They're finally back at STAR Labs after the stressful escape, Mick and Lisa are almost dragging Providence into the building after them. The two of them were on their last nerves after what they had gone through to get Providence out of Iron Heights.
The psychopath had tried to lock them out of the car once they arrived, she didn't seem to think about putting the windows back up, though, or even trying to drive off. She had just sat there giggling like a maniac in her handcuffs and orange prison jumpsuit as Lisa pulled her out of the back seat. It wasn't bad enough that she had to argue with Lisa the entire drive, but she decided to insult the two career criminals with every other breath.
Creative insults yes, but insults nevertheless. It's as if she thinks this is some kind of a game and the only rule is for her to be as annoying as possible. So they had to drag her into the building and force her into the Cortex to face the rest of the team. Just team Flash, the Arrow had gone home the night before. It was a small blessing, Lisa didn't think she could take the anger that would come from him still being here. Seriously, that guy has a real rage issue, he should get some kind of help.
Lisa braced herself for the imminent argument, "hey team," she said in a voice as level as possible for the situation. "We've got someone here who is going to help get Lenny out of his coma." She stared resolutely at the floor, not wanting to face the possible outpouring of emotion. She had done what was needed and what she thought was the right thing to do.
Barry stood up, a perplexed look on his face. "Uh, what is she doing here? Isn't she supposed to be in prison?" He noticed the rare guilty expression Lisa was wearing, and the angry glare that constantly graced Mick's features. "No, no, you didn't," he continued. Lisa said nothing, looking anywhere but the hero. "Why would you do this? Why would you bring her here?"
Cisco and Caitlin both shrugged, staying out of the argument, it wasn't hard for them to assume that something like this would end up happening. The amount of time Lisa had spent here the past few days had been concerning, and the way that Mick just glared at everyone when he was there was absolutely terrifying. They could swear that he growled too, and it was more than a little bit disturbing. So no, it wasn't hard to believe that they had done this. What was really hard to believe was that they had actually managed to pull it off without being arrested in the process.
Candice rolled her eyes dramatically, pulled her arms out of the two criminals grasps and rattled her cuffs in Barry's face. "Because it's the only way to save her dear brother from my horrible clutches, as you called them, and Flash, as a hero you really should care more about this. Don't think I don't know exactly what feelings I saw hiding out in your little brain." She shook the cuffs again, "now, uncuff me so I can do what you wanted me to do all along." She gestured angrily towards the hospital bed looming menacingly in a darkened corner of the room, the soft breathing of the unconscious occupant barely audible over the sounds of the monitoring machinery.
Lisa pushed and shoved Providence towards the hospital bed, fumbling with the handcuff keys in one hand as she moved forwards. She really wished there was some other way to help Lenny, anything other than asking aid of a psychopath who had almost destroyed the city and who wanted them all dead. "Now, no making a run for it," Lisa said as she unlocked the cuffs, quickly backing away from the darkened corner of the room. She didn't know what would happen once Len awoke, but it was better to try to avoid danger.
Candice pulled in a quick breath as the cuffs fell away, her power once more flowing through her. It felt so strange to have her powers returned to her so suddenly after being cut off for so long. It definitely was an uncomfortable sensation. Not quite that moment after the pins and needles of a sleeping limb, more akin to the shooting pain of the returning blood flow and reconnecting nerve reception. God, that hurt like a bitch. She shook the tension out of her arms and rubbed her wrists where the cuffs had cut into them. She hadn't even reached out with her mind and she could already feel the presence of her lingering power in Captain Cold's subconscious. The power she had left there felt angry and desolate, fuelled by Snart's own emotion and distress it had grown sour with no set guidance, its duty was complete yet it lingered on. It was like a feral animal, ravenous hunger and rabid energy, and must be dealt with as such. "Time to get to work," she whispered under her breath, preparing for the task at hand. She placed her fingertips at Snart's temples, carefully drawing out the malignant force weighing heavy on his mind. Power, no, no longer was it just her power, rushed back into her mind. It was overwhelming, so strong and yet empty. A loud hum of electricity filled the room as the strong mix of energy and emotion left one body and reentered another. Fluorescent lights popped in cascading sparks and showers of brittle glass. Candice fell to the ground unconscious, overtaxed and drained from using her abilities before she was at full strength. The remaining lights flashed once, dimmed, then went out, casting the room into darkness and shadow, the only illumination coming from dimmed computer monitors and cell phone screens.
"Holy shit, what just happened?" Barry rushed to grab a few flashlights, returning only moments later. "Is everyone alright?"
"Yeah, we're fine," Cisco grumbled, "just wish this wasn't something we could call normal." Cisco grabbed a flashlight from Barry, checking on his beloved computers. "At least all my computers look alright, but if she wiped even one iota of data off my hard drives with that surge we will have very angry words!"
Lisa grabbed a flashlight of her own, sweeping the beam and looking over the room. Shattered glass everywhere, Candice sprawled on the floor unconscious, the hospital bed sheets on the floor, and the bed itself- it was empty. How? Where was her brother? She turned back to the others, panic rising in her chest, "has anyone seen Len?"
*Providence Waits*
It's the third barfight of the hour, two drunkards going at it with clumsy fists and flying elbows. Saints & Sinners really is quite busy for this time of the day. You don't expect to see anything close to this many people to be here this early in the afternoon, usually, it's only the die-hard alcoholics are drinking at this time. Well, alcoholics and one rather freaked out Leonard Snart. The last thing he remembered with any sort of clarity was the heist at the Central City Jewelers going wrong, and that was over six days ago. Then after that he remembered waking up in an explosion of glass and light, so he ran for it. Nothing between the two events. There was just a gap in his memory, almost as if the corresponding information had been erased or simply plucked out of his head.
So there he sat in the grubby bar, wearing clothes he doesn't remember putting on, hoping to remember what he had forgotten, cheap whiskey burning his throat, jumping at every slight movement of the other people around him. Damn drunks with almost no inhibitions, getting too close for comfort. At least they don't ever ask questions, especially in a place with a reputation like this one. The bartender shot him a weird look, pierced eyebrow raised in question, "hey, you look familiar. Don't I know you from somewhere?" Yep, there was the question.
"I don't think so kid," Len drawled, throwing back his third glass. He actually didn't know this bartender, in particular, he was probably new, a dark-skinned young man with dyed blond hair and multiple piercings. "I'm going to need a refill here."
"You got it, boss." The bartender refilled the glass for the fourth time and left the bottle beside it. Cheap whiskey is cheap whiskey, and he wasn't paid anywhere near enough to care if a bottle or two mysteriously goes 'missing' on his watch. Not like he was giving away the fifteen year Glenlivet or the thirty year Bushmills. Besides, the bar has a huge, rather seedy, criminal clientele, they'll make up the cost in about an hour anyway. "So, if we haven't met, then why do you look so familiar?" He leaned against the countertop, it wasn't as if he had much else to do at the moment, most of the customer's preferred the waitresses company to that of the bartender. "I'm Lamont by the way, and you are?"
"Leonard Wynters." It had been a while since he had used that alias, just had to hope it was still believable. "And I'm certain we haven't met before."
"Alright 'Wynters', if that's really your name, you ever been to Vegas? No? Well, you ever done any kind of acting?" The young man scrunched up his forehead in concentration. "Wait a sec…" He leaned in close and whispered excitedly, "are you Captain Cold?!" He looked genuinely pleased to be this close to a villain, especially one in the Rogues Gallery. Guess working so close to criminals and serving them drinks had warped his world views a bit.
"What?!" Len almost spat out his whiskey in surprise. He nervously looked around them, hoping nobody had overheard. Nobody was paying any attention, they were all far too drunk. "What are you talking about?"
"Yeah, I knew it! You are Captain Cold, yeah, I've seen you on the news!" Lamont leaned across the counter, much too pleased with himself. "Yeah, people have been looking for you after the everything that happened with that psycho. Lot of people thought you died in the battle." The bartender returned to wiping down the grimy countertop and slowly meandered back to his station. "Can't believe I just met Captain Cold! So fuckin' cool."
Len wracked his brain, trying to figure out exactly what the bartender meant by that. What had happened in the gap in his memory? Why couldn't he remember anything? Why had people thought he was dead? What battle was there? So many questions and the only person who could possibly answer them would be the Flash. And that was not a likely option. Too much conflict.
He scoffed and tossed back his fourth glass of cheap whiskey, relishing in the harsh burn and the warm buzz of alcohol setting into his mind. No way was he going to ask the Flash for help in getting his memories back, they might not quite be enemies anymore, but it was still a request that suggested friendship or a sense of camaraderie. Neither of those words could be used to describe the dynamic between them. They weren't friends. Maybe 'frenemies' was more appropriate for their situation. His internal conundrum was interrupted by the loud smash of glass and the crack of a pool cue snapping over someone's knee, whoever was fighting over by the pool tables was really going at it now. Not that it's any of Len's business, he really didn't need to get involved in a bar fight right now. They stay out of his business, he'll stay out of theirs. Especially after four glasses of whiskey, he couldn't be held responsible for any sort of property damage. Property damage meaning bodily harm.
"So, Cold, can I call you Cold?" Lamont was back, leaning over the now spotless counter, an unwanted presence in Len's introspection. "What are you doing here? Other than drinking of course."
Len stared into the empty glass, watching the remaining drops cling and slide each time the glass was tipped and tilted. He actually had no idea what he was still doing here, he should have gone to one of his safe houses over an hour ago. After waking up and running he had no plan and still hadn't come up with one. What does one do when they can't remember days at a time? He was just sitting there in the dive bar, stewing in his own confusion and getting drunk on cheap whiskey. "Just trying to remember something," he muttered, hoping that would be enough of an answer. For who exactly? He didn't know if he was answering the question for himself or the bartender, but either way, he knew it wasn't the entire truth.
"Alright man, you keep at it then. Holler if you need anything." Lamont walked back to the opposite end of the counter, leaving Len alone with his whiskey, his thoughts and his confusion.
Perfect combination, he thought as he poured himself his fifth glass of whiskey. Just this last one and that'll be it.
*Providence Waits*
Cisco had traced Snart's whereabouts using facial recognition on traffic cameras to a specific location, one that Barry had been to before on much different terms. So there he stood, not as the Flash, but just as Barry Allen, preparing for what would come next. Saints & Sinners, the shoddy dive bar in one of the seediest parts of town. Of course, it's Saints & Sinners, a grubby, run-down, old building with a bad reputation. Why can't criminals have a nice clean coffee house, like a Starbucks, or a cozy twenty-four-hour diner with friendly waitstaff? Even while outside Barry can already hear the loud shouting of a bar fight and the noise of breaking glass, don't any of these people know what time it is? It's not even two o'clock yet! Nobody should be drinking at this time, even if they're an alcoholic. Hell, they shouldn't be drinking especially if they're an alcoholic.
Barry stood before the door, preparing to walk through the entrance and try to convince Snart to come back to STAR Labs. He just hoped that he could actually make some sort of impression on him and that he would believe what he said. Providence had passed out upon waking Snart up from his coma, and Lisa and Mick had driven her back to the Metahuman Wing at Iron Heights. Nobody had any idea why Snart had run off, but when you think about it, he probably had no idea what had happened and decided to get out before anything happened. Barry just wanted to make sure Snart was alright, he wasn't exactly sure why , and he pushed all other thoughts aside and walked into the bar.
Whoever it was that was fighting over by the pool tables were really making a scene, yet none of the bar's patrons even seemed to notice it happening. Guess this must be normal for them, the bartender and waitress don't even seem to care either, going about their business helping the criminal clientele. Barry stood awkwardly by the entrance, surveying the people around him. Booths almost completely full, and only a few people seated at the bar. None of them were paying attention to him, and Barry looked again at the few people seated at the bar.
And there he was, with a half-empty bottle of whiskey in front of him and a strange look of anger and confusion on his face. The infamous Captain Cold, Leonard Snart. He looked tired and shaken and more than a little drunk, Barry walked up, sitting down on the empty barstool next to him. Neither of them faced the other, one staring down at their empty glass, the other staring down at their hands. Neither of them were quite sure what to say to the other, Snart not certain if he should ask what happened and why they couldn't remember anything, and Barry unsure if he should ask Snart why he ran off. An uncomfortable silence fell over them, and they sat shoulder to shoulder, ignoring the cacophony of the rest of the bar. Barry glanced at the man beside him, trying to understand why he felt he had to help Snart with this. The man had been nothing but his enemy and a betrayer for so long, but things had been different for a while and Barry wasn't sure what that entailed. They weren't quite friends, but enemies definitely couldn't be used to describe them, not anymore at least.
Barry broke the awkward silence with an even more awkward sounding question, "so, Snart, uh, you come here often?"
Snart turned and stared, a look of absolute astonishment on his face. "Seriously kid? You could have opened with just about anything and you said that?" A small smile spread across his features, and it might have been the alcohol helping, but he felt pretty good right about now. Warm and a little fuzzy, comfortable, his inhibitions lowered and sharing a smile with the Flash. Yeah, it was probably just the half bottle of whiskey working its way through his bloodstream, there was no way he would even think about doing this under any other circumstances or on any other occasion.
"Well, I could have talked about the weather or made a bad pun, so I think I did a pretty good job of breaking the ice." Barry grinned as he talked, automatically returning the smile Snart still wore. He would never admit it, but he actually didn't hate the puns Snart constantly used. Well, most of the puns were just god awful, but some of them were pretty decent. Alright, maybe not decent, but pretty okay. Fine, none of them were actually okay, they were all terrible, but he still didn't hate them.
Snart laughed under his breath, "don't be so cold, my puns are basically golden, and you can take that to the bank."
"I guess I'm just going to have to give you the cold shoulder," Barry joked, leaning over slightly, nudging Snart with his aforementioned shoulder. It might not actually be cold, but you get the idea. "Anyway, if I took your puns to the bank you'd end up with them back in your pocket about a week later."
Snart shrugged, Barry wasn't wrong about that, robbing banks was just too easy sometimes. "You win this time scarlet, but don't count on winning the next one."
"Guess I'll just have to be quick on my feet." Barry grinned, the puns and wordplay naturally coming forth as he spoke. No wonder Snart used so many puns, it was awesome! Plus, he got to deflect from all of his serious issues with witty humor. Not that he should avoid his problems, but he really didn't want to have a serious talk about what was going on in Snart's head right now. Besides, they were having fun, something Barry had a feeling Snart didn't do often.
So they sat in the bar, making jokes and drinking cheap alcohol, Snart getting progressively more drunk, Barry completely unaffected, just passing the time together. Eventually, they hit last call, the starlight bright in the dark sky, and Barry knew he had to get Snart back to STAR Labs, they had to have a serious discussion with the team about what had happened the past week and why he didn't remember. Luckily, or maybe not luckily, Snart was stone cold drunk and Barry was able to carry him back to where the day of drinking had begun.
They could talk about all of this in the morning.