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The cool grey tile floor against his cheek is a pleasant surprise-- Barry doesn't have any recollection of falling sideways, but here he is, lying on his side, in a messy heap between the bathroom cabinet and the door to the gym.
His swatch-striped arms take up most of his vision-- as he watches the colors shift and pulse and become impossibly vibrant, he thinks back to a recent research rabbit hole he went down after trying to match a lipstick shade to the strawberry poison dart frog.
Bright, contrasting colors are a visual indicator warning predators of undesirable prey
Aposematic coloration is often accompanied by noxious odors, aggressive behaviors, or unpleasant sounds to further repel threats.
Not only is he disposable, his very existence seems perfectly aligned with this-- his flashy colors, his incessant talking, the hundreds of fragrance samples he cycles through looking for just the right one, the sinking feeling of not being able to stop once he's started? The words echo around him, enveloping him in a haze of shame and nausea that makes his eyes water, but he can't do anything about it.
He wills his hands to move, but his fingertips only twitch around the old eyelash curler he found and anything beyond them is blurred-- when did his glasses get all the way over there? It makes his head swim when he tries piecing together the narrative.
The stripe of light beneath the closed gym door has become a rosy sunset hue and he distantly remembers something Jean Loo said about a show tonight at the Breaker Box. No one will be back for at least a few hours.
Maybe they won't come back at all tonight.
He's sure his mascara is running now, judging by the stinging in his eyes. Barry isn't usually a pretty crier, not like Bathsheba or Amir, but he's at the numb, empty point where it takes too much energy to do more than whimper and let the tears spill over and pool into dark oily stains on the floor.
Time passes and the sunlight fades, gradually leaving him in almost complete darkness. The difference between having his eyes open or shut is negligible, since the bathroom is windowless and the curtains in the adjoining rooms must have been drawn for the night.
There are distant noises down the hall, some commotion downstairs, but the bathroom is silent save for Barry's shallow breathing and the near-imperceptible creak of his cold, stiff joints as his body reluctantly lets air in and out of his lungs.
His mind wanders, agonizingly more slowly than he's used to and it takes so much effort to hold onto the connections between thoughts that he gives up entirely at making sense of anything, until--
A simple, unassuming click of a metal doorknob thunderclaps through the tile beneath his ear, making him wince at the volume. The door to the gym opens a crack and Barry curls even tighter around himself.
The figure at the door leaves it barely cracked and moves away. There are soft sounds of movement: of the other first floor doors being gently closed, of the curtains sliding along their rods, then the door opens just wide enough for the figure to crouch in the doorway. Moonlight pours in around their shadow and a fresh wave of shame and panic washes over Barry, but all he can do is wish himself smaller.
"Easy does it, now." Barry feels a warm hand slide under his wrist, checking his pulse. Did he still have one? Did he ever? He can't recall. He knows this voice, but he can't place it, aside from the vaguely familiar sense of safety it brings him.
Apparently satisfied, the warm hand moves to his shoulder and settles there gently. "Let's get you somewhere more comfortable. Can I help you up?"
Barry is surprised to find that his vocal cords can still manage one pathetic whimper.
"Are you in pain? Any broken bones I should know about?" He shakes his head as much as he's able and there's a beat of silence.
"It's dark, so I'm gonna need you to audibly answer me somehow. One for yes, two for no?"
Concentrating hard, Barry taps a fingernail twice on the floor.
"There's a good lad." A second hand joins the first, fumbling a little in the darkness, but both gently feel around the slumped form and carefully pick up Barry's head from the floor. There's definitely a smooth pink spot where his face was against the tile, but it thankfully won't be visible in this darkness.
Dorian cradles Barry's face with one hand and shifts his body closer to support his weight. "Slowly now, no need to rush." He moves closer and leans Barry against his broad chest and notices even in the dark that his limbs hang limp and he makes no effort to sit up on his own.
There's no real way to tell what kind of shape he's in, but he's ice cold to the touch. Dorian rubs gently at Barry's chilled arms, but stops when he hears the hiss of a wince next to him. "Too much? Sorry, love."
He reaches up, feeling along the wall until he finds a bath towel on the rack overhead. It barely covers them, but it holds in a little of the warmth he hopes is reaching Barry.
"I get the feeling you don't want the light on. Lucky you, there's an outage. Whole neighborhood blinked out, right as Johnny took the stage. Our Johnny carried on like nothing happened, of course."
Barry huddles a little closer under the towel as sensation starts coming back into his fingers. Before, he would have been content to sink into the floor and be forgotten until morning, but there's no denying that this is... nice. He can almost feel a hint of a smile as he imagines Johnny stubbornly serenading his audience without a spotlight, but concern overtakes him-- what about Eddie and Volt?
As if reading his mind, Dorian continues. "Most everyone headed downstairs to hunker down until the power comes back, and Mac's new backup generator system is keeping them and Volt safe and sound, so don't you worry none."
Dorian shifts again on the cold tile. He's trying to keep Barry conscious without making a scene-- he knows the boy has been ill as of late, but he didn't know it had gotten to this point. Damn it, I should have come to check on him sooner. He had felt the itch of the bathroom doors being locked all day, but he had just assumed Barry was up here matching lipsticks and blushes to his private bits again or something.
He shakes the mental image out of his head and tries to focus on the task at hand.
"What do you say we get off this floor? Can you stand?"
Barry, with his face buried in the warm crook of Dorian's neck, taps twice.
"Noted. Alright then, can I pick you up?" He feels a small nod, and carefully shifts to wrap Barry in the towel as much as he can.
With one effortless movement, Barry is suddenly hoisted into Dorian's arms. He's unexpectedly light as a feather, considering his height-- with his hair down, he's only an inch or two shorter than Dorian (standard-sized Dorian, anyway). His arm hangs limp, and he slumps against Dorian's chest, shivering.
There's an awful crunch underfoot as Dorian takes a first step in the dark, directly onto Barry's glasses. He'll make it up to him somehow.
Dorian wills the far door open and gently lays Barry down in the dark bedroom. He pulls one side of the curtain open and the moonlight confirms his fears. Barry's frail, shaking body looks too small in the Resident's bed, his face is gaunt and stained with dark splotches of ruined makeup, and his normally brilliant colors are noticeably faded, even in the dim light. His pink hair hangs like a mantle about him, and Dorian carefully smoothes some of it away from his face and tucks the quilt over him.
"There now, that should be a mite warmer."
Fresh tears stream down Barry's face, mixing with the old mascara and soaking into the pillow.
Dorian's normal stoicism fails him and he tenderly wipes Barry's face with a corner of the towel.
How did he get like this? More than that, how did Dorian not notice until it was this bad?
Determined to make it right, Dorian splits his consciousness and materializes downstairs in the office doorway.
Mac looks up from their screens at the sudden intrusion. "Reports from the power company indicate a citywide outage. They're investigating the cause."
"Thank you for the update. Is your satellite internet connection still up?"
"Of course."
"I need a favor."
Mac tilts their head and swipes a few browsers out of sight, giving Dorian their full attention.
"I need you to make some purchases."
"Are these purchases ...authorized?"
"I'm authorizing. No need to get madam mayor involved."
Mac steeples their fingers. "This is unusual, Dorian."
"Desperate times, desperate measures. One of ours needs help. Are you going to stand in my way?"
Taken aback, Mac blinks as their processors start to whir with interest. "Okay, you're serious. What are you looking for?"
"Beauty supplies."
"That's... not a request I was expecting. Can you be more specific?"
"Whatever you can get your hands on with the shortest delivery time possible. I'm talking hours, not days."
"Okay. Are you authorizing a budget, too?"
"Yes, just-- whatever it takes." His eyes show an unusual softness. "Please."
Mac shrugs and pulls up a few browser windows to begin their search and the room is silent again save for the whirring of their cooling fan.
Dorian turns on his heel and dissipates out of the room.
From behind the desk, Volt emerges out of the backup generator. He sits primly on the desk and looks towards the hall door with an amused expression. "How interesting, wouldn't you say?"
Mac barely looks up from their search. "He said one of ours needs help and it isn't my business and I trust Dorian... As should you. Don't go looking for trouble, Volt."
He retreats back into the warmth of the generator. "Oh, I wouldn't dream of it."
Back upstairs, Dorian sits on the edge of the bed. Barry's still shivering, even under an extra blanket.
Dorian weighs his options-- he could call in a professional like Betty or Mateo, but he knows their presence would be missed downstairs, and that Barry might actually be at risk of dying of even minor embarrassment in his current state. No, he'll try to maintain some semblance of privacy, at least until reinforcements arrive.
It'll be exhausting and he'll feel it in the morning, but he splits his consciousness again, rematerializing at his front door post. Front Dorian settles into position, ready for a long night of watching the skies for delivery drones, as Bedroom Dorian closes the curtain and climbs into bed, tucking himself as close to Barry as possible.
His shivering fades into an occasional whimper and he nestles into the warmth of Dorian's arms as they drift off into an uneasy sleep.