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"Look, kid, all you gotta do is tell us where Snart is, then this will all be over."
"I told you, I don't know anyone named Snart!" Barry told the Darbinyan thug for the hundredth time.
A kick from the other guy landed solidly in the middle of Barry's back, forcing a choked, breathless noise out of him even as he curled tighter in on himself, arms shielding his head.
"Come on Petros, we'll give the little fag some time to reconsider trying to protect that other fucking swish. He'll come around sooner or later."
Barry dragged himself into a corner when the door to the small room closed behind his kidnappers. His ribs ached, his swollen eye throbbed, and his split lip burned. He was pretty sure his left hand was broken, fingers stiff and discolored.
Fuck, he hated when he was right. His boyfriend really was too good to be true.
"Barry. Barry!" Iris stage whispered. "There he is, that's him!"
Looking first to Iris, then to the door of Jitters, Barry shrank back into his seat. "That's him? You didn't tell me you were setting me up with a male model. Iris, no!"
"Iris, yes!" she hissed, popping him with the dish towel in her hand. "He's nice and attractive and single, and he thought you were cute when I showed him your picture. Just give it a chance."
'A chance' was underselling the amount of mental gymnastics Barry was going to have to perform to convince himself not to duck into the kitchen and escape out the back door. He hadn't been on a date since he was struck by lightning and came out of the subsequent two-month long coma. He'd never have guessed the first time back would be with one of the most attractive men he'd ever seen in his life. Long legs, broad shoulders, sharp jawline, intense eyes, and a way of moving like he expected everyone would stay out of his way. Too busy staring, Barry didn't have time to respond to Iris before his smoking hot blind date made it to the counter. Fuck.
"Good afternoon, Iris. And you have to be the incomparable Barry. Len Wynters."
Okay, double unfair that he looked like that and sounded like that. "Ye- yeah." Barry cleared his throat and swallowed, remembering at the last second to offer a hand. "Hi, Len. Nice to meet you."
"Likewise," Len said, his voice curling around the word as his mouth curled up at the right corner and his long, cool fingers curled around Barry's sweaty hand, and Barry wanted to curl up and die. "I've heard so much about you. All good, I promise."
"Wish I could say the same. About hearing about you, I mean! I'm sure if I had, it would all be good," Barry rambled, trying very hard not to pay attention to Iris grinning like a lunatic in his peripheral vision.
Len's gaze flicked over to her briefly, then back to Barry. "Why don't we find a table where things are a little less busy? I don't want to take up precious space right in the middle of everything. Iris, could I get—"
"Your usual?" She turned and took two drinks from Tracy, one iced and one hot, presenting them with a flourish. "Already taken care of. Have fun."
"A miracle worker," Len said, taking the drinks. He turned back to Barry and gestured to an emptier part of the room. "Shall we?"
Barry nodded and reached behind him for his bright red cane, grip tight around the familiar silicone handle. He kept his head up as Len escorted him to a free table, hoping the weakness in his knees was just the anxiety and not a sign that his legs were going to give out from under him again. He took the seat that put his back to Iris so he wouldn't have to watch her watching them, and he tucked his cane against the wall. Len set Barry's steaming cup in front of him before taking the other chair.
"So, Barry Allen," Len drawled, leaning forward.
Hiding a grimace in his coffee, Barry braced himself for any number of the usual questions. Aren't you too young to need a cane? What was it like being in a coma? Can your dad hook me up with a prescription?
"Kirk or Picard?"
The rest of the date was so surprisingly easy. Once Len's question broke the ice, conversation flowed, and Barry was able to relax in a way he hadn't since coming out of the coma. His dad and his friends had gotten better about not walking on eggshells around him lately, and his therapy team was great, but strangers these days tended to regard Barry with pity, disdain, or suspicion. Len just treated him like a normal person.
Honestly, it was probably the best date Barry had ever been on, even if he swore he could feel Iris burning holes in the back of his head. Len got his number at the end of it and texted back with his own, promising to call soon.
"Barryyyyy!" Iris squealed after Len left, rushing over to take his empty seat. "Did I tell you, or did I tell you? He's great, right?"
Smiling in spite of himself, Barry nodded. "Yeah, he is, actually."
"Aaaand?" she prompted.
"Thank you, Iris, you're the best best friend and wingwoman anyone ever had, and I will definitely distract your dad next time you have a date with Eddie," he recited dutifully.
"I'll pretend that sounded sincere. And my shift is over, so let me grab my stuff and I'll go home with you."
Barry wasn't sure how much time had passed since the Darbinyans had snatched him, but it was long enough that he was starting to feel the missed doses of his meds. Besides the acute pain of the wounds they'd inflicted on him, his body was gradually beginning to succumb to his chronic pain again. Joint aches, muscle spasms, that raw nerve feeling when anything brushed against his skin, all of it was creeping back up through him.
Finding a comfortable position was impossible, and at this point, it was asking a lot to find a position that was tolerable. Barry eventually managed to prop himself against the wall in a way that supported his ribs so breathing didn't cause too much of a problem and called it a win. He had practice tuning out the other stuff. Just run through some difficult equations in his head, or if that was too much, try to remember the entire soundtrack to a musical.
Thinking about science and math was soothing, a realm of questions with solutions that followed some sort of logic. Not like his actual life, which was full of questions with no sensible answers. Why had his mother been the one to die in the car crash, and not the drunk driver who caused it? Why did his life have to get turned upside down by a bolt of lightning? Why was the best relationship he'd ever had all built on a lie?
Len was too good to be true. Barry was half convinced that he'd won the jackpot, and half sure it was all going to blow up spectacularly, because he'd never been this lucky. He didn't just land insanely hot, smart, secretly nerdy guys who looked at him like they could eat him alive, except apparently he did. He kept expecting to get blown off or stood up despite Len's earnest request for a second date, then a third.
He definitely expected it after the first time Len invited him to stay the night. He hadn't undressed in front of anyone who wasn't a medical professional since the accident, but Len turned off the light before Barry could spiral about taking his shirt off and revealing skin pitted and puckered and shiny from the melting hot temperature of the lightning and the burns of the chemicals he'd fallen in.
"I've got scars, too," Len had said, quiet and solemn. "You don't owe me any explanations."
The day they'd planned to go to the natural history museum, Barry woke up exhausted and knew between one breath and the next that he wouldn't be walking any further than downstairs all day. He huffed a sigh and rolled onto his side to find his phone. As much as it had pained him to cancel their date, he couldn't force himself through the fatigue weighing him down like cinder blocks strapped to his limbs. He made himself open his texts, pull up his conversation with Len, and slowly compose a message.
//woke up …less than functional. rain check?
A few minutes later, a ping.
//Hate to miss my designated Barry time. You up for company?
//you really want to come over?
//If you're cool with it. We could Netflix and actually chill.
The ache in Barry's chest abruptly went from crushing disappointment in himself to swelling with affection for Len, and tears prickled in the corners of his eyes.
//i'd like that a lot
Len showed up two hours later with snacks. He made Barry sit on the sofa, handed him an electrolyte drink, and told him to pick something to watch.
He thought about the new crime documentary that popped up when he logged in, but he just didn't have the energy for it. Len was the first person he'd been with who shared Barry's interest in dissecting the events of true crime stories, explaining once as they had lunch at the Motorcar that his grandfather and father had both been on the force, so he'd grown up around it. He always had insightful critiques of where the perpetrators or the law enforcement had bungled their side of things, and he didn't get weird about Barry going off on former-CSI tangents about blood spatter trajectories or soil samples.
After a brief internal debate, Barry went with an old sci-fi series he'd seen enough to make it soothing noise without having to keep too much attention on the plot.
Len finished arranging the food on the coffee table as the opening scene for the next episode of Space Trek began to play. He sat back and threw an arm around Barry. "Oh, this is the one where Tork almost commits genocide."
"Accidentally!" Barry says, gently jabbing Len in the ribs with an elbow. "It's not like he knew that girl was a spy."
"Excuses, excuses."
"No more excuses, little deviant," Petros said as he opened the door to Barry's makeshift cell. "You have had time to consider, and you will tell us where to find Snart."
Pressing closer to the wall, Barry gritted his teeth and blew out a hard breath through his nose. "For the last time, you're barking up the wrong tree. I don't care if you think my boyfriend looks like some asshole who fucked over your boss, I don't know this Snart guy."
It wasn't technically a lie, but it wasn't the truth. Barry knew from the second they'd shown him a grainy photo of Leonard Snart that he was the same man as Barry's Len Wynters, but he didn't know Snart the criminal. He knew Len, the apparent cover persona who liked greasy diner food and borrowing Barry's dog-eared old paperbacks and had felt so real that even in the face of betrayal and danger, Barry couldn't bring himself to rat him out.
Petros strode forward, one large, scarred hand already reaching for Barry.
Barry pushed himself further into the corner, gathering his legs under him. If he could make a low tackle and take Petros down, he might have enough time to run for the still open door. It was worth trying, even if only to know he wasn't going out without a fight.
Just as Petros leaned in to grab for Barry's collar, Barry launched himself at the man's knees. Petros pitched forward, feet swept out from under him, face smashing into the wall. Barely managing to roll out of the way of Petros's legs, Barry scrambled to get to his feet, but a hand caught his ankle.
"If you like it rough, we will play rough," Petros growled, yanking Barry toward him.
"Let go!" Barry kicked with his other leg, trying to break the hold, but Petros's grip remained strong as he dragged himself up and over Barry.
One of Petros's hands fisted in Barry's hair, and his knees rested on Barry's arms to pin him in place. "Since you refuse to cooperate, you will just have to be a message instead," he said, wrapping his other hand around Barry's throat and squeezing.
Barry's legs jerked as he attempted to find purchase on the floor to try and buck Petros off of him. He managed a couple of weak pushes, but with his air cut off and his upper body pinned, it did little good. Just as his vision started getting spotty, a loud snap sounded from the doorway, and red bloomed on Petros's forehead. His grip went lax, body slumping to the floor, still half on top of Barry. Barry craned his head, sucking in raspy, gasping breaths as he looked for his savior.
Len— Snart —stood framed by the door, face stone cold as he lowered the suppressed pistol he'd just fired. He checked both ways down the hallway before entering the room and unceremoniously shoving Petros's lifeless body aside. He knelt, his free hand twitching like he wanted to reach out and touch Barry but was holding back.
"Barry, we have one hundred and ninety-seven seconds before someone realizes something is wrong, and I need to get you out of here," he said, voice too controlled for someone who'd just killed a man. "How badly are you hurt?"
"I can walk. H-how did you find me?" Barry wheezed, rolling onto his side and pushing up onto his hands and knees.
Len wrapped an arm around him to help him the rest of the way up. "Iris called me when you didn't answer your phone for either of us all day, so I retraced your usual Tuesday schedule until I found your cane in an alley near the bus stop with an Akhtamar cigarette butt. These goons were sloppy about grabbing you."
As much as he wanted to, Barry didn't try to ask any follow-up questions as Len guided him out of the room and down the hall. Not only did he not want to accidentally draw attention to them, but the sharp focus of Len's eyes and the steady grip he kept on his gun was unnerving. Barry kept his focus instead on keeping up with Len's pace without stumbling or giving away how much his everything hurt.
They had to pause a couple of times at sounds from other areas of what Barry now saw was a warehouse at the docks, but Len got him out a side door without anyone following. A car idled just outside. Len yanked open the back door, shoved Barry in ahead of himself, and barked out a harsh, "Go!" at the woman behind the wheel.
Barry went hazy on the drive. They weren't speeding through the streets and taking wild corners like in a movie, and the adrenaline went out of him, his body trusting that being with Len meant he was finally safe. He floated in the sensory overwhelm of his injuries, only distantly aware of the driver's sporadic conversation with Len. It was hard to focus when every stop and start jostled some part of him and sent fresh jolts of pain through him.
"Well, he's no Mick."
"Eyes on the road, Lise."
Oh, she must be the sister Len had mentioned a few times, Lisa. Not exactly how Barry had imagined meeting her.
"Can't believe you've been stringing this poor guy along, Lenny."
"I wasn't."
The cold glass of the window felt good against his throbbing head.
"Yes, I understand the plan, even if I think it's stupid."
The car came to a stop, and that was definitely a hospital they were in front of, but not Central City Memorial.
"He'd better be worth all this, jerkface."
"Guess we're about to find out."
Lisa and Len both ducked out of the car, Len taking the driver's seat as Lisa rushed to the passenger side to help Barry out. She had to do a lot more supporting than Len did before, Barry's legs gone weak with the adrenaline crash, but they stumbled their way into the ER waiting room mostly upright.
"My friend needs help!" Lisa cried, just as Barry's vision tunneled and his ears rang and he dropped to the cold tile floor.
"How're you feeling, slugger?"
Barry stirred and let his head loll to the side so he could look at his dad from his good eye. "Like I got hit by three or four mobsters." He didn't mean for it to come out quite as flat as it did, but he was still too groggy to think of a good joke.
Henry's face crumpled, and he laid a hand on Barry's jaw. "Yeah, I guess you would, huh? It's going to take a while to recover."
"Nothing I haven't made it through before. I'll be okay, dad." Barry squeezed his father's hand, closing his eyes for a moment to savor the comforting contact. "When did you get here, anyway? Have you even been to sleep?"
"My shift was almost over when I got the call, and it's only been a few hours since then. Nothing I haven't made it through before," Henry echoed. "I had a catnap on my lunch break. Now that you're awake, I can go talk to the staff about your care, and I promise I'll get some rest soon."
Barry frowned. "Dad."
"I know, I know, but cut me some slack for extenuating circumstances, Barr." He patted Barry's shoulder. "I'll be back in a few."
Once his dad had left the room, Barry sighed and sank back into the hospital bed. Before he had a chance to close his eyes, though, a nurse slipped in the door.
"Hi there, Mr. Allen, heard you were finally awake."
The voice was weirdly familiar, but Barry couldn't quite place the woman's face. Dark hair pulled back in a ponytail, a little more makeup than most nurses he knew, a name badge he couldn't quite read past the clipboard she held to her chest.
"Now, before I give this to you, I'm going to tell you three things. First, I love my brother, but he's an idiot, so don't take this personally. Second, don't try to chase him. Third, I don't do shovel talks, so don't do anything that makes me need a shovel." She reached into the pocket of her scrubs, pulling out an envelope that she laid on Barry's lap. "Later, cutie."
She turned and swept out of the room without waiting for a response. Barry stared at it for a moment until his brain caught up with what had just happened, putting together the nurse and the fuzzy memories of earlier in the night. The nurse who definitely was not a nurse.
"Lisa!" he called, knowing he was already too late and she wouldn't be coming back.
Looking back to the envelope, Barry swallowed down the nausea rising in his stomach and carefully opened it with his good hand. He pulled out the sheet of paper inside.
Barry,
I would say I'm sorry for lying to you, but it wouldn't be true. I knew from the start that this couldn't end well, although I'll admit this wasn't how I expected you to find out who I really am. I'm a criminal and a liar, and I hurt people, and I rob them. Don't beat yourself up for falling for the grift. I'm not a good person, but I'm good at what I do.
Little bit of parting advice, get some deadbolts. Your home security is a joke.
Thanks for the distraction, kid.
-L
He blinked down at the page and read it again, a low whine building in the back of his throat. That was Len's clear, neat handwriting, but those words weren't Len. He read it again. Thanks for the distraction? Was that what the past three months had been? Tears burned in his bruised eye before spilling hot down his face.
He couldn't reconcile words this cruel with the Len who had become such an important part of his life so quickly, or even the one who had infiltrated a Family hideout and killed a mobster in cold blood just to save him. You didn't do that kind of thing for someone who was just a mark, especially one with so little to offer anymore. That had to mean something, didn't it?
Barry hadn't managed to stop crying by the time his dad came back, he just passed over the note and readily accepted the tight hug it elicited.