Chapter Text
It was the anniversary of his Mom’s death. The night that bastard Eobard Thawne altered the timeline forever, the night he ran back to change...and ended up letting it play out instead. He knew it was a shitty idea, even told the obnoxious, smug asshole about his object lesson in trusting bad guys. And yet...he still fucking did it. He just had to try. Barry had to believe that he owed it to his friends and family to undo all the hurt and chaos Eobard caused when he messed with the original timeline.
Even though it probably meant losing almost all of the relationships he relied on—the people he loved. Yeah, his Mom would be alive, his Dad wouldn’t be in prison, and yeah, in theory he might marry Iris. But…to do that he’d lose Eddie, Cisco, Caitlin, his relationship with Joe. Even though that article showed he knew Oliver in the future...would they be friends, partners? He still couldn’t believe Eobard thought that dangling a future with Iris in front of Barry would have him automatically falling in line and doing whatever the man told him to without question. Like she was some prize to be won. Eobard didn’t know him at all.
He couldn’t hold back his sobs. Not that there was a reason to even try, there wasn’t anyone around to hear him. As much as he appreciated being able to stay with Joe, he found this place a few months ago and fell in love with it. Barry loved the location, closer to downtown, and the clean break it represented, finally moving away from the neighborhood he grew up in. Going back to that night let him make peace with what happened, but moving beyond that, moving forward...he needed a change of scenery.
Fuck, he thought it wouldn’t be so bad this year. Of course it had to be so much worse instead. Having the chance to stop it, save her...and not. Most days, Hell, even right after he fixed shit with the singularity, Barry knew listening to his older self was the right call. Knew that in his heart before ever trying to create that wormhole. But tonight...
He’s not so sure. Which only made Barry feel that much worse, ashamed of that selfish part of him that latched onto the idea of having his family back, having a future with Iris. Barry curled in on himself, hiding his face in his arms. He hadn’t even been able to shrug out of his coat and messenger bag before sliding down the wall, unable to hold it together a moment longer. His grief echoed around the entryway, harsh in the stillness of the cozy apartment. It wasn’t so bad earlier at CCPD, barely even thought about it when he ran a quick patrol of the city. That’s why he turned down Iris’ offer of company, didn’t mention anything to Cisco or Caitlin. Joe was on nights this week, and Eddie had this date planned for nearly a month—he was going to propose to Iris again, properly this time—his words, not Barry’s...or Iris’s, for that matter. He didn’t want to rain on their parade, and honestly thought he’d be ok with pizzas and Pixar.
At least he was able to talk to her one last time, let her know that he and his Dad were ok...though Barry’s not so sure that was for the best after all. Not when it made everything hurt just that much more. A fresh wound once again, with the added twist of a knife to his heart. And now with Eobard gone, there was no way to get his Dad out of Iron Heights.
He just hoped his neighbor wasn’t home. He hadn’t met the guy yet, even though it seemed like they kept similar hours outside of his Flash stuff. But having this breakdown as a first impression would suck. Barry just needed to get himself under control enough to make it onto the living room couch and he’d be set—enough space separating their apartments to make up for the less-than-soundproof walls. And something on Netflix to take away the silence.
Barry wasn’t sure how much time passed, but a soft knock on his door finally caught his attention.
“Hey, you ok in there?” The voice was muffled by the door, but that didn’t mask the hint of concern. Great. Apparently his neighbor was home after all. He didn’t respond, hoping the guy would go away, trying to get himself under control.
Wrong decision. After another minute or two, the guy knocked again, then tried the door. Which Barry, in his infinite wisdom, failed to lock.
“Are you—Scarlet?!”
Len hadn’t been thrilled when he found out his old neighbor moved out. She’d been perfect—older, quiet, kept to herself. When he learned that she was moving, Len put out feelers for a new place, just in case. But, ten weeks later and he had yet to catch sight of the man that moved in. The only reason he even knew that much was he sang in the shower. Apparently they started their days at about the same time. It was one less thing to worry about, Len hated moving. Odd for someone with his notoriety, but his records never resurfaced and he liked this place. Sure as hell beat a string of safe houses. Appreciated having somewhere to return to, to call his own.
Len was hoping to enjoy a quiet evening, figure out dinner and something for tomorrow’s lunch with Lisa and Mick. The two of them were planning a smaller job, wanted his take on a few things. Offered him a spot on the team, but Len was content to hold off for now, wanting to plan something big, a challenge. It wasn’t like he needed the money. Made more sense to build up a rapport with the metas he freed, slowly bringing Baez and Bivolo into the fold. Mardon still refused to see the light, but Len hadn’t ruled him out yet. And if doing that gave Flash and friends a chance to chill before starting the game up again, so much the better. Len loved the challenge of trying to outwit Barry Allen, he was far too predictable when angry.
At a loss for dinner—he’d been putting off groceries this week—Len was about to head out to restock his fridge and pick up takeout when he heard his neighbor’s door close, followed by a loud thud on their shared wall and...Damn. Took him a moment to process what he was hearing, muffled as it was. Grief. Raw, loud, uncontrolled, an undercurrent of anger. Even through layers of insulation and drywall. And it didn’t stop.
There was something about it. Haunting. Len tried to go about his original plan, but he just...couldn’t. He may be Cold, but his heart wasn’t made of ice. It was impossible to ignore this level of anguish, couldn’t reconcile it with this morning’s rendition of ‘Single Ladies’ in the shower. He grabbed the six-pack from his fridge and a handful of his ‘shitty day survival movies’—Lisa’s name for them, not his—and his keys. Knocked softly on the door next to his.
“Hey, you ok in there?” Surprised by the amount of concern in his own voice.
No response, though the sound changed, a little more muffled. But no movement. Len sighed, shifted his weight from one sock-clad foot to the other. Still not sure why he was doing this, but might as well try again. Could always get the ingredients for lunch in the morning. Knocked again...figured he might as well try the knob. The idiot hadn’t even locked it.
Len gently swung the door open, not wanting to hit the guy. “Are you-” Oh, there was no way. It wasn’t possible but “—Scarlet?!”
It was indeed Barry Allen. What the fuck could’ve happened to reduce the Scarlet Speedster to...this.
Kid was hunched over on the floor, arms around his knees. Still in his coat for fuck’s sake—CCPD lanyard around his neck. He froze, as much as one can when hyperventilating, staring up at Len through red eyes, tears still streaming down his face.
Shit. He couldn’t just leave his nemesis like that, not after knowing who it was. Might as well go through with his revised plan for the evening. The speedster could easily make him leave, if that’s what he wanted.
Len took a deep breath, stepped over Barry and softly closed the door behind him, continuing into the apartment, putting his stuff down on the coffee table. Absolutely refusing to think too much about what he was about to do.
The kid hadn’t moved, Len sat down across from him and waited. Not entirely sure what to do now that he was here but at the same time, not wanting to go. Wanted to know why.
It didn’t take long. Barry took a deep, shuddering breath and hid his face against his knees.
“Of course,” shook his head, voice muffled. “Of course it’s you. Why are you here, Cold?”
Len...didn’t have a good answer for that. Tilted his head, looking the younger man over carefully. Clearly wasn’t injured. Never expected to see the Flash embody defeat and despair. Even after being zapped by Mardon, on his back on the tarmac at Len’s feet he still had his fire. But he’d been silent too long, the kid tilted his head just enough to peek at Len, making eye contact.
Len sighed, rubbing a hand down his own face. What the hell. “Didn’t have any plans, figured I’d offer up beer and movies. Since it sounded like your day...sucked is probably an understatement?”
Barry lifted his head, shaking it at his answer, clenching his jaw. “No, I mean why are you here? How are you always around when shit blows up in my face?” Kid let out a humorless laugh.
He didn’t think that was fair—from what his research uncovered on the Scarlet Speedster, the younger man was perfectly capable of getting things to blow up in his face without any help from Len.
“I live here,” gestured towards his apartment on the other side of the wall Barry leaned against. The kid snorted, dropping his face into his knees once again.
Another four minutes and fifty-six seconds passed. Len shifted, about to get up and leave after all.
“What—what movies did you bring?” It was no more than a whisper. He looked up, reading confusion and...something else that Len couldn’t quite place underneath the anguish.
“The golden standards, of course. Holy Grail, Spaceballs, Blazing Saddles, Princess Bride, the Oceans movies. Lisa came up with the name.” He smirked, wondering if the kid would catch on.
Barry snorted. “Must you pun everything?”
Len felt his smirk shift into a lopsided smile as he got to his feet. “I have no idea what you mean, Barry.” Offered the younger man a hand up.
Barry stared for a moment too long before accepting the hand up, getting rid of his coat and bag. Len wanted to ask, but needed to bide his time, wait until he’d likely get an answer.
“What do you want for takeout, kid?”
The younger man winced, “Could you not call me that?”
Len raised an eyebrow, but nodded. Knowing that mattered, had something to do whatever the speedster was dealing with but not sure how it fit. “Alright. What shall we order, Barry?”
That earned him an eye roll. “Don’t care, something that delivers.”
“Not helpful, Barry. Pizza, Chinese, Thai, a five course tasting menu complete with wine, exploring the culinary traditions of Provence?”
A smile for his trouble, shaky and small, but there. “I doubt there’s anywhere that’ll deliver a tasting menu, and you brought beer, not wine. Thai good?”
Len shrugged, pulled up GrubHub on his phone and queued his typical order from the place nearby. Hesitated a moment, then passed the thing to Barry. A risk, sure, but the kid looked like shit and he was reasonably certain he wouldn’t try anything. Assuming the thought even crossed his mind. The kid took it, biting his bottom lip.
“...So I kindof eat a lot...you sure you want me to put it through on your account?”
Len shook his head, looking the kid up and down. “Don’t worry about it—consider it my good deed for the day, feeding the Flash.” Besides, how much could the younger man really eat?
“If you’re sure....”
“Seriously, Scarlet. Order already, I’m hungry.”
Barry clearly was too, if that loud growl was any indication. Len snickered, watching color spread from the brunette’s cheeks all the way to his ears. Handed his phone back without meeting Len’s gaze.
“Kitchen’s through there, I’m gonna…” Barry trailed off, waved a hand like it meant something to someone.
Len put the beer in the fridge, rummaged through the cabinets to find plates and silverware and set that on the stove. He paused...kid did give him permission to look around, after all. Might as well take advantage.
By the time Barry joined him in the kitchen, Len determined that his nemesis must love to bake. It made an odd kind of sense. Baking was a science, relied on precision, measurements, timing. Chemistry that tasted good...fit with the younger man’s impeccable record as a forensic scientist. He only had the most basic of cookware sets, shoved haphazardly into a drawer. But the stand mixer had pride of place on the island, and a drawer and two cabinets were dedicated to all sorts of bake ware, from spring-pans to muffin tins and a stack of large, well-used baking references next to the toaster oven. Interesting.
He took a moment to study the brunette. He’d changed into a set of S.T.A.R. Labs sweats and a long-sleeved red shirt that looked impossibly soft. His hair was damp, must’ve splashed his face with water before coming back out. Barry’s eyes were still red, sad, but the storm seemed to be over for now. He glanced at Len, rubbing the back of his neck. “How long do we have before the food arrives?”
“Ten more minutes or so, why don’t you go pick a movie?”
By the time he and Barry got the living room set up to the younger man’s specifications, the food arrived. Apparently Flash wasn’t kidding about how much he ate...or was the kid just making a point?
No, as it turned out Barry was entirely serious about how much he could eat. The speedster demolished the takeout—more than enough for Len, Lisa, and Mick combined, with leftovers for the weekend. Where did he put it all?
Len gave up trying not to stare, it was strangely fascinating to watch. “Another beer, Scarlet?”
He shrugged.
“Something stronger, then? Looks like you could use it.” It did, too. Len still had no idea what caused the other’s breakdown, but whatever it was, the speedster hadn’t shaken it off. Still subdued, grief palpable.
Barry scoffed. “I wish. Alcohol doesn’t work--metabolism thing.”
Ah. “Like the food?”
“Hey, I warned you about that—lemme get my wallet…”
Len grabbed his arm before Barry could get up. “Don’t worry about it, Barry. Really. If it bothers you that much, you can return the favor some time.”
Kid gave him a skeptical look, but stayed put. “Sure, Cold. Whatever you say.”
“It’s Len, Scarlet. Why don’t we clear this up before we start Spaceballs?” A moment later and the plates and takeout containers were gone, there was a fresh beer on the table for Len and he heard the stove click on. Curious, he joined the younger man in the kitchen.
“We need popcorn for movies,” motioning to the heavy pot on the range. “Do you think you’ll want hot chocolate...or just gonna stick to beer?” Barry asked from his fridge.
“Any Bailey’s for the chocolate?” Might as well ask, since the kid obviously planned to make the hot chocolate properly.
“Told you, alcohol has no effect on me...though I wish it did.”
“Whoever said it was for you?” Len smirked. Barry smiled shyly in return.
“Yeah, cabinet over the toaster oven. I know you prefer to keep things cool, but any objection to some cayenne and cardamom in the chocolate? It’ll go better with popcorn that way.” The smile grew a bit more.
“Mhm...I can make some sacrifices if it’s for a good cause.”
Barry huffed out a laugh at that, grabbing one of his whisks, slowly starting to heat the milk. Len leaned against the counter, watching the other man shoot him little looks.
“Just ask, Barry, before you hurt yourself.”
“If you want...this is gonna take a few minutes so...If you wanted to...I dunno…” the kid trailed off, biting his lip and refusing to look up.
Len considered for a moment, piecing things together. “Alright...Since we have a few minutes, are you going to lock me out if I bring the DVDs we already watched back over to my place.”
“I have to make sure the milk doesn’t scald, not bother with things like locks and doors.”
Ok...so the kid still didn’t want him gone. But he wanted something…
“Ifyouwantedtogobacktoyourplaceandgrabsomethin'morecomfythanjeansthat’dbeok.”
Len blinked, parsing that out. Sounded like the kid barely stayed below super speed...Ah. Yeah, he could do that. “Back in a few, Red.”
“How have you never seen The Incredibles, Len?!”
“Because I’m not a child?” He flicked the kid’s shoulder. Somehow they ended up leaning against one another on the couch, his arm around the younger man. Len wasn’t complaining.
“So that means you haven’t seen any Pixar?” Barry sounded so scandalized.
Len raised an eyebrow, exaggerated his sardonic drawl. “Of course not, Scarlet.”
The kid shook his head in mock-despair, starting Holy Grail. Barry leaned forward to put the remote on the coffee table, settling against Len's side, head nearly resting against his shoulder. The brunette seemed comfortable, more relaxed than before. He decided to chance it. “Barry...what happened?”
The kid sighed heavily. “This...my mom died fifteen years ago today.”
Oh. Shit. Tightened his arm around Barry’s shoulder. That explained most of it, though the other’s tone told him there was more to it than that. He didn’t press, let the conversation go. Had a low-level competition to see which of them knew more lines to the movie...it ended in a tie.
Before putting in Ocean’s 11 he and Barry took care of the popcorn and mugs of hot chocolate, killing the lights.
Len woke up some time later to the DVD menu playing on a loop. He stretched, glad the remote was within reach since Barry was sprawled across his chest, using him as a pillow, their legs tangled together. Len knew he should probably go while the speedster was still asleep, but he was comfortable. And stuck. No sense waking the kid up.
Len turned off the TV, wrapped his arms around the other man and went back to sleep.
The next morning was entertaining. Barry’s phone woke them up, the kid was running late for work. Sounded like a regular thing.
Barry was bright red, stuttering apologies. Len just rolled his eyes, calmly gathered his things from the living room as the younger man zipped around getting ready for work, rushing them both out the door. Barry turned to him before racing off, hand on his arm.
“Thanks, Len.”
“Anytime, Scarlet.”
Barry laughed, “Careful, I may take you up on that. Never seen The Incredibles, honestly.”
Len found himself hoping the other man would do just that.