Chapter Text
Barry scrubbed hard at the stupid stain on the front of the counter, aggravated. The rag in his hand was new, a blue and yellow checkered square that Lisa had dropped off with the other things she’d insisted on bringing by. ‘Lisa’, Barry was honest to god meaning Lisa Snart since she’d shown up to the bar, flipped her hair, winked at Barry and Shawna behind the counter and immediately insisted they all be on a first name basis.
Anyway, the stain was two inches long, with one large blotch and then a smaller blotch, very sticky in a permanent way, and it had been there since Barry started work at this bar three weeks ago and it was still there today, two days after Leonard Snart bought the bar. Barry turned around, to the sink, and opened the cabinet underneath. There were cleaning supplies there, so he pulled out a bottle of all-purpose cleaner, sprayed his rag for the third time since his shift started two hours ago, and turned back around to target that stain.
Barry was behind the counter, underneath the television, with the heavier bottles of liquor, while Shawna was at the other end of the counter, beside the beer taps (Bud, Corona, and Sam Adams, the previous establishment wasn’t one for variety) serving a drink to Mick Rory. She had a black apron tucked into her skinny jeans, a tank top, and a black jacket with the word “Peek-a-boo” stitched into her back, so every time she turned to face the corner stool where Lisa Snart was chatting away with her, Barry saw the word flash across his eyes and he felt yet another flash of anxiety.
Beneath the counter, and that damn stain, was Barry’s phone shoved between the shot glasses and rocks. He could see the screen light up.
“See, the thing about shit like art, y’know,” Shawna was saying to Lisa, “is where do you put that shit?”
“The resale value,” Lisa acknowledged with a nod. She made a ‘thumbs down’ and then mimicked the sound of an explosion.
Mick Rory was sitting, hunched over, head resting on his forearms, beside his second beer and a bowl of peanuts, flicking a cigarette lighter on and off. There were heavy circles under the man’s eyes, and Barry could have felt bad if Rory hadn’t tried to set him on fire multiple times.
Leonard Snart was still in the back, talking to the previous owner about keeping the tables, chairs, pool table, and dart board. And some guy Barry didn’t know, blonde hair, well built, was standing and playing pool with himself, not at all focused on Barry. The bar wasn’t open, Barry had just been asked to come in early. Barry was… highly… he sighed, pausing in his scrubbing of the unbudging stain. Barry was highly conflicted. Half the previous staff had been fired, only the ones with previous police records or missing citizenship papers were still working and Barry had neither. In all likelihood, Barry was about to be fired from his fourth job since the second particle accelerator explosion. Which was good news because Leonard Snart had just bought the bar.
Snart, aka, the guy who stole a priceless flute from the Thanksgiving Day Parade three days ago, and who kidnapped both of Barry’s best friends, who was a murderer, and a thief. And who hated the Flash.
Aka Barry.
Barry did not want to work with Leonard Snart- however. He resumed scrubbing the stain, cast a mournful glance around the establishment of the dive bar, with its brown walls, scratched wooden floors, and overall Martin Scorcese film feel. He’d liked working at this bar the last two weeks. Criminals in Central seemed to have an abundance of disposable income and while the moral ramifications of that were a bit iffy, a full tip jar was an amazing thing to see after a long shift. And Barry liked mixing drinks, he was good at it—after all, it was all science.
Losing his job at this bar meant he had to go back to being a dead weight in Caitlin’s life, basically, sitting in her guest room (“It’s your room now, Barry, stop calling it that”) filling out job applications until his eyes swam, hoping to get the call that someone somewhere needed the Flash.
Being a bartender had meant easily changeable hours, covering for other people when he had free time, and most of the time Barry didn’t have to talk with anyone at all- just stand there and get them drunk while they bragged about something. More than once, things that Barry the Bartender heard at work helped the Flash catch some criminals; it wasn’t like working at the precinct but it was at least something.
The blond guy playing pool cursed loudly, as if he was losing (which was weird because he was literally playing against himself). Barry almost laughed, but he could still see Mick, Lisa, and Shawna out of the corner of his eye.
He bent his head over the counter; shoulders hunched, and kept scrubbing the stain. Barry wasn’t… completely afraid of the Rogues? More ‘understandably cautious’. Barry was strong enough to be confident he could get out of here alive, but his record with Snart and his crew didn’t make him eager for a rematch.
This stain was idiotic and Barry hated it.
Barry cast another glance around the bar, Mick Rory was still not looking anywhere besides the lighter in his hand, and Lisa was contemplating Shawna’s jacket (Shawna apparently embroidered it herself, “Surgeons hands,” Shawna said, while laughing), and the man losing to himself in pool still was focused on… whatever that was. Barry kept one hand on the rag, leaned over the counter, reached his left hand toward his phone, and he had just clicked in the password to unlock (“5 6 5 2”), the screen flashed up with a barrage of messages from Cisco but before Barry could look, he saw a piece of paper slide onto the counter with his name on it.
Not just his name, his resume. Barry looked up, eyes wide, and Leonard Snart was casually moving to sit in a stool in front of him. Snart was wearing a dark blue jacket, a grey t-shirt, which Barry thought was weird because somehow he imagined the man wearing that parka all the time (which would be ridiculous) and… fucking close. Barry dropped the phone, heard a glass clink, and winced.
Snart was holding a binder full of papers, tapped them on the counter, and without looking up said, “You can check your phone, kid, you’re not working right now.”
Barry instantly felt the blood drain from his face, because Leonard Snart was his boss and he hated every moment that had led up to this moment. What the hell was wrong with his life, because it seemed like someone ‘up there’ had it out for Barry in a big way.
Snart’s eyes, steely blue, flickered up to meet Barry’s. “Not checking your phone.” It sounded like a statement, but should have been a question.
Barry swallowed and shook his head.
“Okay,” Snart leaned back, adjusted his jacket, and then sat with his elbows on the counter. He looked at Barry with such a focused look that for a moment Barry was certain Snart knew but then all he said was, “White Russian. Cold.”
Oh. A drink. Lowball vodka drink; coffee liqueur and cream. Easy enough. Barry grabbed bottles for it, found the right vodka behind him without trouble since he had been working in the same bar for a few weeks, and made the drink… moving his hands slowly on purpose.
“Really, Lenny?” Lisa said loudly from the other end of the bar, “Drinking at 5 p.m.?”
“Coffee. Cream,” Snart answered with a frown, “it’s hardly even alcohol.”
“It’s 5 p.m.,” Lisa repeated, even louder as if to spite him.
“Will you let me do my job, sis?” Snart said. He didn’t wait for a reply. Barry was just putting ice cubes (as many as he could fit in the glass) into the drink.
Feeling like he was under a spotlight, Barry slid the glass two inches across the counter to Len’s waiting hand, let the man take a drink, and anticipated feedback that didn’t come.
Snart just leaned over Barry’s resume on the counter. “So…” He dragged the word as he traced his finger down the first page, “High School honor roll, all four years, and graduated from a local university, chemistry, forensic, very jumbled interests all down the line but impressive schooling, and working in a coffee shop and later a science museum as a tour guide, and your resume is missing the period of time you worked for the Central City Police,” Snart shrugged as Barry’s eyes widened, “that’s understandable. You seem to have had a tumultuous relationship with that department. Fill me in?”
Barry couldn’t believe Snart wasn’t just shooting him right then and there. “I…” Barry started to say, lost his voice, had to cough and start over.
Snart spoke before he could finish. “Been drinking?”
Barry shook his head immediately. “No, I don’t.”
Snart looked surprised. “You don’t drink?”
Barry nodded. “So uh… I got the job through a family friend-”
Snart pulled out his binder, opened up to a tabbed page, and read aloud, “Detective Joe West?” He looked at Barry casually and added, “Don’t be surprised. I order background checks on anyone I come in contact with. No one sees this binder besides me.”
Oh man. This was an interview. Barry had no idea how thorough the background checks Snart did were, but he was sure the binder was full of things he’d never want Snart to know. Barry should never have listened to Cisco. He should have run out of the bar as soon as Snart showed up the first day, not stuck around until Snart actually became his boss.
Barry nodded again, crossed his arms, uncrossed them, and then rubbed the back of his neck. “I was in a coma,” Barry said.
Snart didn’t look surprised at all, so the coma must have come up in the background check. “What was that like?” He asked, nonchalant.
Barry frowned. “I don’t remember.”
“Fair,” Snart said, “you were able to jump right back into work?”
“Disability benefits, having a family member who worked in the department…” Barry said, “but uh… the incident with that wormhole that opened up in the middle of the city?” Snart didn’t say anything, so Barry jumped in with the cover story he, and everyone he knew, had memorized, “I hit my head, got a really bad concussion. Was hospitalized for two weeks and recovering after that. The CCPD cut their losses and let me go; they were making cuts anyways so it just made sense to get rid of the guy who didn’t work nearly an entire year.”
“Plan on getting into more comas?” Snart asked.
Barry blinked. “Wh… I… no?”
“Okay,” Snart said, and then he… smiled. Which was weird. Because Snart had smiled before, so when he did Barry suddenly remembered being on a hijacked train chasing the man in a parka who’d stolen a diamond which… this ‘secret identity’ thing was giving Barry whiplash.
“Is there a reason you haven’t fired me?” Barry said, not thinking, the moment the words were out he instantly regretted them.
Snart glanced in his binder. “According to matters of record, your father is imprisoned for murder and according to sources, you frequently visit and are on good terms.”
Oh. That was why Barry was still staying when all the people without police records had been cut. “Considering I used to work with the CCPD…” Barry started, and let the sentence hang.
Snart took a second drink. “Doesn’t seem like they treated you very well,” he said casually.
That was sort of true. Sort of not. Barry hadn’t exactly been the most… punctual employee since he’d become the Flash, being fired had not been an unexpected turn of events. “I guess,” Barry said.
“The question is,” Snart said, holding the drink and leaning forward, “would you like to continue employment with this establishment?”
“I- well yeah- I mean, yes,” he tried to say it decisively but he knew he just sounded awkward.
“Give it some thought,” Snart said, eyes staring straight into Barry’s which sent shivers down Barry’s back. “If you’re gunna work here, you’ll be protected by us of course, but the Rogues do attract enemies. You have to be comfortable with the possibility of a pissing match breaking out at any point. And if you are at any point questioned by the police, and if you very stupidly tell the badges what they want to hear, my buddy Mick spent his early career making examples of people who talked too much to cops.” Snart’s finger tapped his glass. “I’m sorry to say that that’s a threat, but this is the line of work I’m in.”
“So…” Barry frowned at Snart, and then shoved all misgivings to the back of his mind and asked, “why did you buy the bar?”
Snart stared at him, forehead furrowed in a frown, and didn’t answer that question. Instead he reached out for Barry’s resume again. “Same phone number?”
“Yeah,” Barry said.
“Same address and email?”
“Yes.”
“The address you listed is registered to a Doctor Caitlin Snow,” Snart said slowly, “very intelligent woman. Used to work with STAR Labs and now is an adjunct professor of the Missouri University of Medicine located here in Central City.”
This was the point where Barry was sure he was going to die; Snart knew about Caitlin, Snart had met Caitlin before. And Snart now knew everything about Barry, all it would take was the logical leap from Barry Allen to Caitlin and Cisco’s association with the Flash to make everything too clear- and this was a bad idea. Barry should never have gone along with this; it wasn’t like vice, he wasn’t undercover, the name Barry Allen was very clearly written on that resume.
This was the stupidest plan Barry had ever had.
Snart was looking at Barry’s face, blank expression, which was definitely freaking Barry out. “She’s legally a widow, according to records her husband has passed. You friends with her?”
“Yes,” Barry said, hands feeling clammy, “and no. I live with her. She’s my doctor.”
Snart frowned. “You live with your doctor?”
“I was treated by STAR Labs… after the particle accelerator explosion,” oh god, stop talking, “Caitlin was in charge of my treatment. I kept having seizures. I…” I am so bad at lying, he’s going to see through this, “was struck by lightning. Some sort of brain uh… neuron firing lapse between the amygdala and hippocampus, it’s experimental and Caitlin thinks she needs to…” Barry rubbed the sides of his face, glanced over at Mick Rory and Lisa – they were looking at him, “monitor my treatment. Lightning psychosis.”
Barry was about to make a run for it, then Snart reached forward and suddenly Captain Cold’s hand was on Barry’s wrist and Snart was looking at Barry with… sympathy. He bought it, Barry realized completely shocked, Snart actually bought it.
“If you have any troubles at work-” Snart started to say.
“I’m fine,” Barry insisted.
Snart’s thumb brushed against the back of Barry’s hand, obviously meant to be comforting. “We take care of our own here,” Snart promised.
This is weird, Barry thought.
“Has Caitlin told you anything?” Snart asked.
About the time you kidnapped her, rigged her to an exploding bomb, and Mick Rory threatened to burn her just so you could set a trap for the Flash? Barry remembered. “About what?” He said. Snart seemed to accept that answer, so Barry mentally congratulated himself.
“Are you and the Doctor close?” Snart asked.
“She’s my physician,” Barry said. “Why are you asking questions about her?”
From behind him, Barry could hear Lisa Snart slam her hand on the counter, and then she very loudly asked Shawna about the telescope clipped to Shawna’s belt.
Snart pulled his hand away from Barry, coughed into his hand, and then pulled Barry’s resume back into his binder. “I’ll send you an email with the new hours we have available after I organize it,” Snart said with a tone in his voice indicating the conversation was over, “go in the back, bring out one or two of the boxes Lisa dropped off, then you can head on out.”
Barry… passed. Somehow he’d made it past Snart’s security test and for a moment Barry was actually offended by that, then he remembered to count himself lucky and just go with it.
As the bartender stepped out the door, Lisa waited until the swinging screech of rusted hinges finished, and then she pounced. Len watched her the entire time, the way her eyes trailed after the bartender, the thin line of disapproval that was her mouth.
James was still playing himself in pool, everything peaceful enough that Len knew an open argument would get everyone's attention. Lisa stood up, Len gathered his binder, and quickly walked back into the storage room knowing she would follow.
True to prediction, just as Len was stepping over the boxes at the door, careful not to spill the drink in his hand, Lisa opened the door behind him with a bang. She looked furious.
Len took a slow drink, leaned against a shelf filled with back-stock alcohol and peanuts, and waited for her to start.
"I told you not to hire that one!" She said, eyes flashing.
"I decided," Len said, "not to follow your advice in this case." He set the drink down on the shelf beside him. Thought better, then raised it to his mouth again.
"He worked for the CCPD," Lisa reminded.
"He was fired for a disability," Len said casually.
"He lives with the very same Doctor Snow that you and Mick kidnapped," Lisa snarled. She crossed her arms, her black boot tapping loudly on the cement floor.
"She's his physician."
Lisa raised her eyebrow, frowning. "He has a disability and lives with his doctor?"
Len took another drink and looked at the binder in his hands so he didn't have to look at her.
"So he's a former badge who can't even live on his own," Lisa said angrily, "so he won't even be a good employee. I recommended you fire him with the rest and for some reason you, Mr. I Randomly Decided Today That I Want To Buy A Bar, decide to disregard everything and keep him on staff."
Len shrugged. It was obvious Lisa was putting the pieces together and it was only going to be a matter of time before she knew what Len was thinking. Sometimes it was a nightmare to work with his sister.
"He'll work the late night shift then. So he's not around when the Rogues are having meetings?" Lisa asked.
Len sighed. "I-"
"This close," Lisa said. She stepped forward and raised her had, indicating to a miniscule space between her thumb and index finger. "I am this close to strangling you and just setting up a Grindr account."
"No," Len said with scorn, "if you fucking do that again I'll-"
"You seriously bought this bar just to see this guy?" Lisa yelled, exasperated, "You're such an idiot."
"Remember what I said about undermining my authority?" Len warned.
"What the fuck is wrong with you," Lisa said to the ceiling.
"For the record, I was already considering buying a bar since the Flash showed up to Saints in full costume," Len said, "and nothing keeps people happier than free drinks, and people like these Rogues need to feel happy."
"But the only reason it is this specific bar is because that specific brunette works here?" Lisa asked.
Len sighed. That was enough of an answer for Lisa, who was shaking her head in disapproval.
Then, initial rage apparently dealt with, Lisa stepped beside Len and leaned on the same shelves beside him. Looking ahead, and not at him, which Len did appreciate. She hooked her arm in Len's, holding him next to her, and rested her cheek on Len's shoulder. It was her attempt to be 'cute' so that Len would do what she wanted... which Len consistently fell for.
It was annoying how predictable and easy he was when Lisa was involved.
"At least he's 24," Lisa said, recalling the information she'd come up in her background check, "he looks pretty young."
Len didn't say anything to that. He didn't like the bartender because he looked young-
"Len, you realize this was a bad plan? You can't flirt with your employees," Lisa told him.
Len pressed the glass in his hand to his forehead.
"You are the smartest idiot in the world," Lisa said, full of affection. "I will fix this for you."
"Don't meddle," Len said.
"I will meddle," Lisa promised, "because your beautiful mind shuts off like a switch when it comes to romance and I'm really bored with being the only sibling with a date for family dinners."
"I've brought Mick," Len grumbled.
"Mick doesn't count and you know it."
"I guess," Len frowned at the glass above his head, "there's nothing I can really stay to stop you."
"I always do what I want, Lenny," she said, her voice sickeningly sweet, "and what I want is what is best for you. No promises on the brunette bartender-"
Len grimaced.
"-but," she continued, "Thanksgiving was a bore. I'll get you a date by Christmas."
Len really wished he wasn't actually grateful for her help. He just grunted in reply.
Lisa grabbed the white Russian out of his hands. "No more alcohol until 8, you gruff old drunk," she cooed.
"You are not going to control my drinking," Len insisted.
"Do you think you'll seduce the sexy young bartender by being a drunk mess? Trust me," she said, planting a kiss on Len's cheek. "Also trust me on the wallpaper, because I have a theme going to match the napkins."