Chapter Text
Defeat swells in his chest, as the renouned hero comes to accept his current predicament. The back of his head throbs and aches without an end in sight. Tossing his head back, Barry exhales through his nose, and waits for this mess to be over - whatever that may mean. He had been stuffed in the closet, and tied to an office chair, of all things. He can spin around to his heart's content, but there's no escape from the unforgiving grip the ropes had on his limbs. Phasing was not an option - not with the cold, metal collar locked around his neck. The sly vibrations, accompanied by a hint of low blue light left no questions in his mind that his powers were blocked. Still, he tried anyway. Tried and failed.
Yeah, to hell with Mick Rory and his antics.
He had approached at night, too late for anyone else to be awake. Barry had finished his routine rounds, and sent everyone home. Just as he was about to call it a night and lock the doors of the lab, he spotted the unarmed criminal posed outside, staring straight at the camera. A few cautiously exchanged words lead the speedster to discover that Snart had some troubles, and his partner desperately wanted their nemesis to talk some sense into him.
"He's a shit person, sure, but he's also my shitty friend." That had tugged on his heartstrings enough to let his guard down, and the moment he turned his back, he received a blow to the back of his head. The peaceful hum of unconsciousness was followed by a lot of groaning and twisting as he came to accept that he was being held hostage.
The closet - at least what Barry guessed to be a closet, with the tight space and sweathers above his head, was dark and stuffy. However, the poor ventilation was not nearly as annoying as the folded up sock that had been stuffed into his mouth, or the tie stretched between his lips and tired at the back of his head, that prevented him from spitting out the - thankfully clean - sock. How considerate, The Flash thinks to himself with a mocking pout on his face.
Long moments of waiting turn into minutes, then slowly they stretch into hours. Even if his hands weren't trapped behind his back, Barry still would have no way of telling the time, not without his trusty watch, the one that Joe had gifted him. He never wore it under the leather suit, out of fear of getting it damaged when someone felt like slamming him into a concrete wall. Lovely line of work he had, indeed.
Ropes dig into his leather clad flesh, reminding him of the constant nagging from his friends and family to be more careful, and not to run head first into danger. In hindsight, the pyromaniac had a smell of alcohol to him, but not strong enough for the brunet to suspect that he was plotting to make some bad decisions. Evidently, he was mistaken. Without any explanation offered to him, Barry could only sit and ponder.
Perhaps Snart had something to do with this. Although, he was not one to hide behind his partner. Rather, he was the type to flaunt his work, to brag about his remarkable skills as a thief, and surely, he wouldn't pass up the opportunity to tease Barry about having the upper hand. Tying people up wasn't like him either, he could pin anyone to a chair with just a stern look. This was the doing of someone spontanious with no real sense of direction, lacking methodical planning, and dense enough to abduct someone in the security camera's line of sight. It was only a matter of time before someone from the team woke up and checked on his whereabouts, but in the meantime, he had to be patient.
It's not like he was in any real harm’s way, or at least he strongly doubted he was. Snart had a good grip on his partner in general, so whatever Mick had planned, it wouldn't be entirely against the other's morals. Being stuffed into the closet gave him the impression that they needed him out of the way for something, or at least Rory did. He went through all this trouble, so surely, he had at least a vague idea in his mind about what he was doing, even if he didn't bother to communicate that.
Barry's adams apple bobs up and down feebly, while he makes another attempt at swallowing the saliva that had gathered in his mouth. Having the cloth stuffed in there was not only needless, but also downright irritating. Another inch deeper and he would have thrown up for sure, thus he was the furthest thing from being a happy camper.
Sweat trickles down his chest beneath the thick leather, but still, he tosses and turns as much as he can, if only for a breath of fresh air. Idly, he notes the overwhelming scent of what he recognizes as mountain spring, something he had smelled on Leonard during the few times they stood an inch too close to each other. Must be the laundry detergent he uses, he concludes. Otherwise it wasn't half bad, but it was amusing to think about Snart doing his laundry, or standing in the store and smelling each bottle until he finds one that he likes, for that matter. He briefly entertains the mental image of Captain Cold seperating his whites from the rest of his clothes, measuring how much detergent to add, then folding them up precisely once everything was dry. It was strangely humoring to think of him doing mundane household tasks.
The oddly idle moment of solitude is shattered by the sound of a nearby door opening. Blinking through the darkness, Barry listens intently as footsteps make their way deeper into the home, slowly but surely getting closer to the closet that he was in. Long, tense seconds are followed by a soft “ fuck's sake ,” coming from just outside the closet, and then the door slides open to reveal the cold enthusiast man with an unreadable expression on his face.
All too suddenly, the hero becomes incredibly aware of the position that he's in, more specifically the fact that all he can do is stare at Snart and hope for the best, which has let him down in the past on multiple occasions. He shifts in his seat and gives a pointed glare to the criminal, who has yet to make a move of any kind. It's quite humiliating, really.
However, the final blow to his ego was yet to come. A look of irritation washes over Snart's face, and a second later the closet door slams shut. Barry only had a moment of crisp air before he found himself blinking in the darkness once more.