TITLE: Smooth Criminal
FANDOM: [CW's "The Flash"]
CHARACTERS: Barry Allen, Joe West, Iris West, Eddie Thawne, Caitlin Snow, Cisco Ramon, Leonard Snart, Lisa Snart, Mick Rory, Hartley Rathaway, [OC] The Gunman / Alexander Scott.
PAIRINGS: Barry Allen & Leonard Snart, Lisa Snart & Cisco Ramon, [SHADOWING OF] Iris West & Eddie Thawne.
WARNINGS: Character death. Violence.
STATUS: Finished.
SUMMARY: When the lives of the three closest people to our protagonist—Barry Allen—are threatened, the speedster begins a city-wrecking fight. What will happen when the Rogues—a group of villains that has had shaky alliances with Team Flash in the past—take it upon themselves to stop it?

OTHER
IDEA CREDIT: Anonymous friend.
DEDICATED TO: SarahMuffin.

CHAPTER 1: Glad You Came.
SUMMARY: You only begin to realize how bad the situation is, when a criminal has to save the hero—from another criminal.

Len, Lisa, and Mick had not been active recently, simply because it was blazingly hot outside and Len's—specifically—cold gun often would malfunction when in this sort of weather. While this was only after extensive use of the weapon for elongated periods of time, the band of Rogues weren't willing to risk it in case the thing was destroyed, or Len was hurt. However, that did not mean Central City was as dormant as the Rogues were—quite the opposite, in fact, as this day was proving.

It was a warm, quickly darkening Friday summer evening, and all was quiet in the Snart safehouse. Outside, though, it sounded as though there were bombings going down all throughout the city. Which—from Len's point of view—there probably was. Buildings were toppling over in an array of different locations. Len couldn't see why, but the elevated apartment balcony was providing him with a clear view of the falling structures.

There was the added fact that small tornados were pulling people, cars, and whatever else—that wasn't physically connected to the ground—into a spiraling wind storm in the sky. It was on every news channel that Lisa was currently—lazily—flicking through, but despite the large newsfeed of Central City's destruction, the source was still unknown, which was probably the most frustrating variable at the moment.

For on-lookers like Len, it could be assumed to be another one of the meta-human attacks, but for residents living closer to the heart of the city, the entire situation was becoming more and more clear. It wasn't a meta-human attack at all.

30 Minutes Earlier

"The Flash is coming. You'll never win," Joe said with smirk evident in his tone as he attempted to remain confident and collected—despite their current situation. Eddie and Iris were currently tied up much like he was, beside him. While they had been mostly silent, Joe had been trying to antagonize their oppressor, to get him to make an angry and stupid move, which would make Barry's work infinitely easier. But for now, Joe also couldn't seem weak to his daughter's and her to-be-fiancée's eyes. He couldn't appear to be as afraid as he was, and he knew he also had to play the stalling game until Barry found them, and saved them. He always had—always would. He'd declared that more than once.

The assailant peered down at them defiantly, with a grin of his own, teeth glistening in the dingy lighting coming from a shit lamp on the shit table behind them. The man was tall—taller than Barry, and had perfectly combed—almost flawless—light brown hair. It was obvious that the man put product in it—but Barry did too, so Joe couldn't say much for that factor. The man's face was mostly hidden in the dark underground of the sewers, but Joe could still make out that he was young—maybe in his late twenties, or early thirties. But despite this, he radiated youth. Maybe he put product on his face, too?

From what Joe had observed about this man already, he had no specific or legitimate powers, other than being an asshole—which he had wound down to a science. However, he did have an impossibly large firearm, which was just barely smaller than an elevated machine gun. To carry the thing around must have literal hell. This was no ordinary weapon, though. It was faster than anything—other than Barry—that Joe had ever encountered before. The barrel was enormous, as well, and Joe shuddered to the think of the ammunition that the thing could fire. The recoil must have—also—been literal hell?

Their assailant had told Joe a few things about it, almost—no, definitely—in a bragging tone. He'd said that he'd created it, and there was nothing like it anywhere else in the world. Joe believed him.

"Did you capture us just to talk about your little toy?" Joe barked suddenly, as their oppressor hadn't said anything in response to the detective's first bold statement. "It doesn't scare me—it doesn't scare my partner, and it certainly doesn't scare my daughter." Joe continued stubbornly, spitting toward the tall man. It wasn't true—he could see that Iris was scared, and he could just barely detect that Eddie was worried too. But they steeled their expressions after Joe's words, and Joe felt proud of them. They would get out of here, he had to believe that. And Eddie would propose to Iris, because he knew that if he didn't now, he might never be able to, and Joe knew that as well. While he hadn't been ready to give Eddie his blessing before, this whole kidnapping situation had made him see that Eddie was, in fact, worthy of it.

He made Iris happy, and made her feel safe. Eddie was the reason that she wasn't off-the-charts terrified right now, as she normally would be. Part of that was her determined will, and Joe knew that, too, but if Eddie weren't there, Joe doubted they would be in the same place. The Gunman—as they had named their assailant earlier—pulled the gun he was so named for, from his shoulder and pointed it straight at Joe, the barrel nearly touching the detective's nose. Joe felt his heart sink, but it was nothing compared to the feeling he felt when the weapon didn't linger.

It moved past him, hesitated on Iris, before pointing at Eddie, as if their oppressor was deciding who he wanted to keep alive—for now—and who he wanted to exterminate. It was Eddie that he decided upon. And Joe had never been winded by the sound of a weapon going off, but this monster that this man had—it sent shivers up and down Joe's spine that he would never forget. The sound of the barrel was like the roar of a dinosaur, mixed in with a nuclear explosion—if that even made sense, and to Joe, it did. He supposed that's all that mattered at this point.

Joe was drawn back to reality by Iris' scream "Eddie!"

"Your daughter is next, so… haha… if I were you, Detective West, I would choose what I want to do with my next…" the man checked his watch. "…five minutes wisely." And Joe distantly heard Eddie's body smack to the floor with a dull thud, followed by a sob from Iris. As Joe turned to look at his downed partner, he searched for any remains of Eddie's upper body—and found none.

"Yo, Cisco!" Barry exclaimed, waltzing into the Cortex with his casual, bright smile as he settled into the roller chair beside the scientist—and honestly—and one of his closest friends—besides Iris. "You got anything?" Barry continued jovially, scanning over the monitors set on the thin countertop-like-table that was before them. "It's been kinda slow at the station, and you didn't call me at all today. Joe wasn't in either—which is weird, 'cause I saw him this morning." Barry sighed, and leaned back, though still smiling.

Cisco shrugged and leaned back as well, waving lazily at the screens that Barry had been observing. "Yeah, nothing so far, man. S'been quiet all day—yesterday too. You should be partying, bro! No worries, am I right?" Cisco responded with his own signature—boyish, yet oddly charming—smile, as he rested his hands on the back of his head, and propped his feet up on a free space on the table, as he met Barry's gaze.

"I guess, but there's always training or something to get done, y'know?" Barry rolled his eyes softly, crossing his arms over his chest. "Besides, I can't party because I don't have any to party with. And what if something important comes up?"

"I mean, I doubt it, but I see your point. It's not like you can get drunk, so you can always zip right out of there. And you don't need to know people to party, dude. Just show up. You could probably pull of being a college student, and crash a frat party." Cisco laughed slightly, before Barry snorted—causing them both to crack up. Of all people, for Barry Allen to show up at a college fraternity party? The very thought was hilarious. Barry had only to been to one of those while he was legitimately in college, and it had been horrible (Barry would never actually admit to having enjoyed himself).

A timer went off somewhere, and Joe assumed that was the ten-minute-mark. Panic erupted in his chest and he immediately moved toward Iris—who responded by circling in toward her dad as well. She wasn't stupid—she knew exactly what was about to happen next, and Joe understood why she was scared now. He couldn't lose Iris. Iris was—besides Barry—his only family that he had left. She was beautiful, young, intelligent, and the best thing Joe could have hoped for out of his daughter. And Barry loved her more than he cared about himself—he would give up his powers for her, Joe knew that it wouldn't take so much as a second thought from him. Barry would do anything to save her, and yet where was he? Did he even know?

Barry not knowing irritated and infuriated Joe more than anything else. He knew it wasn't Barry's fault, but it was getting easier and easier to blame his son for all of this. Joe refused to, though, and he knew Iris felt the same, even though they hadn't shared any words. Eddie's death was still sinking in—how horrible it had been was the shocking part. It had not been a heroic death, it had been a torturous one—maybe short-lived for Eddie, but hell for the two who'd had to witness it—especially for Iris.

The Gunman approached and Joe's breathing hitched, becoming palpitated. All he could do was cover Iris as much as he could, and hope that he would take whatever blow that that demon of a gun could throw at him.

"Move, detective."

Joe shook his head defiantly. The Gunman sighed, but didn't seem fazed by it, at all. He raised the weapon and switched a few notches here and there. He seemed to hesitate, as if deciding whether or not he agreed with his choice of—Joe assumed—ammunition. But, he quickly shrugged it off and re-aimed the weapon at them—specifically Joe now. The internals of the barrel spun for a moment before they stopped with a clicking sound—and Joe had never been more intimidated.

"So be it, Mr. West. But I'm afraid if your little boy was going to make an appearance, he would have done it by now…"

"He always did have timing issues…" Joe responded; mouth suddenly dry and irritated, eyes never leaving the barrel. The Gunman chuckled at the detective's comment.

Iris looked away. She couldn't watch this. Not again.

"Officer injured."

Cisco's and Barry's laughter died away quickly after sharing a few more jokes related to Barry's not-so-wild college career, as the support system went off. They'd installed the software after Joe had first been captured by Grodd, but the thing almost rarely ever went off—without Barry knowing why. A few times, the alert system had been triggered for no reason, and Barry had rushed to find Joe, only succeeding in bursting into the living room to find Joe sprawled on the couch, eating chips and watching the game—looking startled.

But, even though this had occurred, Barry always made sure to check up on the thing if it were ever to go off. Quickly, he remembered the location—the sewers—as he flashed into his suit and out of the labs, turning on his coms so Cisco could direct him toward the location that it said Joe was at.

The device was no bigger than a portable cell-phone holder, and Barry had one that similar to Joe's in his own suit—but since Joe didn't have a suit, they'd had to improvise, and Joe's was still in beta-testing, therefore it wasn't fully ready to be introduced to the rest of the force. Cisco was still working on having the software tell him the exact extent of the detective's injures—but for now, it just told him that in some way, somehow, Joe was in trouble—and of course—Joe's whereabouts.

Barry was down in the sewers quickly, following Cisco's directions down to every turn. Caitlin hadn't been in that day—which Barry was a bit sour about. She would always be there to calm his nerves, especially since that had been Doctor Wells' job, and, that situation didn't exactly work itself out. Barry was terrified that he would run into Grodd again—and worse, he hadn't bothered to grab Cisco's anti-telepathy headset—but then again, Grodd had been hit by one of the moving underground trains… and recovering from that would be, truly, extraordinary.

The dingy sewers were gross every time Barry entered them, and both he and Cisco were sour about the sewage getting into the suit. Cisco declared that when Barry got back, he was doing a thorough cleaning, and possibly making a new suit—because there was no way that stench was living in the Cortex longer than absolutely necessary—if at all. That made Barry smile slightly to himself, but he quickly re-focused on the task at hand. Joe was hurt—and they were in Grodd's territory. Not a smiley situation.

Eventually, Cisco's directions lead him to an abandoned platform. Barry pulled himself up onto it. He'd forgotten where the sewers had become the underground railway, but apparently he had passed that point. Luckily, though, these tracks were inactive—and distantly he was happy for the commuters, since this particular platform was absolutely disgusting. Old trash that had to be at least fifty years old—if not older, along with dirt, grime, moss, you name it.

"Barry!"

He turned sharply, hearing his name. For the first time, he noticed a small wooden table that had a lamp placed on it, which was pretty much the only light in the area. Barry saw a tall man, and two bodies—with blood everywhere. And it had been Iris that had yelled for him. He rushed over, but the man was faster, and Barry was blasted back by the gun that the oppressor had pulled off of his shoulder quicker than Barry had anticipated. Apparently, he was good at this game.

Barry got to his feet again, determination welling up in his chest, causing electricity to spread throughout his veins. He rushed forward again, dodging a shot from the canon-like firearm and scooping Iris up in his arms. He only had milliseconds to take in the sight of Eddie and Joe's bodies—and it almost made him freeze. Barry could only tell it was Joe and Eddie through their clothes, because their faces and even the majority of their bodies were destroyed. That must be the power of the weapon. Barry glanced at it as he was carrying Iris away from the man.

He got to the end of the platform, before he was tripped up by a shot that just barely missed his feet. Barry stumbled off the platform, and took Iris down with him—though he was on his feet again before she hit the tracks beneath them, zipping out of the sewers at a lightning-fast speed. He could hear the footfalls behind him—they echoed throughout the sewers. They were being pursued.

As soon as they reached daylight, Barry placed Iris down.

"Run! I'll handle him. Don't look back, don't stop. Your safest bet is S.T.A.R. Labs. Now, go!" He ordered. Iris nodded in response, didn't even wait for a cab, and instead just started sprinting away from Barry as fast as she could in her ridiculous heels.

Present

It was everywhere. All around him—fire from the man—the Gunman. Barry could barely keep up, despite the rage pulsing beneath his skin. The will to win, to save… electricity in his veins, and wind whipping across his face. It would have been thrilling if it weren't for the debris that was constantly crashing down around him. Every time Barry tried to make a move at the Gunman, it would be a vain attempt—the man was one step, two, three, four—constantly ahead of Barry, and suddenly Barry felt the frustration of not being able to best someone because they were faster than him.

Barry had tried to grab the man, and run him into the ground, but he had only succeeded in getting a shot to the leg—of all places. Barry was certain it was shattered, because he immediately dropped to the ground, and he didn't need to see the blood to feel it running down his leg and into his boot, were it pooled around his sole.

The gun had different settings—about six or seven of them—Barry wasn't sure. He'd seen the man switching them as he worked at destroying Barry's energy. There were canon-like blasts, explosive pellets, huge blasts of fire; like small asteroids almost. Mick Rory would be impressed. Plus more that Barry couldn't remember. He knew for a fact that he'd been hit with one of the cannon balls, which should have completely annihilated his leg, but it was a luck-shot, just hitting him enough to stop him from running, but not enough to obliterate his calf.

Lucky wasn't the word Barry was thinking at the moment.

Barry suddenly felt frustrated and useless, because the Gunman knew how to keep ahead of him, and he didn't know how that was possible. Was he that predictable, or was the man some sort of mind-reader meta-human? Was he from the future like Eobard Thawne? Did he already know how to beat Barry, because he'd done it already? Had he fought this battle in another timeline before? The possibilities were endless, Barry realized—but he didn't have the time to linger on which one was the truth, because the Gunman was approaching, now that Barry was downed.

Searing pain began vibrating up his leg as it the bone tried to heal itself, though only succeeding in making things worse, due to how it had been broken… shattered. There was no way he was getting out of here using it, and well, he didn't have anything to try and amputate it with, but in retrospect, that wasn't a good idea either. He needed two legs to be the Flash, after all.

"Cisco! What do I do?" Barry loved Cisco. The scientist had been doing his best to keep up with what was happening, but was having more trouble than Barry. His mind was completely blown by the Gunman as well—and the speedster knew he was asking himself the same questions that Barry was. But, despite the situation, he was doing his best to help Barry, even if he wasn't quite quick enough.

"This just in! The source of the destruction of Central City has been found! The Flash is locked in a deadly duel with a man with a gun that is purely out-of-this-world! Witnesses are calling him 'the Gunman'!" The reporter on the screen declared. Len scoffed. Cisco would be disappointed that he hadn't gotten to name the man—not that he could have done a better job, though.

Cisco's least favorite villains were the ones he didn't get to name—it always got his panties in a twist, even though nobody else cared enough. Len was dragged out of his amusing thoughts by Lisa's excited tone, as she pointed toward the—unabashedly—attractive man on the screen, who was walking coyly toward Barry.

From where Len stood by the open door to the balcony, he could see the state of the kid, and it wasn't a good one. Damn. Every time he saw Barry fight someone that wasn't him, he was always getting his ass thoroughly handed to him. Len was almost sympathetic toward him—he really was dealing with things that were way over him—way over everyone, and he was the only thing that stood between Central City and utter destruction. Ah, home sweet home.

"He could be useful to our team, Lenny!" Lisa said, turning to look over the back of the sofa at him. Len squinted at her. How could she be so excited when it was it was near 100 degrees outside? It felt like they were burning in hell pre-maturely.

"Certainly fits in with the group," Mick added. Len nodded. He had a gun, a particularly good one, too. Seemed coy enough. And he could keep ahead of the Flash with ease—that was something Len respected. To be faster than the fastest man alive was certainly a skill that he was still working on perfecting. Usually, he could only keep up with the Flash—maybe get the jump on him with pulling a slick, dick move every once in awhile. But that wasn't every moment of every day.

"Let's go talk to him, then."

"Even after you show up too late to save your father and to-be-brother-in-law, you still can't best me? Still not fast enough? Haven't you been training at all? Because this is just pathetic! Go back to wearing diapers." The Gunman exclaimed as he made his way toward Barry, twirling the weapon around on his index and middle finger. Barry had no idea how he did it—in theory, wasn't that firearm supposed to weigh a couple thousand pounds? Did the Gunman have some strength that Barry didn't know about? He didn't seem like a normal meta-human, and Cisco's only understandable theory was that he was genetically modified—or from some future or dimension with advanced responses and physical condition.

The Gunman stooped beside Barry now, smiling—no, grinning—and reaching for his cowl. Barry, somewhere, between his state of not-unconsciousness connected that he could not let the Gunman unmask him—there was a chopper above them, and Barry knew it would and could capture his face, and spread it to the world.

"What is it you want from me?" Barry croaked out. He was on his ass after collapsing, damaged leg tucked beneath his other, as a last resort of defense for it. His hands were the only thing keeping him upright, because every vein in his body—every bone—was challenging him to lie back and go to sleep.

"I got what I wanted. To beat you. But I'm not done yet," the Gunman patted Barry's shoulder before gripping the front of the mask and tugging. Barry immediately flipped around and tried to pull away. But the man's arm was around him, keeping him in place, and Barry didn't have enough energy to try and break out of his grasp—because this new position revealed that the man did, in fact, have an irregular strength. He wasn't surprised though.

Barry glanced around, and saw that the gun was beside him, not in the Gunman's hand. So he was confident, apparently. But now that he had his hands on Barry, and Cisco shouting in his ear, he knew that it was useless. Barry pursed his lips and glared at the man to the best of his ability. The Gunman merely raised an eyebrow, chuckling.

"You look like a kitten."

Len was the first one out of the car as they pulled up to the scene—their vehicle being the only one on the abandoned street. The Gunman only looked mildly impressed to see their appearance. He paused, though, in unmasking Barry as the band of Rogues approached, guns ready. Cold wasn't too confident in his weapon's ability to withstand the heat—especially now that they were outside, in the middle of what would have been, a busy street, with the sun beaming down on them like ugly on Mick. Well, that was mean, but it made Len smirk, nevertheless. Mick would have laughed.

"Hello." Len started confidently.

"Hi there." The man replied, dropping Barry and standing up straight. "Can I help you? I'm a bit busy with a few business matters," he said, placing his foot on Barry's chest—Barry had just toppled onto the ground, completely at the mercy of Cold saving his ass—which wasn't necessarily a comforting feeling.

"So sorry to barge in on your powwow," Cold drawled.

"I'm sure it can wait."

"Yes, well. We were just happening to watch from that," Len said, pointing his finger upward, knowing that the helicopter was still hovering, and catching all of this. "And we were interested."

"Wanna join us? We liked that gun you got there." Lisa added in, sweet-demon voice that Len knew would be useful in seducing any full-grown man. It even worked on Mick—which Len wasn't too happy about, but never commented on.

The Gunman seemed to consider it, tilting his head to the side and gripping his chin. "Perhaps—but if this is just a ploy to save the Flash, then I will have to decline. See, I came here to kind of… " He pressed the heel of his boot into Barry's chest and Len immediately clenched his jaw after hearing Barry quietly groan.

Why Len was feeling so unimpressed by Barry being injured by someone that wasn't him—well, he wasn't going to think about that right now. "Oh, don't worry. I myself have been in this situation before… I'm sure the Flash here, will remember." Len inclined his head, and the man's lips twisted into a dark smile. "I'm afraid this is a now or never kind of offer."

"Is Cold sticking up for you, or am I actually imagining things right now?" Cisco whispered in Barry's ear. Barry didn't have enough waking sense at the moment to respond, and merely made a soft sound of acknowledgement—that probably sounded more like pain than anything else, because really, that was the only thing that Barry could currently feel—other than like, straight panic.

"Of course. I think I'm going to stick with staying solo, though, so no thanks. Maybe next time… and if you don't mind, I really am busy."

"Oh, we don't mind." Cold responded coyly, pointing his weapon, in unison with Mick and Lisa—ah yes, he was proud of them. They were all on the same page.

"Listen, pretty boy. Either step off—because you're on our turf, messin' with our prey—or you're gonna join us, and shut that cakehole you call a mouth." Mick snarled. The Gunman looked insulted, but bemused never the less. He put his hands up, the weapon still on the ground. Barry reached for it—barely knowing what he was doing—and grabbed it, pointing it at the man as well. God, he hoped that the Rogues wouldn't decide all of a sudden that two birds with one stone was a better idea.

The Gunman looked down at Barry and barked laughter—that was wholly amused—not even the tiniest bit filled with snark or sourness.

"Do you even know how to work that, Flash?"

Barry didn't respond, but he didn't have the time to wait around for this stand-off to end—because he was already getting blurry-eyed, so close to passing out that he was amazed it hadn't happened already.

And… that's when he lost consciousness. But, that wasn't before he heard the cold gun go off, and a scream of frustration that only could have come from the Gunman.