TRIGGER WARNING: mentions of self harm

Barry probably shouldn't have been surprised when Caitlin showed up at his apartment the next day, but when he opened the door, expecting to see Iris, and finding Caitlin in front of him, he was at a loss for words.

"Barry, hi," Caitlin said.

Caitlin smiled at him, and tilted her head down, walking right by him and into the room.

"Um, Caitlin," Barry said, his face flushing, "Right now really isn't a good time."

Caitlin sat down on the couch, opening up the bag she had brought with her.

"Barry, I, umm, I thought about what happened yesterday, and I realize I probably didn't react very well."

"Caitlin, you don't have to –"

"No, no, I thought about it a lot, and I really shouldn't have acted that way – you don't need more people freaking out."

"I don't really want to talk about this, Caitlin," Barry said, almost begging for a way out of this situation. He'd had a lot of awkward conversations about this the first time around, and he really didn't want any more.

"No, it's OK," she said. She pulled something out of her bag. Barry sighed and went to sit down next to her, seeing that she wasn't leaving anytime soon.

"I know this isn't something you want to hear," she said. She took one of his hands in hers. Oh, God, this was like a soap opera. "But I'm here for you. And we're going to find a way to beat this."

"Caitlin, really, I'm fi–"

She plopped a folder down on his lap. "That," she said, "is a printout of information and statistics on self-harm. She presented another folder, "And this has like five hundred things that you can do besides self-harming." She pulled out one more, "And these," she smiled, "Are inspirational quotes and survivor stories."

Barry felt overwhelmed. "Caitlin this…"

"I know," she said, her face scrunching up. "Too geeky? I just want you to have whatever you need. I know most of it probably won't help, but I looked up ideas on what to do to help someone stop, and I just kind of took anything I thought could possibly help."

Barry didn't know what to say.

"Oh," she said, smiling, "I almost forgot." She reached down into the bag and pulled out a small, plastic box and handed it to him. Barry opened up the cover. Inside was a piece of thick construction paper, several different colored sharpies, a CD, two packages of M&M's, a stress ball, and an index card with phone numbers on it. "It's a box for when you want to cut," she said, "I put a bunch of calming music on there, and the M&M's are for when you're sad – and I know you have our phone numbers – but I put them on there anyway to remind you to call when you're upset. I figured you could write down your top ten things to do instead on the paper, and you can put in whatever else you want in the box too. Maybe you're favorite movie?"

"Caitlin…" Barry said, "You really didn't have to do all this."

"I know," she said, "But… Barry I just want you to be safe. And happy."

"I don't cut deep enough for it to be dangerous," Barry said.

"That's not what I meant."

Barry looked down. He flipped the index card over. On it were Cisco, Caitlin, Iris, and Joe's numbers.

"Thanks, Caitlin," he said softly.

She smiled and reached over. She hugged him, a quick, short hug, and then leaned back. "You don't have to thank me," she said, "Just… be safe. Healthy. I want to help you, Barry."

Barry nodded. He twisted his fingers together. What if I don't want help.

His stomach was churning. It was happening all over again. That iron resolve that he had built years trying to make stable had all come crumbling down in a matter of two weeks, and now he was constantly battling with himself. He knew he should stop, he knew every reason, every single possible reason why he should stop. But he didn't want to. He didn't think he could. And there was a creeping fear going up his spine, whispering in the very corner of his brain maybe you never could stop. Maybe you've been fooling yourself this whole time.

"Caitlin," Barry said. He had to take a deep breath. "This isn't the first time I've done it."

"Well, I mean, I figured that, Barry," she said.

He shook his head, hanging his head down. "No, I mean, I used to do it… when I was younger, and then I stopped, but I… started again."

And then he went into the explanation, the fourteen year old Barry and the grief mixed with fear and pain and how somehow it had all manifested in that stupid glass bottle and the stupid cut on his hand. Even as much as he wished he'd never broken that glass that led to the first time he cut, he didn't really think it would change anything. He would have ended up doing the same thing or something worse. Something had to give. If it wasn't cutting it would have been his grades or alcohol or drugs or something.

"Well," she said, "That's good. You stopped before, you can do it again."

Barry nodded.

I have to stop, he thought. He closed his eyes. He pushed all the thought of continuing out of his mind, crushing it down with that one phrase, I have to stop.

He sat down with Caitlin and wrote out his "top ten things" to do instead of cutting. They talked about his medical phobia and he told her a couple of stories he'd never told anyone except for Iris and Joe. At first his voice was tight and his chest felt constricted, but as he kept talking, and Caitlin just listened – she was a good listener – he started to relax. And for once, it was nice to talk about it, to let it out instead of letting it just scream in his head, going around and around.

"You should call Iris," Caitlin said when he was finished.

Barry looked away. He touched his wrist almost subconsciously. "I can't," he said, "she'll be so disappointed. And she'll be mad."

"She won't be mad."

Barry groaned. "She'll be mad I didn't talk to her – and she'll be upset. And I'll feel like crap."

"You should call her," Caitlin said.

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Ultimately, Barry took the easy way out. He was going to call her, really. Honest. He had the phone in his hand, but he chickened out. He sent a text instead.

B: Hey. I did it again

Barry held his breath, pacing. There was a response in less than a minute.

I: Coming over.

Barry wiped his hands over his face. He felt sick.

B: U dont hav to

There was another text in even less time.

I: Coming over.

Caitlin had left a half hour ago. It had taken Barry that long to get the nerve to contact Iris. Now he wished he hadn't.

He left the door unlocked. When she came in, her face steeled and ready to find a bloody and broken Barry, she was confronted instead with the image of him complacently organizing the box that Caitlin had given him, two mugs of hot chocolate already out and waiting, and the folders of papers spread out in front of him.

"Caitlin found out," Barry said flatly.

Iris stood looking down at him for a second, not at all expecting this scene. She finally leaned down, grabbed a mug of hot chocolate, and sat down next to him.

Short one, I know. Been ultra super stressed and busy. Hopefully more soon. Let me know what you think :)