A close call tips Len back into the grip of his panic attacks, calling on nightmares that lead him to push Barry away instead of talking to him, and putting a wedge between them that requires outside help to fix.
Len whirled around a corner of the building, checking his coms again. No good. They'd been destroyed, crushed when he dodged a bullet and face-planted into the concrete. It just figured they'd be given more trouble by an average gun-toting criminal than any of the metas they'd faced recently. The man was good with a gun though, clean aim every time, almost nicked Len more than once, making it impossible to get a clear shot with his cold gun.
Worse, was it was supposed to be a slow night, just him and Barry on this side of town, Mick and Firestorm on the other, no Rogue heists to plan or otherwise foil, no new players—except for this idiot and his gang apparently, most of whom had already been taken care of by Barry by now, leaving Len to dodge bullets alone until Barry caught up to him. And he couldn't even give the kid a general direction of where to find him over the coms.
Finally, out of the corner of Len's eye, he saw a flash of red—Barry. He tried to dart that direction, toward the neighboring building, not daring to call out and give his location away to the enemy. He came around the corner, looking left, looking right—shit!
Len ducked back behind the corner at the sight of his opponent, who once again fired off a clean shot that caused a portion of the brick to explode in a spray of dust. And then crackle and spark where the bullet was lodged. That wasn't normal ammunition.
"Len!" Barry's voice called from somewhere nearby, but Len couldn't pinpoint the location.
He took a risk, assuming Barry had heard the shot but not seen him, and stretched his arm out into the open, firing a stream of cold at the ground.
Another crackle and spark as Len's handle was it, nearly taking off a finger. He hissed as he pulled his hand back, cold gun clattering to the ground.
"Len!" Barry called again, zeroing in on him.
But it wasn't Barry that Len saw first. The man with the gun appeared between the two buildings, weapon raised, seeing Len disarmed and helpless in that moment before Barry arrived, exposed against the side of the building.
A blur of red blocked Len's view just as the gun fired, a solid body slamming into him. He clutched at it, but they toppled anyway, crumbling in a weighty heap to the ground. Barry grunted, whined at the sting, then screamed as the shocking current of the bullet he'd caught with his body crackled inside of him.
Len snatched his cold gun from the ground, inches away from him where they had fallen, no thoughts in his mind on anything but vengeance. He fired as the gunman came forward to shoot at them close range, icing the man's hand first, but not stopping until only his eyes and nose peeked out of the containment, wide with pain. Good.
"Barry," Len said, cold gun dropping back to the concrete. Barry's back was pressed to his chest, trembling and whimpering now that the scream had diminished.
Carefully, Len shifted Barry off of him, laying him on his back on the ground as he looked him over. His red suit was stained with darker crimson so near his heart, his eyes clenched in agony. Len tore open the suit. The bullet was buried too deep to see, but he already knew looking at the sparks emanating from the wound that these bullets were tailored for The Flash, built to disrupt his healing. And it was working.
"I-I'm f-fine...I'll be...fine," Barry stuttered, gasped, opened his eyes to lock gazes with Len...before coughing up a spittle of blood.
Len ripped the left lightning bolt off of Barry's suit, not caring about damaging the cowl. "Caitlin!" he yelled into the coms, terrified suddenly that Barry's might be broken as well and they'd be stranded. "Help! I need help, he's...he's not healing..."
The hand holding the lightning bolt started to shake.
No. Not now...
"Len?" Caitlin crackled back at him. "Mick and Ronnie are on their way, but Joe and Eddie are closer; they're coming to get you. Five minutes. What happened?"
Len shook his head. Five minutes wasn't fast enough, not when he was used to his life moving at lightning speed beside the miracle boy on the ground.
Barry's eyes fluttered.
"A bullet," Len choked out, "in his chest, it's sparking. He can't heal around it. I have to get it out. But I...I'm shaking, I c-can't...breathe... "
"Len—"
"Lenny," Lisa talked over her. Right, she was at the labs tonight too. "It's fine. You'll be fine. You're always cool under pressure, right?" she said with a smile in her voice, not even a little harried or panicked, just like he'd taught her. "You're always good in a crisis. This is no different."
Barry reached for him, trying to touch his face, Len thought, until the kid dragged his goggles from his eyes. Len grasped the hand with his free one when it dropped. "Your eyes..." Barry smiled, blinking blearily up at him, "...they're so...pretty..."
"Barry..." Len clung to him tighter, grounding himself in Barry and the lightning bolt in either of his hands, willing himself not to shake.
"Len," Caitlin called again.
"Tell me what to do," he said.
"Okay. You're right, you need to get the bullet out. You can do it. It doesn't matter if you can see it clearly."
"You've removed bullets dozens of times, Lenny," Lisa said.
But not from someone's chest, so close to their heart. Not from Barry. "I don't have anything to..." He looked around. All he had was his cold gun. "Wait..."
"The firing pin!" Cisco chimed in, thinking right in line with Len.
"Got it," Len said, dropping the coms and squeezing Barry's hand, hating that he had to let go in order to do this. "Eyes on me, kid," he said when Barry's eyes fluttered again. "Just keep looking at these baby blues, they're all yours, but you gotta stay awake for me, all right?"
"C-Cold…" Barry's teeth chattered, and Len honestly didn't know if he meant he felt cold or was saying his name.
Len took off his gloves. He didn't need the full two minutes dismantling his cold gun to get at the firing pin. He had it out in thirty seconds. It was thin like a revolver pin but double ended like a pair of tweezers. It was cold to the touch but not unbearable.
He refused to shake, flat out refused to give in to the tightness in his chest, the shortness of his breath as he dug the pin into Barry's wound. Barry hissed, back arching, eyes wide and clear in that moment of renewed pain. Len held him down with his full weight, worrying more about speed than caution, knowing he just needed to get the bullet out and Barry's body would do the rest.
He felt it, deeper than he'd expected, and pinched it with the ends of the pin, tugging until it pulled free in a slick, bloody, sparking mess. He dropped it down next to the parts of his cold gun, pin and all, and pressed his bare hands to the now freely bleeding wound.
"It's out!" he called toward the coms.
He heard Lisa and Cisco cheer, then Caitlin's distant voice, "Joe and Eddie are almost there. Two more minutes. Mick and Ronnie will take care of the rest when they get there."
Two minutes. Two minutes of Barry choking on more blood, eyes unfocused, body trembling harder and then, eventually, starting to still. The kid looked so scared in the final moments he met Len's eyes…before passing out, limp and oozing blood over Len's fingers.
"Barry!" Len pressed down harder.
"They're there, they're coming!" Caitlin said.
Len barely heard her, could barely breathe or do anything but apply pressure until two sets of hands were on him, urging him to move away. Len only let up when he was sure the bleeding had slowed, allowing Joe to pick Barry up and lug him toward the car. Len moved in a daze to put his cold gun back together, pocketing the still sparking bullet in his insulated parka. He had to put it back together before they left, he told Eddie, "so they can thaw this bastard when they get here," even if he wanted nothing more than to see the asshole stay frozen.
He had the gun reassembled, left there by the wall where Mick and Firestorm could easily find it when they arrived, and followed Eddie to the car before Joe even finished laying Barry in the back and moved into the driver's seat. Len crawled into the back with Barry, squished onto the floor to give Barry room, telling Eddie he was fine, this was where he wanted to be, as the other man hurried around to the passenger side beside Joe.
They talked at him, and Len must have answered, thought he heard his own voice but couldn't have remembered what he said if asked later. He only realized he had Barry's torn off lightning bolt in his hand when Eddie took it from him.
Len's back leaned against the door behind Joe, his legs stretched out over the hump into the space behind Eddie. Barry's head was by him. He looked at the unconscious hero, legs too long to lie comfortably, so his feet spilled down off the seat beside Len's own. Fabric tied tight around Barry's chest colored darkly from the seeping blood—maybe from Joe's shirt, his tie, Len couldn't tell. It wasn't soaked through though. The bleeding had stopped. Barry's chest rose and fell steadily. He'd wake up. He'd wake up…
Len wanted to touch him, his cheek, hold his hand, but when he reached toward Barry, all he saw was the stain of red on his hands and he started to shake. He pulled his arms back but the shaking didn't stop, wouldn't stop. He breathed haggardly into his knees as he pulled them to his chest, gripping his head with both hands and dragging his nail back through his hair.
"Snart."
"Len, it's okay. Barry's okay."
"You saved, him, Snart, he'll be fine. We're lucky you were there."
No, no…it was Len's fault. Barry jumped in to save him. Len was the one who should have been shot.
"Len…" Eddie's hand came down firm to grip his wrist.
Len's head snapped up, vision blurry with tears as he looked at the blond detective in the passenger seat, whose eyes shimmered with understanding.
"We're here."
In moments they were out of the car, Joe carrying Barry again, heading into S.T.A.R. Labs for Caitlin to look him over. Len took two steps after them before he swayed.
Strong hands at Len's shoulders kept him steady. "Breathe," Eddie said. "Barry's okay. You're okay."
"No," Len gasped, most of his weight leaning into Eddie, his vision swimming, "they built those bullets for him."
"Yes, and you have one. Cisco will look at it and figure them out."
"He jumped in front of me."
"Yeah, he does that."
"No, no," Len shook his head, "he can't die for me, Eddie."
"He won't. He's—"
"Not today," Len said, one large breath, eyes clearing, Eddie's strained face focusing in front of him. "Maybe not today. But when?"
Eddie's brow scrunched, hands loosening and slowly leaving Len only when he was sure Len wouldn't crumble.
The brunt of the panic receded, an ache and tightness lingering in Len's limbs and stomach that he knew would last most of the night. He felt a tear slip down his face but didn't wipe it away. "Fuck," he drew his eyes away from Eddie, "when does someone become so much your whole life...you can't imagine living without them?"
Eddie surprised Len by laughing, a sad, fractured smile on his face when Len looked up. "The moment we fall in love with them," he said. He reached for Len's shoulder and squeezed, that pitiable smile turning so genuine and sweet until Len had no choice but to crack a smile back, chuckling miserably as he finally scrubbed the back of his hand across his damp eyes.
"It's all his fault, you know," Len said. "He's the one who taught me to be human."
Eddie patted Len's shoulder, solid and grounding. "He does that too. Remind me to thank him on behalf of the rest of us sometime."
It should have felt reassuring, walking into the labs with one of the many new friends in Len's life, who he didn't have to question if they cared about him, didn't have to doubt or mistrust their intentions. A detective of all people, something Len had hated most of his adult life was someone whose kind grip on his shoulder or arm was welcome, that he could relax into and feel safe. But Len didn't feel reassured. He appreciated Eddie's kindness, but something gnawed low in his gut now, like a wound torn freshly open.
Barry was still unconscious when they arrived, but Caitlin and Cisco passed on words of encouragement. Len could always tell if they were lying; none of them were particularly good at it. No, Barry would be fine. Only Lisa and Eddie seemed to realize how bad it had been, how bad it was, for Len.
Lisa kept her distance. Physical reassurance wasn't their way, not when everything would clearly turn out all right in the end. Dwelling only made a person weak. Len nodded at her, grateful, assuring her he'd be fine, but she frowned at him, not buying it and not understanding. When she finally made an abortive jerk toward him, he shook his head.
"Later," he said, though he didn't plan on following through. Her deeper scowl proved she knew him only too well, even if she couldn't understand why he'd panicked, or how deep the trauma went that had once again been triggered.
"Snart," Joe's voice startled Len a minute later, having lost himself inside his head, staring blankly at Barry's still form, cowl and top half of the suit pulled away. "You should get cleaned up."
Len nodded, looking down at his hands, still sticky and otherwise covered in drying blood. He left his parka and goggles on the table in front of the case for his Cold gear, and left the room. The world felt numb around him until he reached the bathroom and looked up into the mirror just as he threw on the taps. Blood streaked across his face and hair. He was a mess, marred by Barry, marked by him.
Len splashed water on his face, over his head, down his neck, more and more, washing his hands vigorously in the process, almost violently to rinse it all away. He came up for air dripping alternate clear and awful pink. Paper towels were less than appealing, so he just dripped, and dripped…
"Hey…" a softer voice called from too close, already beside him somehow though Len hadn't noticed the figure approaching through the reflection.
He turned to accept a dark blue towel from Cisco. Maybe the young scientist was more observant than Len had given him credit for. Only a few darker patches stained the towel when Len was dry. "Thanks."
"It happens, man. You have no idea how many times we thought we'd lose him. It's just part of the job. Hey," he said again, shoving Len's shoulder, forcing Len to focus on his faintly smirking expression, "there was a time we had to save him from you, remember? That ice is no picnic. And look how that turned out."
Len huffed, a fraction of a real smile breaking through. "Thankfully, I don't think there are too many other villains out there planning to change Barry's life by sleeping with him."
Cisco choked on laughter as he pushed at Len's shoulder a second time. "I sure hope not."
Len wasn't used to this, to so many kind faces there to back him up, lift his spirits, make sure he was okay when he felt low and lost. Lisa always doted, even when they played it tough, but this was different. This was family, deeper and growing. Len would never forgive himself if it broke apart, if someday something actually happened to Barry…because of him.
He wasn't worth Barry's life. He'd known that months ago, when he first risked his own safety to save the sweet idiot from a falling beam. But Barry never seemed to get that.
"He's awake!" Caitlin's voice called loud enough to echo into the bathroom, sending Len and Cisco sprinting out into the lounge, towel forgotten as it dropped to the floor.
They hurried into the main labs, only stopping when Barry came into view. Then Cisco rushed up to Barry to check him over with Caitlin, and Len hovered back, edging closer by the moment without getting in the way, until finally Barry looked at him.
"Hey—ow," he cringed when he tried to sit up too far, smiling despite everything. "Remind me to let you take the bullet next time."
"Would if I thought you'd listen," Len said.
He still stayed back, down by Barry's feet, letting Cisco and Caitlin do what they needed to, patching Barry up, even though the worst of the bullet wound was already healing and just needed time.
Len let Joe and Eddie go to Barry first after that, teasing him for being reckless while Joe lightly cuffed his shoulder. Only when the others all walked away and Barry looked better, alert and brightening as he healed, did Len move the rest of the way up the hospital bed.
"Why do I remember saying something really embarrassing?" Barry grinned at him, teeth showing as his head lolled back on the pillow, upper body still exposed and bandages over his heart.
"You totally waxed poetic about Cold's eyes, dude!" Cisco called from across the room, where he was digging in Len's pockets, pulling the still sparking bullet from the parka with interest.
"Shut up!" Barry laughed. Then looked a little horrified when no one denied it. "Wait, really?" He looked to Len like that was the worst thing that had happened all night.
Len couldn't stop his forward momentum. Didn't try. Didn't speak. He fell upon the bed, hands pressing into the thin mattress on either side of Barry as he leaned their foreheads together and took in a shuddery breath. He wanted to pull Barry into his chest and hold him as tight as he could, but he knew that would hurt the kid more than anything just now.
"Len?" Barry questioned, voice small and worried.
Len just kissed him, knowing he couldn't possibly find the words.
Barry loved clingy Len. It was endearing, flattering, and really kind of sexy sometimes. He didn't mind that Len didn't speak much after the Zapper, as Cisco had dubbed the electric bullet. Instead he hovered, constantly touching Barry, and wanted to go home with him for the night, which Joe didn't even bat an eyelash at.
Usually if Len stayed over, Joe either wasn't home, or wasn't exactly aware until the next morning. Len made breakfast those mornings though, so Joe didn't complain—much. But this time he didn't say a word, just drove the two of them home with him once Caitlin and Cisco gave the okay for Barry to leave as long as he went straight to bed and rested. Len just wanted to be with him, he said, and Joe nodded like he knew something Barry didn't.
Barry had learned not to push when Len was quiet. Once he was back to normal, smirking and making puns and calling Barry 'kid' then he could ask about it, press for Len to talk and tell him what was wrong. Of course Barry knew what was wrong, he had been there for the whole being shot part of the evening, but he knew this was worse than usual worrying.
Barry fell asleep before Len, wrapped up in his boyfriend's arms, both of them in pairs of Barry's sweatpants, though Len slept shirtless in contrast to Barry's T-shirt. Barry had no idea how long they were both out before he woke to the other man thrashing and whimpering in his sleep. It reminded him of their first nights together in the labs, a confused Len having nightmares that pained him, haunted him. Barry hadn't noticed anything similar since before Len's memories returned.
"Len…" he whispered, touching Len's shoulders gently with both hands. "Wake up, it's okay."
Len's expression twisted, eyes tight, body shaking even as he tried to move as if fighting off some invisible monster. He'd thrown the blankets off of him down to his waist, a sheen of sweat glistening over his skin.
"Len…Len…" Barry tried several more times, growing increasingly more worried, until finally, finally Len's eyes snapped open with a gasp and he nearly shot up into a sitting position.
After a moment of tense struggling, he awakened fully and relaxed in Barry's hold, within the litany of comforting words Barry uttered to soothe him. But his expression still broke, tears pooling and streaming down his face as he reached for Barry like he didn't believe he was real. He sobbed when he hid his face in Barry's neck, arms wrapping around him hurriedly, tugging him close, squeezing too tight.
"Len...what is it? What did you dream?" Barry asked, clinging in return, and holding back the grunt of pain any pressure on his still healing bullet wound caused. It was scarred over now, almost gone; it didn't matter. "You know you can tell me."
Len just sniffled, his head shaking back and forth, as he shivered in Barry's arms. Even his worst panic attacks hadn't been like this. "D-Doesn't matter. I'm fine. I'm fine…"
"Okay," Barry said, pressing his lips to Len's neck, feeling how overheated the man was, something he knew Len hated, "but you can talk to me if you need to. Maybe in the morning…"
Len shook his head again. Barry tried to pull away but Len clutched him so hard, Barry almost hissed. He squeezed Len back with a fraction of his superior strength, if that's what Len needed to feel grounded, and finally the tremors started to cease. They stayed like that for several minutes, Barry not loosening his hold once until Len was still, calm, and silent, and lifted his head to pull away first.
He kissed Barry the moment they pulled apart, but he wouldn't talk, just shook his head, snuggled into Barry's arms more comfortably, and closed his eyes. Barry noticed the frown that crossed Len's face when he pressed a hand to his T-shirt clad chest and felt the bandages beneath, so before they fall back to sleep he whispered, "I'm okay, Len. I'm here."
Len didn't move his hand away.
In the morning, he acted like it had never happened. He made French toast, coffee. Smirked at Barry and shooed him away from the plate of finished toast until all of them were done, laughing at Barry's pout. Whatever had bothered him and chased him into dreaming, Barry wouldn't press if Len felt this strongly about moving on from it, if he was this okay in the light of day.
The problem was...the dreams didn't go away.
The next night they ended up at Len's apartment, too tired to do much more than make out for a few minutes on top of the covers before crawling beneath them. Barry woke as he had the night before to Len tossing and turning, moaning in his sleep. He came out of it just as violently but settled down faster, clinging to Barry again at first but then…he rolled away.
"Just something I'm…h-having trouble shaking off, kid. I'm fine," he said when Barry pressed. "You run so hot, I need some space."
Barry knew that was bullshit. Barry did run hot, and Len did prefer the cold, but he'd never minded tangling together when they slept before. "If you want to talk about—"
"I don't."
"But if you do. You know you can, right? Maybe it would help to tell me about it."
"It won't. Just leave it alone. It doesn't matter. I'm fine."
Barry had heard—and he could be honest, also delivered—way too many false 'I'm fine's' in his life. But he couldn't force Len to tell him what he dreamed about. "Okay. I love you," he added, grinning when Len looked over his shoulder at him.
"I love you too, Scarlet," he said, and kissed him.
Which was why Barry didn't understand when, the next night, Len was reluctant for Barry to go home with him, saying he needed a night to himself. Barry pushed anyway, too worried to leave Len on his own, and the Rogue eventually caved.
Barry tried to be good to Len that night, tried to relax him, to show him how much he loved him, worshipped him. He climbed into the shower with him before bed, kissing deep, promising, and when Len gasped away, saying he was too tired tonight, practically asleep on his feet, Barry said he'd do all the heavy lifting. And he did.
He dragged Len from the shower, laid him out on the bed, kissed every inch of him he could reach, and swallowed Len's cock until he whimpered much sweeter noises than his nightmares caused and shuddered as he came. Barry didn't even bother getting himself off, just kissed Len and murmured how much he loved him until the other man fell asleep.
The nightmares came anyway. But this time, when Barry roused Len, he didn't sink against him and sob, he turned away right from the start. He shook Barry off when he touched his shoulder, mumbled about having to go to the bathroom, and escaped into it, staying there several minutes. Barry sat on the edge of the bed until Len came out, feigning nonchalance, eyes dried now, acting as if nothing was wrong. But he still faced away from Barry when he lay back down.
"If it's nothing, why won't you talk to me about it?"
"Because it'd be a waste of time, kid, leave it alone."
"But Len—"
"I said leave it!" Len snapped, actually raised his voice at Barry which he almost never did. He was cool and collected by nature. "Leave it. There's nothing you can do."
Barry curled in close to Len's back, wanting to spoon him at the very least, but worried he'd be shaken off again. "I love you," he said meekly.
Len hummed in reply but didn't say the words back to him, forming a weight in Barry's chest much heavier than the bullet had been.
The next night, Len went home alone before Barry even realized he was gone.
Barry sat nursing his 3rd large cup of coffee the next morning, chasing caffeine rushes at a table in Jitters. He hadn't been able to sleep, and went to the coffee shop when it opened, hoping to clear his head before work. Texting Len only got vague responses and assurances that nothing was wrong, but the distance even a few off days had put between them was stifling.
"Everything okay, Barr?" Iris' voice broke him from his somber musing. She joined him at the table with her own coffee procured and a sympathetic smile. "I don't usually catch you here this early."
Barry sighed. He had long since given up avoiding being truthful with Iris. In the end, he always felt better, and frankly things always turned out better, when he was upfront with her. "Len won't talk to me," he said, and explained the events of the past few days.
"Well, at least it's easy to understand what's bothering him," she said.
"It is?"
"Barry," Iris chided, "what do you think it is?"
Barry stared at his empty coffee cup. He'd had so many people leave in his life, or simply not want to be with him, that the barest hint of rejection drudged up all the old fears he thought he'd left behind. Waiting for Len to come to his senses, realize he never wanted Barry to begin with, and walk away.
"Barry Allen, you are not wallowing right now," Iris said, drawing his gaze back to her and reaching across the table to take his hand. "You have nothing to wallow about. The only thing going on here is that Len thinks he loves you too much, and doesn't know how to handle the thought of losing you. All you need to do is get him to admit that."
"But..."
"No buts. You two just haven't gotten to that place where you realize you have to be honest with each other even when it hurts or you fear the worst. You'll get there. Eddie and I did. It's hard at first, but when you're honest, when something's bothering you and you just explain it right from the beginning, everything is easier. Trust me."
Barry had thought they were there already, that after discovering the last big secret of Len leading the Rogues, there was nothing more to keep from each other. Now it felt like they were creating new secrets. "How do we even start if I can't get him to talk to me?"
"You just have to learn his tricks. His idiosyncrasies. I can think of two people right off the bat who know him better than you do." She rubbed her thumb across the back of his hand before releasing it. "But don't you think for one second that Len is ever going to stop loving you, or suddenly think he never did in the first place. The way that man looks at you, Barry, especially when you're not watching him back, is like some terrible, wonderful romantic comedy. With superpowers. And costumes. And more puns than I can handle most days," she chuckled.
And as Barry chuckled with her, some of the weight dragging down his heart lifted. He smiled at Iris, eyeing the engagement ring on her finger that once upon a time Eddie had shown him before anyone else. He was so happy for her, for how everything had turned out. He just needed to work on believing his own happy ending wasn't heading for a disaster.
"Thanks, Iris. I'd say you're the best, but then…you already know that." He hopped down from his seat, leaving his cup behind as he kissed her swiftly on the cheek before heading for the door.
"Barr?"
"Gotta get to work," he said, spinning on his heels and walking backwards a few steps as he grinned, "but tonight…is fire marshal duty."
Anything that involved Heat Wave had some sort of fire-related pun involved, thanks to Cisco. And Len. And a few times a combination with the two of them bouncing ideas off of each other, which was as adorable as it was nauseating. Len and Lisa had patrol duties together, so Barry knew he wouldn't see Len until later in the night, if at all, but Mick was helping Caitlin and Cisco with a new meta deterrent.
A baseball sized bomb that worked much like the technology Cisco had used inside the van to transport the metas from the pipeline, but with a blast radius instead of containment. The hope was that the blast would last for a certain period of time, a handful of minutes if not longer, to neutralize meta powers before capture, especially if there was a larger group in one area.
The problem was that the technology was a little unstable used as an incendiary. The first test blackened two walls, and half the floor and ceiling of the room they tried it in before they managed to douse the flames. This time they had Mick.
While Mick's gun couldn't be tweaked like Len and Lisa's to do less damage, it had been modified as a sort of firefighting gun when the settings were reversed. Instead of spewing flames, it could also suck away oxygen at a rapid level. Mick was a wizard at using both settings to perfectly control his fire in a fight, which was also handy as a precautionary measure in instances like this.
"It's also just generally good for him," Caitlin said aside to Barry, outside the room watching through the window, while Cisco readied to throw one of the bombs in through the doorway, and Mick waited with his gun if it exploded too violently. "Being able to both start and subdue fires on a regular basis in controlled settings like this has really mellowed him."
"Come on, kid, gimme all ya got!" Mick roared.
"Arguably," Caitlin inclined her head with a fond smile. "Plus it allows him more focus on problem-solving, having to carefully switch between gun settings to control the situation, and helps his aggression issues."
Cisco pressed the timer button on the first bomb and rolled it into the room, ducking back out into the safety of the hallway as it went off. The room flashed blue through the glass as Barry watched and, like the first time, scorched the floor as flames erupted and immediately started spreading.
Mick laughed as he used his gun to suffocate the fire, keeping the blackened floor to a minimal circle around where the bomb had deployed. At least this time the bomb itself seemed to have stayed intact.
"Okay, I can totally repurpose this one," Cisco said as he dashed back inside and reached for the bomb.
"Hey!" Mick rushed him, knocking Cisco's hand aside before he could grasp it. "You tryin' to burn yourself, genius? Wouldn't want any of that pretty skin Lisa likes so much to look like mine. What do ya think I wear the gloves for?" He picked the bomb up with his insulated glove. The bomb appeared to be steaming.
While Cisco looked properly cowed for his over-eagerness, Mick slipped the used bomb into his jacket pocket.
"Gimme another one," he said.
"Right!" Cisco jumped back into trial mode. "Let me try a couple small tweaks. I think I know why the blast is sparking at the end. I should be able to get it down to barely a flicker, maybe even no flames at all." He raced back outside to where he'd set a box of the bombs, and began tinkering with the next one.
While waiting, Mick fired his gun into the air, teasing out a foot or two of flames before switching to the reverse mode, molding the fire with concentrated oxygen like a smoke ring. It was entrancing.
"Oh yeah…he's totally mellowed," Barry snickered.
Caitlin leaned into Barry with her elbow. "Sometimes it isn't about fixing people, Barry, just about finding ways for them to deal with their demons that doesn't get them or anyone else hurt. The easier road, as we learned, is locking them up, but the tough road, well…it's been worth it, don't you think?"
Barry turned to his friend with a warm grin. "I think you're vying for sainthood now, Mrs. Raymond."
"It's Doctor Snow, thank you," she reminded him, not that he'd forgotten. According to her, all the hullabaloo around name changing was a nightmare if you had a doctorate, especially just for some archaic tradition. "And as for the sainthood part…I'll get in line right behind you, Mr. Allen."
Finally, on about bomb number three or four, the floor did not start on fire went it erupted, and while Mick looked mildly disappointed by that, Cisco cheered in victory.
"Now to test it out on some actual metas," Cisco announced as they approached Barry and Caitlin on the other side of the glass. Cisco eyed Barry hopefully.
"Maybe another time, Cisco. I actually wanted to talk to Mick."
"Something up?" Mick asked in his usual gruff, no-nonsense rumble.
Cisco and Caitlin went off to finish calibrating the remaining bombs to match the successful trial, while Mick hung up his gear in his case. There was one for him, Cold, and Glider next to the Flash suit now.
"Yeah," Barry crossed his arms as he leaned against Len's case. "How do I get Len to talk to me about something he doesn't want to?"
A scowl darkened Mick's expression. "What he do now?"
"Nothing! He didn't…do something. It's just…" Barry slumped. "Earlier this week, when I got hit with the Zapper? He got really freaked out, worse than he admitted to me, I found out once I talked to everyone else. He had a nightmare that night and was really bothered by it. It was easy the first time, he let me hold him, calm him down, but didn't want to talk. I figured fine, I can wait, let him work through things on his own first. But he keeps having nightmares, and each night after, he pulls away more instead of letting me help, and he still won't tell me what the dreams are about."
"And he just keeps gettin' quieter, shuttin' down, when a good straight-up talk about it all would probably ease his mind and yours and solve the whole damn thing," Mick said rather than asked, like he had been through all this before.
"Exactly," Barry said.
Mick closed the case after removing the now cooled bomb from his jacket pocket. He tossed it up into the air and caught it. "You're too soft on him, don't want to get in his face and start a fight. Which is good, coz he'd fall right into that, just end up yelling and angry, and you'd be worse off. Sad thing is, he needs an eruption to move past whatever this is. His cold routine works fine for him most days, but when it's somethin' eatin' at him this bad, he needs to scream a little, feel the heat, ya know, and let it burn through him."
Barry tried not to smirk at the puns but couldn't resist.
Mick passed the bomb to his left hand and reached with his right to ruffle Barry's hair. "You're a doll, kid, best thing that's ever happened to him. It's not you. I'll knock some sense into him. He can scream at me all he likes, he just needs to know what a mess he's making."
"Really? You'll talk to him? I mean…don't knock him around too hard," Barry chuckled.
"No worries, Flash. No harder than he can handle."
At Mick's reassurance, a little more of the weight in Barry's chest ebbed away, feeling less like lead and more manageable. "Thanks, Mick."
"Nothing to it. I warned him not to pull this shit with you."
Len was so exhausted from his patrol with Lisa, which in actuality was a dual-mission pulling a Rogue heist with Piper and Peek-A-Boo while also deterring a group of thugs from continuing a series of break-ins in a neighborhood that had enough troubles as it was, that he went straight home instead of returning his gear to the labs. It also gave him an excuse not to see Barry, or risk the kid wanting to follow him home again.
He thought the first nightmare would be the end of it, just tailing onto the event itself, but each night after had been the same, more vivid, more detailed, more grueling and painful to relive. Seeing Barry there with him when he woke up only made it worse. He wanted to find comfort in Barry's arms, let the kid soothe him, hold him, but it just made the dream seem more real.
He knew he couldn't go on like this forever, keeping himself at a distance, but just a little longer, he thought, just until the nightmares stopped. He was so tired, so wiped from restless sleep that whole week, that he thought, hoped, he wouldn't remember dreaming this time.
He was wrong.
"Len!" Barry called to him, desperate and pleading. But it wasn't Barry that Len saw first.
The man with the gun appeared between the two buildings, taking aim. Len tried to move, tried to reach down and recover his own gun, but he was too slow. A blur of red blocked his view just as the other man fired.
Barry screamed, the shocking current of the bullet crackling inside of him.
"Barry!" Len cried, shifting the speedster onto his back. He tore the suit open, the man who'd fired now forgotten.
Barry sputtered up blood, gasping, opened his eyes to lock gazes with Len in panic and pain, as more and more blood oozed out of the open wound, staining his suit a darker shade of crimson.
Len ripped the lightning bolt off of Barry's suit to call for help, but it crackled with static. Help wasn't coming. Barry wasn't healing. He was bleeding out and looking up at Len to save him, pleading with him to do something, anything.
Len pressed shaking hands to the wound to try and stop the flow of blood, but his hands shook and trembled, unable to apply enough pressure. "Just stay with me…s-stay with me…" Len said, but nothing he did stopped the blood, until it soaked his hands and the sleeves of his parka.
Barry's face drained of color, his eyes wide and unseeing as the spark in them faded and he started to still. There was so much blood, Len didn't know which parts of the suit had been left untouched, if any at all.
He pushed the cowl back from Barry's face, "Barry…" but his hazel eyes stared straight up, unblinking. His lips were stained with blood, Len's hands covered in it, so much of him covered. He tried to gather Barry into his arms, holding him close, but he was still shaking, could barely hang on. He always knew this brilliant light of a boy would slip through his fingers someday, but not like this, not because he'd wasted himself trying to save Len.
"It's all your fault…" Barry's voice whispered beside his ear, even though he was already gone, already dead. Then another voice joined it. "It's all your fault…"
Len pulled away from Barry, and instead of finding a cold, lifeless body, Barry attacked him, knocking him back onto the pavement. He straddled Len's waist, hands gripping his throat, squeezing, while still looking like a blood-stained corpse atop him.
Len couldn't fight him off, didn't know how. Usually this was when he woke up, but this time, the dream changed, shifted into something worse, as Barry took on the form of Len's father.
"It's always your fault…"
Len sucked in air as he awoke, as if he'd actually been choking. He kicked and fought away the blankets until they tipped off the bed and pooled onto the floor. He gasped, his chest stinging, whole body shivering. At least this time Barry wasn't there to tell him it would be okay.
Len waited for the panic to fade, his trembles to cease, as his breathing slowly, so slowly, returned to normal. Only when his vision was clear and focused did he dare get out of bed. He needed water. He'd prefer something harder, but he'd tried that the night before and it hadn't helped. He padded into his kitchen and poured a glass from the sink, not bothering with the ice cold filter he kept in the fridge. He downed it all.
A harsh knock at his door made him jump and nearly drop his glass. He managed to set it carefully on the counter before moving to the entrance. He glanced at the clock on the wall in the living room. This was his new apartment, only lived in a few weeks. Only the close-knit members of Team ColdFlash knew its location. He'd wanted something all his own, something new after his last apartment was made less than safe, but more than another safe house. Barry had even helped pick out some of the furniture.
It was after midnight.
Len checked the peephole just as another knock shook the doorframe. "Mick, what the hell?" Len hissed as he pulled the door open.
"You're lucky I didn't bring my gun," Mick growled, elbowing his way inside. "Had to wait for you to get back from patrol. No way I'd let this go another night with how you've got the kid spinning his wheels."
Len dragged a hand down his face as he closed the door in Mick's wake. "What are you talking about? I'm tired, Mick. Just trying to get some sleep."
"And failing miserably at it lately, according to Flash. You actually stirring up trouble just coz you're having bad dreams?" He crossed his arms like a brick wall blocking Len from moving away from how he was now boxed in against his own front door.
It took a few blinks of recognition before Len realized what was going on. "Barry told you…" He gritted his teeth. "It's nothing. And not his business to share with anyone else. I just need to shake this off, Mick, I'm—"
"If you say you're fine to me, I swear I will bust your nose in," Mick jerked forward, effectively pinning Len to the door and planting both hands on either side of his head. "Caity said it wasn't even that touch and go. Said Flash might have pulled through even if you hadn't gotten that Zapper bullet out of him so quick. But I know this isn't about how close the kid came to bitin' it. This is about you thinking everyone would be better off if you died instead, or at least died first.
"Well ya know what, you probably will, the odds aren't exactly in your favor. But that doesn't mean you pull away and act like some dumb shit on the off chance Flash might go first, even if it is from saving your ass in the process. You don't throw a good thing away coz you're scared you might lose it, dumbass."
All Len's feelings of helplessness and fear surged up in him like dry ice, eroding his calm and self-control—
"You wanna end things with Flash that badly?"
—and then drained out of him as his stomach bottomed out. "What…? No. Of course not."
"Then get your head outta your ass, Snart," Mick said, pushing back from the door finally and letting his hands drop. "Poor kid spends a couple days with you pulling this shit, he thinks his whole world's ending. You got a problem, tell him. Hurts to be around him waking from some nightmare about losing him or whatever this is, then let it hurt. Let him help. This avoidance crap doesn't help anybody."
The anger that had been pushing to the surface as it usually did when Mick challenged him like this dwindled. Len had promised he wouldn't do this, promised Mick and several others that he wouldn't push Barry away for the wrong reasons. Of course he knew that avoiding his relationship with Barry wouldn't help his fear of losing it. But threats were always easier to face head on than heartache.
"So. You gonna make this up to him, or do I gotta go back to the labs for my gear." Mick crossed his arms again, all piss and vinegar—for an oversized teddy bear just trying to help a friend.
Len took a few deep breaths. Then nodded. "I don't want to go back to sleep. Had another dream before you came knocking. No matter how much I talk to him about this…it's never going to make it easier if he dies in my arms someday."
"Never said it would. For any of us. But playing a hand you ain't been dealt yet is just bad business." Mick grinned when Len huffed a laugh. Finally, he let Len move away from the door.
"You want a beer?" Len asked.
"Thought you'd never ask."
The one reprieve the dreams granted Len was that they never came more than once a night. He still drank a few too many beers with Mick before he fell asleep on the sofa. He had a blanket draped over him when he woke up, no Mick in sight, but there was a note on the coffee table. It didn't bear words, just an intricate sketch of a flame as if Mick had been doodling before he left, though Len knew it was meant as a warning. Mick did promise to fry him if he ever fucked this relationship up.
Thankfully, it was Friday. Len didn't have any shifts at Saints and Sinners, but that night he had patrol with Barry on the west side of town. Things had been quiet over there.
Len put on his best smirk when he arrived at the labs that evening, meeting Barry after the kid got off from the CCPD. Barry was in the process of downing several containers of Chinese takeout, enough for everyone at the labs to partake in before hitting the streets, though Barry had started in first, when Len walked over to him and kissed his temple.
"Missed you yesterday, Scarlet. Sorry I've been out of sorts. Let me make it up to you. Ready for date night?"
Barry swallowed back a mouthful of lo mein, eyes brightening in pleased surprise before he pouted. "We have patrol."
"For us I thought that counted as date night," Len said, keeping his body close to Barry at the kitchen counter as he snatched up a dumpling using Barry's fork. He winked as he chewed. "Figured we could play a little hooky if nothing too pressing comes up. I promise I'll make it worth your while."
The somber pallor Len had left Barry with most of the week vanished in favor of excitement. "Yeah, I'm up for that. I mean, we still need to do our rounds…"
"We'll keep our ears to the ground, do an initial pass first. Then I want to take you to the drive-in. Besides," he leaned in closer to press a more lingering kiss to Barry's neck, "you know what that suit does to me. About time we had some fun in it."
Barry shivered. "Cisco—"
"Doesn't need to know."
Barry giggled when Len pulled away, sliding over another stool to properly dish up from the Chinese. Most nights they tried to be conscientious about what everyone ate, but it was usually takeout on Fridays.
Barry grinned the entire time, knocking Len with his elbow or his foot every so often. It wasn't until they had finished eating and several of the others had come and go, getting their own food, that Barry realized.
"Central City doesn't have a drive-in."
Len refused to explain. Said it was a surprise. Laughed the entire time while they patrolled and Barry kept throwing around ideas of what Len really meant. The real answer was simpler than any of Barry's guesses.
Once they'd done a single round of patrol to their satisfaction, Len led the way to an old movie theater on Monroe Street. It was a dollar theater now, only played older films, and was a little run down, but it had five screens, all of which had gone digital recently, which meant that once the projectionist started the films, they didn't have to worry about changing any reels.
Len broke in through the back like he'd done a thousand times as a boy.
"Len," Barry hissed, clinging to Len's arm and going along with him into the dark of the building even as he protested.
"This is the drive-in," Len explained. "It's what Lisa and I called it whenever we snuck into movies as kids."
"This is technically stealing."
"I'll leave a couple bucks in the projector room. Come on."
Clad fully in his Cold gear, goggles down around his neck to better see, with Barry beside him in the Flash suit, Len snuck them through to the narrow stairwell to their left. They could just barely see a few young teens on shift down the hall, hear voices of several more behind the candy counter, but no one noticed them as they slipped upstairs to the projectors.
"Mmm, the popcorn smells so good…" Barry groaned.
"You're welcome to snag us some," Len said.
"Len—"
"I'll leave extra cash. But add butter."
"Who are you talking to here?" Barry chuckled. He zipped back down the stairs, and was back at Len's side at the top, already munching on freshly buttered popcorn before Len could get a clear look around.
Empty, just as he'd planned. He'd kept his eye on the clock all throughout patrol, to make sure they made it here just after the last movie started, so the projectionist would be gone and out of the way until the movies ended.
"Pick your poison, Barry," Len gestured around the room.
It was fairly vast, open, aside from a few boxes of candy for restocking downstairs, and had five windows with projectors pointing out of them into each of the five theaters. It was dark of course, but not so dark that they couldn't see their way around.
Barry moved down the row of windows, checking out which films were playing. They hadn't missed much, just the first couple minutes of each to make sure they'd be up here alone.
"Sweet, Young Frankenstein!" Barry said as he got to window number three.
Len knew he loved this kid for a reason. He took that as his cue to pull over the single roller chair and positioned it for the best view of the screen beyond the glass. The theater below didn't appear to be that full, but something about being upstairs alone had always been more thrilling for Len. And easier on his wallet when he and Lisa were kids and even a dollar was too much to ask.
"Wait, there's only one chair?" Barry frowned as he pushed his cowl back and shoved another mouthful of popcorn into his mouth.
Len sat in it, set his cold gun aside, unclipped from his parka, and patted his thighs with a grin. Even in the dark, he saw the way Barry's cheeks colored. Still, the kid accepted the invitation, giggling a little as he sat himself down, leaning back against Len and humming in approval when Len wrapped his arms around his waist.
The feel of the kid in his suit was like nothing else, like smooth leather suctioned to every part of him. Len let one hand trail down Barry's thigh as the other snagged some popcorn.
"You didn't think to grab a soda while you were at it?" Len teased him.
"Greedy," Barry said, but was gone and back in moments with a large drink. They set it on the floor whenever neither of them was taking a sip, but the popcorn stayed in Barry's hands. "You're leaving like a twenty once we leave here."
Len chuckled. "Deal."
They made it through half an hour of the movie before the popcorn was gone, which was actually fairly impressive given how much Barry could eat if he gave into his appetite. By the time Madeline Kahn's character was singing operatic in honor of The Monster's prowess, Len started to forget the movie in favor of running his hands over Barry's suit.
Down his thighs, over his arms, up his chest. Barry's breath hitched when Len found the zipper and started to bring it down. Barry pulled away, and Len worried he'd overstepped his bounds, but then the kid was standing, turning, and straddling Len in the chair face-forward.
Oh.
Len settled his hands on Barry's waist, squeezing as his fingers trailed down over the speedster's firm backside. Barry bucked forward and bent down to capture Len's lips.
This part of the relationship always made sense to Len. He never had to overthink or second guess his attraction to Barry, and Barry wore his emotions on the sleeves of his Flash suit. Kissing, touching, even rocking together in a less than steady roller chair in the projector room of an old movie theater made a perfect kind of sense. It was the emotions that were new and hard for Len to decipher.
He loved Barry, he never doubted that, but he'd never really known the feeling before now, so powerful and able to hurt so much. He'd experienced more pain loving Barry than he'd ever felt before he met the kid, and yet he still craved it, craved the good feelings that came with the bad like a narcotic. Usually the good lasted longer, pulsed deeper, but when it hurt…it tore at a part of Len he didn't know could ache.
Barry pushed the parka from his shoulders, hands sliding up beneath his sweater—warm hands that made Len hiss as they touched his cool skin. They'd both removed their gloves when they started in on the popcorn. In turn, Len drew Barry's zipper down until he hit the beltline, slipping a hand inside and brushing his thumb over a nipple.
Barry whined and bucked forward again, rolling the chair a fraction backwards. They kissed, slow and lazy through it all, no rush, the whole rest of the movie playing in the background to keep the time. Len's thermal pants were nearly as tight as Barry's suit, and they both strained against the unforgiving fabric as they rocked. They had to go slow, gradual, not too fast or rough, or risk toppling the chair over.
As Len kissed down Barry's neck, he slid the suit down off the kid's shoulders. Barry pressed forward with his hips, neck arching back to give Len access, moaning wantonly as Len kissed further down his chest…
Right over his heart. Smooth now, healed, but where the bullet had entered, crackling and paining Barry before Len dug it out.
Len's hands started to shake. He pulled his lips from Barry and stared, just stared at where he knew the bullet had gone in, imagining the blood again, the way Barry had cringed, and mumbled nonsense, and finally gone so deathly still.
"Len!" Barry called him back from the nightmare, hands over his own to still his trembles. "You're okay. It's okay." Then, after a pause, finally catching Len's eyes, he said, "I'm okay. See," and pressed the palm of one of Len's hands over his heart, letting Len feel the strange, erratic, supersonic beat that he had fallen so in love with. "You saved me," Barry said, reaching one hand for Len's face while the other held onto the hand over his heart. "You saved me…"
Len tried to speak, realizing his eyes were wet only when a tear slipped free, but Barry kissed the words right out of him.
"It's okay. I understand. But please don't pull away from me," Barry whispered against his lips. "You're scared something will happen because I'll always jump in front of you, always try to save you. But so will you. You'll always try to save me, I know you will, just like you did that day when all of this started. And someday, maybe one of us won't make it, and no matter which of us that is, it's going to hurt. But if you really swear you'll never wake up one day and realize you can do so much better than some nerd with a superpower, then please," he laughed brokenly, "just let me love you for as long as we have."
The kiss Barry offered then was bruising, carrying all the weight of that bullet, and any future one like it, all the communal pain and fear and worry between them. But it also held all the love and adoration, the feeling of belonging to someone who asked for nothing but the honor of loving you back.
"I'm sorry," Len choked when they finally broke apart, pressing his forehead to Barry's like he had in the hospital bed. "I'm just not…very good at this."
"You're good at everything," Barry said, "you're allowed to mess up on occasion. Next time just talk to me. Tell me what it is, even if you don't think I can help. Sometimes I don't need to help, I just need to listen, and hold you, and I promise that will feel so much better than spending the night alone."
Len snorted. "Or having you sick Mick on me."
"Or that," Barry didn't even try to deny it. "Look," he held Len's face in both hands, "I can't promise that nothing will ever happen to me. I definitely can't promise not to jump in front of the next bullet pointed your way. I know you'd never promise me those things either. But I'm here now. We're here now. And that's enough. It's enough…" He kissed Len again, softly, sweet.
Only spending eternity with Barry would ever really be enough, but until that option presented itself, Len knew the kid was right. He kissed Barry once more, deeper again, trying to rekindle the heat they'd lost, while his hands finally stilled and his breathing stuttered only because this kid drove him crazy in all the best ways.
"I love you, Barry Allen," he said.
"I love you too…Captain Cold," Barry breathed against his ear.
Len shivered pleasantly. "While I hate to miss the ending to one of the greatest flicks of all time…how about we go somewhere with a sturdier chair?"
"Mmm…we are technically still on patrol."
"I think the city will survive."
Barry hummed agreement, climbing out of Len's lap. Len dropped a twenty dollar bill onto the chair, beside the empty popcorn and soda. They kissed again, standing there shadowed in the projector room with flickering lights from all the screens, and then, with a brief gust of air and shock of lightning, they were soon far away from the theater, seeking out a place to finish their night right.
Len still had nightmares on occasion, but Barry was always there to hold him when he woke.
TBC...