Getting slammed against the wall wasn't one of Leonard Snart's favorite meet-greets, but it seemed to me the MO of many so-called vigilantes. He held up his hands, lips forming a sarcastic smile.
"Well, nice to see you again, too," he drawled. "How may I be of service?"
"Shut it, Snart!" The Arrow growled.
While Len just kept his infuriating grin in place, the façade never wavering, inside he was calculating the odds to get out of this in one piece. The jury was still out on his fifty-fifty vote. If The Arrow was in a good enough mood, he might end up with an arrow in the leg or arm. If he wasn't, the back was more likely.
"I don't know what you're getting from this," The Arrow continued, eyes boring into Len's, "but if you hurt Barry, if you so much as think about selling him out to whoever pays you the most, you won't die quickly. I know how to draw out death, Snart. I know how to inflict pain, a lot of pain. You will suffer."
"Intimidating." He cocked his head, meeting the dark eyes, almost black within the depth of the cowl, hidden by the mask. "Consider me terrified," Len said with a bland smile.
There had been a time Snart would have been truly terrified, but his all expenses paid for stay aboard the Waverider had confronted him with a lot of horrors, with things that had given him nightmares for a while. He had spent an unknown time within the Time Stream, had felt that power run through him, use him, realign itself and heal from the abuse the Time Masters had heaped on it, and he had been confronted with all that was Time.
That had been terrifying. That had been a nightmare.
The Arrow's presence paled in comparison to Time. Yes, he was a very serious and lethal opponent and Len wouldn't cross him, but Snart wasn't going to roll onto his back and bare his throat.
"I do not trust you," the vigilante hissed.
The voice was low and dark, like from a different plane of existence, and he could read the truth in the words.
Voice filters, Len realized, curious and impressed in one. "No one is asking you to," he said evenly.
"You're a liar, a thief and a killer."
"Guilty."
He was pushed back hard, grunting a little. The Arrow just stared at him, as if trying to look right into his soul.
"This is getting old, Arrow," he drawled. "And I'm The Flash's liar, thief and killer. Not your problem."
"I can see you becoming my problem!"
"Doubtful. I don't share." He grinned darkly.
With a final hard push, Len was released. Snart straightened his jacket and dusted off his sleeves.
"Remember what I said," the archer said coldly. "Hurt him and you will learn pain!"
Len just smiled sardonically.
The Arrow disappeared down an alley and Len had his eye on the dark street for a whole three seconds before he walked away.
And that's the reason why Star City is really quite uninteresting, he thought with a wry smile.
The Flash had always been more fun. More light-hearted, less brooding and gritty. Yes, Barry had always been more fun, so much lighter than most so-called heroes, and so very human while also so incredibly powerful.
And The Flash had always been his.
Well, time for a stiff drink, Len decided as he walked off toward Saint and Sinners. Maybe more.
It took Barry a week after Oliver's departure to finally make up his mind. Len was doing things Barry didn't really want to know about. He knew nothing of his partner's enterprise would be traced back to him, so he turned a blind eye, unless The Flash would be called.
"If I want an appreciative audience, you'll know," Len had just purred.
And that was it. Unless Cold had wanted to draw The Flash out, put on a show, play around a little, no one would be any wiser as to who had broken into a place and taken whatever had been stolen.
Barry sped to Star City after he had sent off a text to Felicity, asking her to relay a message to Oliver.
The man was waiting for him in the Bunker. He wasn't wearing the Arrow outfit, but the neutral, almost distant expression, the emotionless eyes and the scowl didn't paint a very welcoming picture.
He was also alone.
"Barry," he greeted him.
"Uh, hey." He shot the older man a quick smile.
"Felicity convinced me that we should talk." Oliver crossed his arms in front of his chest.
Barry winced a little. Eyes running all over the place, taking in the various gear, outfits, tech stuff, he had no idea where to really start to soften the blow, to make this easier on him and everyone involved.
"Barry?" Oliver prompted.
"There's a reason behind why I didn't tell you… about some stuff. It's something that started when my mom was killed… and I've kept it from everyone, even Joe and Iris, even my own Dad, until recently. Some of it not so recently, sure, but it's been… a while." He scrubbed a hand over his neck, then both, fingers digging into the skin. "It's not that I don't trust you. You know I'm The Flash and that's something that could get me into a lot of trouble with some people if they knew. And my family."
Oliver watched him, eyes sharp and unrelenting. He was channeling a lot of The Arrow right now. "And I never told anyone about it," he remarked. "Only my teams knows who you are."
"I know! I know… And I appreciate it."
"The other stuff is… more personal?"
"Yes."
"More personal than being The Flash?" He sounded a little skeptical.
Barry drew in a breath, slowly exhaling again. He wished Len was there with him. "I'm… a Sentinel. Five senses."
Oliver's eyes widened, the man clearly caught off guard and overrun completely from the left field. He might have expected just about anything, but not that.
"You… are what?! I never sensed a thing!" he blurted. "You can't be!"
Barry ducked his head. "Yeah. About that. I'm self-contained."
Now the other man stiffened, arms falling to his side, shoulder's tightening. Barry could see his brain racing through the known facts, add one and one, come up with a very sharp and clear two.
"Since you were eleven?" he asked evenly.
"Yes."
"No one knew?"
"No. Not right away." He shifted a little uncomfortably. "Caitlin, Cisco and Wells found out because of the whole Flash stuff. I told Joe and Iris much later."
Oliver studied him like a lab experiment under a microscope. Barry was convinced he was using his senses to scan him, to pick up something no one could sense, not even The Arrow.
"Your senses are contained even as you run?"
"Yeah."
Silence, then, "Damn."
Barry smiled a little. "Something like that, yes."
"And Snart?"
Like an arrow right to the bull's eye, Barry thought.
"He's… my not-Guide."
Oliver stared at him, daring him to joke, probably hoping it was a joke. So Barry launched into the explanation Harrison had given him about subcategories of Guides, about the shield, conduit and anchor, going into detail into what had happened over the months and years.
Oliver closed his eyes, leaning back against the work bench, clearly working through all the information.
"I… understand. I know what being an autonomous Sentinel means. Not just for you, Barry, but also for others who might be interested in you."
The speedster tensed. Oliver smiled humorlessly, darkly.
"Yes. I understand. There are those who would exploit your uniqueness. There are those who would nurture it."
Barry's lips became thin, tight lines. "No," he said harshly.
"I know. You protected yourself." Oliver regarded him with that hard to read expression. "It's a lot. You have a lot on your plate." He expelled a breath. "But it explains your secrecy." He ran a hand through his dark blond hair. "So, you're a Sentinel." His lips twitched.
A shrug.
"It's weird not to sense a single thing. Makes me twitchy knowing that something's supposed to be there. Especially since it's you."
Barry gave him a half-smile. "I've been told."
"And Snart's… your not-Guide, you call him?" This time there was a smile. "Leonard Snart?"
The speedster chuckled. "Yeah. Leonard Snart."
"It's not a bond."
"No. We are connected through the Speed Force, not by a psychic link between a Sentinel and Guide. He's somehow part of it. I know it's a lot and very unusual, but I trust him. Absolutely."
"Because of the Speed Force."
He nodded.
"A different kind of instinct, but very fitting of what you are. The meta Sentinel." Oliver was silent for a while, clearly still thinking. "And you trusted me with that secret. Thank you," he finally said.
"Because I trust you, too. I know you won't just tell anyone."
Queen nodded. "No one will hear this from me."
"So we're good?" Barry asked carefully. "No hard feelings?"
Oliver laughed. "I still can't wrap my head around Snart and you, but yes, we're good. I've seen very unlikely Sentinel-Guide pairs. I'll give him the benefit of doubt." He raised both eyebrows, lips twisting into a humorless smile. "And I doubt he's walking the straight and narrow line."
Barry felt something inside of him unknot. Oliver was treating this like a conventional bond and that was just fine with him.
"Well," he said slowly. "We're not joined by the hip and I'm not his keeper."
Oliver chuckled darkly. "As long as he respects my city, we're good."
Len had never doubted that he would run into the Waverider or at least some of the old crew again. Time travel was like that. And since the Time Stream had healed itself, mooring realities and time-lines, it had only been a matter of time. Pun intended.
What he hadn't expected was the slight ripple brushing along his spine just before the ship appeared.
Huh.
Interesting.
He did expect the hard right hook to the jaw as Mick Rory loomed over him, face a terrifying mask of fury and barely contained rage. There was murder in those eyes, muscles bulging, fists curled tightly at his side.
"You died!" he snarled.
"Hello to you too, Mick," Snart drawled, rubbing a hand over his jaw.
"You knocked me out and you died! I told you I was gonna kill you if you ever knocked me out again!"
"And I died," Len finished lazily.
Everyone was watching, hanging back, though Ray was somewhere between the rest of the group and Mick, glancing back and forth between the two. There was a faint line creasing his forehead and his eyes held a more intense look than Snart remembered the younger man ever having.
"You died," Mick repeated, suddenly more quietly.
There was a raw grief in those dark eyes that Len had never seen before. It was something private, something soul-deep, and it struck him just how badly his old friend had taken the selfless act.
"Nothing permanent," he said, keeping his voice careless, though it didn't really carry through. "Didn't really stick for long."
Mick's expression wavered. Anyone else and Len would be getting the living daylights hugged out of him. Rory looked just even more murderous.
"What happened?" Ray asked, curious, walking closer.
Mick shifted minutely, but to Len's trained eye and from knowing this man for close to twenty-five years, he read a lot in the tiny move. Ah.
"The Time Stream happened."
Palmer cocked his head, studying him. "Alright. Meaning?"
"I got turned into a million tiny particles and chugged out on the other side." Len shrugged, smirk in place. "Had the time of my life."
Ray grimaced. "That's a really bad joke. Kinda funny, but bad."
Mick stalked closer.
Snart didn't move.
Fingers fisted into his jacket, the other fist drawing back for another blow. "You are not real! This is just another hallucination! Nothing and no one survived the explosions! Time doesn't work like that!"
Snart kept his face perfectly pleasant, refusing to shrink back from what he knew would be another very painful blow. "I did survive. Thanks to the Time Stream. Kind of a thank you for services rendered, I suppose."
Mick bared his teeth, looking unsure, fighting demons and memories Len was only too aware of.
"You died," he whispered, grip tightening. "Time cannot resurrect the dead."
"No. But I didn't really die, Mick. I was inside the Time Stream for a while."
Len felt the rush of air, felt the Speed Force, felt it envelop him as time slowed down to nothing. Mick, Ray, everyone was frozen as The Flash intervened and moved them back a few feet, placing himself between Len and Mick, who was now holding on to nothing, his arm slightly drawn back for another blow.
"My savior," Len drawled.
Barry gave him a hard, sharp look. "Don't."
"Same goes for you, Scarlet: don't. Let me handle this."
There was a long second, a very long second, of Barry just looking at him, then time snapped back. Speed was resumed at normal pace.
"Stop it!" Barry ordered sharply, looking at Mick.
"Whoa!" Ray laughed, eyes wide with delight. "Hello. Long time no see, Flash." He gave a little wave.
Snart wondered if the man would ever change.
"Hey, Ray." Barry turned to face Mick. "Len's real! Completely real! I know it's a lot and he should probably have called or something, but he's Leonard Snart!"
"How do you know?" Mick demanded.
"I do."
"Just like that?"
Barry shrugged uncomfortably. "I can't tell you how and why. I know it's him. Time did bring him here."
Ray had by now moved to stand next to Rory, that curious look never leaving.
"Listen, guys," The Flash went on, "we can talk about this, but no more fights, okay? I'd hit him too, if I were in your shoes," he looked at Mick, "I really would. But it is him. All of him. No hallucination, no doppelgänger, no parallel universe copy."
Rory studied him, took in Len's get-up, the suit and the guns, brows drawing down.
"You coming back?" Mick grunted, voice rough.
"Actually, no." Len smiled darkly. "I had my fun. It's been fun. To the end. I've got a new plan."
"Playing side-kick to The Flash?"
Snart had to laugh. "I'm never anyone's side-kick, Mick, and you know it. No, it's a different deal. One that involves only him and me. What it entails is also just between him and me." He shot a pointed look at Ray and then looked at his former partner once more.
Mick's brows climbed a little. He wasn't stupid and he understood. He showed it by shifting half an inch closer to Ray.
Len smirked more.
The rest of the Waverider's crew approached with Sara in the lead. "Snart," she said slowly.
"Sara."
A lot was being said between them, without words, with just a few barely perceptible expressions, and Len felt his lips curl into a humorless smile.
They had been at odds with the other, had become reluctant allies, then possibly friends, and finally found someone within the other person they could relate to on some level. It had been the start of hanging out together, playing cards, drinking, sharing small stuff from their lives, contemplating themselves, their lives, their future. Sara had been a friend and confidante in the end, someone Len had found he could trust to have his back in a fight, but also someone who wouldn't take crap from either him or anyone.
The master assassin and the master thief. In another lifetime, in another dimension, another reality, they might have become more. In this life and dimension and reality, they never would be more than they were now.
His smile was mirrored by her.
The kiss on Oculus Station had been brief, almost chaste, and a good-bye. Nothing more.
"So not even Death sticks to you," Sara finally said. "I should have known."
"Don't be too heartbroken over it."
"Means we wasted a bottle," she shot back, but there was no viciousness in her words.
"I'll get you a sixpack to make up for it."
Sara closed the last distance and wrapped him in a hug. "Good to see you back in one piece, Snart," she whispered, voice harsh in his ear, carrying so many emotions, so much meaning.
He briefly tightened his arms around her. "Good to be in one piece."
Sara stepped back, eyes only a little too bright. Mick was still glowering at him, but there was a suspicious shine to his eyes, his expression wavering between the rage he still channeled and the hope he refused to let blossom.
"How about a tour?" Ray offered brightly, beaming at Barry, who had stood back and watched it all. "Flash?"
The speedster suddenly grinned, his own tension bleeding away. "Sure!"
"Don't get too excited, Scarlet. We're not hiring back on," Len drawled.
Barry shot him a smile and followed Ray, who was in turn trailed by a looming, threatening shadow in form of Mick Rory.
"Snart?" Sara asked.
"Sure. Why not? One more time for old time's sake."