Len stayed at S.T.A.R. Labs. Against better judgment. Against criminal instinct. He stayed because of Barry, and didn't that tell him so much already? Scarlet was still healing, sleeping long hours, rousing just long enough to eat, drink, follow physical needs, and then he was off in dreamland again.

They had relocated from isolation to the regular medical wing. It was still a separate room and the bed wasn't one of the regular ones either, Len had noticed. Barry still cuddled up to him, much to the team's amusement. Cisco had discretely made himself scarce, but Dr. Snow was always around, giving them, and especially Len, those brief, understanding smiles.

Caitlin had assured him that Barry was doing fine, but the effects of the disruptor were severe. She had also decided to keep Barry on the IV drip while he slept until the glucose levels were to her satisfaction. Barry himself had protested the additional nourishment, mainly because the needle stuck in his hand meant his body was constantly trying to heal an injury that had a foreign object stuck in it. Len grimaced as he thought about removing that IV needle. It would be stuck and probably be very painful to pull out.

"It has to stay," Caitlin had told him quietly as Barry dozed against him, Len sitting with his back against the wall. "I know it'll be bad later on, but it's also not the first time."

Snart raised an eyebrow.

"Sometimes he needs the IVs," she explained, reading the silent question correctly. "Cisco tries with the power bars and they help, but after exerting himself, Barry needs a lot of calories very, very fast sometimes."

"Like now," he murmured.

"Yes," she nodded. "Like right now."

"How much longer?"

"At least two more hours. Then we should be on the safe side. I'll remove the needle afterwards."

And it would be painful, he thought, the anger rising again.

The murderous rage he still felt over the attack and the end result was mirrored to a much lesser degree by the team. Other metas hadn't survived being shot with the disruptor gun. Other metas who hadn't gone into crime, who had just lived their lives and handled their changes as best as they had been able to. The gun itself was under lock and key at S.T.A.R. Labs. Len had already decided that if Barry's team didn't destroy that murder weapon, he would break into wherever they stored it and take care of matters.

"Are you still refusing to get those bruises checked?" Snow drew him out of his thoughts.

"Quite."

"It's not like I'm going to stab you with a needle, Snart, even if I might have wanted to do so not too long ago," she told him brusquely.

He gave her one of those unimpressed looks and she folded her arms across her chest.

"I have bruises, Dr. Snow. Nothing I haven't dealt with before," Len told her calmly.

Caitlin just shook her head, then left them alone again.

Len smirked. He looked at the discolored skin around his wrists. It wasn't too bad. The same went for his ribs. Nothing serious enough to warrant stripping in front of Dr. Snow and letting her poke and prod.

While Barry's health and well-being was a major factor of Snart staying – who was he kidding? It was the only factor - Len also hadn't left because he wasn't done questioning Wells about conduits and subcategories of Guides. He got the chance when the other man walked into the medical wing.

"I could give you books if I was still back home," Wells sighed, shaking his head. "We have endless research papers and books on shields alone. Quite a fascinating subject, though not my field of expertise. I just like to read." He grinned.

'Back home.' That was a story Len had finally pieced together. He wasn't as shocked as they had probably thought he should be by hearing about other Earths in a Multiverse. He wasn't about to go into detail about his little Adventure Time aboard the Waverider, though. The team seemed to know something, small pieces of information, but aside from Cisco, no one had tried to get him to tell them stuff.

He had shot the other man down, refusing to talk about what exactly he had been doing, though the little they did know had apparently paved the way for him to be tolerated.

What had rattled him more had been the revelation as to who the other Harrison Wells had really been, the strings that had been pulled in the background. The manipulations, the lies, the betrayal. A man wearing the face of another, playing Barry and his friends like they were chess pieces, pushing the young speedster toward one single event. To steal what didn't belong to him.

Leonard Snart understood the desire to take what belonged to another, be it money, precious metals or stones, or art. He was a master thief after all. To take a life, to shape a life, to orchestrate the particle accelerator accident to happen so metas came into this world, all to get access to the Speed Force, that was a whole new category of evil. Eobard Thawne was a killer. Pure and simple.

And yet, even after all that, Barry Allen was still… well, Barry Allen. He still wanted to help. He still needed to help. And he still trusted.

There was a fury boiling inside Len when he thought about those events. If Thawne wasn't already dead… Well, he could always try and find a way into the Time Stream to go back and kill him over and over. Maybe flag down the Waverider and, after they got over the shocking revelation of his survival, get them to drop him off in a time and place where he could get his satisfaction.

"But well, all you can listen to is what I remember," Wells drew him out of his dark thoughts. "It's not a lot compared to how incredibly vast this field of study is. There's also not a lot to say about your abilities, Mr. Snart. You're not on my Earth. I can give you a basic idea, as I already have, but the specifics of your abilities are, well, specific."

"How specific?" he asked, pushing the darker thoughts away.

Harrison pursed his lips, looking thoughtful. "Going by the evidence of your encounters over the years, I'd say there would have been no other Sentinel or Guide, any variation of that actually, that you would have hit it off with."

He gave the man an unimpressed look. "We didn't hit it off. Not my thing."

Wells dared to grin. "Oh, you did, you did. But you can deny it on your own time. I'm telling you that all those passive abilities, the shield, the conduit, and the anchor, are designed to work with only one meta Sentinel, probably in the whole Multiverse."

"We're not destined soulmates or any of that crap, Wells," he growled.

That had the older man laugh. "Oh, we have those romance novels, too. They're a hoot and a half. Right there with feeling the others pain or getting writing on your skin. But no. Not soulmates. You just fit. I'd love to run some tests on you."

Snart balked at that, all defenses rising. "Not a chance."

"Don't you want to know what you can do?"

"I'm not doing anything," he snarled.

"Yes, you are. In a way that even I can't say I've seen happening where I come from. Well, worlds have to be different in some aspects. I know shields, conduits and anchors. I can also believe in all of those abilities combining in one person, why not. What I can't fathom is your connection to the Speed Force, but since that's not something I've encountered before coming here, it might be the one piece that changed a whole game."

Len watched him with a cold twist to his lips. "I don't care what you call me." He refused to think back to the many times he had seen manifestations of the Speed Force, how he could feel it, sense its presence, could almost touch it.

The other man studied him for a long moment, then nodded. "Alright. No tests. How about some questions to determine the extent of your connection to Mr. Allen?"

He gave the other man an unreadable look. "We are not bonded."

"Connected, not bonded. Big difference. A bond is a spiritual link, formed by two minds and two souls. Aside from the occasional triad, but that's…" He waved it off. "Let me ask you this, how was your awareness of Barry, or The Flash, in the past?"

Len crossed his arms, leaning back, brows lowering into a scowl.

"Could you sense his presence? Tell he was in the room? I believe so, judging by that little line appearing on your forehead." Wells smiled disarmingly.

"I'm not a precog, just very good at my job. My job is to know where someone is, especially someone out to catch a thief." He smiled coolly. "I always know where someone is, the layout of the room, the movement of security, the works. I'd be very bad at my job if I didn't."

"I believe that, Mr. Snart, but it's not about a heist or some other form or criminal enterprise. It's about your sense of Barry Allen. I suspect you can pick him out of a crowd and you call it instinct, but you got attuned to him. Early on. You liked him around you, didn't push him away when he started to seek you out to decompress. You let him, Leonard Snart. You let him and you wouldn't have betrayed that trust he had in you for the world."

He glared at the scientist, refusing to be baited into so much as nodding even once. The countless times Barry had found him, the way he had been able to tell if Barry was at the precinct, at home or the Labs… it was quite tell-tale, yet he refused to reveal anything that might be harmful to him… them. Especially them.

"You might not be able to feel his distress like a real empath could, but you responded to what he needed. You don't have to consciously do something. It happens because Barry is there. Automatically. The two of you are that much in tune with each other." He tilted his head. "Am I right? Because I don't really need a machine to look for those fine strands that connect the two of you. I can see it in the way you protect him." The man was suddenly serious, no lightness left in his voice. "You protect him by walking into a place where you might just get locked up, get the cops called on you. You stayed. You let yourself get locked into a room with him, trusting in my word that I wouldn't watch and listen."

Len stiffened, eyes turning cold and hard.

"Which I didn't," Harrison told him, still very serious. "You didn't give it a lot of thought or did you? You went into that room and did everything in your power to help this special young man. You have an instinct that's very much Sentinel in the way you want to protect Barry. That's the shield, coupled with your own fondness of him."

Snart scoffed, but it was a weak sound at best.

"It's a powerful emotion," the other man went on. "You never had any Guide potential, but you are something equally important to Barry. So, are you going to stay or are you running again?" he suddenly asked, surprising Len.

"I wasn't running," he snapped, anger surging briefly as he fought his warring reactions to the truth.

"Ah, right. Just sneaking out." Wells folded his hands. "You are welcome to stay, Mr. Snart. Or to leave and visit. I believe Barry would be happy to have you here… more often."

Maybe. Maybe not. He knew Snow wasn't about to throw him a welcome party and neither was Ramon, even after being on his best behavior and not icing either of them for their idiotic comments.

"We'll see," he just said.

Healing from the disruptor gun had Barry exhausted and tired, and he was dozing off, sleeping for an hour or more. Len had kept track of his time at S.T.A.R. Labs and had come up with close to thirty-two hours. He had showered, shaved and eaten whatever Cisco had brought them. He trusted in the team not to poison him. It would be counter-productive to all the effort they had gone through already.

Barry was off the IVs, but the tiredness was a clear sign of his body speed-healing itself. Len was no medical professional, but he had caught a few glances of the monitor displays. There had been a lot of red and even more warning signs.

"So, how bad is it?" he finally asked Caitlin as she checked on her patient.

She gave him an assessing look, brows drawn down, lips a hard line.

"You can tell me," he added with a sarcastic twist. "I can take it."

She grimaced. "Barry still has a lot of recovering to do. His cells are just now getting to the level where they start healing the internal damage done."

"How bad?" Len repeated, voice harder.

"I can give you the list or you just believe me that almost all his inner organs, right down to his heart and lungs, were affected," she snapped. "His normal speed is about three to six hours for broken or splintered bones, two to four hours for ruptured organs!"

Snart didn't twitch a muscle at the words.

"He'll be fine by Monday to go back to work," Caitlin snapped, anger pouring out.

"Physically."

She blinked, almost rearing back. "Yes," she said slowly. "Physically."

Len studied the younger man on the bed, sleeping through it all. He knew how often Barry had been injured in the line of his Flash duties since Snart's return from his time-hopping adventures. And then there had been the encounters between the two of them.

"I don't know how he does it," Caitlin said quietly, intruding almost gently into his thoughts. "He gets hurt, heals, goes back into the fray or just to work as if nothing had ever happened. The pain is the same for him as it would be for anyone else. He feels it. Every time."

Len felt the tension across his shoulders, creeping up his neck.

"I think decompressing was more than just the Speed Force bearing down on him," the doctor added softly. "I think it was about something else, too."

He stared at her, but Caitlin didn't flinch back. Her smile was knowing.

"I'm not his therapist," he growled.

The smile grew. "Maybe. But you are his anchor, aren't you? I think you have a very large role in his life, Snart. Dr. Wells was correct when he said we don't know a lot about possible subcategories of Guides. You aren't the only one out there who can help a Sentinel in a different way."

He kept his mask firmly in place.

Caitlin made a few more notes, then left them alone again.

"You're still here," Barry mumbled as he roused a little more.

"Stating the obvious. I'll let that slide due to your scrambled brain."

It got Len a little grunt. Tired green eyes peeked out from underneath the seriously tousled hair.

"You know where you are?"

Barry sighed. "Yeah. Same as last time you asked. S.T.A.R. Labs. Got hit by some guy with a grudge against metas."

Hiding his relief, Snart smirked. "Good. It finally sticks. Making progress, Scarlet. So proud of you."

"Third time's the charm?" Barry teased softly.

"In a way. You up for food?"

"I think I could eat."

"Yes, my bad. I should remember it's a very redundant question in your case," he quipped. "You're a bottomless without flashing everywhere."

Barry yawned, but he sat up, and he actually polished off everything on the plate, which was enough to feed the whole team.

"Wish I'd stop being so damn tired," he complained when he was done.

Snart regarded him coolly, seriously. "You are aware of just how close you were to not breathing anymore, Scarlet? A little tiredness is a small price to pay."

"I know. I'm just not used to it."

"Used to being just a regular guy?"

Barry shrugged. "Kinda." He suppressed another yawn, but his eyes slid closed not much later.

He watched him. The meta Sentinel. His Sentinel.

Len was torn between denial and acceptance, leaning strongly toward acceptance. There was also pride. A strange kind of pride, actually.

Mine, he thought, catching himself too late as that pride rose strongly.

Barry was his. And Barry had a power over Leonard Snart that no one had ever had before. Not control, no. He was still unbonded and unbound; no strings on him.

"Mine," he murmured, the word coming a lot easier over his lips than he would have thought.

Around Barry, the Speed Force manifested briefly, brushing everywhere, enveloping Len for a brief moment, then it disappeared.

He almost laughed.

So the feeling was mutual.

He didn't say good-bye to Barry. Close to forty hours after his arrival at the Labs, Len simply slipped out of the room when it was clear that there was no trace of the disruptor's damage left. Actually, he took advantage of Detective Joe West dropping by the lab, demanding to know how Barry was and why no one had thought it might be important to contact him to tell the man about his foster son's condition.

Len smirked as he heard the complaints. He knew he had been the reason that West hadn't been called. He could only imagine how the older man would have reacted to finding Leonard Snart in bed with Barry Allen.

It wasn't a good-bye. He knew Scarlet would find him.

So Leonard Snart drove away from S.T.A.R. Labs and right toward Saints and Sinners. He chose a corner table, ordered beer and fries, working through the metric ton of messed-up he had been thrown in.

Barry found him just thirty-nine hours later. It was about the time Len had calculated that the speedster would be up and about, considering how much he had slept lately and that he had to show up for his day job. While he could probably call in sick, according to Cisco, Barry had never missed a day of work. Whenever The Flash was injured, Barry Allen would still go to work, no matter how bad he might still feel. There had never been an injury serious enough to make him look sick the next day.

Super speedy healing at its best.

Until the disruptor gun.

But here he was. Barry was carrying two huge to-go cups from Jitters and holding a carry-out bag that was probably filled with enough muffins to feed a preschool class.

Len had moved into one of his other safehouses, the one in a rather nice area, a little off the beaten path, and very much not where a master criminal might be residing.

But Barry had found him.

Snart raised an eyebrow, eyes quickly scanning over the lanky form and finding nothing amiss. The hair looked a bit windblown, but his color was healthy and there were no lines of pain. He was casually dressed in jeans, a white button down and a washed-out blue sweater pulled over it. With his messenger bag hanging off one shoulder, Barry appeared like some freshman about to start his first class.

Yes, he looked his healthy, normal self. Something inside Len relaxed, the small twisted knot unraveled, but he didn't let any of it show.

"Up already?" he asked with a slight sardonic twist. "Didn't think Snow would let you go running so quickly after having your mind turned into scrambled eggs and your body disrupted."

Barry shifted from one foot to the other. "Yeah, well, I'm all good. I came to… thank you. Again."

Snart leaned back, all projected ease and laid-back disinterest. "You've been doing that a lot lately. Not that I'm keeping a list. Just a tab on how much food you owe me. Or beer. Not to mention that bottle or five of Tequila. The moment we start talking payments, you'll be flat on your ass broke, Scarlet."

Barry gave him a slightly annoyed look, mixed with amusement. "That's solely on you. You didn't believe me when I said I metabolized alcohol so fast it doesn't even give me a buzz."

Len chuckled. "Yeah. That's on me. The rest is purely you, Scarlet." He gestured at the paper bag. "That's not even a down payment."

"It wasn't meant to be."

He watched the younger man like a hawk, eyes narrowing. "What's going on, Barry?" he asked, voice sharper.

There was a brief surge of fight or flight rising in him, but Len squashed it. Barry wouldn't set him up to be arrested unless he had either the evidence of a crime or caught him red-handed.

"We need to talk, Len."