Alright, this one gets a bit bad, you've been warned.
"You mean to tell me, you have been torturing, my son."
"Mr. West –"
"Oh, no, not torture, just pain management, which just so happens to consist of torture!"
"It's really –"
"Don't you think that boy has enough problems! No, because you weren't there for the panic attacks after his mother died, were you? You weren't there when he ran away every other afternoon to sneak into Iron Heights – you weren't there with the aftermath of a child whose mother was murdered and father falsely convicted, and now you want to force him to endure more pain – pain that will leave, and is obviously already leaving, lasting psychological damage!"
If Felicity had ever seen Oliver look intimidated, it was now, and that was not an easy task.
"Detective West, what Oliver was trying to say is that we don't have any other way to catch the thief – and Barry agreed to this," Wells cut in.
"I don't care if he agreed," Joe said, turning on Wells, "if he agreed to sacrifice himself by throwing himself off a bridge I still wouldn't let him do it."
"This isn't a matter of life or death," Wells said, "although there are obvious detrimental effects to this kind of training, I'm confident Barry will make a full recovery."
"Are you?" Joe said. He turned to Caitlin and Cisco. "You two can't really be OK with this?"
Caitlin let out a long sigh. "I don't like it. I don't like it at all, but I can't come up with an alternative option, and Barry was pretty adamant."
"He hasn't been so lately," Felicity muttered.
But Joe heard it and he spun again. "Not lately? What does that mean?" He turned to Oliver. "So help me God, Queen, if you so much as touched him against his will –"
"I never forced him to come train," Oliver said, "he's always come on his own."
Joe did not exactly look satisfied with the answer.
"Look," Oliver said, "I offered to kill the guy – Barry wouldn't let me. He hasn't hurt anyone, so Barry can't justify killing him. If you hadn't raised such a stubbornly moral kid then this wouldn't be a problem."
"For once I wish he could be just a little cold-hearted."
"Well he's not," Oliver said. He raised his hands. "It's a terrible situation, but what do you want me to do? I mean, if you have a better idea then please tell us." Oliver locked eyes with him. "I don't enjoy this, Detective. If it wasn't for the fact that he'd carry it around for the rest of his life I would have gone off and shot the guy a long time ago, regardless of what Barry thought."
"That is both reassuring and highly alarming," Joe said.
"That's the best I can give," Oliver said.
LLLLLLLLLLIIIIIIIIIIIIIINNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE
Barry walked into Star Labs at three fifteen. Felicity was waiting for him. They sat down and watched some TV. Felicity chatted aimlessly and watched as Barry got more and more tense, watching the clock. When it was four o'clock she turned to him.
"Are you ready to go out?"
Barry shook his head. That edge of panic was back. "No," he said.
Felicity took his arm, squeezed reassuringly, "It's OK. We can stay in here for a few more minutes."
Barry nodded but he kept looking at the clock, fidgeting and tapping his foot and wringing his hands.
"Alright," Felicity said ten minutes later, "how about now?"
Barry let out a long shaky breath.
"Barry," she said, "you're just working yourself up more."
"OK," he said, "OK, let's go." He got up and they walked out. Oliver was waiting.
"Let me see your hand," Oliver said when they reached him. He wasn't near the table today, instead he had another table set up, this one just a regular, standard steel medical table.
"Why?" Barry asked.
"I need to show you something," he said.
Barry raised his hand and Oliver took it. He took a thin piece of what looked like wood and brought it over to Barry's hand.
"No, no, no, I know what that is!" Barry said, instantly pulling away. Oliver held tight.
"I want you to feel it," he said, "Just a little bit now – we're not starting yet."
"It's going to hurt," Barry said, cringing as he watched Oliver start placing the sliver, "I know it's going to hurt – why do I have to feel it?"
"So you'll know what you'll be dealing with."
"You're going to do this?" Barry asked, somewhat horrified. He jerked his hand back again. "Oliver, no – my nails don't grow back that quick – you can't –"
"Relax," Oliver said, "wait for me to explain."
Oliver had the sliver of wood, probably bamboo, Barry realized, under his fingernail on his middle finger. Oliver picked up a tool and gently tapped it in farther.
"OWW – oww, stop – OK, it hurts, it hurts, hypothesis confirmed, please stop."
Oliver tapped again and Barry jerked back. The form of de-nailing was supposed to be extremely painful but Barry really hadn't anticipating the immediate sharp, shocking pain.
Oliver removed the bamboo sliver and Barry jerked his hand back, instantly cradling it in his other.
"Now that that's done," Oliver said, and he moved a tray around from the other side. Barry was going to cry.
The brands were back, and Barry had an awful feeling in his stomach about this. "I'm letting you have control," Oliver said.
Barry blinked at him. He looked at the brands waiting for him. "How exactly is that control?"
"You need to go through fifteen minutes worth of brands. You have thirty minutes to get that done. Every minute you go over that is a minute I'll spend with those." He gestured to the slivers of wood and hammer.
Barry cringed. "Fifteen minutes?"
Oliver patted the table. Barry walked over and sat up on it. He watched Oliver heating the brands.
"I choose the size and the heat," he said, and then he pulled out a stop watch and handed it to Felicity. "You tell me when to put it on you and when to take it off. Felicity will time how long you have it on your skin. If you make it that long, then you'll have to trade it for a new one once it cools."
Felicity took the stop watch. Oliver placed a small digital clock on the tray next to him. "Thirty minutes," Oliver said, "I suggest you try very hard to make it in that time frame."
Barry felt sick. Oliver pressed start on the digital clock. It started counting down from thirty. Then Oliver brought the first brand over.
"You know these things make me nervous," he said, looking at the red hot iron.
"That's why we're working with them. You get to decide."
Barry just nodded at Oliver, braced himself. He still wasn't ready for the pain.
He jerked away immediately. It was only on his skin for a second. He was already breathing hard.
He closed his eyes and tentatively moved back. He felt the brand hard on his skin, burning away. He started shaking, trying to endure it for as long as he could. He knew Oliver would only start making them bigger, hotter, he needed to rack up minutes now.
But oh God, it hurt. Barry pulled away again, almost against his will. He looked up at Oliver, shaking.
"It might be easier," Oliver said, "if you lie down. You won't be able to pull away as easy – so you won't just jerk backwards. All you have to do is tell me to stop and I'll take it away."
Barry nodded and he did not want to lie down but the thought of Oliver sticking those things under his nails had his skin crawling, his stomach tying itself up in knots. He had to do this, he told himself, he had to do this. Barry lay down and Oliver approached him with another brand. Barry nodded curtly at him, and then squeezed his eyes shut.
He let out a cry, but couldn't move his arm back. He bit his lip to stop himself from yelling for Oliver to stop. He shook and trembled and two tears trailed down the sides of his face, crying all ready and this was so hard, he thought maybe harder than just being strapped to the table.
He made it all the way through that one. Oliver touched his hair briefly, went to get another one. "That was really good, Barry," he said, "you're doing great."
He brought another one over and Barry looked up and he couldn't help it, he let out a sob. Oliver's hand was on his forehead again, going through his hair. "Tell me when to start, Barry," he said.
Barry just nodded, tensing all up again. This time when the brand came down his mouth was open before he could do anything, yelling stop. He was shaking, crying, trying to get a grip again.
"You can take a minute, Barry," Oliver said, "if you need it."
Barry nodded, and then let out a breath. "OK, again, again," he said. He squeezed his eyes shut.
The brand came down and he clenched his teeth tight, forced himself to ride it out. If he was able to get past the initial shock of it then the pain went down from there until it tapered off altogether. That's when Oliver went and got another one.
It took a couple more before they started getting bad. Felicity told him he was already at ten minutes and it had only been seventeen in total. That calmed him down a bit, let him relax just a tiny bit. He only had five minutes more.
Oliver started using larger ones, heating them for longer. Barry was yelling stop a lot more often, without even having them touch his skin for more than a second. When he finally did manage, on the third try for one of them, to let Oliver leave it there, a low cry started in his throat and after about ten seconds it became unbearable. He jerked away and cried for Oliver to stop. They went through a few more like that.
It wasn't looking so good then. Twenty two minutes had passed and he was only at eleven and a half. He was shuddering with sobs again, wondering how in hell Oliver expected him to do this. It hurt too much, and damnit, he was trying, he was really, really trying.
Oliver came back and Barry shut his eyes, breathed through his teeth around the crying that he had stopped caring about after the first five minutes.
"Take a breath, Barry," Oliver said, "you can do this."
Barry nodded. "Go."
He screamed, but he held onto it for twenty seconds before he was yelling to stop. He breathed for another half a minute and then told him to go again. He was moving slow, and trying desperately to go faster, but he just couldn't do it, couldn't stay still without begging Oliver to stop for more than twenty seconds at a time.
After a particularly unbearable one Barry broke out hysterically. He wasn't going to make it, he wasn't going to make it and he didn't want Oliver to rip his nails out, he didn't want to go through anything else after this. It hurt so much and he just wanted it to stop, for it all to stop. He was sobbing hysterically and crying out and writhing on the table.
"Take a minute," Oliver said again, his voice gentle, and his hand on his shoulder and neck soothing. Barry just wanted to melt into the table, disappear. Anything to make the pain stop.
He didn't know how long he stayed like that, before Oliver was back with a brand and Barry had to think, too long, too long like that. He nodded at Oliver even while he turned his head away and braced himself, screamed, and then told him to stop. When Felicity finally said "That's it," it felt like a miracle.
Barry shut his eyes and brought his hands to his face, still trembling, lying down. He hurt everywhere. He wanted to die.
"Sit up," Oliver said, helping him with a hand against his back, "drink some water. You're going to be really dehydrated."
Barry took a few sips but his stomach was twisting too much and he pushed it back at Oliver.
"You're going to need more of that," Oliver said cautiously.
Barry nodded. Not right now though. Right now he needed to find a place to curl up and die.
"We can do this here," Oliver said, "But only if you stay still for me."
And that's when Barry saw the tools out and his stomach dropped and he leaned away from Oliver.
"No, Oliver, please," Barry said.
"You did really well," Oliver said, "you're only three minutes over." Barry tried to pull away, but Oliver had a grip on his arm. Oliver could already see Barry's eyes flashing around, looking for an escape route. "Barry," he said, a little sterner this time, "you have to stay still for me, otherwise I'm going to have to put you back on the table."
Barry went pale and he started shaking so hard the table was rattling. Oliver put a hand on his shoulder. "It's going to be OK," he said, "it's only three minutes."
"Are you –," Barry said through half-pained half-panicked gasps, "are you going to – to pull them out? All the way? I don't – they won't heal like –"
"No," Oliver said, "Not if you don't want me to. Honestly it might be less painful if I just worked on one nail – but I'll spread it out instead if you want."
Barry nodded hastily. Oliver picked up the bamboo.
"Wait," Barry said, his voice rushing, panicked. "Wait – some more water – some –"
"Not now, Barry," he said. "Felicity's going to start the timer." He shot a glance over, "and we're going to start."
Barry was hyperventilating hard now, watching as Oliver took his hand and placed the sliver under the pointer finger of his right hand.
"And remember," he said, "to stay still. If I have to put you on the table, Felicity will pause the timer. It's three minutes either way, so keep your hand steady."
Barry watched as he made the first tap. He bit his lip, suppressed a noise of pain. Another tap and the tears were back. A third and he was breathing through his mouth in harsh gasps, flinched away. Oliver kept going until Barry started to scream. He was pulling against Oliver, but he had a good grip on his wrist. He pressed Barry's hand flat to the table for more stability.
"Please, Oliver," he said in a broken gasp. It felt like he was jabbing needles through his finger, lighting them on fire. It hurt so bad.
Oliver moved to another finger abruptly, and Barry had about one second to be thankful, and then the process started all over again. Oliver was going fast, way too fast, and there was nothing Barry could do.
"Stay still," Oliver reminded him when he tried to curl his fingers, "concentrate, Barry. You don't want to go on the table."
Barry forced himself to still, tried to hang onto that, because no, he really, really didn't want to be strapped down, unable to move at all. He cried and yelled and sobbed and let Oliver continue until Felicity called out that the three minutes were up and Barry about all but collapsed.
"Alright," Oliver said, rubbing his back as he shuddered and gasped, "all done. You did great, Barry. It's all over now. Let's get you out of here."
Barry was still crying when Oliver helped him off the table, and he couldn't stop. He stumbled, shaky, to the other room where he sat down next to Felicity. Oliver came back with a dozen icepacks.
"Let me see your hand," he said, taking it carefully. The skin and cuticles around his nails were all red. "These are going to hurt for a bit," he said, and placed the icepack around it, curled Barry's hand to a fist around it. He had a couple for the worst burns too, the ones which hadn't faded yet. Barry didn't say anything.
"Can you drink some more water, Barry?" Oliver asked. Barry shook his head. His eyes were glazed over, vacant. "You sure? Just try a little." He pressed the bottle to Barry's hands but he shook his head again, tried to push it back.
Oliver gave him a few more minutes, long enough for the crying to stop and the shaking to reduce to tremors, a very unhappy, very miserable face replacing the vacant expression.
"I really need you to drink some of this, Barry," Oliver said. Barry took it reluctantly and got down a few more sips. Oliver kept looking at him expectantly.
Barry shook his head. He didn't want any more. He wanted to lie down. He wanted to disappear. He wanted this shaking and the horrible, awful feeling inside him to go away.
"I know you don't feel good," Oliver said, "But you have to drink this."
"Not thirsty," he said, his voice raw.
"No, but you're dehydrated," Oliver said.
Barry grimaced.
"If you won't drink it," Oliver said, "Caitlin's going to hook you up to an IV."
Oliver regretted it the instant he said it. Barry's face just crumpled. He was looking for the scowling defiance, but Barry just looked like he was going to cry. He took the water bottle in a shaky hand, tipped it back. He took a few gulps before gasping, then going again. He drained the bottle.
"Thank you, Barry," Oliver said, rubbing his knee.
Barry curled into the corner of the couch, away from both him and Felicity. He pulled the blanket over him, hid his face, but he was still shuddering.
Oliver sighed, "I'm going to go," he said quietly to Felicity. "I'll be back in though."
Felicity nodded and then moved over to Barry, hand moving over his leg. "Bar?" she said, "hey, come back." Oliver left and Felicity leaned across Barry, pulled the blanket from over his face. He glared at her.
"Don't hide," she said, "let me help."
Barry curled up tighter.
Felicity just kept rubbing circles on his leg. "You want to watch some TV?" When Barry didn't answer, she kept going. "I've still got that ice cream, if you're not feeling sick. I can get us a movie – or do you just want to sleep? I could put it on really low if you wanted, just background noise, a distraction. You really shouldn't get stuck in your thoughts right now, Barry. I could read you something… or what about video games? I'm not great but I'm sure Oliver would play you – or oh, what if you took a nice, long hot shower? Actually, you know what, that might irritate the burns. Maybe later. We could… well, actually, this is going to sound ridiculous I know, but studies have shown that coloring, like in coloring books, is actually a very good stress reliever, or –" She broke off when Barry shifted, trembling. "Or," she said in a softer tone, feeling the tension in his muscles under her hand, "we could just talk about it." She looked down, tried to gauge a reaction. "If you wanted to. It might make you feel better."
Barry's head poked out from under the blankets just a tiny bit. "It hurt," he said, "there's not much to talk about. It hurt, it hurt a lot, and then it hurt even more."
"It's all going to be done soon," she said.
Barry shuddered.
"Can you come over here, Barry."
Barry shook his head under the blankets.
"You can lie down, just over here. Let me help."
Barry slowly started to sit up, and then he shifted so his head was resting against her leg, but only because Felicity would play with his hair now and that would make it maybe a tiny bit better. But he went right back to hiding in the blankets once he was there.
Felicity did run her fingers through his hair and Barry was still shaking on and off. His heart was still beating too fast, even for him. He wasn't panicking, not like he had before, but his body wouldn't come down from the pain – he was still all keyed up, and it didn't feel like the pain was lessoning, it felt like it was getting worse.
He tensed up when he felt a familiar stab of pain in his back. He waited, and then it was back. He broke out sweating again.
"Felicity," he said, his voice shaking.
"Yeah, Barry? What's wrong?"
"I – it hurts."
"I know, Barry, it's going to get better, I promise."
"No i-it – it's happening again. Felicity, it's happening again." His voice was escalating and he was scared. He didn't want to do this again, didn't know how to make it stop. It was spreading again, slowly, just like last time.
"Alright, Barry, I'm going to go get Caitlin and Oliver," she said, already sliding off the couch, putting a pillow under his head. "Stay right there. Deep breaths, Barry, stay calm. I'll be right back."
The next thing he knew Caitlin was kneeling next to him and she was shining a light in his eye. He flinched away.
"Open your eyes, Barry," Caitlin said, "I need to see."
So Barry opened his eyes and she shined the light and that hurt too, and he shifted, burying his head between the pillow and the back rest of the couch.
There was a hand on his forehead and then Caitlin was pulling on his shoulder and then there was a thermometer in his mouth. It beeped.
"A little too warm," she said, "nothing bad. Can you tell me what hurts, Barry?"
"Back," he said, "arm."
"Like last time?"
"Ahuh."
"Can you sit up?"
Barry groaned.
"It's going to help, Barry."
So Barry sat up and he didn't know what Caitlin thought but this was definitely not helping.
Then there was something cold on his back and after he flinched he relaxed a little, because actually that didn't feel that bad.
"Here?" Caitlin asked. Barry nodded. "OK," she said, and gestured at Oliver to go stand across the room. She turned back to Barry. "Can you read off the numbers on the sign for me, Barry? You see it alright?" Barry squinted but looked and nodded where Oliver was standing, holding it up. He started listing off the numbers. "OK, good, one more time, alright?" she said when he finished. He did it again.
Caitlin removed the ice pack. "How does it feel now?" she asked.
Barry blinked. "Better," he said.
"Almost gone?"
"Yeah."
"Alright. It's caused by stress, Barry, OK? So if it happens again and we're not around, try and distract yourself. Watch TV, go for a run, talk to Iris – it doesn't matter. And if you can, try and get a new sensation. Ice will do the trick, especially since it helps numb it, but anything strong enough should work. Put a heating pad on your back, take a shower, step outside into the cold air, eat something spicy. Even a hot cup of coffee could probably do it. But try to relax when it happens. When you tense up, you make it worse – start adding some real pain to the mix."
"OK," he said.
"And I want you to drink another bottle of water," Caitlin said, holding it up, "and eat a calorie bar."
Barry groaned, tried to turn away.
"No," she said, "this could also be triggered by dehydration or low glucose levels. Eat and drink. Now."
There was no arguing with Caitlin. He drank the water slowly, ate the bar bit by bit. When he was finally done, Caitlin and Oliver left again, leaving him with just Felicity.
"You're looking a little better now," Felicity said.
"Yeah," Barry said. He still felt like shit. Now it was just a slightly more stable shit. He didn't feel like he was going to spontaneously burst into tears anymore, or like everything was unbearable. He still lay back down, head on Felicity's thigh.
"You gonna try and sleep?" she asked.
"I don't know," he said. He still wasn't quite all the way down. The memories were too sharp, still right in his focus.
"We should try yoga," Felicity said.
"I don't really feel like moving."
"We should do it tomorrow before you go in." Barry tensed. He didn't want to think about that. "I bet that would help," Felicity continued.
"Yeah, maybe," he said. He curled up a little, moved his head to the side. He kept his eyes open.
"How are you feeling?"
"Tired."
"Yeah?"
"Scared."
"Everything's alright now."
"Yeah, I know."
"You don't need to be afraid, Barry. It's just Oliver, and I know it hurts a lot, and the pain is scary, but he'd never, you know, injure you – like really hurt you. You're always going to be OK."
"Yeah."
"You know that right?"
"Yeah," Barry said, "No – I didn't – I trust Oliver, it's just – it still…"
"Scary?"
"Yeah."
"You doin' OK now?"
"I feel…" He trailed off, curled up a little more. "I feel sick. Like I'm going to puke – or like – like I just want to hide and – and like there's something bouncing around inside me, screaming and it won't stop – like it's going to tear me apart and it's unbearable, just this – this awful dread and terror that – that hurts. It's all shaky, and unstable, and… I don't know, just…"
"Too much?"
"Yeah."
"It's alright now," she said, pulling her fingers through his hair and rubbing his shoulder, pulling the blanket a little bit up over his arm. "It's just your body. You're still all worked up – adrenaline and endorphins, it's making you jittery, and that combined with trauma, is putting you into a state of distress. It's OK. It'll go away, and then you can just relax. Try and calm down. Take nice deep breaths."
"It still hurts some."
"You need to try not to think about it, Barry," she said, "Or if you are going to think about it, if you feel like you have to, then you need to talk it through. We don't want you getting all keyed up again."
And Barry was. He was working himself back up, thinking about everything, images spitting out in flashes across his eyes. He couldn't shake the feeling of wanting to stop and knowing he couldn't, of forcing himself to stay, to telling Oliver to start and stop and then the awful realization at the end, the blind panic.
"Hey," Felicity said, shaking him, "what did I just say? Talk to me."
"Can't stop thinking," he said.
"What about?"
"Everything."
"More specific, Barry."
But Barry couldn't focus on one thing. "Hurt. Heat – burns, I hate burns, I hate the brands, I hate them and I don't want to do them but I really don't want the shots either I'm starting to get afraid of needles I really don't like them but Caitlin has to sometimes but it scares me now." He was rambling. He couldn't think.
"Caitlin will go nice and slow and gentle with you if you ask her," Felicity said.
"I know," he said, "I don't like to ask. I feel bad."
"It's not your fault."
"I am really bad with pain, aren't I?"
"You've never had to deal with it like this."
"It shouldn't affect me this much."
"This is not your fault Barry. Everyone reacts differently, and you're enduring more than you ever should have to."
"Oliver can handle more."
"You're not Oliver. You don't need to be Oliver. Be Barry Allen."
"If I were Oliver I could have caught the guy already."
"If you were Oliver you would have killed him."
Barry didn't say anything. He shifted a little.
"Don't compare yourself to him. He's better at some things. You're better at others. You're two different people. And, you know, you do have super speed."
Barry smiled a little bit and Felicity laughed.
"Hey Felicity," Barry said, and he started to shift again. His voice was small. "Do you still have that ice cream?"
Felicity blinked. "Yeah. Yeah, I do."
I don't want to ruin it with spoilers so just expect more soon ;)