In which Leonard Snart, courtesy of the changes forced onto his personal timeline, experiences a severe case of temporal illness and nobody knows why he's sick.

All characters seen or mentioned copyright DC, CW, etc.

Iron Heights Penitentiary, April 1, 2000

"Come on, you fumbled that?" Henry shook his head and snatched the ball before Leonard could make a dive for it. He grinned at the young thief. "As old as I am, and you can't even keep up with me? I should start calling you grandpa."

Leonard leaned down to brace his hands against his legs. "You really... need... to work on... your trash talk," he said between gasps. He returned the grin. "Or better yet... don't. You're embarrassing... yourself."

Henry snickered.

Leonard rested for a few seconds longer. Damn, he was out of shape. He should be able to hold up a lot easier than this. The weather was decent for that time of year, chill enough for most of the inmates to require jackets in the courtyard, but it was comfortable enough. But Leonard had been overheated since he'd woken, enough to refuse the jacket, and now, after their game had barely started, he was already pouring sweat.

"You okay?" Henry murmured. He approached to take a closer look. "You know, you really ought to tell the guards if you're not feeling well."

Leonard shook his head. "I'm fine," he mumbled.

"Leo..." Henry began.

"Maybe you should listen to him, Leo," one of the other inmates said.

A second one snickered. "Yeah. Nobody knows about being healthy better than a killer, right? I'm sure the widow-maker will take real good care of you."

Leonard rolled his eyes and ignored the urge to explain the difference between a widow and a widower. Even if he was foolish enough to engage with those idiots, the way Henry stiffened up told him the correction—or indeed, any effort to intervene on that subject—would be entirely unwelcome.

He placed one hand on Henry's shoulder and let the older man take some of his weight. "Ignore them," he muttered once he had Henry's attention back. "You know the saying about arguing with idiots. Drag you down to their level..."

"And beat me with experience," Henry finished. He managed half a smile. "It's to be expected; today's their day, after all."

"Right," Leonard agreed. "Though they're not the only ones, are they?"

Henry blinked at him in confusion. "What do you—hey!"

Leonard slapped the ball out of Henry's hands, startling a yelp out of the older man, and dribbled it down the court.

Five more steps, and he'd be in reach of the basket. Four. Three...

His vision began to turn grey.

The ball rolled away. Forgotten. Unimportant.

God, he was so tired.

He reached for the pole. Missed.

Every one of his senses was assaulted at once, all with memories of...

"Lisa," he mumbled.

The ground rushed towards Leonard. He barely heard Henry shouting over him.

—FLASH SIDEWAYS: CHANGES—

"Guard!" Henry called. "Guard!" He leaned in close to inspect Leonard's shaking body.

"What do you want, Allen?" one of the guards snapped from the other side of the fence.

"This man is barely breathing," Henry replied. "He needs medical attention and an AED. Now!"

The guard scoffed. "Seriously? You're going to play that game today? What kind of idiot do you take me for?"

Henry stood up and whirled to glare at the guard. "The kind that would risk letting someone on your watch die because he might be faking? What the hell is wrong with you?"

Except he knew this was the wrong place for that question. Most of the guards had made it clear they didn't care what happened to the inmates... dangerous criminals all of them, or so they believed, and one dead just meant one the guards didn't need to watch.

Most of the guards... but not all. And the medical staff generally took their work seriously; you'd be hard-pressed to accept a position caring for a murderer's well-being if you didn't think the job mattered.

The guard frowned at Leonard, but he spoke into his lapel microphone. "Need a medic down to the courtyard," he said. "One of the prisoners has collapsed. Might be unconscious."

"Thank you," Henry muttered. He turned back to Leonard to assess what he could of the young thief's condition.

Leonard hadn't been injured that Henry could tell. He'd been playing basketball fairly well... moderately well. Looked worn out, but no sign of anything broken. And while Henry wouldn't put it past the young thief to try to hide it if he'd been hurt—to hide anything that might mark him as an easy victim for the other inmates—he was certain nothing had happened recently to cause any injuries.

It should be safe enough to move him.

But Leonard was, as Henry had told the guard, barely breathing. He didn't look bad enough to need CPR any time soon, but the AED would be a necessary precaution in any case. And that fever... How could Leonard have gotten so sick without anyone noticing?

"It's going to be okay, son," Henry murmured. "Don't worry. I'm just going to move you a bit... make it easier for you to breathe. All right?"

No response.

"Sorry," Henry said. "I know you don't like being touched, and this is probably going to feel strange, especially if you've never done it before..." He rearranged Leonard's body, pushing a leg this way, pulling an arm that way, and finally rolling him over so the young thief was face-down, his head resting on his arms, in the more stable Recovery Position.

One of the prison's doctors arrived with an AED two minutes later. "What's happened?" she asked Henry.

"I don't know," Henry admitted. "A little bit ago we were playing basketball. He seemed like he was tired, but otherwise fine. And then..." He shrugged. "He's got a fever. From the symptoms my first instinct would be heat stroke. I know it isn't that hot out—" In fact, Henry was starting to shiver in his jacket "—but if he's sensitive to the heat it might be enough to cause problems."

"I think he is," the doctor said. "When he's on the kitchen rotation he always spends a long time in the freezer. Even in the middle of winter. I swear I've caught him meditating in there." She glanced over Henry's work. "Good job with the Recovery Position. No injuries?"

"None that I could find. But I'm worried about his breathing..."

"You're a doctor, right?" She glanced towards the fence, and waved for the guard to let in two nurses who were pushing a gurney in front of them. "You're not his cell mate. Is he a friend of yours?"

Henry shrugged. Anywhere else, he'd be glad to answer that question with a whole-hearted "yes." But in here, admitting to such a thing could get both of them killed. "He's kept me out of trouble," he said. He rolled his eyes at the inanity of that remark and gave a pointed look at the other inmates, off where the guards were herding them. "More trouble," he amended.

The doctor nodded. "Best you get back with the others before one of the guards has a conniption."

"Right."

Henry allowed himself to be herded in with the other inmates, leaving plenty of room for the doctor and the nurses to wheel Leonard into the building on the gurney.

—FLASH SIDEWAYS: CHANGES—

Vanishing Point, Oculus Viewing Chamber

"Well done!" Damien said. "That was better than anything I could've dreamed of!"

"Thank you, thank you," Eobard replied, bowing. "Please, hold the applause."

"More's the pity," Damien said. "You certainly deserve it."

"I trust that was what you had in mind?" the speedster asked.

Damien nodded. "It's a start. Although, if you don't mind my asking... If you were going to remove her from the timeline, why did you find it necessary to murder her so brutally first?" He held up a hand, warding off the speedster's protest. "Not that I'm complaining, mind. It was a masterful piece of work. I'm simply curious what the purpose was. Or why you waited until after the police discovered what was left of her before you erased her from existence."

"That's very simple," Eobard replied. "I wanted to make absolutely certain that Leonard would remember her. Obviously that's more difficult than it sounds; if she doesn't even exist, then what is there to remember? But I think it'll work."

"Not as difficult as you might think," Damien murmured.

"I'm sorry?"

"Oh, I was just thinking that it should be my turn. This was only the first step, after all."

Eobard cocked his head. "What else did you have in mind?"

"Depending on how vividly our friend remembers a sister who doesn't exist," Damien said, "he just might find himself a resident at the nearest mental hospital soon. I'd like to be sure he is cared for... properly."

Next chapter, Darkh steps in.

Timing and linked fics:
Thanks to the Legion's interference, Len's bout of temporal illness occurs a few weeks sooner than it would have done in the prequel fic What Could Have Been. (Oddly enough, that story's version is also a direct result of Thawne's interference. Just at a different point in the speedster's timeline.)
Other than that change, however, it is still the first time it was "that bad" (as referred to on multiple occasions throughout the Flash Sideways story-verse, initially by Lisa in chapter 6 of the main fic titled... Flash Sideways). Thus Len has absolutely no idea what he's in for.