Work Text:
Length: 14:08 | mp3 (right click and and save as)
The first thing pretty much any kid does when they learn to write is scribble down a tentative hello on their hand. They hope there'll be an answer. They hope it'll be something they can understand. Letters in an alphabet they know, words in a language they speak.
Some kids get lucky and some don't. Some never get an answer at all.
Of course even before words there might be other things. Childish pictures drawn on arms when you're too young to quite understand what it all means. But eventually there's always that first careful hello.
Leo is no different from any other kid in that regard. He's almost six years old and his hello is written in blue ink on the palm of his hand, where it'll be easier to wash it off before his dad can see it.
No one ever answers.
He tries a few times more, just to be sure. You can't always be sure that someone will notice it on the first try. Even once he knows that there just isn't anyone to answer him, he still tries sometimes. He knows it's stupid, but he can't quite stop.
But then there's little Lisa to take care of and keep safe. He forgets about writing words on his skin that never get answers. It's better that way. Lisa is enough for him.
*
Lenny is all of fourteen years old when he meets Mick. It's the first time anyone has stood up for him for no reason at all. That's more than enough to base a friendship on.
Mick, it turns out, is just as angry and broken as Lenny, but in very different ways. It isn't easy to fit their jagged, broken edges around each other. But Mick is his, like Lisa is his, and somehow they make it work. And it's okay that the only thing that ever shows up on any of their skins is scars.
*
Lenny is just shy of twenty years old when childish little squiggles start appearing on his arms. Probably someone just barely old enough to have seen others do the same, and is just following their example. They probably have parents, or some other closeby adults, with soulmates.
The first thing he thinks when he sees the pictures is why now? He doesn't need this, not now. Not when the people he works for wouldn't hesitate to use some little kid against him. Not when he'd never hear the end of having some damned kid for a soulmate. That's not the kind of reputation he's trying to build.
He hates the world a bit more for doing this to him. But he hates the idea of some kid somewhere never getting an answer more.
Drawing isn't something Lenny's ever really done since he was a kid himself, and even then there wasn't much time for stuff like that. He goes out and buys a set of Soul Markers anyway – the name makes him cringe, it's just ink that will wash off easily from skin. The woman behind the counter smiles knowingly at him.
He's horrible at drawing. The kid doesn't seem to mind, he decides when shaky lines appear on his skin to complement his own pitiful attempts.
Mick laughs at him, but only because his attempts at drawing really are very bad. Lenny glares at him, and goes back to colouring in the sun on his arm.
Lisa coos over the pictures. He does his best to look annoyed.
Lenny wears long sleeves to hide his arms.
*
Len is twenty-one when he pulls off his shirt after a long day to find shaky block letters on his arm. Barry they spell out. Someone must have showed the kid how to write his name.
His. Him. Len thinks for the first time.
He takes a shower. The name is still there when he gets out. He picks up a black marker and writes Len in block letters on his other arm. He crawls into bed and falls asleep.
*
Len is twenty-eight years old and in prison. He's lying in his bunk, when he rolls up his sleeve to find the words my mom is dead written in shaky letters.
I'm so sorry, he writes with the one marker he's managed to get, and wishes – for once – that he could be more than hastily scribbled words on skin. Are you okay? he adds.
There's no answer.
Days later he watches as words appear on his arm, one letter at a time.
They won't let me see dad, the words say.
They think he hurt mom.
Len's heart aches for the kid, and he has no idea what he's supposed to answer.
You have to be strong, Barry, he writes in the end. Repeating words he told Lisa when she was little – words they told each other. He hates himself for saying those words to another kid, but it's the best he can do.
He wonders what will happen to Barry. Foster care most likely. He considers it for awhile and then asks Barry not to tell anyone about him, wherever he ends up. Neither of them are happy about it, but it's for the best. It's safer for the kid if no one knows.
From then on, words only show up on his skin in the evenings, most like when Barry has just gone to bed.
He gets short updates from Barry now and then. Len never knows what to say, but he answers anyway, because silence would be worse.
It's not hard to connect the right news with the things Barry tells him. Henry Allen, murdered his wife. That's how he finds out Barry lives in Central City, he's never asked, because it seemed better not to know.
It means Henry Allen will most likely end up in Iron Heights, like him. He wonders if he should tell Barry. But how do you tell your soulmate that you're a criminal? That you're in jail?
Len's never lied to his soulmate, and he never will. But Barry is just a kid, and some things there has been no reason to write about. There's no hurry, he'll wait.
If they do send Henry Allen here, he can decide then. After he talks to Henry Allen.
Len has to admit that Henry Allen seems like a good man, a decent man, which is rare enough in a place like Iron Heights. He wonders how long it will take before it changes Henry Allen.
None of it means he didn't commit the crime he was sentenced for. But Barry is convinced that his dad is innocent, and that's enough for Len to at least give him a chance.
"Tell me," Len says when he sits down on the bench next to Henry Allen. "Did you kill your wife?" It's not the first conversation they've had, and he looks at Len in surprise, or disappointment perhaps, like maybe he hadn't expected this from Len. "Because Barry seems to think you didn't."
Henry Allen's eyes go wide.
"You're… you're Len," he says in realisation. "No, I didn't. I could never…" he chokes on the words, and Len thinks he might be telling the truth. "Is Barry okay? Can you tell him he doesn't need to worry about me? That I'm okay, and that I'm proud of him?"
Len looks across the yard to where his own dear old dad is, and decides that Henry Allen might be a good father.
"I'll let him know. And he's doing… okay, I think. Considering."
"Thank you," Henry Allen says and it's so heartfelt that Len has to look away. "You're not what I expected."
"Disappointed?" Len drawls.
Of course he would be, Henry Allen is a good father and he wouldn't want a soulmate like Len for his son. No one would.
"I watched my son spend hours drawing pictures with someone who never seemed to mind. I watched him learn how to write and always get answers written in words simple enough for him to understand. I saw words of comfort and encouragement, the apologies when you hadn't said anything in awhile. I've always been glad he had you. I still am."
Len has no answer to that. It's not at all what he expected.
"He's my soulmate," he says with a shrug. Because what else is there to say?
He spends the evening in his bunk, covering his arms in text. Explaining to Barry that he's in jail, and why. That he met Barry's dad and that Henry Allen is okay.
When Len has nothing more to say a small thank you appears on the inside of his wrist.
*
He's thirty-three, and he's just Snart to most people now – the name is his now, and not his dad's. And his soulmate asks him if they're ever going to meet.
He aches at the thought. But there's no room for that in Leonard Snart's life.
He tells Barry that it's a bad idea, because it is. He doesn't need someone like Len messing up his life. It'd only put them both at risk if any of Len's associates ever found out about him.
When he explains it to the kid, he doesn't try to make it sound any prettier than it is.
His soulmate tells him he's an idiot, but he lets the idea go, and that's all that matters.
In scribbled notes on his arms Len learns about his soulmate's life. His foster family, his first kiss, his studies, his first crush on a boy, his first crush on a girl that isn't Iris. In return Len tells him about things he probably shouldn't. About Lisa and Mick of course, but also about the things he does.
Len takes pride in a heist well done, and he's high on the adrenaline from one particularly well executed plan. He doesn't really think about it when he takes a marker and shares his excitement with his soulmate.
Of course, his soulmate is too curious for his own good. Before he knows it, Len is answering questions and he's already written down too much.
*
Len is thirty-nine when his soulmate starts working for the Central City Police Department.
"Only you, Snart," Mick says and shakes his head.
Lisa just laughs.
*
Len is forty-one when the messages stop.
Maybe Len isn't quite himself after that. Maybe he's not quite as careful, maybe he's a bit out of control.
Mick burns and Lisa leaves.
Nine long months before he sees the scrawled I'm sorry it took so long on his wrist. And all he can do is clutch his own wrist to his chest and try to breathe.
It takes a while before Len manages to write are you okay?
The letters look shaky.
He watches words appear, letter by letter, his heartbeat thundering in his ears.
I'm good, I'll tell you all about it soon, the letters spell out.
It's two days of waiting, before he sees black words appear on his skin again. It's almost enough time for him to think he'd only been dreaming before.
Where are you? An address. Please?
Barry's never asked that before, and Len shouldn't tell him.
But it's been nine months and Len might answer any question, just to keep seeing those black lines appear on his skin again.
So he writes out the address of this shitty little hotel in Starling City, room number and all.
Thank you! Barry answers and then there's nothing else.
Len stares at his arm for a time. Waiting.
He wonders if he should start packing.
There's a knock on the door.
Len cracks the door open, carefully, gun in his hand.
He's never seen his soulmate, and he'd recognise him anywhere. Even though he knows, there's no way Barry could be here.
"Hi?" Barry asks, shuffling awkwardly and blushing. "So, something kind of impossible happened to me."
Len doesn't say anything, just pulls him inside, drops his gun on the dresser next to the door and wraps his arms around him.
Touching his soulmate is like coming home. His skin comes alive at the touch, and electricity crackles where they touch.
Barry is laughing, or maybe crying. Len wipes a tear from Barry's cheek and presses a short, light kiss to his lips.
Barry smiles at him and tucks his head into the crook of Len's neck.
There will be questions later. And this will make both of their lives complicated. For now none of that matters.
*
Leonard Snart is forty-two years old. He's not a good man. He's a criminal; a thief and an occasional murderer. He's not just good at what he does, he likes it.
His soulmate is something impossible, and he looks at Len like he thinks that there is something more to him.
Len smirks, and kisses Barry.