaze slide down his bare chest and stomach, pulse ticking up at the warm brown of his nipples and the sharp vee of his hipbones that invited his gaze further down.

“You’re overdressed,” Barry disagreed. He wasn’t quite slurring, but there was a careful deliberation in his tone that told Len it was a near thing. He took a step closer and peered at Len, suspicion evident in those pale green eyes. “And… sober.”

“I’m not here to score. Perks include keeping my shirt on.”

For the briefest second, Barry looked almost disappointed. But it was gone in a blink, confusion taking over. He glanced down at himself, puzzled. Then his expression cleared, and he looked up with another easy-going smile. “I got hot.” His gaze dropped again, to Len this time, and he licked his lips. “Aren’t you… you gotta be hot in all that.”

Len was wearing a long-sleeved shirt and thin jacket, and it hadn’t hit eighty degrees all week. But he wasn’t in the mood to argue with drunk logic. And besides, another scan of the nearby revelers had made something unpleasant begin to scratch insistently at the inside of Len’s chest, and he tapped Barry under the chin with one knuckle to bring his attention back up.

The contact startled both of them—Len’s control had slipped, something he could not afford to happen around Barry Allen—but Len recovered first. “Where’s the rest of your team of do-gooders?”

“Lost ‘em.” Judging by the return of Barry’s crooked grin, it was an accomplishment, not a concern. “Cisco said the shot was too strong, but I didn’t wanna go. He’s the d…” He faltered, brows pulling together as he frowned. “S’the designed. Designinated, superhero, anyway. Shh!”

He shot a pointer finger toward Len in a movement that Len clocked, alarmingly, as intending to be pressed to his lips, as if he were the one who’d been chatting about Vibe’s secret identity. Len had three years of dealing with the Flash to thank for being able to catch Barry’s wrist in time to stop him, and he glared at him for the attempt.

But Barry only gave him a crinkle-eyed smile and twisted his hand in Len’s grip to clasp his wrist back. “S’so good to see you here. I didn’t think…”

“Don’t tell me you had me pegged for straight.”

Barry made a frankly insulting noise halfway between a scoff and a hiccup and tilted Len a condescending look.

“Speedster, remember?” he asked, far too loudly, even for a crowd currently screaming along to a pop song that’d been bad enough the first time Len’d heard it in 2000. “I see it when you...” He let go of Len’s wrist to make a gesture with two fingers, parting them in a V and sweeping them up and down Len’s body, the muscles in his forearm shifting distractingly under Len’s hand. God, the kid had to be a hundred degrees. “When you check me out. In the suit.”

Len smirked. “It’s cute you thought I was being subtle.”

“You’re cute,” Barry muttered, childish and sulky, and Len took it for the compliment it wasn’t.

“You had a point, Barry.”

Barry still looked displeased with him, but his brow was furrowed again when he met his gaze. This close, it was impossible to ignore that Barry had an inch or so on him. “About what?”

“You didn’t think…?” Len prompted him.

Barry stared at him blankly, and Len rolled his eyes and let go of his wrist.

“Get out of the sun, Barry,” he said. “Find a park bench. Wait for your little friends to come find you. Shouldn’t be hard—you’re as red as your suit.”

Barry either ignored his last comment or didn’t hear it. “Iris is here somewhere,” he said, possibly to himself. “She’s…” He twirled his finger absently beside his head. “Curly, today. And… bikini.”

Len strongly considered abandoning Barry to his sunburn to go find out for himself. But Barry was beginning to sway a bit, and a man closer to Len’s age than Barry’s was giving Barry’s toned back a speculative look from a few feet away, and Len gave in to the unsettled feeling gnawing at his ribcage. He refused to call it worry. It was annoyance—or, at the very least, the feeling was annoying him, which was close enough.

“As much a sight for sore eyes as that would be,” he said, allowing a magnanimousness he didn’t feel to color his tone, “I doubt Miss West ran away from her group and got heatstroke. Unlike some people”

Barry didn’t look the least bit chastened, lips curving up mischievously in a way that drew another couple interested looks. Len needed to get them both out of the crowd before he started breaking noses.

“Tell you what. Give Cisco a call, tell him you went home. My bike’s on Kingsbridge, away from the parade route.”

Barry’s smirk sharpened. “Trying to get me out of here, Snart? I thought you weren’t here to score.”

Len gave him a flat look, ignoring the decidedly interested way his body was reacting to Barry’s tone.

“You can barely stand.”

Barry’s eyes glittered at the challenge, and Len realized his mistake.

“Barry—”

He hadn’t even finished biting out the second syllable when the world spun out from under him, the noise and the heat and the press of the crowd swallowed up in a hair-raising charge of yellow lightning. Exactly two and a half seconds passed in a blur of movement, just long enough for Len to realize Barry was supporting the back of his head with one too-warm hand. Then the world came skidding to a stop around them. Barry’s momentum carried them both forward several feet even after their new surroundings materialized, and they very nearly went straight through a window again before Barry seemed to remember how to stop.

Len considered pushing him out the window anyway for the stunt. True, he’d been itching to get another taste of that feeling, the ozone snap-drag of Barry’s power like a live wire under his hands, but he’d rather have waited until Barry could pass a breathalizer.

He realized Barry still had an arm around him and shoved him off. It did nothing to dim Barry’s self-satisfied grin, and Len had to look away or risk giving into the interested once-over Barry was skimming over his body again.

“Pretty sure the point of a designated driver is not doing that.”

Barry followed him when he took a step back. Len made a calculated decision, decided the risk of touching Barry again was worth it, and pressed his fingers to the middle of Barry’s chest—right where the Flash insignia would be on his suit, his brain offered unhelpfully—and pushed him backwards, hard.

Barry unbalanced and wheeled back a step. Then the backs of his knees hit the edge of the couch, and he toppled, satisfyingly, back onto the dark leather cushions.

It was a nice couch. The whole apartment was nice, actually. Len could’ve drawn a perimeter of possible locations based on Barry’s speed and how long it had taken them to reach it if he hadn’t already known the address.

“Sit,” he said. And then, with a smirk: “Stay.”

Barry rolled his eyes. “Gonna have to ask nicer than that if you wanna boss me around in bed.”

The way he threw it out there, easy as anything, almost made Len miss a step as he turned away. He wasn’t going to lay a hand on Barry, not when he was drunk on sunlight and skin and whatever concoction Cisco had apparently cooked up for him. But hearing him say it, like they’d already gotten all of the messy parts out of the way—it set off warning bells in Len’s head, flashing past all the possible off-ramps he would’ve taken if Barry had ever tried to have the conversation in a more linear fashion.

“You’re drunk,” Len said, which was a coward’s answer, and behind him, Barry made a vague noise of agreement.

“Probably,” he acknowledged. “You could stick around ‘til I’m not.”

Christ. Len didn’t trust himself to look at Barry again, not when he knew he’d find him sprawled out and shedding glitter all over what had looked like a very expensive couch. “Stay,” he repeated, and went off to find the kitchen.

By the time he got back with two glasses of water, the problem had solved itself; Barry was out cold on the couch, his painting cheek pressed to the throw pillow he’d curled himself half-around. He was shivering faintly in the air conditioning, all cooled sweat and goosebumps, and Len resigned himself to the now-familiar impulse to help him that stirred in his chest. He put one of the glasses down on the table and, not trusting his hands, knocked his knee into one of Barry’s where it was bent close to the edge of the couch.

Barry buried his face into the pillow with a noise of displeasure, and Len said his name again.

“Last warning,” Len said. “Ten seconds, you find out if I put on steel-toed boots today.”

Barry groaned, and if the sound hadn’t made Len’s pulse skip, the easy shift of muscles in Barry’s arm as he pushed himself up to sitting again would’ve done the trick.

“Water,” Len said, unnecessarily, as he passed him the glass.

Barry took it with the tips of his fingers, as if it were something personally offensive to him, and took a single, polite sip before putting it down beside the other with no small amount of distaste. Then he glanced between the glasses, and up at Len, a dirty spark already lighting behind his eyes again.

“Don’t get your hopes up. They’re both for you.”

Barry let out a breath with audible annoyance and dropped back against the couch cushions to glare at him.

Len felt a modicum of sanity return to him. This, at least, was familiar ground: Barry, frustrated, asking for too much, too soon. True, it had always been about the hero business until now, but Len knew a pattern when he saw one. Give Barry an inch, and he always took a mile.

Len gave Barry one last, appraising look. He looked ridiculous, all self-righteousness and bare skin. There was only one break in the otherwise even coat of glitter, there on Barry’s side: faint, but unmistakable, the outline of Len’s hand on his waist. The feeling in Len’s chest coalesced into something pleased and possessive. He met Barry’s glare with a slow curl of his lips, then gave him an inch.

“Call me when you’re sober, Barry,” he said, letting his voice slip into the Cold drawl just to watch Barry’s eyes go dark. “And you can show me how well you sit up and beg.”

He could see the impatience radiating off of Barry’s frame, the effort it was taking him to stay on the couch instead of closing the space between them.

“Call your friends,” he reminded him. “Enough people got a look at your face today without the CCPD splashing it on every milk carton, too.”

In the elevator, Len reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out the thin black wallet he’d liberated from Barry during their sprint across the city. Two and a half seconds: child’s play. A little extra incentive for Barry to track him down in the morning, not that Len thought he needed it. He flipped it open, noted the deer-in-the-headlights picture of Barry on his driver’s license with amusement, and then thumbed open the bill compartment.

Len smirked. Barry wouldn’t miss a few dollars; he owed him for the dry-cleaning it was gonna take to get the glitter out of his jacket, anyway.

#coldflash #leonard snart #barry allen #the flash #my fics #is 10 pm on a tuesday peak posting time? no! is it when i finished this? yes!#also this is blatantly nyc pride sorry #write what you know etc

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moon-for-moon · 5 years

Text

Police Brutality

Barry didn't normally wander near the holding cells. He prefered to stay in the lab, analyzing the database and reporting back to Singh.

But it was nearly 11pm and there shouldn't be that much noise coming from down there. Almost everyone had gone home for the night, except for Barry of course, who preferred to stay after hours to catch up on his lateness.

The silence had definitely helped carry the sound of struggling and fighting. It wasn't uncommon for people in holding to pick fights with each other but usually the event would quickly be stopped by the two guards in charge of the night shift.

But this sound had been going on for well past five minutes now. Something was definitely wrong.

Barry checked the halls for any late stayers like himself and flashed to the outside of the containment room.

The fighting was definitely coming from in there. He tried the handle but it was locked, as it always was at night.

He checked around again and fazed his hand through the lock, breaking it and opening the door.

The scene before him was not what he'd expected. Unless, of course, he'd been expecting to see two cops beating down on one man, sending kicks and punches to his curled up form.

Anger exploded in Barry's brain.

"What the hell is going on here!" He shouted.

The two cops turned around, surprised someone else was still here.

"Get out, Allen! This doesn't concern you!" The tone was aggressive and unprofessional. This most certainly wasn't going to be on the surveillance cameras, the CSI guessed.

Barry took a step forward, trying to look around the two men to check on the third. "What did you do!?" He'd heard about police officers abusing their power but he'd never expected it to happen here.

"I said get out!"

One of them moved to Barry and shoved him back, trying to push him out of the room.

Barry grabbed the man's shoulder and threw him against the wall. Speed came in handy in certain situations.

The other cop came at him as well but Barry quickly got him next to his partner.

Only when he was sure the two officers wouldn't cause anymore trouble did he turn to the beaten man.

“Hey, it's gonna be oka-" His voice trailed off when he saw the man's face, immediately recognizing him. "Snart?"

Len groaned and rolled onto his back, his hand cradling his side. A few bruises covered his face and blood was trickling down from a cut above his eyebrow.

Barry looked behind himself to check once again on the officers and gathered the criminal in his arms, flashing them both to his lab.

He set him down in his chair and locked the door. Snart looked around confused and dizzy and tried to get up.

"Hey, hey, hey! Take it easy. You might have a concussion”

“Where am I?” Snart groaned, holding a hand up to his head and massaging his temple.

“You’re in my lab.” Barry explained as he flashed over to the bottom drawer of his closet and took out an emergency kit. He flashed back and was applying an alcohol soaked cloth to Snart’s head before the criminal could even realize what was happening.

The man glared and took the cloth himself, hissing slightly at the burn. A few seconds of silence stretched out, during which Barry propped himself up on his desk, beside the paperwork. (If Singh saw him “risking the lab’s material” and “showing such unprofessionalism during the work hours” (which they weren’t) not even his speed could save him.

“How about this, you get three guesses and if one of them is it, I’ll yell “bingo!” His tone dripped with sarcasm but Barry wasn’t dupe. He’d known the man long enough to recognize his defensive voice and posture.

“Alright.” Barry sighed. “Three guesses.” Snart glared at him again but didn’t roll the chair back into his direction.

“One, Traw and Jones saw you were alone and decided to blow some steam off.

Two, Traw and Jones were sent by someone who doesn’t really like you, geez I wonder why, to “send you a message” or something.

Three..” Barry’s eyes wondered up, as if looking for something. “Yeah I’m out of ideas.”

Snart turned the chair back and smirked, his subtle, not to subtle, ‘fuck you’ or ‘I wanna fuck you’ sign. “Sorry, Scarlet. But you might’ve wanted that last try. You’re not hearing a bingo from me tonight.”

Barry cocked an eyebrow. “Really? Oh man too bad..” There that was done. Now onto seriousness. “Then tell me what happened.”

Snart rolled his eyes again and imperceptibly closed in on himself a little. “I ran my mouth when I shouldn’t have and pissed them off. Doesn’t matter, does it.”

Barry started moving his arm towards the man but a hard flinch made him realize how bad of an idea that was. He let it fall down on the desk again. “How stupid do you think I am?”

Snart’s gaze snapped to him in half a second, sharp as a razor.

“You want me to believe that you, Leonard Snart, the most planning and careful man I know, randomly started talking shit to the point where you angered two cops, two professionally trained officers, so much that they beat you up?”

Snart looked uneasy, shifting uncomfortably in the chair. “Yep.”

This time Barry went through with the motion, resting his arm on Snart’s shoulder and squeezing lightly. “How many times has this happened?” He asked softly.

Although the criminal tensed, he didn’t flinch or break Barry’s wrist, which was a good sign. His lips hesitated, moving slightly before he spoke, quieter than normal. “This was the second time.” There was no vulnerability in his voice, just randomness as if he were talking about the weather.

Barry huffed. He was filled with anger but he couldn’t show that right now. Snart needed to know someone was on his side.

“I guess you win, Flash! Bingo!” Len’s tone was joyful and energetic but Barry could see right through it. Snart wasn’t used to people seeing him so vulnerable. “My father wasn’t the last corrupt cop here. You like to think this place is all sunshines and rainbows because you’re making the city safe. You don’t realize how dangerous this place is for criminals like me after all the “good cops” go home to their wives and we’re left with the dead beat and crooked pigs.”

Barry stayed quiet and crossed his arms over his chest. He’d never really thought about the corruption rate in the precinct, always imagining it pretty low. But it must not be low enough.

“Do you have names?”

Snart nodded, still not looking at Barry. “A few badge numbers. We criminals communicate with one another. I’m not an isolated case.”

Barry slid a notepad and a pen over to Len. “Write down what you can remember, the Flash’ll give it to Singh tomorrow and I promise, change will happen.”

Len rolled his eyes as if he found the idea positively ridiculous but grabbed the pen anyway and scrubbed down a list of numbers and names.

“I can’t promise it’ll be perfect, but it might make it better.”

Len looked up at the csi and offered him a sympathetic smile. “I appreciate that, Flash.”

#leonard snart #barry allen #coldflash #the flash #moony’s writing #captain cold #police brutality

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stillthewordgirl · 5 years

Text

CaptainCanary fic: With Eyes Wide Open (ch. 2 of ?)

In a world where Rip Hunter never formed the Legends, Leonard Snart is trying to mend his ways and work with Team Flash, though sometimes it’s easier than others. Meanwhile, Sara Lance is gradually dealing with the blood lust left behind by the Pit and trying to get used to being a hero again herself. When they encounter each other one day in Central City, it seems like a match that just might be meant to be.

But nothing with these two is ever easy.

This is going to be an accidental pregnancy fic, one in which both contributors to said pregnancy decide to continue their relationship and do their best with it. If you don’t like such things, be warned.

It’s not mentioned in the first two chapters, though. Just setting the stage.

Many thanks to Pir8grl! Can also be read here at AO3 and here at FF.net.

About a week later

Laurel Lance, Black Canary (retired) and district attorney, is quite thoroughly focused on some papers on her desk when her sister breezes into her office, a smile on her lips and a light in her eyes that hasn’t been there in a very long time.

“C’mon, it’s a gorgeous day. Your baby sister is taking you to lunch,” she informs Laurel, who blinks at her in surprise. “You work too much.”

Laurel laughs a little, reaching out for her cane and getting to her feet. “OK! OK!” She pauses a moment, studying Sara. “When did you get back in town? Last I knew you were still in Central.”

But Sara’s out the door already, and all Laurel can do is follow her.

They go to a café down the street, the sort of place that’s all about local ingredients and many vegan alternatives—not usually Sara’s sort of place at all, but she says breezily that she thought Laurel might like it. They get sandwiches and drinks, and Laurel takes a sip of her fancy blueberry lemonade while studying her sister’s face.

Sara, taking a bite of her sandwich, catches her at it. “You’re staring,” she points out after a moment. “Are you OK? Sorry, I know I should have called…”

“No, no, that’s fine.” Laurel shakes her head. “Sara. You just seem a little…you seem more…”

Her sister, taking another bite of her lunch, rolls her eyes. “I’m fine,” she manages when she can speak again. “A little what?”

“Different. In a good way.” Laurel picks up her own sandwich, pauses. Wonders if she should bring it up.

“You know,” she says tentatively, “Iris did call me…”

Sara rolls her eyes, taking a drink of her iced tea. “Gossip.”

“She was concerned about you.” Laurel takes a bit, chews thoughtfully. “Does this…good mood…of yours have to do with the crook?”

It wasn’t, she thinks, so much that Iris hadn’t trusted this Leonard Snart than that she’d just been very curious about the way the two had hit it off and how Sara had vanished with him—and that she’d known all too well what kind of trouble their combined skill set could cause. All Laurel had been able to do was say that they hadn’t heard from Sara, and no news was probably good news.

(Predictably, that hadn’t set well with Iris.)

Sara smirks at her, clearly unrepentant. “Reformed crook,” she corrects. “And no.” But then she glances down at her plate a moment, thoughtful. Laurel waits. Her sister’s expression seems more reflective than anything else, maybe as though she’s starting to see herself through an outside lens

“Or…not just,” she admits, finally, picking up a stray piece of tomato from the plate. Then she looks up at Laurel, and the other woman sucks in a quick breath at the look in her eyes.

“He gets it, Laurel,” Sara says quietly. “In a way the rest of you don’t, no matter how hard you try. What it’s like to try to…to come back from where I’ve been, to try to fit in with the side of the angels after all I’ve done.”

Laurel wants to try to argue, to say that she gets it too, or she’s trying, but something in Sara’s voice stops her.

“Is this…serious?” she asks carefully.

Sara hesitates just a fraction of an instant, so briefly that anyone besides Laurel probably wouldn’t have noticed. Then she laughs, a sound that’s deliberately casual to Laurel’s ear, and smiles at her.

“No,” she says, looking into her tea. “Of course not. But I’m enjoying it.” Another brief pause. “He…he makes me feel alive, Laurel.”

Sara continues, tone lightening even as Laurel digests those amazing words, delivered from the sister who’d been dead and then alive but soulless. “And the sex is amazing.”

Laurel gets the picture and throws up her hands, laughing and choosing not to pursue the matter. “Too much information!” she declares, throwing a napkin at Sara, who throws it back. “OK. You moving to Central?”

Again, a very slight hesitation. Then: “No,” Sara says, but not like she’s truly sure about it. “No. But I promised to be around more often, help out Team Flash.” She picks up her sandwich again. “It’s nice to be somewhere a little different. And I’m sure you won’t mind having your apartment to yourself a little more.”

And the Leonard Snart portion of the conversation is clearly done.

Leonard is…content. Even…happy?

Is that a word that’s ever really applied to him? He’s not sure. He’s been proud, been smug, been relaxed or pleased or focused or energized by a successful heist.

Happy? That’s for kids. Some kids, anyway, not the children of Lewis Snart.

But.

He thinks that right now, he is. Happy. How odd.

He and Sara hadn’t left his apartment for three days, in part because they were enjoying themselves—and in part because the increasingly curious and appalled messages on their whereabouts and activities from Team Flash were amusing. Then they did emerge, to get food and fresh air, but they didn’t tell the others just yet.

Leonard took great pleasure in showing Sara parts of his city for a day or two. They had lunch at the waterfront. They visited the museum, legally this time, taking a look at the jewelry exhibit they’d avoided during their nighttime excursion. (The head of security, looking profoundly nervous, shadowed them the entire time, to Leonard’s great amusement.) They watched the stars from the rooftop of the apartment building.

Then they visited STAR Labs. It’d been quite amusing to stroll into the Cortex with Sara and see Cisco Ramon turn multiple different colors as he stared at them.

The rest of Team Flash had been seemingly determined not to ask. Or stare. Or even allude to their clear suspicion that Sara and Leonard had hooked up. And were, as far as they knew, still hooking up.

Which they were, of course. But letting the others wonder was even more fun than confirming anything.

After about a week, Sara heads back to Star City to check in with friends and family--and, she makes a point of noting (a question in her voice) to grab a few more changes of clothing. They dance around the topic a little before she confirms that she’d like to return to Central, and to continue staying with him a bit, maybe in a few weeks.

And while Leonard waits for her to return, there’s nothing that says he can’t continue to torment Team Flash a bit more.

“Iris!” he drawls as he saunters back into the cortex one day, just after quashing an attempted robbery at Central City Bank (amateurs, they could have hurt someone), and seeing Barry’s wife sitting behind one of the computers, apparently alone. “Greetings. Excellent article on those mystery donations to the mayor’s campaign. Well done.”

Iris looks up at him, and Leonard stops in his tracks. It’s fairly usual for him to needle her about her articles (his words are actually quite sincere, but for some reason, Iris rarely takes them as such, so he’s not above using that), but these days, he doesn’t usually get that kind of death glare.

There’s a noise from the side, and Leonard glances over, too, to see Caitlin—in her Killer Frost guise—ghosting out from the corridor. Her eyes are chilly—no pun intended, for once—and her expression is just as serious as Iris’.

Leonard spreads his hands out before him, unwilling to take a step back despite a certain hindbrain instinct telling him to do so, and glances around.

“Ladies,” he says smoothly. “I’m not sure what I’ve done lately to earn this…rather drastic amount of ire…but, please, tell me.” He waits a beat. “I’ll try to make amends.”

Iris studies him a long moment, then nods. She taps the pen she’s holding against the desk. “Tell me, Snart,” she says shortly. “What are your intentions?”

Leonard stares at her, then glances at Caitlin/Frost, whose expression doesn’t give him any hints, then back at Iris.

“What?” he asks a bit blankly.

“Toward Sara,” Caitlin tells him, moving closer. “She’s been back in Star a few days now. And her sister called Iris.”

Iris continues to study him like he’s a bug she found on the floor. “Confirmed a few suspicions,” she adds. “So, we felt the need to…have a talk.”

Ah. “You’re getting all protective of the former assassin?” he asks, trying for joking, knowing it doesn’t quite work. “Really?”

“Yes. Yes, we are,” Caitlin tells him fiercely, stepping toward him. (Leonard resists the urge to back up again.) “Because she’s been through a lot and she doesn’t need you deciding to…to…steal her heart like it’s some kind of piece of jewelry, just for the fun of it.”

His chin goes up at the remark, indignation stirring at the very idea. “I wouldn’t…”

“Wouldn’t you?” Iris asks drily.

“No!” Leonard takes a deep breath as both women stare at him, apparently a little surprised by his vehemence.

Crap. He’s going to have to talk about…feelings…just to get them off his back. And, to be honest, because he’s slightly pleased by how protective they are of Sara, he finds he really does want to reassure them.

So, he looks up and meets Iris’ eyes, then looks at Caitlin, trying to look sincere, uncertain how well he’s doing at that.

“Look. I don’t talk about this crap,” he tells them. “But I’m not trying to…steal anything, and I have no intention of hurting her. I…” He stops. Considers. “We’re having fun. This isn’t some…deathless romance or anything ridiculous like that.”

Or is it? But he’s sure as hell not telling them that.

Iris tilts her head at him. “No? Sara’s sister’s concerned,” she tells him. “Says she hasn’t seen Sara this happy in a long time.”

The words bring a rush of…something. Leonard feels his lips curve a little at the thought, though he immediately tries to scowl again, narrowing his eyes at Iris.

“Isn’t that a good thing?” he asks.

Iris starts to retort, but Caitlin, who’s been watching, holds up a hand. They both glance at her, and Leonard’s struck by how serious she looks, how intently she’s watching him.

“It is,” she says slowly, still watching, “if you’re not going to treat it carelessly—or vice versa, of course. Because you are too, aren’t you? Happy, I mean. With Sara.”

Iris makes a noise, but Leonard considers Caitlin for a few moments. What had she seen that led to this question?

But… “I am,” he tells her quietly. Not ready to say more.

Caitlin nods, then glances at Iris. The other woman looks uncertain for a moment, then sighs.

“Don’t hurt her, Snart,” she threatens, pointing the pen at him. “I swear…”

Leonard glares back at her.

“I can tell you that I won’t do so intentionally,” he says a bit stiffly. “Now, can we please not tell Ramon or Barry about this conversation? I do have an image to maintain.”

“What’s it worth to you?” Iris flings back, but she does smirk a little. Leonard nods once, then turns to go…and runs right into his sister, who’d apparently entered while he and Iris were enacting their stare down.

Or maybe she’s been here longer than that. Because Lisa’s staring at him with a look he can’t quite read, uncertainty and disbelief and an odd anger in her eyes. And finally, Leonard does take a step back as he’s faced with that look.

Lisa advances a step, taking a deep breath.

“I don’t know Sara Lance well,” she tells him, tone low and intent. “But if you hurt her, if you do anything, anything at all that reminds me of…of Lewis…”

Now, that stings. Leonard starts to retort, but Lisa pokes him in the chest with a finger, making him step back again. And again.

“I. Will. Geld. You,” she says, enunciating every word. “I swear to god. We’re finally making something good here, and if you hurt that…all because you couldn’t keep it in your pants…”

What the hell? “What on Earth makes you think that I would ever…” Leonard responds heatedly, only for Lisa to turn abruptly and stalk back out. Caitlin gives him a helpless look and follows her, and Leonard turns to look at Iris.

Who looks just about as confused as he feels.

Sara intends to stay a few weeks in Star City before heading back to Central, but after only a week or so, she gets bored.

At least, that’s her story. It’s even somewhat true. But in reality, she also misses a crook…former crook… who just so happens to live in that other city.

Misses his snarky sense of humor. Misses the gleam in those amazing blue eyes. Misses that deep well of intelligence and compassion he tries to hide. Misses the instinctive understanding they’d shared.

And misses the incredible sex. Yeah, that too.

It seems to be a good idea to have transportation of her own, now, so Sara buys a new motorcycle, something sleek and with decent gas mileage, on a bit of a whim, throws some clothing in a backpack, and heads out toward Central again. She feels a little guilty for merely leaving Laurel and her father a voicemail before doing so, but…she’s an adult. And her dad doesn’t need to know about Leonard. Not yet, anyway.

She’s trying not to think much about introducing the two, and under what circumstances that might happen. She’s telling herself this is an entertaining fling, that’s all. Something to help her feel human again. Nothing more.

Nothing less.

Sara stops partway there to grab a bite to eat and call Leonard, belatedly thinking that he might have other things going on. Maybe he’s even out of town himself? Still, Caitlin will undoubtedly let her crash there, and even if…

Leonard answers the phone on the second ring, with a seemingly pleased and enticingly low “Sara?” He listens to her tentative questions about his location, confirming that he’s still in Central, and then as she tries to find a tactful way of admitting that she’s on her way back weeks earlier than planned.

But his response, quite frankly, is all she could have hoped for.

Fortunately, no one pulls her over on the rest of the way into Central, despite the new land-speed record she may well have set. Leonard meets her at the door to the apartment, his mouth on hers immediately as she drops her bag and kicks it out of the way, reaching up to put a hand on either side of his face. His hands land on her hips, steering her inside as he nudges the door shut behind them.

Afterward, Sara dozes while stretched out beside him, apparently tired from her drive from Star City in addition to their activities. Leonard, head propped on his arm, watches her rest, feeling a little creepy about it although he really doesn’t want to get up and leave. He can’t help thinking over the little “shovel talk” Iris and Caitlin had given him, and Lisa’s addition, which had apparently surprised them all.

He can understand Iris and Caitlin. Sara’s their friend, and while they’ve allowed him into Team Flash as he’s turned his coat and started helping, there’s still a small thread of uncertainty there. But Lisa…

The reference to Lewis…it still stings, badly, but Leonard’s more interested in figuring out where on Earth it’d come from. Lisa knows perfectly well that he’d hated the man every bit as much as she did and probably more—hell, Leonard was the one who’d killed him, and he has no regrets.

So why is his sister, with whom his relationship is as good as it’s ever been as adults, suddenly comparing him to Lewis?

“We’re finally making something good here, and if you hurt that…all because you couldn’t keep it in your pants…”

Lewis…Lewis had liked women, Leonard thought, mostly as toys and possessions, never as people in their own right. Leonard had tried to keep Lisa from seeing that too much of that, and frankly, Lewis had found the company of a small girl (and then a teenager) too irritating to spend much time around her. (All the better to help Leonard keep her safe, at least.)

But now, he had to wonder how much she’d absorbed of how the elder Snart had treated women. Enough to think that the younger one would do the same? Even though he’d never treated his sister that way?

He glances away from Sara, sleeping, gorgeous, badass, smart, funny Sara. Even thinking about Lewis in her presence is disturbing.

No, Leonard had never treated Lisa that way. But Lisa had never seen her brother with a significant other, not of any gender. The few more serious relationships he’s had never became established enough for him to introduce anyone to her.

He sighs, eyes on Sara, tempted to reach out and trace his fingers down the line of her spine as she sleeps, resisting because he doesn’t want to wake her. She looks peaceful. He should let her have that.

There’s Mick…but Mick is something else entirely. Both of them have always flinched away from defining anything (partner, brother, soulmate of sorts...). Leonard still flinches away from the thought, especially now, when whatever their relationship is might never recover from his “hero” turn. It’s never been physical, but that doesn’t mean it’s not...wasn’t...oh, hell.

At any rate, Lisa seems to think that if her brother’s with a woman on a more serious basis, he’s going to revert to Lewis behavior. Which is disturbing on so many levels, and probably speaks a lot about her strange, on-again, off-again relationship with Ramon, but that’s not particularly something he wants to think about.

Not until he has to, anyway.

When Sara wakes, relaxed and refreshed, she stretches slowly as she remembers where she is. The sheets, gray flannel, smell like Leonard’s scent of pine and mint, and she turns her face into them, breathing in deeply and smiling. He’s not there at the moment, but she can hear the faint sound of someone moving around out in the main area of the apartment. The noises are slow and unhurried; there’s nothing untoward going on.

This is the closest any place has felt to home in a while, she thinks suddenly, surprised at herself. And she’s known this man all of...what, two weeks? And for one of those, she’d been back in Star City.

But Laurel’s apartment, where she’s been staying, is fine, but...it’s Laurel’s, not Sara’s, not really. They have completely different styles, completely different preferences for their surroundings and just about everything else. Sara hasn’t wanted to get her own place, though, not until she figures out what she’s doing next, and Laurel says she doesn’t mind, but...

She’s thinking too much.

One of Leonard’s T-shirts is big enough to hit her mid-thigh. Sara ambles out of the bedroom, stretching again, glancing around to see Leonard perched at the counter between the apartment’s small kitchen and the living room. He looks up from the book he’s reading and Sara smiles to see the reading glasses he’s wearing. They seem a bit incongruous on the badass, larger-than-life Captain Cold, but just right on Leonard Snart, the man with hidden depths.

And they look pretty hot on him, too.

Leonard’s gaze is appreciative as she strolls toward him, and he puts his book down and turns toward her, eyes lingering on the hem of the shirt before slowly lifting to her face. Sara stops just within reach, and his hands settle on her hips, thumbs stroking gently through the soft and slightly worn gray fabric.

“ Evenin’,” he says, studying her expression, a smile lurking in the corners of his mouth. “Rested up?”

“Evening?” Sara glances at the clock, then, disbelieving, out a window. “Ugh. Didn’t think I’d slept that long.”

“Well. You were…worn out.” The words are a purr, and Sara, grinning, leans forward to kiss him--an activity that could very well have led them both right back to bed if Leonard hadn’t pulled away after a moment. She makes a noise of slight disappointment, but mostly in jest, and they regard each other in silence a moment with all the slight awkwardness of any new…well, whatever this is.

Finally, Leonard clears his throat. “You sticking around a bit?” he asks, glancing away momentarily. “I mean. Not just today. You’re welcome to…I’d like you to.”

Yeah, they’re both feeling their way through this. Sara nods. “I’d like to, too,” she confirms slowly, watching him. “I was a bit bored in Star…” Oh, that’s great, Lance, make it sound like he’s just the lesser of two evils. “…and I missed you.”

And that makes her sound like a stalker. Sara winces, but Leonard simply chuckles, a low, amused sound, though something deeper, she thinks, flickers in his eyes for a moment.

“Missed you too,” he admits, and it’s both a confession and a statement of…surprise? Wonder? “Though…you should know…”

His voice trails off, and Sara sees a spark of mischief in his eyes. “…your friends gave me a sort of ‘shovel talk’ a few days back,” he concludes, looking through his eyelashes—those totally unfair eyelashes—at her. “So, I’m hoping you might talk ‘em down a little. I like portions of my anatomy unfrozen, thank you very much.”

Sara blinks. “Who…” Wait, frozen? “Caitlin?”

“And Iris.” Leonard smirks at her. “Those ladies are scary,” he informs her, leaning back against the counter. “But I promised I would…” A pause. “…behave myself. In some senses of the phrase, anyway.”

It’s pretty obvious he’s leaving some things out, but Sara decides not to address that. (Though she makes a mental note to yell at Iris and Caitlin later.) Instead, she simply smirks back. “Not too much, I hope.”

“Of course not.” Another pause. “Your sister apparently called them…”

Laurel. Of course. Sara lets out an aggravated breath. “I told her…”

“No.” Leonard’s voice is quiet. “Apparently, she told them…that you were happy.”

Sara stares at him. “Isn’t that a good thing?” she asks, finally.

Something about the question makes him smile again. She gets a one-shouldered Snart shrug in response, and another one of those glances from underneath his eyelashes. “That’s what I said. And they ultimately agreed. Just told me to make sure it stays that way.”

Amusement wars with mortification. “Oh.” Sara waits a beat, then puts a hand over her face. “I’m gonna kill ‘em.”

After a moment, she hears Leonard chuckle again. “Oh, don’t do that,” he says, as she feels his hands close around her shoulders. “They mean well. I think. Mostly.”

“Still.” Sara growls, frustrated. “They need to mind their own damned business.”

She feels his huff of laughter stir her hair. “It’s good to have people who care.”

Sara’s about to retort with something snarky again, but there’s something… She tilts her head back just a little and sees the fleeting look of…is it sadness?...there.

“Don’t you?” she asks quietly, before she can think better of it.

There’s another flicker and then he’s smirking at her again, like she’d never seen the melancholy. Had she really?

“Well,” Leonard drawls, looking down at her, “do I care?” Pause. “I do my best.”

Sara starts to poke him in the chest and tell him that’s not what she meant…but then he’s kissing her again, and she loses the thought entirely.

The next day, Team Flash requests assistance from Leonard, as talk in the city has a new wannabe crime lord planning a strike at local financial institutions. As their resident “former” crook, he’s asked (pretty, pretty please) to help them figure out how and where that strike might come, and to help find ways to stop it without bloodshed.

Sara goes with him. They don’t make a big deal of it. As they enter STAR Labs, she promptly crosses the room to talk to Iris; there’s no hand-holding, PDA, or fanfare. But Barry’s face is still red as he explains the situation to the smirking Leonard, and while the color fades as they discuss the issue and Leonard offers very cool, analytical advice, the new…situation…is clearly still on his mind.

Finally, the speedster just can’t help it. He clears his throat, color rising on his face again as Leonard glances at him, but he doesn’t look away.

“So…you and Sara Lance...”

Leonard snorts in amusement. “This better not be another shovel talk,” he says drily.

“No…what? Another?” Barry blinks, then shakes his head. “Um. No.” He clears his throat again. “You’re…uh…a thing?”

“A thing?” Leonard keeps his tone as dry as dust, throttling down the laugh that wants to escape. “Seriously, Allen? Are you gonna ask us if we’re…what, goin’ steady?...next?”

Barry glares at him, but it’s spoiled by the continuing pinkness of his cheeks. It’s really rather cute, Leonard thinks, letting an actual grin touch his lips.

But the speedster doubles down. “Um. No. But…Iris thought…uh.” He rubs his neck self-consciously. “She said…she thought you liked guys.”

Oh, ho. This is too good to leave alone. Leonard gives Barry one of those looks from under his lashes, smirking as the other man blushes even more, although he’ll give Barry credit—he doesn’t back down.

“Ooh,” he drawled, considering his erstwhile nemesis with a widening smirk. “I really don’t…limit myself in that way.”

If possible, Barry turns even redder. “Um. You like both?”

“Barry, Barry. Really? Falling prey to the whole gender binary? How very…restrictive…”

Fortunately for the speedster’s well-being—at least at that moment—Sara chuckles from behind him. “Stop toying with him, Len,” she says, moving smoothly around to sidle up to her lover, leaning in close. “Unless you’re gonna put your money where your mouth is.”

The innuendo is not accidental. Oh, he lov….really likes this woman. Leonard tosses her a grin, keeping his eyes on the nearly incandescent Barry. “I don’t think Iris would like that.”

“Oh, I don’t know.”

Barry turns then, mouth dropping open as his wife approaches them all. Iris’ smirk is comparable, Leonard thinks, to his. Oh, this is entertainment.

She winks at him. “That could be fun.”

Barry makes a sound like air leaving an inflated balloon. Sara, obviously gleeful at playing along, lowers her eyelashes at Iris. “Yeah?” she asks.

Iris leers back, just a moment…and then breaks it by giggling. “It’s OK, Barry,” she says, patting him on the arm. “We’re messing with you.” A pause. “Mostly. I don’t know about Snart.”

Leonard shrugs nonchalantly. “I don’t poach.” He winks at Iris. “Not without permission.”

The smile she gives him is genuine. “Sorry. He’s mine.”

So is his response. “Lucky man.”

“And woman,” Sara chimes in, leaning against Leonard’s arm—possessively? Yes, possessively. Huh. He kinda likes it.

Barry decides to try to take control of the situation back then, at least a little. “Yes,” he says, speaking up, putting his arm around his wife. “Lucky. Both of us.”

But he’s looking at Sara and Leonard too. And really, Leonard can’t argue.

So he doesn’t.

Sara can’t stop grinning.

She’s happy. She’s actually freaking happy, for one of the first times in...how long? Too long, really, she thinks, watching the newly arrived Harrison Wells argue with Leonard about some sort of anti-crime tech as Caitlin tries to play referee and Cisco, watching, keeps egging them on. Barry and Iris are having some sort of low-voiced conversation not far away, but they’re both smiling, and things appear to be just fine.

Just fine.

She has a place here. She has the blood lust at least under control, at least for the moment. Has a lover with whom she is very well-matched. And while she’s not yet sure what the future will hold...well. Who ever really is?

Yes, Sara thinks contentedly, leaning against a desk and taking a sip of her coffee. Life is good.

Just then, she catches a whisper of noise and a flicker of movement to the side, and she turns her head just in time to see a familiar brown-haired woman stop in her tracks, staring at the scene ahead of her. Then she glances at Sara, freezes—and then whips around to leave the way she’d started to enter.

It takes Sara just a beat to decide follow her.

“Hey! Lisa!” She picks up her pace a little to catch Leonard’s sister as she hurries down the hallway, wondering why the rapid exit. The other woman starts to speed up, then just...slows and stops as she approaches the door, as if she realizes Sara’s not going to quit. She turns as Sara slows too, a curiously still expression on her face.

Sara extends a hand, smiling at her. “I don’t think we’ve really been formally introduced, but I’m...”

“I know who you are,” Lisa Snart says in a low voice, watching Sara from out of the corner of her eye. “You’re the fool who’s messing around with my jerk brother. And you’re going to regret it.”

That’s...not any sort of reaction she’d expected. “Excuse me?”

It doesn’t seem to be a threat, not really...Lisa’s tone is more matter-of-fact, maybe a little sad. But as Sara stares at her, grasping for a response, the younger Snart’s demeanor changes, as if she’s putting on a façade, not so unlike the shell of ice her brother wears when he doesn’t want the world to see what he’s really thinking. (Or even more, feeling.)

“That’s what Snarts do,” she says, faux-lightly, tossing her head and smirking at Sara, an expression that seems to be holding a whole lot more behind its practiced heedlessness. “We hurt people. Sometimes on purpose. Sometimes even when we don’t mean to. Doesn’t matter, though. We hurt them anyway. You’ll learn.”

Sara finds her voice. “Your brother...

But Lisa Snart is gone, vanished out the door. And Sara can do nothing but stare after her, wondering what all that was about.

#with eyes wide open #captain canary #the flash #legends of tomorrow #sara x leonard

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robininthelabyrinth · 5 years

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Fic: An Internal Affair - Chapter 9 (Ao3 link)

Fandom: The Flash Pairing: Leonard Snart/Barry Allen

Summary: Leonard Snart, the CCPD Captain of Internal Affairs, is known as Captain Cold for a very good reason: He hates corrupt cops with a merciless vengeance, and once you’re on his list, you’re in serious trouble.

His next target?

A CCPD lab tech named Barry Allen who’s developed a suspicious habit of disappearing at random intervals.

—————————————————————————————————

"You're doing it again," Danvers says gleefully.

Len puts his phone down. "No idea what you're talking about," he lies.

"You know exactly what I'm talking about."

"Nope."

"You're smiling. You never smile."

"I smile."

"You really don't, boss," Danvers chides. "You should. It's a good look on you."

Len arches his eyebrows at her.

"It is!" she insists. "I mean, sure, okay, you've managed to convince at least six people here that you're about to purge the department, but that's just because you look kinda smug and demonic when you smile -"

Len grins, with teeth.

"Stop that, it's not a good thing."

Len's not so sure about that.

His phone buzzes.

Len can feel his vicious grin melting into a softer, fonder smile.

"Go on," Danvers says, her own smile turning positively wicked. Len's proud: that's entirely his influence. "Don't leave your boyfriend hanging."

"We went on one date, Danvers."

"Oh, it was a date, now; I thought it was just an information-gathering dinner..."

"It can be both," Len says with great dignity. "Please ignore all previous statements to the contrary."

"Boss..."

"I know, I know," Len says, holding his hands up in concession. "Don't worry, I'm not crossing any lines with it. It'll stay platonic - at least until I clear him, anyway. Then we can be boyfriends."

“Woo hoo!” Danvers cheers. “One very cute guy, in the bag –”

“And how would you know that?”

“I went to sneak a peek at him, obviously,” Danvers says, absolutely shameless. “Have to know what’s good enough to catch my boss’ eyes, don’t I?”

"Oh, shut up," Len tells her, but his attention is back on his phone, reading Allen's latest ridiculous story about his (highly implausible) workday. The most recent twist involves several long paragraphs regarding his newly discovered dreams of retiring to a goat farm.

Allen texts remarkably fast.

Must be a millennial thing.

It's nice, though; Len's used to being the talker, the chatty one, but Allen (should he call him Barry?) has a motor mouth that puts Len's to shame.

(Mick would find it hilarious and say it’s exactly what Len deserves.)

At least Len's still winning their pun-off hands down.

Not literally hands down, of course, since it's happening largely through text.

Heh, he'll have to mention that one to Allen...

"When are you going to see him again?" Danvers asks, interrupting Len's pun-related reverie. "For a date, I mean; not for an investigation."

"I'm still investigating him," Len reminds her. And himself.

"Yeah, yeah, I know, I know, you’re still investigating, of course you are," Danvers replies, flapping her hands at him. "You're way too paranoid - what you told me about Allen investigating the Flash makes perfect sense to me. Especially since we've managed to correlate a lot of Allen's mysterious disappearances and out-of-field conversations with all the stuff the Flash is up to. We just need to prove it and bam! Dating free and clear."

"Bam? Really?"

"I watch a lot of Food Network," Danvers says. "Shut up. Seriously, though, you're not going to wait until the investigation is done to go out with him again, are you? Tell me you're not!"

"I'm seeing him again tonight," Len admits.

Danvers literally punches the air.

"You're overly invested in this," Len tells her. "Seriously over-invested."

She rolls her eyes at him. "You tell me all about it! All the time!"

"You're my secretary! I need you to make sure that I don't double book over any MR days or anything."

"A, it’s admin assistant, not secretary. B, you went to see Mick yesterday," Danvers says. "Because Allen was working late to make up for taking the day off after being at court in the morning the day before. You know perfectly well that you're not missing anything; you just want to gloat."

Well.

She's not entirely wrong.

Though Len still feels obscurely guilty about how much time he's spending on Allen instead of his usual work, even though the DAs have suggested that they’re appreciating the break.

Or maybe the guilt comes from the fact that he still hasn't figured out exactly how, or why, Allen faked the coma business, and how that ties in with whatever STAR Labs is up to with the Flash - a question that will only be answered either by Allen himself, or with the arrest of the Flash.

Both, ideally.

(No, Len does not have daydreams of presenting the Flash handcuffed to Allen on a silver platter. Really. At all. That would be unprofessional and unproductive, and anyway he probably won't be the one making the arrest if everything goes well; that honor would be going to Detective Thawne, him being an actual detective and all.)

He really hopes Allen is clean – well, clean of everything but a bit of insurance fraud, but insurance fraud in the pursuit of his mother’s murderer; surely that’s somewhat more understandable, right?

Mick would understand that.

Len thinks Mick would like Allen.

He confessed the whole thing to Mick during his visit the day before: how wonderfully their dinner (date) had gone, how they'd connected and talked and kept talking, how Len's infatuation was moving from a mostly physical attraction and a slight appreciation for Allen's niceness towards something far more dangerous...how he was worried that he would let his feelings interfere with his investigation.

How he knows they already have.

They have been from the start, when he began investigating Allen as much because of Mick as anything else, and they are now, with his fondness for Allen leading him to want to find a result that will exonerate him.

Yes, the Flash theory makes sense, but it isn’t the only possibility. After all, Allen could still be an accomplice.

He could still be corrupt.

God, Len wishes he knew what STAR Labs was up to.

He just can’t figure out what the Flash's deal is.

The guy claimed that he isn't seeking glory, and despite himself Len thinks he believes him, so it’s not about that. Nor does the Flash seem motivated by revenge, the way the Hood/Arrow's vendetta against crime had obviously been at the start. And it certainly isn't some idiot joyriding around on some new technology, either.

Len would be willing to give the Flash the benefit of the doubt and say that the whole thing really is stemming from an overdeveloped sense of public duty, but every time he considers it, he thinks about Allen, and more than Allen, he thinks about all those damn disappearances.

Far too many people seem to disappear without a trace after an encounter with the Flash, or at the very least streaks of lightning that suggest his presence.

The latest disappearance: LaShawna Baez, an ex-medical student that'd gotten tangled up with a bad boyfriend with Family ties.

Of course, they all suspected the boyfriend was responsible when he'd gotten caught, but when questioned, he swore that he'd left her behind to be captured by the cops or the Flash when their little Bonny-and-Clyde streak of robberies went off the rails.

Heh.

Streak of robberies...

Either way, another disappearance like that, right around yet another Flash sighting? Not good. After all, at most, Baez would have been guilty of grand robbery without any aggravating factors, like use of arms or felony manslaughter, and that sort of crime doesn't come with a death sentence. If the Flash killed her, then there can be no doubt that he is perverting the legal system in the worst of ways.

And if he isn't killing them, then where are they?

A mystery.

Unlike many people, Len didn't become a cop because he likes solving mysteries. He became a cop because he wants to see justice done. Mysteries are nothing but an impediment to that goal.

Len's phone buzzes again.

Not Allen, though; it's a text from...Danvers?

It reads: "Where are you taking him?"

"Very funny," Len tells her, looking up and rolling his eyes at her.

"Hey, since it seems like you're only accepting messages by phone today, I figured I'd follow protocol," Danvers says, laughing and putting down her own phone. "But seriously, where are you going? Not somewhere outside, I hope; the forecast is for intermittent bursts of rain."

"No, not outside. He's picked a restaurant downtown," Len says. "Hole-in-the-wall in an iffy area, but supposedly the best pasta you can find in the city."

"Better than Antonio's?"

"Doubtful -" No one's pasta is better than what the seemingly immortal Antonio served up in his eponymous restaurant, and Len's not just saying that because he more or less survived his pre-teen years on Antonio's willingness to trade extra bowls of pasta for help washing up the tables that Len suspects he didn't really need. "- but it's always worth a try."

"Have fun," Danvers says. "Though - if it's an iffy part of the city -"

"I'm not wearing the mask on a date, Danvers," Len says sternly. "No. Just - no."

"Fine," she says, pouting. "But you take two phones and an emergency alert, got it?"

"Danvers -"

"No, boss. This is non-negotiable. You're still basically number one on the Family hit list. Just because they've left off a bit now that you're doing internal affairs in the middle of a police station most of the time doesn't mean that they'll hesitate to shoot you if they see you on their turf."

"I'll be careful," Len promises.

Danvers doesn't look entirely appeased, but it's the best she's going to get, so she takes it.

Len kills the next few hours with a combination of texting with Allen and finishing up the paperwork to get warrants on the next batch of cops under suspicion.

He's a little worried that all that texting means that they won't have anything to talk about during dinner, but that fear turns out to be totally misplaced: the conversation flows as easily as the endless refills of soda that Allen keeps draining in his infectious excitement.

(The pasta's no Antonio's, but the breadsticks are definitely out of this world. He'll have to tell Danvers.)

Len's not even sure what they talked about: everything and anything, from the deplorable state of politics in Central to the perils of paperwork, the need to improve infrastructure in the slums without it resulting in gentrification and the eviction of the current residents, to the trials and tribulations inherent in finding just the right present for their respective siblings/best friends.

They're both laughing over some dumb joke Len made - some unnecessarily complicated and definitely not-actually-that-funny thing about the Central City Combines and the Transformers cartoon/toy series - when they leave to go home, with Allen laughing so hard that he needs to lean a hand against Len's shoulder to steady himself and Len wiping tears of amusement out of his eyes.

That's probably why he doesn't see the guy sliding out of the darkness to cut off the exit to the alleyway that's the only way in or out of the restaurant.

He definitely hears it when the guy snarls, "Put your hands up and no one'll get hurt," though.

They both stop laughing at once and turn to look at the mugger.

He's of average height and build, dressed in baggy clothing of assorted colors that have faded through over-use. He seems moderately well-put together, though, despite the stringy brown hair that seems to be trying to form white-man's-dreadlocks - which is to say, knots.

He's holding a switchblade on them.

It's not even a gun.

"Seriously?" Allen says. "Seriously? You just – to – right in the middle of – jeez, some people just have no luck."

Len couldn't agree more. What sort of unfortunate luck must a mugger have to pick not one but two CCPD employees, a cop and a CSI, to try to rob?

Of course, Allen doesn't know what Len does, and Len doesn't want it to come out this way - then he'd have to confess to the yet-unfinished investigation, because there's no way that he works at the same precinct and doesn't know about Allen.

If anything, that restriction cripples him more than his current need to use a crutch.

"I mean it!" the mugger insists. "Now!"

"If you need money, there's a cardboard brigade outpost not far from here," Len tells him. "I can point it out to you if you're not familiar. But robbery's only going to get you thrown in jail."

"Seriously," Allen says again, this time in emphatic agreement. He's shifting from foot to foot, looking as though he's torn between options of what to do - Len can't blame him; a middle-class kid like Allen's probably only been mugged once or twice in his life. He's probably debating whether fight, flight, or concession makes the most sense.

Not unlike Len, who, despite many years of experience on the wrong side of muggings, needs to decide if it's worth discarding his disguise and revealing his secret to get them both out of this.

The mugger's eyes fix on Len and abruptly narrow. "Hey," he says. "Don't I..."

And then he grins.

Len doesn't like that grin, nasty and cruel and planning nothing good for anyone.

"Oh hell no," Allen yelps as the mugger, without any other warning, suddenly lunges forward, knife extended, straight at the two of them.

A second later, the knife clatters to the ground - Allen must have swatted it out of the mugger's hand at remarkable speed - followed very quickly by the mugger himself, because Len balanced on his good foot and used the crutch in his other hand to bash the mugger right over the head, knocking him out.

They both look at each other.

And burst out laughing.

"My hero," Allen chokes out.

"You're the one who went for the knife," Len reminds him, sniggering. "Right back at you."

"Oh, sure, I went for the knife, yeah, but you broke out the crutch-foo -"

"Hey, a man's gotta know to defend himself! It's a hard world out there!"

"What the hell's going on here?" a voice bellows from behind them.

They turn, still laughing; it's the maître d' from the restaurant.

"Sorry," Allen manages to get out between hoots of laughter. "This guy tried to mug us -"

The maître d' glances down at the unconscious mugger. "Oh, great, him again," he says with annoyance. "All right, get out of here, both of you; I'll call it in to the cops."

He probably won't, if he knows the mugger personally, or at least he'll give the mugger a chance to wake up and flee the scene first, but whatever; Len's on a date he doesn't want to disrupt, and he never much liked arresting poor people even when they clearly deserved it.

He glances at Allen, who nods and thanks the maître d', and with that they both leave the alleyway behind.

"Well, that was a terrible ending to a pretty good dinner,” Allen remarks.

"It wasn't that bad," Len says. A bit of unexpected excitement goes a long way to making even the dullest dinner interesting, in his view, and this was far from the dullest of dinners.

"I don't know," Allen says ruefully. "I take you to a restaurant I like in a sketchy part of town and then, for the first time ever in my experience coming to this place, someone tries to mug and then kill us? I don't see how it could possibly be worse."

The second he says that, there's a roll of thunder.

No. It can't be. The world does not love anyone enough to give them such perfect timing.

It is.

The skies open up above them, rain sheeting down in one of Central City's infamously abrupt downpours.

Len's heart is going to explode out of sheer what-wonderful-timing glee.

"You had to say it," he tells Allen, beaming.

"I had to say it," Allen agrees, starting to laugh again.

Allen - Barry - looks so happy, standing there with the rain sheeting down on him, soaking his clothing and plastering his hair to his skull in what really ought to be an unattractive wet-dog look but really isn't, that Len finds himself taking that extra step forward and pressing their lips together.

A second later, he abruptly remembers himself - and his investigation! - and pulls away. "I'm sorry," he says. "I should have asked - we said this was just about getting to know each other -"

Allen reaches out and pulls Len back into the kiss by his jacket lapels.

Oh, Len really shouldn't. He really, really shouldn't.

But he's happy, damnit, and it's been so long since he's been happy, really truly unabashedly happy - not just with a possible romantic partner, that's been forever and a half, but with anyone at all, months and months -

God, Len is so screwed.

He leans into the kiss, reaching up to grab Allen by the shoulders to pull him in -

His side gives a sharp, sudden stab of agony as his crutch falls to the ground.

"Oh, man, I'm so sorry!" Allen exclaims, breaking away, taking care to steady Len on his feet before squatting down to pick up the crutch again. "Man, I should've been thinking -"

"If you were thinking, we were both doing something wrong," Len says dryly, trying to recover himself while also clutching at his side a bit. He's familiar with pain, has a great pain tolerance, but even he gets tripped up by it sometimes.

Allen smiles at him as he hands over the crutch. "Yeah," he says. "I - don't think we were. I mean. If you don't."

Len's still hurting - joy and love making pain go away is the stuff of fairytales and romance novels - but he does end up smiling helplessly back. "No," he says. "Though maybe -"

"We go slow?" Allen suggests.

Len nods.

"That works for me," Allen says. "Like, really. I've got some stuff I need to work through - stuff I want to work through. I - I like you. A lot. And I'd like this to work out. But for that to happen, I need to get over some stuff. So, uh, yeah. If slow works for you, slow works for me."

"Slow works," Len agrees, smiling. "I've got some stuff on my plate, too -" That stupid investigation, for one. God, he wishes he could just get over himself and decide that Allen is innocent, but that's just not his way. Not until he's proved what happened. "- so, yeah. Slow works great."

Allen laughs. "This is kind of ironic in ways you don't even know about yet, but you will," he says, a promise dancing in his eyes. "And, uh, yeah. Good. I'm glad we're on the same page. Want me to catch you a cab?"

Len manages, through valiant effort, to keep them to a single kiss good-night before he gets into the cab and goes home in an utterly fantastic mood.

He'd say that it's the sort of mood that can't be brought down, but that would be a lie, because limping into his supposedly secure apartment and finding Charlie standing there browsing the cookbook section of his bookcase does the trick pretty well.

"What the hell do you want," Len says flatly.

"That's not nice," Charlie says peaceably, continuing to browse. "You should be nicer."

Len rolls his eyes. Charlie is an old - is friend the right word when you can't stand someone but put up with them anyway out of long-standing habit? Probably not.

An old contact? That works.

Len has known Charlie since they were both in juvie together. He was mildly unsettling back then; he's positively creepy now.

It's the way you're distinctly aware of those priors for cannibalism (technically, disgracing a corpse) and possible kidnapping the entire time you're around him, even if you don't actually know about them.

Still, while, despite that fact, Len generally considers Charlie to be harmless - he's usually willing to accept a firm 'no', bizarrely enough - that doesn't mean he wants Charlie appearing in his apartment.

Len sleeps here.

"Who let you in?" Len asks.

"Your house-cleaner," Charlie says promptly. "She remembered me from last time."

Len's going to have to have a word with her.

"And why are you here?" Len prompts, since Charlie seems to be getting distracted with a book on large-scale barbecuing that Len'd gotten for Mick as a present one year.

"I was wondering if anyone had tried to kill you yet," Charlie replies.

Len stares at him.

Charlie blinks back. "Hasn't anyone told you about the new bounty on your head?"

"No, Charlie," Len says, keep his voice mild and controlled. "You're one of my contacts, remember? You're supposed to tell me about these things - I don't know them if you don't tell me them."

"Oh. Right. Well, they only put it up a day or two ago. Hasn't anyone tried to kill you yet?"

"No, I don't keep a regular schedule, which makes it harder to -" Len pauses.

That's his usual answer, but it's not true, is it? Someone did try to kill him.

Sure, a random probably-high mugger acting on impulse, not a Family assassin, but now that Len considers it, the guy had stared at Len, recognizing him, before escalating from a mugging to attempted murder.

If there's a bounty on his head, with a picture attached, that would explain the recognition.

"A Family bounty?" Len asks.

"Of course," Charlie says. "They really do hate you, you know."

"I do know," Len says. That doesn't mean he's not puzzled, though. "Still, recognizing my face...I thought they'd put the bounty on the backburner for a while? On account of them not wanting to start an outright war with law enforcement?"

Charlie shrugs. "It's back on. Or, well, it was never off, but notice of it was redistributed. I heard a rumor that you crossed one of their assassins and they made a request."

Assassins? Len hasn't been allowed anywhere near anything Family related, much less one of their trained killers.

Maybe one of the corrupt cops he'd taken down?

But the only one in the last week or two was Cichowski. That seems highly unlikely.

Besides -

"Why wouldn't an assassin just take me down themselves?" Len asks, a little skeptical. "Seems the most straightforward approach."

Charlie shrugs again. "Laziness, vanity, doesn't want his name associated with it - who knows? Could be plenty of reasons."

Point well taken.

“How good a rumor is it, that it's one of the Family assassins' behind it?” Len asks. "Rather than one or another of the Family's brass getting a bee in their bonnet for some reason or another?"

“Just a rumor.”

That’s not worth much.

“Let me know if there’s anything more in that?” Len asks.

“Of course,” Charlie says. “I’ll ask around. But you should be careful.”

Len's lips twitch. "No one gets to kill and eat me but you?"

"If I kill you, I'm going to eat you, yes," Charlie says, as mildly and peaceably as ever. "Same thing if I find your body in a well-preserved state. But you're my friend: there's no reason for me to want you to go before your time."

That's almost heartwarming, if you ignore the kill-and-eat part. And possibly the "before your time" part; Len's going to have to check that Charlie hasn't hatched another plan to kidnap, murder, and devour him again, especially now that he doesn’t have Mick to keep an eye out about it for him.

It's a good thing Charlie's plans are invariably crap.

"Well?" Charlie says expectantly.

"I'll be careful," Len promises. "Now get the hell out of my apartment."

Charlie does, taking with him one of the cookbooks - not the barbeque one, which he knows is off limits, but one of the how-to-make-macrons ones, which, uh, what?

"That's not nearly as funny as you think it is, boss," Danvers informs him the next morning, when he tells her the story. "Can we get back to the part where your life is in danger?"

"It's just a bounty," Len objects. "There's technically been one on my head this entire time."

"Yes, but you haven't had random muggers escalating to attempted murder the second they recognize your face!"

Oh, boy. Danvers is breaking out the increased emphasis.

"It wasn't a serious attempt -"

"Boss!"

"I'll keep wearing the mask when I go out on Flash business, okay?" Len says. "I promise."

Danvers crosses her arms and glares.

Len swears he can feel the hair on his arms start scorching.

Time to use his trump card.

"I also promise that I'll stick to Jitters and other well-lit areas for any more dates with Allen," he offers.

Danvers keeps glaring for an extra second to make sure he knows that she's only going to fall for his bait because she wants to, not because he tricked her, and then she grins. "You're going to have more dates?"

"We are," Len confirms, unable to keep himself from smiling back. "Going slow, though - he's getting over somebody, and I need to finish the Flash investigation first."

"If you get the Flash, then Allen can stop doing all the suspicious things he's doing," Danvers agrees. "And you can scratch the whole thing off as well-meant but misguided over-enthusiasm."

"Well, not the whole thing," Len demurs. "I'm still going to make him deal with the insurance fraud aspect of it all. But yes, if he's not corrupt, that makes things much easier. But remember -"

"Yes, yes, I know, people on your list are guilty until proven innocent."

"No," Len says, rolling his eyes. "Just Occam's razor: corruption is unfortunately still the more reasonable explanation. Do you really want me getting in deep with someone with an asterisk by his name?"

Danvers softens. "Yeah, okay," she says. "You sure it isn't too late for that?"

"I'm infatuated, not in love," Len says. "If we find out that he's no good, I'll live."

He'll be disappointed, sure, even maybe a little heartbroken, but whatever.

"What's on the agenda today?" he asks, changing the subject. His resolution to practice talking about his feelings with Danvers so that he doesn't choke up when apologizing to Mick after he wakes up (if he wakes up) aside, he still doesn't enjoy it. Give him work to do instead any day.

That pesky work ethic is probably why he was Central City's most successful freelance thief for over a dozen years running, possibly more, depending on how you count these things.

"Let me check," Danvers says, sliding back over to her computer. "Looks like a pretty light day - you've got some meetings in the afternoon with the DAs to walk them through some of your evidence again so that they don't get cold feet about bagging a cop, again -"

"In an election year, with only a short while to go before the primary? They ought to be happy that I'm giving them so much law-and-order cleaning-up-the-system cred."

"I'm not the one you need to convince of that," Danvers says dryly. "Anyway, that left this morning pretty open, so I took the liberty of arranging an informal powwow on behalf of the Anti-Flash Task Group -"

"It's not actually called that, you know."

Danvers rolls her eyes at him.

"That sounds great," Len adds. Some solid investigative work sounds right up his alley right now. "They're coming here?"

"Detective Thawne and Miss West, yes," Danvers confirms. "I figured you didn't want every street cop who's potentially on the task force personnel list."

"Definitely not." Len pushes himself back from his chair and up to a standing (well, leaning) position. "I'm going to practice some PT in my office; let me know when they get here."

The joys of healing.

Thawne and Iris - she'd insisted, by virtue of refusing to answer to anything else, and anyway he needs to distinguish her from the other, less amiable West that stalks the precinct with a grim scowl like he thinks that alone would drive Len away - arrive an hour later, when Len's finished and already put his leg up to rest while he grimly drains a green smoothie designed to feed him nutrients he needs.

He hates green smoothies.

All those vegetables –

(They don’t taste like the ones Mick made him eat at all. He wonders if Allen likes veggies...)

"Hey, sorry, are we late?" Iris asks, looking around the mostly deserted conference room that doubles as Len's part of the precinct. "Or, uh, early?"

"Right on time," Danvers chirps. "Please, have a seat anywhere you like; as you can see, we've got the space but not the personnel. Captain Snart will be out of his office momentarily."

Len's mostly glad about the excuse to toss the smoothie.

Danvers glares at him when he comes out to the main room - she always knows when he's thrown away his smoothie, it's uncanny; he swears she can see through walls - but he ignores her and hobbles over to greet his guests.

Teammates?

Whatever.

"I look forward to working with you, Detective Thawne," Len says, sticking his hand out. "I've heard good things."

Thawne looks surprised.

"Eddie!" Iris hisses, elbowing him in the side.

He abruptly remembers himself and belated reaches out to shake Len's hand.

"Don't worry, I get it," Len says dryly. "The fire-breathing gorgon with snake for hair's a lot less intimidating in person, yeah?"

Thawne flushes a bit, but smiles ruefully. "I think ice breath is the more common story."

"Ice? How would that even work - am I breathing it out in solid form?" Len asks, amused. "Or is it more like sneezing snowflakes?"

"Probably more like an artic wind gust, using the Joule-Thompson effect," Danvers volunteers. "Compressed air through a small opening drops the temperature significantly; that, in combination with saliva acting as a freezing agent, would lower the temperature of the exhale to such a negative degree that anything that's hit by it gets iced over."

They look at her.

She blushes. "I mean," she says. "If he had freeze breath."

"No, I like that," Len says. "That would actually be really cool."

Danvers, far too used to him, groans.

"Was that a pun?" Iris says, starting to grin. "Captain Cold makes cold puns?"

"Captain Cold makes all puns," Danvers says.

"This is a non-discriminatory office," Len agrees.

Thawne snorts, and Len can see him finally starting to relax. "Glad to hear that," Thawne says. "Sorry about my reaction. I'm actually really looking forward to working on this task force; it's my first time leading an investigation without a senior partner."

"Isn't Captain Snart your senior partner?" Iris asks.

"No, I'm his boss," Len says. "That's different. Still, glad you’re thinking that way, Thawne; I'm hoping that you'll be able to take a lot of solo lead on this investigation." He nods at his crutch. "I'm ain't exactly my old mobile self these days."

"Not to mention on a Family hit list," Danvers pointedly mutters to no one in particular.

"A Family hit list?" Iris asks, sounding interested. "Really?"

"I used to do undercover work," Len tells her, a little charmed by how impressed she looks by it. Undercover work didn't allow for much bragging, for obvious reasons. Besides, even if he’d had someone to brag about it to, he'd been too angry to really get any joy out of it before now. "The Families don't appreciate that much."

"That's pretty awesome," Iris says. "What did you do when you were undercover, if I'm allowed to ask?"

"Oh, don't ask him that," Danvers says before Len can reply. "He'll be showing off his pickpocketing skills for days; it's unbearable."

She's grinning, though, and Iris grins back. "I don't know," she says. "That sounds like it could be interesting."

"Could be," Len says, and hands her back her wristwatch to an exclamation of delight. "But we should probably focus on the Flash."

Iris straps her watch back on, grinning even more now. "Yeah, probably. We're still agreed on not treating him like a criminal, right?"

"No, we're agreed that we're withholding judgment pending further investigation," Len corrects. "But yes, innocent until proven guilty's still a thing, if that's what you're asking. I won't hold anything wrong he's done against him until I prove he's done it."

"What's he done to make you think he's done something wrong at all?" Iris challenges.

"Other than being an unauthorized vigilante and however many counts of assault on purported 'criminals' - yes, purported, they're innocent till proven guilty, too - you mean? The disappearances."

Iris blinks. "Disappearances? What disappearances?"

"Serial disappearances," Danvers clarifies. "I've been logging strange events in Central City, and a number of them can be correlated with your map of Flash activity."

"That doesn't mean the Flash is behind them," Iris objects.

"He could be trying to solve them," Thawne suggests, though he looks more dubious than Iris.

"Not exactly his job," Len reminds them. "But that's what we're here to figure out. If the Flash really is a do-gooder, and not involved in these disappearances, then we can see about getting him some legal backing - a badge, and the ethics course that accompanies wearing that badge."

"Ethics?" Iris asks dryly, arching her eyebrows in mock surprise. "In Central?"

"Yes," Thawne says, and unlike Iris he's utterly serious. "Just because lots of people don't have any doesn't mean we shouldn't be aiming to do better."

"You sound like a politico before their first reelection campaign," Len says. "But as it happens, I agree. I love this city, dirt and all, but just because it's always been dirty before ain't no reason to tolerate it. Corruption's the root of all the problems we've got, and it starts with people thinking ethics are optional because this is Central. It might be Central, but you gotta put your money where your mouth is when it comes to ethics or else what’s the point?"

Iris nods, while Thawne looks thoughtful. "You really mean what you say, don’t you?" he says. "It’s not a grudge or anything – you're really trying to clean up the city."

"One traitorous cop at a time," Len agrees, even though it’s not entirely correct: he’s one hundred percent fulfilling a grudge, but there’s no reason he can’t clean up the city at the same time. "Well, assuming the Families - or the cops - don't shoot me first."

“Oh, no,” Iris says. “You’re not allowed to get shot before I get to the bottom of these disappearances and prove you wrong about the Flash.”

Len smirks.

Sounds good to him.

#coldflash #leonard snart #barry allen #kara danvers #iris west #eddie thawne #my fic #an internal affair

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holycafe · 5 years

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Coldflash Week Fall 2019: Len’s Oculus Powers. AKA the Bad Wolf AU

Yet another fic idea that I’ve been meaning to write for years. If you feel inspired then, by all means, feel free to write it out! Just please give me credit for the idea (or, at the very least, credit Dr Who since this is based on Rose Tyler as Bad Wolf). PS, please forgive me my shoddy editing skills. I was in a bit of a rush.

(I have a lot of edits and fics for this ship as well as destiel, sterek, etc. My masterposts can be found here. If you’re on a desktop site then you can just jump on over to my page to view the rest of my coldflash edits.)

“What can we do?” Mick asked, and Rip shook his head.

“Nothing. The human body isn’t designed to absorb all the information of the timestream.”

“So, that’s it, then?” Sara asked, indignant. “Leonard’s going to just die again? We’ve only just got him back!”

“What about a speedster?” Barry asked, and all eyes turned to him. “I have the speed force running through me, how much different could this be?” He asked. “Is there any way for me to, I don’t know, absorb it from him?”

“It’s… possible,” Rip said after a momentary pause. “Though, speedster or not, you are still human. It may not be any safer for you than it is for Mr Snart.”

“It’s not worth it, Bear,” Joe was saying instantly. But Barry shook his head; he had to try.

So, that was how, ten minutes later, Barry found himself standing in front of Leonard Snart. Leonard’s eyes were glowing an unearthly blue as they tracked Barry’s movement. He was silent and emotionless. Though, not the put-upon mask that he often wore to keep people at bay. His face was just… blank. Barry wondered, not for the first time, if Snart was even in there or not.

“It’s okay, Leonard,” Barry said softly, stepping up to Snart until they were only a mere foot apart. He cast a look back over his shoulder at his friends, feeling nervous about what he had to do.

When he looked back to Snart, the older man was still just standing there silently. And, Barry didn’t know whether that made things easier or more difficult. Because, according to Rip, there was only one sure-fire way for Barry to absorb the remnants of the timestream which clung on in Snart’s body, and that was through open connect. Specifically, a kiss.

“I’m going to make it all okay. Just… don’t punch me, alright?” He laughed humourlessly. Then, before he could overthink this, Barry took that last step and crashed their lips together. For a moment, nothing happened. And then everything happened.

Barry saw it all. Every moment that ever was, every moment that ever would be, everything that could be, and everything that had never come to pass. He saw it all. It was like running through the speed force, except it was a million times bigger and in a fraction of the time. He saw hatred, war, peace, love. So much love.

He saw Iris, Felicity, Caitlin, Cisco, Joe, Leonard… no, Len. He preferred Len. Barry could see it now, everything that Len had been through, everything that had ever happened which had made Len who he was. The good and the bad. And there was a lot of bad. So much that Barry wanted to hold him tight and never let him go again.

And, oddly enough, Barry saw this moment. It was like an out-of-body experience, watching himself kiss Leonard Snart in the middle of the lab and with all of his friends watching. It started innocent enough, a quick peck, but then Len lifted his hands to cup Barry’s jaw, and it deepened. Barry could feel Len’s rough hands against the skin of his cheek, and he watched the scene play out as though he was watching it on TV rather than being an active participant. He felt his tongue slip inside Len’s mouth, though he didn’t remember making the conscious thought to do so.

A second passed, and then Sara let out a rowdy hoot behind them, and Mick began laughing so hard that he nearly fell to the floor, Joe started face palming and shaking his head, while pretty much everyone else just uncomfortably averted their gaze. Barry realised he probably should have been embarrassed, but he was so caught up in everything – in Len, in them, in memories and futures, in life itself – that he just didn’t feel it.

But soon it became overpowering.

Barry’s head began to buzz painfully, his eyes hurt as though he was straining to see everything, his mouth began to feel numb. He stumbled back from the kiss, and the second that the connection between himself and Len broke, Len’s body slumped, and he fell to the floor. Barry tried to catch him, but his vision was swimming now, and his limbs felt heavy. He heard someone shout his name behind him. He heard it echo through his head as it happened again and again and again in countless timelines.

And then everything went black.

When Barry came to again, a few days had passed. He was lying in a make-shift hospital bed in one of the smaller labs at STAR, and both Cisco and Caitlin were hovering around him expectantly and asking him relentless questions. At first, Barry didn’t really remember what had happened. But soon, it all came flooding back to him. Well, not all of it. He struggled to remember most of what he’d seen while connected to the timestream, which had apparently faded from his body due to his accelerated healing factor. But, the memory of Len’s tongue dancing against his own was all too real.

“Where’s, erm…” Len. Just thinking his name made Barry’s heart beat a little faster and he was forever glad that Cait had already unhooked him from the heart rate monitor.

“Your boyfriend’s over there,” Cisco joked, and Barry blushed. He was about to stutter out some sort of excuse when he glanced over to where Cisco had been pointing and found Len lying in a hospital bed identical to Barry’s, connected to an IV drip and various machines.

The words died on Barry’s tongue as he abruptly stood up and flashed over to Len’s side without really thinking about it. His reaction must have been a surprise to Cisco because the other man’s smile was already dropping from his lips.

“Is he okay?” Barry asked, and Caitlin nodded.

“He’s not deteriorating anymore. He’s actually been healing. On a cellular level, he’s fine,” she said.

“But?” Barry asked, seeing the hesitation on her face.

“But… we don’t know how long he’s going to be out for. Or, if he ever will wake up.”

Barry shook his head. He didn’t go through all of that just for Len to get stuck in a coma for the rest of his life. Barry couldn’t accept that. He wouldn’t.

Barry didn’t know whether it would work, but he’d done it once before with Jesse. He reached forward, his fingers crackling with electricity, and he took Len’s hand in his own. The second their skin made contact, Len was gasping and bolting upright in his bed. Wordlessly, Len looked at Barry, his blue eyes lacking the unnatural glow they’d had before, as Caitlin scrambled forward to check him over.

Barry tried to take his hand back and give his friend more room to work, but Len grabbed him tighter and refused to let go. Barry let out a shaky laugh and smiled as he took in the unfiltered emotions covering Len’s face. He looked as though he was in absolute awe of Barry, and it made Barry blush.

“Well, if it isn’t my Scarlet Speedster,” Len said, his voice sounded dry from disuse, but it made Barry’s heart flutter all the same. “You owe me a real kiss.”

“Please don’t,” Cisco muttered. “I’ve seen enough of that particular show for one week.”

“Then look away,” Len drawled, tugging sharply on Barry’s hand until he stumbled forwards and into Len’s arms. Barry was smiling as their lips met. He couldn’t help it. It was a messy kiss, and there was a little bit too much teeth involved, but neither Len nor Barry could care about that.

As far as Barry was concerned, it was perfect because it was with Len.

#cffall19 #coldflash #len x barry #lenarry #Leonard Snart #Barry Allen #dc #my aus #pieprincesswritescoldflash #pieprincesswritesdc #pieprincesswritesfics

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moriavis · 6 years

Text

I learned that it’s @sproutwings, birthday (a little past at this point, her time) but. You know. Have a fic.

Title: love comes and finds a heart entangled Rating: G Also on AO3.

~*~

Leonard stared down at his cell phone and reached for the glass of whiskey in front of him, downing it in one go. He raised his glass to Lucille, and then put the glass on the bar, bottom up. "Hit me, barkeep."

His cell phone vibrated again. BA. Five missed texts.

Lucille slid another whiskey his way and clucked her tongue. "I don't usually stick my nose in your business, Snart--"

"But?"

"But it's not like you to sulk in your drink."

Leonard snorted and picked his whiskey up. "Telling me to go home and face the music? I am worrying you."

Lucille rolled her eyes. "Hey, you wanna keep throwing your money my way, be my guest."

Leonard finished his glass, but didn't bother asking for another. When Lucille stuck her nose into your business, that meant you were in the dumps. He sighed and turned on his stool, flipping open his burner phone and pulling up Barry's messages.

I'm home! If you're not back soon, I swear I'm starting the new Star Trek without you Please tell me you didn't get shot by the mob or something. Are you still upset? Will I see you tomorrow?

Leonard rubbed his hand over his face and responded without giving himself time to think about it. I'm coming home. The :D he got seconds later didn't make him feel any better. He set a fifty down on the counter for Lucille and headed out to his bike, trying to gauge whether he was safe to drive or not. The cool air steadied him, so he put on his helmet--it was definitely a stupid idea, but he was going to do it anyway.

He'd dropped off his Captain Cold gear at one of his safe houses before he went to the bar, so he headed straight home, carefully and consciously paying attention to the signs and the street lights. He got to the apartment safely, and he idled a moment before he took a deep breath and turned off the engine.

The television was on when Leonard opened the door, and he could see the light flickering from the screen, the low rumbling of voices that were too soft to catch. Barry was tucked against the corner of the sofa, the throw blanket pulled over his legs, and the tense ball of anxiety that had taken residence in Leonard's chest started to relax. He put his jacket on the coat rack and walked up to the couch, pressing a kiss to the top of Barry's head.

"I didn't think you were coming home tonight," Barry said, and then he paused, snagging Leonard's sleeve before he got out of range. "Have you been drinking?"

"Yeah." Leonard pulled away. "I'm gonna take a shower. Go to bed."

"Not yet, you're not." Barry turned off the television and turned on the lamp on the side table, making Leonard blink in the sudden light. He patted the spot next to him. "Come here." Leonard gritted his teeth, but sat next to Barry, his fingers itching to touch, to have concrete proof that Barry was okay. Barry didn't share his hesitation, reaching out and squeezing Leonard's hand.

"Babe, relax. It was an accident. I don't blame you."

"You should." Leonard was sharper than he intended to be, and he closed his eyes, taking a slow, deep breath. When he was back under control, he gestured at Barry's abdomen. "Can I see?"

Barry nodded and tugged up his sweatshirt. There, like an accusation, Leonard saw Barry's side blackened with frostbite, the edges of the damage peeking out from the bandages that hid the worst of it, protecting Barry from infection until the Speed Force did its job. Leonard had to admit it looked better now than it had back in the labs. That wasn't as reassuring as it should have been.

Barry dropped the edge of his shirt and grabbed Leonard's hand, raising it to his lips for a kiss. "There. I'll be good as new tomorrow."

Leonard continued to look at Barry's side, even though he couldn't see the frostbite anymore. "I hurt you," he said after a moment's struggle. "And I don't know why you're still here."

"Okay." Barry took a deep breath. "All right, I'm gonna nip this in the bud." He pushed aside his blanket and crawled over to Leonard, straddling his lap and draping his arms over Leonard's shoulders. "You didn't abuse me," Barry said, firm and calm. He used his leverage to keep Leonard looking at him. "We were playing a game, just like we always do. I'm the one who slipped and fell when you were shooting."

"That doesn't--"

"No. You get to talk after. No interrupting me, remember?" Barry waited until Leonard nodded and slid his hands up Barry's thighs, needing the contact. Intellectually, Leonard knew that Barry would be fine, but he never really settled until he felt for himself that Barry was warm and alive. That he hadn't taken things too far after all.

Barry must have been satisfied, because he continued. "You always telegraph where you're going to shoot, Len. If I get hit, it's not because you planned it. I'm not going to let you beat yourself up about it when there's other, more important things to talk about."

Leonard looked up at Barry, a narrow, sharp expression that hid his growing concern. "There's something more important than me shooting you with the cold gun?"

"Yeah." The way Barry nodded left no room for argument, his eyes dark and serious. "Like how I got shot, and my boyfriend didn't come home to spoil me and make me feel better. Instead, he decided to go drinking, and then he drove himself home on his motorcycle when he could have just called for a ride."

Leonard ducked his head, his emotions so muddled he wasn't even quite sure what to feel. Barry was right to call him out on his carelessness, damn it, and his unhappiness retreated beneath the wave of affection and embarrassment. "You're right."

"What was that? I think I need a repeat."

Leonard snorted and looked up at Barry, searching his face. He reached up to cradle Barry's cheek, and Barry turned into the touch. "Are you sure you're all right?"

Barry nodded. "I wouldn't lie about it. And I don't think Caitlin would've let me out if I weren't going to be okay on my own."

Leonard nodded, loving him so intensely he wasn't entirely sure what to do with the force of his emotion. "Well." He cleared his throat. "You're still cold." He patted Barry's thigh. "I'll get you some extra blankets."

"And hot chocolate?"

"With marshmallows," Leonard agreed. "No other way."

Barry leaned down to kiss him and then slid off his lap. "I'm glad you're home."

"Me, too." Leonard smiled, there and gone again, and went into the kitchen to make hot chocolate.

He realized his hands were shaking when he took Barry's mug from the cupboard, and he set it carefully on the counter before he closed his eyes, flattening his hands against the counter top. Barry was fine--he didn't even seem angry.

For now, it was okay.

Leonard took a deep breath and set his latest mistake to memory with all the others.

When Barry finally decided to leave, Leonard would remember all the things he'd done wrong. Barry would be justified.

"I want extra marshmallows!" Barry called from the living room, and Leonard nodded, pushing away from the counter to get milk from the fridge.

"Be quiet and let me spoil you, Barry!"

That moment was in the future.

For now, Leonard would take everything he could get, and it would be enough.

~*~

#my fic #coldflash

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blueelvewithwings · 6 years

Text

Coldflashwaveweek 2018 - Day 1 - In the Dark

Len wakes up and wonders why it is so dark even with his eyes open.

//Warnings for blindness and disability. It’s still a sweet drabble though.

When he opened his eyes, it was dark. He could tell he was lying in a bed, very likely his own, and that was strange. He never closed the blinds at night, and even if he did there would still be some light coming in. There was nothing over his eyes, either, he could feel it. It was just… completely dark.

There was a hand in his, he could feel, familiar thick fingers entwined with his own long and slender ones. He gave Mick‘s hand a squeeze and turned his head towards him, squinting as he tried to see. If only his head would not be hurting as much.

He could hear Mick shuffling beside him, as if he was turning towards him, and then his other hand was on his cheek, and his breath on his face, as if he was leaning very close.

„Len? Are you awake?“

His voice sounded concerned, and concerned was never a good sound on Mick. By now Len had figured out that something was obviously wrong, why else would he be lying in the dark, with his eyes open, and Mick holding his hand? Mick never held his hand. Or at least he pretended to never hold his hand.

„What happened?“ he asked, wincing a bit at the way his face started hurting when he spoke. Before he started speaking, Mick caressed the back of his hand, as if to soothe him, as if to brush his pain away.

„Cop got you in the face with a good punch. Knocked you right out. Hit your head pretty hard, falling face first on that table, and...“

Things were never good when Mick trailed off like that. He wasn‘t one for half measures, he‘d say things or he wouldn‘t even start in the first place.

Slowly, the previous events came back to him. Mick and him in a storage hall, the alarm going off, police. He remembered thinking of their first gig, and how that had gone tits up as well. Then cops, storming in, fists flying. Why they hadn‘t had their guns with him, he couldn‘t even recall at that moment. He must have hit his head pretty hard. And then a fist, flying towards him, ducking away, trying to twist, but another cop behind him, swinging his fist with a gun still in it, plastic and metal connecting harshly with his head. Pain exploding in his head, the table coming nearer, those precious little capsules that would release their acid upon being crushed on the tabletop. More pain on his face, his nose crunching, his eyes burning… then darkness.

„And?“ he prompted, hoping his voice sounded steadier than it sounded like inside his head.

„And the capsules worked.“

Blunt as that, just like he was, his beloved Mick. He nodded, squeezing Mick‘s hand again. It didn‘t need spelling out then, the rest. That things would never be like before. That he‘d be blind. That his face was likely covered in acid burns – or not, maybe it was mainly the eyes. He felt too numb to care, he didn‘t even feel pain anymore. Probably the shock. Or really good painkillers.

So this was to be it then. It made him sad to know that he‘d never see Mick again, or Barry.

Barry.

If Barry would even want him anymore. He wasn‘t really an asset to have then, anymore, blind, without use of his skills. Because what was a thief without his sight? How would he even be able to so much as point a gun at the correct spot, see if anyone was coming, drive a car… what did he have to offer to Barry if all he was was a crippled ex-criminal that couldn‘t so much as swipe Barry‘s pocket anymore to then go buy him a coffee from the money he just stole.

Mick would stay with him, he was sure of that. They had been through so much together. But Barry… what they had with Barry was still new, and Len… Len was never the sentimental type, but he had gotten attached to their speedster, and he didn‘t want to lose him.

„Where‘s Barry?“ he asked Mick, turning his head to give some semblance of looking at his partner, hoping it wouldn‘t make him cringe. Maybe Mick would prefer Len to not look at him… but then Mick had never minded battle scars.

„And where are we?“ After all, he thought, if that cop had knocked him out by all means he should be on his way to Iron Heights now. If not already there, tossed in a cell. Or maybe in the Hospital Wing first, if he was lucky. Chained to his bed, or something.

There were footsteps outside the room, suddenly – or at least they sounded like they were outside the room – but they stopped a little distance away. Maybe the doorway?

„You‘re in my house.“ A voice said, and Len knew that he knew that voice. Heard it before, plenty of times. But he couldn‘t place it straight away.

„Barry‘s house. Detective West‘s house“ Mick supplied, and Len tensed up. He knew that Barry hadn‘t told anyone yet, for fear of bad reactions, and he knew that his adoptive father would just love to see him in prison. Him and Mick both.

Mick was stroking the back of his hand again, as if to try and get him to relax, and Detective West cleared his throat.

„You know I‘d do anything for that kid, so… I vouched for you. For now. You‘ll stay here, no one comes after you, for now. Both of you.“ There was a pause, and Len could almost feel West‘s gaze on him.

„That being said. If I find something stolen from my house, you‘ll be on your way to Iron Heights posthaste. If you hurt my son, your eyes will not be the only thing you‘re missing. And I will not hesitate to take you apart.“

He didn‘t even wait for an answer, it seemed, but turned around straight away and walked away again. Just as well, because Len had no idea what he would have replied anyway. He had no intention of hurting Barry, and upsetting West would definitely hurt Barry, so stealing was out of the question as well. How could he even steal something if he couldn‘t see what it was anyway?

Mick sighed next to him and moved, gently pushing him over a bit. There was some jostling, and then the mattress next to him dipped with a heavy weight and Mick‘s arms came up around his waist. Len allowed himself a tiny smile and let his head roll on the side, resting on Mick‘s shoulder the way he always did when they were next to each other like this.

„Barry‘s bed“ Mick supplied after a while of silence. „Convinced West to let us stay here, since any hospital would‘ve turned you in. Snow‘s been looking after you.“

Another bit of silence, then „Barry‘s downstairs. Beating himself up ‘bout not being fast enough, catching you before you hit that table and all. Tried to talk him out of it but you know how he is.“ There was a deep sigh from Mick, and his head slumping to the side to rest against Len‘s.

„He‘s worried about you.“

So much like Mick, to say that, to not associate any feelings with himself. But he knew better, and Mick knew that he knew better, so it was okay. After all, the fact that Mick was here sitting vigil at his bed and not downstairs and trying to comfort Barry spoke volumes. He simply squeezed Mick‘s hand and leaned against him a bit more.

„That‘s our boy, always thinking it‘s his own fault“ he sighed, just as he heard another pair of footsteps coming towards them, these more light and very familiar. They, too stopped at what he supposed was the doorway, but then Barry continued on towards them, walking around to the other side of the bed. Len had never been in Barry‘s room before, but he supposed it must be a free standing bed, seeing as Barry could walk to the other side and sit down on the mattress.

„Len“ he whispered, and Len reached out for him, finding his hand encased in Barry‘s warm one and a kiss being dropped on the back of it.

„Joe told me you‘re awake.“

„It appears that I am“ he confirmed, only to elicit a wet sounding chuckle from Barry.

„Don‘t cry, Scarlet, you know you look much prettier when you laugh.“

You look much prettier when you laugh.

He would never again be able to see Barry laugh.

He turned his head away, wanting to hide his face in Mick‘s neck but also fearing encountering a world of pain after all if something were to touch his face. He could feel a sting somewhere behind his eyes, but he doubted he would actually be able to cry right now.

The mattress dipped on the other side of him as well, and then there was another set of arms around him and a face pressed against his neck as Barry sobbed into it.

He wanted to comfort him, but he didn‘t know how – he knew he was in shock, rationally, but he just feld numb and lost, really.

„Len, I‘m so sorry. I should-“

„Barry, no. This is not your fault, and you know it. It‘s not your fault. You are not responsible for this.“ He gently extracted his arm from where Barry had pinned it to the mattress and shuffled it up above his head only to wrap it around Barry in return.

„It‘s not the end of the world, you know. After all, I have the only two things that really matter right here with me.“

„And you will continue to have us.“ That was Mick‘s voice again, and he could feel both of his lovers‘ arms shifting on his stomach, likely to hold hands on top of it, like they did so often when Len was in the middle.

„Definitely. You‘re not getting rid of us this easily. We‘re here to stay, after all“ Barry told him, face still pressed against Len‘s neck, and Len could feel him smile.

It would be hell, but suddenly he was sure he would be able to adapt to his new life just fine after a while. He would just likely need to find another day job than robbing banks at night – but well, he could do that.

After all, as a kid he‘d always dreamed about being a mayor.

@coldflashwaveweeks

#coldflashwaveweeks #coldflashwave #Barry Allen #Leonard Snart #Mick Rory #blindness #in the dark #coldflashwaveweek2018

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