Chapter 5: "Are you…?"

…
…

Barry knew that Snart was calling out for him, knew that the man was trying to get his attention to find out what was taking so bloody long. But Barry couldn't find the words to answer, instead he sat there – the weight of the gun in his hands was almost comforting. Solid, real – and very much a path to freedom judging by what Barry knew of CM.

The pounding in his chest had almost become painful, and the static that had become the only comprehensible sound buzzing in his head all but blocked out Snart's attempts to reach him. But despite all the chaos in his mind – Barry still knew that this meant, it was inescapable.

"Why this?" Barry asked finally, tongue feeling heavy in his mouth as he spoke, because he already knew where this was going. Already knew the man's game but didn't want to believe it.

A gun was almost something of a taboo item in many respects for a Justice League member. Sure Cyborg could be considered a walking gun but the league used non-lethal means to fight their battles. Barry could just imagine the expression that Bruce would put on if he saw Barry handling the weapon. Clumsily Barry had tried to check it, to see if there was a catch. Something like a lack of bullets or maybe it was entirely fake. No matter how thoroughly he inspected the gun it had all the right pieces he thought a gun would need.

With every passing second Barry's heart fell deeper into his stomach, knowing he'd have to take this back out to Snart in his prison along with the message he'd gotten and from there they'd need to figure out what to do. This was one of those situation where being stuck with a super villain as your only ally was not a good situation to be in. Although Barry struggled to think of a situation where that scenario would be better – he was coming up blank.

CM remained infuriatingly silent and Barry had to force his heavy limbs to finally move. Again he reminded himself that one way or another they'd be forced to make progress but this…

The weight of the gun seemed to grow heavier with every passing second but Barry rationalized with himself that he'd never use it. Despite knowing this, the simply implications of being given the item were not lost on Barry.

When he emerged from the side room, Barry's gaze immediately fell on Snart. The man was still observing the scrap of paper he'd been brought by Barry earlier but it seemed he'd been waiting impatiently for the younger man's return as well. Looking up with a frustrated scowl on his face when Barry finally reappeared. There was obviously a witty comment on the tip of the man's tongue, it died quickly when his sharp eyes narrowed in on the gun.

A moment of tense silence passed between them where Barry didn't dare take one more step towards Snart in his cell. He worried the approach could be mistaken for an intent to actually start trying to unload bullets into him. Then finally the criminal let out a shallow laugh.

"Wow scarlet." He whistled low, somehow the sound was packed to breaking point with the same condescension he directed at Barry when speaking normally. "Never thought I'd see you handling a thing like that. Sure you're not going to hurt yourself kid?" Barry instinctively bristled in anger, he and Cold were both adults – he had no right to call him kid and mock him about guns. Although Barry had to admit that he wasn't comfortable with the gun in his hands, the fear of shooting himself in the foot by accident felt very real right then.

All mocking comments aside, Snart looked a little uneasy. He was a quick man, almost quicker than Barry's brain worked even at its top speed, so it was no surprise when Barry could practically see the clogs whirling inside his enemy's head. Cold wouldn't need an explanation, no doubt he already had a fair idea what the Crooked Man had in mind.

"So." Snart's calm tone caught Barry by surprise, there was a darker note to his voice but it wasn't threatening – more accepting. "How many bullets? Did you check Red?" The nicknames weren't helping but Barry didn't have the heart to pull him up on it.

Instead his eyes slowly dropped down to the gun in his hands, running over every crevice and detail again. Hoping it'd turn out to be nothing more than a sick joke. When it did not magically become a toy gun, Barry reluctantly opened his mouth to answer Snart – probably with a lie – when the air around them crackled with a sudden electrical vibe. In a matter of seconds the air seemed to spark into life, the unnatural feeling followed quickly by a familiar voice.

"One bullet Mr. Snart." Both Barry and Snart reacted in the same way, jumping closer to the middle of the room and one another as they sought out the owner of the voice. Barry knew he wouldn't seen the Crooked Man in person but he looked all the same. "I'm sure I don't need to explain why."

The sound that slipped out of Snart's mouth was nothing short of feral, the vicious snarl catching Barry more off guard that CM's sudden appearance had.

"Yeah, you've made that abundantly clear." The venom Snart was using to speak with was strange to listen to when it was directed at someone other than Barry. For once it was a relief to not be the target of that spiteful tone.

"You always were a very clever one Mr. Snart. However I think you may have forgotten a very crucial detail in all of this."

Not a second after CM had spoken, a hatch at the top of Snart's glass cage popped open and a small drizzle of water began to come cascading down from the ceiling. The water nearly hit Snart who hastily pulled himself out of its path and up against the furthest wall away from it. Judging by his expression Snart must have thought it was poison rather than water pouring form the ceiling.

"Now, now, you have plenty of time to make a choice. Both of you." Barry was suddenly the focus of CM's games; the doors he'd been checking out earlier were suddenly ripped clean out of the wall, replaced by more smooth wallpaper, leaving him in a box not unlike Cold's. Quickly Barry tried to get his bearings, looking for any sign of his own water source somewhere. Instead CM laughed at him and corrected his line of thought.

"Mr. Allen – once time is up your room will fill with a poisonous gas. But look at it like this – at least you'll be dry when you die." All CM got for his morbid sense of humor was a matching pair of dry glares.

"Of course, that's only if you don't make a choice." CM added, tone turning cheery as he talked about the inevitable end of this game. "When you're ready Mr. Allen, you can use that gun or give it to Mr. Leonard Snart there. I'll open a small slot for you to pass it in should you decide to hand over the gun. Should you hand over the gun and Snart chooses to use it, I'll open up some holes for him to shoot through. The glass itself won't break if you shoot it, so I think you two best hold onto that one bullet."

Barry's gaze turned down to his hands and the gun in them, feeling his chest tightening. CM wanted one of them to shoot the other. "I'd say you'd have maybe…twenty-five minutes? Good luck gentleman, may the worst man win."

Just like that he left them alone, static that had accompanied his voice vanishing with him and Barry was left to stare at Len. Trapped in a box, waiting for his life to dribble away with every drop of water that fell into the container. For his part Snart seemed to be surprisingly calm, furious but calm. It was the cold rage that Barry knew so well – it wasn't comforting here either.

"Ha." Scoffing bitterly Snart eased himself off the glass wall, kicking at the water with a small slosh. "Looks like he got us good…" Snart didn't look at him, didn't meet Barry's gaze as he instead stared intently at the water. Whatever was going on in Snart's head was a mystery to Barry, and he did not expect the amused chuckle the man released a few seconds later.

"Hey kid, c'mere. Leave that gun on the ground." His instructions confused Barry who had expected the man to demand the gun or at least try to reason with Barry to give it to him. Noting Barry's surprise, Snart's smile turned smug and mocking. "He said twenty-five minutes, right? That gives us twenty minutes to chat."

"What could you possibly want to talk about with me, Snart?" His tongue felt thick in his throat, the words coming out clumsily as he approached the cage. There was the unsettling sense of dread in his stomach that told Barry someone was about to die. Neither of them had any escape, not with this man who seemed to have complete control over this world, without any doors or clues to use – someone would be using that gun or they'd both die.

"Well are you still interested in that 'side game' of yours? Hmpf, don't give me that look kid – Crooked Man loves to talk, of course he mentioned your pursuit for information. Tell you what, I'll tell you what I know and in return you tell me why. Why you wanted to know about him at all." It took Barry a few seconds to realize that Snart was serious. He genuinely wanted to chat a few minutes before one of them was scheduled to die.

Perhaps it was cowardice that made Barry take a seat in front of the glass cage, fear driving him to avoid the inevitable for at least twenty minutes with Snart. For a few minutes they could both pretend that at least one of them was not about to be dead. "Deal." He replied hollowly, Barry could see Snart glaring at him, like his pitiful tone was getting under the man's skin. Rather that belittling Barry for his gloomy atmosphere, Snart instead gestured carelessly to the scrap of paper Barry had brought him.

"You were right, it's a news clipping from at least a decade ago. Talks about some rich family situated in the Gem Cities. I mostly stuck to Central City but I'd heard of them – never made the trip to personally acquire their belongings, but we kept tabs on all potential heists." Without meaning to, Barry's face twisted up into a judging glare and Snart laughed at the familiar look. "Hey, I didn't even rob them kid. Chill."

"But you were thinking about it!" Barry countered quickly.

"Can't convict a man for thoughts Barry or we'd all be in hot water. Even you – you gotta have some interesting thoughts bouncing around that numbskull of yours." He absolutely did not dignify that with an answer and Snart was happy enough to go along without one. They were both feeling the essence of time after all.

"Point is I kept close tabs on that bunch. Rotten from what I gathered – rich as all buggery but completely heartless. Most people at least donate a bit to charity to keep up good appearances – these people were more likely to close an orphanage just to profit from it. In fact they almost did just that." While Snart was talking, Barry leant over to have a look at the faded news clipping.

The picture on the front showed a middle-aged couple standing stoic out front of a rather unsightly mansion. It was something Bruce Wayne would even call too grim, sharp spikes and dark colours everywhere the eye could see. The couple wasn't much better, faces angular and chiseled into permanently sharp, unfriendly features. Neither looked happy and they absolutely did not look like they were in love – but the article claimed they were the most loving people in the Gem cities as they'd been the owners of a children's home in the city.

"I remember when they tried to close the place down." Snart's voice caught Barry's attention again, the grim, disgusted tone sounded a little strange coming from a convicted criminal. "That article talks all about how great they are for having the damn place, but everyone knew it was a rubbish children's home, made for profit not pity. When it didn't make any more money they tried to change it into something that would make a better profit. The children were just collateral damage. Probably wanted to make it into something illegal as well, knowing that family."

"What happened to the kids?" Snart glanced his way, that mocking look fixed on his face again, as if Barry was just another bleeding heart. But it was a honestly good question.

"It got bought by the highest bidder instead – turns out they opted to keep it as children's home and they actually made it livable. Some rich type out at Gotham. I'm not sure exactly how 'livable' they really did make it – but it wasn't any of my business beyond that point so I stopped paying attention."

"Why leave this clipping to find?" Barry murmured curiously, running his fingers over the rough paper. "Do you think he was one of the orphans that lived there?"

"Who knows." Snart sighed, sounding very much like it bothered him to not know. He didn't take enemies lightly – liked to study up and know what he was dealing with and just like Barry it frustrated him to be in the dark. "But now for your end of the bargain kid. Why do you care?" When Barry hesitated, Snart smirked and added. "A secret stays a secret when the only other person that knows is dead."

"That's not funny Snart!" Barry snapped furiously and for once it seemed they were in agreement.

"Call me Len. If we're going to be in a situation like this, the least you can do is drop the last name." Surprised, Barry stared up at Sna- Len. The older man didn't return his stare and instead opted to look at the stream of water falling into his glass box. The lingering gaze reminded Barry of just how grim the situation really was – if Len wanted to know why he was interested, Barry could give him at least a little bit of satisfaction.

"He's supposed to be dead."

Snart perked up at that answer, glancing over his shoulder at Barr with a lifted brow. Barry snorted, lacking the ability to properly laugh when he felt this pitiful.

"Put a bullet right between his eyes. Fell from the seventh floor." Barry repeated the familiar phrase in a dry tone, staring at the ground under his feet when he said it. "That's what I was told. He died a long time ago, they pulled his body from the rubble and everything – he shouldn't exist."

"Yet here he is." Len's flat voice sounded tired even to his own ears. "But you're telling me all this interest is just to find out about a dead man walking?"

"Not exactly." This was where Barry became uncomfortable. Talking with a super villain about anything sensitive was generally a bad idea but this was not the topic of secret identities or anything quite so sensitive. Even if it had been, Len had known who he was for a long time now and had still not revealed his secret to the rest of his merry band of criminals.

But this wasn't about Barry so much as it was about his ward, about Noire.

"He…" A deep breath. "The Crooked Man, the real Crooked Man – killed Black's mother."

The words hang heavy between the two of them for a few seconds before Barry was ready to continue. Snart knew Monochrome Black as just that, not Noire so there was a small identity to keep secret but in all honesty he probably figured out Noire was Black seeing as Barry and Noire lived together. If he did know, he had the good sense not to say so.

"He died the same day he killed her, Black never got the chance to consider revenge or hunting him down. He never had to go looking for the man who ruined his life – he never had that burden. I wanted to keep it that way. If this man is really the same person from back then…I don't want Black to find out about it."

Barry thought of his mother's death, the crime his father was sent to jail for and the toxic childhood it had given him. Barry remembered sleepless nights and blinding anger when he couldn't find out who had really done it and then finally he recalled the day he met the man who claimed responsibility. He didn't want Noire to experience any of these feelings – not a single one of them.

"Ah, so this if the guy that did it." Snart murmured almost sagely. "I wondered why his name rang a bell."

"What do you mean? You know him?" Of course that surprised Barry, CM was only around for one day so the odds of him and Snart having anything to do with one another was near zero. He wasn't even a Central City villain to begin with – CM was reportedly closer to Gotham.

"No. I have a…colleague who has had experiences with him." The grim smile on Len's face almost told Barry the answer before Len cleared it up. "After all, White and Black have the same mother. Didn't realize this bastard was the guy White mentioned to me." Well now Barry was positive that Len knew Black and noire were the same person if he knew White.

Barry had been vaguely aware that Cold and White would occasionally team up or exchange info but to think of the two just talking – especially about something as heavy as the death of a loved one. It just didn't seem to fit. Barry was going to ask but Len looked troubled now and he found himself staring at Captain Cold's unguarded face.

He almost looked concerned. Like he was wondering what White would feel knowing the man who murdered his mother was back from the grave. Did Captain Cold worry about that sort of thing? Was he capable of that base level of compassion? Barry wasn't sure, but there it was on the man's face plain as day.

Slowly Len looked down at his hand and then the water that was slowly rising on his body, then back to his palm. Slowly he flexed the fingers, as if remembering something in the muscles. Barry caught his lips moving but there was no sound, it seemed like Len was mouthing a secret to himself, something he felt was important. Barry caught the words 'worst, friends and nagging' but there was at least a whole other sentence or two of context he was missing.

"You gonna protect the kid then?" Len asked suddenly, fist clenching violently at the question. "Going to play hero, get out of here and keep Black from getting hurt? Keep White from getting himself into trouble because he has no chill?"

"Of course." The answer came automatically before Barry could do so much as bite his own tongue. "That's what heroes do."

The silence that followed that comment was almost thick enough to cut with a butter knife. Len kept looking at his fist, some sort of intense thought process being carried out behind those calculating eyes that Barry couldn't even begin to guess as and then, just as suddenly as it'd done quiet, Len spoke up again.

"Hey, Barry." Len wasn't looking directly at him but his words were so pointed that it felt like Len was staring directly into him. "I guess we only have eight or nine minutes left, so…you should use that gun."

"What…?"

Abruptly Len turned on Barry, the water that had now gathered up to his knees sloshing thickly at the violent motion. The anger on Len's face looked more like the Captain Cold that Barry knew but its focus was not the usual 'I'm going to kill this hero' feeling.

"I know you're not that thick!" Len snapped viciously. "I wouldn't have lost to such a stupid fucking kid, so don't insult me by saying 'what' like a brain dead high schooler! Obviously you have to use that gun." Slowly the rage drained from Len's voice but his fists remained tightly clenched, trembling with rage. "It's simple math kid…you're the Flash. You're a hero, people are relying on you, and they need you. But me? Well I'm just Cold."

"Life isn't measured like that!" Barry argued vehemently, his heart beginning to hammer away frantically in his chest when he realized what Len was getting at. He hadn't considered actually shooting Len, it wasn't in his nature to do so – he was the Flash for pete's sake! Murder…he couldn't even begin to consider it. "I'm the Flash – I wouldn't kill even you Cold!"

"Ha." The dry, resentful bark caused Barry to flinch. "And what if I'm not even Cold?"

"What are you talking abo-" Barry began to angrily retort but when he saw Len's stare his words were forgotten.

Captain Cold, the leader of the Rogues and one of Barry's most formidable enemies, looked right at him with a broken smile and tears in his eyes. The expression was so disarming and unfamiliar that Barry was left with nothing to say, no witty remark or snide comment. He had Captain god damn Cold on the verge of honest to god tears, it should have been comedy gold. But instead Barry could only feel a dreadful tightening in his chest.

"The Flash doesn't kill but right now you're not him. No…you're just Barry right now aren't you?" Cold's tone was almost amused but there was nothing snide or cunning about it – he simply sounded despondent. "And right now I'm not Cold, I'm just Len…or maybe not even that." He muttered under his breath a slight frown causing his eyebrows to knit together.

"I overheard what you said about the 'fake' you met before, but even without that I know. I know things I shouldn't – about you, about the Crooked Man. Things I couldn't possibly know as Len or Cold. I might not be anyone, I'm probably another fake, right? I guess he built me with too much self awareness."

Then it finally clicked in Barry's mind – this person standing in front of him couldn't be Cold. It was just another fake like the other Hal had been, like he first thought. But he seemed so real, so much more real than the fake Hal had been. Regardless of how convincing it was - this person was another replica. Barry was truly the only real person here, this was nothing more than a sickeningly real simulation. So why did it feel no less horrible to consider killing the fake Len? He'd return to the real Central City and Captain Cold would still be kicking up trouble, like nothing happened.

If he put a bullet between the fake's eyes right now – it would change nothing in the outside world.

Len seemed to be thinking something similar as he smiled sadly at Barry through the glass. "Do you get it now…? Even if I get shot or drown in this water it won't matter because I never really existed at all. Even if you were to find some way to save us both – I'd probably stop existing once the Crooked Man no longer needed me. Even if I didn't I can't imagine my real self being too thrilled to meet himself. I know I certainly wouldn't like it."

"There's no shame in killing me Barry. Even if I was real, even if I might be – I'd still only be a criminal and you'd be a hero. I told you – simple math. You're life is worth far more."

"You can't be the real Len." Barry decided, surprised when his voice was thick with some unspoken emotion. "H-He'd never say that. He'd want the gun and would shoot me for sure!"

"Because he wants you dead? Is that what you think Barry?" Len's smile twisted into something a little more grim than sad. "I might not be real, but I am Len. I remember things he knows – things like Alois…" Momentarily Len paused, again looking at his fist. "I remember my sister, my rogues– our fights. Hah…I even remember the things that annoyed me about everyone I knew. Lisa's recklessness, Mick's unpredictable, uncontrollable temper – Alois's incessant nagging."

Gradually the closed fist Len had was brought up to his chest, almost like he was holding onto a memory inside of that fist – the memory of what it was to be Leonard Snart.

"I thought at the end I'd say something like 'I'm going to miss those things'." Len laughed, the sound choking a bit at the end as he squeezed his fist closer to his chest. "But I'm relieved – no more Alois telling me I need to clean up, or Lisa fretting over me. Nah – I won't miss that at all. Most of all I won't miss you constantly ruining my heists."

Barry was at a loss. This creature, this fake wasn't Len but at the same time it was. This man in front of him had all the memories, all the feelings and because they weren't really his to have – Len let himself show a side to Barry that shouldn't have existed at all. Barry wondered if the real Len – his Captain Cold, was capable of feelings like this.

He wanted to believe he wasn't but Barry's gut twisted painfully knowing that it was probably all true. Somewhere in the real Snart, there was something like this. Somewhere, smothered under every other bad thing he was – there was a good brother. A reliable partner and a friend. Somewhere there was a person not just the criminal.

Why did a fake have to show Barry that?

"But…I will miss a few things." Len's eyes slipped open again but Barry couldn't see him in them, Len was far away – remembering things that must have been precious to him. "Yeah, just a few."

Then he was looking at Barry again, the man had not let a single tear fall but his eyes had not lost the potential shine. "Kid, you do me a favor? Even if I'm not real – I think I can ask for that much. That idiot kid – not your one, mine. Alois. You do me a favor Red, kill this bastard before Alois ever sees him. We're not friends or anything – but we look out for our own and I think I owe the kid this much."

Barry couldn't promise that, and he was surprised that Len cared enough to ask. He began to open his mouth to say as much when Len chuckled. "You don't have to say anything kid – you look out for your own as well. I know that you'll do whatever you got to in order to look after your own Monochrome brat. Now, get to it – we only have a few minutes left."

Without a word Barry walked over to where the gun had been left at the beginning of their conversation. For a second he hesitated in picking it up, fingers lingering uncertainly over its smooth surface before finally Barry scooped it up in one sharp motion. With the familiar weight back in his hands, Barry approached the cage again.

Len was watching him quietly, no judgment in his eyes as he accepted what Barry had to do. Silently Len closed his eyes and turned away from Barry, muttering something about not needing Barry to remember his face when he pulled the trigger.

As Barry raised the gun, he made his choice.
And the slot in Len's prison appeared.

"I won't kill you Len."

"Kid." His voice sounded so tired but Barry still refused. Len turned to look at the slot in alarm, his eyes widening as Barry moved to place the gun inside. "What are you doing? Kid…I don't want to die – I seriously don't. Technically I might not have been alive at all to begin with, but I still don't want to die. Don't give me the gun…don't give me that choice."

"You think you can be the only selfish person here?" Barry demanded furiously. "You think you can be the only one that can play hero? I don't want to die either Len – but I don't want to kill you more."

"The brats…you're supposed to go and look out for them." Len tried to argue even as the slot slid shut, thrusting the gun into Len's prison and away from Barry's reach – no turning back now.

"You think I'm going to just sit there and let one of us die? No way!" His energy was renewed; Barry felt rage coursing through his body –flushing out the fear that had been numbing him up until now. "I' the god damn Flash! I won't just give up and forfeit a life. I will fight – until the very end. Len you listen here – you can try to shoot me, but I won't stay still and let it happen. You can try to get me to shoot you, but I won't pull that trigger and until our time is up I am going to look for another way out."

Barry stepped back from the glass wall, grinning in earnest. "Just you watch and see Cold – this is what a true hero is!"

Then just as suddenly as it had appeared the first time, the air was filled with the same electrical feel from fifteen minutes prior and the Crooked Man's disjointed voice carried over to both of them. "Well done Mr. Allen. You pass the requirement for a hero on this floor as well."

"What? Are you shitting me?" Barry shouted into thin air, absolutely livid as the man's meaning sank in. "This was all a ploy to see if I'd shoot him?"

"Precisely. I must say you reacted…differently to what I expected. However it is still a passing mark for you."

Fake or not this man was playing with other's lives without a single care in the world and Barry was starting to see red. The horrible thought that he might have really gone through with it and shot Len still a very real feeling in his chest.

"However…you have not attempted to solve my riddle." CM continued sounding disappointed. "Do you not have an answer?"

The water was still running in Len's prison and Barry figured it wouldn't stop until the riddle was solved. Quickly Barry snatched the riddle from his back pocket, scanning over the words hastily to try and find an answer. He'd been so wrapped up in the whole 'murder Len' thing that he'd completely forgotten about the riddle aspect of the game.

"Barry, what does it say?" Len asked quietly. Barry was frustrated, clutching the paper too tightly as he scanned over the words – looking for an obvious answer. So often the answer to riddles was one he should have known. The type that had Barry kicking himself for not knowing once he heard it.

"It says; 'What answer can you never honestly say 'yes' to?' It sounds so damn simple but I can't think of it." Barry replied angrily and for a few seconds Len was silent. When Barry turned to gauge his reaction he saw Len staring down at the gun with a curious expression, momentarily Barry was worried he intended to shoot him through the promised holes that CM had mentioned. But no such holes appeared.

"Ha…hey Barry can I ask you something?" Len mused, a bitter smirk curling on his lips. "In your last challenge…did he give you the answer? Put it right under your nose like it was the most obvious thing in the world?"

Well…yes. CM had done that. He'd given Barry a yellow lantern to signify fear – the answer to his first riddle. Now he'd given him Len but Barry didn't think 'Cold' or 'Jackass' were the answers to this one.

Len didn't wait for a response and instead he took hold of the gun properly, pointing it towards Barry. For a second the speedster's heart stopped, terrified he really was going to be shot – but still no holes appeared.

"He gave you the answer again and I know you aren't that thick." Then Len turned the gun inwards, placing it against his temple. Despite the horrible image in front of Barry – the older man only smiled that same mirthless smile. "If one of us has to die…I suppose this will work just as well."

"Len what are you doing? Put that down! I told you I was going to find us a way out!" Barry all but threw himself at the glass, looking for a weak point, for any way of getting into Len before he did something incredibly stupid. But as he pounded away at the glass with everything he had, Len kept his head steady and eased a finger onto the trigger.

"What answer can you never honestly say 'yes' to?" He mused coldly.

"Len! Stop this." Barry's voice broke into a plea when he meant to give an order, either way the older man paid him no mind. "Len I can save you! Just let me try."

"Always such a goody two shoes." Len scoffed, shoulder shaking with something other than laughter. "But hey…you keep that favor for me in mind and when you see the real me out there – because you will get out Barry – you give him hell for me. It's the least you can do to get back at me. Don't forget to stay cool as well okay?" He hated him even more for trying to make a cold pun right then.

"Please….Len. Don't." Barry whispered, the banging on the wall stopping all together as he simply pressed his palms flat against the glass – knowing that it was hopeless.

Then much to Barry's surprise, Len reached out and placed his hand against the glass over where Barry's head rest and laughed. "I'd rip your hair out if I could just to get you to man up a bit. But…this is the best I got for now. Listen kid – I really hate you sometimes, like really violently hate your guts with all that hero nonsense – but you make it fun. I know you'll look after Central City – keep my real self entertained out there with all your heroics."

Slowly Len stepped away from the glass, repositioning the gun at his head and muttering something about it being harder than he thought. The water around his waist was still rising and with one more glance down at it and the fist he kept close to his chest, Len's face softened into an accepting smile and his eyes fell on Barry just once more – the softest he'd ever seen them.

"I'll see you out there Barry."

"Len, wai-!" Barry hit the glass just as the trigger was squeezed. The following bang cracked through the air, splitting it in two and raising all the hairs on Barry's arms. The echo bounced off the walls horribly and after that one thunder crack and sickening splash as Len's body fell into the waist high water – it was over.

Just like that, Barry was left alone in the dollhouse again.

But Len had given Barry the answer to the riddle that he needed.

Quietly Barry sank down to his knees, hands still laid flat against the glass as the water inside began to turn a darker shade than it should have been. Swallowing hard, Barry opened his mouth and forced his voice out in a hoarse whisper.

"Are you dead…?"