Bivolo looks at him and a monster –Barry tries to describe it, to contain it, but all he can see is red – takes him by the throat and pins him to a wall. He can feel the weight of it, overwhelming, suffocating, as it snarls in his face.
Kill kill kill KILL it roars, in his face, in his lungs, until it's all he can see-hear-feel-taste-smell, his entire body vibrating with rage. He has to feed it, he has to destroy something, he has to make someone bleed or he's going to lose his mind.
It isn't until he comes to that he sees the monster in the dark, red-hot and smoking, growling low and urging, Go.
The monster looks up and he sees his own face, his eyes wild, his hands balled, jaw clenched in a snarl.
KILL, it shouts, slamming him into a wall so hard he sees stars, and then –
Then he's alone in an empty room.
Breathing deeply, he looks around, swearing.
Bivolo is gone.
Digging his hands into his hair in frustration, he growls, because he should have seen it coming, a meta with the ability to mind-fuck people and he didn't see this coming, and when Caitlin asks what's wrong he has to crush the urge to snarl fuck off.
"Bivolo's gone," he tells her.
But the monster follows him all the way home.
It's grown incessant by the time he walks into Star Labs, feeling a strange distance from everyone, like he could punch them and they wouldn't bruise, like he could cut them open and they wouldn't bleed, because the monster can't comprehend pain or sound or smell, it only exists.
It's irrational, but they aren't human to him.
The monster is a god. The monster sinks its claws into his back and shouts, KILL.
"What happened out there?" Cisco asks, and Barry tells himself, Don't touch him.
He draws in a deep breath instead, feeling coolly detached from the room, his skin icy next to the fire in his mind, and says, "I . . . I think I got whammied."
They look at him strangely, he can't pinpoint what, exactly, is strange about it, except the monster is hungry and something about their expressions sets it off.
"You seem okay," Caitlin offers, and he latches onto it.
In his mind he's breathing hard, hyperventilating, but the monster has him and the monster is a god, the monster can control his breath, can control his heartbeat, fears absolutely NOTHING and NO ONE.
"I am," he replies, and it isn't his voice – he can't breathe, he can't breathe, he can't breathe – but the monster's.
It's a good impression. No one questions it.
Caitlin makes him pass a few tests (because she can't trust you because you're a menace because you need to KILL or be killed) and he's fine, he's fine, he's fine.
"I told you, I'm fine," the monster growls.
"You said Bivolo whammied you," Caitlin insists, like there's an answer there that she can't reach, and he wants to laugh because she can't see the monster, it's under his skin, it is him and he has to kill-kill-kill—
"No desire to go all MMA on us?"
He looks at Felicity, and for a moment the monster folds, his head beginning to pound with battle-fatigue as he says, "No."
Then, conceding, feeling his heart skip a beat as the monster growls from a distance, reminding him that it isn't patient, it doesn't want to wait, it waits for NOTHING and NO ONE—
"Yeah, I mean, something weird happened to his eyes for a sec," someone is saying, it can't be him, it isn't him, because he needs to LISTEN and kill-kill-kill-kill.
"Look, obviously his powers didn't work on me, so. . . . " He trails off, feeling an itch under his skin, a need to get away before the monster does something crazy, and the monster is him, they're the same creature, and he isn't going to kill anyone but the monster is.
"It was stupid for you to go out alone," Caitlin tells him, and she's always TELLING HIM what to do, she doesn't LISTEN, and he feels the urge to hurt her like he feels the air in his lungs.
"You take too many risks."
The monster's growling, and Barry's nervous, because they're the same animal, and he needs to calm down or the monster is going to do something terrible–
"As fast as you are, that's going to catch up to you."
He looks into her eyes, reproachful, calm, and something in him snaps.
So the monster spits, "Caitlin, I'm not Ronnie. You gotta stop treating me like I am."
Caitlin freezes. "You're right. You're not."
And then she's gone and for a single breathtaking moment the monster is, too, and it's like he's okay but his head hurts and what the hell—
There's a low, insidious sound that shakes him to his core and then he hears the crack of bones and thinks I could do it I could do it I could—
"What?" the monster snaps, redirecting, when Felicity just looks at him, and he's not an animal, he's NOT, he's a GOD.
"You are such a lovable dummy," she says, and there's such a frank honesty to her voice that it makes the monster sink back, hiding in the shadows because it has to kill, but it can afford to be choosy and Felicity doesn't hurt him, Felicity doesn't make him so fucking angry, and then his phone rings.
It's Oliver.
The monster cracks its knuckles and all Barry can see red.
This is going to be so gratifying.
. o .
It's better, actually, so much better, when he lets the monster take control.
The monster is smart and capable and strong. The monster takes the pain in his chest, the pounding in his head, and makes them feel normal, like they make him stronger, faster, and he wants to see how weak the Arrow is, he wants to so badly, but the order meets resistance, limbs failing while the monster screams its rage.
Kill, kill, KILL.
Barry taunts Oliver instead, feeling his voice warp, a desire he's supposed to keep buried lunging to the surface, and the monster takes whatever it can get and runs, leaving him reeling, trying to keep it together but he's coming apart at the seams and he and the monster are one and he has to understand that.
He can't kill the monster, and the monster's just warming up, claws flexing, ready to go.
It lets Oliver go because Barry tells it to, let him go, he's Felicity's, and somehow the connection subdues the monster just enough that he can get away from him.
And somewhere within him, a tether on sanity snaps.
. o .
It's worse at the station.
A lot worse a lot worse like pain like electrocution his whole body hurts and the only way to stop it is if he KILLS, but he can't kill any of them, he can't, he can't, he can't.
Singh won't let him breathe and then he's shouting because this is a man who he can hurt, this is no one, kill him, and his limbs are disobedient.
Why are you fighting me? the monster rages.
It's gaining momentum and gaining control and he's going to lose it, he has to get out, but Joe is there and Joe is the reason his father is in prison, Joe is the reason, Joe must die—
"Barry, I need you to calm down," Joe says, and it's so condescending, because the monster is a god, it answers to NOTHING and NO ONE.
"I'M CALM," the monster shouts, and they're finally in sync, aimed at a target, and it feels so good, like air, like blood, he needs it, he can't stop himself from growling, "When I'm not calm, you'll know."
Then he's gone, because Joe isn't what the monster wants, Joe is only peripheral.
So he takes off, and no one sees him, of course they don't, and he doesn't try to resist as the monster overtakes him.
. o .
Eddie goes down and the monster wants to laugh because he's so fragile, he's so human, but the monster isn't, the monster is untouchable, the monster can't be destroyed, only kill or be killed.
Iris is shouting at him and the monster resolves to kill her, too, kill them all, but he can't, he can't, he can't, his limbs are dragging and the resistance makes the monster furious, lashing out until he finally makes a dent, makes them terrified.
Oliver shoots him twice and all he can see is red.
One word obliterates every other thought, makes his muscles tense, lion-like, and all he can feel is:
Kill.
"You need to calm down," Oliver says, and maybe he's a bit of a monster, too, because he can shoot to kill, he can be above the rules, he's a god—
But gods answer to no one, and the monster clenches its fists and snarls, "And you need to hold on."
And then the monster runs.
. o .
Oliver fights back, but the monster is faster, and every blow, every winded breath, is a victory. The adrenaline makes his heart pound and he's either going to pass out or push harder, and he keeps going, pressing forward, and the monster is shouting him on, keeping him moving no matter what happens, shaking off the tranquilizer when Barry's gasping for air, throwing him into the fight when Oliver is about to recover, making him faster, smarter, more lethal.
The monster goes for the killing strike and Oliver goes down, letting himself roll with the momentum, distancing them. It's over.
He fires, a desperation shot, and the monster laughs. "Fool me once," he sneers, snatching the arrows out of midday.
Pain snatches him out of oblivion, making him scream and the monster falls to pieces, strangling, struggling to keep its feet, and he's going down and trying not to because he has to kill-kill-KILL.
He doesn't know how it happens, the pain is blinding, absolute, and he's going to die but then Oliver's got him in a chokehold, the monster is screaming, and then –
. o .
It's over.
Barry's gasping for air, eyes tearing as the pain sweeps over him full-tilt, knocking him off his axis, and if Oliver didn't have such a grip on him he'd go down.
"Barry, you okay?" Oliver asks, and Barry's staring at him, wide-eyed, struggling to keep himself on his feet, trying to comprehend how he can be asking Barry if he's okay.
He feels sick and sore and his head is killing him.
All he gets out is, "Oh, this is going to be a special kind of hangover."
Oliver breathes out deeply, relieved, and Barry can feel his soreness like it's his own, the way he doesn't stand quite as tall, doesn't move as swiftly or smoothly.
He says, "This is going to hurt," and yanks the arrow free from Barry's leg.
Barry makes a choked noise, collapsing to his knees, and nothing could persuade him to move for the ten thousand milliseconds it takes for the pain to subside to a tolerable level. He clenches his fists and presses them hard against the concrete, willing himself not to pass out, and when he can finally stand again Oliver is right there, putting an arm under his shoulders and practically carrying him away.
The guilt strangles him. "Oliver," he begins, struggling to keep his composure, "I'm so sorry."
"It's not your fault," Oliver says.
And that's it. That's all the retribution Oliver needs because he isn't a monster, he has morals and a code and he's fighting for all the right reasons. He's someone Barry can trust, to hell with what Joe and Dr. Wells think, and he feels his heart ache with how inexpressibly grateful he is to have someone like Oliver on his side.
"But we do still have your meta-human to take care of," he adds, and there's a grin in his voice and Barry knows in that instant that Oliver is the single most forgiving person he's ever met, will ever meet, and he won't give him reason to regret it again. "Anything left in the tank?"
The way he says it, there's an outlet.
A way to say, "My head is killing me, my leg might actually fall off, you don't play around with your horse tranquilizers, and I might need to throw up for a few hours."
Instead, he says, "Well, if not, there's two of us, right?"
Oliver's arm flexes a little, a reassuring squeeze, and Barry feels it almost as much as he hears it: "Right."
And he thinks, given the choice between a god and a friend, he would chose a friend, any day.