leonard snart robber of atms

          “ —— look, i don’t know about you, but there are a lot of things i’ve done that are pretty crazy. swimming in the water tower is not one of them. “

“Wouldn’t suggest it Kid, people find bodies up there all the time.”

But Snart snarling at him makes it worse. Not for the usual reasons, no, Mick’s gotten over him looking at him and spitting his worse to some extent. It’s just every time he does it’s usually some kind of play and he’s supposed to be the one who goes along with it, but none of it’s coming out. All his thoughts are shortened, barely able to be finished before they build and topple over each other, until he’s left with absolutely nothing. It doesn’t help that he wasn’t really working with anything to begin with, and he knows he’s getting old, but it’s too early to start fizzling out. He arguably needs it the least and the most with Snart, his thoughts, but he’s fucked. Not in the fun way.

“Y’know what’s a coward move, Snart? Knockin’ me out, kissin’ a pretty lady, kickin’ the bucket.” See, they’re just words. Words he knows can possibly hurt, but just words. Words mean nothing to Mick, but they mean next to something to Snart. Snart actually thinks about what’s coming out of his mouth. This is a cheap blow, and Mick knows this. So why do it? Because it’s too much. Mick just wants to scream at the sky. “Y’gonna be a clingy lil’ kicked puppy about it, don’t be so transparent.” 

Mick moves. Close to the fire. Close enough so he can feel a little bit of heat on his skin. Still, even when he’s trying this, he doesn’t face away from Snart. He owes him at least to look at him. “Am I supposed to… t'coddle ya, lick your wounds — y’know I don’t pull off nurse as well as Blondie does, so I hear. I can drag ya over to ‘er. Then you’ll be her problem.”

And that’s certainly not something he wanted to address today, so Mick plows right over it. It, being the unfortunate fact that he can’t just leave him. Mick swallows his pride, gets in Len’s space, offers a shoulder. It takes him a moment, be that several and a lot of deliberation on Mick’s part, just staring at Len and wear on him and his body and face. Sometimes Mick is used to seeing his friend coming back having aged without him. Mick doesn’t have to know every wrinkle or line on his face to understand him. He’s largely the same as he’s always been, as is Mick. But Len’s looking like he’s got a few too many days disagreeing with him. Dammit.

“You’re gonna pass out. If y’die ‘cause y’slammed your stupid head on the counter Lis’ll kill me.”

He knows it won’t fix things. Especially after what he said, but he’s weirdly afraid of him rejecting the offer even if he’d been ready to leave literally moments before. Mick’s never been good at timing. But if they can just manage to bicker on the way to the bed – now Snart’s – things might just resemble something okay. Glazed over until they crack again.

That's when it splinters, small shards like the ripples of a changed timeline, like two pieces moving in perfect sync, dancers spinning effortlessly past eachother, security covering the front and back entrances. The perfect line of cross hairs on a target. It's like blurred out half smudged lines smeared across his vision, and he blinked under the force of it. Eyes shut for one tense pained moment, forehead furrowed and eyebrows drawn taut as his mouth wavered like a climbing, reaching,greedy wave before it smoothed once again. The calm ocean surface. Light piercing as far as the ocean deemed fit and not further.

His Captain Cold persona pulled over him like the tattered wreckage of what had been left behind at the Oculus. Countless days spinning endlessly into a place where time doesn't exist, half thought and half said apologies tripping over a tongue that hasn't been this clumsy since childhood and his father beat it out of him. Nothing said weakness faster than indecision. And Leonard is decisive, deliberate in everything he says and does. Every move he makes, every half aborted gesture and unspoken word.

Leonard doesn't reach for him, doesn't say a word, not yet, let's Mick's roiling eternal fire exhaust it's flare up, doesn't flinch when he recognizes what Mick's doing. His tactic, trying to set him on edge. Trying to hurt him, and he doesn't flinch when Mick succeeds, despite knowing. Despite counting along the three syllable word tripping off his tongue like running from the CPP, adrenaline and has sickening anxiety clutching at his insides and refusing to let go. This is Mick.

And he's speaking again, talking about Sara, about Lisa, about himself, pulling at the stitches just barely starting to heal, fresh in the wound and slowly bleeding again. And it's only when Mick is in his space, offering a shoulder that the tense line of Len's shoulders relax. Because that's the way of things. Give and take and Len let's out a rusty I'll used laugh, nasal and just a bit hysterical, leaning up against him, the solid bulk that's always been, not at his side, than at his back, at the the very least.

"First you'll have to tell her I'm alive, no way am I doing it." He doesn't comment on the rest of it, knows Mick is right, too transparent, too attached, he might be a thief and a liar but he tried, at the very least, not to be a hypocrite. "'Sides, you really trust the half dead possible hallucination with that job? I'm thinking that's a bit much even for me."

Erica let her head fall back against the tree. She exhaled, a stream of smoke escaping from her lips. Not the best habit to pick up. But it was smoking or starting to sleep around again, so she was trying the smoking thing. Though, to be honest, the idea of going to a new bar and hooking up with some stranger was starting to regain some appeal. She took another drag from her cigarette. She just needed a little something. 

Leonard sat down at the table over, feet hitting the tabletop with a solid thud as he made himself comfortable. He already had a glass waiting for him and he shot the girl next to him a glance. His first instinct was to tell her to move, he didn’t need the smell or the taste of cigarette smoke ruining his meal, outdoor dining or not, still. She looked rough, like one of the girl’s he’d catch outside of Sinner’s and Saints begging for something stronger than the cigarette they were burning through.

“Well, I guess I really missed the old days…especially drawing”

“If you miss it so much, why did you quit in the first place?”

          it was bound to happen eventually. magnolia was pretty good at bringing people back from the dead, so why wouldn’t snart end up here?? he honestly had no idea why he was surprised right now. maybe it was just the shock of actually seeing someone that you knew that died being alive again, but it felt out of place. especially after all the time barry’s spent in magnolia. now, facing him head on, barry didn’t even question whether or not this was snart. it was obvious, right down to the way he’d said barry’s name.

          he let out a sigh, raising his brows as if he wasn’t impressed.    “ what, was i supposed to have a present for you or something?? ray said you died. —— i mean, i know this place brings people back to life, but still. “

Leonard raised his eyebrows in a patented look of unimpressed. Though internally his mind was racing, the doc hadn’t been kidding then about people coming back to life, which, of course only left him with more questions. He hadn’t been the only one to come back from the dead though perhaps he’d been the only one to fall through time and end up in this shit hole town. If he didn’t know better he would have assumed this place was Keystone. 

“I don’t need a present but I certainly expected a warmer welcome than that. I did just come back from the dead after all. And here I thought your little doctor friend was the only one getting in touch with the colder side of life.”

He supposes it’s time to get caught up. Never does well to lag behind on a job.

Mm, worst fucking job ever. He doesn’t even get to hit anything. Doesn’t mean he doesn’t want to, though.

Mick squints at him for a long time. Comes off the wall. Squares up his shoulders. “Sounds like something that’d only happen to you.” Maybe in another time he’d sound more fond, but his voice is largely hollow. All he knows is Snart’s hurt and still draping himself around like a big old peacock. Emphasis on old, as in they’re both much too old for this shit. 

(As in Mick’s lived lifetimes and Len’s lived his death over and over again and overall that was time that shouldn’t have been wasted on this bullshit. Last time he saw him, he seemed to regret it, but who knows what happened in that time.)

“Musta sucked.”

He snorts at him dragging himself over to the counter like he doesn’t know all his tells and minuscule winces. All his subtlety and care to hide anything was previously used up elsewhere, so this is what Snart’s gonna be stuck with.

“Illinois. Magnolia. Two hours south o’ Chicago.” 

There’s an aborted look towards the door. No need to bother with the keys. Even if Snart was unconscious and only left with his right hand, he wouldn’t need a goddamn key for a regular, domestic room. And sure as hell Mick’s not dumb enough to try and bring him to a hospital.

“There’s an extra room. Down the hall, to the right. Try not to die while I’m out.”

Mick’s leaving. He’s leaving. Len had asserted himself in Mick’s space, had pressed because he doesn’t know what else to do or how else to act and he will always push if given the option. So Leonard had pushed and Mick. Mick hadn’t taken up his old role, like a comfortable glove, he hadn’t slotted Len back into his life the way Len had hoped. Instead he didn’t just push him away he shoved him, he turned his back with a blithe glib about not dying and moved to leave the apartment. An apartment that was ostensibly his. It’s too much. Mick watching him in pain on the floor, that he can take, Mick not helping him when he can barely stand. That he can take. This is too much. This is his best friend, the man Leonard had spent so much time with, side by side that he can almost pinpoint the exact hour Mick developed his wrinkles, that tight corner of his mouth. That walk like a heavy lumber because it hadn’t always been there and Len, for his part, knows this. His laugh is bitter, it’s harsh and bitter and the long line of his exposed throat should be vulnerable and instead is a dare. He opens up all the weakest parts of him, all but asks him to strike. To go for the soft points of vulnerability and strike. “Thought walking away got us into this mess in the first place Mick. Figured you wouldn’t be this much of'a coward if I ever saw you again. Guess I should'a known I’d draw up wrong, ‘specially since I’ve been wrong about everything else. That what this is Mick? You out to prove me wrong again? Rub my face in my mistakes?” And he knows it’s low and he knows it’s petty and wrong because Mick wasn’t Lewis. But he’s angry and hurt and he’d been alone for so long the idea of Mick leaving made his teeth set on edge. Made his lazy provacative smirk into a half transformed snarl. “You trying to teach me a lesson, Mick?”

Of course that he didn’t know how all of this was for her and he didn’t even care but that was fair enough considering that she didn’t care about him either, of course she will help when it’s necessary like she did with Lisa because she’s nothing like them but either way, is not like she actually like him or anything. Caitlin just was listening to him speaking and honestly? It wasn’t something that she should be surprised because Snart was always like that. She already knew him since the first day that he kidnapped her and the last day when they just broke that alliance when they put everyone free, those criminals. She can’t understand how Barry can just even talk to him with polite manners, she was doing her best to not snap at him.

“I don’t care if they do or they don’t. What I care is that they don’t get away with anything” The woman said now crossing her arms and a sigh escaped from her lips when he said that, she shake her head once, can’t believe that he was actually like that “I don’t know but what I do know is just I used my powers to help Barry once and then, I froze someone in the police station, I kidnapped someone as well to help me with something, I fought my two best friends and I almost kill the flash because I was so angry at him for what he did that I couldn’t help myself so I was wondering, since you know a lot of this, do you think someone that always tries to help other can have darkness inside? I just want to get rid of them, I prefer to be this uptight doctor as you call me than this…”

Leonard has his mouth open to speak before he even realizes it. Doesn't have any grand speeches planned out or a perfect fix it answer, but that's not what she asked for. She asked him about darkness and light and good and bad and control. Leonard had had enough of that question, had enough of fighting for control over himself and his choices and being a puppet dancing on strings. He'd died so that no one had to live like that, whether they knew it or not. So he may not have known what he would say when he spoke but he knew it would be honest. Something he rarely is. "That's up to you. Do you think someone who does what you think is wrong can have good in them? You really think people are that black and white?" Leonard raised a brow, "What about all the people who do bad things for good reasons, you guys have already done it remember? Those so-called bad guys that I let escape? Your little crew of heroes locked them up in tiny cells without sunlight." Len scoffed, half choking on his own thoughts. Thoughts that played over the forefront of his mind the way they usually only did when it was the dead of night and he was alone. Thoughts that said dying a 'hero' sacrificing yourself for your friends isn't what it's made out to be. "Hero ain't on my resume, doesn't mean I can't do it if I choose to. Doesn't mean I haven't already, we decide who we are, whatever darkness or light you think is inside you. You're who decides what you do and what you are." Leonard clenched his jaw, teeth locking tight over nothing at all besides, maybe, the bile he could taste in the back of his throat. There was something here that set his mind on edge, a half angry, almost involuntary reflex that had him on the defensive, quicker to lash out than usual and in some small way he couldn't understand the cause of--hurt. "You want criminals--people like me to take responsibility for what we do. Did you take responsibility for what you did? Did you help the person you froze--you assaulted. Did your friend, did the Flash haul you in for your crimes? It's not some bullshit darkness in you, it's you, you control yourself and you make your decisions, and if you can't? Then wear that little power dampener for the rest of your life and get yourself labeled mentally unfit. If you want to be good and you're making the wrong calls that doesn't make you bad, it makes you confused." Leonard laughed, once a harsh genuine sound. "Figure your shit out before you trick yourself into thinking you're more than you are."

I’m not one of your ghosts. The words ring out in her head, over and over as he pulls her into his chest. All the terrible things she’s done, the guilt constantly hanging over her head like a sword waiting to drop, Laurel… yes, she’s surrounded by ghosts. Plagued, even: but Leonard’s not one of them anymore.

Sara can feel him: he’s warm, and tangible, and alive. It shouldn’t be possible, but the touch is all the proof she needs, one arm wrapping around his neck as she lets her forehead rest against his chest.

“Not anymore,” she whispers. Her voice is still hoarse and unsteady, but it’s stronger and more certain than it was when she’d first seen him. “But–” she looks up at him, brow furrowing as she frowns in confusion. She doesn’t make any efforts to back away, some part of her scared that if she moves away, he’ll disappear. “How?”

Leonard's mouth tightened, a throat swallowing thickly around nothing with a dry click as he tried to force himself to remain impassive. Though, when had that ever worked for him? Impassivity wasn't something he went in for no matter how hard he tried. Still he pulled back to look at her face, smile sardonic and familiar on his face, "I don't think you heard me, I'm not one of your ghosts. I never was. You didn't kill me, I did that all on my own like the big boy I am." His smile softens, just a bit, and he relaxes the tense line of his mouth, the hitched weight of his shoulders, hands large and encompassing over her back, half tangled in blonde hair. "I don't know how I got here, one minute I'm caught in the explosion, the next I'm not." He doesn't lie but he doesn't say how many times he was caught in the explosion. Reliving the same day over and over, playing out all the different scenarios that still ended in him caught with the Oculus afraid of what would happen if he wasn't the one in the blast.

          since coming to magnolia, barry was pretty familiar with the fact that this place had an odd tendency to bring people back to life. he’d met a few people who remember themselves dying with a practically vivid memory and it amazed him at how they were simply just brought back. no catch, they just got a second chance at living. sure, there was a part of him that hoped maybe his parents would show up here, maybe eddie or ronnie or laurel or really anyone he’s known to have died, but he hadn’t been all that fortunate in that aspect. 

          it’s the voice that makes him freeze, not so much the sound of his name. even with all of his experience here, he can’t help but think: that can’t be him. in fact, barry almost didn’t turn around, afraid that maybe it wasn’t snart. the town was known for doppelgangers, so there had to be one for snart, too. the only thing that didn’t fit with this would be the fact that they knew barry’s name.

          once he did finally turn around, he appeared more alert, his eyebrows raised.    “ snart. “

Leonard watched the way his shoulders hitched and the tense way he held himself, sure it was Barry, positive of it in fact, it wasn't like he could forget the way he held himself or his mannerisms. For someone who prided themself, in part on being able to read people, to know them, it would be nigh impossible. For Leonard who'd spent what could be described as weeks combing through any footage he could find of the streak and later learning where he took his damn coffee order, it was literally impossible to forget barring amnesia. "That's a cold welcome. You didn't miss me? And here I thought we were almost friends, I introduced you to my sister, didn't I?"

That voice, she knew that voice too well. Her eyes were still blue, icy blue like when she usually use those powers but then when she put those bracelets or well it was more like handcuff, it helps her to just avoid using those powers because she has problems with that and she didn’t want to become into Killer Frost or anything like that “I do dislike criminals and he was going to steal my purse” She said now picking up her purse from the floor, looking at Snart again “But I didn’t want to be a metahuman” And with that, she wasn’t lying, with those powers she was way too dangerous, she just couldn’t do that.

A sigh escaped from her lips when he said that about self restraint, he had no idea “Well, since I almost killed my friends, this is the only way. Of course you don’t know that, maybe you have a cold gun but you don’t have this, cold is not really a nice power to have, especially if you know that you have an evil doppelganger on other earth with the name of Killer Frost and you are afraid to turn into her” Because she really was afraid to be killer frost, even after her talk with Barry, she didn’t like that idea at all.

Leonard raised an eyebrow taking in her appearance, her icy eyes so cool as to be almost white, the way she snapped on what looked like a binding handcuff for her powers. Still, that wasn't what caught his attention the most, he wondered about her, wondered now and actually took the time to care about the uptight doctor he'd never cared fot. Never paid attention to. He wondered if the ice was a part of her, the same way the metas he'd helped to free had felt like their powers were part of them. He wondered if she felt constrained or if she was just so repressed all the time it didn't matter. Wondered if she was such a danger to herself and others if her little band of friends had a special cell made up just for her the way they had for the others. Or if hypocrisy wasn't in them. He rolled the thoughts and words around on his tongue before he gave a lazy smirk, half sincere. "Well, wasn't that just a mouthful? Don't worry, I'm sure criminals don't care for you either, or your little band of heroes." He almost rolled his eyes, and it was rude, he knew, uncompassionate coming from someone who'd fought to help Sara keep her humanity. "Sounds like she's more fun." And, because Leonard could stomach a lot of things, and hypocrisy was one he tried to avoid he gave what could almost be described as a smile. "If you're fighting so hard not to be her. I doubt you'll just wake up one day without your precious morals. It doesn't exactly work that way. You think I became a thief overnight?"

  “Well I don’t have anything to go back to now.. So I suppose you’re right.” Pausing, OA looked up at the other. “So you died?”

Leonard thought back to reliving the day he died--in an explosion of all things--on repeat like the world’s worst mix tape and his soft smile grew it’s edge back. “Bunches. I don’t know what’s worse, the first or the fifth, or the tenth, or hell, the very last time. Not that I have room to complain. Some people don’t get to come back.”

“Oh, no, he’s not going to escape” She muttered to herself just in a low voice and pulled her bracelet from her wrist that keeps her powers off to just use them and put that ice on the road so the criminal that was escaping was going to fell and it actually did that, knocking him out.

Leonard hadn't paid attention to the direction his feet were taking him. Which isn't the same as saying he wasn't paying attention, it wasn't in his nature to be unobservant even if he wanted to turn it off. Still, that didn't mean he expected to witness Caitlin Snow of all people knocking someone out, without tech at that. He couldn't say he wasn't impressed, points for style at least. It was cool to watch, the way the ice seemingly appeared from thin air. He leveled a cocky smirk at her, smaller and yet somehow bigger without the bulk of his familiar parka covering him. "I knew you didn't like criminals but I didn't think you dislike d them enough to become a meta." Still he raised a brow as his eyes flicked to the bracelet. "You learn a thing or two about self restraint?" His mind drifted to the day he'd helped the metas the Flash had held captive escape.

For someone who’s died before, you would think Sara would have an easier time accepting the idea of people she’d seen die come back to life. But the Lazarus Pit was destroyed, and from what she’d seen, it didn’t look like the explosion could have left enough from him to be brought back, anyways.Time feels like it’s stopped. The only thing that exists is the two of them, and she can hear his last words echoing in the back of her mind: “Just do it.”

Lost amidst the feeling of watching the Oculus implode all over again, it takes a few moments for her to realize she’s forgotten to breathe.Taking in a sharp, shaky breath, she steps towards Leonard with a mixed expression: somewhere between awe and disbelief.

What do you say, exactly, to the man you dared to fall for you only days before you left him to die per his request? How were you supposed to greet someone you’d assumed would remain one of the biggest almost’s in your life? She’d come across a lot of things, but the answers to those questions weren’t one of them.

“Leonard…” How are you here? How are you alive? “You just had to one-up me, didn’t you?” It’s a bad joke, but mostly because of how hoarse her voice has become in the passing moments.

Leonard didn't believe in half finished jobs. He didn't believe in half finished anything except, he knew, sentences. Him and Sara were half finished, they'd been half finished before they'd even begun because if it weren't her it was him and if it weren't him it was their history. Together and separate all the same, screaming ghosts that wouldn't let them go.

Leonard never wanted to be a ghost. Leonard never wanted to be a regret that someone looked at the way Sara was looking at him now.

He didn't believe in things half undone, steps untaken, things unsaid. He was in front of her in four deliberate and sharp strides, one hand, his right, still gloved, twitched once before he simply hugged her to him. Pulled her in and pressed the curve of his cheek against the blonde of her hair.

"Never could stand losing. Guess I needed some perspective of my own. You know, what? I think you need some too, I'm not one of your ghosts."

  “With how close I’ve gotten to being dead, it’s actually not so horrible.”

Leonard gave an almost soft smile, something nearly unheard of to strangers and laughed a bit. "Trust me. This a lot better than being dead."