Chapter Text
Barry’s double-take is understandable.
That doesn’t stop Len from being annoyed by it, and annoyed that Barry’s sticking his nose into things that aren’t his business — again. What makes it worse is that he can’t even hold onto his annoyance the way he wants to, because it’s swept away in a wash of relief that Barry’s there to help (something he isn’t going to examine too closely), and an equally strong wave of fear; he knows what Lewis Snart is capable of, and he doesn’t want Barry Allen dead (something he isn’t going to examine at all).
Lucy, for her part, glances up very briefly when Barry walks in, and then goes back to her coloring book with the sort of very careful and deliberate inattention to the newcomer in their midst that has Len clenching his fists and dreaming of making Lewis Snart bleed.
But then Lewis is there, and Barry is “Sam,” and Lucy is instructed to sit quietly and not move until they get back. She will, because she does what she’s told, instantly and obediently in the way that five year olds — ones who aren’t Snarts, Len qualifies to himself — generally don’t. He can see the curiosity burning in Barry’s eyes, but at least he isn’t stupid enough to ask anything with Lewis there to overhear every word.
“Sam” puts on a good show, and there’s more than a few moments when it occurs to Len that they could have made a good team; Barry’s abilities are extremely useful, as it turns out.
And then everything goes to shit.
Sorry, Barry. It’s so fucking inadequate, when the kid got himself killed for being too damn good, for thinking that a couple of criminals were worth his time and refusing to be driven off. But it’s all Len can do; he can’t risk Lisa. He can’t risk Lucy, who doesn’t deserve to be stuck with Lewis Snart for a father.
He keeps a straight face, wearing Captain Cold like a disguise, even as he’s scrambling for a backup plan, hoping Cisco and Caitlin will still be willing to help Lisa even after…
And then Barry’s back, suit on and “Sam” gone, and Len would ask How? because that was a point-blank shot, is Barry really that fast? But there’s no time for questions. There’s no time for anything except desperate hope that he can stall long enough, that somewhere in the depths of S.T.A.R. Labs they’re getting the fucking bomb out of his sister’s neck and they’ll get it done soon enough that Len won’t have to watch Barry Allen die for a second time tonight.
And then somehow, for once in his godforsaken life, hope actually wins out. He watches Lewis Snart die instead, and sinks to the floor as his chest loosens.
It’s like exhaling a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding, had been holding for days now. Ever since Lewis showed up. He looks at his father’s body and tries to feel anger, or sadness, or anything, but there’s nothing. All he feels is cold, and it’s not even the gun because the Flash has taken that from his hands.
“Lisa was safe; why did you do that?”
Oh, how Len wishes it was that simple. Safe for now, maybe, but never safe while Lewis Snart was somewhere in the world. And there’s more to think about than just himself and Lisa, now; an abrupt change from how he’s lived the vast majority of his life.
“Lucy wasn’t,” he says, and his voice does something he’s not happy with. It’s not Captain Cold. It doesn’t even sound like Leonard Snart. It’s broken, and it makes the Flash pause, an uncharacteristic stillness coming over him. He breaks it to reach up to his ear, activating the microphone on his comm system. Len doesn’t know what he’s expecting to hear.
“We’re okay,” he reports in a strangely calm voice, “We’ll head back to S.T.A.R. Labs soon.”
Whatever he might have expected, that wasn’t it. Nor would he have expected the Flash to switch off his comm system, but that’s what he does, presumably after receiving confirmation.
Barry sits down next to him — more surprises — and sets the cold gun down on his other side. Neither of them looks at the other. Len can’t tell if Barry is looking at Lewis’ body or at the wall, and he’s not sure if he cares.
“Who is she?” Barry asks, “Is she … yours?”
Len laughs, a harsh sound that echoes oddly around them. Of course Barry would think that. And from the outside maybe it makes sense, but.
“As medical science has not yet advanced to permit male pregnancy, it’s unlikely I’ll be fathering any children. She’s his,” Len jerks his head toward the body, forestalling whatever reaction Barry may have had to that bit of personal information. “My half-sister, I presume.”
“You don’t know?” Barry asks after a pause.
“It may surprise you to learn,” Len scoffs, “but my father is not particularly fond of paper trails.” He pauses, corrects himself. “Was.”
“Right.” Barry shifts. “You killed him.”
“I’m aware.” Len doesn’t know where this is going. Thinking rationally, he’s surprised he hasn’t already been whisked away to be handcuffed by the CCPD.
“I killed someone,” Barry says quietly.
Len keeps very, very still through the long silence that follows, taking slow, even breaths. He doesn’t know what this is. A secret for a secret? A confession? If it’s a confession, it’s a pointless one — Leonard Snart is in no position to grant absolution. But then, maybe that is the point.
“We need to hide it,” Barry says finally, and Len has to turn his head and look at him, not quite believing his ears. But Barry’s looking at the body, and then he turns and meets Len’s eyes, perfectly serious. “How? I could speed it out…?” he suggests, looking and sounding doubtful.
Len has always looked a gift horse in the mouth, wanting to be prepared for the inevitable bite, but this time he can’t bring himself to. And he’s always been quick with plans, and contingencies.
“The janitor’s cart,” Len decides, and before he’s even finished the sentence, Barry’s back with it, the loose parts rattling from the sudden movement. He’s surprised the wheels aren’t smoking.
“Now what?” Barry asks, and Len tells him.
~*~
Barry does his best to avoid thinking about what he’s doing as they wheel Lewis Snart’s body out of the building the same way they’d come in, though the cart is much heavier this time around. His Flash suit is tucked away on the cart, but it’s a good thing that the security guards barely seem to notice them leaving because he’s not sure he could put his “Sam” persona back on with the knowledge of what he’s pushing around.
“They didn’t notice he wasn’t with us,” Barry comments as they load the body into the back of Snart’s van. He doesn’t exactly know why, other than that he tends to babble when he’s nervous. It turns out that disposing of a body makes him nervous.
“It’s always easier getting out than in,” Snart says as he closes the door and gestures for Barry to go around to the passenger side. In for a penny, Barry figures. He’s already living in an alternate universe where he’s getting criminal advice from Captain Cold while helping him cover up a murder.
What am I doing? The fact that this is crazy crosses his mind about a thousand times a second as Snart maneuvers the van through Central City’s streets, keeping pace with the rest of traffic. He stops … back at the safe house where Barry had found him earlier, pulling into the alley and stopping the van.
Snart doesn’t move, and doesn’t turn the key to stop the engine.
“What are we—“ Barry starts after a moment’s waiting. His leg is twitching involuntarily, too much energy and too many nerves making it even harder than usual to sit still.
“You don’t need to see the rest,” Snart cuts him off, turning his head just enough to give Barry a slanted look. “Better if you don’t know where the bodies are buried,” he adds, and Barry stares at him, mouth falling open.
“Bodies!?” He knew Snart had killed before, but not that he had a— a dumping ground somewhere. (Central City hasn’t had a serial killer since well before Barry joined the CCPD, but he’s watched Dexter, okay.)
Snart smirks, that sardonic expression that Barry would have sworn was the only thing his face was capable of, before this. “Figure of speech, Barry,” he says, looking away, straight out the windshield.
Right. Barry feels his face heat as he looks down at his lap.
“I need you to stay with Lucy. We should have been back by now. And this will take a while.”
Barry refrains from asking how Snart knows how long it takes to hide a body, just barely. Because thinking about it, he’s not sure he really wants to know the answer. And from the way Snart’s gripping the steering wheel with white knuckles, he’s very sure that Snart doesn’t want to answer.
There’s a part of him that worries whether it’s some kind of trick; if Snart’s trying to get him to walk into a trap. But there are two things he can be sure of, about Snart: that he cares more about his sister than anything else, and that he takes debts seriously. If it’s quid-pro-quo, then Snart knows how easily Barry could have had him in Iron Heights rather than idling in a van in a back alley. And if it’s his sister… Lisa’s safe and sound at S.T.A.R. Labs, but Snart apparently has another sister sitting in that building, and he was willing to kill his own father for one or both of them.
It’s mostly gut instinct (and more trust than Snart deserves), but Barry clicks the release on his seatbelt.
“I’ll take care of her until you get back,” Barry promises, opening the door to hop out.
“Wear the suit,” Snart says, just as he’s about to close it again, and Barry stops, raising an eyebrow.
“You sure about that?” He asks.
“She doesn’t know you. But she likes the Flash.” It sounds like it pains Snart to even say it, and Barry’s so startled that he laughs, nerves forgotten for a second. He almost thinks he sees the corner of Snart’s mouth turn up into something that doesn’t look like a smirk, but it’s gone in an instant.
“Suit it is, then,” Barry agrees, and quick-changes into it. “Hurry back,” he says, feeling stupid the second it leaves his mouth, but Snart doesn’t take the opportunity to say something cutting, and Barry closes the door and takes a step back so Snart can pull away. He waits until the van is out of sight, taillights disappearing around a corner, before speeding back into the safehouse he’d left what felt like weeks ago, but was really less than an hour.
Lucy is right where they left her, sitting on a torn-up old office chair, her coloring book and small box of crayons in front of her on a makeshift table composed of a piece of plywood thrown across whatever was handy and roughly the right height.
She looks up, startled when he appears in a crackle of yellow lightning, her eyes wide and fearful. Barry hadn’t gotten much of a look at her before, but now he can see the resemblance to her half-siblings — dark hair with a bit of curl like Lisa’s, but she’s got her brother’s eyes. She clutches her crayon, holds herself tightly, like she’s braced for something, and flinches when he takes a step forward from the shadows. Barry thinks about Lisa’s shoulder and Snart’s voice when he told his father how he hated him. His heart aches, and he stands carefully still, trying to keep his stance relaxed and nonthreatening.
“Hi, Lucy,” he says gently, “I’m the Flash,” and she gapes at him, eyes still wide but with more shock than fear. “Your brother asked me to come check on you,” he adds, hoping for something more than silence.
“Lenny did?” she asks in a quiet voice. Barry smiles at her, as warmly as he knows how.
“Yeah, he did. He’s gonna be a bit longer coming back, so he asked me to keep you company. Is that okay?”
“Are you and Lenny friends?” she asks, and the question makes him pause, a slight hesitation that he hopes she doesn’t see.
“Yeah,” Barry says, certain he’s lying to a child but not entirely sure how he would even begin to explain what he and Leonard Snart are to each other. Especially to a five year old. “And I promised Lenny I’d look after you until he comes back, so he doesn’t have to worry about you.”
Lucy takes a moment to process this, thinking it over. “Okay,” she says finally, then holds out the crayon in her hand. “Do you want to color? I can share.”
“I would love to color,” Barry affirms, taking the chance to approach now that Lucy wasn’t cringing away from him. He finds a stool nearby; not in great condition but it doesn’t fall apart when places it next to Lucy’s chair and sits on it. It’s only once he’s seated that he really looks at the coloring book on the table.
It’s … him. Or, a line drawing of the Flash, anyway, running across a blank background. Most of the suit is already filled in with red crayon, which skips outside the lines fairly frequently.
“Hey, that’s cool,” he says, looking at it, because it kind of is. “I didn’t know I was in a coloring book.”
Lucy beams up at him, closing the book so he can see the front cover: The Flash: Protector of Central City! is emblazoned on the front in large comic sans type, which is a little bit painful, across a lightning bolt logo. The bottom of the cover declares that the book purchase supports the 9th Street Soup Kitchen.
“Lenny got it for me!” Lucy declares proudly. “Do you want to color him? His picture is boring. I don’t like blue.” She turns to a page in the book that does, in fact, feature none other than Captain Cold, brandishing a gun that looks very little like the actual cold gun, and wearing an exaggerated evil sneer to go along with his parka and goggles.
“I would love to color him,” Barry says honestly, trying not to laugh at the caricature. He takes over pulling the page out of the book when Lucy tries and fails to separate the perforated edge, so he can color the Captain Cold page while she keeps working on the picture of him. Lucy hands over the blue crayon with great solemnity, and he takes it with equal seriousness. Time to get to work.
~*~
Len catches himself rushing on the way back to the safehouse, forcing his foot off the gas multiple times to keep to a reasonable pace. The last thing he needs is to get pulled over for speeding, of all the ironies. He’s anxious, even though there’s no way the pile of char and ash — thanks, Mick — that used to be his father will ever be recognizable.
He’s not terribly concerned that anyone is going to go looking for Lewis Snart, but there is a part of him that’s worried about what he’ll find when he gets back to the safehouse; or more specifically, if there will be anything to find. It occurred to him, as he watched the body burn, that it would be so easy for the Flash to scoop Lucy up and drop her off with CCCFS — well out of Len’s reach, unless he was willing to kidnap his own sister. (He would be, but that’s beside the point.)
Instead, he sweeps aside the plastic curtain to find Lucy and the Flash, both with their heads curled over coloring pages, crayons in hand.
“Working on a masterpiece there, Scarlet?” he drawls, and both of them look up at him at the same time. Barry’s expression can’t seem to settle on anything in particular, but Lucy grins broadly at him.
“Lenny! We’re coloring!” she says happily, then quite clearly catches herself, looking past Len’s shoulder to the plastic, anticipating Lewis’ arrival. Len steps across the room quickly and sweeps her up, crayon and all, and she wraps her thin arms around his neck securely.
“Luce, I need to tell you something important, okay?” he asks, and he notices Barry’s curiosity. His voice at the moment is probably nothing like Barry’s heard from him before; but then, Barry has known him as Captain Cold, criminal, not Leonard Snart, big brother. Barry can stuff his surprise that Len is capable of sounding warm where the sun don’t shine for all Len cares.
Lucy nods, still keeping an eye on the entryway. “Okay.”
“Lewis—,” he pauses. “Our father. He won’t be coming back.” That catches her attention fully back from the entry, her eyes wide and fearful when they meet his.
“Not forever?” she asks in a small voice that sounds like tears, and Len’s not sure what kind they’re going to be. “I’m gonna be alone?” And the tears come then, faster than Len can soothe them, her whole face red and her nose starting to run as she sobs.
“No, no, Luce, don’t cry,” he murmurs, letting her wipe her nose on his shirt even though it leaves a trail of glistening snot, surrounded by wet splotches of tears. He rubs her back gently, and turns just enough that he can pin Barry with a look, since he’s stood up like he’s ready to jump in and try to save the day somehow. This isn’t Barry’s problem to solve; this is about family.
“You’re not gonna be alone, I promise. I’m your big brother, remember? I’m gonna look after you. Would that be all right?”
Much more slowly than they started, her sobs turn to sniffles. “I can stay with you?” The question is only half intelligible, watery-voiced and mumbled against Len’s parka, but he can make it out.
“You can stay with me forever,” he finds himself promising, remembering Lisa’s face when he’d told her he was leaving and that she couldn’t come with him — the way she’d screamed and hit him and cried until her dollar-store mascara ran down her cheeks. Never again.
It takes a while for Lucy to calm down, and Len spends all of it with her clinging to his neck like an octopus while he sways from one foot to the other slowly. By the time she’s fully done crying, she’s practically asleep, her head tucked into his shoulder. Which makes sense, given the hour. It’s late, and Lisa’s waiting for him. He imagines Cisco and Caitlin are waiting for Barry, as well.
“Can you gather up her things?” he asks Barry, quietly enough not to disturb Lucy.
“Yeah, no problem,” Barry says, and in about the same time it took to say it, he’s whipped through the space in a red and yellow blur and returned to the table with a child-sized pink backpack featuring the princesses from Frozen. Len waits for some kind of comment about that, but Barry’s not laughing. Instead he’s looking at the backpack with a strained expression.
“Is that it?” he asks, almost like he’s begging Len to reveal that Lucy’s got a whole bedroom full of clothes and toys hidden away somewhere. Len just nods; pleasant surprises and Lewis Snart were never things that went together.
“Don’t forget the coloring book,” he says, and Barry picks it and the crayons up and packs them away in the backpack with the kind of care normally reserved for priceless antiquities. He carries Lucy’s things all the way out to the van, staying a step behind Len the whole way. It’s almost unnerving, with him still in the Flash suit but moving at a normal, non-meta-human pace. Barry gets the door so Len can settle Lucy in the backseat of the van, her head resting on the folded pile of Barry’s “Sam” outfit.
Len’s perfectly aware of the fact that Barry could speed over to S.T.A.R. Labs and arrive well ahead of him, maybe warn his little team what was headed their way. Instead, he climbs up into the passenger seat of the van, and Len isn’t sure what to read into that. Probably nothing. It’s just as convenient to ride along.
They’re halfway to S.T.A.R. Labs when Barry finally opens his mouth to speak, the only other sounds the noise of the engine and Lucy’s soft, babyish snores from the back seat. “So. You bought her a Flash coloring book, huh?”
Len catches the smile playing at the edges of Barry’s lips when he glances over, and something about it makes him feel almost reckless.
“I can always change my mind about killing you, Barry,” he threatens, realizing only after it’s hanging in the air between them that Barry could take it the wrong way. He’s not Lisa, or even Mick; he’s not used to the way Len operates.
There is a short, stunned pause, but then Barry’s laughing and grinning at him across the console, eyes bright, and Len’s grip on the wheel relaxes minutely.
Okay, then.
When they finally pull up to the entrance, alongside Lisa’s parked motorcycle, Barry moves to take the backpack again, but Len shakes his head.
“Leave it,” he says, because he has no intention of sticking around any longer than he has to. Even with that firmly established, however, he can’t leave Lucy in the van, because he refuses to let her wake up alone in a strange place. She rouses a little when he picks her up, enough to cooperate in getting her situated on his hip, opposite to the cold gun. She could kick it, or, more likely, he could have to draw it in a hurry. Better to have that hand as free as possible.
Barry leads the way down the hallways to their little control room, and Len lets him even though he’s found his own way there before. Best not to remind Team Flash of that, though, and it’s not as if he objects to the view.
“Finally!” Cisco shouts as soon as they walk in, with Caitlin right behind him, asking, “What took you so long?” in a slightly calmer voice. Len lets them intercept Barry, scanning the room and quickly spotting Lisa, looking pale and exhausted. The visible relief on her face as soon as she spots him hits like a punch; a physical ache beneath his ribs.
Of course, the relief is replaced by confusion a split-second later, which is about the time that Cisco and Caitlin notice him as well.
“Is that a kid? He has a kid?” Cisco actually points, but he’s looking at Barry for answers, not Len. Still.
“Very observant, Mr. Ramon,” Len drawls. “But wrong, I’m afraid.” He turns his back on the scientists, and looks Lisa straight in the eye. “As it turns out, we have a sister,” he tells her, and only her, though it’s clear that Team Flash is listening in. Not actually very good about secrecy, those three.
Lisa’s face goes tight, and he can see her withdraw behind the emotionless shell he taught her to construct, years and years ago. She practically runs from the room, somewhere down the hall. Len closes his eyes and sighs, and doesn’t even have to re-open them before he orders, “Stop.”
Cisco was already three steps gone, but he freezes in place, eyes on the cold gun as if Len needed it for this.
“I’ll take care of my sister,” he says, injecting as much ice into his voice as he can. There will be no arguments. “Barry.”
Barry actually startles, and Caitlin glances down the hallway like she’s worried Lisa is lurking there, or perhaps that she acquired enhanced hearing in the last two minutes.
“Uh. Yeah?” Barry asks awkwardly, then, “I mean, what, Snart?” he tries again, and is seemingly more satisfied the second time around. Len rolls his eyes and ignores the way Barry glares at him for it, instead jerking his head down at an angle, toward Lucy.
“Oh! Yeah, sure,” he’s a blur for the span of a blink, or maybe less, then he’s standing right in front of Len, reaching out to take her. They somehow manage to orchestrate the transfer of Lucy from Len’s hip to Barry’s with minimal difficulty, other than a very brief stutter in Barry’s motions when he seems to realize how close they are.
“I’m not going to shank you,” Len deadpans quietly, though it seems not to do much good, since Barry jerks again, turning slightly red as he accepts Lucy’s weight. “Not my style,” he adds, for little reason at all, but it gets Barry to huff out a tiny, snorting laugh.
“Yeah, I know. Go talk to Lisa; we’ll be fine,” he assures Len with a smile that looks forced, and the fiercely protective part of Len wants to snatch Lucy back, but it quiets when Barry turns his gaze toward Lucy’s sleeping face and his smile turns into something warm and soft.
Len can’t stand to look at it.
He goes to find Lisa.
It turns out she didn’t go far; just down the hall and into what looks like a workroom of some kind. Len quickly catalogues what he sees; not much that makes any real impression at the moment, but you can never be sure what might be helpful in the future.
“Lenny, what the hell,” Lisa snaps at him. Her arms are wrapped right around her, every muscle tense despite the way she’s leaning against a table with her hip. “You know he won’t let you get away with—“
“He’s dead.” Len says flatly, watching the way the news hits her, like static making every hair stand on end. There’s bright red blood seeping through the bandage on her neck, and Len wishes he’d drawn it out more; he could have made Lewis really suffer. But then, if he had, he would probably be in handcuffs right now, not standing here to tell Lisa the news in person. There’s still fear in her eyes, the kind that only Lewis had ever been able to inspire, and apprehension.
“How?” she asks, and he gestures to the cold gun at his side.
“I iced his heart. It seemed… fitting.”
Her eyes narrow, and she nods.
“You can check with Mick, if you like. I’d show you the body but it’s currently a pile of ash.”
“That’s why it took so long?” Lisa asks, always quick to put two and two together. “Wait.” She looks at him in disbelief. “You mean he helped you? Why?”
Len could play dumb, but there’s only one he that Lisa’s referring to, at the moment. “Not directly,” he hedges. He doesn’t like keeping secrets from Lisa, but there’s no good way to explain what even he doesn’t fully understand. “We came to an agreement,” Len decides on finally.
“The same kind of agreement where you won’t tell me who he is?” She gripes, angry for form’s sake more than anything else. Lisa hates not knowing what those around her do; Len’s the same way — ignorance is vulnerability. But she’ll make exceptions for family. They both will.
“The very same,” he says, cutting off the line of inquiry. But he steps forward anyway, opening his arms just enough to make it an invitation. Lisa folds against him like they’re kids again, huddling in the dark with only each other for support.
“He’s really dead?” she whispers, and Len holds her tightly and rests his chin in her hair.
“Cross my heart.”
~*~
With his enhanced strength, holding Lucy isn’t difficult at all, even though she’s just dead weight against Barry’s hip. Unfortunately, that means Barry doesn’t have a plausible escape route when Cisco and Caitlin round on him the second Snart leaves the room, eyeing the little girl in his arms like she might explode at any moment.
Wait. Bad metaphor.
Barry makes his brain restart, this time without horrifying thoughts of Lucy with one of those bombs in her head, images that make Barry clutch her too tightly. It’s not like he’s known her long, but he knows she doesn’t like the color blue and thinks the Flash is pretty great but “Lenny” is the best. And he knows enough about the man she was living with to want to keep her safe and spoil her rotten.
“That’s their sister?” Caitlin looks gobsmacked. “But isn’t their father kind of…?”
“Old as balls,” Cisco fills in, the information on Lewis Snart still readily available in the S.T.A.R. Labs systems. Barry glances at the birth date. In the second half of his 60s, anyway. “Guess he’s not too old to make babies.”
“Ugh.” Barry makes a face at that.
Caitlin hurls a pen at Cisco’s head, which he dodges by about an inch. “I didn’t need that mental image, Cisco,” she complains, but settles back into seriousness a moment later. “What happened, Barry?” she asks, “And where’s Lewis? Did he get the diamonds?”
Crap. Barry had actually completely forgotten about the diamonds, which he assumed were somewhere in one of Lewis’ pockets. Then again, knowing Snart, they were somewhere in his pockets, now. Oh, well.
“He’s gone,” Barry says after a moment, then chokes on what to say next.
“Gone? What, he got away?” Cisco sounds incredulous, and Barry can’t blame him. How was it so easy to be Sam, and yet he’s stuck racking his brains for a decent story that’s even mildly believable?
“The diamonds!” Barry blurts out a moment later, with his out-loud voice despite the fact that it should have been an inner-voice realization. He covers as fast as he can. “Snart made him a deal, after you guys got the bomb out of Lisa. He takes the diamonds and gets out of town for good, and Snart keeps Lucy.”
Caitlin’s eyes narrow, and Barry tenses, waiting for the cards to fall, but when she speaks, her gathering anger isn’t directed at him. “He just sold his own daughter?”
“Well. It’s not like he was ever in the running for father of the year.” When Cisco speaks, his voice is quiet, and his eyes are far away. In the room down the hall, Barry thinks, with Lisa Snart. He’s not sure how he feels about that. But then, after tonight he probably can’t point fingers when it comes to the Snarts.
Caitlin deflates at that. “Yeah. Good point.”
“Anyway, it took a while to get rid of him,“ —so to speak, Barry thinks, doing his best not to wince— “and pick up Lucy.”
“So we’re just gonna let him take her?” Caitlin asks, “Hand a little girl over to Captain Cold?” Barry didn’t think about the possibility that Caitlin or Cisco would have a problem with it. It seemed obvious to him, at the time. It still does.
“The only thing he cares about is his sister,” Cisco says, rejoining the conversation. “If that extends to this one, too… I don’t think he’ll hurt her.” The fact that Cisco is rejoining the conversation on Barry’s — well, really Snart’s — side is kind of surprising, but Barry will take backup where he can find it. He really has no desire to find out what Snart is willing to do, if they threaten to take Lucy away at this point.
Barry wants to tell them about the coloring book, and about the way Snart’s voice changed when he talked to Lucy. About how far he was willing to go to make sure she stayed safe and out of their father’s hands. But he keeps his tongue still and holds Lucy securely while Caitlin and Cisco go back and forth, finally settling on a policy of wait and see.
It’s not long after that that Snart and Lisa re-emerge, both looking a bit worse for the wear. Lisa sticks close to her brother’s side; closer than usual. Barry gets the impression she’d be leaning on him, if they were alone.
“We should go,” Snart says to the room at large, his face impassive, but he’s looking right at Barry. Or maybe at Lucy, more accurately. It’s hard to tell.
“You’ll need to come in for follow-up!” Caitlin interjects, and it takes a moment for Barry to parse that she’s talking to Lisa, and more as Dr. Snow than as Caitlin. Lisa lifts a hand to touch the bandage on her neck lightly. While her attention is taken up with making arrangements, Snart takes a few steps forward, heading for Barry and Lucy.
“I’ve got her,” Barry says quickly, and Snart stops and gives him an intense look, tilting his head like Barry’s just done something interesting. “I can carry her out, I mean,” he clarifies, but the way Snart smirks at him seems to indicate that it didn’t help much.
“Have it your way, Scarlet,” Snart says, nodding his head toward the exit and stepping back to clear the path. Despite the open space in the cortex, Snart somehow manages to leave just barely enough room for Barry to pass, and his arm brushes against Snart’s parka on his way.
“You’ll be here to see me in the morning, won’t you, Cisco?” Lisa is saying, well within Cisco’s personal space as usual, but her voice is strained, like she’s trying too hard to be herself, and he doesn’t seem as flustered as usual.
“Of course,” Cisco says, “I’ll bring you coffee,” without stuttering at all, and Barry’s oddly proud of him for it. Despite the fact that he should probably be opposed to whatever is going on there, given that Lisa Snart is as much a criminal as her brother. But as she flashes Cisco a smile and purrs, “My hero,” as he blushes, Barry thinks that whatever unwritten rules they’ve all been playing by have been suspended for tonight.
Snart and Lisa follow behind Barry as he carries Lucy out of the cortex and out to where Snart’s van is parked. There’s a part of him that stays on high alert, edgy with both of them at his back, even though he knows the likelihood that either of them will try anything is miniscule. Maybe even nonexistent, which is a strange realization given how determined he was to never trust Captain Cold again, after what happened at Ferris Air.
Lisa climbs onto her bike, pulling her helmet on, gunning the engine, and peeling away before Snart even gets the door of the van open.
“Is she all right?” Barry asks as he lays Lucy down on the bench seat, careful with her head but glancing up and back at Snart.
“She will be,” Snart says after a moment, closing the door firmly but as quietly as possible, for all that it seems to matter. Lucy slept straight through Lisa’s rather loud departure without even stirring.
“Okay,” Barry says, not completely convinced. He shuffles awkwardly, boots scraping against the asphalt. He glances at the polarized window of the van, seeing nothing but his own shadowy reflection in the glass. “Look, if you need anything,” he starts, then stops as Snart raises an eyebrow at him.
“Anything, hmm?” If Lisa purrs like a cat then Snart rumbles like a panther, deep and dangerous. Barry swallows thickly and tries to remember that they both have claws.
“I did have my eye on the exhibit opening up at the museum next month,” Snart continues, and it’s bizarre how only one night in relatively close company is enough for Barry to realize that the particular set of his face, the way his ever-present smirk curls just a tiny bit more at the edges, means he’s teasing.
Captain Cold is teasing him, and far from making him angry, it makes something swoop in Barry’s stomach, makes him smile. “You know what I meant,” he says, with no heat in it.
“I do know what you meant,” Snart acknowledges, and gives no further indication of how he feels about the offer, or whether he at all intends to take Barry up on it.
“Right,” Barry says, Snart does nothing but look at him for the next few seconds. He feels a bit like a zoo animal, if zoo animals were capable of flushing from being under such close scrutiny. “Good night,” he says as he starts to move away from the van, back into S.T.A.R. Labs to change out of the Flash suit and head home.
“Barry.”
Snart’s voice stops him first, but when he turns back Snart’s in his space, and then his hand is wrapping around the back of Barry’s neck, pulling him in close to the other man, so close he almost stumbles. They’re nearly the same height, so it doesn’t take much for Snart to bring their heads together, and Barry feels a bolt of something like panic shoot through him in the split-second that his brain processes that Snart likes men and is he going to—? but then their temples are pressed together, a layer of tripolymer between them, and Barry’s nose is close to Snart’s ear. He breathes in without thinking about it, inhaling the scent of sweat and cologne or maybe aftershave; a bit spicy and a bit like the air after a frost. It’s … nice, actually.
“Thank you,” Snart says, his voice thick and rough and no louder than a whisper.
Then he’s gone, backing away all at once so Barry’s left with nothing but the lingering feeling of his hand and the wash of cooler air across his chest, where Snart’s open parka is no longer threatening to swallow him up. Snart doesn’t look at him again, not as he climbs into the van or as he drives away, but Barry finds himself standing there, slightly stunned, until long after the vehicle is out of sight.
When he finally goes back inside, speeding out of the Flash suit and into his regular clothes, Cisco and Caitlin both look as adrift as he feels, and he finds himself collapsing into one of the chairs. He’s starting to get hungry; he should go home and eat something before… shit, before he has to be at work in a couple of hours.
“So, are we friends with the Snarts now?” Caitlin asks, equal parts sarcastic and genuinely confused. Cisco only shrugs, and Barry sighs, meeting each of their eyes in turn, then looking up at the ceiling, as if it could provide the answers.
“I have absolutely no idea,” he says, and feels bad that it’s probably the most honest he’s been with them all night.