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From Confession (I)

I haven't shaken grief's rattle, yet it clatters.
I haven't rung sorrow's bell, though it tolls.

Fic: Don't look at it like it's forever

Date: 2017-07-03 12:24 am (UTC)
lunesque: The face of a pale girl with dark hair. Faded text. (Default)
From: [personal profile] lunesque
Fandom: The Flash
Rating: G
Pairing: Barry Allen/Leonard Snart
Summary: Barry needed some time alone after the Dominator invasion.


Barry popped up the collar of his black denim jacket and pushed open the door of Saints & Sinners. Strangely, in the bar it seemed as though everything was the same as it always was, and not like the world had just been attacked by aliens. Out on the street, people were smiling, hugging, watching the President give a speech about the resilience of humanity and how the world's heroes had come together to show the best of themselves.
In here, no one looked at each other.

It suited Barry's purposes just fine.

He sat in the booth closest to the bar and looked at the menu; a tired looking waitress came over, and he ordered a cheeseburger and fries. Neither of them smiled.

With the Dominators out of the picture, Barry couldn't help but be grateful that his friends had all survived. On the heels of that, a tired sort of shame.

Leonard Snart was dead, and Ray had seemed surprised Barry even cared.

There was a hollowness in Barry's chest -- not the intense, painful grief of his mother, or even his father, but more the holding of a breath. The anticipation of more. He hadn't felt comfortable returning to his apartment, and it was fitting that this rundown old bar was where he felt closest to Snart. He hadn't been an enemy, and he hadn't been a friend. He'd been a maybe, seesawing back and forth because it was fun. It was a game between them. And now he was gone.

"Hey, I'm sorry," Barry said when the waitress came back. "Can I get an order of pickled eggs? Someone told me they were really good here."

She cocked an eyebrow and shrugged. "Sure thing, hon."

He took a bite of his burger as she walked away -- it wasn't anything special, dry beef, wilted lettuce, too much onion, but the fries were okay. He glanced around the room, tired and achy in a way that wasn't physical, and looked at the jukebox, which wasn't playing classic rock, and the pool tables, which actually had some people playing.

Leonard Snart had died a hero, and he was gone.

Had Mick told Lisa? Was there anyone else in the world who cared about Snart at all? Barry guessed the answer to that was no. People died all the time, and the world always moved on.

The waitress slid the plate of pickled eggs onto the table, and Barry hesitated. They smelled briny, sharp with vinegar, but Barry reached for the salt, sprinkling some on one of the halves before he popped it in his mouth.

Barry's face screwed up tight, the egg rubbery and so salty it made his mouth pucker, and he huffed out a laugh. "Snart, you have the worst taste in food." His next breath was a hiccup, and he pressed a hand to his stinging eyes as his vision blurred with tears. He shoved another egg half into his mouth.

He could almost see Snart smirk, could almost see his stupid blue parka, but it was only a memory. It would fade.

Barry was so tired of death.

Edited Date: 2017-07-03 12:25 am (UTC)


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