TRIGGER WARNING.

Much like I warned you all before the chapter where Len had a panic attack, now I'm warning you about serious discussion of suicide in this one. So there you go. You've all been wondering, but this isn't as much of a spoiler as you might think. I hope you enjoy how everything plays out. And while I am giving you this warning, I also want to say...I wish I'd had something like this to read at my lowest points years ago. It's a warning for the subject matter, yes, but I promise it is filled with hope.

I continue to be speechless from your comments, so heartfelt and in depth, at times delving into deep character introspection, and I just...love this fandom so much! I'm so glad I'm making all of you think and driving you nuts wondering how I'll get them through this. Well here's the start, but there is a long way to go.

TheFightingBull at AO3 suggested "No One's Here To Sleep" by Naughty Boy, and wow, I have claimed it as the story's anthem, because it is perfect.

Thank you!

The flames arced toward Barry, and everything stilled into awful, agonizing slow motion. It didn't mean that Len was faster, didn't signify any of the miracles that came with Barry powers. It merely meant that the moment seemed to last forever, for ages, as Len looked on and realized what Barry was willing to do.

"Barry!"

He fired as the first tongues of flame reached the kid, heading off Mick's blast a foot in front of Barry's face. The overlapping streams nullified each other almost instantly, but like that time in the streets of Central City, the feedback moved too fast, risking a backlash that would send Len and Mick flying.

Timing his reaction as perfectly as he could, Len released the trigger on his gun before the eruption could happen, and instead of a shockwave, a slight push from the fizzle of fire and ice was all that reached him, making him stumble as the bright light of their guns went dark and left the woods that much darker with it.

"Hey!" Mick roared, unsure what had happened. He and Len were still on their feet, but Barry had crumbled to his knees. He'd been hit—point blank, however briefly—before Len could intervene.

"What the hell were you thinking?!" Len stormed across the space that remained between them.

Barry shifted to face him, shaking, one hand hovering near the side of his cheek that—shit—looked like mincemeat along his jawline. He'd heal, but that had to sting, and could have been so much worse if Len hadn't stepped in to save him.

Len hadn't meant the worst of his threats. Disconnected from the gun, the cold field would only have lasted a few minutes. He'd just wanted to push Barry, to watch him snap, to see his true face again, he didn't…he'd never imagined…

Barry tore his gaze from Len to stare at the ground. Shaking from the pain, but unable to do anything about it, so he dropped both hands to the ground like an exhale. "I'm done," he said, gasping painfully. "I'm done. Do whatever you want to me."

"Fine by me," Mick growled as he stalked forward.

"Mick." Len's tone broached no argument, a clear threat, backed up by the tilt of his gun toward Mick instead of Barry. "Get out of here. Now. Wait by the car."

Mick rose up taller, the usual spark for a fight between them easily kindled, but Mick wasn't angry at Len. He was angry on Len's behalf, which only made him more dangerous. Len didn't feed into the fight. He dropped his gun and shook his head, letting a hint of pleading enter his gaze through the stern warning.

Mick released a howl of frustration, making Barry flinch in expectation of another shot from his gun, but the kid didn't make any attempt to move from where he knelt. For all his fury channeling toward Barry, Mick stomped off, right toward Len to head to the car. He didn't say anything as he passed by, merely frowned and gave Len a pointed look.

Fool me once…

Len knew that, he knew, but none of this had turned out the way he planned.

Slowly, all tense nerves and anger, but with concern flowing through him that he hadn't expected, Len circled closer to Barry. As Mick headed away, Barry glanced after him, and seeing that he and Len were alone, he pulled the cowl from his face with a grimace at the skin that tore, burnt to the mask from the blast. It was only the left side that had been hit, beneath his cheekbone, along his jaw, and slightly down his neck, but it wasn't pretty.

Barry sat back on his heels and looked up at Len with all the fight drained out of him. "I can't…do this anymore," he said, tears in his eyes from the pain, or maybe from the emotions choking him, maybe both.

Len had his gun in his grasp, and as he approached, Barry closed his eyes like he was waiting for Len to just…

Never before had Len felt more of an urge to throw the damn gun away. The fury and hatred he'd expected to find in Barry, counted on finding, surged up in him instead, and for one brief moment he wanted to snatch Barry up by the front of his suit and slam him into the tree behind him.

But Barry's eyes opened, and looked at Len again, his burnt face blistered and terrible, hazel eyes glimmering, and Len knew he was never going to see what he'd been waiting for.

"Get up," he said, fighting to keep his voice steady. "Get up!" he called louder, fiercer, when Barry didn't move.

The blank expression on Barry's face was too pitiable, so when he still wouldn't move, Len lurched forward to grab his arm and forced him to his feet. He didn't want to be rough, but he also did. He gripped Barry's chin, his thumb careful around the burnt flesh, as he turned Barry's face aside to assess the damage.

"Do you think this is what I want?" he said, before drawing his hand away, because he couldn't stomach Barry cringing at his touch.

Barry blinked at him, as a few fresh tears slid down his cheeks, making him grimace at the salt getting into his burns. "I don't…I don't know. You think hurting you is what I want. But I don't. I don't want to hurt you, Len," he said as heartfelt as he had in the apartment when Len had been so certain it was nothing but a lie. "I'm sorry I ever did. Sorry I wanted to then. But I don't want that anymore."

Len turned away, because he couldn't…look at Barry like this.

"You can't forgive me," Barry followed him. "I get that. So if you need to hit me, fight me, hurt me, then go ahead. I won't stop you."

Resentment, old and furious, flared to life in Len's gut, because no one should ever say that. No one should ever accept someone hurting them because they feel like they deserve it.

"You can't make anything better by letting me hurt you," he said, clenching his fists so tight, he heard the handle of his cold gun creak.

"Then what am I supposed to do?"

"Fight back!" Len whirled to face him. "You're supposed to fight back."

"You mean I'm supposed to be the bad guy," Barry said, steady and unwavering as he stood before Len utterly defeated. "I was the bad guy. I was. And I'm sorry."

Len couldn't hear this. He couldn't hear this…

"I'm not fixing the IA case, Len. Cisco and Caitlin want me to, Joe and Iris want me to, everyone wants to help me make it go away. But I don't. I won't." He sagged from the pain and weariness in his body, and all at once looked so small, so young. "I'm just so tired. I was supposed to be getting better and I made everything worse. Maybe I just need to…not be around anymore."

Nausea replaced the anger Len was grasping onto and drained away into something leaden in the pit of his stomach. Because Barry didn't mean jail. He wanted Len to think he did, but he didn't.

If Len hadn't been looking at Barry's burnt face, he might have thought this was all another ploy. But this, finally, was the truth. That angry, brutal Barry, that was part of him, but so was this. So was the broken boy who'd cried in Len's apartment so many times, who'd confessed dark and terrible things to him. Who'd said again and again that he wasn't worth wanting. Or saving. Or loving.

Len pulled the goggles from his eyes. This wasn't what he wanted. Now he was as bad as Barry, and he thought he wouldn't care…but he did. He cared, and he hated that he cared, because it made everything harder, made both of them villains and no one was in the right.

"Don't say that," Len said firmly, stepping into Barry's space. "You can't change any of this by letting them haul you off in chains or getting burned alive."

Barry's eyes darted to the ground. "I know. But I don't know what else to do. I was right back then, you know." He glanced up, a flick of his eyes and the smallest twitch of a sad smile that made Len ache deep in his bones. "There is good in you. If there wasn't, you wouldn't have saved me. You'd be shooting me now. I deserve it."

"Barry—"

"There is good in you, Len. More every day. And a little less in me. Please don't let me ruin that for you." His voice broke as the tears in his eyes overflowed and he sniffled back a downpour he couldn't stop. "I'm like this and…maybe I'll always be like this now…maybe I'm broken in a way that can't be fixed, but you're not."

Len turned away, all the way around to fight the emotions making his face and eyes feel hot. He couldn't forgive Barry. But he didn't want to hurt him, not physically or any other way, not anymore. He just wanted the night to be over. "When did you turn off your comms?" he asked to avoid the subject that remained like static discharge between them, keeping his back to Barry, but finally tucking the cold gun away.

"I didn't. They've been on the whole time."

Len turned back halfway, enough to see Barry in his periphery. "Good. Then tell them you're coming home. Get out of here. Go back to the Labs so they can treat your face." He willed his legs to move, trudging through the grass like treading deep water, and headed after Mick to reach the car.

"Len! I…I can't let you take the paintings," Barry said, brokenly, almost embarrassedly, which made Len laugh in the most humorless way possible.

He turned halfway again, but he didn't look at Barry, not fully. "You want to go after Mick's share, be my guest. Mine will be waiting for you where we had the car. Not in the mood anymore," he said, because he couldn't say anything else, couldn't weather this all in one night, not with Barry standing there like a marred reflection of everything they'd lost.

"Len…I really am sorry. I'm so sorry…"

Len pivoted forward, sniffing helplessly as a few tears streaked downed his face that he furiously wiped away. He couldn't look at Barry, he couldn't, because if he did, he'd want to hold him, and tell him everything would be okay. But it wasn't true. It would never be true.

"Go home, Barry," he said, before continuing through the trees. "And don't ever do something like that again."

There was a moment in the woods when Barry almost chased after Snart…Len, but he knew there was nothing more to be said. He thought he'd feel relief finally telling Len the truth, the real truth, and having him—maybe—start to believe him, but the emptiness only grew, like some beast in the cavern of his chest. He barely even felt the pain of his face anymore.

Cisco and Caitlin had stopped yelling about the time Barry pulled the cowl from his head. They'd heard everything, so they knew he was safe, although injured. When he tugged one of his earpieces toward his mouth and said, "I'm coming back now," Caitlin responded softly.

"Okay, Barry."

She tended to his face with a gentle hand and ointment to soothe the pain as best she could. The rest would have to heal on its own. Barry didn't want to talk, but while Cisco and Caitlin respected that, their pitying gazes opened up more of the hole inside of him.

"It's okay," he said. "It'll be better now." For Len. That's what mattered.

Cisco repeated Len's words to him, "Don't ever do something like that again, Barry. Please."

Barry nodded. "I won't."

It was late. They all needed to get home. Sleep. Barry texted Joe before he left the Labs, using the burner phone Cisco had given him for emergencies, and told him he was fine, and that half of the loot had been recovered and returned to the museum by The Flash. He was on his way home.

When he arrived, he didn't let Joe see his face. He said he was tired, moved swiftly for his room, and locked the door behind him. He took two of his pills immediately—he just wanted to sleep, he didn't care if they made him feel anything—and sat on his bed staring at the bottle. He hadn't even changed out of the jeans and shirt yet that he'd been wearing after he peeled off The Flash suit.

"Giving up already, Barry? Boy, you really are pathetic."

Barry barely flinched to hear his own voice coming from the mirror across the room. Cisco hadn't finished a version of the Miasma Maker for the house yet. By tomorrow, Wednesday at the latest, he'd said. Maybe Cisco would have pushed harder if Barry had told anyone he was being haunted by his reflection.

"Go away, Scudder. Aren't you getting enough of what you want? You could steal anything that suited you and I couldn't lift a finger. If you're not going to kill me then just go away." He wondered if he could fight back if Scudder attacked him. He didn't seem to have the energy to even lift his head.

"Looking to take the easy way out? Figures. Everything that makes you worth something you've already ruined. Better to get out clean now before you drag anyone else through the mud, right?"

Barry's hand clenched tighter around the pill bottle. He dragged himself up from the bed, and glared at his reflection, hating it—which was only too easy these days. "What do you even want from me?" he hissed, afraid to yell and bring Joe or Wally running. "You've already won. Even if we catch you someday, you won. You're a better thief than Cold, and you've proven The Flash can't stop you. So what do you want?"

The smug smirk on his reflection's face made him want to punch it, but he knew that wouldn't do any good. Even the burn scars that were already half healed didn't seem to bother his reflection the way speaking made Barry's skin feel tight and sore. But of course it wouldn't bother him. The reflection wasn't really Barry.

"It's funny, you know," the man in the mirror said. He didn't have the pill bottle; he didn't need it. He seemed to walk closer to Barry, filling the mirror, which made Barry step closer too. "Funny…that you think I'm Scudder," he said, and then vanished just as Barry heard a whisper behind his ear, "…and not just in your head."

Barry whipped around, heart in his throat, pulse skyrocketing as he turned…and nothing was there. If Scudder was in the room somehow, Barry couldn't fight him. If he wasn't, then Barry was losing his mind.

He turned back to the mirror, but it was just him, just his normal reflection moving with him. Barry couldn't take this. He couldn't stay in the house tonight. He had to get out of here.

Grabbing the burner phone, but not thinking to take anything else, he flashed out of the house to the Labs so fast, his clothes were singed by the time he stopped. He patted his shirt half-heartedly, and only then did he realize that while the phone was in his right hand, the pill bottle was still in his left.

Barry had zipped himself into the pipeline, where the familiar hum was almost soothing. Cisco's Miasma Maker touched even here, making everything dull without reflective surfaces, like he was surrounded by cotton, muffling everything but that hum.

He sat against the door, which was hardly comfortable, knees bent up, arms resting atop them, suspending his hands and what he held in them right in front of his face.

The cell phone that wasn't really his.

The pills.

It was like some awful microcosm for his life. Everything he'd tried to fix, but lost. The numbness and exhaustion. A way to reach out, but no one to call. What he should do…and what he wanted.

It had been years since he'd felt this low. But it wasn't the first time. Not even close. He'd always been a burden, always been weak, always been the reason other people's lives fell to shambles. He'd thought, finally, as The Flash, he could make up for that. But he was just a mess with superpowers. Just a lightning fast disaster no one saw coming until it was too late.

The last time he'd sat like this in the pipeline, he'd chucked his phone at the wall and nearly busted it. This time...he knew what he had to do instead.

He reared back and threw the bottle of pills across the room, where it struck the wall and burst open, spilling pills all over the floor. Clutching the phone in both hands, he pulled his knees into his chest and sobbed.

"Barry?"

Barry gasped at Caitlin's voice. He hadn't looked around, but he'd been certain Cisco and Caitlin would be gone. He looked up, and she was already walking toward him from the entrance, face drawn in concern, ignoring the pills, focused solely on Barry. She didn't say anything until she reached him, sat down beside him with her legs tucked to the side in her skirt, and pulled Barry against her.

He sobbed harder as he pressed his face to her shoulder.

"What do you need?" she asked.

Barry shook his head. "I don't know. I…I thought you'd gone home."

She squeezed him tighter. "Seemed there was more to do tonight."

Barry chuckled through his sobs. But he still cried. And clung to her. And was so thankful for his good friend, even though he hated himself all the more that she had to be there for him—again.

After a few moments of dampening Caitlin's shoulder, Barry pulled away, and she touched his face gently along the burns. By tomorrow they'd barely be noticeable, which seemed too unfair.

"I can bleed...and bruise...and burn," Barry said, staring at the tear stains left on Caitlin's dress. "I can cut myself so deep, someone else wouldn't survive it. And I just heal like it was never there…" He flicked his eyes up to meet hers, and the affection he found in her expression burned him all over again. "But I still feel it. All of it. Every pain, inside and out. It looks like it heals, but it never goes away.

"Everyone thinks I'm so lucky," he snorted bitterly. "Did you ever stop to think what I'd look like if you could see everything I've healed? If it was still marked across my skin? You wouldn't recognize me. I don't. Because that's all I see when I look in the mirror. Nothing but damage."

"Barry…" Caitlin placed a hand on his knee, tucked to the side now like hers. "Please don't let Snart do this to you. I know you feel like you did a terrible thing to him, that you deserve his hatred, but what he did in retaliation…is that really someone you would want to be with? Someone who could go to such lengths to hurt you just because he was angry?"

"He's not like that," Barry shook his head. "There were plenty of times I made him angry when we were together, or hurt him, even scared him, and he was always understanding, always forgiving. This was different. He thought I lied about everything. Thought I was as bad as his father. Thought I was trying to hurt him on purpose, and kept waiting for me to…laugh at him and prove how cruel I was. Do you know what that must have done to him? This wasn't some abusive, poisonous relationship, and what he did proves he could be that way again. I was the poison, not him. I've known the kind of man he was ever since what happened with his father, I was just fooling myself."

"But, Barry…he killed his father."

"Exactly. He killed a villainous, awful person who'd hurt him and deserved nothing less. I won't mourn that man, I won't. But even after I put Len in that same position, once he believed me, once he realized I wasn't lying about all of it, not all of it…then he was the man I knew he could be again. He was never going to kill me, he didn't even want to see me hurt, even when he expected the worst of me. He saved me."

Caitlin's expression deepened into a firm frown. "So you put yourself in danger hoping he'd save you?"

"No! No…it wasn't like that."

"Okay. Then if you didn't expect to be saved, what did you want?"

Barry opened his mouth but floundered for what to say.

"Barry," Caitlin's eyes drifted to the scattered pills, "please listen to me. I know you're getting sick of hearing this, but I promise you, things will get better. It might feel like…like life isn't worth living right now, but—"

"I wasn't—" Barry looked to the pills too, hating them and everything they represented. "I wouldn't. I just…" But damn it, he was too tired to lie. "I…I've thought about it…a few times, but I swear I would never do it."

"You'd simply stand there and let it happen to you?" Caitlin said, not judging, or mocking, just honest, and not letting Barry get away with any deflection.

"Maybe," Barry said, feeling that numbness creep into his limbs again. "What stopped me most of the times I thought about it was…I didn't even know if ODing would be possible for me. I'd probably just burn through them all." He laughed—and god, why did he keep doing that; laughing when it wasn't at all funny? Fresh tears sprang to his eyes, and he blinked hard, keeping his gaze on the floor. "Sometimes…when I'd take a couple to go to bed, I'd think about…taking all of them so I wouldn't have to wake up." His throat constricted from the shame of finally admitting that.

"Barry…how often did you take two pills, or more than two?" Caitlin asked, surprisingly tolerant, Barry thought, and yet still he felt cornered by her question.

"I usually took two. At the same time. The other night, I…I took two before bed after I'd already taken two in the morning. I just wanted to sleep." He looked up, feeling even guiltier, like Caitlin must be ready to berate him, but she had this sad, condolatory smile on her face.

She reached over and took his hand. "I'm glad you told me, Barry. I'm glad you never took more than that. I'm glad you threw them away just now instead of giving in to the temptation. I'm glad you're here…right now, with me. And I am so sorry I lied to you, even if it was to protect you."

"What?" Barry sat up straighter. "What do you...mean? The pills, taking too many, it's been making me worse, hasn't it?"

"No, Barry. They wouldn't be able to do that. All they can do is what you believe they can do." She squeezed his hand once more, then let go as if expecting he'd be the one to pull away. "They're placebos. They've always been placebos. They were never real."

Barry gaped at her, because that couldn't be right. That couldn't be right.

"The truth is there's no way to create medication for you that doesn't first compromise your immune system," she said. "It was too much of a risk. I shouldn't have lied, Barry, but I was afraid that if you heard one more thing that wouldn't work for you, it would push you that much harder toward…"

"Where I am now," he finished for her. Everyone was always trying to save him, and even that he had to ruin. "But they…they have to be real. I thought I was making myself worse by taking too many, that's why I've been seeing…" He clenched his eyes shut at the memory.

"Seeing what, Barry?"

"Me," he said, safe in the darkness behind his eyelids. "My reflection. I thought it was Scudder torturing me, but I don't know anymore…I don't know. Maybe I'm just crazy."

"Barry…" He felt the gentle touch of her hand again and opened his eyes. He couldn't be angry at her for what she'd kept secret. Part of him was relieved to know that if he had given in and downed the bottle, nothing would have happened. "You're not crazy. Of course it's Scudder. He just wants you to second guess yourself. You can stay here tonight, okay? Stay as long as you need until Cisco sets up his machine in your house." She reached for his face again, and brushed the tears from beneath his eyes. The gesture made Barry feel like he was ten years old after a nightmare and his mother was trying to calm him.

"The pills…" he said, "they did work sometimes, even if they weren't real. The whole...placebo thing, it worked. So even if a pill could never help me, if I just stop thinking I could be fixed overnight, maybe I can get better. I was getting better. I was finally starting to let some things go. With Len…"

Caitlin nodded somberly. "Then you can get back to that, Barry. With or without him."

It stung to imagine being without Len, even though Barry knew he could never have him back in his life. He wanted to further prove to Caitlin that Len was worth loving, worth wanting, worth forgiving, but he knew she was just trying to protect him.

"I know it's been tough lately, Barry, the way everything kept snowballing without giving you a break. I know how low that can bring you, even if you've never felt before like—"

"But I have felt this way before," Barry cut her off, ashamed again, but he needed to say this. "It wasn't the first time I'd ever thought about…" He sighed. Just when he'd thought the tears had stopped…

Caitlin didn't ask, didn't push, merely squeezed his hand in support.

"I've thought about it a lot. Those six months after the singularity…it was almost all the time," he whispered like it was some awful secret. Because it was. "And before that. When I turned twenty-one. And eighteen. And sixteen. Every birthday, because it's always the day after Mom died, and sometimes I can't…" His voice broke, and he was shaking now, trembling.

When Caitlin pulled him in hard, back against her shoulder, he didn't resist, but buried himself there gratefully. He'd never told anyone that. Not even…

"Iris…"

"Barry?"

"I never told her. Or Joe. I think they knew but…"

"Well I'm glad you're telling me now." Caitlin held him, just…held him, and again he thought of his mother, because the center of his lowest points, in the beginning, had always revolved around losing her. And Caitlin, while he wouldn't openly say she was a motherly figure…she also was. A constant friend, always caring for him, always treating him when he was wounded or broken.

Somehow she seemed stronger than Iris when he thought about talking through things like this, not because Iris wasn't strong—few women were as strong as Iris West—but because Iris had suffered through so much of Barry as a burden, while Caitlin could pull on a calm façade like a lab coat, be Dr. Snow for a while, and weather through it. Which wasn't fair to Caitlin, but it made Barry so thankful to have both women in his life as such different pillars helping to hold him up.

Barry clung to Caitlin longer this time, until his sobs were fully stilled, the last of the dampness banished, and his chest didn't feel quite as tight.

"I promise I won't," he said softly. "I won't. It's just that…sometimes…"

"I know, Barry. Believe me," she said, pulling back enough to meet his gaze. Her eyes held as much dampness as his own. "I know. I lost the love of my life. Twice. I know." She smiled sadly, and Barry knew she meant it as more than simple empathy, but comradery in that feeling of having no other way out.

Barry had sought destruction at his lowest; Caitlin had buried herself in work. But it gave him strength that she smiled at him now, when once upon a time she was the girl who never smiled.

"You should sleep, Barry," she said, an ease between them with everything out in the open, and no more tears to be shed—for now. "You need rest. I can help you set up the lounge to be more comfortable. And I'll stay here tonight too so you aren't alone. Is there anything else I can do?"

There was a weight gone from Barry's chest that had never quite lifted before. Almost with Len, many times, but this…this had been the last secret he hadn't been able to share with anyone. Sharing it with Caitlin now felt more freeing than he'd expected. It made him wish he could tell Len too, without seeming like he was just trying to garner sympathy.

What he really needed to do now was to figure out how to best protect him and Len from the perils they still faced. Scudder. Each other. The investigation looming over Barry that he wasn't so sure anymore that he should just let happen. There was more he could do. There was so much more he could do rather than stand still and let life happen to him.

"This…is good," Barry said, looking at Caitlin, the two of them sitting in the pipeline with dozens of pills littering the floor a few feet away. He reached for the cell phone that had slipped from his fingers. "But I think there's one more person I need to talk to tonight."

Caitlin didn't pry. "Okay. I'll be in the lounge when you're ready," she said, and with a supportive smile, she slowly stood and moved out of the room. She'd paused just before leaving to look at the pills, but Barry shook his head. He'd clean them up himself. It was his mess. And it was time he started fixing things without running.

He took a breath as he sat back against the pipeline door, and dialed a number he hadn't called in weeks.

"Hello?"

"Hey, Dad. I know it's late, but…can we talk?"

Len shouldn't be out in the open. Not with an IA investigation going on that could likely lead the officers looking into Barry—and looking into Len's comms—right to his neighborhood, but he didn't care. He'd taken the precaution to wear his cap, his glasses, to carry himself with that slightly altered gait that made people disregard him. He'd know the second anyone who didn't belong entered his line of sight. He just needed to be out. Anywhere but stuck in his apartment.

He figured today was a good day to check on his investments, to make his usual rounds to be certain everyone in the neighborhood had what they needed and weren't being given any trouble. Len also wanted to be sure that Dunkirk hadn't gotten out of holding too quickly and wasn't lurking about his streets again.

Unlikely though—having The Flash giftwrap a wanted criminal and set him on CCPD's doorstep carried a little more weight than usual, and Daddy Dunkirk didn't seem as eager to help his son out this time around. Good riddance.

Today Len had started his rounds backwards from his apartment. He was on his way to Rashid's shop next, then the bakery, a handful of others along the way to Mrs. Pak's, then finally the electronics store before ending at Saints and Sinners. He needed to warn Hartley about the comms. He'd been too preoccupied with his revenge plan against Barry to give the young engineer a head's up. IA wouldn't put priority on a piece of evidence for an internal case, not when it was connected to a heist that already had a suspect. Len had another couple days, but he needed to be ready.

In keeping with his low-key presence around the neighborhood, Len snuck in through the back of Rashid's shop. He'd have to be cautious, call out before he was directly in view, in case Rashid was feeling trigger happy again today. The jingle of the bell above the door announced a customer, so Len held back to wait.

"Ah, you! Always welcome here. How can I help?" Rashid greeted whoever had entered much more genially than Len was used to.

"Hi!" a bright, familiar voice answered, stopping Len in his tracks. "I don't mean to be any trouble, I just wanted to, umm…well…to give you a head's up about some police that might come through in the next few days. They might ask about me, and I don't want to get Mr. Snart into any trouble."

Len's throat went dry. Was Barry searching for angles? No…no. Len didn't believe that anymore. But then what?

"No trouble," Rashid said. "I know nothing. Never seen you before. And Mr. Snart? Please. No Commander Cold here. Nothing important ever happens here. Now, you interested in some menthols?"

Barry chuckled lightly, and it was so…endearingly sweet, so like Len was used to hearing from when Barry was just his adorable, fumbling self that Len had first fallen in lo…

Len shook his head, struggling not to clear his throat and give himself away as he leaned against the wall in the back room.

"Thanks. Rashid, right? Thank you. You probably have all of this down by now, and I'm just making a fool of myself."

No feat there.

"But all the same, if anyone comes looking…well, just be yourself."

"Of course," Rashid said warmly. "You want anything from store, you help yourself. Or take something for Mr. Snart. Here…" Shuffling signaled that Rashid was moving, possibly to come into the back, which made Len tense at being caught, but Barry called after him.

"No! Please. Really. He won't want anything. Especially not from me. If anyone asks, you never saw me. You never saw him. It'll all blow over in a week or two. And hey, if you can do me just one other favor?"

"Anything. Anything."

"Don't tell him I was here either."

Len stood in a daze for several moments, not hearing whatever exchange passed between Barry and Rashid next before Barry excused himself and left the shop. Barry was the one at risk, and here he was, putting himself on the line again—for Len. What the hell was the kid thinking?

Len hurried out of the back of the shop to head Barry off. Tailing someone in his own neighborhood was child's play, so long as Barry didn't kick in his speed. But Barry seemed ready for a leisurely stroll.

He wore his all black 'Sam' outfit with a cap on his head like Len in case IA were already poking around. Unlikely. They might be watching Barry at home, but he would have flashed out of the house to the neighborhood, impossible to track. The only suspicious characters around right now were Barry and Len themselves.

Len ducked into the back of the bakery when he saw Barry head there. He moved quietly, knowing each place of business on his turf well enough to sidestep boxes and equipment without a single unwanted noise.

Until Janey came around a corner and barreled right into him.

"Oh my goodness! Mr. Snart!" she exclaimed, nearly dropping the dirty pan she had been bringing back to the sink.

Len reached out to keep the pan from unbalancing and brought a finger to his lips. The bell chimed over the door, a more musical sound than Rashid's.

"Hello?" Barry called.

Janey's eyes widened at the implications, but Len shook his head. He wasn't here. She hadn't seen him. Janey pursed her lips with a confused frown, but she soon passed the pan to Len as she dusted her hands off on her apron.

"Coming!"

Len deposited the pan in the sink behind him, then inched closer to the front after Janey. Barry engaged her in a similar exchange as the one Len had already overheard, though unlike Rashid, Janey managed to force a donut on Barry—on the house.

"Is everything okay, Barry?"

"Like I said, it's just the police—"

"I mean between you and Mr. Snart."

"Oh…uhh…"

"Did he do something he shouldn't? That museum heist last night…they say it was him. The security guard got a good look. But I heard The Flash recovered half the stolen goods. Did something happen?"

Damn Janey and her sincere curiosity. Len tried to peek around the doorway into the front. He could just barely make out the brim of Barry's hat.

"It's not that," Barry said. "I did something and…I'm just trying to make it right. Please, don't tell him I was here."

"Okay. But I don't understand. Wouldn't you want him to know you're trying to protect him?"

"No. Because then it becomes about me instead of him. Thank you, Janey," Barry said, and took his leave.

A new feeling of nerves and guilt and hope stirred inside of Len. He didn't have any answers about what he wanted right now, or what to do next, but he knew he couldn't let Barry out of his sights.

He didn't wait for Janey to find him in the back again before he ducked outside, following a parallel path to Barry along alleyways and side streets to see where the kid would go next. They'd been in synch even before Len caught Barry at Rashid's. Barry was on a backwards path from Len's apartment too, following a reverse route from when he'd accompanied Len on his rounds. He'd probably figured it was safest to start near Len's apartment to make sure Len wasn't around. Len had taken back streets the whole way, out of sight, so Barry simply hadn't seen him.

Now Len continued that trend, entering the back of every business Barry stopped at. The same story played out each time, between Barry and the people of the neighborhood he had met.

Only Mrs. Pak actually asked, "You cop?" with a scrutinizing eyebrow.

"CSI."

"And Lenny know?"

"He did. We were just a really good, really bad idea for a while." Barry turned to walk away but Mrs. Pak stopped him. They were only a shelf away from Len this time, since he'd had to slip inside the store itself to overhear them tucked back by the frozen food section.

"Anything more I can do, you say so. Lenny good boy. You good boy too." She patted his cheek. Only then did Len realize that Barry's burns were gone, leaving behind a faint redness that most people wouldn't notice.

"What you do normally is more than enough, but if you think throwing me under the bus would protect him better…do it. I just want to keep him safe."

Mrs. Pak tried to hold Barry longer, to talk to him more, but Barry politely declined and hurried on. Barry didn't know the rest of the neighborhood, other than Saints and Sinners, so Len wondered if he would stop here, head home, flash away and be gone. He didn't. As Len snuck back out of the corner store to continue tailing Barry, he watched the kid turn toward Andrews Electronics.

Shit.

Len nearly risked Barry spotting him with how swiftly he tried to get there first. He fumbled with the key when he reached the back door, and was not at all stealthy as he entered. Hartley was working today. That's part of why Len was making his rounds, to be sure he caught the kid. But if Barry saw him…more complications were not what they needed right now.

Len rushed through the back room, nearly plowing into Arty who came toward him with a baseball bat raised, only to sag in relief when he saw that the person breaking into his shop in the middle of the day was Len.

"Geez! Where's the—"

"Hart!" Len called, knowing he had moments before Barry entered the shop.

"What?" Hartley's disembodied voice yelled back in irritation.

"Get back here!"

The sound of the bell chimed just as Hartley's head peeked around the side of the curtain. "What is your problem—"

"Excuse me?" Barry called from the front.

Len pleaded intently with his eyes for Hartley to get with the program already, but Barry's voice was enough. Hartley stiffened, straightened, caught between the front of the shop and the back, but at least he wasn't facing Barry.

"Uhh…" he made a strangled effort to affect his voice, "one moment please!" and dove into the back, swiping the curtain shut behind him. He gestured madly at Arty to get his ass out there instead.

Arty glanced between Len and Hartley as he carefully set aside the bat he'd grabbed for defense, and opened his mouth to ask what the hell was going on, but Hartley wildly shook his head, and Len managed a very low, whispered, "Please." Arty sighed.

"Hi there!" Arty said as he entered the front of the shop with a flourish. "Sorry about that. My engineer had an emergency. Dropping off, or picking up? Or looking for something to buy?" At least Arty was a picture of calm, not even a mild hitch to his tone to betray what was going on behind the curtain—namely Hartley continuing to gesture emphatically while Len brushed him off with a waving gesture and moved to be within better hearing distance of the front.

"I'm not here to shop, actually," Barry said. "Are you the owner?"

"Technically my father is, but he doesn't come in much anymore. How can I help you?"

"Oh. Well…you know, maybe this was a bad idea. I'll just—"

"You're Barry, aren't you?" Arty said with a dawning of understanding.

Len shot Hartley a glare, but Hartley just rolled his eyes.

"Uhh…yeah. So you do know."

"About you and our good Captain? 'Fraid so. Don't worry though, it isn't my business. Was there something I could do for you? A message you wanted to pass along?"

"No. No, nothing like that. I'm just a little worried there might be some police coming by soon to ask questions. About him…and me. The comms he used, they came from this shop, didn't they?"

Len paled as Hartley glared at him. They were on either side of the curtain now, both trying to peek through the visible slits on the sides. All Len could see was Arty's back.

"Sorry, not at liberty to answer that, I'm afraid."

"Oh, right, of course," Barry chuckled nervously. "It's just…I messed up, and they're in evidence now, and if that leads anyone back here, I wanted you to be prepared. I know how much he means to this neighborhood. I don't want to ruin that just because I was careless."

"So if anyone comes asking, what should I tell them?" Arty asked suspiciously. "Don't think I'll be saying Captain Cold stole anything."

"No! No… I had something else in mind. Tell them you made those comms for The Flash." Len and Hartley stared at each other as Barry pushed on through the pregnant pause that followed. "I promise he'll back up your story to the police. I think I finally figured out how to make things easier for everyone, but if they can't be easier for me…that's okay."

Len glanced back to see Arty nod. "I suppose I could say that. Doubt they'll believe me, but if you really have that much clout with The Flash…"

"He works with my dad. He'll agree to this. Don't worry. Also, can you not tell Len…I mean, Cold that I was here? He doesn't want to hear about me right now."

"I can try, but…if he asks..."

"Right. No, I get that. Then tell him I was an asshole. Probably more likely to believe that anyway." Barry said his farewells, and Arty wished him good luck.

Len had wondered why Barry would bother coming into the electronics store, since no one here had ever met him, but the comms, Barry was trying to shift the blame onto The Flash. The Flash was known to have been at the museum that night, but so far nothing pointed at Len. This would protect the neighborhood, and lift suspicion that Captain Cold might be hiding here.

Len was still resting against the wall by the curtain when Arty parted it to return to them. Hartley moved with Arty further into the back, but Len couldn't move.

"Is one of you going to explain what that was really about?" Arty demanded, arms crossed as he squared off against Hartley.

"He would have recognized me," Hartley said. "You know he's the CSI Snart's been seeing. The rest actually isn't that hard to figure out." He crossed his arms to match Arty, though he turned his exasperation onto Len. Hartley didn't seem angry though. After all, they'd just been given leave to protect themselves with the best alibi possible.

It was only then, as Len stood staring at the two of them, that recognition dawned in Arty's eyes.

"Was I just talking to The Flash?"

Len sat in a booth at Saints and Sinners, only a few people filling the other tables for lunch, as he picked at his food. The night before and subsequent chase that morning had left him weary. Part of him wanted to just move on from this—from Barry. Maybe it was time to leave Central City for a while. He'd been gone before. But then he'd leave all these people, this neighborhood.

Carla caught his attention, wiping down a table toward the back, despite barely being able to bend over. She had a month left before the baby was due, but she looked about ready to burst. Never in the past would Len have risked his own wellbeing for someone else, other than Lisa or Mick, but word of his absence would travel quickly in this city, and lesser criminals would move in. Dunkirk was still a threat. Others looking to muscle into his territory. He couldn't leave. This was his city. His home.

And what about Scudder? If Barry couldn't defeat him alone…

Nausea settled in Len's stomach, something his food only made worse, and he grimaced as he took his next bite. Now he was thinking about future heroics. What the hell had Barry done to him…?

A familiar pattern of footsteps caught his attention—the click of heels behind him. He straightened, already expecting Lisa by the time she came around the table and sat in the booth across from him. Her hair was perfectly curled, and her black leather jacket didn't quite hide the deep V of the blouse she wore.

"We need to talk, Lenny."

Len hadn't forgotten that she was the one who'd sent Barry after him early last night. "Do we now?" He tapped the side of his water glass.

"Yeah," another voice answered him, and before Len could turn, someone else moved around the table. "We do," Cisco said, and slid into the booth beside Lisa.

TBC...

Let me know your thoughts!

Everything is not yet fixed, and this isn't to say I won't throw more pitfalls at them (couch*Scudder*cough) but I hope I've addressed some of the most lingering concerns that it seemed so hopeless for them to get out of this.

It took me a long time to figure out when Barry would finally call Len 'Len' in narrative, and finally this was the chapter when I could no longer write Snart, because Barry finally got his catharsis with Len, even if he still has a long way to go.