Arrow's Flashpoint

Summary: When Barry Allen learned that his crush, billionaire playboy Oliver Queen, and his hero, the Starling Vigilante, were one in the same, it turned his whole world upside down. The accident that made him the impossible also allowed him to get closer to the Arrow than he ever dreamed. But Oliver didn't know how the kid had managed to weasel his way into his heart; until it was too late.

Pairing: Oliver Queen X Barry Allen (aka Flarrow). Mentions of past relationships and crushes will occur, including; Linda, Sandra, Iris, Felicity, Shado, Helena, Isabel, Laurel, Becky, Sara, Nyssa, OC, etc... Aside from that, pairings are canon.

Warnings: Action, Adventure, Alcohol, Amnesia, Angst, Assault (Physical), AU-ish, Bisexuality, Black Comedy, Bullying (Mentioned), Character Deaths (Minor Canon & OC), Child Abuse (Mentioned/Implied), Crime, Dark Themes, Depression (Mentioned), Drama, Drugs, Family, Fluff, Friendship, Homosexuality, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, Inappropriate Humor, Language, Lemons, Love, Medical Babble, Mixed Fandoms, Murder, Non-Beta'd, Non-Canon Pairing, Possible OOCness, Psychiatric Talk, Religious Talk, Romance, Science Babble, Self Harm (Implied), Sexual Abuse (Mentioned), Sexual Themes, Slash, Song Lyrics, Spoilers, Suicidal Thoughts (Implied/Mentioned), Superpowers, Time Travel, Twins, Violence, etc.

Point Of View: 3rd Person POV, past tense, story form, italicized thoughts/flashbacks/dreams. The main focus will either be on Oliver or Barry, depending on the scene. If they're both in the same scene, chances are it'll alternate between the two of them.

"...Authorities are left baffled by the serial rapist and murderer - known on social media as the Sangria Slayer - who has been at large for over a month now. Victims are brunette men and women between the ages of eighteen and twenty five. There is no description for the suspect responsible, although possible witnesses have said that he may be caucasian and in his early thirties. If you have any information please call the Central City Police Department's anonymous tipline-"

Shaking his head, Barry turned off the television that was mounted to the wall with an audible 'click', before turning to look at the rest of...Team Flash, as they were now apparently called.

He blamed Cisco.

Noticing the skeptical expressions on their faces - even Dr. Wells' - he gave a frustrated sigh, "Guys, there's no way this isn't another Meta-Human. Why can't you see it?"

The young man had been searching for this killer for over three weeks now, completely on his own, and was getting nowhere even after having obtained additional police reports. Finally, he had to call the person - the one that had contacted him - and ask for permission to get his team involved, promising not to mention the blackmail, and they'd agreed, so he had brought up his suspicions with them, and was promptly shut down.

Now, he was beginning to think he should have just gone to Oliver. He knew that the archer would have helped him, but he didn't want to seem needy. They were taking things slow. While they still texted daily and talked on the phone every so often, as well as Barry visiting on his weekends off, things were still new (not to mention exciting), and the thought of dragging the older male into this whole mess seemed like a bad idea...

Biting her lip, Caitlin wrung her hands together, glancing over at Cisco uncertainly, before she moved forward, putting a hand on his shoulder, "Look, Barry, we're not saying it's impossible, just... highly unlikely."

Annoyed by her placating tone, he took a step away from her, "And I'm telling you that the evidence doesn't lie. None of these victims had defensive wounds, they were all blitz attacked, brutalized and left for dead. There was saliva in the wounds, he's drinking their blood. That doesn't sound even slightly unnatural to you?"

"Ted Bundy was a murderer, it didn't mean he had powers." Dr. Wells told him, "So was Jeffrey Dahmer, Paul Bernardo, Elizabeth Bathory, Dennis Rader, they're still human."

Well, clearly Wells had a different opinion than him on what the word human meant.

"It's definitely...strange, but I'm sure there's a perfectly scientific explanation for it, we just haven't figured it out yet." Cisco supplied, shuffling awkwardly when Barry turned to look at him.

"Besides, why would a Metahuman just start killing random people anyways?"

Looking at him with disbelief, the man known as the Flash responded, "Because he's sick? Why did Clyde Mardon feel the need to continue robbing banks after the plane crash even though he pretty much got a free pass with the police thinking he died? Some people are incapable of changing. CCPD has been after this guy for weeks and they've got zero leads, people are still being attacked and murdered. The least I can do is try."

Seeing the desperate look on his bioengineer's face at the sheer stubborness the superhero was displaying, Dr. Wells sighed, "And what if he is a Metahuman? There's no telling what his power is or what he could do to you, Barry. Until we know for sure, it just seems too dangerous for the Flash to risk going after him."

That answer just further aggravated, mostly because he knew what his mentor was saying did make sense. But he hated feeling helpless, especially in both of his jobs, he wished there was some way he could find this guy, he couldn't just tell the others that he was being blackmailed either.

It didn't even matter at this point, after reading the coroner's statements, he genuinely wanted to find this psychopath and see him behind bars.

At the moment he was at a loss, though.

Wait, maybe there was something he could do...

"Fine," Barry's voice was cold and clipped when he spoke again, "The Flash stays off the case. For now." He emphasized, turning to head out of the lab, but paused halfway throug the doorframe, looking over his shoulder at them, "For the record, the latest victim? He cut her up so badly they needed dental records to identify her. Her name was Stacey Martin and she was nineteen years old."

He was gone before they could say anything else to him.

It was painful to hear the lack of compassion from them sometimes. He knew the three of them were actually good and kind people, and he cared about them a lot, but they were just such...scientists. It occasionally seemed like they looked at things in a clinical, unfeeling way.

Deciding to blame it on the fact that they were always inside - that they didn't have to see the damage that the Metas and even the regular humans were doing to people first hand - he made a conscious effort not to focus on the argument, opting instead to head home and get ready.

When he arrived at the Mental Health Care Unit at the hospital, he had one of the night nurses direct him to Angela Martin's room. She was slightly hesitant - whether due to the fact that he was a man or because of why she was in there, he had no idea - and after informing her that he was with the police she was willing to overlook the "family only" rule.

The first thing Barry noticed about her was that she wasn't a brunette like her younger sister had been, though her hair appeared to be colored blonde, and he wondered if that was why the killer had chosen Stacey to kill instead of Angela, the rest of his victims had been dark-haired as well...

She looked terrible; her right wrist was in a cast, she was covered in bruises of all different colors, and she was hooked up to a ventilator which was pumping oxygenated air into her lungs, due to the respiratory problems she'd been having since being admitted, caused by several fractured ribs and a pulmonary contusion contributing to her breathing difficulties, most likely.

Obviously, she hadn't gone down without a fight.

Despite all the different wires going in and out of her body, and the damage the assailant had done to her, he could tell she was a beautiful girl. Probably popular, her sunny tan indicated she spent a lot of time outdoors, and she seemed athletic, sporty.

What happened to her was just as horrifying as the others, if not more so. Angela and her sister had gone to the movies one night, when they were ambushed by someone clad in black. As the older sibling, she had tried to defend Stacey, but was violently beaten in the process. Her police report couldn't describe the man, but mentioned that she was in and out of consciousness throughout the attack, she had watched him slit Stacey's throat after raping her.

A few days after arriving at the ICU, she attempted to commit suicide by strangling herself with her IV, and was transfered into their psychiatric unit.

If it wasn't a Metahuman, then he had no idea who was capable of doing these things without leaving behind any helpful evidence... He'd taken down two fit, healthy young women at the same time, not to mention half a dozen other victims.

Just then he heard someone clear their throat, and turned around just a little too quickly, tensing as an instinctive reaction.

Standing in the doorway was an older woman in her early to late sixties. She was short, with silver hair tied back to reveal her tanned, weathered face, and with the crinkles in the corners of her bright green eyes and lines around her mouth, he could tell she was a happy person that smiled often.

There was no happiness there now, however, no hint of a smile. Instead, her expression was weary, but brimming with concern, anger, sadness and suspicion all at once. The lack of uniform indicated she was probably a family member.

"Who are you?" she demanded, her posture was stiff.

Sensing that she was probably about to call for the hospital security, he took a brisk step forward, putting his hands up slightly in a surrendering manner, "Mrs...Martin?" he asked, and she gave a tight nod. "My name is Barry Allen, I'm with the Central City Police Department's Forensics Division."

Almost instantly, her shoulders relaxed in response, "The police already asked me a bunch of questions..." she said quietly, before giving him a look, "You... here to see Angie?"

Ten minutes later they were both sitting in the nearly deserted cafeteria, after Barry had offered to buy her a cup of coffee so the could talk. The woman, Nina she'd insisted he call her, seemed to warm to him slightly when she found out that he was off work, but that he just wanted to see how her granddaughter was doing.

"My Joey met the girls' mother when they were still teenagers. She was such a sweet girl, Maria. They broke up in college, he wanted to be a lawyer and she wanted to be an anthropologist. They both had such high aspirations, but they were stubborn. Yet fate brought them back together again..." when her fond smile faded he got the distinct feeling that the love story did not have a happy ending. "Stacey and Angela moved to Central City to live with me when they were eleven and thirteen."

That got his full attention.

A possible lead?

"You mean they didn't always live here?"

Nina shook her head, "No, no. Joey and Maria lived out of the state. My son and his wife were both killed in a burglary almost nine years ago. My poor granddaughters witnessed the whole thing; if they weren't so resilient I would have worried that they wouldn't be able to get past it..."

Barry's heart constricted slightly at the new information.

That's how old he had been when his mother was killed... Eleven.

Just like Stacey, he'd had an older sibling that helped him stay stronger too. Of course he knew there was no connection, but Angela had been through something very similar. Only she'd lost both of her parents. He couldn't imagine what his life would have ended up being like had his father died that night too.

His dad was the reason he went into forensics in the first place, the reason he desired to help people at all. If he hadn't had that driving force behind him all of these years, he probably never would have become the Flash. As painful as losing his mom had been, he knew that event was part of what made him who he was that day.

But for someone to go through such a tragedy when they were a child, and then have this happen to them, losing their little sister in the process, it was sad to think about. It was reasons like this that he couldn't believe in God, or destiny. Because if there was a deity out there watching them, why did he let such awful things happen to good people?

No, it was easier to go on thinking that some people were simply born evil, that they did evil things, rather than that some cosmic force intentionally caused it all to happen.

Snapping out of his thoughts, which, thanks to his brain constantly moving at hyper speed, had only lasted a split second, he looked back into Nina Martin's kind, sad green eyes, and told her, "We're going to find the person responsible for this, I promise."

Despite the fact that it was already going for two in the morning and he had to be to work rather early tomorrow, Barry couldn't bring himself to simply zip back to his apartment in the seconds that it would take.

It was cool outside, breezy, and sometimes, even though he absolutely loved the freedom and adrenaline that came with his speed, he enjoyed taking his time. It was rare that he had these quiet, tranquil moments. Looking up at the night sky, he couldn't help but admire the glowing stars sprinkled across it.

Before his mother died, he recalled telling her once that he wanted to be an astronomer, or an astrophysicist, something having to do with outerspace, and the universe as a whole. It had always fascinated him. He was making his way across town, taking a couple of cuts along the way to avoid cars, because distractions made it harder to think.

That was when it hit him, what Nina had said, about Stacey and Angela moving across the state to live with her...

Of course!

Why didn't he consider it sooner?!

The police were so focused on the rapist's current crimes that they never stopped to consider the fact that he might have had a past criminal record, that he might not have even been from Central City at all! Even if this was a Metahuman they were dealing with, who was to say that he hadn't been committing his crimes even before the Particle Accelerator malfunctioned?

He could have been doing this for months, or even for years, and no one would have noticed, either because at the time nothing was out of the ordinary from any other violent crime, or because he had been more careful than he was these days.

Knowing for a fact that gaining superpowers tended to give you a somewhat big head at times, it was possible that this man had more victims, that he just became reckless because his recently discovered abilities made him cocky!

If he was right about this, it could lead to a huge break in the case, if they expanded their search to criminal databases in other cities in the state, they could contact other police departments and get cooperation!

A spark of excitement ran through his body, and he found himself feeling more determined and hopeful than he had before.

He had to tell Joe, and Captain Singh.

Maybe Cisco and Caitlin too.

They could catch this guy, he was certain of it!

Barry was so lost in his own thoughts, that he didn't hear the footsteps approaching him, not until it was too late.

Something heavy struck him over the back of his head, sending a shooting pain up the back of his skull, making him stumble as he nearly blacked out, but before he could fully register what had happened, he was being shoved roughly up against the dilapidated brick wall of the alley he'd been using as a shortcut.

Despite his now blurry vision, he forced himself to focus, and when he was met with a pair of cruel grey eyes that stood out on a deathly pale face, his heart skipped a beat.

A man, older than he was, dressed in all black.

The hairs on the back of his neck stood up, dread curled in the pit of his stomach; every fiber in his being was screaming at him to turn and run away, but he couldn't, his entire body felt sluggish and incredibly weak, out of nowhere.

Ignoring this, he tried to move, and his legs almost instantly gave out undeneath him. His arms, despite suddenly feeling like they were made of jelly, managed to catch him before he could hit his face off the ground and probably break his nose. When he lifted his head back up, a surge of panic rushed through Barry, because the man was gone.

No, not gone, behind him.

His heart was racing, and his thoughts seemed slower than usual; that frightened him. But that wasn't the worst part. It was the nausea that hit him next, his whole body felt as though it was being weighed down by lead and he wanted to just curl up into a ball and clutch his stomach agony, but he couldn't, because he could barely move.

The speedster heard gravel crunching under boots, someone getting closer to him, circling him.

Heard.

Barry was confused... what was going on? Why couldn't he move? Why was it so dark, hadn't there been street lights nearby just a moment ago? He blinked rapidly, trying to restore his foggy sight, but it just seemed to make everything all that fuzzier.

That was when he realized he was being dragged, further into the alley.

It took every bit of energy he had simply to keep his head up, until he felt a pair of cold, clammy hands grasping his face, and he could feel those eyes on him, but he still couldn't see, and the headache was becoming nearly unbearable at this point.

He felt worse than that one time in college when he woke up on the floor of a frat house after a keg party - which his friend had all but abducted him in order to get him to attend with him - the night before with a massive, crippling hangover.

"...H-Help me."

Who was he asking for help?

Barry wasn't sure.

All he got in response at first was a deep chuckle, while those cool fingers were brushing back his hair, and the feeling of lips against his ear sent a shudder racing down his spine, the nauseated feeling becoming worse, "Soon," the man purred to him, "I promise."

That was the moment he began actually struggling, finally starting to realize what was going on.

His mind went into overdrive, trying to fight off the dizzying effects of whatever influence this person had on him, the haze on his brain was making him feel sick and sleepy, to stop him from fighting back. He was straining with the effort it took simply to pull himself away from the man.

It seemed like whatever this drug-like power was he had, it was delaying his super speed. That scared him a lot more than he cared to admit, but even without it he wasn't completely helpless, he learned that after the incident with Blackout.

Caitlin told him that even without his speed, his mind was still constantly working as fast as always, which meant his body was also fighting off this man's power like it would with an infection.

He managed to turn over onto his back, and started blindly kicking upwards at the man, feeling a short-lived amount of satisfaction when his foot impacted something solid and heard a startled grunt of pain.

Yes, he'd got him!

Barry somehow managed to scramble to his feet, albeit rather unsteadily, and tried to feel his way out of the alley, going as quickly as he could at the moment while still being careful, lest he run into a wall and knock himself unconscious.

It would happen to him.

The man was apparently able to recover quickly though, because he next heard a quiet laugh, that sounded like a mixture of surprise and amusement, "You can still fight back..." There was a twisted sort of interest in his voice, as though the idea excited him.

A hand grabbed him by the ankle then, giving it a painful twist as he was yanked back down, despite his attempts to kick the attacker away.

Then a sharp pain ran up his lower left side as he was kicked in return, hard. He let out a weak groan in response, because that cracking sound was not good, he knew from experience, it probably meant he had a broken rib or something now.

Fantastic.

Struggling to pull himself up into a sitting position, ignoring the throb of pain in his lower right side, he tried to get to his feet again, but his legs were even weaker than before, and wobbly.

Barry fell forward as soon as he tried to back away from where he last heard sound coming from, only to be caught by hands roughly grabbing his shoulders.

One of them moved to cup the side of his face, "So... beautiful..."

Disgust ran through him at the compliment, and he recoiled at the touch, but his movements were sluggish, and delayed.

His mind was just clear enough to realize that he wasn't thinking straight, and that he needed to do something.

But what? What was he supposed to do when he could barely move. As the Flash he relied almost entirely on his speed, both in helping people and and himself, when a situation was too dangerous and he needed to get away... but now he couldn't.

Then it occured to him to scream.

Screaming was something civilians did when they needed help. He wasn't in uniform, no one was going to look at him and see the Flash, they would see a regular man getting attacked by a sadistic serial killer in an alley. So that's exactly what he did.

Barry screamed, long and loud, hoping someone passing by would hear him. His voice wasn't as clear as usual, and his tone was slurred - he probably sounded like he was drunk or high - but it didn't matter, because he had to get the attention of someone.

He kept yelling, renewing his fighting, until a hard fist struck him across the face with such a force that it knocked him back to the ground.

The man spat angrily at him, "No one's going to hear you, you little bitch."

He opened his mouth to scream for help again, but was cut off a moment later when pale, frigid hands wrapped around his throat, cutting off his air, and he panicked even further, instinctively clawing at the fingers to try to get them off. But the man was choking him, he couldn't breathe and now he couldn't speak either.

"Just make this easier for yourself," Came the hissed warning as the fingers on his neck relaxed just slightly, and he drew in sharp, shaky gasps, pulse hammering in his chest faster than ever, and barely registering the fact that the man was now hovering over him until he felt his legs being pinned down by a heavy weight.

The trapped speedster froze at this, and he suddenly wanted to throw up, because the full gravity of the situation had finally hit him. He was alone, helpless, at night, with a violent psychopath, and he could feel his attacker's arousal pressing into his kneecap, and that scared him senseless.

He was terrified, moisture gathering in his eyes as he realized just how afraid he truly was.

What could he do now?

A hand snaked up beneath his shirt, fingers sliding over his abdomen and he shuddered hard, fear causing adrenaline to spike through his bloodstream.

"No," Barry choked out, despite his now likely bruised throat was protesting against him speaking, "Please, don't. Get off of me. I-I have money, just take it and go." He knew that wasn't what the Meta wanted, but he was just trying to stall him while he thought of a plan.

He knew he sounded pathetic, but he hadn't felt this vulnerable in a long time, and he had no idea what he could do, his attacker had drained him of all energy and physically overpowered him as well. It made him regret not telling the others, because secret identity be damned, they could have helped him.

Another dark chuckle, and he felt the man rooting through his pants pocket, pulling out what had to be his wallet. A noise of interest left the man. He must have found his ID then.

"Barry Allen..." His heart stopped briefly when his name left the lips of his attacker. "Assistant Forensics Technician for the Criminal and Forensic Science Division of the Central City Police Department's Crime Scene Investigation Unit." He whistled, sounding slightly impressed. "Quite a title you have there. Oh well, that doesn't matter now anyways."

Cold lips pressed against his then, a slimy tongue forcing its way into his mouth, and Barry's unseeing eyes widened, bile rose in the back of his throat as his body stiffened with shock, and he did the only thing he could think of in that moment.

He bit down, hard.

Pulling back with a loud yelp, the man snarled, and slammed his fist into the younger man's stomach, eliciting a gasp of pain from him. "Bastard! You just had to make this difficult, didn't you?!"

The man ripped open his shirt, sending the buttons flying, and leaving Barry shivering from the cold now too.

Rough fingers tangled into his hair, forcing his head to the side while pain shot through his scalp as a result, his revulsion came back full force when those dry lips pressed against his neck, before the murderer bit down on his collar, and he cried out sharply, but the man ignored him, sinking his teeth into him and...

Was that a tongue?

Fucking freak was licking his blood.

He felt sick.

Something cold and sharp pressed against his neck, causing his body to tense when he realized what it was.

A knife.

Oh God, he was going to kill him.

"Not yet..." The murderer crooned, making him wonder if he'd accidentally said it out loud, "By the time I'm done with you, you'll be begging for death." He chuckled as he slid the flat side of the blade down his throat and chest, and Barry hissed in pain as the tip cut into the soft skin of abdomen, which turned into a shriek as it pressed in further, cutting into him, and he could feel warm blood oozing from the wound.

He bit down on his lip, refusing to give the man the satisfaction of hearing his pain, but it was hard to hold back when the bastard shoved his index finger into the cut, making him squeeze his eyes shut, desperately trying to ignore the feeling of it moving around inside him.

And then it was gone, and he nearly sighed in relief, until he heard a wet, slurping sound.

"You taste so sweet..."

The serial killer's mouth was on his once more, roughly and unpleasant, and despite his attempt to turn his head away, he gripped Barry's jaw tightly, forcing his mouth open and thrusting his tongue inside, he tasted salt and copper, causing his stomach to churn, and he very nearly gagged.

It was only being all too aware of the knife the man was wielding that stopped him from biting the bastard again.

He pulled away, and a scream tore from Barry's already aching throat as the man slashed a cut - at least six inches long - down his left side, and the stinging pain made his eyes water. Despite his quick cellular recovery, he didn't have a very high tolerance for pain, he never had, actually.

"They're healing..." He heard the Metahuman murmur, and Barry stiffened, "You're like me, aren't you?"

Bristling, the speedster spat out, "I am nothing like you!"

He was though, and he knew it. This guy, whatever he had done, was not natural. Barry could feel it, the influence was weakening him, it had...slowed him down, somehow.

But that didn't mean he was going down without a fight.

The Flash didn't give up.

"Feisty. I like it." The murderer let out a deranged laugh; a punch to the side of the head made him see stars, before the blade dug into his flesh again, just above his navel, and the man dragged it upwards, causing him to choke out something resembling an agonized cry.

His whole torso felt hot now, despite the chilly January air, he was wet and sticky from his own blood despite the wounds rapidly closing themselves up, it was starting to pool beneath him. The sadist paid him no mind, though, proceeding to make several other cuts of varying length and depth, and eventually he couldn't scream anymore, because his throat was raw and burning, and nobody seemed to be around anyway.

If there were, why weren't they helping him?

Barry was feeling both light and heavy, his vision darkening through the mutiliation, but the pain kept him awake.

The man on top of him shifted, swinging one leg over the young man's knees so he was straddling him, and then that cold hand was caressing his cheek once more, tracing over his lips, which were stained with his own blood. Once more, the young man had the urge to bite him, but he just felt too damn tired, like he wanted to take a nap.

Was this what his victims had experienced? Or did being a Metahuman mean that he was affected differently? He tried to fight him off, but his arms were heavy, like they were being weighed down by an invisible force, and that dizzy, nauseated feeling was just getting worse.

"I'm going to enjoy this, boy." He heard the man growl in his ear all of a sudden, though his voice wasn't the same as before, something about it had changed. "So much..."

There was an eagerness to it that he didn't like.

Barry went rigid when he suddenly felt a hand on his belt.

Ice ran through his veins.

"No, no. Please, don't-!"

His words were ignored as the man yanked it off with such force that it nearly broke the loops of his pants.

"Let me go, please. Stop! Someone, please, help me!"

The young man was struggling violently again at this point, kicking and punching at the man on top of him futilely, his limbs heavy and weak, the same thought running through his head over and over again: No, no, no. This isn't happening. This can't be happening.

His pants were being pulled down now, tangled around his knees.

"Stop, you have to stop!'

His boxers soon followed them.

"Y-You can't! Please get off, don't do this to me. Stop it!" He was talking so fast his words were running together, his chest was tight and aching, he could barely breathe, and then he was being rolled over onto his stomach, a body much stronger than his own pressing down on him.

"Let's get you a little more comfortable, hmm?" There was a smirk in the killer's voice, ignoring Barry's near hyperventilating as he ran his hands up the young man's sides, icy fingers stroking over his chest and abdomen and-

Oh God.

Why hadn't he realized this was going to happen before? He should have, he'd read the reports. Every sick, twisted thing this man had done to those poor people. It hadn't even occured to him. The only thing he'd been afraid of was feeling that blade being drawn across his neck when the guy was going to kill him.

This was so much worse.

A knee wedged itself between his thighs, forcing them open despite his struggles, which were proven to be ineffective. The man's own legs had his pinned against the ground. He could feel rocks digging into his flesh, his palms were sweaty as he tried desperately to get the weight of the murderer off of him, trying to push himself up and knock him away, but he felt so weak that he could barely move.

"Please, d-don't! Stop it, God, please! Stop!"

He heard the sound of a zipper being undone, and that's when the dam finally broke.

Hot tears began flowing freely down his face, his breathing coming out in harsh, shallow pants, but he never stopped weakly battling to free himself, still helplessly pleading with the man not to do what he knew was going to happen to him.

Clammy, frigid lips nipped at the back of his neck, making him wince.

All he could think about was how much it was going to hurt, he knew that was a given, this man was not going to be gentle - he was a sick, psychotic killer. And... the looks everyone would give him after. The pity, just like when his mother died and he kept arguing his father's innocence even when no one would believe him.

His friends would find out, and his family.

What would Caitlin and Cisco think? Sebastian? His father? What about Dr. Wells? Joe, the rest of the police force... What would Iris say? Felicity? What about Roy, and Diggle?

...Oliver?

None of them would ever be able to look at him the same way.

He'd just be Barry Allen, the victim, all over again, just like when he was a kid.

No!

No, no, no!

Barry shut his eyes, sucked in a deep breath and with what little energy he had left, threw his elbow backwards as hard as he could, and miraculously impacted something, the loud crack assured him of it. Using the temporary distraction, he managed to knock the man off of him, somehow.

He didn't know how much damage he'd done to his attacker, and he wasn't going to stick around long enough to find out.

Gasping for air, Barry stumbled to his feet, staggering forward, struggling to pull his pants up from around his knees while squinting into the darkness, praying he didn't black out before he could get to where there were people, someone that could help him...

Wasn't there a coffee shop nearby? Hadn't he seen one in the past whenever he'd be running to get to work?

Or...

Did he imagine that?

The young man thought he saw a hint of a streetlight, when he was grabbed from behind, and slammed into a wall, face first, dazing him temporarily. He struggled to turn around and punch the man, but even with his second wind the pain radiating through him and exhaustion was still present, and he wasn't sure he could physically fight off a serial killer.

Barry winced when an ice cold hand grabbed both of his wrists tightly, nails digging into his flesh, hard enough to draw blood, pinning them behind his back.

"You're going to pay for that." The murderer snarled in his ear, sounding truly angry for the first time since their encounter, a shiver went down his spine, and his heart was pounding so fast he thought it was going to burst, and the gut-wrenching fear was making it even more difficult to breathe. "I think I'm gonna take my time with you..."

He kept fighting, refusing to give up, "Let go of me-Aghhhh!" A cry of pain tore passed his lips when a sharp, searing pain shot up through his thigh, courtesy of the Metahuman stabbing him with the blade that had, somehow, managed to slip his mind.

As the murderer yanked at the back of his tattered shirt and threw him onto the filthy ground, Barry coughed, wheezing as he suddenly felt as though the air was vacuumed from his lungs. He reached down and put his hand over the wound, but could feel the blood quickly soaking through his fingers... too much blood.

Despite his healing kicking in rather quickly, the young man was still getting lightheaded.

The man was on top of him again, immobilizing the speedster under his weight, ignoring his weak struggles, and then a hand was pushing painfully down against his lower back, and his breath caught in his throat when he felt something pressing inside of him.

Fingers.

Oh God.

Fear, a fear so strong engulfed him that he felt like he was going to pass out.

Maybe that would have been preferable though.

He felt them moving around inside of him, invasively, twisting and thrusting, spreading him, and he wanted to be sick, the stretch burned, and he was shaking horribly, still trying to get out from under the man. But he just wasn't strong enough, and his entire body felt weak from exhaustion.

"Oh God. No! Please don't! Take them out, just stop it already!" He begged, his voice raw from screaming, entire body trembling - vibrating - with fear, the tears burning in his eyes even though he already couldn't see a damn thing anyways.

This couldn't happen, he couldn't let this happen to him. He couldn't. Barry would kill him first. He'd never killed anyone before - with the exception of Farooq (but that hadn't been intentional) - but he would if he had to. Still, he felt so damn heavy. If it weren't for the invisible weight seeming to hold his limbs down, he would have been scratching and clawing to free himself.

"P-Please, it h-hurts! Stop it, please-"

A pained grunt left him when the man callously pulled his fingers out.

Barry squeezed his eyes shut and the lump in his throat grew bigger when the murderer kissed the back of his neck. But then he felt something - something bigger than fingers - pressing against him from behind, and his fear-filled eyes snapped open, his chest tightening in terror.

He squirmed, desperately trying to get away, his tears falling faster now.

"...No. S-Stop. God, please. Don't, please, don't-"

He heard a noise, the sound of something slicing through the air, like a frisbee being thrown.

A shout of pain made him flinch, and he heard boots crunching against rocks, before the weight on top of him was gone. The sounds that followed, grunting and a lot of cursing, was what made him realize belatedly that someone must have heard.

Scuffling, and then something - probably a head - making contact with the wall.

Thud.

Blood pounded in his ears, and his chest ached, what was going on?

Did that mean... was he gone?

Who had won the fight?

Tremors going through his entire body, Barry managed to somehow flip himself over onto his back, his violently trembling hands fumbling to pull his underwear and pants up, though he was so shaken he could barely think, let alone figure out how to buckle his belt again, if he even managed to find it.

What happened?

It felt like the fog was lifting from his brain, and he could see again. Not well, it was blurry and there was still dark spots dancing in front of his vision, not to mention it was nearly pitch black outside, but when he looked up he could see a shadowy figure standing over him.

Not the man.

It was too big to be him, this person was taller, shoulders broader.

Someone had...saved him?

Whoever it was crouched in front of him, and he blinked through his tears, managing to make out a face, partially obscured by the darkness of the night, but it did nothing to hide the overwhelmingly beautiful blue-grey eyes, and Barry almost wanted to cry again.

But this time in relief.

"Oliver..." He whispered hoarsely, before his head started spinning again, but this time he felt no fear. Barry just threw his shaking frame into the man's arms, openly sobbing, and didn't even try to fight the exhaustion anymore, letting the darkness overcome him.

He was safe.

Well, this was rather angsty and dark, wasn't it? But, hey, two updates in less than twelve hours. Yay! Next update will be from Ollie's POV, hope I didn't upset anyone too badly (I DID leave the warnings above every chapter), and you'll get to have more dialogue between our budding couple, and see his softer side, so stay tuned!

Be sure to leave a comment and let me know how you feel about this story so far, I always appreciate the constructive criticism or tip.