Mick had never seen The Flash in such a bad condition and he knew he didn't want to see it ever again. He wasn't really squeamish and seeing blood didn't make him want to throw up or, worse, faint. He had treated his own third degree burns, had seen the mess of his own flesh and skin, and he had suffered through incredible pain that he had numbed with pain meds or alcohol. He had taken care of Leonard's own scrapes and bruises, two of them caused by gun shots that had come way too close. He had set broken bones or had watched someone with a deep laceration getting that injury stitched.

No, it wasn't the blood or the wounds the blood was coming from. It was whom the blood belonged to, whom it covered. And there was blood everywhere. Mick knew it would only get worse when the bolts were removed. That the kid had wanted to pull out the crossbow bolts himself, had actually pulled one already, had rattled him. Not a lot did these days, but the desperation had been real, the pain almost secondary to the younger man as he had tried to get some purchase on the slicked bolt.

Not to mention how the speedster had managed to get up with such debilitating injuries and throw an insanely dense ball of lightning at their enemy while Mick had done the same with one of the hottest flames he could manage by now. If asked, Mick wouldn't have bet on the kid even getting to his knees in his condition. But he had stood up once more and done that!

Yeah, Red was something else. The Flash was constantly going past his own present limitations, digging deeper, getting faster and stronger, and his control of the Speed Force was growing. Mick knew some of the details because Len had sat him down and given him a very long, detailed explanation about Leonard Snart's role in this partnership, what he did for Red, what The Flash was capable of, but Mick knew there was still more. There was an aspect both men were not comfortable with the new-arrivals knowing.

Fine with him. As long as it didn't endanger his Guide or himself, the Sentinel wasn't going to dig.

So yes, The Flash was something else, seeing him do stuff anyone else would have been too out of it, too weak, too hurt to do. He always had been special among the many superheroes, which was most likely one reason why Leonard had been so gone on the guy. It had been almost embarrassing how much those two had flirted and fought and flirted again.

There had never been blood when he and Len had tried to take out their little red pain in the ass. Scrapes, bruises, a split lip, yes. Little things. He knew it had been serious, but still a game for Len. He had iced the kid, he had let others shoot at him, but it had never been like this.

Never.

And it was just sick.

"Mick."

He turned to look at the man he had already heard approach. It wasn't one of his hyper-senses. His hearing was normal. What had developed ever since the bond had taken place was this awareness of those he protected. Like Leonard Snart. The man had always been on his radar, had been part of the Sentinel's little group, and it was easy to get a sense of him.

Ray, who was a walking encyclopedia when it came to Guide and Sentinel facts, had tried to get him to meditate to let those psychic senses grow. One look from Mick had killed that suggestion.

He was doing fine as he was. His senses were fine. His empathic abilities were fine. No mushy crap like mediation needed.

Looking at his old partner, Mick scowled at the tightness he detected in the other man. On the outside he was his cool, detached and completely laid back self. There wasn't even a twitch. But Mick Rory knew what signs to look for and they were numerous right now. Snart was ready to kill something; someone.

"He's a tough kid," he rumbled.

"I know," was the toneless reply. "Healing factor."

Yes. That. Still, there had been pain and blood loss, and The Flash had felt it all. No matter his ability to heal himself, the pain was always the same.

Both men stood to the side while Caitlin worked, assisted by Cisco and Wells. The suit had been cut off and lay discarded on the floor.

"Freak was hunting him down with a sharpshooter. Wish I had burned the suckers to a crisp," the Sentinel growled.

"This is going to be bad," Caitlin told them. "I need to get the bolts out. Leonard?"

Mick watched his oldest friend tense up, face smooth and emotionless, but the blue eyes were burning.

"I'm staying."

"It won't be pretty."

"I am quite aware of it, Dr. Snow," he stated coldly.

"Len…" she implored.

His expression said it all. Mick shot him a look, brows drawn dow.

"No anesthetics," Snart told him, just loud enough for the Sentinel to hear.

The pyrokinetic frowned, and then witnessed just how bad it really was for all parties involved.

No, he had never given the fact that The Flash healed really, really fast a second thought. He had never wondered if that meant he metabolized everything just as quickly, that no narcotics stuck, that flesh and skin tried to heal around foreign objects.

And no, it wasn't pretty.

When it was finally all over, Mick felt an unaccustomed wave of sympathy and almost empathic pain as he watched the pale form of Barry Allen, unconscious, swathed in bandages, hooked up to monitors.

"Damn," he rumbled.

Len just nodded. His expression was like carved out of stone while the blue eyes were on fire. His attention was on The Flash and The Flash alone. Mick felt something for a second, like electricity before a storm, like ozone brushing over his skin, then it was gone. His heightened senses chased it, but there was nothing anymore.

"Didn't know that about the kid," Mick said gruffly, turning his attention back to Snart.

Len scrubbed a hand over his face, looking tired and worn for a fraction of a second. "Neither did I until we got to know each other outside of me trying to freeze him." He gave Mick a mocking smile. "I was introduced to it almost the same way you were today. Barry pulled the offending piece of metal out of himself. It wasn't a crossbow bolt, but serious enough. That drove it home just how bad having something stuck in him is."

Mick grimaced and stared at the now sleeping speedster, who was hooked up to IVs that fed him the necessary energy.

Len was guarding him, throwing vicious, cold looks at everyone, daring them to just try and get him to move. The team was too used to the protective nature of the other man to even attempt it. He was also the one switching out the IV bags as the fluid seemed to be sucked into the speedster's body like he was drinking it. Mick was watching the process with raised brows.

He was learning a lot of interesting details about their little speedster.

And when had he started to incorporate The Flash into what Ray would most likely and very gleefully call his 'tribe'. Mick despised it. He wasn't some primitive caveman and he sure as hell wasn't some sacred protector.

But he liked the kid.

"Someone's hunting for him," he stated, breaking the silence.

That didn't sit well with him either. His instincts were screaming at him and the Sentinel wasn't inclined to quiet them. Barry was Len's partner and Leonard Snart was his oldest friend. The Sentinel was rather protective when it came to him.

Not his tribe, something like kin in a weird way, and still not just a crew or a bunch of people thrown together. A team, but not his team. His thoughts circled back to the word 'tribe' and he almost snarled at himself.

"Someone on the other side of those breaches," Snart agreed, the same cold fire in his eyes that Mick felt inside himself. Just with more heat. "Someone who is sending his metas after him."

"Unsuccessfully."

Both men turned and looked at Wells, both wearing equally dark, warning looks. The other man smiled disarmingly.

"I received a call from Lyla Michaels, head of A.R.G.U.S." Harrison went on, unperturbed by the tight energy in the room, the way Mick looked ready to become very violent one way or the other if something threatened the unconscious man on the bed.

Not his Guide, but someone important to Snart. That was enough.

"Both men are in custody. Both are metas. The sharpshooter can apparently camouflage himself from being seen, even by electronic means, as long as he's conscious. That's why The Flash didn't see him. We have no name. The other one is Carl Rosen and he calls himself The Knight."

"Cisco will be crushed," Len deadpanned.

Harrison smirked. "He is. The Knight was sent to our Earth to find The Flash and kill him, then he would be allowed to return. He's a small-time criminal entrepreneur and was upgraded, as he calls it, when the particle accelerator of their version of S.T.A.R. Labs leaked all over the city."

"Leaked?" Mick raised an eyebrow.

"Apparently there was no big explosion, but there were similar consequences. What I find interesting is that Mr. Rosen was injected with an additional substance by the unknown puppet-master to boost his powers. Before that, he only had the ability to create the armor. Afterwards, the weapons arsenal was added. Same goes for the nameless shooter. His abilities were enhanced for this… mission."

Len exchanged a hard, dark look with Mick. The Sentinel's expression was fearsome and foreboding, his whole presence shifting from neutral to suddenly very intimidating.

"Miss Michaels said they are keeping our Knight and his shooter for the time being. There is no breach we can send them back through." Wells studied the readings on the monitors mounted above the bed. "What I find… interesting is the fact that while every single Breacher seems to be intent on going after The Flash, none of them were ever strong enough to go through with the plan."

Len stared at him, face unreadable, but there was a brief nod. "If it was me," he said slowly, "I would have sent them as an army."

"Exactly."

"Meaning?" Mick demanded.

"The Knight was the strongest opponent so far, pushing The Flash past his limits yet again. Just like before. It's almost like our unknown puppet-master is… training The Flash."

"Making him faster, stronger…" Len mused, a steep line forming between his brows.

Mick's face was blank for a moment, then grew stony. "He wants him to gain power. Speed power and energy..."

"Like my very lethal predecessor of the same name," Harrison agreed. "This unknown person keeps sending villain after villain from his Earth to this one. Telling them to kill The Flash ensures that they'll put a maximum effort into their task, and being in mortal danger is the ultimate incentive for The Flash to push beyond his limits."

"Fattening him up like a Christmas goose," Mick growled. "Another Wells?"

"Possible." Harrison raised his hands as if reading the other man's mind. "And no, I'm not doing it. I'm quite happy with who I am, where I am, what I am. I'm also very much just human me. My Earth has Sentinels and Guides and all the variations, but not metas like I have found here."

"I don't like it," Mick growled.

"Neither do I," Len agreed, their eyes meeting.

"Kid's gotta need some extra protection."

Snart chuckled. "Are you really volunteering?"

Mick twisted his hand, palm up, and fire danced over the skin. "I think you could use some new firepower," he simply stated, his lips pulled into a dark smile.

"So do I."

They turned to look at Ray, who walked in and joined his partner. He had been in Star City and had flown back in the new ATOM suit the moment Mick had called him.

"The Flash in a lot of danger until we find out who this puppet-master is and whatever Mick and I can do, we'll do to help."

"Thank you," Harrison said sincerely.

Len just gave Mick a brief nod, his emotions locked away, but his gratitude was clear to see for the other man.

Mick just looked at the kid again, wondering who was hunting him and why. He might not have an answer to that, but he knew he would give whoever was behind it a run for his money. Central City was his territory and The Flash, while also a protector, was under his protection as well.

He only left the cortex and the very building when it became clear that the speedster was completely out of the woods and Snart wasn't about to go on some revenge trip. Not that Mick wouldn't have gone with him, helped him extinguish the low-life who had hunted their speedster.

There it was again. The possessiveness, the protectiveness.

Ray watched him closely, completely silent, which was something he could do and did do frequently when he sensed Mick didn't want chatter. Mick had headed for the showroom, that artfully furnished apartment that Ray still called his own and that was still just as impersonal as ever. The neutral territory around him, infused with just some of them as a bonded pair, felt more soothing than the house they truly shared could right now.

Ray finally curled a hand over his wrist, fingers brushing over old scars, running up his bare lower arms. Mick caught that hand and held it. He met the calm, deep eyes.

The empathic connection between them was steady and calm, filled with assurance and emotions Mick never talked about. He didn't have to with his Guide. Ever since the bond had taken hold, the knowledge was there. Ray's presence was never filled with doubt, with jealousy or the sensation that he wasn't good enough. He was very much aware of his own abilities, but there was still the wonder that his Universal status was now gone and he had a Sentinel. That might never change.

"Don't," Mick rumbled.

Ray smiled. "I never would," he answered, humor swinging in his voice. "You're doing it all on your own. By yourself."

As excitable as Raymond Palmer was when it came to new discoveries, or when he worked on a project, he was also extremely focused when it came to Guide matters. He was Mick's calm well of silence and strength, the anchor to his more fiery Sentinel side, and the man who had given him back his equilibrium and control. Mick Rory was quite aware how much Ray had put into this bond to pull him back from the brink, to give him control over himself.

Now he glared at the other man, but Mick knew Ray was correct. He was thinking about the increased territorial streak, how Central City was his to protect, how he wouldn't stand by and let anyone hunt those he cared for.

He cared for The Flash. The kid had something about himself. Going into the fight, protecting the severely injured speedster, actually using his powers to fend off the crazy guy with the armor, had been instinctual. And it had felt incredibly good.

Mick pulled his Guide closer, kissing those smiling lips, feeling the tall, muscular form against himself, and it appeased and excited him in one. Ray wrapped his arms around him, holding him close, answering the searching lips and tongue with his own. Hands found their way under his shirt. Strong, capable and sure hands. No hesitation. No shyness.

The Sentinel felt a surge of excitement, of hunger and need, coupled with steady thrum of the bond that gave him quite a clear idea what his Guide wanted. And Ray wanted a lot; he was never shy about telling the other man what he wanted and how much.

The large bed looked decidedly rumpled and well-used a few hours later, just as rumpled Ray did himself. There were marks on his skin, just like there were on Mick's. Those marks complemented his scars quite nicely, he mused as he lazily enjoyed the heavy, sleeping presence next to him. Ray was out like a light.