Doll House – Children's home.
…
…
His shoulder was aching.
A dull, lingering pain that remained long after the skin had cleansed itself of his brother's mark. Staring down at his flawless, pale flesh – Alois once again wondered what it'd be like for his older brother.
The marks faded quickly into his flesh, all but dissolving and losing their strength in a matter of hours – but for Noire the marks would remain for many more hours, possibly stretching into days. His brother would be weak, sickly even, considering the extended time of the exposure to his opposite. Alois's body was already shaking off the effects but Noire would not be in such chipper shape.
"Because he is weak." Alois reminded himself, tearing eyes away from his unblemished palms to focus on the papers in front of him.
He'd been hunched over these files for longer than his back deemed appropriate but he was not willing to rip himself away form them just yet. He knew the words, poured over them and memorized ever minute detail he could but despite knowing them inside and out, Alois kept looking as if simply staring at the crumpled sheets under his hands would produce the obvious answer he was seeking.
Then again, he may be giving the documents a little too much credit.
It was too early to tell if the information was accurate, too soon in a working relationship to know if the Rogues were worth the money he paid them. Certainly too early to trust them – code or not criminals were not known to be honest. Although he felt inclined to believe them, perhaps that was a mistake on his part but Alois did trust their leader, if only him.
With an amused huff Alois – or Monochrome White, as he now preferred – pulled free a sheet describing the latest victim in Central City that ended up being tied to his name. No doubt the police force would be looking at familiar sheets of information, much more detailed and pristine than his own, and it was likely the Flash had a thing or two on his mind about the whole ordeal.
But the Rogues? It struck Alois as odd that his newly found 'friends' would be keeping track of such things. However, after some deliberation, Alois decided that this must have come solely from the merry little band of criminal's leader. Len did have such an eye for valuable things – even trading in information. Alois had to admire that if nothing else.
"Now just how did you get your hands on this I wonder?" Crooning, Alois held the profile up in front of the light, his eyes trained on the face. This had slowly began to worm its way under his skin, these string of murders that became increasingly incriminating.
Alois rationalized that it didn't actually matter whatever dirt got thrown on his name, it was all more fuel for his brother. But of all the things Alois Harlow had become over the past few months – senseless murder had yet to make the list.
A frown creased Alois's brow as he continued to look at the victim's face. It was familiar to him, all the victims had been. The person behind these murders did end up having some method behind their madness, but Alois doubted the police would find that obscure link. Even now he was unsure if the link really could exist and indeed be him. But Alois so rarely interacted with anyone and each of these people had in some way or another been in touch with him recently.
Not much above a casual conversation or serving him in their stores. Such trivial unimportant exchanges, but it was all they had in common asides from the way they'd died. Linked by meeting him at least a day before their grisly demise and having his trademark plastered all over them.
"Someone is trying to get in touch with me." The remark was bitingly sarcastic but Alois had to admit there was something amusing to be found in this morbid situation. Alois's expression remained grim as he set down the latest profile he'd gotten from Cold. These people's deaths, as inconsequential as they were, did not belong on his list of crimes.
Still who was he to ignore a perfectly good invitation?
Taking the sheet up to a familiar set up board, Alois pinned it to the wall with the others. Making a nasty picture of death to hang on his wall. In all honesty Alois would have liked something more scenic to put up on his wall, something familiar and homely but he could never be sure how long he'd stay in one place and getting settled would likely be a waste of his time.
His humble little abode had taken some time to set up but it was far more uncomfortable than the underground chambers he'd lingered in during the early days. Say what you will about the Rogues, but they certain knew how to make a serviceable safe house.
It cost him almost all the earnings of a heist but above standard living conditions, Alois required very little to survive and the money was easy to part with. The little apartment was free of leaks and had a window to let in fresh air. But most importantly it was cheap and out of the way in a quiet little area – well away from a majority of the drama that went down in the city. Alois valued some peace and quiet more than some might think.
The room had a sink and fridge that made up the kitchen area with a few other appliances – most of which went unused in favour of the fast food Alois was begrudgingly fond of. The bathroom was small but still more appealing than the communal ones Alois had found in a few other places and most of all, the bedroom was dark.
Sometimes, when Alois was not fully aware of it, he'd begin to shine. It was almost impossible to shut off the light shows once they began and so having the room completely closed off to the outside world helped to ease his racing nerves. Being discovered as a living human flash light would probably have his brother pounding down his door or warrant an undesired visit from the local speedster.
The fear that struck him whenever his body would begin to glow, as if his blood was shinning right through his flesh, was crippling and more often than not Alois would curl in on himself and cover his face with whatever he could. Alois did anything he could to block out the bright light that came out of his own form. Anything to fight back the regret and guilty memories.
It was in those moments that Alois adored the darkness, wished he could vanish away into it and hide. But just as his brother recoiled from him when he reached out, the darkness shark back away from him. Retreating into corners and shrinking away from Alois's natural light – as if he was toxic and being in his presence burned them.
Another plain reminder of his place in the world.
Shaking off such dreary thoughts, Alois focused on the board in front of him. Pinned up on it were the other victim profiles Captain Cold had sold to him, along side the papers Alois had also kept a record of whatever information came from the news or his own knowledge. Once he added his own private knowledge of the events that took place a day before each murder, he'd noticed the pattern did seem to link directly to himself.
The people Alois interacted with had dwindled down to three since the third attack and one of those three had now joined the list of the dead. Alois was many horrible things, but civilians had never garnered his ire enough for him to bring death onto their door knowingly. As such the moment he noticed the pattern in these killings, he'd cut off ties with the outside world properly.
He hadn't eaten in well over a month, hadn't gone shopping for any goods. For all intents and purposes, Alois had been under house arrest. His efforts proved to be important when the final body showed up – providing enough proof in Alois's mind that he'd done the correct thing in isolating himself. Without contact with the outside world, perhaps the murder would have a harder time picking a new target.
Of course…Alois still had to go out and meet his brother.
This did not concern Alois however, he had no doubt in his mind this mystery killer would leave Noire well enough alone. Despite all these deaths having occurred directly after Alois interacted with the victims – Noire had yet to be targeted. Alois had met with him more frequently than any other victim and so while he was on the list of people he interacted with – Alois didn't place Noire as a potential victim. That same luxury could not be extended to some others.
Noire would no doubt have heard of the most recent killing and he had his heart set on blaming Alois – so White had to break his house arrest to go and teach his brother another bruising lesson in the street.
Unfortunately that forced an interaction with another individual besides Noire – that put another target on the killer's hit list.
Just as Alois was planning to take down his little mind map, the room seemed to grow noticeably colder and Alois swore he felt a sudden gust of wind – like his window had been opened without his notice.
Abruptly Alois became aware of the fact that he was no alone in the little room.
Alois liked to think of himself as incredibly observant but there were those left in the world that could take him by surprise – and the Monochrome brother tried not to be insulted by the ease of which one so frequently did. Regardless of this information, White did not immediately respond and instead reached out to tap the middle of his information board.
"Next is…" Turning to face the familiar figure crouched in his open window, Alois's face twisted up into a mirthless sneer. He didn't welcome Batman nor ask how he found this little apartment – because really there was never any point in asking. The Bat would find him whenever it suited him. "The Flash, correct?"
And while Alois grinned, the final piece dropped into place.
…
…
It felt like CM had given up trying to get Barry to move. The initial congratulations he gave and directions to exit the stage went by ignored as Barry continued to sit, back up against the glass wall, with his head angled towards the ground.
Barry couldn't have moved if he wanted to. Couldn't have turned around to glance at the body that was left on the bottom of the glass prison floor. Some part of him was waiting, waiting for CM to recall the fake. To make the body vanish or melt, or whatever else the bastard did once he no longer needed fakes. Something to show Barry that it wasn't real at all.
Instead if Barry so much as peeked out of the corner of his eye, it'd still be there. Motionless on the floor that was no drained of water with only a few patches of diluted pink water left. Anything that wasn't water was red, Barry didn't want to look any closer than that.
"You have other trials." CM insisted every now and then. He wanted Barry to move into the next room – he'd unlocked the third door that had remained when the other two were torn out. It was left hanging open like an unwanted invitation. Barry retorted in his own mind that CM could just drop him through the floor like always but the words never left his mouth.
Speaking felt heavy. Thinking wasn't much better. Barry just wanted a moment where there was nothing cluttering up his head.
He knew, one hundred percent knew, that outside this little hell CM had whipped up – Snart was okay. He'd be off robbing a bank or planning a heist without a single concern outside of the Flash ruining his fun. Snart would be fine, but right now for just this moment Len wasn't. Barry knew better than to feel attachment to a fake but they'd spoken.
All his mind could dwell on was little comments. The people that the fake knew with fondness despite having never met them, the loyalty he'd felt towards his rogues and sister – even his frustration with their annoying traits. This fake was too real, CM had made him almost identical to Leonard Snart and while that alone wasn't too horrible – he'd made the fake think for just a moment he was real.
The blinding rage that consumed every inch of Barry's mind when he thought of that was enough to set his teeth on edge. His skin crawled with the white hot sensation that crawled its way through his blood – demanding that Barry do something – anything. CM was right, he still had more trials to complete, more rooms that to the man somehow proved Barry could be a hero, when in reality it seemed like nothing short of some sick torture.
"Tell me one thing." Barry muttered under his breath. "If you're really that guy, the one Noire wakes up screaming about in the middle of the night, you'll know. Why did you do it?"
"If I give you an answer, will you proceed?" CM's voice crackled to life, filling the air with that uncomfortable electricity that lapped at Barry's sides.
Momentarily Barry's hand pressed flat against the glass wall behind him. The cold, smooth sensation left a horrible chill in his bones but Barry knew he couldn't stay here. Even if the guilt and regret tore at his insides like a poisonous knife, he had to keep on going – because that was what he'd promised Len.
It was entirely possible that the fake had been hardwired by CM from the start, he'd definitely known his role was to give Barry the answer the riddle. But what CM hadn't given him was what he'd done after being created, he couldn't control that and Len had used what little time he'd had as his own creature to make a simple demand of Barry.
Never let CM's existence reach those idiot brothers.
Funny, they were both having similar thoughts on the matter. So even if it hurt, even if Barry had to slug through another death – it did tend to happen in this line of work – he'd keep moving forward and keep true to being a hero. Even if Len hadn't asked for that favour he would have kept going – this just added another hand in the back of his mind to give him the little push he needed.
A hero couldn't hesitate when other's lives were on the line.
"Answer me honestly and I will go through every damn room you want until I reach you." Barry wouldn't kill him, it wasn't how the League handled things but Barry knew he could make the man vanish. Batman was good at that sort of thing and Barry wouldn't mind calling in a favour for this one. Anything to make this man stop existing, to keep his name on the list of people that were gone and buried.
As Barry stood, hands clenched tightly with every intention of facing the next room CM had planned head on – there was silence. CM was still there, the spark of his presence lingered in the air like and unpleasant blanket over Barry's flesh. But he had not yet answered. Barry knew this silence, he was thinking about his answer.
"Come on CM." Barry snarled as he neared the door that would take him to the next room with whatever the man decided he needed to do. "It's not that hard to remember is it? Bunch of children taken hostage in a run down warehouse – you killed one of them. Why? What causes a perfectly normal person to wake up one morning and decide he needs to murder a handful of orphans?"
"Because the world needs heroes."
Barry's hand was already on the doorknob when the quiet answer reached him. For a moment he genuinely had no idea what that meant, he'd expected something more familiar. Most villains he met had some sort of reasoning, greed, insanity, some warped sense of being wronged or a sob story prepared. This wasn't one he'd heard before.
"Because I needed them."
The comment was so quiet that Barry was positive the man hadn't meant to say it at all. Maybe that was why it sent such a sharp chill down Barry's spine. Because when CM said 'them' Barry got the feeling that he wasn't referring to only heroes.
Slowly Barry's mind began to slot pieces together, coincidences that he'd pushed aside as just that were beginning to look more related than he'd been willing to consider. Even as his hand began to push open the door into the next area, Barry felt concern welling up in his chest. Not for himself – though there was certainly no lacking of that – but for those outside of the Crooked Man's dollhouse.
Was the Flash really CM's target? Barry had never had a single interaction with the villain in his life, CM had died before Barry even knew his name. There was no connection between them, not even in city – the Crooked Man had been based closer to Gotham after all.
In all honesty the only connection between himself and CM was-
"Noire?" Barry felt the name slip off his tongue without his consent. For a moment the air around him began to vibrate with the familiar cackle of electricity – if Barry was to describe the reaction he would have used the word 'purred'. This rubbed Barry in all the wrong ways and even with his hand firmly clutching the pathway to the next room, he snarled at CM in retaliation.
"Those boys have nothing to do with you!" Alois and Noire were a tight pair at the time CM supposedly kicked the bucket – if he had some sort of sick attachment to one it was likely he had the same with the other. Even if Alois had decided to try his hand at the villain game – much to his older brother's dismay – that did not give CM anymore of a right to mess with the kid.
Perhaps it was just Barry's natural naïve optimism, but he still held out hope that Alois would abandon his title as the 'evil' brother and come back home to Noire one day. It seemed like Noire had believed his brother might just have a change of heart at first, and it troubled Barry to watch that belief dwindle with every passing day.
"I need them." That was all Barry got out of the Crooked Man before the air abruptly fell still, the electricity that came with the man's presence vanishing as if he had never been there to begin with.
Frustrated but not willing to stand there screaming after empty space on the off chance that CM would become chatty again, Barry pushed on forward. It was only when he opened the door into a familiar grimy looking city that Barry really registered his captor's tone.
CM sounded a bit lost. Like saying that he 'needed' the two kids was all he knew to say – Barry hardly felt like CM was talking to him so much as he was trying to convince himself. Deciding to file that thought away for a later date, Barry found himself instead focusing on a horrible churning feeling in his gut.
He'd never much liked Gotham and this version of it wasn't doing the grim city any favours.
"Just a fake city, not real." Barry reminded himself under his breath, forcing himself to move out of the doorway, which immediately vanished once he'd stepped out in the usual display of decaying wood that CM enjoyed so damn much, and into the equally as unappealing city streets.
Now to Barry's credit, Gotham had never been the safest place on Earth – even when it wasn't designed by some lunatic covered from head to toe in bandages. There was a reason that Gotham laid host to one of the most feared heroes of all time, funny really – most heroes were not renowned for their fear factor. But more heroes were not Batman.
The streets were exactly as Barry remembered them from his few visits. The brick path under his feet still hosting small puddles from the recent rainfall, reflecting the looming stone structures that had been situated in the city long before Barry was taking his first steps. Barry kept his eyes firmly on the main road he'd been deposited on, using all his self restraint not to accidentally glance down one of the many winding corridors the city labeled as backstreets. The city was a labyrinth within itself and Barry didn't want to take a wrong step – he wouldn't put it past CM to create a maze out of a city, twisting familiar features to match his desires.
This had once been CM's home after all; once upon a time he'd been a child growing up in Gotham. The city's track record did not favour it when it came to producing mentally sound children.
"What makes one kid Batman and another the Joker?" Barry mumbled under his breath. Some part of him wanted to believe that it was some core goodness that kept Batman to the path of righteousness but he could never be sure. Bruce never trusted anyone much, to ask him what drove him in such a way would probably get Barry nowhere. He only knew Bruce's identity because they'd all been forced to unmask – it hadn't helped that Batman already knew who they all were, the only person that wasn't surprised by Batman's reveal was Superman. Barry had made comment about them being 'super friends' the treatment he'd gotten from Batman after that comment was enough to leave him with chills for weeks. Not crossing that line again.
After hearing his own words echo back at him from the empty city streets, Barry felt an entirely different chill shoot down his spine. He was the one that said 'Joker' but hearing it out loud reminded Barry of just how horrible this city was. Barry thought that he was lucky to have a group like the rogues inhabiting his city as opposed to people like the Joker or Penguin. At least Len's merry little band of rogues didn't kill for jollies. However Barry quickly decided not to think about the rogues at all. Thinking about Captain Cold at all at this exact time left a sharp pain lingering in Barry's chest.
Batman made it inescapably clear that no one was permitted to cross into his boarders, as a hero without an invitation – at first Barry had felt concerned. Worried Batman was trying to fight all alone again. He'd tried reasoning with the dark knight to no avail, but while he had been worried – Hal had leant more towards insulted. Accusing Batman of being unfair and condescending. No amount of soothing from Barry's part had managed to placate his angry friend and despite his best efforts to defuse the situation, the two had gotten into a proper fight.
Now the thing that was important to remember when engaging in any form of conflict with Batman was that you're probably going to lose. About eighty percent of all conflicts between Batman and other league members fell in the Bat's favour. Verbal, physical, mental – no one could quite match up.
But there were rare occasions; very few in nature, where Batman for one reason or another would withdraw or even – god forbid – lose.
Barry didn't remember many of those.
However, as far as Barry was aware – Hal had never been one of those lucky few. The fight – while mostly verbal – had eventually translated into training. Everybody could see it, Batman had demanded that Hal remove his ring for their training session. That in itself was not too unusual, he'd always pushed the need for non-powered training. That lead to the installation of a red light room that Batman explained was just for Superman – Barry didn't totally understand but Batman had assured him it was better he didn't for the time being.
On this occasion Hal had not taken kindly to the order and spat out accusations that Batman was trying to hide. This was some sort of old argument between the two, one Barry tried his best to stay out of, but it had set Batman's jaw at that familiar edge and everybody took a step back. Some literally and others figuratively – no one wanted to get in-between the two.
Barry still remembered how Hal's body had hit the mat – the horrible heavy thud it had made when he didn't have the strength to so much as roll with the impact. It was such a final sound and no one was surprised when the lantern did not get back up.
"Forget Joker…" Barry muttered under his breath, hands rubbing over his arms to fight off another shiver. "Batman's the real scary one."
Just as Barry thought he'd be left to play another searching game for CM's riddles the sound of hurried footsteps rushing through the scattered murky puddles left on the streets caused Barry to whip around in alarm. Half expecting to see a mugger or something more insidious running in his direction, Barry was thrown off guard as a child brushed past him.
For a beat Barry's mind shut down, his body falling back along with the forward motion of the child's run. He felt the fabric of the young boy's dress shirt run along his shoulder as the child slid straight on past him – barely grazing his shoulder before he ran on past Barry. It was such a simple, innocent motion that Barry shouldn't have paid any mind to it besides maybe telling the child not to run when the ground was slippery from the rain. But in that fleeting touch, a familiar shock latched itself onto Barry's flesh, sinking deep through his skin and onto the bone beneath his muscles. The spark spread up his arm, latching and crawling its way through his body until the unsettling feel settled at the base of his neck, barely creeping out across his neck and shoulders.
The electrical feeling was not only familiar to Barry as the static in the air whenever CM spoke to him – but it reminded him of something wholly different and far more comforting. That spark up his bone was not the simple waves of static caused by CM, it was that well-known lightening flying through Barry's blood. That feeling was what he'd been missing – the speed force pushing its way through his body. Powering every inch of him with the familiar flow of energy – that feeling was his lost speed.
It only took a second for it all to transpire and in the next moment the child had rushed on past Barry, a string of delighted giggles being left behind in the child's wake. Without thinking Barry turned to chase after the child, his body instinctively following after the sensation of lightening under his skin.
"Hey wait up!" Barry called after the happy kid, but he didn't so much as glance back at Barry, continuing down the road at a speed Barry didn't think such small legs could move at.
Even as he ran after the giggling youth, Barry's mind registered the pointlessness of it. The child would be no more real than anything else CM made in his little stages. Even if this had not been some warped reality created by the madman, following after a child laughing happily as they ran down the streets of Gotham was a set up for a horror movie if ever Barry had heard one.
But that small spark, the knowledge that he could feel the speed force even for a moment – it was enough to push Barry to try. His body screamed for it, needed to return to the speed force that was more alive than anyone gave it credit for. It wanted to be back in reach for Barry as much as he wanted to be able to harness it again.
The child rounded a corner, into one of those backstreets that Barry had tried so hard to avoid and now threw himself into without a second thought. Barry cursed the child's quick legs as he threw himself around yet another corner – the boy never stopped laughing, seeming to be having the time of his life as he ran through the maze like streets. Barry wasn't sure if the child had a destination, didn't know if it was self aware like Len had been or a puppet like not-Hal had been. It didn't matter, Barry just had to reach the child and see if he could find the source of his powers – find out where CM had hidden them. It was entirely possible he'd put them into some sort of locked off section of his dollhouse – the kid might just be a way to find it.
Holding onto that hope, Barry tried to keep track of the child that obviously knew these streets far better than Barry did. Suddenly the child took one last turn that lead him out into a larger road, not quite a main road but big enough to not be a tight squeeze of a backstreet. For a moment Barry felt relief, thinking it would be easier to catch the child in a larger area, except when he came flying out of the backstreet Barry didn't see the child at all.
Instead he found himself standing in front of a familiar, looming structure. The colourless building standing before him, halfway towards ruin set the hairs on the back of his neck upright. It looked like something you would see in Gotham, humorless, loveless and decaying. Barry would never apply those words to Batman, at least not on purpose. The windows were boarded up but Barry could still see the broken glass under the haphazardly placed planks of wood, there was moss on the outside of the building but even that wasn't green, the moss had turned a sickly black colour and looked like it was dying just as quickly as the house it was attached to.
This was the children's home.
It didn't look quite like it had in the photograph Len and he had seen. In that picture it at least looked functional – no less joyless and devoid of life but at least it would be a roof over some poor kids head. This version of the house had too many patches of roof missing to even be that.
Despite himself Barry was staring. This was the place he and Len had decided was CM's home as a child and Barry's reasonable mind deduced the child he'd followed he might just be a recreation of CM as a child – leading Barry to his own home. For a moment the thought of CM making a child version of himself only to kill flashed in Barry's mind, making his stomach drop sickeningly and pushing that thought down proved harder than Barry would ever admit.
"Big scary house with a laughing child leading the way?" Barry swallowed dryly even as he attempted to keep his voice even. "Sounds like a perfect horror movie cliché…I wish I had a crew to split up with then the movie trope would be complete. Guess I'll settle for going inside the obviously haunted house for my stupid decision." Now he knew that sometimes when met with a particularly troubling situation he tended to ramble – but hey if it worked, it worked.
Barry was almost wishing that this door wouldn't open when he tried it, like many of the others that CM had placed before him. But much to Barry's genuine dismay the door not only opened, it broke. The small pressure he placed around the untrustworthy looking door caused it to finally buckle, the rusted bolts giving away as the door groaned as it gave away at the hinges and fell inwards with a deafening bang as it hit the floor. The violent sound caused Barry to jump and give the now gaping entry way a perturbed one over. No one would have faulted him from walking away right then and there but Barry still had a game to win – so he had no choice but to power on forward.
The inside of the children's home was not much of an improvement to the exterior. It had less loose nails and maybe not as much mold and moss lingering around but that wasn't saying much considering the poor condition of everything else. The floor creaked and squealed in protest as Barry took his first tentative steps inside. But as Barry began to move deeper into what was definitely a bad decision in the making, he noticed something he'd not expected from the haunted house.
While the place was still wrought with decay and impending hazards, deeper inside the feeling shifted a little bit. Barry had thought the place as something that was void of life, but there were signs of living inside. Or at least signs of a place that was once lived in by many – perhaps even lovingly so.
The entryway lead Barry past a living room and further down the hallway there were signs of a kitchen set up as well as a dinning room. A quick glance in and Barry found himself looking at something out of a poor version of Harry Potter. A long table with too many chairs of different size and design to counter stood alone in the room attached to the kitchen. The chairs were left wherever they'd been dropped after its last use, the carelessly toppled chairs reminded Barry of a child's haste to get away from the family dinner and return to play. As Barry looked in on the frozen scene, he couldn't help but imagine what it would have been like when it was alive with the sounds of children fighting and laughing. He could practically still smell the cheap but warm meals that they would have eaten, heard the arguments over a single potato or the best seat at the table.
The room, like the rest of the building, was in a state of disrepair and abandonment but Barry couldn't stop imagining a time when it was still in use, bustling with many mouths to feed. As he traveled deeper into the house this trend continued. Peeking into the kitchen which turned out to be a bad decision as there was still something rotting in there – some sort of unfinished meal left to fester, Barry noticed a few coloured plates before he escaped from the smell. In the brief glance he'd gotten, Barry saw names scrawled over the plates – the names of children that wanted to claim something of their own from the others.
The upper floor of the establishment hit Barry a little harder than he'd expected. There were many rooms, all filled with beds. Bunk beds crammed up tight against one another so that more children could fit in one room. Most of the beds were unmade, some with the sheets resting on top of the musty spring mattresses waiting to be made. Among the uncomfortable, lumpy beds, there were items of childhood. Stuffed toys, old action figures that Barry thought he might have seen when he was a child – comics and dolls scattered around unceremoniously on the floor. Barry was glad he didn't even up stepping on any lego as he ventured inside.
Most of the rooms were connected, a sort of community of children that had no where else to go. Abandoned, lost or orphaned – there would have been a lot of different stories clinging to these rooms and Barry knew that there was every chance he might have been one of them had he not been able to rely on friends and family after his mother's death and father's incarceration. Even if he tried not to, Barry couldn't stop himself from empathizing with the children that would have lived here.
When he remembered what Len had said about this place, about the poor treatment and care of the children under the owners, he felt a spike of rage. He dealt with criminals all the time, but this sort of mistreatment of children and the ability to do so without persecution set Barry's mind into a dangerous place. The sort of place that he'd sometimes see Batman go, but everyone knew they'd never go further than that. Killing, taking law and judgment into their own hands – that was no the Justice Leagues way.
They would not become dictators, regardless of how much good they could do. They were not lords among men.
Barry thought he'd seen all that there was, searched through the rooms as best he could while avoiding the flimsier looking sections of flooring and had not yet found CM's riddle. Frustrated by not yet ready to give up, Barry decided he would search through a second time, looking for something he'd missed. It was only by chance he happened to glance up and see it.
At the very back of the smallest children's room, a room that had only three beds crammed inside and a blocked off window – there was a nest. Not the sort of a nest a bird might make or even a spider's web made for her children to eventually come spilling out of like some monstrous nightmare consisting almost exclusively of little black spots – no this was a nest that was more familiar to Barry.
It was Noire's nest.
Stunned by the simple familiarity of the structure made out of bunched up blankets and pillows that had been crammed inside of a small space on the wall. It was directly above the window where the ceiling continued at the same height despite leaving a gap between it and the window, creating a space most might use for storage but Noire would always target as a potential nest.
Barry vividly remembered Noire making various nests in the house, above the fridge when he was small enough, the roof before Barry had almost suffered a heart attack from the fright alone – anywhere he could be up high and observe what went on under his nest from a safe distance. This was undeniably Noire's nest…so what was it doing here? Why was Noire's favourite little nest in a place like this?
Noire had come to live with him after his mother died – he was never an orphan so why was it here?
He'd taken on step towards the bundle of bunched up blankets when the space around Barry was suddenly filled up a looming shadow. The dark silhouette fell over Barry giving him only a seconds warning before a piece of metal went flying past his head, imbedding itself in the window frame by the side of his face. Barry could already fell a thin trail of blood beginning to gradually drip from his cheek where the razor sharp edges of the weapon had nicked him. Had Barry not moved that small inch he had it might have left a more sizable wound on his face.
"What are you doing here?" Barry's chest seized up for two reasons when he heard the low growl directed at him. First and most violently was the realization that he now knew exactly what had been thrown at him and who had thrown it. Secondly, and perhaps worse than his initial realization was the knowledge that this was probably going to hurt him more than Len had – both physically and emotionally. Because who else in the world had a voice quite so unfriendly and rough as that?
He then slowly – very slowly – turned to face the man, arms kept up in the surrender position to avoid being lashed out again. When he was finally able to look at the looming figure of another friend – Barry tried to smile even though he knew it must have looked uneasy.
"Heya Bats…"