Betrayal

Barry sat in the cheap plastic chair they had forced him into. A bunch of chairs were all arranged in a circle in a large, bright room that seemed to be some kind of lounge. The other men who were occupying the chairs were also wearing white scrubs like Barry's.

They were all patients here.

Barry's eyes flitted about the room, scoping out an exit. He was playing along for now, but the first opportunity he got, he was going to make a run for it—speed or no speed. He had to get out of here so he could find out what was really going on. If he could just get out of this facility and make it to STAR Labs, Cisco and Caitlin would help him figure things out. They'd have real answers for him and could help him get his powers back.

The room was white and brightly lit. The sun was filtering in through the windows, giving an illusion of freedom. That illusion, however, was shattered by the fact that there were metal bars on the windows.

"Who would like to start group therapy today?" Har—Dr. Wells asked the group.

A man two seats from Barry's right raised his hand shyly.

"Charlie," Dr. Wells said, his tone sounding somewhat surprised, "You're ready to finally share with us?"

Charlie gulped and shook his head frantically, his hair flopping into his eyes.

"Actually, I was going to say that I wanted to hear the rest of Barry's story," he said shyly.

He leaned forward in his chair then and looked at Barry.

"So what happened when you got to Earth 2?" he asked Barry eagerly, "What did you see when you got there?"

Barry stared at him. Before he could even say anything, another person spoke up.

"Probably another metaperson," a man said sarcastically, laughing at Barry.

"Or maybe it was another giant, telepathic gorilla," another patient jeered.

"No, it was King Stingray," a man with bright red hair hooted.

All the patients sitting in the circle burst out laughing. One man slid out of his seat and rolled onto the floor, laughing manically as he banged his fist on the floor.

"That's enough, everyone!" Dr. Wells called out over the laughter, which then quickly subsided, "Remember the rules of the circle. We don't make fun of each other here. Everyone here has their own story to tell, and we're all here to listen."

"I like Barry's stories," Charlie squeaked shyly, "They sound like they could be a movie or a TV show or something."

"Yeah, Barry should write a book or something," one man agreed, "It'd probably be a best seller."

"Yeah, if people wanted to read something written by a nut job," the man with red hair sneered, rolling his eyes.

"That's enough, Gerome," Wells said, flashing his eyes warningly.

He looked politely at Barry then.

"Please continue your story where you left off, Barry," he said patiently.

"Yeah," Gerome said, feigning interest, "Tell us, almighty Flash. What happened next?"

Everyone looked expectantly at Barry then. Barry stared around at them. If they were trying to trick him into believing he was actually crazy and in a mental institution, then they were all very good actors. They really did seem like a group of insane people. One of them was twitching repeatedly, and one of them was muttering incessantly under his breath.

Maybe they weren't actors. Maybe they really were crazy. Barry knew he wasn't, though. He had been put in this place against his will for some reason. Whoever had put him here was trying to play mind games with him, and Harry was clearly in on it.

"You betrayed me," Barry said, glaring at Dr. Wells, "After everything…you betrayed me again."

The doctor sighed and removed his glasses.

"Mr. Allen, I've told you time and time again," he said impatiently, "I'm not 'the Reverse Flash.' My name isn't Eobard Thawne, and I didn't kill your mother, nor did I try to steel your 'speed.' It's common for schizophrenics to villainize their caretakers in their delusions, but I thought we had been making progress with this."

"I'm not schizophrenic!" Barry yelled, rising from his chair.

"You tell him, Flash!" a young man shouted in support, "You tell him! We're not crazy!"

Barry looked closer at the young man. It was Hartley Rathoway.

"Piper?" Barry asked in confusion.

Dr. Wells stood up.

"Mr. Allen, I've asked you several times that you not encourage Mr. Rathoway's Pied Piper delusions," he said seriously, "You've already done this with Mr. Ramon, and you driving him over the edge is why he's in solitary right now."

"You have Cisco here, too?!" Barry shouted angrily, "Where is he?! What did you do to him?!"

"Barry, I know you and Mr. Ramon are friends and have been close ever since you arrived here. I know that this is hard for you, being apart from him, but you know why we needed to separate you two. You were feeding off of each other's delusions."

"I'm not delusional!" Barry shouted, "And neither is Cisco! Why are you doing this, Harry?! Why are you playing these games and keeping us here?!"

"Barry, you and Mr. Ramon are keeping yourselves here," the doctor replied calmly, "The longer you continue to humor these delusions, the harder it's going to be for you to recover. It may be too late for Mr. Ramon now. He's completely lost himself in his 'visions.' But it's not too late for you, Barry. You can achieve recovery. You can get better. All you have to do is let us help you."

"I don't want your help!" Barry spat, "I'm not staying here!"

With that, Barry darted for the nearest door, the one he had already determined to be his best chance towards finding an exit. Unfortunately, without his speed, Barry wasn't fast enough, and he soon felt hands grabbing him roughly.

"Let go of me!" he shouted to the hospital workers who had grabbed him.

He fought with all the strength he had and even managed to elbow one of them in the chin, but they maintained their hold on him.

"Who are you people?!" Barry screamed as they wrestled with him, dragging him backwards, "What do you want from me?! Why are you doing this?! I'm not insane! I'm not insane!"

When Barry refused to stop fighting, someone came forward with something in their hand. Barry's heart raced when he saw the flash of a needle.

"NO!" he screamed when the person holding the syringe stepped closer to him, "No! What is that?! Don't! Please don't! NO!"

A small sob escaped Barry's lips as he felt the sharp prick of the needle puncturing his arm. It wasn't long before dizziness overwhelmed him. The room started to spin, and his eyelids drooped against his will as everything went dark.

When Barry woke up, he was back in his "room" again. He shot upright in bed and looked around him, but there was nobody else there. Still feeling a bit woozy, Barry stumbled over to the door and looked out the small window.

He saw one person standing a little ways down the otherwise empty hall. Barry was shocked when he recognized the man to be Leonard Snart, of all people, and he was wearing…a janitor's uniform? Barry stared at him for a moment before deciding to call out to him.

"Snart," he whispered.

Captain Cold didn't look up at him, though. He just continued mopping the floor.

"Pst!" Barry hissed impatiently, "Snart."

That caused him to look up then. Snart gave him a small smile and walked over to the door again.

"How many times do I have to tell you, Barry?" he asked, laughing lightly, "My name isn't 'Snart' or 'Leonard' or 'Captain Cold.' It's Sam."

Snart pointed at the name embroidered into his janitor uniform. It was the same undercover name Barry had used when he and Snart had posed as janitors for the heist they had pulled with Snart's father. Barry was confused at first, but then he understood. Snart was undercover.

"Oh, okay 'Sam,'" Barry said, winking and giving him a small smile.

Snart just stared at him, a slightly confused look on his face as Barry continued to speak.

"So, what's the plan?" Barry whispered urgently, "How are we going to get me out of here?"

Snart gave Barry an uncomfortable look.

"Um," he said awkwardly, "You just continue with your treatments, Barry. I'm sure you'll be out of here soon."

Now it was Barry's turn to be confused.

"You are here to bust me out of here," Barry whispered, "Aren't you?"

Snart shifted uncomfortably.

"Look, Barry," he said slowly, "I know you and I get along a lot better now, and I've forgiven you for all the workplace-theft accusations you made against me, but you know I can't do that."

"What?" Barry asked in confusion.

Snart was really just going to leave him here?! If he wasn't here to bust Barry out, then why on earth was he here?!

Then it occurred to Barry.

"You're in on this, too," he gritted, "You're in on this whole thing, whatever it is, aren't you?"

"Barry," Snart said sadly.

"I thought you were supposed to be one of the good guys now," Barry hissed, "I thought you were supposed to be a hero now, since you left and went off on that time ship."

"Time ship," Snart chuckled, shaking his head, "I'm sorry, I shouldn't laugh, but really? First I'm Captain Cold, and now I went on a time ship? I have some pretty crazy adventures, don't I?"

"Sam," a voice rang out, and both he and Barry looked over to see Dr. Wells approaching them, "How many times do I have to ask you? Please don't talk to the patients. You know it upsets them."

"Sorry, sir," Snart replied, "I'm going back to my work now."

With that, Snart grabbed his mop, and rolled his janitorial cart down the hall and out of sight. Barry stared after him for a moment, but then his attention was drawn to Dr. Wells when he spoke.

"How are you feeling, Mr. Allen?" he asked kindly.

"How the hell do you think I'm feeling?" Barry spat through the small window, "You're keeping me here against my will. I need some answers right now, Harry."

"Mr. Allen," Dr. Wells sighed, "I've already told you why you're here."

"I'm not schizophrenic!" Barry said angrily, "I'm not insane! I need answers now! What do you people really want from me? What's your endgame here? Who's orchestrating this?"

Barry's eyes widened then as a thought occurred to him. It all made sense now.

"Eiling," Barry gritted, "He put me in here to study me, didn't he? He's always wanted to put me under his microscope."

Dr. Wells sighed.

"Barry, no one is trying to do anything to harm you here," he said calmly, "You're here because you need help."

"You want me to think I'm crazy," Barry gritted, "It's not going to work."

"Barry, you suffer from paranoid schizophrenia," the doctor said seriously, "You have for two years now."

Dr. Wells sighed again, and then he started to explain.

"The trauma that you faced as a child with your mother's death has tormented you for a number of years," he started, "You began looking for a distraction from the pain of it, and you found that distraction in your obsession with the impossible. Unfortunately, the obsession manifested. You became so preoccupied with proving the impossible that you started to see it in the most unlikely of places. You saw it in yourself."

Barry shook his head.

"That's not true," he said stubbornly, "I'm the Flash. I know I am."

The doctor gave him a sad look.

"You've always felt powerless over your father's conviction," he said gently, "And in a world in which you had no power, you decided to give yourself superpowers. You convinced yourself that you were this…Flash persona, and you used it as an escape when your real life became too difficult for you to handle."

Barry shook his head the entire time the doctor was speaking.

"That's not true," he persisted, "I am the Flash. Your tricks won't work on me, Dr. Wells."

Dr. Wells sighed.

"What do you think is more likely, Barry?" he asked quietly, "That you were struck by lightning and dark matter and became a superhero, or that you really are sick and conjured up the whole thing in your head?"

Barry stared at him.

"That can't be true," he said quietly, "I…I'm not crazy. I couldn't have imagined the whole thing. Whatever you're trying to do, it's not going to work."

A heavy sigh escaped the doctor's lips.

"An active imagination isn't a bad thing, Barry," he said sympathetically, "But when things in your life became too much for you, you slipped permanently into your fantasy."

Barry faltered in his conviction for a moment, starting to consider the doctor's words, but then he shook his head stubbornly.

"If you're going to play mind games, you're going to have to try harder, doctor."

"This isn't a game, Barry," Dr. Wells said seriously, "This is your life, and you're throwing it away for a delusion. You're slipping, and your condition is getting worse. It's not too late, though. The good news is, I just developed a new treatment. I can cure you, Mr. Allen."

Barry glared at him.

"You can tell Eiling," he gritted, "That I don't buy it. I don't buy any of it."

Dr. Wells sighed and took a step back from the door.

"General Eiling isn't your enemy, Barry," he said sadly, "He doesn't even exist. You've wasted over two years of your life as a resident at Renfrew. I'm offering you an opportunity to not waste any more."

With that, the doctor turned and started to walk away from the door, but he paused then and looked back at Barry, a sad expression on his face.

"Think about it, Barry," he said quietly, "Really think about it."

Dr. Wells then turned back around and continued the rest of the way down the hall. Barry made a noise of frustration and turned away from the door to cross the small room, pacing back and forth.

He couldn't let them get to him. They were trying to mess with him, and he wasn't going to let them. He couldn't be insane. He couldn't be!

Barry was the Flash, and he knew it. He had been the Flash for two years! He couldn't have imagined all of that. He couldn't be insane.

As Barry waited in line for meds, he was thinking frantically how he could avoid taking them. He thought about simply refusing them, but he had a feeling they would just inject them into him against his will instead then, just like they had done that morning. Maybe he could just hide them under his tongue and spit them out when they weren't looking.

He knew one thing, though; whatever pills they were trying to drug him with, he wasn't going to swallow them. Barry was still thinking frantically about what he was going to do to get out of this when he finally reached the front of the line for the window where they were passing out meds. He was shocked when he looked up and saw who it was who was handing them out.

"C-Caitlin?" he choked.

Caitlin smiled warmly at him.

"I have your meds right here, Barry," she said kindly, placing a little plastic medicine cup in front of him.

It had four small pills in it, all different colors. Barry hardly looked at the cup, though. He was too busy staring at Caitlin, who was wearing scrubs, with a nametag pinned to the front.

Caitlin Snow
Psych RN
Renfrew Health and Rehabilitation

"I need you to take them in front of me," she said, giving him a warm smile.

Barry goggled at her.

"Caitlin, what are you doing here?" he asked in confusion, "You can't possibly be in on this, too."

Dr. Wells suddenly approached the counter and stood next to Barry.

"Is there a problem here, Mr. Allen?" he asked.

Barry looked back and forth between the two of them in disbelief, his mind going a mile a minute as he tried to figure out what the hell was going on.

"Barry, please take your meds," Dr. Wells said calmly, a hint of warning in his voice, "There's nothing to fear. You can trust Caitlin. She's always been your favorite nurse. And they'll help you sleep tonight. You want to be well-rested when Joe and Iris come to visit you tomorrow, don't you?"

Barry goggled at him.

"This isn't right," he muttered to himself, "This…this is all wrong."

Caitlin would never do this. She would never betray him like this. Snart and Harry, he could believe, but Caitlin? Never.

Unless she was just playing along. Maybe, unlike Snart, she actually was undercover to sneak him out of here. Or maybe she was here against her will, too. Barry really hoped it was the former and that someone wasn't making her do this.

"Mr. Allen, are we going to have a problem?" Dr. Wells asked, peering seriously at Barry over his glasses.

Barry shook his head. He didn't want to cause problems for Caitlin if she really was here to bust him out. He would play along like she was.

Barry sighed and picked up the medication cup. He looked at it for a moment before emptying it into his mouth. He quickly shifted the pills under his tongue then and took a few sips from the paper cup of water that Caitlin handed him.

"Can you open your mouth please, Barry?" Caitlin asked kindly.

His heartrate picked up. He should have known that they were going to check to make sure he had swallowed the pills. Barry hesitantly opened his mouth and Caitlin shined a light in it. When she asked him to lift his tongue, Barry's heartrate doubled.

This was good, though, he thought suddenly. This was a good opportunity to see if Caitlin was really on his side. If she was, then she would see the pills and not say anything to Dr. Wells, who was still standing right there next to Barry.

Barry lifted his tongue and let her see them.

Caitlin sighed and handed him the cup of water then.

"Please, swallow them, Barry," she said seriously.

Barry's heart sank. He couldn't believe it. Caitlin was in on it. The despair he felt over this revelation felt like it was crushing his heart. Barry didn't let it consume him, though. Instead, he let his anger replace it.

Barry spit the pills out into his hand and threw them across the room where they scattered all over the floor.

"No," he said angrily, glaring at Caitlin.

Her eyes widened, as if she was shocked that he hadn't complied.

Dr. Wells sighed then and signaled a couple of other staff members to come over, two big men wearing scrubs. Without a word, they grabbed Barry, who started to fight them instantly.

"What are you doing?!" he yelled furiously.

One of the men grabbed Barry's arm and extended it out, exposing the inner crook of his elbow as he forced it down on the counter.

"NO!" Barry screamed when Caitlin stepped forward with a syringe.

Barry fought with all his strength, but the man held his arm in place as Caitlin injected the medication into the vein in the crook of Barry's elbow. Barry let out a broken sob.

It was so much worse the second time around because this time, it was Caitlin wielding the syringe.