holy ghost
[Image ID: a picture of Saints & Sinners from The Flash, colorized green and with the text “holy ghost” over it.]
A Coldflash fic written for @coldflashevents Cool for the Summer day 2, using the prompts protectiveness and pining! Also, prompt requested from @hizzieluthor. Rated E; minors DNI. Read below the cut or on AO3 here.
Prompt: Barry goes back in time to see Len one last time.
This is a bad idea.
Barry's well-aware this is a mistake. He knew it was a mistake to ask Snart for help when robbing A.R.G.U.S., rather than begging Lyla (or, more realistically, begging Oliver to appeal to Lyla for him), going back in time to steal the Dominator tech and putting it back before they even find it, asking one of the other Rogues, or even asking Sara to come take Iris somewhere in the timestream that none of them would ever figure out.
But they'd had everything else ready. The power source was the last step, and Barry didn't feel like rolling the dice on anything less than a sure thing, not for Iris's life. Sure, seeing Len again would hurt, but he'd have taken on breaking the news to Lisa himself than let Iris die because he was too much of a coward to just--shut up and face the reality that Le--Snart was gone.
Except Snart, true to form, didn't make it easy for Barry. He'd let Barry carry him through time and into S.T.A.R. Labs, complimented the ring Eddie bought Iris, didn't let Barry give into the anger prickling under his skin. He'd admitted they get along, even, reached out to touch his shoulder, shook his hand.
Iris is safe, now. There's no excuse for slowing down in front of the flickering neon of the Saints and Sinners sign sometime in 2016, lingering at the door like maybe he'll still have the self-control to leave. Someone--not Snart, a pretty blonde--glares at him, annoyed, until he steps out of her way to let her pass. The bar still smells--well, like a bar, stale beer and mold and something unpleasantly sour.
When he spots Snart sitting in his usual booth, looking utterly unsurprised to see Barry in the doorway, Barry can't help but walk forward, sit across from him, and just--look.
"Here to give another spiel about my heroism?"
Barry startles, wincing at himself for doing so; Snart looks distinctly unimpressed. "No. I..." He trails off. "I hear the pickled eggs here are good."
It comes out as more a question than an olive branch, but Leonard looks amused, not irritated. They stay quiet for a couple moments. Barry tries not to be too obvious about drinking in the sight of Captain Cold, alive, not a martyr. He fails, of course, looking up from the line of Leonard's shoulders to find him watching Barry, far too knowing. Barry's sure his face is as red as his suit, and he's sure the server who walks over at that moment can read the raw gratitude on his face as easily as Leonard.
Barry does end up getting the pickled eggs, if only because he hasn't even pretended to look over the menu since sitting down. Leonard's expression turns more curious than contemplative, and Barry lasts a little less than half a minute before he cracks. "What?"
"Usually you spit out what it is you want by this point."
"Yeah, well," Barry says, and then doesn't add anything, because he knows enough about time to know that this is not a road he can go down. He'd done a hell of a lot more harm than good in trying to save his mom; he can't imagine saving a supervillain who martyred himself saving the universe is going to go any better. "I really don't know."
It's almost stupider than showing up here in the first place, showing his hand like that. He even manages to shock Leonard--Snart, dammit, with his own stupidity, the briefest expression of surprise crossing his features. There's a long beat, Barry shaking his leg under the table, where he tries to think of something to say that'll bring them back to normal. Something forgettable enough that Leonard won't bring it up to his past self before he leaves for the Legends, something that'll give Barry closure so he can go home and not come back.
"Do you want to, I don't know, play a round of pool or something?"
Leonard raises a brow. "Play a round?"
Barry flushes. "Shut up."
"We should play for money, if you're going to talk like that," Leonard says, looking away from him for the first time since Barry sat down, looking across the bar. "Though I'd hardly bother to get up from the table for what you make."
"You know, your attempts to get under my skin aren't subtle," Barry says, before reaching for his wallet. There's been a few times that he's thankful to Thawne, annoyingly, for leaving him the money he did, and this is one of them. He's pretty sure he's got a couple hundreds on him, and that might be enough to turn the tables, just a little. At least, until he reaches into his pocket and finds that he doesn't actually have his wallet where he leaves it. "Seriously?"
Leonard hands him the wallet back, sans cash. "You make it too easy, Scarlet. I'm only surprised it didn't get lifted before you sat down."
There was something thoughtful in Len's gaze, and that was dangerous. The nickname or the way he was obviously putting something together. "Maybe I just wanted to get out of the house."
Snart's expression doesn't change, exactly, only the most minute of twitches at the corner of his mouth. But it's clear he's not buying Barry's lie. "Where's the rest of your team?"
Barry winces. "Hopefully not finding out I was ever here."
Leonard relaxes a little. "Trouble in paradise?"
Barry has to bite back the urge to say everything's great, actually, totally fine, Iris happy with Eddie, Caitlin and Cisco having their own little thing, everyone else settled with the people they love. He's the only one out of anyone who goes home to an empty apartment these days, and that's--
Leonard steps on his foot under the table. "Stop that."
Barry'd started bouncing his knee without noticing, but it's the contact that really freaks him out. From Leonard's perspective, this is the most contact they've ever had, but he doesn't even move away like Barry would if he'd crossed that line, just keeps pressure. It kind of hurts, actually, but not as much as the expression on Leonard's face, suddenly knowing.
"Interesting," he says, pulling his foot back. "Central really isn't in danger, is it?"
Barry shakes his head. The pickled eggs get set in front of him before the server, understandably, makes a beeline away from the table with the biggest idiot in Central City and Captain Cold. Len's eyes are just a little darker, now, and it's too much for Barry to look at, an ache in more ways than one. It's not like he hadn't thought about it, at length. Not like he hadn't hoped for more than another set of helping hands when he told Leonard there was good in him, not like him dying didn't hurt more than it would have if it were Heat Wave or the Top.
"Penny for your thoughts."
"This was a bad idea," Barry mutters, breaking Leonard's gaze. "I should go."
"...notice you're not getting out of your seat."
Barry sighs, because now that he's here, he's not sure how else this would have gone. "I'm not."
----
The handshake had hurt, looking back. Barry has no idea how he's going to handle Leonard's hand in his hair, the other on his waist under his shirt, shoving him against the wall of one of his safehouses. He whines when Leonard tugs again, can feel Leonard smirking at it.
Len pulls harder, yanking his head back far enough that it breaks the kiss, only moving down to his neck. Barry should tell him not to leave a mark, but what comes out instead is a litany of pleases that would be humiliating if he had the brainpower left to think. "Do you--bed? In here?"
There's a bruise on Barry's throat before Leonard deigns to answer the question. "Could make you come right here."
Barry probably should let him and leave, but-- "I can go again, after?"
"Is that so," Len says in the same Captain Cold drawl he's threatened Barry with every time they've met. It works, unfortunately, and Barry's almost fully hard by the time Leonard gets a hand in his jeans. "Eager."
Barry doesn't bother dignifying that with a response, or maybe just can't get out anything other than a breathless moan at the friction, at the way Len had heard go again and seemingly decided that meant he wanted to get Barry off as soon as possible. It's been awhile, though, and gets to the edge quick even for a speedster. He vibrates, just for a second, in Len's hands before he manages to drag himself back under control.
Len's stopped moving, though, breathing heavier against his neck. "Wondered if you could do that."
The admission that Len's thought about this before, that Barry could have had this--and then Len starts moving again, so it's all Barry can do to keep from vibrating again as he tumbles over the edge. Quick, sure, but it's only a few moments before he's mostly back to himself, trying not to focus on the way Len's hand in his hair relaxed, giving him a moment to breathe. He needs--not that.
"Bed?" Len asks, once Barry shifts a little.
"Yeah," Barry says. "What room is that?"
Len shoots him a considering look. "Second door on the right of that hallway."
He's mostly showing off when he speeds them into the room, but the way Len's eyes go darker is--interesting, and he kisses him to keep either of them from saying anything. Len rolls with it, even lets Barry grab his shirt and hold on for dear life, pushing them both onto the bed. Len's on top of Barry, bodies pressed together, Len warm against his front even through the layers of clothes.
Barry makes a noise that he didn't mean to, feels Leonard chuckle into his mouth. He takes the hand that isn't fisted into Len's shirt and scrapes his hand down the back of his neck. But he shouldn't leave marks, shouldn't leave any more of a record than this that he's been here.
Leonard has no such hesitation, though, biting at the bruise that's probably already half-gone. Barry doesn't even have a semblance of control anymore. And he could go again now if Leonard would so much as touch him, but he wants to see, just once, what he looks like, reaches a hand between Len's legs, into his jeans.
The whole thing is rough, almost frantic, Len marking what feels like every inch of Barry's throat, his collarbone, Barry pumping his fist and feeling Len thrust into his grip. It's fantastic, it's terrible, it's something he already regrets, or maybe just regrets he can't do again.
Leonard pulls back just far enough to pull Barry's jacket and shirt off, running a hand down his stomach, grinning at him in a surprisingly unguarded expression when the muscles in his stomach jump. Barry's face goes even warmer when Len holds two fingers up to Barry's mouth, but he takes them in, anyway, tasting himself. He puts on a decent show of it, if Len's interested gaze is any indication, sharper when Barry hollows his cheeks around them. Barry can't stop thinking about it, dropping to his knees here, in the alley behind Saints and Sinners, in his apartment.
Fuck, he should not have done this.
The thought's almost chased away when Len pulls his hand out of Barry's mouth and reaches down to his chest, tracing slick fingers down his collarbone and over one of Barry's nipples. Barry hisses out a breath, vibrating just a little, which makes Leonard crack and roll his hips against Barry's. It's immensely satisfying, and Barry lets himself feel a little cocky. At least, until Len leans down, gets his mouth around the other nipple.
Barry puts a hand at his mouth at superspeed to stifle the noise he makes, almost forgets he's trying to get Len off as he focuses on the feeling. He wants Len's teeth, wants to ask but he can't, whether it's because he's breathing too hard or because he's worried a warning he should not be giving will comes out instead.
Len reads the way Barry's tensed up and pulls back, nipping at his collarbone. "Something you'd prefer I stay away from?"
"God, no, Barry says. "Come on--"
Len lets Barry pull him even closer, the zipper on his jacket digging into Barry's skin in a way that should bother him more than it does, Barry kissing Len like he's not going to get another chance to. He gets one arm around Len's shoulder and the other still working him. As best he can, anyway; his spine feels like it's jelly when Len reaches a hand back down and pumping him.
"Fuck," Barry hisses.
Barry comes with Len's tongue in his mouth, nails digging into his back, and hand working him through it. He's pretty sure the noise he makes is loud enough that someone might call in a noise complaint. Len follows not long after, like he was just waiting to make sure Barry was too out of his mind to pay attention, or maybe the vibrating just pushed him over the edge. He's left limp and panting as Len pulls his hand back, as Barry does the same.
For just a moment, Barry lets himself indulge in the hazy fantasies he's been trying to bury for months. Waking up draped across Len's chest, getting takeout in the evenings, getting to trust that Len will be there and breathing, next to him every night. Then he wrestles it back down, because it doesn't hurt any less the hundredth time.
Len rolls over so that he's lying next to Barry. "Can't say I was expecting that."
Barry snorts. "Yeah, me either." He turns to just stare at him, hoping that Len will chalk it up to him being sentimental. There's less gray in his hair than there was when Barry visited him in Siberia, if only marginally.
"I got something on my face?"
Barry looks away. "No. We shouldn't do this again." There's a long pause. Barry glances back to Leonard, enough to see the briefest surprise, disappointment cross his expression. "It's not that I don't--" He cuts himself off before he can say something stupid.
"For someone who seems convinced I can be a hero," and Barry can't quite hide his wince at that, "You're awfully quick to head out."
"I'm not..." Barry'd give anything to be able to stay. Sure, Len wouldn't let him, would kick him out before morning with a snide warning about bad habits or something, but to be able to push that until they found something that worked. Barry'd give anything.
Len elbows him. "Are you rushing out or not?"
Barry spares him one last look. This is worse. God, is Siberia gonna change? Is the Oculus? There's a jolt of hope at that that he can't quite bury, and--
"Why did you come to Saints and Sinners?" The question's slower, suspicious in a way that Len usually isn't, not with Barry. "Barry."
Barry jumps when someone knocks on the door. "Wh--"
Len'd taken the cold gun out of its holster when he'd let Barry in, but his fingers twitch towards where the holster is on his leg anyway. "Barry."
"I have no idea who that is," Barry says, heart in his throat. He can't let the timeline change; he wants it to more than almost anything. "Do--"
"Leonard Snart," calls a no-nonsense woman's voice. "Barry Allen."
Barry pulls his shirt on in a rush of super-speed and goes to take a look before rushing back to the bedroom. "Did you know the blonde at the bar earlier?"
Len shakes his head. "Get the cold gun."
Barry does, bringing it back to him before he opens the door to give the woman a chance to explain herself before Len shoots her. "What do you want?"
"Mr. Allen," says the woman. "I'm Agent Sharpe. From the Time Bureau."
Ah, shit. "Wh--I haven't done anything."
She snorts. "Sure." Before Barry can process what the hell's happening, she holds something up towards Len and Barry knocks it out of her hand. "Hey!"
"What is that?"
"Who the hell are you?"
"Barry," she says, ignoring Len entirely. "It's not a gun. It won't hurt him. Actually, if I'm remembering his file correctly, he's already dealt with this before."
The cold gun whirs behind them, powering up, and Agent Sharpe holds it back up and--takes a picture? Or something? A light flashes in Len's face and startles him. "Come on."
She pulls Barry through the door and closes it, only keeping himself from reacting because he doesn't know if she knows he's the Flash yet, and he should--you know, keep his identity secret. "Is he okay? What the hell is that?"
"A memory flasher," she says, expression wrinkling a little as she notices how rumpled he is. "I'm just fixing your mistake. Head home, Allen. Don't do this again. You're lucky the Director has a soft spot for you."
"So...he won't remember any of this?"
Her gaze softens, just a little. "No. I'm sorry. For what it's worth....we looked into if there was any other option." With a slightly self-conscious expression, she adds, "We're not the Time Masters. We do look to see if there's...kinder ways, when it comes to our people. But there isn't anything else. And there's nowhere we won't notice, either"
"But he--" Barry's jaw clenches. "He's the reason you all exist. Isn't he?" You can't make an exception for just one person?"
"Like you did?" she says, irritated, before visibly composing herself. "You know how that goes. I can jump us back to your time if you don't feel up to running." She rests a hand on his shoulder, comforting. "I know--"
"No," Barry interrupts, shaking it off. "I'll make my own way."
With that, he speeds off, leaving her behind. Leaving Len behind, too. Time folds around him, and he sees S.T.A.R. Labs, Saints and Sinners, Siberia. He should go home, tell his team how much of an idiot he's been, forget this ever happened, maybe have Cisco brew up speedster-proof alcohol to help.
Or.
He could just be more careful next time. He's hardly gotten closure. And now he knows, the Time Bureau's keeping an eye on him. She was at the bar earlier, so he needs to be more careful. Wear a hood or...something, he doesn't know. But just one last time, this time with his head screwed on straight. Maybe he'll figure out a way to change things without the Time Bureau, whoever the hell they are, basically condemning Len to die, just like Barry has. Maybe he'll just--leave things on better terms. Something. Anything.
Fuck, this is a bad idea.