Chapter 1: Don’t just grab things from the ground
Notes:
warning for using ai to help with translating my script.
Chapter Text
Barry was used to being late. He was, in fact, a professional at it. Usually, it was part of the cover: Barry Allen, perpetually tardy CSI, so nobody suspected Barry Allen, the man who could cross the city in under three seconds.
But this week, lateness wasn’t a choice. This week, the universe had it out for him.
It started with the red envelope.
He’d bent down in an alleyway to grab what he thought was trash, only to find a bright crimson hongbao with a photo inside—a sharp-featured man with ice-blue eyes and a smirk that practically oozed trouble. There was also a card tucked beside the picture, with a name scribble on top. Barry arches his eyebrows at that. Because really, Leonard Snart? It was as bad as Bartholomew. Besides both items was a tress of hair tied with a red string.which was weird, but not “mothman in Midway City” weird.
Barry would have forgotten about it—except a flock of old women appeared,gushing and saying congrats.
“Young man! You picked it up. He’s yours now.”
Barry blinked. “Wait, what?”
“You’re married,” one of them said matter-of-factly. “A ghost marriage. You’ve accepted my poor neighbor’s son as your husband. He passed too young. This way, he won’t be lonely in the afterlife.”
Barry shoved the envelope back at her like it was radioactive. “Right, well, I’m—uh—not in the market for a husband. Especially not a deceased one. Thanks anyway!”
And with that, he sped away,as fast as he could at normal speed.
“Don’t run away from destiny,it will only subject you to a lifetime of bad luck!” the old woman shouted behind him.
By the next morning, Barry Allen’s life was cursed.
The next morning, Barry’s alarm clock didn’t just go off late—it exploded in a puff of smoke. His toothbrush snapped in half mid-use. His shower turned ice cold halfway through. He was late to work—not his usual “oops I overslept” late, but frantic, hair-sticking-up-like-a-dandelion late.
“Allen!” Captain Singh barked. “I said 8:00 sharp. It’s 9:15.”
Barry opened his mouth to apologize, but at that exact moment, the lab lights fizzled and went out, plunging them into darkness.
Joe muttered, “Kid, I think you’ve got a poltergeist.”
Barry twitched. Because technically? He might. His private blog on supernatural phenomena—which no one but Iris knew about—had a whole post about ritual marriages to restless spirits. He’d written it mostly as a joke. Now, he wasn’t so sure.
By day three, he was desperate. He’d tripped in the middle of a crime scene, scattering evidence bags everywhere. A gust of wind (indoors!) blew his files straight into Singh’s coffee. The red envelope kept finding its way back to Barry, no matter how many times he threw it out. When Cisco asked why Barry was twitchier than usual, Barry nearly blurted, I think I’m haunted by my dead husband.
So he did the only thing he could: he went back to the old woman.
“Fine,” he groaned, hair sticking up worse than usual. “I’ll do the ritual. Just… Please tell Leonard to stop sabotaging my life.”
And that was how Barry found himself bowing before a mannequin at midnight while incense smoke burned his eyes.
“This is ridiculous,” he muttered under his breath,accepting the parka offered,something about keeping the dead husband’s clothes in bed three nights straight after the wedding.
It’s not like ghosts are real. Or me having a husband. A ghost husband.
But when the ritual was complete, and Barry staggered home to collapse in his bed, he could swear he heard a low chuckle echo through the apartment.
“’Til death do us part, huh? Too late for that.”
Barry froze.
Because that voice did not belong to him.
Chapter 2: To love even in death
Summary:
Barry investigates his ghost-husband's identity.Len's ghost appears to Barry, the two have a conversation.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Barry should have known better than to smuggle evidence that wasn’t actually evidence into the CCPD lab, but desperate times called for desperate measures.
He slid the photograph across Joe’s desk with the world’s worst poker face. “Hey, Joe, could you… uh… check this guy out for me?”
Joe frowned down at it. Crew cut, salt-and-pepper hair, blue-gray eyes that had the sharpness of a switchblade. And that smirk—like the man knew he was trouble and enjoyed every second of it.
“Where’d you get this?” Joe asked, voice already edged with suspicion.
Barry coughed. “Anonymous tip. Street source. Could be connected to something.”
Joe gave him that fatherly don’t even try me look, then sighed and ran it through the database. A few keystrokes later, a name appeared.
“Leonard Snart,” Joe said flatly. “Career criminal. Robbery, theft, weapons trafficking. Used to run with some real bad company. He’s got a rep for planning three steps ahead of everyone else.” He tapped the photo. “Cold. Calculated. And dangerous.”
Barry swallowed. “Dangerous. Right.”
Joe glanced at him sideways. “Why the sudden interest?”
“No reason!” Barry said too quickly. “Just, you know, staying ahead of potential cases. Proactive science. Preventative… crime-fighting. That’s a thing, right?”
Joe snorted. “Uh-huh. Look, Barr—Snart may be dead, but don’t waste time digging into him. Some men are troubled even in memory.”
Barry forced a smile, grabbed the photo, and bolted before Joe could ask why his neck was turning red.
That night, Barry wanted nothing more than to forget Leonard Snart’s smug face. A shower, some dinner, maybe a few hours burying himself in his “supernatural phenomena” blog. Normalcy.
Steam fogged the mirror. Barry lathered shampoo into his hair, trying to scrub away the stress. For three blissful minutes, he let himself believe life was normal again.
Then a voice drawled through the hiss of water, “Well. This is intimate.”
Barry’s heart nearly stopped. He spun, slipping on the wet floor and clutching the shower curtain for dear life.
There he was.
Leonard Snart. Leaning against the bathroom wall like he owned it, arms folded, edges flickering like bad TV reception. Those blue-gray eyes cut sharper than the steam, and the smirk was infuriatingly intact.
“You’re—” Barry sputtered. “You’re dead!”
“Yeah,” Len said, smirking. “And apparently, I’m also your husband. Surprise, honey.”
Barry’s jaw dropped. “No, no, no. That—no. That was a superstition. A ritual. It doesn’t mean anything!”
Len tilted his head, amused. “Try telling that to Auntie Wang. Sweet woman, though a little meddling. She used to live next door. Still insists on calling me a brat, even after all these years. Apparently, letting me ‘die an old maid’ was unacceptable.”
He heaved a theatrical sigh. “So here we are. Domestic bliss.”
Barry gawked at him. “This isn’t funny!”
“Oh, it’s hilarious,” Len said. “You, me, ghost matrimony. We didn’t even get a cake.”
Barry wanted to melt into the tiles. “This is insane. I don’t believe in this. I can’t believe in this.”
Len strolled closer, passing straight through the shower curtain without resistance. Barry yelped and backed into the wall. Cold air seeped into his skin where Len’s hand hovered inches from his chest.
“Seems real enough, doesn’t it?” Len murmured.
Barry’s brain short-circuited. “This isn’t—I’m not—even if this is true,you’re still a criminal!”
“Guilty,” Len said easily. “But not a bad husband. Yet.”
“You robbed banks! You—” Barry faltered. “You built a freeze gun!”
“Can’t really take credit for that one,” Len said with a smirk. “But I made it work. Efficiently.”
Barry scowled. “You can’t just laugh about this. Crime ruins people’s lives. You—”
“Spare me the morality lecture, kid,” Len interrupted. “ Last I checked, vigilantism is still against the law. Isn't it … Flash?”
Barry stiffened. “…What did you just call me?”
Len’s grin widened. “Flash. You think I wouldn’t notice? Red streak, lightning bolts, breaking the sound barrier. Kinda hard to miss, even for a dead guy.”
Barry’s throat went dry.
Len leaned against the sink, his body flickering in and out of the porcelain for effect. “Gotta admit, it explains a lot. Why you’re always late, why you vanish mid-case, why the CCPD’s biggest klutz somehow has the best arrest record.” He tilted his head, smirk sharpening. “And you know what else it explains? How useful you’d be if you stopped playing boy scout and started playing smart.”
Barry’s stomach flipped. “What are you—”
“Think about it,” Len interrupted smoothly. “Fastest man alive. Can be anywhere, grab anything, disappear before the cameras blink. You’d be the perfect thief.” He chuckled. “Marry a criminal, pick up a hobby — it’s practically tradition.”
Barry gawked at him. “I am not using my speed to steal things!”
Len shrugged. “Suit yourself. But admit it — the thought crossed your mind.”
Barry’s ears went hot. “No, it didn’t!”
“Liar,” Len said, grinning like the cat that caught the canary, voice curled around him like smoke. Then, just as suddenly, he flickered out—leaving Barry shaking under the hiss of the shower, chilled to the bone.
Notes:
Let's just assume Barry got a place of his own early on.
Chapter 3: The Coffee Catastrophe™
Summary:
Len taking control of Barry to flirt with the barista. Barry seek help from a taoist priest.
Chapter Text
The next day, Barry resolved to act normal. Absolutely, stubbornly normal. Which meant ignoring the smug voice in his ear, even when said ghost mocked his wardrobe choice with laser precision.
“It’s hurting my eyes,” Snart drawled. “That underwear? A crime against fabric. Should be a dust rag, not clinging to your ass.”
Barry gritted his teeth. God, he needed caffeine. Desperately. Between ghost sabotage, sleepless nights, and the gnawing paranoia of Leonard Snart lurking unseen, he was running on fumes. So when Iris texted asking to meet for a mid-morning pick-me-up, Barry leapt at the chance. Normal. That’s what he needed. Just a normal coffee run with his best friend.
“Barry Allen, late again,” Iris teased when he finally stumbled into Jitters. She was already in line, one eyebrow arched, her smile softening when she noticed the dark circles under his eyes. “You look like you wrestled with your alarm clock.”
Barry winced. The alarm clock exploded, actually. He managed a weak laugh. “Rough week.”
They shuffled forward in line, Iris chatting about a new story at CCPN when it happened.
Barry’s mouth opened without his permission, and a voice that wasn’t entirely his purred,
“Morning, gorgeous.”
Iris blinked, startled. Barry’s heart stopped. Because his eyes weren’t on Iris—they were on the barista.
The guy with a crooked grin froze mid–latte pour. “Uh… hi?”
Barry’s face burned. “I—I didn’t—”
But his hand, traitorous and not his, slid the receipt across the counter, Sharpie numbers scrawled bold and unmistakable.
“I’m a regular,” his mouth said smoothly, dripping with confidence Barry absolutely did not possess. “Maybe we could… grab a drink sometime when you’re not on the clock.”
The barista turned pink. “Sure!” He tucked the slip into his pocket, flustered but clearly pleased.
Barry wanted to die. Right there. Drop through the floor. Vaporize in a bolt of lightning. Anything.
Behind him, Iris was choking back laughter. “Wow, Barr. I didn’t know you had it in you.”
Barry spun toward her, horrified. “I didn’t—I mean, I wasn’t—”
Len’s voice purred in his ear, low and smug: “About time. Ignoring me all day deserved payback. You should thank me—helped loosen you up, kid.”
Barry’s knuckles whitened around his coffee cup. Not here. Not now.
“Oh my god,” Iris teased, nudging him as they walked away. “I always thought you were hopeless, but look at you, Casanova.”
Barry’s face was crimson. “Iris, it wasn’t—”
“Relax,” she grinned. “I’m just glad you’re finally in the game.”
Barry flinched. In the game. As if he hadn’t been stuck for years, his heart stubbornly orbited her like gravity, refusing to drift on.
Len chuckled darkly, right in his ear. “Still pining after her, huh? Tragic. Want me to give her a little nudge for you, too?”
Barry nearly dropped his cup. “Don’t you dare.”
“What? I could help. Whisper sweet nothings, smooth over your awkwardness. Maybe even get you a kiss goodnight.”
Barry’s chest tightened until it hurt. He muttered angrily under his breath, “Fine. I won’t ignore you. Just stop meddling in my life.”
“Attaboy,” Snart mocked, then faded, his presence vanishing like smoke.
Unbelievable.
By the time Barry got home, his nerves were shot. That was nothing short of unsettling. As if having a ghost following him twenty-four-seven wasn’t bad enough, Snart could seize control of his body whenever he wanted. Today it was a prank. Tomorrow? Who knew? Barry couldn’t forget that casual suggestion about using speed for theft. Snart was a career criminal. What if he decided to go further? What if one day Barry woke up to find his body being used to hurt someone he loved?
The thought made him shudder.
That was it. He was taking matters into his own hands. Mystical problems required mystical solutions. No Cisco, no Caitlin, no Team Arrow. If Snart really was bound to him through some twisted ghost marriage, then Barry needed someone who actually knew how to break it.
Which was how he ended up kneeling in a dim temple, the air thick with incense smoke. Candles flickered against the serene faces of Taoist gods as a priest chanted beside him, voice low and rhythmic.
Barry’s throat was dry. “So… how is it? Can I get rid of him?”
The priest’s eyes lingered on him, solemn. “It is difficult to separate you two. Fate bound you together. I sense your destinies were deeply intertwined—abruptly cut short by his death.”
Barry didn’t know what to do with that. “So I’m… lost, then?”
The priest’s tone was calm, but a shadow threaded through it. “You don’t need to worry. The spirit will not linger forever. It should turn to ashes in no time.”
Barry frowned. “What do you mean?”
“You said the spirit possessed you?” the priest asked.
Barry nodded, unease curling in his gut.
“Then it must use immense energy to anchor itself. Without stabilization, it will unravel—shatter into nothingness. No peace. No afterlife. Simply… gone.”
Barry froze.
And for the first time since Snart had appeared, there was silence. No smug quip. No mocking laugh. Just… absence.
Barry’s pulse raced. In a way, he should feel relieved. If Snart vanished, Barry’s life would go back to normal. No more sabotage. No more humiliations. No more ghostly threats.
But instead of relief, his stomach twisted. Because even criminals deserved peace. Even Leonard Snart.
The priest’s voice cut through his thoughts. “If you wish to prevent that, incense will tether him. Prolong him. Give you time to… resolve what binds you.”
Barry swallowed hard. For once, the decision didn't feel simple at all.
Chapter 4: Smoke and Leverage
Summary:
Barry and Len reach an agreement.
Chapter Text
Barry lit the last stick of incense and set it carefully in the bronze burner. The smoke coiled upward, thin and restless, like something alive. The bitter-sweetness of it clung to the air, worming into his throat, seeping into the carved stone walls of the temple alcove. He didn’t know if this would actually work—but the thought of someone unraveling into nothingness made his stomach twist. Even if that someone was Leonard Snart.
“Touching.”
The voice slid out of the shadows. Barry stiffened, nearly sending the burner clattering.
Snart leaned against a pillar, flickering faintly in the incense haze. His smirk was present as ever, but the eyes behind it were sharp—measuring. Hunting.
“You light incense for me now?” Len asked, voice pitched casual. “That’s almost sweet. Almost makes me think you care.”
Barry straightened, forcing calm into his spine. He wasn’t some helpless kid. He was the Flash. “Don’t flatter yourself. I just don’t think anyone deserves to… dissolve. Not like that.”
Snart tilted his head, amused. “Funny. For a guy who’s been wishing me gone since day one, you’re doing a lot of legwork to keep me here.”
“You’re a menace,” Barry shot back. His voice was steady now, anchored. “You hijack my body. You humiliate me in public. You dangle my life like a toy whenever you’re bored.” His jaw tightened at the memory of Iris’s teasing smile. “That’s not something I can ignore.”
Len drifted closer, and the air grew colder, thick with static. The incense smoke swirled around him like a cloak.
“Could?” His voice cut soft and dangerous. “Kid, I already have. Don’t forget—I can steer you anywhere I want. Run you into traffic. Pull a trigger. Snap a neck. All I need is a spark.”
Barry’s heart pounded, but he held Len’s gaze, unflinching. “And yet you don’t. Because you know if you cross that line, it’s over. I won’t light another stick of incense.”
The smirk faltered—just a flicker, gone in an instant.
Len’s eyes glinted. “ You don’t strike me as the type to stand back and watch that happen.”
“Try me,” Barry said evenly. The confidence surprised even him, but it was true. Ghost or not, Snart wasn’t the only one with leverage here.
The smoke thickened in the silence that followed, turning the alcove into something close to a tomb.
Finally Len chuckled, low and rough. “Well. Looks like you’ve learned how to play the game.”
Barry let out a slow breath. “Then let’s make this simple. No killing. No hurting my friends. No wrecking my life.” He hesitated, then added, “And in return, I’ll help you figure out what’s keeping you here. Ghosts don’t just hang around for the view. You’ve got unfinished business—and I’ll help you finish it.”
That, at least, made Snart pause. His smirk cooled into something darker, more thoughtful. “You think you can play ferryman? Get me to the other side?”
Barry shrugged, though his pulse was loud in his ears. “I think I can try. Better than watching you flicker out.”
Len studied him in silence, smoke curling between them like invisible chains. Then he extended a hand—thin, translucent, barely holding shape. “Partners, then?”
Barry stared at it. Every instinct screamed not to, but he wasn’t the kind of man who backed away from responsibility. Slowly, deliberately, he reached out. Their hands met. Cold sank into his skin, unnatural and biting.
“Partners,” Barry said.
Snart’s mouth curved into something that wasn’t quite a smile. “Careful, kid. Deals with the dead have a way of sticking.”
And in that moment, with the incense burning low and the smoke whispering against the stone, Barry believed him.
Chapter 5: Explosion, Trust, and Cold Kindness
Summary:
Barry facing the plastique. Len's final wish revealed.
Notes:
a revised version of the former ch5+6.
Chapter Text
Barry should have been focused on the evidence—the blackened shards scattered across his lab bench—but all his thoughts were dominated by Leonard Snart.
“Stop directing your emotional analysis at that garbage, Scarlet,” Len’s voice drawled inside his head, carrying his usual professional sarcasm. “I need you to focus on our business, not trying to be a failed archaeologist.”
Barry sighed, not out of patience, but deep frustration. He put down his tweezers. “I’m working, Len. If you could stop intentionally dropping the temperature of my lab bench, I could actually focus.”
Len’s ghost drifted away from the file cabinet and appeared directly behind Barry. A sharp, intense coldimmediately wrapped around Barry, raising goosebumps. “I am merely helping you maintain peak cognitive function. You collapsed onto your bed like sludge last night, and if your boring sleep habits don’t change, we’ll never complete this contract.”
“You're just harassing me,” Barry snapped, his voice tight with annoyance. “And this contractual obligationisn't going anywhere until you tell me what you want. Give me the parameters.”
“Parameters?” Len scoffed, his tone holding no humor, only tired contempt. “My direction is getting rid of you. Perhaps my wish is for you to steal me an armored truck so I can spend eternity inside it.”
Barry remained unmoved, viewing Len purely as an obstruction. “Stop wasting my time. This matters to you, and I need the details to get it over with. Is it about a mistake you can’t fix, or is it about someone you left behind?”
Len’s mouth hardened. He slowly drifted away, his blue eyes showing the coldness of being exposed. “That’s my business, Allen. You don’t need to understand it. You just need to know it’s a dirty transaction—something your simple morality will never allow, nor comprehend.” He paused, injecting a mature threat: “Perhaps I’ll have you steal something from your father’s prison cell. Now that’s my style.”
Barry nodded, his tone cold and purely pragmatic. “Say what you want. I’ll focus on the job, Len. I’ll help you finish this, whatever it is. I made a contract, and I’ll honor it.”
Len did not reply, only letting out a low, resigned sigh, a sound more like ice cracking under pressure.
The blast site reeked of scorched metal and chemical ash. Barry crouched near the crater.
“No timer,” he murmured. “No wiring. Someone touched it—and it went up.”
Len’s voice from the shadows carried an expert’s judgment. “Now you’re using that speedy brain of yours, kid.”
Len folded his arms. “Whoever did this didn’t bring bombs—they made them.”
Barry frowned. “Not made. Triggered. We’re looking for someone who can turn anything into a bomb just by touching it.”
Len’s smirk sharpened. “Criminals call that a game-changer. You call it...?”
Barry’s eyes hardened. “A metahuman.”
He found Bette Sans Souci. A soldier turned weapon.
“They’ll find me,” she whispered. “I touch things and they explode. How do you live with that?”
“You’re not alone, Bette,” he said softly. “I can help you.”
“Help?” she echoed.
Len’s voice cut in. “She’s a walking powder keg, kid. She’s a victim of your system’s screw-up. What’s your plan—talk her into stability?”
Barry ignored him. “You can trust me.”
Len’s voice was like sandpaper. “Don’t. Trust gets you killed.”
Barry’s jaw tightened. “I won’t let them hurt you.” Len didn't laugh.
Back at S.T.A.R. Labs, tension buzzed.
Caitlin’s voice was thin. “Her cells are saturated with energy. Even a spike in adrenaline could set her off.”
Cisco leaned forward. “We could whip up a stabilizer. A portable dampener.”
Barry’s hope flared. “Exactly. She deserves that chance.”
But Wells—calm as ever—spoke. “Barry, you must consider the larger picture. Every day she’s free risks catastrophe.”
“She’s a person, Harrison. Not a weapon,” Barry insisted.
“She is a weapon,” Wells gently corrected.
Len materialized behind Wells’s chair. “Hear that, kid? He’s already made the call. Cold—colder than me.”
A fierce cold assaulted Barry’s shoulder, and he involuntarily shrugged and flinched.
“Barry? You look pale.” Caitlin asked.
Barry quickly shook his head. “I’m fine, just... the air conditioning is a little strong.” He knew it was Len’s professional suspicion forcing its way into his senses.
Len’s voice hit his mind directly: “I’m judging this based on expertise, Allen. This man is too composed. A real good guy would hesitate.”
Barry struggled. He couldn't doubt Wells. Yet, Len’s words whispered like frost: “Shark in the water, Barry. Don’t let the smile fool you.”
Barry shook off the thoughts. Secrets, he thought, were their own ticking time bomb.
The ambush came like thunder.
Bette’s panic flared. “Don’t make me—please—”
Barry moved fast. “Bette, look at me. You’re not alone.”
But the bullets came anyway.
Barry caught her. Her lips trembled. “It… it was… Wells—”
Barry froze. “What? No—”
Her veins lit with unbearable light. Barry ran—straight for the river.
He threw her into the water an instant before the explosion ripped the night apart.
When the water settled, she was gone.
That night, Barry sat on the edge of a rooftop. “She didn’t deserve that,” he whispered.
Len appeared—quiet, no smirk. His ghost hovered nearby, the cold now stable and low.
“Carrying a bomb inside you? That story only ends one way,” Len said.
Barry stared at the skyline. “So you think it’s hopeless.”
Len glanced sideways. “I think secrets kill faster than bullets. She didn’t trust anyone enough to share the weight. That’s what killed her. Don’t make the same mistake.”
Barry turned. “Your sister. She’s still out there, isn’t she?”
Len’s outline wavered. “Yeah. God knows what she’s doing without me.”
Barry hesitated. “Len... how did you die?”
The brittle smirk returned. “My way. Big boom. No regrets.” He paused. “…Except Lisa.”
Barry leaned forward. “You cared about her.”
Len’s laugh was soft, almost weighted with burden. “Kid, she was my family. The only real one I had left.”
Then, his voice became deadly serious and utterly clear, like a final, unsanctioned transaction.
“This is my final wish, Scarlet,” Len said, looking straight at Barry. “I need you to find someone good—someone who can bring light to her. Lisa deserves that. She deserves someone waiting for her on the other side of the cold. I can’t follow, but you belong in the light.”
Barry struggled to swallow. He nodded, accepting the impossible burden.
“I’ll find that person,” Barry promised. “I swear.”
Len said nothing more, but very slowly, his ghost settled within a centimeter of Barry’s back, like a cold guardian.
Barry stiffened. He realized, with a start of shock and confusion, that he didn’t mind Len’s cold company anymore. This icy weight, for the first time, did not feel like harassment, but a reluctant safety—because he knew, at least in the cold, someone shared the secret burden with him.
Not at all.
3shot on Chapter 4 Tue 30 Sep 2025 02:53PM UTC
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Mashpotatosalad on Chapter 4 Fri 03 Oct 2025 05:01PM UTC
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