A/N: Betaed by Grammarly (which by the way, I do not have much faith in). Also, this is the update from a completely distracted and stressed author. Read at your own risk.


Emmy was balancing a huge tray of food when she saw them brought him in.

She was in a good mood, practically over the moon because of the rapidness of Rod's recovery. Sure, his increasing appetite was a bit of a concern for her—considering that they could never afford his new appetite on their own (and they both hated to rely on their stepfather's money)—but the lady at the dining hall simply took one glance at him, frowned at the way Rod buzzed with energy before she promptly whipped out a huge tray of food like it was a perfectly normal occurrence here for people to consume towers of food instead of the normal portion of an average human being. The lady waved Emmy's attempts to pay because apparently, her expenses in the headquarter were billed straight to Ripper's tab.

So, for what purpose he allowed her to work part-time at Frost's lab if everything was billed straight to him?

She's really uncomfortable with owing the serial killer, but what she could even do? She was basically a prisoner here, and this freedom of movement was just as fake as Dr Allen's good citizen demeanour. Regardless, since Ripper has given both of them the go-ahead to leave the apartment, Emmy has been actively trying to find an escape.

She also has been actively failing.

The whole area was a literal death-trap. Adventuring in a cursed ancient pyramid would have higher survival rate than wandering in this compound. More than twice per day Emmy found herself being saved from the brink of death by random metahuman that just so happened to be around the area she has gotten lost in. After the fifth rescue, Emmy started to get this hunch that her saviours were her babysitters, and she didn't exactly have the freedom she thought she was given.

She then tried to ask for Flash's permission (knowing him being the absolute power here) to go out of the headquarters' compound, only to be extremely wary when he didn't even question her and simply barked out orders for transportation to be set up for her.

It all made sense when she gawked outside the car's window as her driver drove her around the city.

This place was not even the same city she has known. It was still Central City, but it was not her Central City.

That evening, she found herself curled up in the coat closet again, clutching the red coat that she hated so much but has no choice but to hold it because she needed the comforting scent that reminded her of her dad. How was this even possible? Were they in some time loop? Parallel universe? Then, what that'd make Flash and Savitar to Ripper? Were they all the same persons?

Emmy cried to the red fabric.

Rod eventually found her when he was back from his rehab. Her little brother was already buzzing with excitement since he was finally cleared to use the enhanced gymnasium that it made her feel bad for ruining his day with her distress. He took one look at her and his smile promptly faded. Wordlessly, he left to retrieve some hot cocoa for both of them and spent the whole night holding her in the cramped closet, recounting the details of his recovery before diving into their childhood memories.

For the first time since their mother remarried, Emmy heard hope in his voice.

Thus, she made up her mind. She would try to be a little bit nicer to Ripper for Rod's sake.

That's why she almost dropped Rod's tray of food when she saw Flash brought Ripper in. The serial killer was not the picture of controlled calmness that he often exuded, but instead, the man was like the personification of insanity—eyes wide and blank on his emotionless face with blood drenching him from head to toe, shock collar wrapped around his neck and black cuffs around his wrists. Flash was barking out orders as they stormed in, snapping to his stunned subordinates to prepare the lab (whatever that was supposed to mean) while Killer Frost had her misty hands around Ripper like she was prepared to freeze him if the situation called for it. Trailing slowly behind the commotion was Savitar, who seemed more concerned on pressing a cloth over his bleeding neck as he exchanged quiet words with a pretty blond woman rather than paying attention to the delirious serial killer.

Wait, what?

Emmy did a double take, just when Savitar traded the drenched red cloth with a new one and yep, that was his neck pouring out blood from the long gash at the side of his throat like a morbid mountain creek.

How in the world he looked so casual with that kind of injury?!

Mother-hen instinct kicking in, Emmy left Rod's food on the nearby table and made her way across the hall to intercept their path. She barely managed to intercept them, but a last spurt of sprint was thankfully enough for her to grasp the sleeves of his jacket and halted him on his track.

"What happened to you?!" she huffed, voice a bit too high-pitched from the strain.

"You shouldn't strain your throat," he deadpanned instead, looking amused out of all things. "It's still healing. Very slowly."

She waited for the jibe about her refusing to take the magic all-healing serum (or any of their experimental drugs for all that mattered), but he didn't make any further comment about that. He just stood there, staring down at her while nursing his bleeding neck—oh no…

"You need a doctor," she whispered, being mindful of her sore throat as she frantically tugged on his sleeves towards the infirmary. "Then, some sleep."

His jaw set to a tight vice, not even budging from his spot despite Emmy's effort.

"Ooooh, this is so good," the gleeful comment halted Emmy's effort to drag the unmoving speedster, and she turned bashfully towards the pretty blonde woman, feeling guilty for ignoring her.

Savitar let out a long-suffering sigh and rolled his eyes.

"Felicity, no."

The blonde woman—Felicity?—ignored him and started giggling. Her gaze was predatory, looking at Emmy with unconcealed interest. Felicity leered towards the exasperated speedster, and Emmy must have been missing something because he scowled at the woman.

"No," he said.

"Yes," she retorted.

Savitar groaned.

The next thing Emmy knew was that she was in the infirmary, and Savitar was staring expectantly at her from his perch on the cot.

Emmy gestured meekly at the door; "Is it okay to leave her…?"

"She can survive," he snapped and very slowly tilted his head to bare his throat at her. "Patch me up and get it over with."

As much as she wanted to oblige to those sensible words, she couldn't help but hiss at him;

"But I'm not a trained medics!"

"You sew your own clothes. Same thing."

Emmy blinked incredulously at him. Sure, she has refused the clothes Ripper bought for her—and she may have ruined everything in his linen closet to make a dress in her failed attempts to piss him off (it didn't work, he just has the maintenance staffs replace those that she ruined and gave her cupcakes afterwards)—but in what world would sewing some fabrics together was an equal equivalent to sewing open gaping wound?

This world, obviously.

He sighed that long-suffering sigh again. "It's just a superficial wound, not even that deep."

Emmy tried to imitate the trademark unimpressed stare she often saw on his face.

There was a twitch at the corner of his lips, but his expression fell flat as he explained;

"Rip's aim is super bad when his mind is not in control."

Emmy refused to budge.

"Plus, all the medical staffs are called to the lab to deal with Rip," he added, eyes fluttering closed. "Either you patch me up, or I'll let it bleed till it heals on its own."

She was pretty sure that was a lie. From what she has observed during her stay here, Flash didn't half-ass anything, and that included his human resource. But, she held her tongue and oblige to his request. He was one of the nicer and less scary people in the compound, hence, she was not so fond of the idea of shutting him out. She didn't have many privileges in choosing companions while being a literal captive here.

"What happened?" she tentatively asked, snapping the latex gloves on.

"He snaps, goes insane, commits a mass slaughter on an alien squadron and gets arrested," he sighed, offering his arm to her when she persistently insisted him to use the specially-formulated anaesthetic. "Felicity helps us bust him out, but as you can see, he is too far gone by now."

"Will he ever get better—?"

He opened his single good eye to give her a contemplative stare.

Yeah, she understood that look. She was confused too. She didn't know why she cared for her own kidnapper.

This wasn't Stockholm syndrome, right?

"Don't know," he eventually shrugged, not even flinching when she dabbed the alcohol-soaked cotton around the gaping wound. "Maybe. Maybe not."

He fell understandably silent when she started sewing the wound. It was probably a mercy to Emmy since she was trying so hard to recall the information she learnt from the little time she spent with Frost in the lab. She really didn't want to mess this task up. God knew that she wouldn't survive Flash's wrath if she accidentally murdered Savitar.

As ridiculous as accidentally murdering a speedster with a needle sounded like, the idea still scared her.

Though, Savitar was right. It was indeed superficial wound, probably felt like a scratch to him, being a metahuman and all, but the idea that he could shrug an injury on the most vulnerable part of human anatomy like it was nothing made she worried for Rod. Emmy knew what they have done to her baby brother. Rod was going to be one of them too—and as much as she was happy to see the childish enthusiasm in her baby brother, it still worried her that there was a catch in this whole farce and these people will end up using Rod as their perishable pawn.

"Hey, Ems? Are you here?" Rod's voice startled her from her thoughts, causing her to might have accidentally stabbed her charge.

To his credits, he didn't even flinch, even though she was sure she has stabbed something inside him. Rod emerged from the door, cradling food in one arm while shoving a full slice of cake into his mouth using his other hand—his smile was so genuine it made her heart wrenched.

When was the last time she saw her brother smiled like this?

"Oh, you guys are back," Rod commented upon seeing Savitar. "How's the trip?"

The casual familiar way Rod was greeting Savitar was not a new thing, but it was still strange to witness. Unlike the other people in this godforsaken universe, Rod seemed to not have any sense of the fearful respect others had for the supervillains. Heck, he treated them like they were either his teachers or his older siblings—with warmth and genuine friendliness. In return, the villains seemed to respond to the familiarity with the obvious lack of their trademark condescending arrogance.

"Messy," Savitar grunted, though the corners of his lips twitched to a smirk.

"I heard the commotion. What was all that about?"

"Ripper snapped."

Rod stiffened for a moment, concern and worries spread all over his face. "Fuck," he cussed. "Where is—?"

"Lab."

And just like that, Rod was gone in a flash.

"Hero-worship," Savitar commented, sounding genuinely amused that Emmy was sure he would've chuckled if only he didn't have a half-sewn wound on the side of his neck. "You two are weird."

She didn't even have any retort for that. Stockholm syndrome and hero worship?

Weird was an understatement.


"So, you're telling me that you had Ripper arrested?"

Caitlin winced and lowered her gaze, honestly feeling too much of a failure to meet Joe's gaze.

"We had him," she said, squaring her shoulders to brace for the angry outburst. "But he got away."

They literally had him in shock collars and handcuffs and he was still able to escape.

That was the epitome of failure at its finest.

Joe was eerily silent after that. Caitlin snuck a peek to the detective, only to return to admiring the colour of the floor tiles upon seeing his angry and mournful expression. This was super bad. Joe's hands were trembling—and whether it was from sorrow or the wrath, Caitlin didn't want to know.

"How?"

Upon hearing the heartbroken whisper, Caitlin cursed her whole team for making her the messenger of the bad news.

"Well…."


Rod didn't know what to feel.

On one side, he should feel delighted since he has been literally hoping for this since the day Ripper kidnapped him.

But he couldn't help but feel the need to be concerned too.

He knew his older sister—god, he has been clinging to her skirts since he first started to crawl—so there wasn't even any doubt that Emmy despised Ripper so much. She just tolerated Ripper for Rod's sake. Every time Ripper was home, Rod always got this vibe that the relationship between his mentor and his sister was like that of a grumpy cat and a tentative friendly puppy.

Emmy was the cat.

Which was kinda odd because Rod always thought his sister as a puppy—with all those wide puppy eyes and tiny whimpers she used to make people bent to her will—but yep, she was definitely the cat between those two. You know, the kind of grumpy angry cat that seemed to hate you so much and ruined your stuff to piss you off? That was Emmy.

A serial killer he may be, but Ripper has the patience of a saint.

Rod's poor, poor, mentor has been an extremely good host during their first week here when Emmy's tantrum-throwing was at its peak. She eventually cooled down after that week—probably realising that she would only get a box of cupcakes from Ripper after each of her tantrum and none of the reaction she expected. Although she has obviously given up on being a figurative pain in Ripper's ass, she kept her distance from the man and simply avoided Ripper altogether whenever the man was home. Yep. Grumpy Cat. Haha. Plot twist. His sister was not the cute puppy Rod thought she was but instead she was a grumpy cat all along.

However, she has the soft squishy side of a grumpy cat too.

Rod watched, all wide-eyed in disbelief when his sister gently manoeuvred Ripper until she had his head rested comfortably on her lap. Considering how obvious her dislikes to the man was, this was mega weird. She was humming that lullaby she usually reserved for Rod, her slender long fingers thread through Ripper's hair like a trained routine. Her other hand was laced with Ripper's own, and Rod resisted the urge to comment upon seeing the twin crosses—Ripper's earring and Emmy's pendant—trapped between their palms. Her gentle attention to the older man did invoke a twinge of jealousy inside Rod since he used to have all of Emmy's attention, but he couldn't help but internally cooing too.

Bless his sister for invoking his inner fanboy by showing her squishy side to Ripper.

Maybe it has something to do with the fact that Ripper was heavily sedated and still away—the man was still staring blankly ahead and not acknowledging anyone—and was practically harmless right now. But, Rod thought there might be even more to his sister's gentleness towards the man who murdered their stepsister.

"So many bruises…," Emmy murmured, voice barely audible with the strain of her damaged throat, though the concern was a reminisce of the times she used to say the same thing to Rod back when they were little kids.

For a brief moment, Rod saw the tiny little girl of his childhood angrily glaring at the dark blue spots on the exposed skin of Ripper's forearms, in place of the petite young woman Emmy has grown to. Talk about familiar scenes. Rod watched Emmy rubbed Ripper's reddened skin around the black magnetized bracelet cuffs, wondering what the hell was going on in his sister's head, especially upon seeing the growing frown on Emmy's face.

He didn't expect her to suddenly snap her head up and glare straight into the dark glass on the wall, knowing that there were eyes observing them from the other side of the glass.

"Ems?" Rod asked tentatively, surprised at the sudden defiance from his docile sister.

Dude, they all knew who was on the other side of the glass, and this wrathful defiant glare was not a good idea. You do not challenge the Alpha. Nuh-uh. Bad idea all around. No matter how nice the guy was to them, he was the head of this evil headquarters—there was a good damn reason these dangerous bloodthirsty people grovelled by his feet and worshipped the ground he walked or ran on. Respect and obedience were obligatory.

One simply did not challenge the Flash.

"Ems," Rod hissed softly, reaching out for her hand, but was taken aback when she simply tightened her hold on Ripper's limp hand—the sheer force of her trembling grip would have left the imprint of the jewellery on their skin. "Emma," he tried again, desperate now.

She ignored him and snarled towards the one-way glass window;

"Is everyone a toy to you?!"

Rod definitely knew what he was supposed to feel when Flash phased into the room and towered over them.

He felt fear.


"Wait, wait, wait, hold the fuck up, Rogers."

Steve winced, suddenly felt like a tiny rat in a cage filled with ravenous hungry cats—and considering the disbelieving looks he was receiving from the crowd on the other side of hologram screen, his imagination might as well be the truth.

Hologram Stark has never looked so scary—especially when Nick and Maria were standing next to him—but holy hell, he gave Steve the chills. Steve used to think of that as impossible. The guy was a shrimp in a geeky nerd t-shirt and huge glasses. Not exactly the normal picture of a scary guy.

However, Steve kept his eye contact with the frowning Maria instead of meeting the man's disbelieving glare. There, less scary. Now, let's get this debriefing over with.

Stark rolled his eyes and let out a miserable sigh.

"Help me out here, and just say yes or no, okay?"

Steve nodded meekly. He could do simple yes and no.

"You arrested the Scarlet Ripper."

"Yes."

"You had him in a shock collar and handcuffs."

"Yes."

The glares from the other side of the screen intensified.

God, he hoped Caitlin had a better time explaining this failure to her team.

"He got away literally ten minutes after that."

Steve inhaled a deep breath. Well, technically it was sixteen and a half minutes, but Steve knew better to not say that, so he steeled his voice and answered stoically;

"Yes."

Stark opened his mouth to start one of his infamous rants, but thankfully Banner swooped in to rescue Steve from that fate.

"The cuffs and collar malfunctioned," the ageing scientist sighed, wiping his glasses obsessively. "And we're sort of distracted…"

Banner's tired gaze darted towards their other two comrades, where Natasha was bandaging Barnes' bleeding head. How the hell Ripper was always a step ahead of them was an annoying mystery, but Banner has to tip his hat towards the serial killer's foresight. Compromising Barnes as his pawn to distract them worked effectively in his favour, considering that it took a combined effort of Steve and Nat to take down Barnes, and by the time their back up arrived to help the duo, the serial killer's own back up has arrived.

Iris West was a formidable opponent—even far superior to Frost.

But yep, the former reporter came to rescue her own killer.

Honestly, what the actual fuck Central City?

"Dude, the hell do you mean the cuffs and collar malfunctioned?" Stark gaped, conveniently distracted from his initial rant. "Like, it's Starlabs' creations. Star-freaking-Labs. I know after the explosion they lost most of their talented scientist, but Dr Wells is still there and Cisco-freaking-Ramon too. They are like, geniuses. Their gadgets can't malfunction—"

Banner exhaled a deep long breath. This was going to be a long debriefing.


"Mama cat."

That was the fifth time Savitar muttered that in the span of ten minutes.

The fact that he ended it with a snicker made it even weirder. If Killer Frost didn't know any better, she would have thought that the blade Ripper used against the speedster was coated with some weird poison that may activate the insanity gene which naturally existed inside all Barry Allen. However, considering that Flash has been stabbed with the same blade and was perfectly fine without excess insanity, that idea didn't seem relevant now.

She shot Savitar a questioning gaze.

The speedster simply lifted his shoulder in a half-shrug. Well, ain't that helpful?

She returned to her task then, watching over the vitals of her favourite serial killer. What has triggered this madness was still a mystery to her, but judging from the calmness that Felicity, Flash and Savitar were exuding—she was sure that those three at least have an idea of what was going on. Ripper's vitals were haywire by the time they managed to strap him into the cot in her lab, which was weird because externally, he looked calm and composed. Not a single muscle on his face betrayed his emotionless expression, despite the rapidness of his heartbeats and his extremely feverish temperature. It was like his body and his facial expression refused to cooperate with each other—his bodily system reacted like how a normal human would be in an extreme flight-or-fight situation while his face was a dead stony mask.

It did give Killer Frost the chills once Flash let Ripper loose in one of their prisons to burn out the energy.

Six hours, it took full six hours of a mass massacre for the serial killer to finally drop to his knees and no longer resisting—his stamina was completely used up.

Despite being completely burnt out, he still has the last spurt of energy to try slicing Savitar's neck open, though.

Which afterwards—approximately 3 hours later—brought them here. They managed to sedate and restrain Ripper with the younger of the Britton's siblings hovering over the serial killer throughout the whole process. The boy was deeply attached to Ripper—something that no one could fathom—and it was a struggle of itself to convince the boy to stay put while they place Ripper in the confinement cell. Barry eventually gave the siblings the go-ahead to enter the cell once they removed everything lethal from Ripper and cuffed his wrists with the magnetic cuffs.

It's not that they didn't trust their friend, but after the extremely effective housekeeping Ripper done to solve the overpopulation issue of their prison, letting him around their people without restrains felt a bit too dangerous.

He has surprisingly strong crushing grip for a man of such lean physique.

But, it was more surprising to see Emma gently manoeuvred Ripper until she had his head rested comfortably on her lap, considering how obvious her dislikes to him was.

Then, this happened. Life sure was full of surprise.

When she wished for a non-boring life, Killer Frost didn't know she will have her wish to this degree.

"Mama cat," Savitar murmured and snickered again.

That was the last straw. Killer Frost exhaled a deep breath and asked calmly; "Savitar, what the fuck?"

And for once, the scarred speedster looked genuinely entertained that he didn't even bother to hide that little fragments of Barry Allen that have resurfaced into his demeanour. It was pure giddy amusement, bright and alive and briefly reminded Killer Frost of her old nemesis. He ducked his head in the direction of the one-way glass of the cell they kept Ripper in, grinning like there was some joke that she was missing.

"Mama cat."

Frost narrowed her glare towards him, before shifting her stare towards the scene in the cell—or more accurately, to the scene of petite, lovely and soft-spoken Emma Britton fisting the front of Flash's shirt strong enough to make the taller man bent to her height. The young lady had her teeth bared and bright green eyes blazed in raw anger.

That was not a laughing matter.

In fact, it was straight up worrying. Not even Savitar dared to do that—and Savitar was that one person who could get away with almost everything when it was between him and Flash. This young lady, who stood so small and barely reached Flash's chest, who was so soft and gentle without an ounce of violence present in her soul, who have no superpowers in her arsenal and refused the treatment they offered her—this young lady was defiantly challenging their feared leader.

Killer Frost internally sighed. She actually liked the gentle girl. Emmy was a wonderfully helpful hand in her lab.

And now Flash was going to kill her.

"This is so funny."

It took all of Killer Frost's willpower to not bitchslap Savitar for that unnecessary comment.

Felicity leant closer to the glass, eyes gleaming in interest. "Your boss is surprisingly calm."

"Calm before the storm," Killer Frost sighed, already resigning to the loss of her helpful assistant. "Look at his face. You could see his bloodlust steaming."

Felicity tipped her head contemplatively. The hacker stared into the cell, blue eyes were calculative and intent from behind her thin-framed glasses. It didn't seem like she was terrified or concerned though, but instead, her face was contemplatively melancholic. Then, Felicity Smoak smiled.

What the ever loving fuck—

"They make the same expression, right?"

Savitar monotonous comment halted Killer Frost from starting her tirade. The man leant against the glass with the side of his head pressed lightly against the surface, arms crossed, and shoulders completely relaxed—the most at ease Killer Frost has ever seen him. His lips quirked to the rare genuine smile, of which Felicity returned with a somewhat similar smile—looking like they were trading words that others could not hear. Killer Frost felt sufficiently left out, especially when the two then exchanged a knowing look—mismatched eyes stared into the bright blue orbs before they both cracked a similar smile and burst to amused snickers right there.

There was an inside joke there; something that Killer Frost didn't know.

"He looked at me the same way as this when I first found out…," Felicity smiled wistfully. "The overjoyed face of a man looking at a trustworthy ally."

"Tell me again why you two didn't work out?"

"We're more comfortable being platonic," Felicity shrugged. "I can read him like an open book, down to the slightest tension in his muscles or the little flickers in his eyes. I'm probably the only one who knows his deepest darkest secret without your time-travelling cheat. And I'm definitely okay with his hobbies."

Well, considering that she did not have second thoughts on contacting them to bust Ripper out, Killer Frost didn't know why Felicity deemed it was necessary to have this declaration of loyalty. They all know where her loyalty lain.

Bros before hoes, as the young kids said. Felicity adhered to those words religiously, even if the hoe was Oliver Queen himself.

"We know where your loyalty lies." Savitar's sigh almost sounded like a relieved exhale of breath.

"Oh, do you?"

"You did save his ass literally a few hours ago."

Felicity tipped her head back and smiled innocently bright, genuine love was in her voice as she beamed. "That's what best friends do, right?"

Killer Frost almost smacked her own head for being so slow. Of-fucking-course. Felicity Smoak was the one who made Scarlet Ripper almost untraceable. She was the most crucial back-up Ripper had when things went sideways to the land of fucked-up. Those two have been close friends for almost a decade—they even dated for a while— and there was no doubt that Felicity knew more about Ripper than anyone else. Bizarre relationship aside, Felicity's unwavering loyalty was probably one of Ripper's most important weapon.

Green Arrow was known to occasionally team-up with Team Frost. It was super weird that even such team-up couldn't track the faintest trail of Scarlet Ripper. It would not be as weird if the heroes considered that they have a wolf in their flock of sheep.

Ripper and Overwatch have a complex relationship that was almost as bizarre as Flash and Savitar.

"The Mama Cat thing is really appropriate," Felicity hummed, stifling a giggle. "She is like the angry mama cat protecting her kittens."

It was a weird time to change the topic, but Savitar seemed to get the cue Killer Frost so obviously has missed and promptly followed the hacker's lead. He leant his shoulder closer against the glass, his lips formed that little amused smirk again as he said;

"Not that it is necessary. He is safe here"

"Hmm~" Felicity brushed her fingers over the glass, right over Emmy's enraged face. "I wonder if this is just an automated reaction," she huffed softly, waving her hands aimlessly in Emmy's direction. "Not that I can't understand her rage, but this anger is weird considering that she is not fond of him as I am."

"Such deep unconscious bond," Savitar murmured. "He has more back-ups than he realised."

"Sounds like someone is envious."

Savitar snorted but made no further comment.

Felicity huffed and shifted her stare back to the cell. Her gaze softened considerably then, a little smile spread on her face as she whispered to the glass—her voice was dreamy like she wasn't even here and has gone so far and deep in her own mind;

"They really do have the same expression. It's so cute."


"He is not awake yet."

Caitlin bit her lower lip; the anxiety was eating her conscience and made her squirm and fidget even though she didn't even have the misfortune of meeting the eyes of the man at the other side of the line. It felt so selfish of her, having Matt updating her regarding Barry's condition despite her hunch that the older man probably blamed her for everything that has happened.

After all, they were supposed to take care of Barry—they were trusted to care for Barry—and they failed miserably.

It was both relief and shame that almost stopped her heart when Lyla delivered the news that they found Barry in one of the crashed spaceships littering around the battlefield. The feeling worsened when Lyla flat-out requested her to verify Matt's identity as Barry's relatives. It was the appropriate procedure and all, but the expression that Matt made when Caitlin walked into the infirmary was straight up confused and betrayed, making Caitlin curse Lyla for being overly-cautious despite seeing the uncanny resemblance of the brothers. Thus, to ease up the guilt, she has no choice but to tell him all about the alien debacle—she thought that he deserved to know, being Barry's only blood family left—but did it make her cringed when he wordlessly shouldered past her to go through all the tight procedure to bring Barry home with him.

Wisely, not one person in their alliance—or the extremely stereotypical black-suit government agents flocking outside of the infirmary—dared to question Matt when he decided to keep Barry at home with their family until things got better. The man was exuding the very same dangerous aura Caitlin felt during their first meeting—the very same suffocating atmosphere that promised severe consequences that stood in his way—that even the usually persistent suited agents seemed to understand it was a bad idea to pick a fight with Matt right there.

Therefore, Barry was now safely handed to the care of his half-brothers.

This would surely lead to some repercussion with the government and the media in the near future—if they have not already gotten the wind of this—but Barry was safe now, so Caitlin thought that they could cross that particular bridge when the time came.

It was barely a few days since the war against the Dominators but most people have slowly returned to their old routine, leaving the government and the alliance of heroes to clean things up. Sara and her team have to leave after the celebration, but not without giving Caitlin the much-needed information regarding the magical fountain that resurrected her. The rest of the heroic match-up remained in the cities to do the damage control.

The disappointment over Ripper's escape weighed them down like a dark cloud, but the short text Caitlin received from Steve had given her hope that maybe the failure wasn't as bad as they thought.

"Dr Snow?"

Caitlin jerked back slightly, feeling the shame again upon hearing the hint of concern in Matt's voice.

"Yes," she responded automatically, voice a pitch higher than normal. She cleared her throat once and tried again. "I, um, if anything… can you please—?"

"I'll keep you updated," he agreed flatly, and Caitlin winced once more.

"Thanks, Matt."

"Sure," the older man said. "Felicity will probably keep you updated too."

That felt a bit too much like he didn't want to have anything to do with her and would rather leave Felicity to deal with the team.

She grimaced when he promptly hung up.

"He's mad?"

Caitlin sighed and lifted her shoulders in a half-shrug. Len mirrored her grimace, nodding in understanding even though his hand didn't stop typing away on the laptop, only shifting to nudge Cisco head from the chair's armrest. Cisco was snoring on the other chair, slouched so low that only half of his small body was on the surface, head resting over the armrest with strain enough to give Caitlin a second-hand neck ache. The little scientist has nodded off to sleep a few hours ago, exhausted after being worked to hack into CCPD's cold case's archive and decrypting the information they both needed.

"Anything?" Caitlin asked, bracing herself with one hand over the table as she leant over Len's shoulders.

"Just some old stuff," Len frowned, and Caitlin couldn't help but feel grateful for having an understanding member in her team. The older man didn't even question her when she asked him to help her reading through this cold case. "Why would you want to look into cold cases anyway?"

To be honest, even Caitlin didn't really know the actual reason for this.

Perhaps it was the need to do something while coping with Barry's absence in the cortex, or maybe it was her desperate needs to have something to start tracking down Ripper.

After all, with the discovery of recent evidence on Ripper, their suspect range has suddenly widened and filled with uncertainty.

They have been relying on the grainy security feed to have a sketch of Ripper, but now they weren't even sure if the face behind the mask was not a disguise too. The blue eyes were a fake, and it was frustrating as hell when they couldn't track the origin of Ripper's lens they miraculously found, considering that it was generic cosmetic lens used by at least half the city. Now, there were doubts that Ripper was even blonde, and speculation has arisen that part of the serial killer's facial features might be silicone prosthetics that were specially made to throw the police off his tracks.

Considering how meticulous the serial killer was, that was a likely possibility.

It was kinda insulting that they all just realised this possibility. Talk about incompetent.

"Cait," Len's sharp voice snapped Caitlin out of her thoughts. "Is there any special reason we're looking into this specific cold case from 20 years ago?"

Caitlin was honestly surprised that Len only asked now, approximately over five hours after they started reading those files.

"Well…," Caitlin gave him a hesitant smile. "Steve mentioned something that he noticed in Ripper's latest rampage."

Ha. Ha. They must have been so desperate right now to link Ripper with Central's oldest horror story. As much as the rampage was so not Ripper's style, Steve did notice that it was oddly familiar.

Complete annihilation of the victims, check. Shredded limbs of the victims, check. Unnecessary blood spill around the crime scene, double check. Unfathomable behaviour that went straight down the uncanny territory; triple check that.

You could see how desperate they were in trying to find a lead to track Ripper down. Caitlin wouldn't even blame Len if the man straight up laughed at their conspiracy theory.

There was a long silence before Caitlin finally started to feel the needs to worry.

"Len?" she urged, waving her hands in front of his face.

Len didn't respond.


Len was terrified.

"My city is crumbling down, crumbling down, crumbling down.

My city is crumbling down, my poor city."

He remembered a tiny body, playing hopscotch in puddles of blood, making her merry way towards him as he cowered in stunned fear—all the while she was gracefully twirling around the shredded limbs of his former gang and clients that paved her ways towards him.

"Build it back from roots and base, roots and base, roots and base,

Build it back from roots and base, my poor city."

How old was he back then? Probably around the same age as Caitlin, maybe younger even—he remembered being so noob at his job after all—but nah, who would even care? It was some good twenty years ago, and Len has been strategically trying to forget those wide green eyes and the tiny lithe body.

Heck, he still didn't know why he was even allowed to live.

The little bitch finished his little gang and his clients the exact same way Ripper obliterated the alien squadron. No mercy. No pity. Back then, when she hopscotched her way through all the gore towards him, Len was hundred per cent sure he was a goner.

"Rats and scums must go away, go away, go away.

Rats and scums must go away, show no pity."

God damn that horrible song.

Also, the twirling blood-drenched skirts were fuels to his nightmares.

Crimson Jack, the media back then had called her. "Jack", because the stupid pigs working at the station back then was hellbent on believing that "Jack" was just an extremely short man. Yep. An extremely short man. Len wasn't even going to start questioning that. Pigs were stupid now, they were even more stupid back then. What even was new. Apparently the uniformed pigs back then didn't think that a woman was capable to inflict such legendary horror in their city—let alone the little girl Crimson Jack actually was.

Not that she usually left any living survivor to tell the tale—the shredded corpses were the only ones testifying to her attributes after all.

And Len was not going to go to the station and gave an official statement about her anyway. He was just so fucking grateful she allowed him to live after literally ripping his gang and clients apart like the scums of society she sang about.

He always wondered if Jack did not consider him as scums of society, considering that she let him live in the end.

"Rip them up with no mercy, no mercy, no mercy.

Rip them up with no mercy, show no pity."

Geez, and now Ripper had to remind him of the damned creepy girl.

Curse the Scarlet Ripper to the depth of hell.


A/N: I know I promised FrostBarry fluff, but the word count on my Word Doc showed a 6666; and I kinda wanted to have more of the siblings since I love Emmy so much...so yeah, just a lot of exposition being shoved into your face this update. Sorry. You already know who Len's nightmare was, because like, I couldn't make it anymore obvious. The song she sang is in the tone of "London Bridge is Falling Down". Have fun trying to have the voice in your head sings that. Points if you can make it in creepy little girl voice.

And a little note; I'm currently extremely busy with my new internship and overall real-life adult responsibilities that I belatedly realised I'm not prepared for, so future updates will be extremely slow. Emphasis on the 'extremely'.

Also; AOT Season 3 and Sims 4 Seasons were fully to blame for this delayed update since I have been binge-watching AOT and abusing the holidays feature of Seasons as procrastination option after the crushing realisation of the impending adulthood.