My few loyal fans have some deep concerns for our arsonist. Good. You should be concerned. The guy is facing absolute zero temperatures. The outcome of that won't be very nice.

Frostbite is when exposure to cold temperatures causes freezing to the skin or other tissues. It most commonly affects the hands, feet, and face. The longer areas are exposed to cold, typically the worse the frostbite. Frostbite is classified by degrees of severity, with first degree being superficial damage to surface skin and fourth degree involving bone, muscle and tendon. This causes irreversible damage and often requires amputation. Cold temperatures cause blood vessels to narrow, slowing the flow of warm blood from the core of the body to the extremities. With prolonged exposure to cold, ice crystals form in tissues. These ice crystals, in turn, damage cells and blood vessels. And rewarming afterwards can do further damage to the body.

Since it is safe to say that first degree frostbite will be the least of their problems, let's worry about the more serious versions. In second degree frostbite, the skin develops clear blisters early on, and the skin's surface hardens. In the weeks after injury, this hardened, blistered skin dries, blackens, and peels (but the that's not an issue here since that takes time). At this stage, lasting cold sensitivity and numbness can develop. In third degree frostbite, the layers of tissue below the skin freeze. Symptoms include blood blisters and "blue-grey discoloration of the skin." And in fourth degree frostbite, structures below the skins are involved like muscles, tendon, and bone. Early symptoms include a colorless appearance of the skin, a hard texture, and painless rewarming. Later signs include lovely things like your skin looking black and mummified and body parts randomly amputating themselves months later.

As for hypothermia, that's pretty much what happens any time the human body drops below 95 degrees Fahrenheit or 45 degrees Celsius. In moderate hypothermia, low body temperature results in violent shivering, obvious muscle coordination problems, slow and labored movements, a stumbling pace, and mild confusion even as the person may appear alert. Surface blood vessels contract further as the body focuses its remaining resources on keeping the vital organs warm. And the patient will seem pale with possibly blue lips, ears, fingers, and toes. As for severe hypothermia, the biological processes falter and heart rate, respiratory rate, and blood pressure all decrease. Difficulty speaking, sluggish thinking, and amnesia start to appear; inability to use hands and stumbling are also usually present. Cellular metabolic processes shut down. Below 86 degrees Fahrenheit (30 degrees Celsius), the exposed skin becomes blue and puffy, muscle coordination very poor, and walking almost impossible, and the person exhibits incoherent or irrational behavior or even stupor. Pulse and respiration rates decrease significantly, but fast heart rates can also occur.

So yeah, the cold isn't very pretty to the human body. You have been warned.

Even with the speed her totem granted her and the sounds of wind and lightning from a speedster to guide her, Amaya knew in her heart it was too late. But she tried. She raced into the room to see a red blur wrapped in yellow lightning circling the circumference of the chamber like an uncrossable barrier, forcing her sprint to a halt. And in the center was a long-haired man in goggles extending both arms out and a young woman holding a rope, both of which she recognized from the whole alien invasion incident. She also saw a strange warping and pulsing portal with Mick in front of it, his back to her.

"Mick, stop!" she shouted desperately.

Her words weren't fast enough. While the others twisted around at the sound of her cry, Amaya saw him slip through without even looking back. Mick was gone.

Too slow. Too late. Once again, she arrived to witness the aftermath and unable to stop it. Amaya felt transported back to that moment where she found Rex dying on the floor, helpless to save him. She loved Rex and lost him, too slow to do anything when a speedster came into their headquarters to murder him. And now she'd lost a good friend, again too late to do any good. The thought made her chest ache.

Then she saw the rope in Iris's hand. It was still running between her fingers slowly, trailing through the portal after him. Mick had the other end. He was still moving. And that meant he was somehow alive.

Knowing the speedster, the Flash, would have the reflexes to avoid her, Amaya marched straight forward. And even if he ran close enough for the wind to whip around her in a concerning fashion, he turned out to be no barrier to her after all. Cisco kept the power blasting from his hands to the portal and Iris kept a steady eye on the rope, both clearly trying to fulfill their duties. She headed toward the two without hesitation.

"Why did you let him go?" Amaya asked, desperation, frustration, and worry all woven together. "How could you?"

"He has a plan," said Cisco, his tone wavering between a question and a statement. "That apparently involves pointing the Heat Gun at himself?"

"A plan that is going to get him killed," she responded.

Glancing between Amaya and the portal, Iris asked, "What?"

Amaya heard more racing footsteps over the sounds of a speedster. A quick look back showed that the rest of the team had arrived. Stein appeared slightly winded, but it was them.

"Absolute zero," said the professor as he tried to catch his breath. "It is absolute zero through that portal. Mr. Rory will either become trapped there like Mr. Snart or he'll freeze to death."

"It'll make a dip in the Arctic Ocean seem like a hot tub," Ray added.

Even through his goggles, Amaya could tell Cisco's eyes widened at the man's words. But he kept his powers directed at the portal.

"You hear that, Barry?" he asked, his head tilted the way she'd learned meant someone was speaking through a communicator. "Heat Wave is trying to turn himself in a popsicle. I did not sign up for that."

"Barry and Cisco can't stop or the portal will close," said Iris. "And Mick isn't dead or else the line would have stopped. He said to pull him out if it stopped or it starts growing looser because he's coming back."

Her eyes locked on the slowly-moving rope in the other woman's hands, Sara said, "Too bad. He's coming out now. We'll figure out a less stupidly suicidal way to get Leonard out afterwards."

Amaya and the others were quick to follow their captain's lead, moving towards Iris. But while still several feet away, she saw the rope go limp and still. He'd stopped. Either Mick found what he was looking for…

…or something was wrong.

Mick was familiar with pain. When he lost control of that fire and nearly burned himself alive (and could have killed Snart too since they were both inside at the time), he escaped the ambulance and dealt with the injuries on his own. He wrapped up the burns and self-medicated with whatever he could get a hold of, dealing with the agony until they healed. And then the induction process introduced him to a new level of pain. But the same stubborn and unbreakable willpower that let him mind control an army in Camelot ensured that Mick would always keep going regardless of the pain.

Besides, Snart froze off his own hand once and still managed to run into Nanda Parbat in time to interrupt a fight. If he could manage that much, Mick could handle this.

He was ready for pain when he turned his Heat Gun on himself and stepped through. Mick expected to feel the familiar burn of fire and bite of ice. He thought he was ready.

His imagination failed to prepare him.

Mick didn't feel the flames of his Heat Gun focused on his chest, trying to keep his core body temperature preserved just as Gideon warned him to. What he felt was the stabbing and slicing pain of cold over every inch of flesh, his clothes absolutely useless to stop it. It hit so suddenly and intense that Mick instinctively gasped in shock.

He instantly regretted it, staggering forward a step to keep from collapsing on the ground. His throat felt shredded by the air. His chest filled with knives and then seemed to tighten. Even as his body tried to inhale again out of pain and desperation from the assault, Mick managed to fight the urge and clenched his mouth shut. He thought he could taste blood at the back of his throat, but his tongue already felt stiff and mostly numb.

Breathing air at absolute zero. Bad idea.

He took another step forward, eyes clenched shut. He didn't know if he could open them anyway. Just as his clothes didn't protect his body at all from the extreme temperatures, the goggles didn't prevent his eyes from the initial sensation of needles trying to force their way out or the way his skull felt like it was trying to contract around his brain.

Just a few more steps. He just needed to keep moving. If he stopped, he would fail and die. One shuffling step after another, even if he couldn't feel his legs responding.

Honestly, after the first second or two of impossible agony everywhere, a lot of the pain was gone. His limbs had gone completely numb, leaving it a mystery if he was still pulling the trigger of his Heat Gun and trying to add at least a little heat to his body. His arm may have dropped to his side. Or fallen off his body completely. He wouldn't be able to tell the difference at that point. He couldn't feel his face or any of his skin. His chest ached deep inside and his heart couldn't seem to decide whether to race or slow, stumbling unevenly instead.

This was bad. Mick couldn't figure out why though. His thoughts were sluggish and slow. Everything felt numb and heavy.

He wanted to stop. Why was he doing this? He wanted to sleep. He couldn't tell if he was moving or holding his Heat Gun anymore. He could barely feel anything. But even as his mind struggled to remember his purpose, Mick kept trying out of sheer thick-headed stubbornness.

Barely conscious, Mick only noticed he'd still been moving when he bumped into something. He couldn't truly feel it, but the impact shook him just enough to catch his fading attention.

While it might be a Time Master who got too close before the explosion, Mick knew. Something deep down and primal reacted in recognition to someone vitally familiar. Something that spoke of trust, security, and a feeling that for years he'd only subconsciously admit as friendship.

Leonard.

He tried to wrap his left arm around the shape, like a desperate bearhug. His barely-responding instincts told him that he needed to grab on. To grab on and never let go. He didn't even know or care what would happen to the Heat Gun caught between them. Assuming he hadn't dropped it from his numb grip already.

Was it working? Was he even moving? He couldn't tell. He was exhausted. He couldn't feel his body. Mick couldn't even feel his heart beating. Everything felt so disconnected.

He felt numb and so far away from everything. From everyone.

It was so lonely. And he was so, so tired.

His willpower finally faltered. And then it gave out, his weak grip on awareness failing completely.

Rip would have cursed the entire twenty-first century for producing so many people lacking survival instincts or common sense if he could spare the moment. Instead, they were desperately grabbing at the safety line. The young woman was already pulling as hard as she could, her muscles straining the moment the rope stopped moving. She didn't initially make much progress, but a whole team of heroes adding their strength quickly shifted the balance. Rip wasn't certain how much he contributed compared to some of the others. But hand over hand, they pulled the rope slowly through the portal.

There was no way to tell how much progress they were making until it happened. A large shape fell out of the portal. Or rather one figure holding onto another.

Rip felt a moment of panic about what would happen as they fell, worries about what a rough impact would do shrieking in his head, but then a red blur intervened as the portal snapped shut. Super speed allowing him to react in time, the Flash managed to catch and lower both to the ground gently within the blink of an eye. The Heat Gun clattered past almost as an afterthought.

While he expected the figure with the rope around his waist, the other one was someone that they'd never expected to see again. At least not without it being a past version. Goggles around his neck, left arm outstretched and stiff, and his more casual black jacket and navy sweater already starting to frost over after escaping the extreme cold, it was clearly Leonard Snart.

Both he and Rory were right in front of them. But too pale, too stiff, and too still.

Rip ignored the expressions of worry and horror on the others' faces, trying to weigh the hazards of speed over the hazards of waiting. Sara might be captain now, but he knew the capabilities of the Waverider's medbay better than anyone other than Gideon herself. There were limits and it couldn't produce miracles, but the medbay was well suited for the dangers of a Time Master. And even if he never met the Flash previously, he knew plenty about the famous speedster and knew he would listen.

"Get them both to the Waverider's medbay," Rip ordered sharply. "Now, Mr. Allen."

If the young man hesitated, it was too quick to notice. In a blur of wind and lightning, the Flash and Snart vanished. Sara, taking the initiative, chose to use the chance to cut the rope from Rory. She was also wise enough to not touch him or the stiffening rope with her bare hand directly. The delay that was likely due to the Flash attempting to locate both the ship and the correct room onboard proved to be just enough for her self-appointed task. The moment she pulled the knife away, Rory vanished in the same blur of speed.

What Rip didn't expect was a force to grab hold of him and to yank him along, rushing wind and streaks of color engulfing his senses. Then as suddenly as it hit, everything stopped. Blinking against his briefly blurred vision and disorientation, Rip realized he was in the medbay.

"How can we help them?" Barry asked in a rush.

Rip glanced quickly at the two criminals, trying to take stock of the situation. Snart was positioned in the chair closest to the door and Rory was in the other, the chairs reclined back until they were nearly lying flat. While Snart's left arm remained in the same position he used to hold down the switch, Rory's right hand was close to his chest while the left curved in front of him, clearly from when he grabbed his partner. Trying to lower any of the limbs to a more natural position would not end well. Frost and ice were forming as the air condensed on their clothes and skin.

Far more concerning was the appearance of their skin. And even though logic would suggest otherwise, Rory's symptoms were more extreme. While Snart was in that place longer, he was only now reacting to the temperature. His skin was shifting to a blue-gray tone while blood blisters formed before Rip's eyes, starting at the extremities and working inward. And Rory's skin looked nearly bloodless and unnerving like that of a corpse.

Rip took all of this in almost an instant. Drawing on what he remembered of the Time Masters' mandatory first aid courses, he knew the usual wrist cuff for the medical infusion device would not suffice. Even as a blue light started to dance across the pair as Gideon attempted to slow down the damage, they were far too cold. And relying solely on external heating would only make things worse, warming the extremities and skin while leaving the body core too cold to support them. The fastest and most effective way to warm them up would be to combine with Gideon's current actions with extracorporeal rewarming methods. That would involve removing the blood from their bodies, warming it, oxygenating it, and then returning it to the body, essentially taking the role of the heart and lungs in order to introduce heat to the center of mass. And taking a detour through the wrist would increase the risk of sending them into some form of shock.

They needed to focus on warming the major organs and stabilizing them. The cold would slow everything down, buying them time. But it didn't erase the urgency.

"Both Mr. Rory and Mr. Snart are suffering from severe cases of hypothermia," reported Gideon. "And while Mr. Allen's speed may have warmed them slightly through friction, especially the slightly longer journey with Mr. Snart as he located the medbay, their core body temperatures are still dangerously low."

Even before having the patients properly hooked up for full treatment and monitoring, Gideon could handle some of the more general issues. Just as she was slowing down the accumulating damage to their flesh with her systems, she could give the most basic diagnosis. Not that it took a high-tech A.I. to realize the pair were hypothermic.

Rip pulled out gloves buried at the very bottom of his coat pocket, nearly forgotten after so long. Causing himself harm from contact with the cold patients wouldn't help anyone. Then he started digging into one of the supply drawers for scissors.

"Down the hall is the fabrication room, Mr. Allen."

Rip spoke to the speedster distractedly as he started cutting down the middle of Snart's navy sweater and exposing his chest. He then twisted around to repeat the process to Rory's unfortunate shirt, causing Rip to catch a glimpse of the rather graphic burn scars that frostbite was now competing with. Of course, frostbite normally took a little more time to become so visible and extreme. But then the two men had been exposed to temperatures far beyond what could be found anywhere on Earth.

"If you head there, Gideon should be able to provide thermal space blankets and maybe some alternate clothes."

The man pulled out one of the alternate medical infusion device models that were stored out of the way. Two thin clear tubes rather than one and round dome around the size of his fist that was designed to bond onto the chest rather than attach around a wrist, it was not exactly convenient when only a sedative, antibiotics, or similar medications were required. But for something more involved and elaborate, such as the removal, warming, oxygenating, and recirculation of blood, it was ideal. Even as he instructed the Flash on what to retrieve, Rip carefully positioned on the medical infusion device on Snart's chest before moving to do the same with another on Rory's.

"I assume you'll be able to find everything on your own, Mr. Allen. And I also assume that I don't have to tell a speedster to hurry."

A short nod and the Flash vanished. Rip turned his attention briefly towards the readings that Gideon was now displaying, though part of his focus remained on trying to remove the cold clothes from the pair without causing them further harm. Rip noticed their skin felt hard and rough as he cut coats, sweaters, and shirts from the men. And the temperatures for the men did not inspire confidence, the displayed numbers far too low. Their heart and respiratory rates were nonexistent. Gideon had essentially taken over those processes through the medical infusion devices along with warming them, the thin tubes now red as the blood moved slowly.

"In addition to hypothermia, Mr. Snart is displaying third degree frostbite on his limbs and second degree frostbite across his face and body," reported Gideon. "Mr. Rory possesses third and fourth degree frostbite. Both men's limbs and large portions of their skin and muscle are too damaged to recover and will need to be replaced."

"Then they should be very thankful for your cellular regeneration capabilities, shouldn't they?" he said, gently pulling off the gloves from Snart while taking his time not to shatter another of his hands anyway.

"Furthermore, Mr. Rory has managed to collect more specific injuries from freezing. Hairline fractures in the legs due to fourth degree frostbite damaging the bones and causing breakage from the weight of his supporting his body."

"As you said, his legs were already in need of removal due to just the frostbite itself. He probably didn't even feel the breaks."

"Damage from ice crystals that formed in his eyes, throat, lungs, and vascular system are also worth noting," continued Gideon.

Rip grimaced as he carefully tugged the goggles off Rory's face. Even with his eyes pressed closed, he could make out reddish ice that lined the edge of his eyelids.

"Mr. Snart avoided the additional damage by his body not being able to react to the extreme cold very long before he was brought to medbay. I should be able to prevent further damage from the low temperatures, though rewarming shock could be a danger later on. I shall monitor closely for any sudden drop in blood pressure combined with low cardiac output once they resume breathing on their own and their heart is capable of beating again."

Rip tossed what remained of the sweaters, shirts, and coats in the floor in the corner. There wasn't any way to remove them without cutting them apart. And considering how he could feel the chill even through his gloves and there was visible ice and frost coating the fabric, leaving them on the two men was not an option. The clothes were a lost cause. But if either of them complained, they could always get replacements created in the fabrication room.

Assuming that either of them ever woke up.

Rip said quietly, "I suppose I should ask the question then. Are they alive?"

"I am uncertain, Captain," said Gideon after a brief hesitation. "Low temperatures drastically reduce and slow down all biological process, making it difficult to detect any signs of life. Their heart and respiratory rates can be restored once their core body temperatures raise to a more acceptable level. As for whether or not they have survived enough to be restored, that will depend on whether brain activity can be detected as they begin to warm. Until then, it would be best to operate under the assumption that Mr. Snart and Mr. Rory can recover."

"So all we can do treat them and hope they're alive as they thaw out."

The medbay might seem miraculous to the rest of the team, but the technology had limits. It wasn't even the best available in his time. The hospitals were better stocked and run by doctors trained in the latest techniques. At least before Savage and his forces tore their way through the world and then the man died multiple times that bordered on paradoxical as it strained the timeline. Timeships were equipped for emergency treatment because time traveling would be dangerous for injured patients. It was safer to offer what help they could in the field with the sturdy, dependable, and versatile equipment that could be operated by an A.I. and the occasional assistance from any available pair of hands. It was good, but not perfect.

There was still plenty of uncertainty.

A rush of wind and the Flash practically materialized beside Rip. In his arms were a pair of silver thermal space blankets and thick gray clothes, held together with snaps and easy to put on unconscious figures. The thermal space blankets were made of heat-reflective thin plastic sheeting and were thus not the most comfortable things. And the clothes were thickly woven. But both the blankets and clothes were perfect for retaining body heat. Gideon outdid herself fabricating these.

The sounds of frantic running came down the hall, announcing quite clearly the rest of the team's return. Knowing that he was about to be crowded and questioned by far too many people in one room, Rip grabbed the offered blankets and clothes.

"Try to keep them out of here, Mr. Allen," Rip said quickly. Then, remembering that he had two patients and remembering who took care of Sara during that very unpleasant situation during the Revolutionary War that he disliked thinking about, Rip added, "And please ask Professor Stein if he could assist. I only have two hands."

Looking back at the two still figures briefly with clear concern, the Flash nodded and said, "Of course."

"And be careful of Ms. Lance. She is not going to be happy about staying out and she always has knives," he said in a rush of words. "Always."

With that piece of advice, the Flash vanished back into the hall. Voices started up almost instantly. And it didn't take long for them to grow more forceful.

While Rip did feel a little sympathy for the speedster that he knew had or would mess with time plenty, Rip also felt brief relief that he wasn't the one having to field all questions and concerns.

"Gideon, prioritize the most immediate concerns," Rip said as he pulled out the cellular regenerator. "What should we start with?"

"The ice shards that formed in Mr. Rory's pulmonary circulatory system have punctured his lungs and will cause a traumatic pneumothorax once he resumes respiration," recited Gideon.

Air escaping his lungs and collecting in the space between them and the chest wall would indeed be a reason for concern as Rory warmed up. Not only would it be difficult for him to get enough oxygen to support his body, but it could also cause his lungs to completely collapse and for him to die.

Rip remembered experiencing a pneumothorax himself years ago, a cracked rib from a mission that turned into a full-on break by the time he made it back to the Waverider and tore a small hole into his lungs right as he made it to medbay. But even with that unpleasant turn of events, the mission still went more smoothly than most of his more recent ones.

But he couldn't spare the time to reminisce. He and Gideon still had to deal with the fallout of their insane arsonist going off on his own without warning.

"Then we better fix his lungs while he isn't using them."

As Rip positioned the device over Rory's chest, Stein slipped into the medbay. The old man looked a little pale as he glanced at the two figures. He wasn't a medical doctor and didn't seem very comfortable with the role, even if Gideon handled the majority of it. They were only there for the occasional task that required physical hands. But even with his obvious discomfort, Stein seemed determined to do what he could.

"How may I assist, Captain Hunter?"

In severe cases resuscitation begins with simultaneous removal from the cold environment and management of the airway, breathing, and circulation. Rapid rewarming is then commenced. Moving the person as little and as gently as possible is recommended as aggressive handling may increase risks of a dysrhythmia. Extracorporeal rewarming is the fastest method for those with severe hypothermia, which essentially means taking the blood out of the body, warming it up (and oxygenating it since you're handling the heart and lungs' jobs at the moment), and pumping it back into the body to warm up the core of the body. There are risks to trying to rewarm someone. Rewarming shock (or rewarming collapse) is a sudden drop in blood pressure in combination with a low cardiac output which may occur during active treatment of a severely hypothermic person. The only good news about this is that even if the person looks dead when you find them, there's still hope. Extreme hypothermia can suppress heart and brain function, so you won't know for sure until they're warmed up.

Anyway, there's some of the research I found for this (though no one has ever tossed someone into absolute zero before). But even if you find this interesting, don't take medical advice from a fanfiction. Especially when part of the treatment involves future technology that we don't have yet.