Hi everyone, sorry for the delay. To make up for it, this chapter's longer! I hope you enjoy it. Also today's my birthday, which is why you get a chapter today instead of tomorrow. Birthday, yay!

Warnings for this chapter: blood, threats, non-consensual blood draws (second section)
if there are things I miss in my warnings please let me know.

Chapter Ten

Cisco's shirt dried, the blood sticking to his skin. Most of it, he suspected, was from his nose. He didn't remember anyone actually using the knives they'd displayed. He didn't remember much at all, which probably meant that the head wounds were worse than anticipated, and that was just the icing on the cake, wasn't it. Cake. He'd thrown up the scant meal he'd gotten, which was yet another checkmark on the "Should go to the hospital/ Caitlin" list but that wasn't exactly an option. Still, he was starving. Was that a good sign, or a worse one? He wasn't sure. He tried to piece together the fragments he was certain of. Eiling had called Barry. He'd known who Barry was. Had he tortured that out of Caitlin, or Ronnie? He'd tried to warn him, but then someone's fist had knocked the air from his lungs and someone else had crunched his nose...and then….Cisco started to shake his head against the lack of memory and the pitch darkness of the cell he'd woken up in. He regretted it, his empty stomach protesting the twinge of pain in his head.

They'd moved him, he was certain of that. Maybe he really had been left to die, this time. It wasn't like they'd let him go, no matter what deal Eiling had promised Barry. Shady military groups and kidnappers weren't really bound to their word, and when the shady military group that had already tried to disappear Ronnie once-and shot up a cafe with tranqs to do it, public relations apparently be damned- that only increased.

He hugged his knees, gingerly, partly as a protection for ribs that still ached, partly for warmth, partly as a last ditch comfort. I hope you have a plan, Barry. But Barry rarely had plans other than " run around real fast and hope for the best," and Cisco knew, as much as he hated to admit it, he couldn't count on being rescued. He never had been, anyway. Barry'd try, but trying and succeeding didn't always go together. He'd have to do everything he could himself if he was going to get out, but the trouble was, he could hardly stand, or move without little white specks floating in his vision. Cisco hated being helpless. He was sick of it, helpless to stop Snart, or Thawne, and now Eiling. With the door locked and what was most certainly a concussion, there wasn't much he could do, besides pray and hope.

He didn't bother to close his eyes, it was dark anyway, but he bowed his head, and started to hiss the first words of the prayer he'd learned when he was hardly old enough to manage all the sounds correctly. His mouth was too dry, and it hurt, so he settled for a silent prayer instead. Padre nuestro, que estás en el cielo, Santificado sea tu nombre.

Martin twisted in the chair as best he could, trying to get a look at whoever had just walked in, but he might have spared himself the chafing. A man walked into his line of sight, part of a sweater visible under a stereotypical white lab coat. There was an embroidered name badge, stark black letters that Martin could only partly make out. Dr. H- something. As he moved closer, Martin squinted, trying not to make it apparent. Dr. H. Hadley.

The name wasn't familiar, not from any of the research he'd done on Eiling and his associates-Martin had made it a point to learn as many as he could, not just Eiling, but others, just as paranoia Ronald had indulged him in. But knowing the names and faces of potential enemies hadn't prevented this, and not knowing this man's identity, Martin knew, didn't mean a thing. He worked for Eiling, and that was all that mattered. The doctor ignored Martin, methodically checking through drawers, pulling out a tablet and typing into it.

"Let me guess, another of Eiling's lapdogs?" Martin spat, trying to hide his fear in mocking, but his voice shook a little too much. "Tell me, do you work for Eiling because you got kicked out of medical school, or do you just get off torturing people? Your mother must be so very proud either way."

Dr. Hadley turned, facing the chair. "I've heard of you, Firestorm. Even before the General brought me in on this. I saw you on the news, or the other part of you, although that's not accurate either is it? I've waited a long time to study you, your powers."

"You're going to be disappointed," Martin told him, trying to suppress the shudder that ran up his spine.

"I doubt that very much," Dr. Hadley glanced up over the top of the chair and motioned to someone apparently standing in the doorway. The owner of the shuffling footsteps was a younger man than the doctor, mid twenties at best. His blonde hair and the stubble of a hastily shaved beard was reddish, and he seemed skittish, swiping his palms against his too-large coat, like the first year students Martin had never had time for. Quietly, the professor filed that away. Any weak spots at all that could be exploited would be needed.

"Take notes," Dr. Hadley thrust the tablet at Skittish McIntern. From a new drawer he took an empty syringe, and a roll of bright yellow tape bandaging. "Two vials, same as from the other one, for the initial tests. CBC, and a Blood Enzyme to start."

Martin flinched when Hadley's gloved hands grabbed his arm,shoving his sleeve up roughly. About to tie the band, Dr. Hadley paused, then waved impatiently at the intern, who scrambled over. Martin tried to kick him, and missed.

"Get your hands off-" They ignored him.

"What is it, Doctor? Oh."
The scar was nowhere near as vivid as it had once been, harsh red letters begging for a location, but it had never faded, even if it hadn't been carved into his own skin. Even Dr. Snow's ointments hadn't done much, though it was fainter on Ronald himself.

"'Where,'" Skittish McIntern read out. "It's the same as-"
"As the mark on the other one, yes. And isn't that interesting. Get a picture."
While McIntern apparently did so, fumbling with the tablet, Martin struggled again against the hold on his arm, both from the restraints and Dr. Hadley . "I said, get your hands off me," Martin repeated. "Clearly you did flunk out of Med school, you absolutely useless-."

"Quiet," Hadley snapped, finding a vein. He was not gentle with the needle, and Martin didn't dare pull away, even if he could have, which he doubted, with both the Intern and Hadley pinning his arm to the chair's armrest. The small vial seemed to fill agonizingly slowly, and then the other.

Hadley set them aside and tabbed over the puncture mark, something Martin could not bring himself to be grateful for.

"You and your other half both have this mark." he said, though it seemed more like he was thinking aloud. "Judging by your reaction to needles, you don't seem like the kind to get matching tattoos, and neither did your other half. A scar. So how did you and the other one come by this, exactly the same?" he didn't wait for an answer, just turned to Skittish McIntern. "I'll need samples of the scar tissue from both of them. Get on it, and get someone to take the blood to the lab."

Joe wasn't looking forward to calling Barry to tell him that there were no leads. Drawing another stack of personnel files over to himself, he hoped there might be something there. There might have been, but the problem was something akin to looking for a needle in a haystack, but moreso. There were too many motives, too many possible pools of suspects, and all of it made the detective feel ill. He'd been on Major Crimes for the better part of two decades, but this was different. Caitlin and Cisco were as much family as Barry had been, 11 years old and traumatized.
He scanned the file quickly-a complaint Caitlin had filed about the security of the lab she'd been using three years ago. One of the techs had been fired for stealing chemicals as a result of the inquiry. Joe scribbled down the name, and looked over at Eddie, trapped behind his own fortress of papers and boxes.

"Anyone stick out?" Joe asked.
Eddie shrugged, rifling through the papers. "A couple names, but I already ran two of them and one's dead and the other's already in prison-grand theft. I haven't checked the others but it's all pretty thin. You?"

Joe grimaced. "Not yet. Oh, damn."

"What?"
"9:20. I should call Barry, see if he's found anything. He'd have called if he had, but maybe he's distracted…"

Joe called the housephone first, out of habit. The phone rang out. There was no point in leaving a message, so Joe hung up and called Barry's cell. "So help me God," he murmured, "If you found a lead and didn't call for backup-"

"Hi, you've reached Barry Allen, I'm not here right now, If this is because I'm late for-"

Joe hung up almost gently, not bothering to listen to the rest. Every alarm he possessed, every instinct, screamed at him, as if they'd been going full blast from underneath a down quilt and someone had thrown it back.

"Eddie, get your things, we've got to get to my place."

Eddie was on his feet almost as fast as Barry might have been, knocking one of the towers of files over. He left it, following Joe for the door, towards his car. "Joe, what's-"

"He's not answering."

Eddie's already pale complexion went whiter. "Oh, God. You don't think we were wrong, do you? That he wasn't a target?"
Joe didn't bother to answer, just flipped on his siren and drove.

The front door was closed, locked. Joe motioned for Eddie to circle around, while he unlocked it. The entryway and livingroom looked untouched-covered in files, but in a way that Joe knew was the sort of way Barry always laid out papers. There was nothing broken, not even the glass panes on a displayed family photos. Nothing was out of place in a truly threatening way, just the natural chaos Joe had been used to for years.

"Barry?" Joe bellowed, loud enough to wake him if he'd just-gone to bed upstairs. It was about as likely as the sun rising in the west, and Joe knew it, but still.
There was no answer. Eddie slipped in the back door.

"Nothing. No sign anyone got in, no sign anyone was here...Maybe he found a lead and went chasing it?"

Joe stood in the middle of the living room. "Maybe."
Neither of them really believed it.

Cisco jolted out of whatever half-nap he'd managed, even knowing what a Bad Idea™ sleeping was with one head injury, let alone...several, when he heard-felt, almost, in his ribs and finger bones-the door to his cell open. A dim fluorescent light set into the ceiling buzzed to life, flickering.

"Cisco!" Caitlin said, her voice craggy from thirst. She crouched by him, her face pale. "Look at me, ok? Just look at-" she saw the blood next. Cisco watched her shift, like sliding on a coat, from concerned friend to Doctor Snow.

"I need a first aid kit," she snapped at the guard standing just inside the door, closed again.

"Too bad, sweetheart," he said.

"Don't call me that," she growled. "Your stupid General wants me to treat him? I need something to treat him with. At least some water, bandaging, and antiseptic, idiot. "

"Watch your mouth."
"Do you need me to use smaller words? First. Aid. Kit." She turned back to Cisco. "What did they do to you?" behind her the door opened and closed again with a heavy clunk. Hopefully he was getting a first aid kit and not going to hurt Ronnie, or tell Eiling.

"Just hit me. A lot," he winced as she tilted his head, trying to check his pupils as best she could. "Head, ribs. I don't really remember, but-they-they called Barry. Eiling did."

Caitlin swore under her breath. "We've got to get out of here." She checked over her shoulder, making certain they were alone, or as alone as they could be. There were probably cameras, but the guard hadn't returned.

"Do you know here even is?" Cisco asked with a dry cough and a wince.
"Stay still, your ribs," Caitlin cautioned instictively. "Can I feel? I can't do much if they won't even give me bandaids, but…"

Cisco nodded slowly, and she reached forward. "I don't think I'm going to be much use, escaping."

Caitlin's shoulders sagged a little. "I-I couldn't leave anyway. I don't know where they're keeping Ronnie. They had me blindfolded the whole time, and they took him away." Tears pricked at her eyes. She did her best to ignore that, pressing gently on Cisco's ribs. When he hissed, she stopped. "I don't think it's broken. Might just be bruised, if we're lucky."

"Lucky," Cisco echoed, meeting her eyes. "Look, we're still alive. That guy didn't hurt you, even when you snarked at him. That means-they need us, or at least you. Probably to use against Ronnie, but at least that means he's alive."

"Yeah," Caitlin clasped her hands loosely. They were numb, the way they often got when she was terrified or furious. She was both, now, and it was hard to tell which was too blame. Trying to work feeling back into her fingers, she realized Eiling hadn't given her back her ring. Her hand felt naked without it.

"We'e gotten through worse," Cisco murmured.

"Have we?" she asked, and regreted it. She wasn't sure they had, but that didn't mean they wouldn't get out of this-to call it a mess seemed an understatement.

In answer, the door opened, the same soldier in uniform returning, a second following him. The second held his gun, and Caitlin wanted to snap at him Does it look like we're going anywhere, you soggy pigturd, her temper flaring, but she refrained. The first man was holding a white box and a plastic gallon jug of water. He put them down, and she watched, hungrily. Her throat felt so dry. Behind her, Cisco made a small noise.

"Don't waste it. That's all you're getting for a while."

"What about food?" Caitlin asked, tense.

"Consider yourself lucky to get this much. If you don't want it-" he reached for the handles, and Caitlin bit her lip. Insulting their captors was the only power she had, but they had more, and pride wasn't worth dying of dehydration.

"Wait, no-" she scrambled forward.

"That's what I thought." he tossed the box down again, and it bounced, the red emblem looking as holy as anything Caitlin had ever seen.

She grabbed the first aid kit and water and returned to Cisco's corner. The two soldiers left again, but she was sure they would be close by, at least one of them.

"Don't drink it all," she said, passing the jug to Cisco first. "I need some of it to clean that cut on your head.

"And for you to drink," he said, taking three small sips.

"Mmm." Caitlin looked through their inventory. Anything that could be used as a weapon had been taken, even the metal clasps for the ankle wrap. But there were gauze pads and a few wipes, and at this point she'd take what she could get. "Hold still, alright? This might sting."

Barry felt the skin on his wrists catch and break as he jolted against the cuffs. It didn't stop him from trying again, certain that if he could just get the frequency right, he could vibrate through, and failing that, tug really hard, really fast. He didn't have super strength exactly, but surely if he could get up enough momentum he could snap the chain, right? So far all it had gotten him was a series of nicks and scrapes. He'd woken up in a room that looked too much like the interogation room at CCPD for comfort, and not the one set up for "we don't want to scare you off because you came in voluntarily as a victim but we know you did it" guys, either, but the kind one with bland concrete walls, heavy metal table bolted into the floor and an equally hard chair that wasn't. His hands had been pulled though the back of the chair and secured, his ankles cuffed a little more loosely. He was certain they were watching through the one-way mirror, but they hadn't responded to the first five minutes of demanding to see Cisco, to see Caitlin, to talk to Eiling, to talk to a lawyer, so he'd given up on that front.

Now, he hung his head. Think. Think. There's got to be something just think, like you should have before, stupid, stupid, you could have gotten the cops, Eiling wouldn't have dared go after everyone if you went public, posted the call online, but-he'd have killed Cisco and Caitlin, and maybe it wouldn't have stopped him, what if- No. He'd done what Eiling wanted, they had to be ok. Iris had to be safe, too. Worried, pissed, but alive. They had to be. Don't think about that, don't think about any of that, focus, focus. Escape. Find Caitlin and Cisco and run. Lightning. Feel the lightning, the air-. It was hard, with the rest of his body so still, to get only his hands to move, only his ankles. He felt blood drip from the cuffs at his ankle, warm against his bare foot, and hissed in pain.

"Flash, what's this? Trying to run out on us?" Eiling asked, oming through the door Barry hadn't even heard open. He flinched as the General sat in the chair across from him, smug. "We have a deal, don't we?"

"You said you'd let Cisco and Caitlin go." Barry wished he'd gotten more from the lightning bolt. Something like Farooq, something like Firestorm, or the Mardons. Something like Bette.

Eiling leaned back a little. "I said no such thing."

"Me for them, that was the deal, you have me, let them go," Barry demanded.
"I never said a word about Doctor-Snow, was it? The deal, as you put it, was your cooperation for Ramon's life. I'm not about to let him scurry off to the authorities-not that they have any real power to stop me, but it gets messy. Inconvenient. No, he and your Dr. Snow, stay right here. As do you." Eiling's grin reminded Barry of a shark, or a mountain lion. Predatory, waiting for a sign of weakness.

Barry narrowed his eyes. "Leave them alone, Eiling."

Eiling shrugged. "As long as you all cooperate, I have no reason to hurt them. Now, if you were to be stupid and misbehave, that changes things. So, Flash, are you going to cooperate?"

Barry thought of the way Ronnie had screamed, feeling Martin's pain from hundreds of miles away, of the haunted look in Bette San Souci's eyes, of the way everything had burned when he'd been hit by the weapon Eiling's people had built. Can't let them get hurt like that. Can't.

"I-You-" he shuddered, the movement jarring his wrists against the restraints. "I'll do what you want, if you let them go. You don't need them here to threaten me. Just let them go, and I'll tell you anything you want about metahumans, about me."

Eiling looked at him critically. "Let's pretend, Flash, that I were to believe you. You'd really answer every question, follow every order, submit to every test, even without your friend's lives depending on it?"

Barry felt bile rise up in his throat, burning at the obscenities he wanted to spit. "You've got me here already. You have your weapons. It's not like I have a choice, so just let them go."

"Interesting." Eiling stood. Barry had not felt so small since his growth spurt at fourteen, zipping up to just over six feet before he was even old enough to drive without Joe in the passenger seat. He felt small now, but he met Eiling's cold gaze directly. Whatever happened to him didn't matter.

Eiling motioned at the window, and a man entered by that same strangely silent door.

"Carroway, the Flash here has convinced me. We don't need Snow or Ramon as hostages for good behavior." Eiling turned to stare down at Barry again, and smirked. "Kill them."

Remember to comment. I think it's time for a capslock party, don't you?