We find the defendant, Henry Allen, guilty of first degree murder.
.
Iris found Barry secluded in his lab at the Central City Police Department. He had himself submerged in the dark, merely a silhouette against the glass as he stood by one of the vast windows in the room.
"Barr," Iris cautiously called out to him, and stepping just as warily into the lab to make her way to her best friend.
"Do you think anyone else down there has life as bad as me right now?" he whispered, his tone straining for a hint of humor as he looked down at the lively city bumbling around the streets.
Iris reached the window, looking steadily at the forensic scientist. Even with only the city's lights illuminating his face, she could tell he was in so much pain; it broke her heart.
Barry turned his head to her. "He did it, Iris."
"Did he tell you that?"
"It's in the evidence!" he spat out angrily, pointing to his desk where a shew of folders and papers were messily mapped out. "It was a textbook, open and closed case! The judge could see it, the jurors, everyone in that courtroom!"
Iris stalked over to her lanky friend, taking his shoulders roughly into her hands so he would look at her properly. "But did he tell you that?!" Iris persisted, her voice reaching a demanding nature.
Her best friend's face crumpled under her gaze, and his body quickly sagged in her arms. "No…" Barry croaked.
Holding Barry closely to her, Iris let out a sigh of relief at the admission. She had known Barry's father for most of her life, and from what she knew of the man, it was hard to fathom that he could kill anyone, let alone Nora Allen. She couldn't even imagine how Barry was feeling though, with his mom murdered and his dad being convicted for said crime.
"You should talk to him, Barry," she spoke up after a few moments of silence. "Cecile has been telling me that he wants to see you. He probably really needs you right now."
Barry didn't say anything, but she could feel him nod against her, and that's the best she could hope for right now.
.
It took some more persuading on Iris' part, but Barry was there, at Iron Heights, the prison where they were currently holding his father.
He was currently waiting in the plainest room he had ever seen. The walls were grey and the floor tiles an even darker grey. No windows or pictures or anything besides the chair he was sitting in and the chair on the other side of this cube his father would soon be occupying.
Barry was growing restless in his wait. Every moment that ticked by only grew his desire to bolt to the door and never look back. But knowing Iris was on the other side kept him still; Barry didn't want to disappoint Iris.
He was just scared, and reasonably so. He hadn't talked to his father since the day before his mother's death, and that was just over a year ago. Part of him was afraid that the man he said goodbye to that night wasn't going to be the same man he saw today. He was afraid that he would instead be looking into the eyes of his mother's murderer, instead of the caring, gentle eyes of his father's. In his heart, Barry didn't think his dad killed his mom, but his brain was still skeptical at times.
Barry's thoughts were interrupted by the door on the opposite side of the room opening up, making Barry stand. His father soon trudged in, shackled lightly with chains, looking very withdrawn and subdued. But as soon as he saw Barry, his haunted features considerably lightened.
"Hey, slugger," his hoarse voice greeted Barry as he took his seat.
Barry slinked back down to his chair, staring at his father in a daze. It was hard to see his father in blue overalls, with unruly hair and a beard when Barry only ever saw his father dressed neatly and clean shaven his whole life.
"I'm glad you came."
"Dad…" Barry was able to choke out, before becoming too muddled with emotion to say anything else. Small tears were already welling up behind his eyes.
"It's okay, Barry."
"Is it?" Barry couldn't help but ask. "You're in jail, dad! Jail! For murder! You got convicted for killing…"
Henry shook his head, his face drawing inwards. "I know, I know."
Barry leaned forward, as close as he could get to his father. "Dad, you can tell me. Was it an accident? Did you…"
"I didn't kill her, Barry. I didn't kill your mother. Not on accident, and surely not on purpose," Henry said sternly. "I didn't, I didn't…" he continued with less fervor as a few lone tears escaped from his eyes.
"Then how did the cops, the lawyers, everyone get it wrong?"
"I don't know," Henry answered dispiritingly.
"The evidence was stacked against you. No matter what way you look, all signs pointed to you."
"I don't know how…" Henry's mouth quivered. "She was, she was dead when I got home, just lying in the middle of the…" he trailed off, his voice tight and his eyes pinched shut as he recalled the night.
The images Barry had seen in the crime scene photos were floating to the forefront of his mind. Barry could feel the wetness behind his eyes intensify as the dam broke behind them again. He doesn't even know how he would have reacted if he had been there on scene – he's grateful Joe refused him from going.
"Swear to me," Barry lightly demanded, raising his right hand to rest against the windowed wall between them. "Swear to me, right now, that you didn't kill her."
Henry opened his eyes, taking the sleeve of his jumper to wipe away the mess his tears left. "Son, I swear to you," he said, lifting his own hand to rest against the windowed wall, mirroring his where Barry's was. "I did not kill your mother…I did not kill my wife…"
Barry watched his father, taking in every feature, but most importantly looking into his eyes for the truth. And what Barry saw weren't the eyes of a killer, but those of an innocent man.
His father was innocent. And he needed to help him.
.
"So?" Iris inquired impatiently right as Barry walked through the prison doors from talking to his father.
"He said he didn't do it," Barry answered over his shoulder, beginning to walk his way to his car. He wanted to get back to the precinct, and quickly – he had a lot of things to look into.
Iris' eyebrow peaked, watching her best friend curiously as she followed behind him. "And do you believe him?"
Barry stopped in the middle of the parking lot to turn to the budding reporter, realizing he wasn't going to go anywhere until Iris's curiosity was somewhat satiated. "I do," Barry said simply, but sighed dejectedly as he shoved his hands deep inside his jean pockets.
Iris noticed Barry's uneasiness right away. "What? What's the matter?"
"He told me that he thinks someone set him up – framed him – but he doesn't know who or why…" Barry said, relaying the information.
"Not exactly the best defense," Iris deducted with a groan, suddenly getting why Barry had been distraught. They both have been around enough criminal investigations to understand how this wasn't a good sign for Henry. "No wonder he exhausted all his appeals so quickly."
Barry rubbed at the back of neck. "Exactly, and without any substantial clues of another suspect and the mountain of evidence already against him, he has no chance of getting acquitted."
"But he's innocent," Iris stated. "So there has to be proof of his innocence somewhere."
"Theoretically," Barry answered, cocking his head side to side.
"Then we'll just have to find it," she said determinedly, and Barry could see the reporter inside of her bubbling under the surface, despite trying to be here for him as only his friend.
"Iris," Barry started dejectedly, "you've read the papers and watched the news. You know what the sentence was. We don't have time to dig into this." He began walking to his car again, hoping Iris would leave things be. Of course, that hope was as far-fetched as the idea of time travel.
"So you're just going to give up?" Iris hollered after him in disbelief. "You're going to let your father get the death penalty for a crime he didn't commit?!"
"No!" Barry hollered back lightly, his face contorted with anguish as he gave Iris his attention. "It's just that…he only has a few months left – there has to be another way. A quicker way!"
Iris stepped closer to her long-time friend. "But there is no other way, Barry," she spoke carefully. "What are you going to do, break him out of prison?" she weakly laughed, knowing the idea was ludicrous.
Barry stared at her for a moment, looking pensive and worrying his bottom lip with his teeth. He then looked above her to gaze grimly at the Iron Heights Prison. "There has to be way," he whispered, before walking away and leaving Iris dumbfounded and concerned.
…
[One Month Later]
Two shots were fired into the ceiling at the local bank. A chorus of shouts and screams rang out across the building. Immediately people cowered to the ground, while those close and brave enough fled out the door.
The older lady at the teller desk, whose name plate read Mary, reasonably jumped at the sound and sight of the weapon.
"What do you need, sir?" she asked frightfully, her voice trembling.
"Open the safe," Barry demanded, directing the gun right at the terrified woman.
Mary swallowed nervously. "I – I can't get into the vault. The manager is the only one that can access the vault, and he just went to get lunch at Big Belly Burger."
"Big Belly Burger," he deadpanned.
"Y-yes," Mary stuttered. "It's – it's a fast food restaurant. They sell really big…burgers."
Barry rolled his eyes. "I know what Big Belly Burgers is." He then shot another couple rounds above him. "And I'm not playing games. Open it."
However, just then, Barry could hear siren after siren after siren make their way to the bank, while the whirling of a helicopter was also heard overhead. The police's flashing lights could even be seen on the far wall. Barry had to hand it to the police, they got there quicker than he anticipated.
"This is the police! We've got you surrounded," a voice projected from the outside, probably from a megaphone.
Without much of a fight, Barry raised both of his hands in surrender. He swiveled around slowly, facing the officers who were watching him through the wall-to-ceiling glass windows the bank provided.
"Lay down your weapons!" the megaphone-projected voice commanded.
Cautiously and slowly, Barry made a show of placing his gun down on the ground and kicking it away. Once he did so, a group of policemen rushed into the bank to apprehend and cuff him, before hauling him aggressively out of the bank and into the back of a police car.
.
"Are you out of your damn mind?!" Joe West exclaimed, slamming both hands down on the table, adjacent from where Barry was sitting. From the moment he was hauled into the police station, Barry had approximately one peaceful minute. However, since then, the younger man had been getting grilled and rung out by Joe West, one of the detectives at Central City Police Department, as well as Iris's father and someone he saw as a father figure himself.
Taking a breath, Joe tried to calm himself down. "Son, I know things have not been working out well for you recently, but turning over to a life of crime is not the way to cope," he expressed sympathetically, taking a seat at the table. "Why rob a bank?"
Barry shrugged. "Just needed some money, I guess."
Joe leaned back in his chair, accessing him briefly. "Barr, if you needed money, you know I could have loaned you something. Or even Iris. You're not in this alone. We're always here to help you."
Barry sighed, the weight of his actions truly hitting him. He hadn't really taken into account how he could be affecting the ones closest to him that weren't in prison. "I know, Joe."
"Iris is calling Cecile as we speak," Joe began, standing up from his chair. "We're going to get you the best deal possible."
Shaking his head, Barry insisted, "Joe, that's not necessary. I can take what they give me. I deserve it."
Joe let out a humorless chuckle. "Just wait until you get to prison, and then you'll be glad we did."
...
[Some time later - The Sentencing]
"Rarely in the case of armed robbery, do we hear a plea of no contest," the judge stated, staring down at Barry in slight astonishment. "Are you sure about this, Mr. Allen?"
Barry nodded. "I'm sure, Your Honor."
From his peripherals, Barry could see Cecile side-eyeing him a nasty look. "Actually, Your Honor, can we take a recess? My client is a bit confused."
"I'm not," Barry simply stated.
"He is, Your Honor," Cecile insisted, sending Barry pointed looks in an effort to silently ask him to comply and reconsider.
"Maybe you should take your counsel's advice, Mr. Allen," the judge interjected.
"I'm sure, Your Honor. This is how I plead."
Cecile shook her head, cursing him slightly under her breath. But when the judge sent them both one final look for confirmation, Cecile reluctantly nodded, knowing Barry wasn't going to change his mind.
"Because of your lack of criminal history, I would normally sentence a probation," the judge shared, and Barry held his breath as he awaited his fate. "However, you discharged a weapon during the crime, which suggests malice. And therefore, I sentence you to the nearest level one facility."
"Level one?!" Cecile interrupted, astounded. "That's maximum security. Surely-"
"I ask counsel to not interrupt," the judge said, her voice tinged with annoyance now from the disturbance, and her leveling gaze intimidating even a seasoned lawyer such as herself.
"Sorry, Your Honor," Cecile apologized, ducking her head down in respect.
The judge cleared her throat before looking back at Barry. "As I was saying, you will be taken to the nearest level one facility, which happens to be Iron Heights," she explained. "I'm sentencing you to five years, but you'll be eligible for parole in half that time. Sentence to be carried out immediately," she concluded, pounding her gavel down, ending the hearing.
…
"Quiet down, gentlemen! This ain't no social!" a coarse voice shouted at the chatty inmates still in line to be processed at Iron Heights.
All the new inmates were currently stripped to their undergarments, awaiting their chance to be searched. Barry had just gotten his examination done, feeling relieved that it was over, though it was embarrassing to have to strip down and bend in front of a stranger – he hadn't been that self-conscious since high school.
A clipboard was immediately shoved into his hands, asking him simple questions about himself as well as his medical history. Barry covertly smirked as he filled the sheets out, knowing that one answer would be vital to his stay here.
Current treated medical conditions: Type I Diabetes
.
Barry found himself sitting in the examination room in the infirmary alone, waiting for the doctor at the prison to arrive. He's not sure if the infirmary was always as busy as it was at the moment, but he'd be grateful for the abundance of distractions when it came to executing his plan.
Barry stood up and walked over to the window, inspecting the bars fused into them. He then looked between those bars to view a pipe that extended from the building to the wall some 50 feet away; this was his and his dad's escape – he's just had to plan accordingly.
The clacking of heels disrupted his thoughts, and he immediately sat back down on the examination table that was set up in the office just as the doctor turned the corner and entered the room.
Barry was a little gob-smacked by the doctor's appearance. He looked well into the prison's employees and knew very well what Dr. Snow looked like prior, but the pictures he was able to ransack from the internet did her no justice.
She had flowing chestnut hair that stopped a little past her shoulders. Her lips painted with a subtle lipstick tone just a little darker than her natural color. She was wearing a conservative blue dress underneath her doctor's coat, but it still showed off her nice, long legs.
She gave Barry a polite smile as she settled into the chair next to the table, supplies in hand. Without much of a word, she injected him with a syringe of his insulin. "All done," she whispered, placing the syringe down next to her to pick up a clipboard to fill out information.
He studied her as she wrote, her face schooled and neutral. She was as serious as he had heard. "I'm Barry, by the way," he spoke up, introducing himself.
Dr. Snow nodded, not paying him much mind. "Allen. I know. I read your report."
"And you are…?" he pretended to wonder.
"Dr. Snow will do," she said, looking at him briefly before giving her attention back to her clipboard.
Barry bit back an amused smile, though his eyes were twinkling entertainingly. "So, how do we play this? You hook me up with a few weeks' supply?"
She put down the clipboard, shaking her head humorously. Barry could tell she wanted to laugh, but covered it up with a tight-lipped smile. Regardless, it was something to behold. "Nice try. No hypos on the floor."
Barry laughed. "I'm the farthest thing from a junkie. Trust me."
"I got news for you, Barry, 'trust me' means absolutely zero inside these walls. The only way you're getting that insulin is if I'm administering it," she stated matter-of-factly.
"So I guess we'll be seeing a lot of each other then," Barry surmised, smiling at the idea.
"I guess so," she added, before gathering her things and exiting the room.
.
His cell door closed behind him, and Barry was immediately met with the presence of a Puerto Rican man with shoulder-length black hair.
"I've been sleeping on the top bunk. You cool with the bottom?"
Barry bobbled his head up and down quickly, answering him just as fast. "Yeah, yeah. No problem."
The man let out a laugh. "Slow down there, Flash. I'm not gonna go all Rambo on you if you don't." He held out his hand. "Name's Cisco."
"Barry," he answered, shaking the man's hand cautiously. However, his bunkmate struck him as a good character; he was lucky – in the regular sense and concerning his plan.
"So, Barry, what did you do to get in here?" Cisco asked, jumping up to sit on the top bunk. "Or are you one of those guys that like to keep himself a mystery?"
"Robbed a bank," Barry answered bluntly.
Cisco furrowed his brow, chuckling. "Wow, wouldn't have guessed that. You don't seem like the type."
"Everything is not what it seems," he answered, shrugging. "What about you?"
Cisco's lips quirked. "I hacked into numerous federal databases," he stated proudly. "I'm usually pretty stealth, but they caught me somehow." The long haired man frowned at his failure.
With that admission though, Barry let out an inner cry of relief. He had a feeling Cisco would be perfect for his plan, but now he was sure. He could bunk with a hacker, and he could definitely conspire with a hacker too.
Suddenly a big commotion was made in the hallway, causing both men to run to the cell door. A loose inmate had managed to escape the security detail and attack another inmate. The two were in a brawl, rolling around on the concrete until the initial attacker stabbed the other over and over again. A couple officers then pulled the killer off the man, leaving the victim lying helplessly on the floor, blood pooling underneath him.
Because of his CSI occupation, Barry had been around numerous dead bodies – bodies of men stabbed, shot, burned, etc – but he had never seen a man get stabbed in front of him, let alone see the light slowly leaving his eyes as he died. He had to turn away.
What the hell did he get himself into?
.
Night had fallen, and Iris wasn't exactly sure how she found herself in front of her old residence, but her addled and troubled mind seemed to come here on autopilot – it always did when she was feeling lost. Maybe it was because the place still hadn't changed a spec since the years she properly lived there. This house and her father were her constant. She always looped Barry in there too, but now with him in jail, she wasn't so sure anymore.
She stepped forward and rang the doorbell. She had a key, but always felt weird stepping into a house she didn't live in uninvited.
"Hey," Joe greeted his visitor as he answered the door.
Iris flashed a strained smile towards her father. "Hey," she greeted back, stepping inside the house.
"Wasn't expecting you tonight," Joe observed before walking towards the dining room.
Iris shrugged off her jacket, letting the coziness and familiarity of her childhood home bring her some mild security and relief. "Was nearby. Thought I'd drop in."
Joe walked back towards the foyer, now with two glasses of wine. He handed one to Iris. "Looks like you needed some."
Iris chuckled, accepting the wine glass without a thought. "Definitely," she admitted before taking a long sip.
Joe watched his daughter, knowing she wasn't just 'nearby,' like she claimed. Iris loved him – they had a great relationship – but she never just 'dropped in' either, unless something was bothering her. "It's Barry, isn't it?" Joe asked, after deciphering the look of defeat on his daughter's face.
The young reporter sighed, walking over to take a seat on the couch. "I'm just so worried about him, dad," she expressed, tracing the rim of her wine glass distractingly with her finger. "Barry is a sensitive guy. I don't like thinking about what prison might be doing to him. He shouldn't be there."
"He robbed a bank, Iris," Joe stated, taking a seat next to his daughter. He liked Barry. The boy practically lived at the West house for most of his childhood. Joe even thought of him as a son. But those facts didn't dispute that Barry committed a serious crime.
"I've known Barry practically my whole life. He doesn't have a violent bone in his body, and he surely didn't need money," she expressed, shaking her head before taking another sip of her wine. "It's just not in his nature to rob a bank or put people in danger. If anything, Barry Allen is a hero, not a villain." She bit her lip as she mulled over Barry's situation. "Was he looking for attention? Was I not there for him enough?"
"Hey, hey," Joe hushed comfortingly into Iris's ear, pulling her close to him into a half hug. "Don't try blaming yourself for Barry's decisions. You did everything you could do to help him."
"Nothing is making sense anymore," Iris confessed brokenly, laying her head gently on her father's shoulder for some comfort in this confusing time. "Even at the sentencing, if I wasn't there myself to witness it, I wouldn't have believed Cecile, because Barry basically flat out denied her advice and counsel. It was like he wasn't even trying! It's like he wanted to go to jail. I don't get it."
The detective shook his head in disbelief. "I know the boy has a good heart," he expressed softly, "but maybe," Joe started, stretching the word as he searched for his next, "in some weird way, he's trying to be closer to his dad before Henry, you know, gets the chair…"
Iris nodded absentmindedly to her father's words, but as the words settled into her brain, it was like they blew the dust out of her muddled mind. She sat up abruptly, wide-eyed. "I think I know why Barry robbed the bank."
...
Immediately upon entering the visiting room, Barry spotted Iris at one of the tables. A weird feeling of dread immediately formed in the pit of his stomach, but before he could even think about doubling back, their eyes met.
"Iris," he greeted hesitantly as he approached the table.
"Barry," she clipped, her eyes narrowing and her jaw set. Barry gulped.
They sat in silence for a few moments before it became too unbearable for Barry. "So…how's Jo-"
"How could you be so stupid?!" Iris interrupted him. Barry opened his mouth to talk, but Iris raised a hand to stop him before he began. "And don't you dare feed me bullshit, Barr. I know why you are really here. I just can't understand why you thought it was a good idea!"
Barry bit his lip, fumbling with his hands. He didn't know what to say, though he wasn't surprised Iris already figured it out.
The reporter sighed, sensing that her friend was closing himself off. "Listen, I'm just worried about you in here, Barr. You have so much potential and you're throwing it all away. Henry wouldn't want you to do this."
"That's too late now, isn't it?"
"Cecile is actually repealing your case," Iris admitted, leaning back in her chair.
Barry's eyes bugged. "I told her not to!"
"We're trying to help you, Barry!" Iris angrily insisted, before catching herself and taking a deep breath to calm down. Her eyes were beginning to pool with water. "You can't save everyone, Barry Allen, but let us try to save you."
Barry leaned forward, catching Iris's attention as he regarded her softly. He wanted to wipe away her tears and hug her, but he didn't think the correctional officers would be lenient enough for it. "I can do this," he spoke resolutely. "But if you really want to help me, find out who is trying to bury my father."
"Bury?" Iris repeated confusingly.
"Someone really did set him up for this," Barry told her, his eyes intense and desperate. "For some reason, someone wants him dead."
"Visiting hours are now ending," the intercom rang.
"This sounds crazy," Iris told him as they both stood from their table.
"But it's the truth," Barry told her, his voice and facial expressions pleading. "Please, Iris."
And how could she say no?
.
Walking out of the prison building alongside the rest of the prisoners in his block and into the courtyard, Barry saw an expanse of green grass and blue skies. If only it hadn't been littered with hardened criminals and had a 60-foot fence along its perimeter, Barry might have thought it was a nice day.
Sticking by Cisco, Barry followed the hacker as he took him across the field. The long-haired man took it upon himself to tell him about the main people and gangs. And as they passed by each prisoner, the former forensic scientist looked and looked for his father, but came up short every time.
Taking one more glance around the courtyard, Barry turned to his cellmate. "I'm looking for someone. Henry Allen."
Cisco's right eyebrow raised. "The grandpa dude?"
"He is a couple decades older, yeah…" Barry managed to stifle a laugh. "Where can I find him?"
"In a month, he's getting the chair." His cellmate motioned for Barry to follow him as he walked up to a fence, pointing to the distant figure of Henry Allen behind even another fence. "So, they keep him in his own little solitary place, 'cause he's a more dangerous threat. He could do a lot of damage. He's got nothing to lose now. They can't kill him twice, after all."
Barry gripped the fence between his fingers, watching as his father just stood and stared blankly at the sky. "Is there a way I can get to him?"
Cisco shook his head. "Doubtful. The only time guys like him get out is for chapel and P.I."
"P.I.?" Barry curiously asked.
"Prison Industry," Cisco clarified. "Guys that get along, get to work. You know, doing the painting, scrubbing, mattress making – you name it."
Barry nodded along, taking in the information.
"Don't get your hopes up, bro," Cisco then said, noticing the look on the newbie's face. "You probably won't get into P.I. anytime soon. Not as long as Cold is running it."
Barry scrunched up his face, puzzled. "Cold?"
"Leonard Snart," Cisco explained. "Narcissistically, he likes to be called Cold."
"Leonard Snart, Leonard Snart?" Barry asked conversationally. The guy's name was very well known in Central City for his vast, high-profiled heists.
"The very one," Cisco verified. "And he only lets his little rogues in on it."
"We'll see…" Barry said with a shrug. In all actuality, he knew very well that Snart was at this prison. He had been banking on it. Snart had a lot of connections on the outside and was a wealthy man, if the rumors of him liquidating all his stolen goods and hiding it before capture were true. Barry had always planned to include the criminal for his resources, but it looked like he was going to have to approach the thief sooner than anticipated.
Cisco eyed him strangely for a moment before setting his eyes back to Barry's father. "Why are you interested in the gramps anyway? You got a bone to pick with him?"
Barry shook his head, watching Henry again too. "No, he's my father."
Cisco's surprised face didn't go unnoticed.
.
"Snart," Barry spoke as he walked up to the table where Cold and the rest of his rogues gathered around him, playing a card game of sorts. "I need you to hire me in P.I."
"Beat it, kid," the thief merely stated, not even turning away from his game.
"You might be interested in what I have to offer," Barry said, trying to pique the criminal's interest.
Cold shook his head, glancing briefly up at Barry. "You have nothing I need."
Gathering up some courage, Barry approached the table fully. "I wouldn't be so sure of that," he stated, placing an origami figure of a bird in front of the criminal.
Cold looked down at the white figurine placed in front of him, letting out a short laugh. "Oh, my mistake," he dryly started, his beady eyes drilling into Barry's own. "I forgot we needed an arts and crafts instructor."
His goonies chuckled, watching the exchange in amusement.
Barry forced himself to grin, though his nerves were bunching up inside his stomach. He puffed out his chest. "I can help a lot more than you think."
"He said beat it, string bean!" a burly, meat-headed guy sitting next to Cold hollered. Remembering his research, Barry recognized him as Mick Rory, the arsonist, and Cold's right-hand man.
Barry raised his hands up in a show of peace, taking a step back. "Just think it over. And find me when you're ready to talk," he spoke one last time before dipping away.
.
At the Iron Height's chapel, Barry sat towards the back, having got to the sermon too late. He hadn't paid much attention to the priest's words for his father's presence up front was far too distracting for the young man.
Before Barry knew it, everyone began to stand, guards hollering for everyone to hustle.
Barry stood, letting everyone exit before him. He stopped in the middle of the aisle, waiting for his dad to turn and notice him. And when Henry finally looked up, the shock plastered across his face was something Barry would have laughed over if they were under better circumstances.
"Barry?" he called out warily, like he thought he was conjuring up the image of his son. "What – what are you doing here?"
Barry studied his father for a short moment, now that he was front and center to look at it. He seemed no different than when he had saw last. "I'm here to help you. Get you out," he spoke quietly.
Henry's face pinched with misery. "It's impossible, kiddo."
"Nothing is impossible," Barry optimistically stated, grinning proudly at his father before the two were forced to separate by guards instructed to take them back to their cells.
.
In another pew across town, Iris walked through the chapel, making her way to the back where the bishop's office door was located. Passing by the pews, only a handful of people were silently sitting down, praying.
After doing some background research on death penalty cases, Iris had found that the governor could actually override the jury's death sentence and give a pardon. However, Iris knew she wouldn't be able to persuade the governor alone, and through more digging she found that the current governor was friends with the bishop of a nearby church, who luckily had very negative views on the death penalty.
Iris softly knocked on the wooden door, trying to be respectful to the people behind her still praying.
The door opened soon after by an older man, maybe in his early 60's. He offered her a warm smile as he welcomed her into his office. "Please take a seat, Ms. West," he said, gesturing to the chair in front of his desk.
Iris did as she was told. "Thank you for seeing me on such short notice, Your Excellency."
The bishop smiled as he settled into his own seat. "Not a problem. Now what is this about your friend?" he prompted, getting right to the issue at hand.
"My friend has been sentenced to death," she shared sadly, "however, he didn't really do the heinous crime he was committed for."
"I'm very sorry to hear about that, but I don't see how I can help."
"Your Excellency," Iris began, "I know you're not a fan of the death penalty. So, I was wondering if you could maybe talk to the governor on his behalf and get the death sentence lifted. My friend's a good man, sir, I swear. And an innocent one, at that."
The bishop rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "I don't know, young lady…" he spoke warily. "While I do not agree with the act of the prison's practice, I don't know how comfortable I feel freeing a once convicted murderer without concrete proof of his innocence."
"Sir, I'm not asking you to free anyone. Just to simply stop an innocent man from dying until I can prove he is innocent…" Iris pleaded. "Please."
.
Cold made his way over to the payphone made accessible on the grounds of the facility. He quickly tapped the necessary numbers for his sister's phone, waiting as it rung for a few seconds.
"Lenny?" Lisa Snart let out hopefully.
"Hello to you too, my dear sister," he mumbled, checking his surroundings for guards as he then went to ask his next question. "How's business?"
"Business is fine," she said firmly, and he could practically see her eyes rolling, "but Leonard, we've stumbled upon something interesting…"
Cold sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Lisa, we are not going to go after the Kardashians – I don't care how much gold they may have."
"Shut up!" she hollered, her tone conveying that she was insulted. "Someone found dad," she spat over the phone.
Cold's ears perked up; they had only been looking for their old man for years, wanting to make him pay for the abuse they had to suffer as children, but he had been untraceable – until now, apparently. "What? Who?"
"Don't know," she said, "but pictures of him were sent to us in this manila envelope – the bastard is bald and grew a beard, but it's definitely him."
"No sign whatsoever about who sent this?" he inquired. In their business, information like this did not come free.
Lisa clicked her tongue. "Nope, just this stupid folded up bird made out of paper."
Cold's mind instantly thought back to the day before, with that new guy interrupting his card game, laying a paper crane on their table. "Like origami?" Cold asked.
"Yeah…like origami."
...
"You went to CCU," Dr. Snow stated as she gathered her essentials to give Barry his daily shot.
Barry grinned, his eyebrows quirking up. "You've been checking up on me."
She sat in front of him, like she did the day before, clipboard in hand. "I like to get to know my patients," she merely said. "I went there too for my bachelor's, two years before you."
His eyes watched her amusingly, his lips spreading wider. "Maybe we crossed paths then. You know, drunk, out at a bar somewhere? Maybe we sang karaoke."
Dr. Snow looked down at her notes, shaking her head – though he could tell she was amused. "I think I would have remembered something like that."
"That a compliment?" he fished.
"No," she promptly deadpanned.
Barry swallowed his laugh, muffling his smile as best as he could. This doctor sure was an enigma.
"Hmm," the doctor then let out, her lips turning downwards as she studied her notes.
"What?"
"Your blood glucose is at 15 milligrams per deciliter."
He raised an eyebrow, those numbers not quite meaning anything to him. "So?"
Dr. Snow gave him a leveled stare. "That's hypoglycemic. Your body's reacting to the insulin like you're not diabetic," she informed him, before biting down on her lower lip as she reread her notes. "Are you sure it's Type 1 Diabetes that you've got?"
Barry nodded. "Ever since I was a kid," he fibbed.
"Alright," she said, accepting his lie. "And you're not experiencing any tingling sensations, cold sweats, or anything, right?"
The former forensic scientist shook his head just as the phone in the room went off. Caitlin stood up to answer the call, while Barry stood from his seat and walked over to the window.
He looked out at the pipe again, viewing his escape and the surrounding areas. It was then that he felt a quake run through his dominant hand – his mind knowing that it was a symptom of taking the insulin that Dr. Snow had just warned him about. He internally sighed as he gripped his other hand over the shaking one, trying to stop it.
Dr. Snow then hung up the phone and looked over at him breezily. "Sorry about that," she said, sitting back down at her seat. "Anyway, I'd like to run some tests tomorrow. The last thing I want is to be administering insulin to a man who doesn't need it."
Barry nodded his head understandingly. "Yeah, sure. Of course," he told her, but internally he was scrambling for a way to fix this. He couldn't stop coming to the infirmary, or else he wouldn't be able to set his escape into motion.
.
"I need PUGNAc."
Barry was out in the yard now, talking to a Wally West, someone Cisco had told him had connections to the outside, and even things from the black market.
"A what now?"
"It's an insulin blocker," Barry clarified. "It's standard, over-the-counter, and you can get it at any pharmacy. And I need it soon."
Wally stared at him for a moment, confused. "Then why don't you just get it at medical then?" he asked, shrugging away from the new guy, since it looked like he was going to be a waste of his time, and therefore money.
Barry walked in front of Wally, blocking him from leaving. "I can't get it at medical."
Wally raised a brow. "And why not?"
The former forensic scientist forced out a chuckle. "Because they're already giving me insulin shots," he confessed.
The younger man took a second to digest what he was just told, before he too laughed. "You're crazy, you know that?"
"Can you get it for me, or not?" Barry gently asked.
Wally folded his arms. "Only if you tell me why you want to keep going back to medical to get insulin shots you don't need," he insisted.
Barry smirked. "I like the ambience."
"Uh huh…" Wally let out, somewhat unconvinced.
"Are we in business?" Barry asked, holding out a wad of money he had secured for this type of occasion.
Wally took the money, looking at it briefly before pocketing it. "Should get it by tomorrow morning," he said as he left to call in the order.
Smirking in victory, Barry turned to meet back up with Cisco only to bump right into Mick Rory, nearly stumbling back on his ass but was able to find his balance in time to stop it. Cold soon emerged from his throng of rogues.
"Newbie," he hissed out, "a little birdy told me that you've got intel on my father's whereabouts," he continued, walking closer into Barry's personal space. "Where is he?" he lowly demanded, not wanting to be too loud to attract the guards.
Barry shook his head. "That's not how this works, Cold. Give me what I want, and I will give you what you want."
Cold sniffed unpleasantly. "Watch your attitude, newbie. I could make your life hell in here."
Rory spit right on Barry's feet, cracking his knuckles for good measure as he glared at him. Barry could tell from the vain popping from Mick's neck that he was just itching to beat someone up.
Cold grinned at Rory before his eyes swiveled back to Barry. "Now, where's my father?"
Barry stood his ground. "Like I said, just hire me in P.I. and we can start talking."
Wincing, Cold pretended to weigh the options before swiftly just shaking his head. "No, sorry, I don't like that answer." He turned to Mick. "Have fun."
Mick grunted pleasantly as he stomped forward, swinging his burly hands directly towards Barry's face. Barry was able to dodge a few punches and even throw a couple of his own, but eventually Mick's heavier punches weighed him down too much to defend himself. Thankfully, the guards rushed over to disperse the fight rather quickly, and luckily, he got nothing more than bruises and a cut lip, but Barry was just now seeing how things began to work in this place. It really was a dog eat dog world.
.
Later that night, the thud of a guard's boots sounded as they walked down the catwalk towards his cell. Barry paid little attention to it since it wasn't uncommon for the guards to make rounds, making sure the prisoners were behaving. However, a clang on their metal bars caused Barry and Cisco both to look over.
"Allen!' the guard hollered. "I don't know what you did, but Cold wanted me to give you this P.I. card."
Barry immediately got up from his bunk to grab the card. He smiled in satisfaction, this thumb grazing over the card, his lips upturning into a smirk.
A/N: This is technically for Snowbarry Week - Day 7 Fandom Fusion, but I wrote this a long time ago. It was meant to be multi-chapter, but I don't know if I'll continue it or not, but I wanted to at least put it out there in the world since it's just been sitting on my computer for forever. If you want me to continue it, let me know. I'd give me a good excuse to rewatch Prison Break lol.