A/N: Un-betaed. May or may not be edited later. There was a description of morbid art and implied rape and violence. Hints of child abuse if you squint really tight. Proceed with caution.
"You gotta be kidding me….."
Flash jerked his head up upon hearing that comment, hand stopped mid-digging the sugary snack as he shot a grin at Barry. "You want some?" he asked, offering the huge bowl to his doppelganger.
"Are you kidding me?!" Barry hissed, shoving the older man behind the tree and was terribly grateful that Flash didn't resist any more than simply cocked an amused brow to him. "Popcorn?" He glared at the huge bowl of what he could dub as bowl-of-diabetes-and-instant-death that was nestled in Flash's arms.
"It's not an unhealthy snack for me, Ripper. High metabolism, remember?"
"That is not the problem, asshole!"
This was insane.
They were about to exhume Iris' grave and Flash literally brought a huge bowl of popcorn as if he was about to watch a really engrossing blockbuster movie.
Flash tipped his head to the side, looking adorably confused and clueless. "If you want, I can run real quick and get something that your metabolism can handle….?"
Barry blinked in disbelief.
"You're insane."
"Duh."
Barry kept one hand pressed over Flash's chest, wanting to hold the speedster in place despite knowing that Flash could easily get out of his hold if the man wanted to, and ducked his head around the tree to peek a quick look at the rest of the gathering.
No one has noticed them yet—being conveniently hidden by the shadows of the trees and bushes—so that was a good thing.
Captain Singh was the nearest to Iris' grave, chatting up seriously with a tall blonde man that Barry has never seen in CCPD before. A few feet from the captain, the workers who were responsible to exhume the grave were busy digging, while Caitlin and Wally hovered as close as they could to the site—both of them looking anxious and teetering with nervous energy. Joe was surprisingly standing the farthest from the site, hunched to himself as he looked like he was almost at the verge of losing his mind.
Barry exhaled a relieved breath, his shoulders sagged, and the nervous blood no longer rang in his ears.
"Finish that off," Barry instructed, nodding to the diabetes bowl. "Like, right now, before anyone notices us," he sighed when Flash cocked a disbelieving brow. "Humour me, please. Explaining you to Singh would be a hassle as it is…," he winced as his gaze landed on the captain, only to feel a chill travelled down his spine.
The blonde man who previously was chatting with Singh was watching them with scrutinizing gaze.
"He would be harder to fool," Flash commented, keeping his face straight towards Barry, though his eyes darted very subtly to the side in the direction of the blonde man. "Not sure is he is the same with his doppelgangers, but that guy is persistent either way. You need to up your game, Rip. The newcomer will be a challenge."
Barry rolled his eyes. "And you're aren't helping. At all."
Flash returned the gesture with a beaming grin.
"It's an older brother's responsibilities to make the baby siblings' life miserable."
"I'm disowning you," Barry scowled, finally removing his hand from his doppelganger's chest. "Like, right now. Disowned. You're no longer a part of the family."
"Awwh," Flash pouted, feigning disappointment. "Baby brother, how could you—"
"Eat your popcorn. Now," Barry ordered, stern and firm.
Dealing with his insane superpowered doppelganger was very much like dealing with a hyperactive immature child. He needed to be firm in his words if he wanted any chance of the older man to attempt to listen to him. He nodded to the popcorn bowl, a silent push for the speedster to finish it off before anyone asked why the hell he brought popcorns to supposedly solemn gathering of exhuming a dead woman. Flash rolled his eyes but thankfully obliged without any argument.
Though, that didn't stop Barry from grimacing and wincing when the speedster cleaned the popcorn bowl off in mere seconds.
"That…is…," he started, but then completely lost his words.
As someone who literally counted every nutrients and calories he put in his meals (with exclusive exception of his cupcakes—because, come on Jitters have the best cupcakes), Barry felt really uncomfortable watching his doppelganger cleaned off the caramel-and-chocolate-and-god-knows-what-sugary-shit-he-put-in-that-popcorn in matters of seconds. Just watching that has made Barry wanting to cut sugar from his diet for a full 3 months. He felt diabetic by simply watching that.
"Are you gentlemen supposed to be here?"
Both versions of Barry Allen turned towards the speaker, and both promptly plastered their identical sunshine smile on their faces. Barry wasn't sure if that was a wise idea—because identical twins with wide beaming smile at the graveyard sounded like a scene out of horror movie rather than a common sight—but smiling was a habit he couldn't break.
The blonde man frowned at them, brows furrowing closer and closer together as he shifted his gaze from Barry to Flash and back to Barry again.
If the guy was as sharp as Flash described, Barry assumed that he would be suspicious of how identical Barry and Flash looked like. Not even twins would have the degree of likeliness like doppelgangers would have—and Dr. Bartholomew Henry Allen was a well-known public figure, therefore the idea of him having a twin was unheard of.
"We were invited," Barry responded with a smile. "I was Iris'—"
"Boyfriend, am I right?" the man cut him off, lips curled to a tight smile. "I read newspaper," he said, shifting his gaze towards Flash. "Though, I think not everything made it into tabloids…who are you again?"
"Matthew Thawne," Flash responded, shifting a bit so that he was slightly behind Barry, looking genuinely intimidated. "I'm…," he trailed, shooting a glance towards Barry with a look of desperation.
Well, colour Barry impressed. The Flash looked convincingly innocent and intimidated for once.
"My half-brother," Barry took the cue, his lips curled to a grimace, displaying an open discomfort like any other normal person would have in this kind of situation—you know, that discomfort normal people would have when a family scandal was revealed.
"Half-brother?"
It didn't take genius to notice that the lies weren't going to fly easy this time.
Barry hated attentive sceptics.
"My father was hard-pressed in avoiding scandals," Barry shuddered, slinging one arm around Flash's shoulder and pulled the man closer. "But I need the support of a family during times like this."
The blonde man stared at Barry for what it felt like an eternity-worth of five seconds, seeming like he was trying to unmask Barry's façade—and it did feel like that, like Barry was being read and his lies being stripped off him.
The last time he felt like this was a few days before that fight which lead to Iris' untimely murder.
Barry really hated attentive sceptics…
"Of course," the man finally responded, though the suspicion didn't leave his eyes at all. "Pardon me for the rudeness."
"It's fine," Barry waved nonchalantly, though he internally winced at the tensed edge of his own voice.
It was easy to overpower Iris, considering that Barry has the advantage in term of his physical strength over her; and when his strength was the disadvantage like when it was with Tony, his sharp mind gave him the upper hand.
But this guy seemed that he would be hard to trap and even harder to overpower, should the situation required Barry to ensure his immediate termination.
There was a gentle squeeze on his wrist, and Barry held back the surprise from making it to his face as he felt the subtle vibration of Flash's thumb grazing along his wrist. It was as close to a soothing reprimanding touch as he could get from his insane doppelganger.
Keep calm.
That message was clear even if Flash didn't voice it out.
The blonde man then smiled a genuine smile and offered his hand towards Barry. "Steve Rogers," he said, watchful eyes remained fixed on Barry's own. "It's an honour to finally meet you, Dr. Allen. Your contribution to the community is admirable."
"It's the least I can do," Barry tipped his head humbly, taking the offered hand in a firm handshake. "You're new to CCPD?" he asked, honestly curious because he was sure that he has never seen this man on the force before.
"No," Steve responded in a heartbeat, shoulders straight as he clasped his hands in front of him like it was an automated movement. "I was sent here to help out with the situation."
Barry took a moment to ponder on the reasons a personnel from military would be doing here.
But he knew that whatever it was, it would make his night job even tougher than it usually was.
He fully blamed his dramatic villainous friends for this.
"It was that bad, huh?" Barry cocked an eyebrow, removing his hand from Flash's shoulder and kept his hands at his sides instead. "For the military to interfere."
Steve's eyes widened for a split second before they crinkled with the same amusement of his smile. "You're a sharp man, Dr. Allen."
"It's rather obvious, sir," Barry responded, keeping his perfectly harmless smile on his face as Steve stared at him with that scrutinizing gaze again.
It was like hide and seek—one was hiding his true colours behind layers of lies while the other sought to unveil the lies.
"Captain Rogers," Singh interrupted their silent staring contest, nodding towards the military officer and shot a wary look towards Flash. "They are about bring the coffin out."
"Of course," Steve nodded, automatically taking the lead back to the site. "Dr. Allen, Mr. Thawne," he addressed with a smile. "Shall we?"
Singh seemed to be torn in between asking about Mr. Thawne or just remained silent.
Barry, on the other hand, chose the latter. He was supposed to act anxious about the exhume, therefore he shouldn't even notice Singh's curiosity, let alone to concern himself with the captain's unspoken questions. Overexplaining would be suspicious when he was supposed to act innocent after all.
It was uncomfortable silence throughout the small walk, with occasional curious glances from Singh towards Flash's direction. The captain finally relaxed a bit when Cisco waved enthusiastically at Flash, and the speedster waved back with a good-natured smile.
Ironic that there was deep-set hatred in those cold green eyes.
"Has the heroes provided any statements regarding this situation, Captain Singh?" Steve asked as they made their way to the site.
Flash very subtly hid a snort behind a fake cough, while Barry grimaced as Singh's gaze instantly flitted towards Caitlin.
The CCPD captain was not dumb. Although Caitlin said she never revealed her identity to anyone in CCPD, but Frost has talked with Singh before, and it would be impossible to not notice the resemblance between Caitlin and Frost.
Very subtle, Singh, Barry thought in pure annoyance. Subtle.
"Nothing so far," Singh said, clearing his throat once. "They are as clueless as we are."
"I see," Steve nodded thoughtfully. "But you know that these new metahuman are related to Ripper?"
"They were seen working together," Singh jerkily nodded. "I guess crazy attracts crazy in this city."
Barry wondered if it would be inappropriate to shove a whole packet of throat lozenges into Flash's mouth because the speedster really needed to stop using those fake coughs to hide his giggles. Period. It was suspicious. Barry was already convinced that Steve was on his trails and this did not help at all. He needed to put a limit to the Flash's craving for dramas and amusement before the speedster blew his cover.
"They're becoming a menace," Steve's lips curled into a grim smile. "7 deaths and 157 injured in the span of two days. That is a worrying record."
That halted Barry mid-track. 7 deaths? He was only aware of 5 of them.
When did Killer Frost kill the other two?
"The other two provoked Savitar," Flash leaned close, as if he was reading Barry's mind, voice was barely audible.
"What?" Barry hissed, struggling hard to not break his composure.
Death by Savitar was not fun—not fun to the dead, not fun to the forensic, not fun to the funeral director, not fun to anyone.
"Let's just say that saying you want to cream him in the back alley would not end well if you're not me. "
The nonchalance and fondness in the Flash's voice only served to creep Barry out.
"I do not need that image," Barry muttered, stalking ahead of the speedster and plastered yet another fake smile when Captain Rogers raised an eyebrow in his direction. "That's too much…," he added, voice low as if he was talking to himself as he shook his head like he wanted to shake off an unwanted image from his mind, eyes convincingly wide in horror, "…terrifying."
Steve's eyes softened in sympathy and his smile was tentatively assuring when Barry looked up to meet his gaze.
"We will do everything necessary to make sure that this incident will not occur again, Dr. Allen," Steve's voice was oddly ancient, like he was some sort of old sage trying to sooth the turbulence of the youngster's mind. "Rest assured that the public's safety is our top priority."
Barry cracked an unsure smile towards the military officer, before his attention was diverted to Joe who has noticed their arrival.
"Hey, son," the detective greeted, eyes softened in pure love despite the emotional turmoil he was currently experiencing. "Glad that you can be here," he murmured, embracing Barry in one quick hug.
"It will be fine, Joe," Barry murmured, voice muffled against the lapels of the detective's coat, eyes flickered to the way the Flash was leaning over the coffin with a barely concealed excitement. "Everything will be fine."
There was a beat of silence before Joe's shaky voice came out in a breathless whisper.
"What if she is not there, Bear?"
Barry stiffened, face fell to a complete poker face when his doppelganger looked up to meet his eyes.
"It will be fine," Barry smiled, trying to ease the tension in his shoulders when Flash's grin grew even more manic.
That grin alone just told him that shit was about to go down.
"There is this fountain that could revive dead people and turn them evil…It revived Arrow's ex and she came back as an evil killer," Joe rambled, sounding completely overwhelmed when Captain Rogers slipped in between the line of the workers—the officer seemed to want to lead the exhume himself. "What if—"
"On the count of three…," Steve remarked, loud and firm, hands on the lid of the coffin. "One…"
Barry shivered when a particularly freezing breeze tickled his cheek.
Joe didn't seem to notice though as he continued to ramble on with that soft broken voice. "What if they did that to Iris, Bear?"
"Two…," the lid cracked open with a gentle creak.
Barry saw Caitlin suddenly straightened up, her eyes narrowed in caution and he immediately knew the reason when there were dusts of snow spread from the coffin to the previously green healthy grass.
Fuck fuck fuck fuck….
Barry hated it when his doppelganger didn't include him in the planning.
He knew that Flash did it to get the most candid reaction out of him, but he hated it anyway.
"One."
Things went down in the span of the next five seconds.
White mists seeped out the crack of the coffin and promptly causing the workers to scram away, leaving Steve alone at the coffin. There was an explosion of white, and the military officer was blown away due to the impact the exact time the graveyard turned to snowy winterland.
There were screams, Barry was positive that one shriek of rage sounded like Caitlin, while the high-pitched one sounded like Cisco's and was that a chuckle…? What the fuck, Flash—
And all of sudden he was thrown onto the cold freezing ground with an unexpected weight straddling his chest.
"Hello, love."
Barry strained so hard to not break character and yell at these villains for their unnecessary needs for dramatics.
"Iris," he gritted out, grateful that her wavy hair has curtained his face from views because if he couldn't yell at her, he deserved to glare at her.
"Miss me, love?" she hummed, dark eyes glinted with sadistic pleasure when her cold hands trailed down his jaw to his shoulder. She leant to kiss his ear, voice was barely audible, yet her breath was numbing as she murmured, "…this is your doppelganger's idea, so yeah, yell at him later."
He briefly felt a tiny pinprick piercing the skin of his jugular, there was a numbing cold over his arm before there was a loud 'crack' and all that he felt afterwards were pure pain.
"BARRY!"
That yell came from at least three different voices.
Barry grunted, attempting to roll over and wriggle himself free, but Killer Frost's thighs were tightly caging his ribs, and her cold hands were still on the arm she has just effortlessly snap broken.
It wasn't as painful as he expected, but it still hurt nonetheless.
Barry groaned, eyes squeezed tight in the mix of annoyance and pain, internally lamenting on his rotten luck to have such dramatic friends who has zero courtesy of his well-being.
"Ma'am, stand down. You're outnumbered."
That calm, authoritative voice prompted Barry to open his eyes again—and he must have overestimated his own pain threshold because his sight was blurry before he had the senses to blink the pained tears away. It took him a few minutes of heavy gasping and grunting in pain to notice that the pain was dulling, like he was put on sedatives as the throbbing slowly turned to heavy numbness.
They planned this.
Barry tried so hard to not break into a resigned laugh.
Remind him again why he should be surprised? Flash addressed Joe using the detective's full name. Flash dressed up in the very same bloody suit that he wore the night his Iris betrayed him when he crashed her wedding, right after he broke out of prison. Flash declared a war against all of his former friends in the superhero community—the old-fashioned way, with a declaration demanding for surrender and all, and he even decapitated those heroes that he didn't turn to ashes and displayed their heads on spike like some deranged medieval warlord.
The speedster was a drama queen.
Remind Barry again why he should even be surprised?
He should've expected this kind of theatrics from his insane and bored doppelganger.
"Oh?" Killer Frost hummed, thighs still straddling Barry's ribs, lips curled to a mischievous smirk that was so Iris that it made Barry felt that his heart was sliced thin and cooked raw. "But I'm the one with the hostage~"
Singh lowered his gun just slightly, but Caitlin's eyes remained white.
"Let him go," the hero hissed, stalking forward like a graceful predator, red hair slowly faded to white.
Steve, to his credits, wasn't even fazed when Caitlin openly transformed to Frost.
"Iris," she growled, voice softened a bit, almost like she was begging. "Please don't do this. We're friends."
Killer Frost's lips curled to a smirk as she forcefully yanked Barry up by the neck of his collar, the sudden yank had Barry to wince and hiss in pain. She noticed his pain, the curl of her smirk turned vicious as she leant closer—her nose nuzzled up his jugular, lips trailing kisses up his neck.
"As much as it annoyed me to fulfil your insane doppelganger's whimsical demands…," she nipped on his lobe, invoking a small shiver down his spine. "He had a point, darling."
"Wha—"
"You're irresistibly arousing when you're in pain."
He winced when cold teeth sunk gently into his skin, soft freezing lips was a pleasant pressure against his erratically pulsing jugular. He gasped and shivered, his good hand clutching his injured one when the numbness was replaced with absolute cold as thin sheet of frost coated his skin. Barry trembled, suddenly finding it hard to remain awake as the cold embraced him, and things were confusing for a moment—Caitlin was screaming, Steve was again demanding for surrender although this time there was urgency in his command, Singh was muttering something to the walkie-talkie he had, and Joe looked like somebody just killed his children right in front of his eyes.
"What kind of friend are you, Caity?" Killer Frost's voice sounded so much like Iris' that Barry struggle to remind himself that this was just an act, and Iris wasn't coming back from the dead to punish him. "You flirt with my man on the day of my funeral…."
Barry turned his head so fast to stare at Killer Frost's disguised face in disbelief. Her face betrayed nothing, as she remained in character, but there was a flicker of resignation in her dark eyes. Barry then shifted his gaze towards the far end of the group where Flash was sitting cross-legged with his face pressed to his knees, body trembling in what that seemed like fear.
Barry knew better. That was no fear.
That was pure amusement and glee.
Flash was having waaaay too much fun at everyone else's expanse.
"Iris—" Caitlin tried again, the guilt twisted to a frown on her face.
Barry hoped that no one noticed that Flash was on the verge of rolling in laughter because that was going to be hard to explain.
He gasped again, suddenly finding it hard to breathe—his chest felt cold, and the air felt thinner that his vision turned spotty as the drama went on, the voices gradually turned to buzzing white noise as the cold consumed his ability to remain conscious.
He was completely out of it when the gunfire started.
Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned.
That saying was the best to sum up today's event.
It has been an immediate all-out battle when Dr. Allen collapsed—when Detective West shot the first shaky gunshot to his own resurrected daughter. It must have pained the man so, because he was begging and pleading to his daughter, tears streaking his cheeks as he tried to placate the revived reporter. It was of no use, though. Iris West was convinced that her best friend—who just happened to be Central City's hero—was having an affair with her boyfriend long before she was murdered.
If he wasn't there to witness their whole argument-slash-ice-battle-slash-gunfires, Steve would have thought that this whole mess was taken right out of some random chick flick action drama.
Things were so much simpler back in New York.
Only in Central you will have an enraged dead girlfriend coming back to life and seek vengeance on her former boyfriend. Only in Central City that this would happen, and everyone was perfectly okay in accepting it.
What the frick, Central City?
"You're taking this well."
He shifted his gaze to his side and quirked a smile to . "I was told to prepare for the weird when I received my orders."
She made a humming noise of acknowledgement but said nothing more. The woman leaned against the glass panelling, her breath created thin sheets of ice on the surface, but she didn't seem to mind controlling her powers now. They were in private room of one of the many hospitals that the Allen's family has control over, therefore there wasn't much need for secrecy since the staffs cleared the whole wing of this particular floor for their big boss once Dr. Allen was rushed in. It resulted in something out of horror movie—such eerie calm and emptiness environment of the hospital was very unnerving and unsettling.
Steve never liked hospitals, moreover an empty one.
"He is a very influential man," he remarked, arms crossed tighter across his chest as if that would be enough to protect him from the cold eerie emptiness of the floor. "The staffs acted in split seconds."
"Well, he is practically their big boss," she snorted. "Their paycheck depends on him."
Her gaze then softened, looking almost regretful when it landed on Dr. Allen. Steve shifted his gaze towards the unconscious famous surgeon too and couldn't help but winced at how fragile and worn the man looked like.
It almost made him feel guilty for suspecting the good doctor for orchestrating this whole thing.
But coming from a special division specified in investigating nation's menace, Steve was trained to be suspicious of everyone. He was one of selected men from the military ranks, a spy within spies and when it came to his job description, he only answered to the peace of the nation. There was no formal leader in the special division, as all decisions were decided through discussion and agreement of all members—they were given the freedom to decide and was not tied to anyone. They were vigilantes in a way, but a heavily structured and trained one, with clear objectives and strict protocol to be followed.
If there was a threat to the peace, they would immediately dispatch their members to investigate it before deciding on which course of action to eliminate the threat.
Thus, he wasn't surprised at the revelation of Frost's identity because she was already on the file. He trusted her, having read of her contribution to the cause of peace and she was deemed worthy to be let alive. She and her allies have been alleviating some of their workloads with their vigilantism, hence Steve wasn't as repelled to the idea of working with her as opposed if it was Green Arrow that was involved. After all, his division was well-aware of the identity of the cities' famous enhanced vigilantes, the existence of parallel worlds and the time-travelling vigilantes.
Hence, how Scarlet Ripper could still remain a mystery was baffling.
The scarlet menace managed to piss off the whole intellectual team of the division, and as amusing as it was to see Stark and Romanov cursing the serial killer to the depths of hell, it was not a comforting thought. No, not even when the menace went hiatus for solid four months, the whole division was on their toes, knowing that the hiatus was just the silence before the storm.
And Dr. Allen's perfect, unblemished records made him to be the most likely suspect.
The surgeon fit the bills, in term of his skills and precision, that it was fairly easy to suspect him to be the Scarlet Ripper. It would require a specific set of skills to achieve the end result of Ripper's victims, thus narrowing the suspect list to only few people. His perfect citizen record, and unquestionable alibis was unnerving to Steve and some of his colleague in the division, because no one should be able to have such perfect evidences of innocence if they didn't plan it beforehand.
Plus, Steve never trusted a man who seemed that he has no dark sides.
You either has a dark side, or you hide it extremely well.
However, this whole mess changed everything.
The man almost died today, and even now, after he was announced stable, Dr. Allen still required close monitoring in the Intensive Care Unit. Deranged serial killer or not, neither Steve nor his teammates would agree that Scarlet Ripper would purposely let himself be badly injured. He has been missing for four months, only to come back with these dangerous metahumans working with him—the deranged man was planning a flamboyant comeback, Steve was sure of it.
Therefore, to have half-frozen lungs, broken arm, cracked ribs and literal ice particles in his veins did not match up to the profile of a serial killer that was planning on a comeback at all.
"For the past months, he was the one taking care of us," Snow murmured with a fond smile on her face, and Steve noted the longingness in her gaze when he stared at the unconscious man. "And now he is at the brink of death…," she sighed heavily, causing ice to form over the glass. "I shouldn't have invited him into my world…"
"He would heal, ma'am," Steve offered, a bit awkward as he wasn't used to comfort people. "They said that the worst has passed."
Dr. Snow squeezed her eyes shut, forehead creased in a frown while her teeth sank in her pursed lips.
Steve winced, remembering the panic they all had when the famous surgeon convulsed in a seizure as he crumpled right in the middle of the snowy battle ground—Snow's quick diagnosis dictated the man was suffering from a hypothermia. It was much later—once they rushed him into the hospital—that it was revealed that his blood was slowly being frozen while his overall core temperature has dropped to the point of near-death.
If it wasn't because of Thawne's quick thinking and abnormally hot core temperature, they would've had to dig another grave for the doctor.
Though, that was the only thing that made Dr. Allen was still not off the suspect list.
His unexpected half-brother.
Matthew Thawne was an unexpected enigma. There was no record of him, even though they have access to all of Henry Allen's shady business. Steve has called his colleague, demanding Stark to double-check the old doctor's files, but it was futile. There was never any mention of an illegitimate son, despite the close record they kept on all the mistresses that has been with the old doctor. But then, the old doctor has vanished without any trace ten years ago, and even their elite intelligence did not have any clue of the cold case, so there was the possibility that Thawne was something that slipped past their watchful intelligence too.
Or, considering that there were multiple parallel universes out there, and the eerie likeliness of the half-brothers; Banner and Stark were actually toying with the theory that this might be the doctor's own doppelganger.
That didn't sit too well with him but fuck it Steve was not made of steel. He did feel bad for his own suspicion over the siblings, moreover now after he watched the way Thawne never left Dr. Allen's side.
Maybe, just maybe, they might be actual brothers and Steve's worries of interference from a parallel universe was baseless.
Steve exhaled a deep breath. Romanov better found something from the underground intelligences because this theory was making him anxious and nervous for no fucking reason.
The last parallel universe clash resulted in Zoom and utter chaos. No one wanted an encore of that.
"It's sweet, isn't it?" Dr. Snow smiled, oblivious to Steve's mental debate. Her gaze remained fixed on Thawne who was curled up against Allen's pillow, though Steve knew that she was talking to him. "I used to think of him as a superhuman—a being on a completely different level as compared to the rest of us—but this…"
"It humanizes him," Steve agreed, fixing his gaze on the brothers too.
Dr. Allen was the embodiment of a perfect human; his education, his behaviour and mannerism, his finance, his career, his public influence and his contribution to the society—everything was eerily perfect. It was a running joke between him and his teammates, that people like Dr. Allen was a new race of human that was created for the whole purpose of achieving utopian society.
His perfection was so unnatural—like he was programmed that way.
"Working with him showed us that he was never as close to the perfection that he displayed in public," she giggled, looking a bit relaxed now. "You should have seen his passion over his cupcakes. It was unreal."
"Oh?" Steve quirked a small smile, indulging in her conversation. She was pleasant to talk to when she wasn't so snowy, and Steve thought it was proper to get acquainted with a possible ally. "What happen?"
"He chucked a remote control to Cisco's head because he was outvoted in an argument over which frosting is the best for peanut butter cupcake," she giggled a little louder, the fondness was evident in her voice. "And he sulked for a solid three days afterwards. It was adorable."
Steve wanted to point out that that was terribly silly for the famed surgeon, but then his own comrade has the very same reaction after an argument over pizza topping and it would be unfair of him to judge Dr. Allen for being silly.
"That sounds like a wonderful story," he remarked—weighing the possibility that his colleagues were watching this and the idea of getting on the good side of Central City's hero—before deciding that getting on her good sides would worth it. "I'd like to hear more if you're willing to tell me? Perhaps over some coffee?" he posed the statement as a question, quirking his lips to that smile that Romanov said would kill ladies everywhere.
"Oh, if you think that's silly, you should hear about the Harry Potter debacle," she bit the bait, grinning now. "Or that one argument over Legolas' infinite number of arrows," she chuckled, and Steve wondered if she was drawing parallel between Legolas and Green Arrow. "Honestly, Dr. Barry Allen is not as cool as we thought he is when he starts geeking out over his favourite series."
Steve was genuinely worried on how trusting and at ease she was.
Everyone knew about the cross between Frost and General Eiling two years back, and yet Caitlin trusted Steve enough to not erase his memories like how they did with the rest of the exhume crew earlier.
Not that the memories erasing would work with Stark's tech implanted in his brain, but Steve was still concerned.
No heroes should be so trusting when lots of people want to bathe in their blood.
"I think you're trustworthy," she remarked randomly as they were making their way down the corridor, eyes not meeting his own.
Steve's brows rose to his hairline the exact moment she turned around to smile at him.
She was quite cute for a superhero.
"You don't set off my internal alarm," she assured, firmer this time.
Steve couldn't help but smile. "I'm glad I didn't."
Waking up from an extreme, cold-induced sleep was not something that Barry was accustomed with.
Not since the past ten years ago, anyway.
"Don't move."
Waking up from an extreme, cold-induced sleep, with the Flash's firm voice ordering him to not move was definitely something he never expected to experience.
"Give me one good reason why I should obey you, and not kick your sadistic ass back to your fucked dystopian Earth," Barry murmured back, being careful to not making too many movements, just in case if the Flash actually made sense for once.
"I kinda save your ass?"
Barry knew he was going to regret it, but he shifted his shoulder anyway in an attempt to at least shoulder-butt his doppelganger's face. Really, he could feel the speedster's body heat right next to him. He could do this.
Then, he was oddly disoriented when he couldn't feel the pain.
"Did they cut off my arm?" he couldn't help but ask, despite the fact that he could vaguely feel his supposedly broken arm through the numbness.
"No, silly."
"Then why I didn't feel any pain?"
He briefly felt Flash's too warm hand brushed his hair off his face before something soft planted on top of his forehead. "You should be grateful to me," Flash chuckled and when Barry was about to open his eyes, those soft hot lips trailed to his eyes, forcing him to keep it shut. "And don't move. They're about to leave."
He could feel the cool air again as the Flash's retreated to his side and he remained motionless until his doppelganger started chuckling.
Assuming that it was safe now, Barry opened his eyes and glared at the speedster.
"That was a fine show. I had so much fun."
Barry groaned and squeezed his eyes shut again at the nonchalant remark. "This is why Savitar ran away, asshole. Your insanity is low-key endangering everyone," he grumbled, spitting the words through gritted teeth.
If anything, that just made the speedster to laugh even harder.
"I'm serious, jackass," Barry glowered, opening his eyes to glare at the speedster again. "You had my supposedly BFF broke my arm."
"She sedated you before she broke your arm," Flash snorted, completely unrepentant. "And Savitar will return to me once he cooled off. He is not the type to sulk for a long time."
"It still hurts, idiot."
"It already started healing," Flash hummed, tracing a playful line down Barry's casted arm. "Give a few more hours and you're as good as new."
That halted Barry's rant for a moment, as he reflected on the state of his injury. He could vaguely feel his arm, which was an odd sensation considering that he was expecting pain. Though, all that he could feel now was the heavy numbness of the sedatives they must have fed into his system. Tentatively, he tried to flex his arm, bracing himself for the pain—because Flash has enough sick sense of humour to prank Barry to hurt himself—but there was no pain at all.
Heck, Barry was convinced that he could use his arm just fine once the morphine wore off.
It was freaky enough of a situation that he could feel the goosebumps erupted all over his body.
This was the second time. First was his sprained wrist and now his broken arm.
"You know, I'm starting to think that you're slowly trying to transform me to a metahuman….," Barry remarked dryly, keeping up a perfect poker face, complete with a knowing smirk.
He couldn't show any weakness, because Flash was sure as hell would exploit it to his own benefits.
"I won't do something that you explicitly stated that you're not okay with it, Rip," the speedster shrugged, smiling brightly as he flicked a playful finger over Barry's nose. "This healing serum is not enough to change your biological structure."
"I found it difficult to take your words," Barry shot back, eyes narrowed to the nonchalant speedster. "What is the point of hurting me then?"
"To take you off the list," Flash hummed, seeming now to be taking interest in Barry's cast. "Captain Rogers and his team already marked you as their top suspect," he stated nonchalantly, a random sharpie made appearance in his grip as he started to doodle on Barry's cast. "The original plot was to knock you unconscious and kidnap you…," he snorted, the sharpie brushed over the white cast to form the outline of the head of a woman, "….y'know, so that you have the time to actually worked on the Britton kids, but then I have to improvise the plot when Steve fucking Rogers strutted his way into my drama."
Barry tried really hard to not sigh at the cartoonish doodle on his cast, but instead focused on the speedster's rant. "Is he anyone prominent in another universe?"
Flash was too irked and cautious around this guy that it was impossible if Steve was just a random military officer.
"He was a hero in another universe," the speedster snorted, pulling out a full set of colourful sharpie out of literal nowhere and started colouring his doodle. "Not one of Earth's mightiest heroes on this Earth, thankfully, but dude is still dangerous," he compared between two shades of blue, before deciding on the lighter shade. "Pretty sure he had the whole gang behind him too, which means that you need to watch your steps and make sure that our numbers are in your night job's speed dials, just in case."
Barry took a moment to process the information.
"How thoughtful of you to injure me just so I'm taken off the suspect list…," he eventually drawled, sarcasm dripped from each syllable.
Flash beamed brightly. "He probably has already assumed that I'm from another universe," he hummed, resuming to his colouring like a child. "But I had that covered for you. Gideon is uploading my hidden dark background as we speak."
"But—"
"If he asked, I'm your mentally impaired older brother from a prostitute mother who ended up dead at the hands of high-end criminal gang. That is why they initially couldn't find my record."
Barry closed his mouth and stared at the speedster for a long minute.
"Did you graduate from University of Over-Theatrical Drama?"
"Nope. I was CCU's alumni. Forensic Science," Flash shrugged, holding up two shades of black. "Which one is darker?" he asked suddenly, taking Barry completely off-guard.
Barry confusedly picked the darker black that Flash immediately used to fill in the pants of whatever he was doodling on Barry's cast—the speedster was humming a creepy lullaby under his breath.
Barry suddenly had a great respect towards Savitar and Killer Frost for being able to survive living with Flash because this behaviour was impossibly surreal, and extremely exhausting.
"I still achieve my initial objective though," Flash remarked, retreating a bit to appraise his doodle before a tiny happy smile cracked across his face. He looked up to meet Barry's bewildered gaze—the smile only grew wider as he enthusiastically added; "With this injury, you're cleared off suspicion for a few weeks. One cannot achieve the level of Scarlet Ripper's precision with a broken arm after all."
There was a moment of silence as Barry let the idea sink in while Flash returned to bedazzling his doodles with random hearts and stars.
"I hope you're not expecting a 'thank you'," Barry finally breathed out, not knowing what else to comment on. "I'm still pissed off with your theatrics."
"Not even expecting it," Flash hummed nonchalantly, snickering under his breath at something that he was drawing. "You're too stuck-up to even know what fun is."
"Excuse you—"
"And Ronnie is swapping place with you tonight," Flash cut Barry off before he could even start his defensive rant, the end of the pink sharpie was nonchalantly pointed at Barry's face. "Kidnapped the kids last night. The girl is a nervous traumatised wreck, but the boy is eager to have you fix his legs."
Barry gaped, mouth opened and closed for a solid five seconds as he tried to come up with a witty response.
"Are you ever going to listen to me?" he ended up with an exasperated sigh, completely giving up. "At least listen to my input before deciding something?"
"I listen to no one," Flash snorted, outlining the pink hearts with red sharpie. "Cute," he grinned, gently lifting Barry's cast up to admire his doodle.
Barry groaned once he had a full look of said doodle, colour finally returned to his pale cheeks as his blood rushed up to colour his face a fine light tint of pink.
"You're the worst…," he muttered, pointedly avoiding from looking at the doodle.
"You do think that it is cute," Flash had that smug grin on his face when he lightly tapped the cap of his sharpie on the doodle. "You like it~"
"Nope. Go to hell, Flash."
"Been there, they made me king—still had the marks."
Barry groaned and buried his face under the pillow.
He did think that the cartoonish drawing of Frost kissing his cheek was pretty cute….
…..but he would never admit that he was planning to salvage and keep that drawing.
Nope. Never.
How could something so morbid looked so beautiful?
Never has it crossed the eighteen years old boy's mind that he would look up to a literal defiled dead body of his own stepsister and only feeling awe and appreciation of such fine handiwork. Emmy wasn't responding well to this beauty, but his sister has always been weak-stomached, so Rod was actually impressed that she was able to stand for a complete 5 minutes while staring of their "reborn" stepsister before she finally caved and retreated to the washroom to puke her guts out.
It was a work of art. Morbid and gruesome, yes, but the structure and composition brought out the beauty from the ugly human Lucy once was.
Red was a beautiful colour.
Rod wheeled his wheelchair around Lucy's circular display, heading towards the organized stacks of papers on the glass table behind the display. The red-clad speedster that brought them here said that they were free to roam and check out things that they could access, so Rod figured that it was okay for him to read these papers, just to pass the time while their supposed saviour returned.
Never has it crossed the boy's mind that this would be the circumstance he ended up in when it came to meeting the infamous Scarlet Ripper.
Considering that Lucy was already on display, ready to be shown to the world for the serial killer's next show, Rod wasn't too concerned that his agreement to deliberately let himself be kidnapped will end badly.
Like anything could even be worse than the hell he has went through.
He tried to shift his legs but winced when the pain shot up from his legs and racked all over his body. He gasped, grasping the edge of the table as he waited for the pain to pass, silently cursing Lucy for all of her sadistic jealousy glory. It was better now because he has regained his sense of touch below his waist, but the recovery came with side-effects of feeling the pain of his broken lower half.
The speedster promised that once Ripper fixed his legs, the speedster himself would give Rod the ability to run unlike any other.
Hey, if one little shot of that magic meds was able to de-paralysed him in the span of few hours, Rod was sure there was a way to mutate himself and make him a metahuman too.
And boy, was he tempted. Having drawn short end of the luck sticks throughout his whole life, this offer was too tempting to pass. Sure, that everything came with a catch. This power offered to him has came with an invitation to the dark side, or to watch over Ripper's back to be more specific—and to be honest, Rod would have done it, even without the incentives of superspeed. Ripper killed Lucy—the main player of the suffering his poor mother and sister had went through—therefore Rod reckoned that he has owed the Scarlet Ripper more than he was able to repay.
If being the serial killer's little helper was enough to repay the man for removing Lucy from their life, Rod was more than ready to do it.
Plus, the man was pretty cool.
The boy skimmed through the papers, spending long thoughtful minutes as he stared at the rough sketches and delicate outlines of what he assumed was the original draft for Lucy's reborn. He recognized the main inspiration, having seen the picture of the silver Renaissance sculpture in online articles and was impressed that the serial killer was pretty spot-on in describing Lucy.
Envy was the most fitting sin for the cruel girl after all.
Rod picked the inspiration picture up and held it side by side with the remains of his stepsister. It seemed that the Scarlet Ripper added his own twist from the original Flötner's work. Rod was amazed at the delicate crafting of the wings, seemingly like it was built using either metals or bones, or a mixture of both as the base of the wings; with Lucy's smooth fair skin stretched out to fill in the bat-like wings. Lucy seemed depraved on some parts, making her remains looked thin and ragged—a fitting match for her insatiable thirst for love and attention that never seemed enough to her. He recognized that the drapes that covered the sculpture's lower half was the remaining skin, making it a striking contrast of fair white and honest red of the muscles. Similarly, Lucy's painted red lips and half-exposed flesh of her face was a striking contrast to the white teeth that was biting into the ripped heart.
Rod briefly wondered if he could beg Lucy's dad to just display this in their gallery instead of conducting a funeral.
For once, Rod actually thought that Lucy was extremely beautiful.
"Beautiful," he breathed out, finding the irony of the situation in that statement alone.
"You know, that was the last thing I expected from you."
Rod turned his head around, only to crack a tiny shy smile at the man that was leaning against the doorframe.
It was completely abnormal to have this kind of starstruck sensation when meeting the city's infamous most wanted criminal, but Rod couldn't conceal his excitement at all.
Perhaps when those men whom Lucy's hired said that they were going to fuck his brain out, they really did so, and Rod wasn't capable of sane thinking anymore after the whole torment.
It was weird to see Scarlet Ripper without his trademark red coat, but the lack of coat and the relaxed lax of the killer's shoulders have eased the situation considerably, creating an air of casualness that was easy for the boy to breathe in. The man was only wearing his black shirt, casually unbuttoned down to his collarbone, though was still neatly tucked inside his perfectly tailored pants. The black and gold mask seemed fitting to the man's own golden tresses—and Rod was worried that he might has grown a tiny celebrity crush on the serial killer because damn, the way those golden tresses fell very casually over the masked face made the boy's heart fluttered in a very inappropriate way.
The fact that the Scarlet Ripper was exuding a comforting aura instead of intimidating one was pretty disconcerting and weird too.
"I meant it," Rod sputtered out, a bit embarrassed as he cleared his throat once, and trying so hard to not jump into fanboy mode. "I really did. You make her pretty. Very pretty."
The easy smile that spread across the masked face made Rod to be grateful for his useless legs because he just knew it that he was going to collapse onto his knees now if not only because he was sitting on his wheelchair.
"You and your sister are weird," Ripper remarked, nodding towards Lucy before shifting his gaze back to Rod—something akin of fondness flickered into those deep blue eyes. "Praising my work on her is the last thing I expected to hear from you."
Rod bit back his retort, despite how much he hated it when people described him and Lucy as siblings.
"You're upset," almost in a heartbeat, Ripper responded to his change of mood, the man's brows furrowed behind his mask as his hands slipped to his sides. "Did you not admit her as your sister?"
"I only have one sister," Rod muttered, eyes flickered to the narrow hallway that was heading to the washroom. "And she is in there, mute and broken."
There was a beat of silence as Rod stared at his knees, fighting back the angry tears that were about to leak out. He was too focused on his own grief and anger to realise that his personal space was breached, hence the sharp shocked gasp that escaped his lips when he felt warm hands gently ruffling through his hair.
"So young, having suffered so many…," Ripper hummed, sounding almost too fatherly to be that of a psychopathic serial killer, that it made Rod wondered if the man would be okay if he went for a hug.
Feeling fairly safe, Rod tentatively wrapped his arms around the lean torso and was pleasantly surprised that the killer returned the hug after a moment of hesitance. A yelp escaped the boy's lips when Ripper easily lifted him up from the wheelchair—the man ended up carrying him to the restricted area of what Rod assumed was the man's main workspace, before he was gently placed onto the metal table.
"I made a promise to her," Ripper cracked a smile as he got on his knees, hands carefully rolled Rod's loose hospital pants up to his knees. "Made me promise that I will see through your recovery," he huffed in a silent laughter, warm hands kneaded up the boy's useless legs as if he was examining the extend of the damage those legs have suffered. "I'm a man of my word."
Rod felt anger surged up to his head.
"Bitch," he growled, looking away when the serial killer looked up to meet his eyes.
"She still has the last laugh, huh?" it was a nonchalant hum, but Rod was sure that the man was at least mildly amused. "You couldn't even properly hate her when her last wish was for your own benefits."
"Bitch," he muttered again, tasting the word at the tip of his tongue—it tasted like hatred and anger, all bitter and sour. "Did she suffer?"
Ripper's hands halted over Rod's shin for a brief moment before the man looked up to meet his gaze with a cocky smirk.
"What do you think?" he asked, tipping his head in the direction of the hallway leading to the main area where Lucy was displayed.
Rod cracked a grim happy smile. "You made her tastes pain. Thank you very much."
Ripper clicked his tongue playfully and resumed his task without another comment. It was when he has rolled the pants down again that he finally remarked;
"I'm afraid that I might have defiled her corpse a couple of time."
Rod felt that the man was gouging his reaction, so he decided to shrug and cracked his happiest smile to the serial killer. "Then, I hope you have enjoyed yourself."
It was a beat of silence before the serial killer erupted to a rich amused laughter, and those warm hands were back ruffling Rod's hair.
"You're an interesting kid," the man stated once his laughter subsided, holding out his arms to carry Rod back to his wheelchair.
Rod clung a bit tighter to Ripper's shoulder as they reached the main area, feeling oddly at ease despite the obvious wrongness of being here in general. It was wrong, surreal and completely insane.
But what he was about to ask next was probably even more wrong and crazy.
Rod shot and appreciative look at the remains of Lucy and then back to the man that was carrying him—taking in the little details of the infamous serial killer's masked face as he gathered his courage.
Lucy did look very pretty.
And Rod enjoyed this kind of morbid art.
"Um…sir?"
"Hmm?"
"If I can be fixed…," Rod swallowed, bracing himself before he lost what little courage he had. "...um, will you, like…"
"Yes?"
It was disturbingly worrying on how gentle and encouraging the serial killer was as he prompted the words out of Rod's hesitant throat. Fearing that he would lost his courage, Rod blurted out quickly;
"Will you take me as your apprentice?"
Time suddenly seemed to stop.
A/N: I swear that Steve was originally set to be Albert, the special division was set to be from the precinct and not some secret division of the government; but then I have never liked Albert much and this just happened. Plus, it kinda fits with the theme of this chapter, which is "Art". Anyway, canonically, Albert was in relationship with Caitlin so...dun dun dun *random love rival appears*; but Barry favours Frost anyway, so it might not be much a problem? ;)
The story is rising to the important arc, and like I told you in the previous chapter, Rod and Emmy would have vital roles later in the story, at least to Flash whom if you noticed, was not-so-subtly pulling a few strings of the show since the past few chapters. Barry has no idea what was going to hit him, and neither do Frost and Caitlin.
