Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“I’m expecting a package at 3:00,” Dr. Wells announced and kept rolling by, straight to his office, leaving Cisco staring with a slushy straw dangling from his lips. He exchanged a look with Caitlin.

“Please alert me when it arrives.”

That was all. The door closed with a sharp ‘click.’

“A package?” Cisco hissed, nearly toppling off his chair in an attempt to get at Caitlin. She was sequestered in her own, doctor-y environment, a field of important looking test tubes the only thing that kept Cisco from actually plowing into her. He settled for punching her arm instead. “A package!”

“Is this Christmas?” she asked snidely. Which okay. Fine. Maybe he was a little worked up over this, but—

“A package,” Cisco said, breathing it a third time, trying and failing to convey the significance of such a seemingly innocuous thing. “C’mon, Cat—”

“Don’t call me ‘Cat.’”

“C’mon, sourpuss. When was the last time Dr. Wells ordered something? Huh? You know, since After?”

Cisco imagined the capital ‘A’ in his mind, a clear divide between Before and After their particle explosion. He saw the exact moment Caitlin got it too, her face smoothing over and one hand moving up so she could nibble at her thumb. Because yeah, Dr. Wells really hadn’t ordered anything in the two months since their lab went ‘boom,’ which was hella weird for a rich dude in love with all the finer things in life. They used to get mail by the truckloads back in the Before, all the necessary workings for STAR Labs along with the latest toys for Dr. Well’s favorites to play with—Cisco included. He remembered reverent donations to the connecting museum, the daily boxes of fan mail that never failed to make Wells cringe, the time a freaking mountain of new gloves had shown up because one woman down in Bio-engineering was allergic to the latex and really, the man didn’t know how to show his appreciation except with over the top gestures—”Don’t think on it, Dr. Marten. After all, I can’t have you breaking out in hives, now can I?” STAR Labs used to be a thousand moving parts of completely awesome things, all of them coming and going in an endless, chaotic stream. Now it was just... them. Just him, Caitlin, and a distant Dr. Wells. And they were awesome, sure, but it wasn’t the same.

The last package Cisco could remember were the new ramps and... yeah. That wasn’t much fun.

“What do you think it is?” Caitlin asked, jarring him from his thoughts. Cisco knocked his fist firmly into his palm.

“RH-50 Dale Resisters,” he said. “Dr. Wells is re-embracing particle acceleration. He’s finally building the proton pack.”

Caitlin gave him a withering look. “Ghostbusters? Really?”

“Well what do you think he ordered?”

“The latest journals,” she said simply, turning back to her tubes. “Dr. Wells is a professional. Now that he’s back on his feet—” Caitlin winced, ignoring Cisco’s raised eyebrow. “Metaphorically. Now that he’s stronger he’ll want to re-start his research. It only makes sense that he’d begin with the latest literature.”

“Boring,” Cisco said, even if, truthfully, he’d kill to see the man reading anything science related. He didn’t know what Dr. Wells did locked up in his office all day, but he never came out in a good mood. Or even a not-glacial mood.

It was freaking Hoth up in here and Cisco was slowly losing his mind.

“I suppose we’ll just have to wait and see,” Caitlin said.

“Yeah...yeah.”

Cisco went back to his half-melted slushy. A glance at the clock told him he’d be waiting another three hours and twelve minutes to solve this mystery. He huffed and threw himself into his chair. No way could he focus on his Suit right now. Curiosity was a bitch.

There was collection of boardgames under the Cortex’s bridge and he actually opened his mouth to ask Caitlin if she wanted a round or two of Settlers of Catan... but no. There hadn’t been much buddy-buddy stuff between them lately.

Not that Cisco could blame her.

“He slimed me,” Cisco muttered and briefly pressed his palms against his eyes. He settled for some solitaire instead. Freaking fitting.

Time passed at a snail’s pace.

It did pass though and after a massive stretch of “World’s Most Adorable ____” Youtube videos, Cisco finally heard the little chime that alerted them to someone at the Lab’s main entrance. He de-activated the security system in just a few clicks, only slightly surprised that Caitlin was out of her seat as well.

“Curious cat...” Cisco muttered to her and tried to pretend that Caitlin’s smile was a little brighter than it actually was. “Dr. Wells! Your package is here!”

He didn’t wait—couldn’t wait—not when routine had been eating at them both for weeks on end. The two of them power-walked out of the Cortex before Dr. Wells had even opened the door. Cisco knew how stupid this was, but he couldn’t help it. Anything to break the monotony.

“Twenty bucks says it’s awesome,” Cisco said, speeding down the corridor.

“Define ‘awesome.’”

“More interesting than freaking journals.”

“Deal.”

He grinned, willing to hope that Caitlin was doing the same beside him. Cisco was thinking about buying some new manga with twenty bucks, or just a whole bunch of candy, and it took his scheming mind a second too long to notice the voices.

As in plural. How many people did you need to deliver a package?

Caitlin had a similar ‘wtf?’ face going on, all pursed lips and squinty eyes. They picked up the pace and right before they left the hall they had to fall back, a whole damn team of people charging them by.

“Excuse me,” a woman said, barely sparing Cisco a glance. He gapped as a parade of people came flowing into STAR labs. The majority were in doctor’s coats like Caitlin, though a few minion-looking guys carted big boxes of something or other, or rolled equally mysteriously things by on wheels. Cisco was about to grab someone and demand an explanation when he caught sight of what brought up the rear.

It was a bed, complete with a quarantine canopy and a whole slew of monitors attached, all of them beeping at different frequencies and sounding super eerie in the echoey hall. This was some full on E.T. shit. Dawn of the Dead contamination unit. Cisco was torn between rushing forward and pressing up against the wall or getting closer when he actually caught a glimpse of what was inside.

No alien or zombie in the making. It was just a guy. A really handsome guy.

“Holy shit,” Cisco whispered. “Dr. Wells bought the science equivalent of a rent boy.”

***

Well, that wasn’t quite the right answer. Caitlin had hit him for that little comment, though Cisco still got the twenty bucks. He flapped the bill in front of the new guy’s face.

“I’lll give you this if you open your eyes,” he said.

No movement.

“Forty then. Actually no, sorry, thirty-eight and some leftover Twizzlers. Whaddaya say?”

No change on the monitors.

“Greedy gus.”

It was actually sort of creepy, that bad Sci-Fi flick feel again. Cisco rubbed his hands up and down his bare arms, confident that no one was around to judge him for having the heebie-jeebies. They’d spent all afternoon and half the night just getting this craziness set up. If someone had walked in this morning and said, “Hey, Cisco, later today your boss is going to stick a coma patient in the middle of your work room, have fun with that!” he would have laughed. Then admitted that was a little cool. Then laughed again.

And truthfully it was cool. Definitely a break in monotony.

But also kind of creepy.

It was something to do with the dim lighting now that Dr. Wells and Caitlin had vacated; too many tubes and not enough color in the guy’s cheeks. The clock striking 1:00am sure as hell didn’t help.

Truthfully though, it was way more than that. Cisco was no Caitlin, but he understood enough about the human body to get its general response to fear. It was all about the unknown. The creep factor stemmed from the danger inherent in ignorance and right now Cisco was feeling reeeeeally ignorant.

A fact that he’d been more than happy to announce.

“Why is there a coma dude in the Cortex?” he’d asked, finger swinging towards all the different personal doing, yep, personal things. Like hooking up more IVs. And re-inserting a catheter.

Dr. Wells looked up at Cisco. He still wasn’t use to that.

“He was struck by lighting,” he said, as if that explained anything. Like why lighting apparently equaled coma. Or why he was here.

Before Cisco could start pointing all that out though Dr. Wells leaned forward in his chair, eyes intent on the work going on around them. He drummed his fingers on the armrest and slowly—ever so slowly—let out a breath that Cisco heard even over the clamor.

“It was a freak storm that did it, Cisco. About two months ago.”

Oh.

Dr. Wells rolled away, creating literal and figurative distance between them. Cisco let him go.

Because what the hell was there to say? The weeks following the explosion had been consumed by recuperation and physical therapy, but Cisco still saw Dr. Wells enough to spot the weight loss; the angry bags under his eyes. Mobile again he’d thrown money at the problem—to repair buildings, lasting electrical damage, all the cars that had crashed in the chaos—but people couldn’t be patched up so easily. Money couldn’t fight against the fear and crushing disappointment. It sure as hell couldn’t bring back the dead.

Cisco still had nightmares. Not just about the explosion, but the little things too. Like Caitlin’s expression when Dr. Wells had offered to pay for Ronnie’s funeral expenses and how he was sure, utterly sure in that moment, that Caitlin would strike him. She hadn’t, but her trembling lips had said it all—as had Dr. Well’s averted gaze. He was trying, even if it was all pretty useless.

This though? This kid definitely needed money. Or a miracle.

“‘Cause this sure ain’t normal,” Cisco said, shaking his head at the hundred and some medical supplies that had flooded their home. Caitlin had been beside herself, asking so many questions even she realized she was being a bit of a pest, but the other medical staff had answered everything with a strange, almost desperate patience. It took them both a good hour to figure it out: that they’d be back to their three (four?) person lab by the end of the day; that Caitlin was meant to be this guy’s primary caretaker.

“But I don’t know anything about coma patients!” she had shrieked, even as she’d dialed back the guy’s fluids like she’d been doing it for years. The other professionals looked mildly relieved. Cisco and Dr. Wells exchanged a glance that almost felt like old times.

She could do it too. If anyone could not only manage, but somehow wake up this cup of crazy, it was Dr. Caitlin Snow. Cisco should have realized immediately that even a beaten Dr. Wells wasn’t made up of altruism; he wouldn’t take in just any old boring, normal case study. The real reasons came out in pieces over the next couple of hours. How the lightning strike should have fried the kid easily—at least burned him head to toe—but he’d been found untouched except for burned clothes. How he’d come into contact with a whole host of other chemicals at the time and no one knew exactly what kind of chaos that had wreaked. How he’d been coding, again and again for months, yet always came back and never seemed to be the worse for the experience, at least according to endless MRIs and CAT scans.

How he just wouldn’t, couldn’t wake up.

No wonder Dr. Wells had taken him in. Cisco had the upmost respect for his mentor, sure, but he wasn’t blind either. This guy wasn’t just a charity case, he was a scientific anomaly.

Dr. Wells loved that shit. Cisco did too.

“Just as long as you’re not a zombie,” Cisco muttered, the empty lab and all these thoughts of dying really starting to get to him. Morbid, much. Time to fix that.

So Cisco got some tunes going, confident that it wouldn’t bother his roommate and, really, it wasn’t like he was sleeping anytime soon. He grabbed Doritos from one of his many stashes, reached for the Suit’s notes, hesitated, and then grabbed for his laptop instead. Cisco pulled up a chair and settled next to Mr. Anomaly.

Handsome anomaly.

“I want to know more about you,” he said slowly, booting up Chrome and stuffing three chips into his mouth. Cisco settled in and, after only a moments consideration, kicked his feet up onto the bed. His ratty sneakers nudged the guy’s right knee. “C’mon, c’mon. Let’s break the ice and all that. We are basically going to be living together.”

Google awaited him. Cisco leaned forward and snagged the hospital bracelet still looped around the guy's wrist.

“B. Allen,” he said aloud. “Alright...” It took Cisco all of five seconds to hit gold.

“Oh... oh, dude. You are lucky you’ve got a pretty face because god, Bartholomew? That’s almost as bad as Francisco, I am so damn sorry. The hell were your parents thinking?”

Not much, apparently. Given that one was in jail and the other in her grave. The former for causing the latter.

“Well shit.” Cisco scrubbed at his eyes. He thought about leaving his research at that, but...

“Nah. Not like you’re awake to yell about boundaries. C’mon, Bartholomew. Tell me more.”

Chapter Text

Bartholomew Please-Call-Me-Barry Allen. Born 1989 to a Henry and Nora Allen, in their small, shockingly normal suburban home. That alone sent Cisco’s mind into a tailspin and really—he’d think later—it should have been a hint too. Because who the hell had a bio that was somehow this normal and this interesting? In the first freaking sentence?

Forget the god-awful name. Or even the fact that Barry was only a year younger than Cisco—thoughts of how they might have ended up in the same space taking up far too much of his time. All of it paled in comparison to the tragedy that was the guy’s home life and, like a multi-car pile up, it was the sort of horrible you just couldn’t look away from. Cisco spent hours that night flying through every article he could find, piecing all that horrible-ness together: the seemingly idyllic, nuclear family; Henry Allen suddenly going off the rails, the gory descriptions of Nora’s stab wounds; rumors that young Barry got a good look at the body (Jesus Christ); his insistence, for years, that there had been streaks of lightning in the house that night...

Cisco might have found the coincidence funny if it weren’t so goddamn sad. Who only knew how many shrinks the kid had needed to see.

Actually... Cisco knew. It was six, and he got the feeling from the notes he may or may not have illegally hacked into that either a) smarty-pants Barry had just started telling the grownups what they wanted to hear, or b) his adopted cop-dad started doing the exact same thing.

Cisco was really starting to like this guy.

He’d made it through to Barry’s work with the CCPD (“Dude. How are you still such a do-gooder after all that?”) when Caitlin startled him with a flood of light.

“Ahh, bright—bright!” Cisco cowered and hissed like a vampire. When his sight recovered from the assault he found Caitlin looking very unimpressed.

“Are you still here?” she breathed, managing to sound scandalized despite the fact that they’d both pulled all-nighters more times than he could count. She marched over, already ignoring Cisco in favor of checking Barry’s vitals. Her hands did that little fluttery, nervous thing before increasing his... something or other. That’s why she was the doctor.

Cisco just settled for groaning. His back was stiff and he really needed the little boy’s room. ASAP.

“You’re one to talk,” he groused. “It’s—five am!? What the hell, Caitlin!”

“I couldn’t sleep,” she said, looking about as haggard as Cisco felt. “Do you have any idea the sort of responsibility Dr. Wells has just placed on us? On me? My specialty is in bio-engineering, Cisco. I like my people in their culture dishes. And yes, I took on a broader role when Dr. Wells asked it of me. I do have my medical degree and I do have training in first responder treatments, but I know next to nothing about treating someone in a persistent, vegetative state, let alone someone exhibiting Mr. Allen’s strange, and frankly impossible, tissue regeneration, and—”

Cisco threw up his hands. “Whoa, whoa, slow it all down. No one is asking for a miracle here. If anyone can keep this guy fine and fair, it’s you, Caitlin. Besides, he—” Cisco stopped. “Wait. Did you just say tissue regeneration?”

Caitlin smiled wide and fake in that patronizing way of hers, pointing fiercely at Barry. “Yes. Apparently there was an incident where a nurse accidentally cut him—heaven only knows what she was doing—and the injury healed in seconds. Dr. Wells gave me the report last night and emphasized that it was the only copy. Told me to destroy it when I was done reading. Hush, hush!” and she put a finger to her lips, only slightly hysterical.

Cisco just blinked dumbly. “I didn’t get that far reading up on him.”

“...what?”

“What.”

They stared at one another across the bed. Barry breathed deeply between them.

Cisco stood. “That’s it. Coffee. Now. You and me. We spill all.”

“But—” Caitlin glanced worryingly at Barry, gnawing at her lip.

“He’s been asleep eight weeks, Caitlin. He’ll be fine without us for a hour.”

Dragging her out of the Cortex was easier after that, but, if pressed, Cisco would have admitted that even he was a little hesitant at leaving Barry’s side.

Get ahold of yourself, dude. He thought. It’s been a day.

Somehow, that wasn’t at all reassuring.

***

The facts, when summed up, were these:

1. The particle accelerator, heralded as Dr. Wells’ magnum opus and one of the greatest scientific achievements in modern day history, was meant to change the world. For the better.

2. It did that for exactly twenty-seven minutes.

3. Then, inexplicitly, there was an explosion that sent a wave of dark matter across Central City. That same shockwave merged with an incoming storm, binding at the molecular level.

4. A lightning bolt from said storm struck Barry Allen.

5. Barry Allen was now experiencing some freaky-ass side effects.

+1 No one else in Central City had come forward about similar freaky-ass side effects. However, as any decent scientist knew, the absence of data did not necessarily preclude the hypothesis’ possibility. There could be others.

But that was so not their problem. Cisco felt that one crazy science fiction experiment was enough for them, thank you very much.

“Do you think the government’s involved?” he whispered, stirring his coffee extra hard. Caitlin gave him a withering look over her tea.

“Do you think before you talk? You know STAR labs is privately funded.” Caitlin hesitated. “I think Dr. Wells is actually working to keep the government out of this. Mr. Allen has only been showing these... symptoms,” she lowered her voice anxiously, “for the last few days or so. It looks like Dr. Wells got him here just in time.”

Or decided the time was right, Cisco thought. Yeah, ‘course STAR labs was privately funded, notoriously so, and only about 15% of that came from donations. The rest was staggeringly out of pocket. Cisco had honestly called bullshit on that his first few weeks in, until Dr. Wells had offhandedly mentioned a family fortune as well as his “not insubstantial” number of patents. A quick google search had proven that true enough.

It all meant that Dr. Wells had more than enough money to pour into a victim’s treatment. One who, oh, might be a lowly forensic scientist not making enough to pay those kinds of medical bills. Easy enough then to get frequent ‘updates’ on the patient. Plenty of time to pull the guy out when things got... strange.

Cisco nodded, a number of things clicking together. Like what Dr. Wells might have been doing these last few weeks. Like the enthralled look in his eye when they set Barry up in the Cortex, laid out like some sort of strange museum display. Or an offering.

Cisco shivered. He took a sip of his coffee and grimaced, finding it cold.

“What now?” he muttered.

Caitlin’s wide-eyed stare said it all. They’d been rather lost since STAR Labs had closed, but they both had new jobs now. Caitlin needed to keep Barry alive. Cisco needed to keep his mouth shut.

And they both needed to make sure Dr. Wells didn’t do anything regrettable. Because like hell would Cisco let him mentor get caught up in some crazy, secret government conspiracy thing. They’d both stuck by him through the media backlash and endless lawsuits. The death threats slipped in the mail and—Cisco shivered again—the one bomb left outside their door. The one that was, thankfully, just a fake. They’d weathered that.

They’d weather this too.

“To the strange,” Cisco settled on, lifting his drink. Caitlin companionably toasted him back.

When Cisco drank the coffee it was still fucking cold.

***

Keep his mouth shut, sure. Cisco had never been very good at it, but at least he didn’t have anyone to blab to. It was kind of a blessing if he bothered to rationalize it. Except not. Looking around at his family—disappointed mother, too perfect brother, a sister in Caitlin (who’d just lost family of her own) and a pseudo-father figure in a reclusive Wells—Cisco realized that he really didn’t have anyone to confide in anyway. Being frank, he had colleagues and people bound to him by blood… but not many friends.

Fuck. No friends at all.

It made stalking Barry Allen so much easier.

Because Cisco didn’t stop with the guy’s tragic backstory. Of course not. Where was the fun in that? He wanted to dude’s social media.

And oh... holy hannah. Was it worth it.

“What a dork,” Cisco breathed. He said it with reverence, the kind of awe that could only come from a like-minded fella, the kind of breed who’d been bullied all through school and still had Magic the Gathering cards stuffed under his bed. Cisco knew Barry Allen. Barry Allen was him.

If, of course, he was a 6’2’’ model-type with a social life the size of a small planet. He could scroll through Barry’s Facebook and Instagram for weeks and still not reach the previous year. Didn’t the guy ever run into post limits?

“Awkward pic with hot girl, third wheel with hot guy and girl,” Cisco shook his head, scrolling quickly. “Eating. Lame-o sunglasses. More eating. What is that face? Tumbling down the stairs—okay, that one has gotta be staged.”

Except that Cisco looked across the room at this gangly sasquatch and was suddenly positive that he made it through life by tripping over his own feet and acquiring bruises he couldn’t explain. Barry probably got his shoelaces tangled together. He’d probably slip on a banana peel if one suddenly appeared.

Cisco snorted. “You would. You totally would.”

“Would what?”

“Oh my—” Cisco very nearly upended his laptop as he jumped, thinking for one shocking second that the coma guy had actually spoken. By the time his brain had re-booted Dr. Wells had already rolled into view, a slightly teasing look in his eyes.

And wow. He hadn’t seen that in a while.

It was a small improvement, but noticeable, and Cisco saw why as Dr. Wells bypassed him completely to get at Barry. There was a collection of saline drips in the back pocket of his chair that he immediately began hooking one up, taking care not to jostle the needle in Barry’s arm. A small dusting of crumbs on his shirt spoke of lunch actually eaten and—Cisco noticed with a pang—he had pile of journals in his lap, ready to be read. He didn’t need to see the titles to know they dealt primarily with long-term coma patients; theories on how to treat any... unexpected side-effects.

In the week since Barry had come to STAR labs his abnormal cellular structure had hung between the three of them, unacknowledged overtly, but driving them all the same. It was like they’d just been waiting for the world to give them something new to focus their talents on, something more personal than a particle accelerator. Caitlin had taken a dive into her research with real enthusiasm, the first since Ronnie’s passing. Dr. Wells was playing overseer once more. And Cisco...

Cisco was having the sudden, utterly crazy image of Barry in his Suit.

Yes, the Suit had a capital ‘s’ in his mind because it was the biggest and best-est thing he was ever going to make. A state of the art, indestructible, lightweight body armor that would completely revolutionize the world of protective gear. Big dreams, sure, but Cisco was confident enough in his abilities to imagine the outcome, even if it was years—decades even—down the line. Someday every fire fighter, police officer, and first responder would wear armor developed in STAR labs, capable of withstanding whatever the world chose to throw at them. In the Before it had been just a way to save lives. In the After it was also a way to save the Lab’s reputation.

He kept it on the table downstairs, pieces thrown into a hazardous pile that would only seem disrespectful to someone who didn’t know Cisco’s style. He could have put it up on a mannequin, sure, but for some reason Cisco didn’t want to give the Suit a face yet, even a blank one. It was too... individualized.

That is, until he started imagining Barry in it instead. Randomly. Little flashes like day dreams that just sort of came to him with no real context. It wasn’t even the Suit as it was now, but what Cisco wanted it to be someday. Slick and lean, dynamic, skin tight to allow for complete freedom of movement. Barry’s measurements were perfect for it.

Even weirder though was that Cisco hadn’t realized he’d wanted it in red until he’d seen that pic of Barry from last fall: sporting a fire-engine sweater that had him glowing amongst the crowd. That was exactly what Cisco’s Suit needed: a color that both stood out and oozed confidence. Don’t worry, we’re here to help. Don’t worry—you won’t get to see me bleed.

Too bad forensic scientists don’t need a Suit, he thought.

“Cisco?”

The realization that Dr. Wells was still waiting on an answer made a flush run up Cisco’s neck. His mind blanked on what they’d been talking about.

Dr. Wells seemed to realize. He folded his hands, not in his lap, but atop the blankets where Barry’s legs lay. It was the exact spot where Cisco had rested his feet on that first night together.

“Penny for your thoughts?” Dr. Wells asked.

“They’re worth more than that,” Cisco said, but the joke didn’t land. He just shrugged, wondering if he could articulate everything his mind had been running through. Whether Dr. Wells, with that faraway look still lurking in his eyes, would be able to understand.

“Do you think he’ll ever wake up?” Cisco finally settled on. It was, in a way, all his thoughts rolled into one.

Instead of answering though Dr. Wells just regarded him. Insert here: bug under the microscope feeling.

“You’re growing attached to him,” he observed. It wasn’t necessarily a condemnation.

Cisco scoffed. “He just got here.”

“Those two things aren’t mutually exclusive.”

He rolled past, the soft whrrr of his chair the only sound in the room. There might have been a time when Dr. Wells laid a rare, complimentary hand on Cisco’s shoulder. Now he just called out as he left:

“I’m growing fond of him too.”

He’ll wake up. He has to.

Cisco blew out a breath. At least he wasn’t the only one.

Chapter Text

Could you know someone you’d never spoken to? Really get them based purely on their presence and a public profile? Cisco was starting to wonder.

It was freaking him out just a bit. Because the longer Barry just lay there the longer Cisco searched for him online, and the more he searched the more he felt like they’d known each other for years. Barry posted update statuses filled with enough science jargon that all his friends sent exasperated emojis and his former teachers liked the posts with pride. There were silly Vine attempts and one memorable home video, basically laying out for the world that Barry Allen would never be an actor. Barry posted more selfies than the stereotypical teenage girl (all of them stunning), wept about his food, glorified his job (which he didn’t need, he was a goddamn hero in Cisco’s eyes), comforted anyone about anything, sent heartfelt messages on everyone’s birthday, and accompanied those tear-jerkers with presents—despite his slightly iffy bank account.

He was like a ray of sunlight personified.

Cisco knew, intellectually, that a digital footprint was just one small part of a person’s whole. That they were never truly what they posted online. That, really, Barry couldn’t be this sunny, smart, gracious, and heroic in real life. Constructs like this just didn’t exist.

Except then he’d look over at the guy’s still form and think, maybe.

What cinched it for him was another real life person suddenly appearing in, what had become, his otherwise digitalized world. Cisco came into the Lab Thursday morning with bedhead and a packet of chocolate donuts, thinking about how he wanted to test the Suit’s resistance to acid and read more about whether coma patients experienced smell as well as sound. Cisco was lost enough in his thoughts that he nearly ran into Caitlin as she rounded the corner out of the Cortex. They exchanged a silent, rapid-fire conversation—Donut? No, already ate. You okay? Yeah. Sure? There’s a Thing. A Thing??—and Cisco was still trying to decipher what kind of a Thing that hand gesture meant when he spotted the woman sitting at Barry’s bedside.

Oh. That kind of a Thing.

Cisco recognized her. He’d seen her name on the Labs’ entrance logs a few times before and he had vague memories of her standing on the periphery of the action the day they’d moved Barry here. Mostly Cisco knew her from Barry’s pictures though. She was in nearly all of them.

“Hi, Iris,” he said and she turned to smile at him, the both of them totally ignoring the fact that they’d never technically met before. That was refreshing.

“Hey, Cisco.”

“Donut?”

“God yes. Chai latte?”

“Not worried about my cooties?”

“Nah. Go for it.”

She passed over her drink and he set the box on Barry’s blankets, kind of liking how some of the sprinkles spilled over. It gave him a less sterile look. Like a dude who’d actually been munching rather than just...lying there.

The chai was spicy on Cisco’s tongue. He could see the smears of Iris’ lipstick around the cup’s edge.

It was kind of amazing how put together she looked in the face of this ongoing tragedy, and Cisco had to give her points for style. He had his own sort of look going on, sure, but he also know that if his bestie/brother got struck by freaking lightning and refused to wake up he’d be sporting nothing but comfort PJs and tear stains. Cisco tried uselessly to untangle his hair.

“He loves these, you know,” Iris said, holding up one of the donuts. She tilted it so Barry could see. “He always eats the icing first though, scooping it off like—” she demonstrated, scattering more crumbs across the bed.

Cisco pulled a face. “Okay. That’s wrong.”

“Right? You need to see him eat a cupcake. He pulls it apart and like, makes a sandwich out of it. Or nachos! Jesus, he’s always complaining about not getting all the toppings in one bite. I told him to just lift, but he claims the weight is too much for a single chip, and... ”

Iris trailed off, shaking her head. Maybe she was thinking about the implications: that hopefully someday Cisco would get to see Barry and his ridiculous eating habits.

“Food is priority #1,” Cisco said. “He’s a guy after my own heart.”

As soon as he said it Cisco ducked his head, realizing the implications of that, but Iris didn’t even bat an eye.

She just took another donut.Cisco let her.

“You know I’ve started talking to him,” he shared after a few moments of silence. Iris’ smile begged him to continue. “Uh huh. I must look like a real nut on all the security footage. But I read that coma patients can, you know, hear and stuff. Sometimes. So I figured why not? Might as well give Barry something to focus on other than this insistent beeping.” It actually wasn’t even that bad--Caitlin had removed most of the equipment on the third day, growling that it wasn’t doing enough for Barry anyway—but the point remained the same.

Iris snatched her drink back. “What do you talk about?”

“Oh, you know... stuff. Gossip mostly. I complain a lot. Just... things.”

Iris was still smiling. “He likes movies,” she said. “Put Star Wars on sometime.”

“...right.” Cisco very much didn’t voice that the Star Wars franchise was his be-all and end-all fave.

Iris stood then, reaching over to smooth the hair out of Barry’s face. “You gotta wake up,” she whispered and Cisco had to turn away, recognizing the private moment. He didn’t comment on how long it took her to speak again, or the thick quality of Iris’ voice when she did.

Cisco did clasp her arm though as she took up her purse. “Work,” she explained. “I’ll come back tonight?”

“I’m sure not stopping you.” Cisco spread his arms in a welcoming gesture.

Iris seemed to consider him then. One of those cataloguing looks that made Cisco wish he’d actually used a comb this morning. Or worn something other than his Homestuck t-shirt. Whatever Iris found though didn’t seem to be too bad.

“He’ll like you,” she said and it felt like a promise.

Cisco nodded, slowly. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. He definitely will.”

They both appreciated the future tense.

Iris left him then with too many thoughts and just the right amount of donuts. Cisco sighed, taking the place she’d vacated (no, it wasn’t his spot, no matter what Caitlin was starting to say) and booted up his laptop, enjoying this new routine.

Cisco pulled up Chrome in one window and a stream of A New Hope in the other. He wafted a donut under Barry’s nose as the story’s scroll began.

“Smell that, dude? Glazed glory, right here. Gonna wake up for it?”

Barry breathed even and deep. His eyes moved briefly beneath his lids. That was all.

“Your loss.”

Cisco was nothing if not gracious though. He patted Barry’s knee while taking a massive bite.

“I’ll buy you more when you do get your lazy ass out of bed,” he garbled. “Promise.”

***

Taking care of a coma patient was, sadly, not all movies and one-sided conversations. Cisco was endlessly glad that Barry gave them all something to focus on (Caitlin in particular, gushing daily now about the ever growing changes in Barry’s DNA. “It’s fascinating, Cisco!” “Uh huh. Sure, Spock.”) but there were some things that just shouldn’t have been a part of the job. Or at least, not part of Cisco’s job.

He so didn’t sign up for this when he applied to STAR Labs.

“You want me to what now?”

Dr. Wells gave him a Look. It was the particular one that was a combination of “I expected more of you” and “please leave your immaturity outside of my facility.” The last time Cisco had gotten the Look he’d accidentally set Level 8’s workroom on fire trying to create goggles that replicated heat vision.

Emphasis on ‘accidentally.’

“I have a meeting with Larson—yes, yes, of rheology fame.” Dr. Wells shook his head. “Please wipe that look off your face, Dr. Snow. She’s not nearly as impressive in person as her autobiography suggests.”

“You read her autobiography?” Caitlin teased, but she did school her features. Dr. Wells waved her off like an errant fly.

“Look, I would honestly like nothing better than to skip this lunch and remain here, but Larson is insistent that we discuss the work our two labs were conducting prior to the explosion. I have… admittedly been putting it off.” Dr. Wells took of his glasses to rub at his eyes. Cisco felt a pang. “I fear you’re the only one available for this shift.”

Cisco looked imploringly at Caitlin.

“Grandpa’s birthday,” she said, apologetic. “It’s literally the one family gathering I can’t miss.”

“Joe?” Cisco suggested, remembering the strong, fatherly man who had accompanied Iris on numerous visits.

“Working.”

“Iris?”

“Also working.”

“And look who else is in his place of employment, on the clock no less,” Dr. Wells gave him another pointed look.

Cisco felt something like panic inching its way up his throat. “And this can’t wait?”

“Don’t be cruel. You’ll be fine,” and with that utterly useless bit of confidence they just abandoned him, like two totally awful, abandoning people.

“I will have my revenge,” Cisco whispered, because really, he was not cut out for this.

Clipping toe and fingernails was one thing. Swapping out full catheter bags was ew, gross, but doable. Turning the guy to avoid bed soars was a piece of cake. But sponge baths?

Cisco looked at Barry. Barry (he imagined) was looking back, with his eyes closed. Judging. Cisco thought about how he’d feel if he was stuck in bed for months without access to a shower.

He shivered. Fine.

Getting the supplies took longer than he’d anticipated, though it gave Cisco time to calm down a bit and, as Caitlin might say, stop being such a big baby about it. He got two tubs of water ready—one for washing, one for rinsing—and made sure that the bath water was nice and hot. It wasn’t like the Cortex was freezing, but who the hell wanted a lukewarm bath?

Easy to wash away soap. Baby shampoo that smelled liked lavenders. Lots of washcloths; even more towels. It took Cisco ten goddamn minutes to find the special basin for washing hair because who the hell had put it with the old microscopes?

By the time he was ready the bath water was no longer scalding and Cisco’s heart wasn’t a freaking jackrabbit anymore. Progress.

“I hope you know,” he intoned, “that this completely solidifies our friendship. I expect best man-level status when you wake up, dude. Got it?”

Barry breathed.

“Damn straight. C’mon now...”

He’d moved Barry before, and despite the muscle developing he was still surprisingly light. Cisco got him on his side pretty easily and slid a couple of towels underneath, really not wanting to change the sheets yet if he could help it. Barry had been going shirtless most of the time anyway, so all he really had to do clothes-wise was tug the pajama pants carefully off his legs.

Cisco definitely did not look at the toned thighs as he did.

“Don’t be a perv about this,” he muttered. “Do not be a perv...”

And for the most part he wasn’t, because he was an adult, and a decent person, okay? Cisco had always viewed his nerd status as at least preferable to the Nice Guy douches, and he was perfectly capable of separating romantic situations from professional ones.

This was definitely the latter.

Even if Barry did have the most fantastic abs. Ever.

Cisco clucked, soaping up a washcloth to run over Barry’s arms and chest. “I should really hate you, you know? I should be jealous here, Mr. Lays in Bed All Day and Somehow Gets Buff. But I am the bigger man here. Even if you’re a freaking giraffe. I’m still bigger. Metaphorically. Okay?”

Talking to Barry had gotten easy over the last few weeks. It was sort of worrying Cisco a bit. He didn’t know if the guy was that good a conversationalist even while comatose, or if he was just that lonely (ha). But sometime between not startling every time he caught sight of the new edition and donuts with Iris, Cisco had let his talking get a little more... personal. Less Jitters gossip and more family drama. Then less family drama and more, ‘Hey, could we actually be buds when you finally decide to wake up?’

Part of Cisco was terrified that Barry would remember all this someday. Another part worried that he wouldn’t be nearly as cool in real life as he was on paper.

The realistic part said he would, but would also 100% not give a shit about Cisco.

“And why should you, man?” he said, carefully going over Barry’s stomach, then his back. “I mean, we just sort of got landed with you. Not that I’m complaining. But it means you got landed with us too. You didn’t ask to get struck by lightning, or delve into an extended nap, or become Dr. Wells’ charity case. You’ve got every right to ditch our asses once you’re up and about.” Cisco regarded the soapy washcloth. “Not gonna hang with your nurse, right? How lame is that.”

He was nearly done with Barry’s upper body now. “But... if you did want to hang...well. I’d be cool with that. Just so you know.”

Cisco stopped. Shook his head. He spent another ten minutes changing the water.

He paused again before removing the blankets around Barry’s legs. “Don’t make this weird,” he admonished.

In the list of things Cisco had planned and expected to do with his life, cleaning another man’s genitals wasn’t anywhere on the list. Outside of sexy-shower fantasies at least. He really shouldn’t have worried though. Barry might have been gorgeous, but there wasn’t anything sexy about a non-consenting partner that made you think more about necrophilia than second dates.

It didn’t stop Cisco from taking his time though. He didn’t like what he was doing—it wasn’t what he was starting to want it to be—but he’d sure as hell do it right.

“There,” he announced, patting Barry dry and pulling the blankets back up. “I’ve saved the best for last. Can’t promise not to get soap in your eyes though.”

It was sort of soothing, washing someone else’s hair. Cisco liked the texture of it beneath his fingers and he tried to get all fancy, like the women did in salons with their massages. He wondered if Barry was in there somewhere, appreciating it. He hoped so.

Cisco found himself smiling as he made little tufts of his hair stick up. “Aww. Look at you. Take note: you would make an excellent penguin. Feels good, huh?”

Barry drew in a slightly longer breath—

—and promptly began seizing.

“Holy—!”

Cisco stumbled back, knocking the basin as he went and sending water everywhere. The motion knocked Barry’s head as well, causing it to loll as the rest of his body jerked horrendously. The blanket he’d so carefully tucked in slipped off to the side. Bits of soap began decorating Cisco’s shirt.

He just stood there, useless.

It was Barry’s right arm flying off the bed (limp, pale like a dead fish) that finally sent him into motion. Cisco’s first instinct was to throw himself atop Barry and stop that godawful movement, but a vague, oddly calm voice in the back of his mind reminded him that you didn’t do that. No. That was bad. But what did you do instead?

“Dr. Wells!”

That’s what he did. He got help; got his mentor. Cisco scrambled over to the Lab’s sound system and slammed his hand over the button with enough force to leave an outline on his palm. “Dr. Wells get up here!” He must have shouted it more than he’d thought, because by the time Cisco remembered that Dr. Wells had left his voice was feeling terribly raw.

Dr. Wells was gone. He was out, for the first time in ages. Because of course this happens. Cisco pulled at his hair, trying to get his useless brain to function for two goddamn seconds. He couldn’t call Dr. Wells. He didn’t know his number. The three of them had practically been living together for four months and he didn’t know the man’s goddamn cell number.

“Oh my god, oh fuck—fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck—”

Cisco whirled on the monitors, trying to get all his training in engineering to somehow translate into medical knowledge. He was halfway through a muddled translation of the meds Caitlin had been feeding into Barry this week when one piece of equipment finally made sense.

The steady beat of Barry’s heart—a sound that had become a necessary part of Cisco’s world—suddenly stopped. Rapid beeps became a long whine that sounded like a scream.

“No,” Cisco whispered.

In the same moment he thought, Call Caitlin.

Because he did have her number. They’d swapped months ago. He was her emergency contact, now that Ronnie was gone.

Barry’s not Ronnie, Cisco insisted and dove for his cell. He had it ringing while he grabbed for his Macbook too, screaming as Siri to find him tutorials on CPR.

“Why the fuck didn’t I take that summer class?” Cisco shrieked, trying to get the bed to go flat.

“Why didn’t you what?”

And there it was, Caitlin’s voice, a godsend that cut straight through Cisco’s panic. Even so, he couldn’t recall exactly what he said to her then, only that his breathy ramblings seemed to make some sort of sense, because he was able to toss Siri aside (useless) and follow Caitlin’s instructions instead. He had the phone wedged between his ear and shoulder, Barry’s heart directly beneath his hands.

Cisco spotted a drop of water. It might have been from the bath. It was probably because he was crying.

“It’s not—he’s not—” he kept gulping, feeling like he was about to pass out. There were actual spots in Cisco’s vision when he was suddenly wrenched off the bed, hard enough that he fell straight onto his ass.

Caitlin was here, impossibly. She looked calm and doctor-y and Cisco sucked in a massive breath.

“How?” he managed and she said something about her and her mother getting into a fight. She’d come back here and, oh Jesus, Cisco was so glad she had.

The relief was sort lived though. Barry was still coding.

Which made Caitlin’s next action all the more shocking. She just...stopped. She even stepped back, regarding Barry while every machine attached to him screamed that he was dying.

“What are you doing?” Cisco hissed.

Caitlin looked up. Her expression was awe. It was the first and only time Cisco had seen the true definition of the word: reverence mixed with fear.

“He heart hasn’t stopped,” she whispered. “It’s... tachycardia. It’s beating so fast the machine can’t pick it up.”

Barry stopped.

Instantly. Like the conclusion of a puzzle when you’d finally found the answer, he just stopped. From 60 back to 0 they had their sleepy, peaceful looking guy again.

The monitor began a steady rhythm. Beep, beep, beep.

“God,” Cisco said. Still on the floor he crawled the last few inches to the bed, heedless of how soaked his jeans were getting. He reached up and took Barry’s hand in his. Unbidden, Caitlin did the same.

That’s how Dr. Wells found them twenty minutes later—still wet, still holding onto Barry. Caitlin told him in a shell-shocked voice about the impossible heart rate; how the ‘seizing’ Cisco had seen was actually vibration, Barry’s body moving at a frequency she just couldn’t explain. When Dr. Wells reached them Cisco expected a thorough questioning on this phenomenon. He expected the scientist.

Instead Dr. Wells raised a hand of his own. He hesitated only a moment before laying it on Barry’s arm.

“But he’s okay?” he asked. Dr. Wells raised his gaze, taking in the three of them at once. “You’re okay?”

“Mmm hmm,” Caitlin agreed, a little watery. Cisco nodded.

“Good... good. Let’s get this place cleaned up.”

It was while Dr. Wells was bundling Barry’s soaked sheets that Cisco stopped him, daring to lay his on hand on his mentor’s shoulder. When Dr. Wells didn't brush him off—didn’t even flinch—Cisco mustered up a smile.

“Hey. So I really need your number.”

Chapter Text

“Speed,” Dr. Wells said.

He made it sound like some huge, all-encompassing concept. Which, the more Cisco thought about it, it kind of was. Speed was at the root of all the coolness right now; it had taken over their previously snail-paced lives.

“Speed,” he said again, just in case they’d missed it. Dr. Wells was flipping through his chart with true ferocity. “We’ve established that Mr. Allen’s heart has been beating fast enough to fool even our machines. His body has, twice now, vibrated at a speed reminiscent of a seizure. I can only assume his accelerated healing is stemming from similar circumstances.”

Caitlin’s mouth twisted. “Kind of ironic considering that Barry is, you know, asleep.”

“Oh. So he’s ‘Barry’ now huh?” Cisco said and only cut the teasing when Dr. Wells pinned him with a stern look.

“He’s changing,” Dr. Wells emphasized. “We do not know when or even if Mr. Allen will wake, or what kind of state he’ll be in when he does. All we can do right now is keep him comfortable and remain observant. I hope I don’t have to remind you the kind of caution you’ll need to maintain from here on out...or the consequences if you do not.”

Cisco and Caitlin both nodded. Dr. Wells may have taken precautions after Barry had first moved in, but he’d gone into true, protective overdrive following his ‘death.’ Cisco knew that Dr. Wells had erased the last year of Barry’s medical history, disguising it as a system malfunction. That he’d paid off—even threatened—every medical professional that had come within a mile of Central City General, and had spoken at length with Joe and Iris regarding what they said to friends or family about Barry’s condition. Cisco knew because he’d been helping.

Ultimately he’d never expected to be committing felonies either. Although...were they felonies? Cisco didn’t know the law. Should he start learning it? Maybe. All he knew for sure was that this was probably Illegal and Bad... but not necessarily Wrong.

No. He looked at Barry, oddly vulnerable ever since that day, and thought again, no. This wasn’t wrong.

“We hear you, Dr. Well,” Caitlin said. She spoke for the both of them.

“Good.” Dr. Wells smiled then, an honest-to-god smile that filled up Cisco’s chest like a balloon. “You’re both free to go then. It’s been a long week. Go get some rest.”

Caitlin raised a pointed eyebrow. “And you?”

The smile remained. “I’ll be off soon. I promise.”

They’d heard that one before, but despite close quarters and new, impossible bonding experiences, Cisco wasn’t sure his and Dr. Wells’ relationship was at the ‘call you out on your shit’ stage yet. So he grabbed his jacket and waved Caitlin off, staying behind only briefly to turn off the other Levels’ lights via the access panel directly outside of the Cortex. Cisco was looking for his keys when he heard,

“You really are amazing.”

Cisco thought Dr. Wells was talking to him, until he caught the soft timber of his voice, the kind of tone a man like Wells would only use when he was sure the recipient couldn’t understand him—or hear. Sure enough, when Cisco quietly snuck back to look he found Dr. Wells directly beside Barry’s bed.

He’d rolled the blankets halfway up his waist and—after hoisting himself onto the bed in a surprising display of strength—took Barry’s left leg carefully in hand. Dr. Wells began a series of movements and stretches that Cisco recognized from the man’s own therapy sessions.

Caitlin was adamant that he attend them. What’s the point of exercising a useless limb, he’d snapped at her once.

Now here he was, doing it for Barry.

“I don’t simply mean your ...condition, either,” he continued. “Though I must say, that alone is quite fascinating. No, from all accounts you are an extraordinary young man. Your adoptive father speaks of you most highly. Your colleagues have nothing but praise. Based purely on Iris’ accounts, one would think that you’d hung the moon. Or the sun. Yes, that would perhaps be a more accurate saying...” Peeking around the corner, Cisco could just make out Dr. Wells shaking his head. “Well. I’ve always cared most about the mind, and I can say with certainty that I wish I’d nabbed you before the CCPD did. Perhaps we can re-negotiate your employment once you wake up.”

Cisco smiled, leaning heavily against the wall. He stared at the plaster on the other side.

It was silent in the Cortex and Cisco thought that perhaps that was all Dr. Wells had to say. Until, so softly he almost missed it, he caught,

“You’ve instilled great hope in us, Barry. In me most of all.” Cisco could easily imagine Dr. Wells’ hands tightening over pale skin, still careful not to bruise. “Won’t you wake up for us?”

Too personal. Cisco left, resolved to erase his little fit of eavesdropping from the security tape.

Dr. Wells deserved that much.

***

Cisco let his feet carry him away aimlessly. He didn’t feel much like going back to his empty apartment and he certainly wasn’t about to go home, parrying his mother’s questions about why he wasn’t making something of himself now that STAR Labs was officially closed. It didn’t matter how much he explained the good his inventions could still bring, or that Dr. Wells was paying him more than he’d ever find elsewhere. It wasn’t like Dante’s life, and it was therefore useless.

He grimaced. Cisco kept walking until dusk fell and the streetlights started coming on. When he finally looked up he was in a part of town he didn’t recognize, though the landmark was easy enough to know.

He’d walked to the CCPD.

“Why not,” Cisco murmured, jogging up the steps. It occurred to him in that moment that he knew everything about Barry digitally, as well as every inch of his body. It still didn’t feel like enough though... wouldn’t be enough until he could actually talk to him, but that wasn’t an option just yet. This felt like the next best thing.

The precinct turned out to be every bad cop movie Cisco had ever seen rolled into one: barely controlled chaos, men and women in blue flowing like water, yells of rage from perps as they were literally dragged away, the overwhelming scent of coffee. If someone had written this place down on paper Cisco would have judged them for stereotypes. Learning that this was reality though...it was somehow comforting. Like life was just a story.

“Can I help you?”

One of the men paused in the flow, dressed in muted browns instead of blue. It was David Singh, captain of the department, and of course Cisco would run into the boss when he had absolutely no reason for being here.

“Uh...actually no, not really.” Cisco rubbed at the back of his neck before fumbling and presenting his hand. “Captain.”

Singh’s eyes narrowed. “Let me guess. Cisco Ramon?”

“Y-yeah! How did you...?”

He snorted. “I’ve kept careful track of Mr. Allen’s condition since the accident. Frankly there aren’t too many five-foot six Puerto Ricans in these circles, let alone one with a penchant for novelty t-shirts.”

“Right.” Cisco smoothed down his TARDIS shirt. “That’s actually kind of impressive.”

“They pay me to notice things,” Singh drawled. “C’mon,” and he started marching off towards the back, leaving Cisco with nothing to do but follow. Or leave. Which would be rude.

Somehow he didn’t think pissing off the police captain would be a good idea.

Or Barry’s boss, a voice whispered and Cisco growled at it to stop already.

The two of them piled into Singh’s office, him gesturing for Cisco to grab the rickety chair in front of his desk. Despite the cordiality it felt a little like he was about to go through an interrogation. Cisco willed himself to stop bouncing his knee.

“Here.” Singh slammed a paper cup of coffee down. “It takes like shit, but it gets you by. Joe isn’t here right now, if that’s who you’re looking for. You don’t actually have a crime to report, do you?”

Cisco took a sip and grimaced. It was awful. “Uh, no. Really. I’m sorry, this is weird and a huge imposition—”

Singh waved him back down. “Relax. If anything you’re doing me a favor. Can’t be working if I’m talking to you, yeah?” He sighed, leaning back in his chair and pulling out a small ball that he began tossing between his hands. At Cisco’s look he held it up for inspection. “Stress ball. My fiancé says it’ll help with my anger.” The disdain dripped out of Singh’s voice. “I’d like to see him be captain for a day and talk about ‘mental mindfulness.’”

“I’ve... actually got a boss like that.” Cisco chuckled. “Tells us to, you know, not die from the work while basically digging his own grave.”

Singh’s stare had intensified. “Wells?”

“...yeah.”

“He always did strike me as the eccentric type. Refined eccentric.”

“Pfff. Nah. No, no way. I mean he can pull it off for events, but the guy lives in sneakers and eats enough Big Belly Burger to drive our doctor up the wall.”

“Really?” Singh pulled a face that Cisco wasn’t sure how to interpret. “Good to know. That he’s human, that is.” That stare intensified once more. “How is he, then?”

They didn’t need to lay out who ‘he’ was—they weren’t talking about Dr. Wells anymore. Cisco hesitated, the warning to keep things under-wraps still ringing in his ears, but he also couldn’t lie. Not about Barry.

“Still asleep,” he finally settled on. “Well. ‘Sleep.’ Coma, I mean. You know. We... still don’t know if he’ll wake up.”

“He will.” Singh said it with so much certainty that it actually made Cisco jealous. “Barry Allen is the biggest pain in my ass and has been for nearly two years now. He’s off,” Singh pointed, “miles away, unconscious, and he still manages to drive me to distraction. Case in point,” and when his finger honed in on Cisco he took another loooong sip of coffee, taste be damned. “Allen is the most singularly stubborn man in the whole goddamn universe. He’ll wake up just to force me into an early retirement, mark my words.” Singh shook his head.

Cisco was fascinated despite himself. The captain sounded annoyed...but Cisco also knew that tone well. It was the annoyed ‘I kind of love to hate you’ tone that belonged solely to parents with unruly children—and apparently police captains with their forensic scientists.

“Was he really that bad?” Cisco asked.

Singh held up a hand and wiggled all his fingers, ticking them down methodically. “Habitually late, to everything. Incapable of keeping his mouth shut. Frequently embarrasses himself as well as this whole precinct. Once accidentally ordered 72 pizzas—” Singh nodded at the look on Cisco’s face. “Uh huh. I said seven for a sergeant’s party and two for those still out on patrol. But oh no, he somehow heard that wrong. What fool thinks we need that many pies? I told Allen he’d be paying for it and he promptly pulled these, these,” Singh made a complicated gesture, “puppy eyes on me, blabbing about how he was still trying to pay off student loans. I ended up paying out of pocket. Goddamn the kid.”

“Oh man,” Cisco breathed. “That actually sounds like something Barry would do.”

“You know him?”

“Well...” Did he? It really felt like Cisco did, but... “Sort of.”

Singh cracked a little smile, like he actually understood all the insane, overwhelming complications of that sentence. He tossed the stress ball back into its drawer and leaned over his desk, effectively pinning Cisco in his seat.

“You know I’m the one who found him?” he said, so much quieter than before. “Not many people do. In an emergency like that no one pays attention to how people get out or who gets them to the hospital, they just care that they do. But I found him. Amidst all that fucking chaos I still had time to think, ‘Hey, where’s Allen? Where’s that damn shadow of mine?’ And I climbed those stairs, I walked into that lab...” Singh’s mouth tightened briefly. “You know how shit slows down in dreams? How you just know something bad is about to happen?”

Cisco swallowed hard. “Yeah.”

“Just like that. Whole power grid was blown—you know that—so it took me a moment to see him in the dark, and... Jesus. Just Jesus. The bolt threw him clear across the room, Ramon, into a whole rack of beakers with who knows what in them. Allen looked like a rejected thing out of an old sci-fi flick, fluids everywhere and his clothes half charred away. The smell...” Singh stopped again, running a hand down his face. “I thought fuck, no way the kid survived, but there he was, still breathing. Still goddamn breathing. Even now.”

Cisco kept staring desperately into his coffee cup. He’d wanted to know more about Barry. He could admit that now. He just wasn’t sure he’d wanted to know this.

...but of course that was a lie. He wanted everything.

“You seem like a good kid,” Singh said. “Go back to that fancy lab of yours and give Allen’s ass a good kick for me. Tell him to wake the fuck up already. He’s got work to do.” The last part didn’t sound nearly as detached as Singh probably hoped it did.

“Yes, sir. I will, sir.”

"Good man." 

And Cisco did. It was late now and he should have turned straight for home, hailed a cab like any normal person on the block, but instead he walked all the miles back to STAR Labs. He keyed in his code and didn’t bother to turn the lights back on. Dr. Wells was long gone and Cisco relied on pure memory to reach the Cortex. Barry was still lying there—always lying there—but tonight he looked almost ethereal. He glowed. He was a bright spark in the darkness; like lightning.

“Wake up,” Cisco said, trying to imbue some sort of power into his words. It came out too desperate though. “Just wake up already.”

He had to raise up on tiptoe to reach over the bed. Cisco smoothed back Barry’s hair and placed a firm kiss on his forehead, thinking of stupid, whimsical things like fairy tales and true love’s kiss. It was an act he never could have done during the day, but at night so much more seemed possible.

“Wake up,” he whispered a third time, directly against Barry’s skin. If this had been a story Barry would have opened his eyes.

But it wasn’t, and they weren’t.

Cisco pulled back, acknowledging how warm Barry’s skin was—and the cold feeling it left in his chest.

He left.

Chapter Text

Barry didn’t wake up for a long time.

Four more months, to be exact.

In that time they fell back into routines, and though things had stabilized, they certainly weren’t boring. Or corrosive. Cisco still caught Caitlin crying down in the pipeline sometimes, though he could also get her to join him for lunch too. Dr. Wells still threw words like knives and kept to himself more often than not, but he also had small smiles and words of praise to dole out.

Together they painstakingly catalogued every piece of Barry’s health, just waiting for the day they might get to do something with it, and Cisco was now more sure than ever that that day would indeed come. Together they learned to ride out the times he only appeared to be dying and not to get too hopeful when he looked like someone just about to wake. Cisco began regular movie nights that Caitlin said would be very beneficial for Barry’s mental health and Dr. Wells watched awkwardly from his office; not willing to fully join in, less willing to leave. They marked Barry’s birthday on their calendars—March 19th, an unexpectedly warm afternoon—and invited Joe and Iris into the lab for cake and shared stories. Caitlin began running her hand through Barry’s hair with undisguised affection. Dr. Wells kept up his physical therapy with religious care. Cisco planted quick, passing kisses on his forehead or cheek that he didn’t bother to hide anymore. No one called him on it.

He didn’t lie to himself anymore either. Cisco had a picture of the four of them (stolen from the security feed) as his phone background and he’d re-entered Barry’s birthday for the following year. He spoke to him more than he ever had his family and had on a few memorable nights cried on Barry’s shoulder. He’d finished his Suit—nearly—and the measurements were perfectly tailored for the gangly guy sleeping upstairs.

Cisco thought Barry was wonderful. He was just waiting to tell him that.

“I can’t believe you’ve never seen Spirited Away,” he said, gesturing with his coke. Cisco was squeezed onto the bed next to Barry, the two of them pressed shoulder-to-shoulder, thigh-to-thigh, with the laptop settled halfway between them. There were no more monitors to avoid, considering they were all basically useless. Caitlin said the physical contact would do him more good.

She hadn’t bothered to clarify which ‘him’ she meant.

“I mean, I’m assuming,” Cisco continued. “It wasn’t on that Top 100 list you made and, ha, obviously it should be, which can only mean you haven’t seen it, which is a crime. Here, here, pay attention. No-Face is like the best part.”

Barry didn’t answer. Of course he didn’t. Cisco had long ago stopped demanding, begging him to wake up. Somewhere down the line he’d decided that Barry was worth waiting for. So this was waiting.

No reason why it had to be boring though.

“We’ll watch Totoro next.”

Cisco was a man well acquainted with falling asleep over his work, though this was admittedly the first time he’d fallen asleep next to Barry. He started fading less than an hour later, curled tight now, head on Barry’s pillow, an arm curled around his head, while the other lightly touched his chest…and a less sleepy part of Cisco could only pray that, someday, Barry wouldn’t be offended by this. That he hadn’t crossed some line before he even knew they had lines to cross.

“Sorry, man...” he murmured, "but you're kinda comfortable..." and Cisco’s eyes slipped closed.

He dreamed, more vividly than ever before. It was strange though, less like Cisco was experiencing it and more like he was watching another film, the action playing out separate from him. Cisco watched and thought first, This isn’t very action-y at all.

Because it was just him. And Barry. Him and Barry, curled on a couch in a house he didn’t recognize. They had Ghostbusters on and snacks laid out on the table. Like, a huge number of snacks. Enough that it could have fed a whole army and then some.

Barry’s finger’s were in Cisco’s hair. He was nestled between Barry’s legs. It looked so natural that the real Cisco’s heart ached to have it.

He moved a little closer.

“Lame,” his dream self said, tossing a bit of popcorn at Barry’s head. He caught it, somehow, though Cisco didn’t see when.

“It’s not,” Barry insisted.

“Uh, yeah dude, it is. We’re not dressing up as Mary Poppins and Bert. There are way cooler couple costumes. Besides, who exactly do you think gets to be who?”

Barry stared down at Cisco’s head, wearing the exact expression he’d seen a million times in photos. “I’m obviously Mary Poppins.”

“Like hell you are.”

They laughed, they were happy, and Cisco had no idea if he actually wanted to wake up or not. He was rooted in place…until his doppelgänger looked up, almost seemingly to look at him.

“Huh,” he said.

“What?”

“I think... I think I might have vibed this once.”

Vibed?

Cisco woke up with a start, feeling disoriented and a little sick. His head throbbed with an oncoming migraine, the likes of which he hadn’t gotten since grad school. He’d stolen more than his share of Barry’s blankets. The coke bottle was very nearly tipping off the edge of the bed.

“Shit, sorry man. Just gimme a minute and I’ll get you cleaned up.”

It didn’t take long, though Cisco was still hoping that by the time he was done the dream might have faded, as dreams tended to do. It didn’t. Cisco wasn’t entirely sure he wanted it to.

“Because I like torturing myself,” he announced, finishing fluffing Barry’s pillows. “But you know that by now, don’t you? Aww, don’t worry about it. I’m not dumping that garbage on you tonight. Look, I’ll see you tomorrow, kay? Another totally normal day.”

It was not in any way a ‘totally normal day.’

Not that Cisco could have known.

***

“What are you doing?”

“He likes this song.”

“How could you possibly know that?”

“I checked his Facebook page,” and Cisco rolled his eyes, considering that Caitlin knew very well that he’d stalked all of Barry’s social media. He had that shit memorized. She rolled her eyes back, they separated, and Cisco began a rounding rendition of “Poker Face” for their enjoyment.

He’d only gotten through a few lines when Barry sat up with a gasp.

“Oh my god—!” Cisco yelled. Because of course he yelled. Because oh my god. Oh my god. Barry was up. He was awake. He was fucking getting out of bed and no, no, that ironically seemed like such a bad idea now.

Barry was moving and Cisco’s mind was short-circuiting. He was speaking and Cisco couldn’t breathe.

He must have though because he was talking and none of it was the smooth, comforting words he’d been planning for months. Cisco had pictured Barry waking from the coma slow and soft, giving him plenty of time to ease him through the transition. Not this, this, this fast production of confusion and chaos. Cisco was babbling, telling Barry that he’d been struck by lightning, dude and watching as he caught sight of himself in the mirror. Barry stuttered out a confused, lighting... gave me abs? and Cisco, god help him, kind of swooned because yep, this dork had his priorities straight.

Barry was everything he’d researched and imagined, spun into a tight ball of energy that gave absolutely no shits about what was normal. What even was normal anymore? He was fine—he was fine—and he fended off Dr. Wells’ questions and Caitlin’s attempts at sample collections like a pro, dancing out of STAR Labs just as quick as he’d arrived. Well no, not exactly. He had been here for what felt like forever.

“Can I keep the sweatshirt?” he begged and Cisco wanted to yell out, You can keep me too! He was grinning like a loon.

“Yeah… keep the sweatshirt.”

"Thanks!" 

“Seriously?” Caitlin griped and Dr. Wells let out a massive sigh.

Cisco kept smiling. He seemed to be the only one with faith that Barry would come back.

***

He did. Faster than ever before.

Focus was a funny thing. What people chose to pay attention to, or what they put stock in. Cisco was overwhelmed at the prospect of Barry’s speed, but he wasn’t at all surprised like Dr. Wells, and certainly not skeptic like Caitlin. Because this was all fitting together, couldn’t they see? For the first time in his life Cisco understood. He knew now why they’d collected all those records; why he’d built his Suit. Cisco knew why he’d waited.

He was in love with a goddamn superhero.

It all sort of felt like fate, so while his family was setting up the airstrip to test Barry’s speed, Cisco pulled the man himself aside. For the first time since waking Cisco got to touch Barry Allen, feel his real-ness beneath his own hand and revel in his warmth. The fact that he was wearing the most god-awful prototype of the Suit somehow made it all even better.

Cisco knew what his focus was.

“Hey,” he breathed. “When we’re done here do you... wanna go grab a coffee? I can catch you up on all you’ve missed.”

Barry’s smile was a beautiful thing. Cisco knew it would be.

“Yeah, that sounds great.”

It was great. It already was.

***

Time was a funny thing too. Exactly nine months more after Barry awoke, he found himself at home with Ghostbusters on, his boyfriend between his legs and a mound of snacks in front of them. They were mostly just for Barry though. Such was the curse of a speedster’s metabolism.

He’d just suggested that they go as Bert and Mary Poppins for Halloween. Barry was expecting something along the lines of, ‘Oh wow gee, that’s a fabulous idea, man, you’re so awesomely brilliant,’ but instead Cisco just laughed.

“What?” he grumbled. “How is that funny?”

Cisco shook his head. “It’s not. It’s just... I vibed this. Before. I saw this and now... now it’s here.”

He tilted his head up. “You’re here,” Cisco whispered. He raised a hand to lightly trail it over Barry’s cheek.

Barry grinned in turn, feeling full and light. “Yeah. I’m here.”

It wasn’t their first kiss and it certainly wasn’t their last, but there was something magical about a middle one too. Barry kissed Cisco slow because, speedster or no, Cisco was worth slowly down for.

Barry was worth waiting for.

They were, in so many words, worth one another.