Chapter Text
While little seemed altered on the surface, Detective Leonard Snart knew better than most that in the wake of the particle accelerator explosion, Central City had become a far stranger hometown than he’d believed possible.
“Remind me again,” he grunted as he ducked into the back seat of the squad car. “We’re going to apprehend a metahuman, at a grocery store robbery.”
“Yep,” said Detective West from the front seat.
“In broad daylight.”
“Seems like it,” sighed Detective Thawne, looking over his shoulder at Len with a wry smile. “I guess superpowers make people cocky.”
“Not cocky, Detective,” Len corrected. “Just careless.”
Thawne grimaced and turned to face forward as Detective West steered the car into traffic and flicked on the sirens. Cars parted before them like the Red Sea, squeezing to the side and allowing them a clear, speedy path to the crime scene.
Len stared out the window, his expression pensive. Some things in Central had changed.
He couldn’t help but remember Harrison Wells’ speech eight months ago – his second public appearance in the wake of the disaster, and his first since Len had been discharged from the hospital. Normally, Len made it a point to attend these sorts of major speeches in person – it was better to be informed – but his newly-developed powers had prevented that. He’d watched the event from Lisa’s couch, wrapped in blankets to prevent the chill under his skin from seeping into the rest of the house.
“A brave new world,” Wells had called this new Central City. Lisa had snorted, and Len had agreed with her. He still did. He had recovered from his accident, and if his abilities came with some drawbacks, he still counted himself among the fortunate. People had died. Harrison Wells would never recover the use of his legs, nor STAR Labs its scientific credibility. And the jury was still out on the rest of the city.
Central’s citizens were scared, and Len honestly couldn’t fault them for it.
They swung into the parking lot of the grocery store, stopping next to the other squad car that had arrived before them. Detective West let Len out of the backseat. “Do we know anything about the metahuman?” Len asked as he slid out of the car.
“He’s crazy strong,” West supplied. “Store clerk said he ripped into an ATM like it was made of tinfoil. And Officer Doyle swears he’s bulletproof.”
“Peachy,” Len huffed. No wonder they’d called him in. “Any injured?”
“One,” Thawne replied. “The meta got ahold of an employee, busted up his ribs pretty good. Anderson was able to get him out.”
“Good. Here’s the plan.” Len pulled off his gloves and folded them up before placing them in his vest pocket. “I go in. Contain the metahuman, then call for backup. No other officers in the building until I give the all-clear.”
The first few times they’d done this, Len’s fellow officers had refused to send him into metahuman encounters alone. Now, they accepted his lead without question.
It was funny, Len reflected as he strode through the store’s busted-up shopfront, calling ice to his fingertips as he moved, just how much eight months could change things.
One of Len’s least favorite things about metahuman encounters was the collateral damage. Standoffs with criminals were always messy, but metahumans seemed more prone than most to leaving destruction in their wake.
Their would-be burglar was no exception, Len thought as he picked his way through the grocery store aisles. Smashed wine bottles littered the floor; Len nudged broken glass out of the way with the toe of his boot. On a hunch, he checked the refrigerated display cases that were generally stocked with beer and hard cider. Several cases appeared to be missing, and there were two popped beer caps laying on the floor.
Len frowned. An intoxicated metahuman would be easier to catch, as long as he didn’t go on a rampage.
A crash from the rear of the store drew Len’s attention. As he moved toward the source of the noise, he reached instinctively for his gun before remembering that their metahuman was supposedly bulletproof. Only powers, then. Disable and contain.
Len found the metahuman in an alcove near the restrooms next to a broken window, a duffel bag slung over his shoulder. He was clearly trying to make a break for it; he needed to be stopped, before he barreled into the waiting arms of the officers outside. “End of the line,” Len called, taking a calculated risk.
It worked; the metahuman paused, turning to face Len with a smirk. “Whatcha gonna do, old man? Shoot me? Don’t know if you’ve heard, but that doesn’t work so hot on me anymore.” A dull, gunmetal-grey sheen spread across the man’s skin, and Len’s eyes narrowed. Young, built like a tank, short hair, tattoos, skin can turn into metal. Overconfident, he decided. His armored skin makes him durable but will slow him down.
Len raised his hands. “Then it’s a good thing I like it cold,” he said, and shot.
Thin streams of cold left Len’s fingertips, coalescing into a bolt of ice that slammed into the other metahuman’s right foot. “What the hell?” the man gasped. “They’ve got muties on the force? How the hell’d you get in?”
“Trade secret,” Len replied, icing the man’s left foot to the floor as well. Better safe than sorry.
Len froze the broken window over for good measure, then set off for the front of the store. Containment was going to be an issue; the metahuman would easily be able to damage a squad car. Perhaps a sedative would be able to keep the man under until they were able to take him to Iron Heights.
Len rubbed his hands together, trying to get some warmth back into them. He passed by the wine aisle, glancing briefly at the broken bottles – then he paused.
The broken glass had been scattered, and there were footprints leading down the aisle. Prints that Len hadn’t left, and that were too small to belong to the metahuman Len had captured.
There was someone else in the store.
He smelled ozone, and the hairs on the back of his neck prickled. “Who’s there?” he called.
Behind him, there was the sound of tinkling glass.
Before Len could turn, he was thrown forward through space with a violent lurch. He got an impression of wind and blurry color, dizzying speed –
-before he was flung onto hard cement, sliding to a stop on his back, staring up at the sky.
What the hell? Len clambered to his feet, stomach lurching with vertigo left in the wake of – whatever that had been. His eyes flicked about, taking in the new scenery – he was looking down on parked cars, the flashing lights of police cruisers visible below. He was on the roof. The roof of the grocery store. But how had he gotten there?
Len felt a rush of air at his back, and whirled just in time to get a glimpse of a red blur before he was knocked to the ground again. Damn. Two metahumans in one day.
This time, he didn’t try to rise right away. He’d never run across this particular metahuman before, and he knew nothing about them; better to bide his time, look for weaknesses while his opponent – whoever they were – continued to expend unnecessary energy using their powers.
Maybe the new arrival was fond of grandstanding. “You gonna quit zipping around this rooftop and tell me what you want?” Len called. No metahuman he’d ever encountered would turn down an opportunity like that.
The flickers of lightning on the roof dissipated, condensing into the shape of a man, and Len suppressed a smile. There we go.
Now that Len could see him properly, he found himself a bit torn. The metahuman didn’t look particularly imposing – he was tall, but lean, and dressed in some sort of ridiculous red costume that made him look like a cross between a bank robber and a Saturday morning cartoon. At the same time, Len had already been on the receiving end of the man’s powers twice. He had no desire to go in for a third round, not until he knew more about what made this one tick.
“So what brings you to this fine establishment?” Len began. Better to get the metahuman talking; then he’d distract himself long enough for Len to figure out an angle.
“Funny,” said the other man, his mouth twisting beneath the mask. “I was about to ask you the same question. I haven’t seen you around before.”
The metahuman’s voice was guarded and layered with anger, but he sounded – young. “Then you haven’t been looking, kid,” Len replied. “I’ve been here.”
“Then you should know that I happen to like this store,” said the metahuman, darting across the rooftop so that Len was forced to turn to keep him in his sights. “A lot. It’s got good sushi. And I don’t appreciate you icing the place up.”
Len slowly lowered his hands to the rooftop, watching in satisfaction as a thin layer of frost spread to coat the asphalt. “Don’t care, kid. I’ve got a job to do and you’re keeping me from it. If you wouldn’t mind, I’d like you to get out of my way.”
“Can’t do that,” the metahuman said. The figure blurred into a red streak - damn, he was fast - and headed straight for Len, trailing electricity behind him.
Len allowed himself to smile. Perfect.
As soon as the speedster’s feet came into contact with the rapidly-expanding patch of frost, he slipped and lost his balance, hitting the ground hard. “Ow,” he groaned.
Len hit the metahuman in the thigh with an ice blast. “Whoops.”
Len knew, objectively speaking, that getting hit with his ice could hurt – a lot. He’d intended the shot to incapacitate the speedster, slow him down and prevent him from making a quick getaway. But the other metahuman’s cry of pain made it seem like the world was ending. Either the kid had a flair for the dramatic, or Len had hurt him badly – worse than he’d expected.
Len pulled out a pair of handcuffs and cuffed the speedster to the fire escape. He must have been in a lot of pain, because his token protests were slow and Len was easily able to swat his hands aside. “I’ll be back to deal with you later.”
“You froze my leg,” the metahuman mumbled, staring up at Len in indignation. “And you handcuffed me to a pipe.”
Len couldn’t handle this conversation. He had another meta waiting for him downstairs. He wrenched open the door to the rooftop and began his descent.
As he emerged at the bottom of the staircase, he nearly ran straight into Detective Thawne. “Snart?” he said, his eyes widening. “How did you get up there?”
“I was… carried,” Len replied carefully. “There was another metahuman in the grocery store.” He noted Detective Thawne’s unholstered weapon, the slight smell of gunpowder that hung around him. “Please tell me the other one is where I left him.”
Detective Thawne sighed. “Afraid not. As soon as he got his foot clear of the ice, he made a break for it. Ran straight through the back of the store. We’ll get him, though,” he said to Len encouragingly. “There’s tons of security camera footage we can use to track him down.”
As he headed back to the rooftop to retrieve the captured speedster, Len supposed, in the end, that at least none of his officers had been hurt. That had to count for something.
When he reached the top of the stairwell, the other metahuman was gone, the handcuffs broken and discarded on the ground.
Barry shouldered his way through the front door of Jitters, making sure to protect the grocery bag in his arms from impacting against the frame. He did a quick sweep of the room - plenty of people, plenty of noise and activity. Perfect. He’d be able to talk to Iris here without attracting any attention or suspicion.
His best friend was behind the counter, talking to a customer while she put the finishing touches on a drink. She looked up at the sound of the bells over the door, and when she caught his eye she smiled. Barry slid into his usual seat in the corner and waited as she passed her apron over to her coworker and approached him with two small coffee cups in hand.
“One mocha for me, one Americano for you.” Iris set one cup in front of Barry and hopped into the chair across from him. “Half-caf,” she added with a teasing smirk. “Your heart beats fast enough as it is.”
Barry rolled his eyes, but he was already smiling. “Iris, you know caffeine doesn’t do anything to me anymore.”
“It’s a small price to pay for my peace of mind,” she retorted with a quick grin, and Barry reflected - not for the first time since he’d woken up from his coma - that two years in Starling away from her had been too long, unwanted crush or no. “So what happened?” she asked him, lowering her voice and leaning closer. “I got your voicemail when I was on break, you sounded pretty beat-up. Did you at least go back to STAR Labs?”
“I only had a few scratches,” Barry protested. “You know what they’re like when I get hurt. Caitlin and Cisco are great, but they flutter around me like I’m made of glass. And Dr. Wells always looks… disappointed? Like someone stole his steak dinner and replaced it with a ham sandwich.”
“Aaand that’s how I know that you’re hungry,” Iris sighed, smiling. “You always start in on the food metaphors. What’s in the bag?”
“A light snack.” Barry grinned, pulling out three eight-piece containers of sushi and setting them on the table. “Salmon, spicy tuna, and shrimp tempura. Plenty of protein, plenty of calories.”
Iris raised her eyebrows. “That sounds good. I’m glad you’re eating better, even if your food choices are a bit… expensive. Where did you get them?” she said suddenly, leaning closer and narrowing her eyes. “That place on Fifth, the one with the faulty camera system and the string of unexplained burglaries?”
Her tone was light, but her gaze was piercing. Barry grimaced. Caught again.
His silence was all the answer she needed. She sighed. “Barr, we’ve talked about this. Why can’t you have the STAR Labs team whip you up more of those high-calorie meals?”
“Iris, I don’t want their charity,” Barry sighed. “I know I'll have to get more from them eventually, but they saved my life - I already owe them enough. The sushi really isn’t that bad - if it’s not eaten by the end of the day, the store would have to throw it out. And I’m going back there tonight to fix their awning. If it makes you feel better, I’ll stock the shelves while I’m at it.”
“I know it isn’t the end of the world, and I care more about you than some grocery store.” Iris gripped Barry’s wrist. “But I hate seeing you steal. You’re better than that.”
Barry wasn’t entirely sure she was right, but there were few things he hated more than seeing Iris sad. “You’ve got a point,” he conceded. “But Iris, I eat tens of thousands of calories a day. I can’t afford to feed myself, especially not once I find an apartment and have rent to pay.”
Iris’ eyes widened. “Barr, if you’re really set on not going back to Clarissa’s right now, you should move in with Dad!” A tiny chill ran down Barry’s spine, but before he could argue Iris forged ahead. “I know things have always been a bit… weird between the two of you. But he was really worried about you when you were in your coma. You don’t have to tell him about being a metahuman, but if you ask him to stay, he’ll say yes.”
Barry looked out the window, considering. Living with Joe would be problematic - he’d have to keep his late-night comings and goings a secret, for one thing, and it would be hard to explain why he was eating the man out of house and home. But Joe trusted him, and living with a cop would definitely help keep his secret identity out of the public eye. Plus, if he needed to be gone for a couple of days, he could just tell Joe that he was visiting Clarissa, or seeing his friends in Starling City.
“I’ll think about it,” he conceded, and was relieved when Iris smiled. “But money’s still an issue. I can’t ask Joe to feed me.”
“Then get a job, silly,” Iris sighed. “I know you love being a vigilante, but it doesn’t pay anything. You should check with the CCPD and see if they need any assistant CSIs.” The corners of her mouth lifted in a fond, but exasperated, smile. “If Starling needed your expertise as much as you say they did, I’m sure the department here would hire you.”
Most of Barry’s best work in Starling had been done with the Arrow, but he wasn’t in any hurry to tell Iris that. “I don’t think the police officers here in Central would be eager to work with an Allen.”
Iris gave him a look. “They’re not as biased as you think. Look at Detective Snart - his dad is in prison and he’s a metahuman, and the department loves him.”
Barry’s eyes widened. “Wait, they actually hire metas at CCPD?”
“He had the job before the particle accelerator explosion,” Iris amended. “But once he developed ice powers, the force was eager to have him stay.”
She continued talking, but Barry was no longer with her. His eyes unfocused as he ran through the encounter he’d had with the metahuman on the roof. If the ice powers weren’t a dead giveaway - how many frozen-fingered metas could there be in Central City? - his arrival time had been closely correlated with the response of the police. He hadn’t thought to consider the angle that the other man might be a police officer himself, but based on the new information from Iris it seemed like a definite possibility.
“Barry!” Iris shouted.
He jumped. “What?”
“I’ve said your name four times! What’s wrong? I mentioned Detective Snart and you zoned out on me!”
“Sorry, I was just thinking. Do you know anything more about Snart?”
Iris eyed him suspiciously. “Yeah, I interviewed him for class a few weeks before you woke up. Why?”
Barry sighed. “Because I’m pretty sure he’s the metahuman who kicked my ass on a rooftop about an hour ago?”
“Barry Allen.” Iris glared at him, and he shrank in his seat. “Are you telling me that you were involved in an altercation with the police?”
“I had no idea he was a cop!” Barry protested. Iris’ eyes widened and she made a shushing motion; with a guilty grimace, Barry lowered his voice. “I thought he was just another meta looking for a fight!” Then again, he’d had handcuffs. Barry mentally kicked himself.
“How on earth did he manage to kick your ass?” Iris hissed, stabbing a finger at him. “I thought you were fast enough to avoid those kinds of hits - it’s the only reason I haven’t chewed you out over this vigilante thing to begin with!”
Barry bristled. “I am fast enough!” And it was true – on top of being cautious, he was simply too fast for most non-powered criminals to pose a threat. Generally he’d case the scene, flash in and disable the criminal, and escape before things got serious. It was what he would have done with Snart, had the other meta’s powers not posed an unexpected problem. “It was basic physics, Iris - he’s got ice powers, I have super-speed. Aside from the… friction issues, cold temperatures reduce average kinetic energy. I couldn’t run fast enough to fight him.”
Iris still looked angry, but to Barry’s relief her glower gradually subsided to a thoughtful look. “It sounds like he’s going to be a problem, Barr,” she sighed. “You’ll have to be more careful now that he knows about you.”
“Yeah, well, now at least I know some things about him too. What’s his first name?”
Iris’ lips twitched. “Leonard.”
“You’re kidding me,” Barry said, grinning. “His name is actually Leonard Snart? That’s even worse than Bartholomew!”
“I know!” Iris chuckled. “He almost wouldn’t let me print it, he kept insisting that I call him Detective. I have the interview if you want to read it.”
“Yeah, about that.” The wheels in Barry’s head were turning. “I’ll read it, but I think I’m going to need to gather my own intel.”
Iris raised an eyebrow. “And how are you going to do that? You just said that the two of you got into a fight! He’s not going to talk to you.”
“He might not want to talk to the Flash,” Barry said, smirking as Iris rolled his eyes at the mention of his self-appointed vigilante codename. “But I doubt he’ll have a problem talking to Barry Allen, newly-hired assistant CSI at the CCPD.”
Barry watched Iris’ facial expression morph from confused to horrified as she figured out what he was thinking. “Oh no. Barry, absolutely not.”
“It’ll be great!” Barry bounced excitedly in his seat. “I’ll talk to my boss back in Starling and get the transfer set up. This is perfect, Iris - I can make money doing a job I’m good at, and learn more about Snart at the same time!”
Iris sighed. “This is not what I meant when I said you needed a job. I’m guessing I won’t be able to talk you out of it?” When Barry shook his head, she rested her hand on the table next to his. “Then I’ve got your back. Maybe I can get my dad to pull some strings too. Just… Promise me that you’ll be careful.”
“Come on, Iris, it’s me.” Barry touched the back of her hand, smiling as earnestly as he could. “You know I’m always careful.”
“Ooh, I really wish you hadn’t said that. This is going to be a disaster,” Iris muttered.
Barry, already lost in cheerful contemplation of his new employment prospects, pretended not to hear.