Chapter Text
Central is one of the most boring cities to ever exist, Oliver has decided. After living in Starling his whole life, he has been in every single club that was even worth his time there, lots of times. It had started to bore him, the same places, the same overpriced drinks, the same girls throwing themselves at him (and more recently, even a guy here and there).
But then he had realized, he’s rich as fuck (well, more like his father is the one with the money, not that it matters in his mind at all), with multiple private jets at his disposal. His father was far too busy to even notice if one of them was missing for a couple of days, and the handsome sum he paid one of the pilots made sure that it wouldn’t really be reported.
Of course he knows that his parents are still aware of his joy trips around the states, no matter how much he tries to hide it. But they have long ago given up to police his behaviour. Now they have an uneasy truce, as long as he's not involved in any major scandals.
Which he actually manages to do, 95% of the time.
So for the last few weeks he’s been cruising around the states, mostly with Tommy, rarely with Laurel. After all, she was one of the reasons he was even partying excessively, even for his standards. Just trying to push away the growing commitment of his relationship with her. He does love her, he really does, but he just can’t handle a relationship of that calibre.
So, he had started to sleep around again.
He did feel bad about it, but that's what the drugs and alcohol are for, to just let him forget all those unimportant concerns. He doesn’t even remember most of the hook-ups, an enticing redhead in Coast City, and a threesome with a very open couple in New York standing out.
But right now, being in Central City, there’s no one that even piques his interest, even though he is at the opening of the new “hot club”, which name he can’t even remember anymore. It was something like Tremor, or maybe The Vibe? Not that it really matters, by now they all feel the same to him. He has to admit, at least they tried to be different, with the whole Sci-Fi thing they were trying to emulate. But it also meant that the weird futuristic couch in the VIP-section that he was sitting on right now is one of the most uncomfortable ones he has ever been on in a club.
Normally, he would join Tommy on the dancefloor, letting loose and getting drunk, just letting his body take over his actions. But for some reason he instead sits on the outliers, drinking a suspiciously green drink, and watching his best friend try to pick up some random chick.
He just wasn’t feeling it tonight, his mind being heavy with unwelcome thoughts. In Starling, he would just hit up one of the numerous drug dealers, buy some overpriced merchandise, and forget all his worries in minutes. But this is Central, a city that seemed so squeaky clean it was almost disgusting. His chances of finding anything here were not very high.
Sighing, he threw back the rest of his acidic drink, slightly recoiling at the taste. He has no idea what it even was, just something a tired looking bartender handed to him when he ordered something that will “fuck him up”. Evidently, it didn’t, or at least not enough, because his mind was still clear enough to feel guilty.
Damn, Oliver really had to get out here, the loud music and oppressive heat starting to give him a headache. He had no idea why, usually this was his world, but today it just made him feel sick and annoyed. His feet didn't want to fully collaborate with him when he was trying to stand up, the drink from earlier now hitting him harder than he expected. Still, he forced himself to stand up, and starts tumbling across the dancefloor, managing to not crash against too many people.
Tommy was nowhere to be found, which means he either finally got lucky, or was just grinding against someone somewhere in the sea of bodies, invisible to Oliver. It doesn’t matter either way, he wasn’t here, and the slight headache has now evolved into full on pounding between his ears. He just needed to get out, but the thought of having to go right through the dancing crowd to the main exit just made his head throb more.
But that's when he noticed there was a small fire exit, right next to the bar, only a couple of feet away from him. Relieved that he was spared of having to force himself through sweaty bodies, he took long, striding steps towards it. A bartender noticed what he was going to do, and was probably about to stop him. But one look from Oliver Queen, apparently as famous in Central City as he was at home, made the bartender’s mouth snap shut, and go back to his making drinks.
Oliver doesn’t really care either way, even if that guy would have tried to stop him, he would have just used the door anyway. Opening it, he could already feel the cold night air, not really able to see anything while still in the far too bright club. Stepping outside, he realized that he’s in some kind of dingy back alley, trash cans to his left, and a flickering street lamp above him, barely illuminating anything after the heavy door slammed shut behind him.
But somehow, he still vastly preferred being out here next to smelly garbage, than being back in the club, at least for now. After checking that the wall wasn’t too disgusting (barely), he leaned his weight against it, finally being able to breath, but still feeling like shit.
All of a sudden, he heard a sound coming from his left, his eyes immediately checking for the source of it. It wouldn’t be the first time an overeager paparazzi followed him to a place like this, and he was almost looking forward to letting some of his frustrations out on some nosy bloodsucker of a reporter.
But instead of a camera, he found someone trying to hide, a big trench coat obscuring most of their features. Oliver was intrigued, not feeling like he was in any danger at all. The figure realized that they couldn’t escape, looking Oliver in the eye with a fearful look. It was a haggard man, with sunken in eyes that kept darting around, like he was looking for threats, or maybe something else. After a few seconds, they fully focused on Oliver, seeming to gauge him out.
“Are you here for the stuff?”, the man finally said with a shot voice, still looking at everything but Olivers eyes.
“Stuff? What stuff?” Wow, his words were sounding a lot more slurred than he expected them to. What the hell was in cocktail he drank.
Apparently, that was the wrong thing to say. The man’s face immediately closed off, and he started to try to escape the narrow alleyway.
Finally, it all clicked in Oliver’s drunk mind, he knew exactly who this person was. Maybe he would his hands on some good drugs after all.
He grabbed the other man's shoulder, stopping his escape. He tried to shake him off, but Oliver’s countless hours in the gym made him deceptively strong.
Before the supposed drug dealer started to panic, Oliver let him go, turning him back around to face him first.
“Actually yes, i am here for the ‘stuff’.” He had no idea what the man was even selling, but he already took almost every party drug there was, there’s nothing that could surprise him anymore.
The man looked around for one last time, making sure there were alone, before covertly reaching into his coat pocket, retrieving a clear bag with some pills inside.
“100 for one, 500 for the whole bag. Don’t take more than one at a time if you want to live. Best high you’ll ever get, works in seconds,” the man rattles off mechanically.
Oliver almost laughs at the terrible attempt at selling, especially with drugs that are so overpriced. But he can afford it, he’s a Queen after all. So he takes out his money, making sure the man doesnt see how stacked he is. He made that mistake once, and instead of giving him drugs the dealer back then tried to rob him. Of course, Oliver had fend him off, but since then he made sure to not just show his wads of cash for everyone to see.
Oliver holds up two 100$ Bills, waiting for the man to retrieve 2 pills from the bag, before they exchange them with studied movements.
If Oliver was more sober, he probably would have been a bit more hesitant to just take something he got a shifty dude behind a club, But he wasn’t, and so he just took the unsuspicious pills up to his lips, letting only one fall into his mouth. It tasted acrid, but it dissolved quickly.
“So, how long does it take for it to…”
And that’s the last thing Oliver remembered that night.
Barry Allen was finally finishing up another long night at the lab, clearing up all the beakers and solutions he used. He groaned when he took a quick look at the clock, it being far past 1 AM. He promised Iris that he would try to at least somewhat come home on time, but he just can’t help himself. Ever since Professor Fabbietta approached him with the opportunity of an extracurricular activity, where he would be able to use the faculties to their full extent, he had spent almost everyday in the lab, trying to optimize all kinds of solutions, even dabbling in some DNA-Bioengineering. He was loving every second of it, feeling like a kid that just got his first chemistry set.
But it did take a toll on him, the long nights and early mornings already cutting into his normal studies, his free time almost nonexistent. He was lucky that Joe agreed to let him live back at home while he was busy doing it, so he didn’t have to worry about laundry and making food and all the things adults normally have to do. But still, Iris had noticed how tired he always was, and made him promise to at least try to take it easy. A promise he was not able to hold, at least today.
Finally, he had cleaned up everything, quickly grabbing his bag and jacket, before turning off all the lights, and locking all the doors (He even got his own keys for the labs, how cool is that!). Double-checking if he missed anything, he was sure that everything was in place. And so, he started to leisurely walk home.
When he was halfway back to Joe’s house, walking besides the almost abandoned Main street, he remembered that he should probably check his phone. He winced after he unlocked it, seeing 5 missed messages from Iris. At least Joe was out of town for a police development course, so he only had one disappointed West to deal with. He dreaded reading the messages, but ignoring would only make it worse.
Iris<3: I'm gonna make some lasagne, you better be home quick if you want to eat it warm
Iris<3: Alright, it’s almost done, you close to home?
Iris<3: Bear?
Iris<3: Seriously, again?
Iris<3: I’m gonna go sleepover at Kate’s house, the rest of the lasagne is in the oven.
Barry winced again at the obvious coldness in the last message, he knew he fucked up. He knows Iris doesn’t like sleeping alone in an empty house, and he did say he would be there. Even thought Iris was most likely already asleep, he still send a text back, just to show that he wasn’t actually ignoring her.
Barry: Iris, i’m so sorry, I got sucked into lab work again. We can have a movie night tomorrow instead?
I will buy that caramel popcorn you love so much <3.
That will probably be enough to make iris forgive him, she can’t really stay mad at him for long, since he always tries to make it up to her. Pocketing his phone, he resumes on his walk home, taking in Central City at night time. It really is kind of beautiful, in a way. The normally very busy and hectic Main Street, was eerily quiet, the streetlights giving it an almost otherworldly appeal. He really did this city, even with all the negative events in the past; it was still his city, and he was proud of it.
Which is why he felt a pang of annoyance when he noticed that someone just left their trash bag in the middle of the street. No car has driven over it yet, but it was only a matter of time, making it a risk Barry just can’t ignore. Sighing, he walked over the empty street towards it, making sure first that no car was anywhere near. With the light being so bad, he can’t really fully see it, but for a second he could have sworn that it moved. Oh god, what if there was racoons? He doesn’t know how to deal with racoons!
Hoping he just imagined it, he finally came close enough to illuminate the bag with his phone flash light.
Barry froze in place, taking in the sight in front of him.
Instead of the garbage bag he expected, there was a man lying on the street, facedown, in his underwear, slowly shifting and mumbling. He could see that whoever this was, he had a very eventful night, marks and scraped skin all over his body.
And of course, that's when his phone decided to run out of battery, showering the stranger in darkness again.
Barry could feel the panic rising inside him, his mind running in circles. What is he supposed to do in a case like this? Well, he would just call an ambulance, but that’s not an option anymore. The hospital is on the other side of town, and the closest place he could go was where he was already going, his own house. There, he could try to find out what's wrong with this person, and maybe help him.
But he still has to get the stranger there first. The almost naked stranger, that he would have to carry for at least 20 minutes. Barry groaned internally, how was this his life? For a second, he thought about just walking away, forgetting he ever saw anything. But he knew, he could never do that, be the kind of person that just walks away from someone that needs help.
So, he inched closer, with caution, expecting the man to just jump up at any second. But the stranger was still just laying face down on the pavement, making sounds that almost sounds like a distressed kitten mewling. If Barry wasn’t so stressed out by everything, he would have found it adorable.
Now he was standing right above him, being able to see his body at least somewhat. The man’s back looked very muscular, and a quick look down affirmed, that the lower parts are not any less. Fighting a blush, Barry desperately thought about what to do next.
“Hello? Are you okay?” Yes Barry, cause people that lay face down in the middle of street are probably just fine, just relaxing. At least the man didn’t seem to hear him, having no reaction whatsoever.
Steeling himself, he kneeled down, and reached out with his hand. After hesitating for a second, he grabs the man’s very firm shoulder (Good god, what does this dude eat?), shaking it furiously.
“Can you… hear me? Do you need help?” The only answer he got was a long drawn out groan, which probably just means that yes, this man does need help.
Barry, feeling his own panic slowly take over, mentally took one step back, assessing the situation from a practical standpoint: he had no way to call for help, no one anywhere near him, and no way to get to the hospital. And with his body, there’s no chance that he can carry him all the way to the hospital, he would just break down before ever reaching it. Reaching his own house on the hand…
Making a final decision, he knows the only right way of action is carrying this strange man to his house, where he can help him with medical supplies. After all, studying to become a CSI required some medical courses, so he knows enough to help someone with an overdose. Well, he assumed that was the case, from the clouded state of mind, excessive sweating, and shivering the person is exhibiting.
Now, the only problem was actually getting 180 pound of muscle (estimated of course) to his place. Wow, this will be the first time that the fire drill Joe made him and Iris do would actually be useful. He still remembers how he had to fireman carry Iris once around. Of course, he mostly remembers deep embarrassment,, and the overwhelming fear of touching anything he shouldn't be touching. But, he still knows how to do it, and that is the important part,
Belatedly, he realized that he has just been staring at the man for a full minute now, lost in his thoughts, when he should be checking if the man was even fit to be carried, if the airways were blocked, or literally any of the things he learned in his first aid class. Alright, he thought to himself, one thing after another.
First, move the patient into a stable position. He tried to gently get the man to lay on his back, but after struggling for some seconds, without result, he used too much, and the man just flopped on his back, with an audible whump. Barry cringes, hoping he didn't fuck the stranger up even more than he already was. But still, it worked, the man now squarely on his back, close enough to a stable position as he could.
Next, he needed to check if the man could breath. He started to reach up to the man’s face with his fingers, freezing when he actually got a good look of his features, however obscured they are by the darkness. This guy looked good enough to be a model (if there weren’t still remnants of bard around his mouth), could he be someone famous? Barry never really kept up with that kind of stuff, only sometimes getting a glance into one of Irises magazines. This guy did look somewhat familiar, but Barry has no idea from what.
More importantly anyway, he had to make sure that they guy wasn't gonna choke on his own vomit. Getting his water bottle and some wipes from his Backpack. Holding up the back of the head, he gingerly pours a small amount of water over the lips and below the nose, cleaning up the worst of it, before dabbing around it with the tissues. Content with his work, he was about to pack the bottle away again, before realizing that dehydration could also be a problem. But that would require the man to actually cooperate, which seems impossible given his current state.
Still, he had to at least try. Kneeling back down, he unscrewed the bottle, and hesitated on what to do next. Should he just hold it to his lips, and hope he subconsciously starts drinking? Or tell the man first?
“If you can hear me, I will hold a bottle to your lips, drink it if you can.” And with that, he did exactly what he said, carefully letting the water spill on the dried lips. At first it seemed like it would just run meet closed lips, but after a few seconds the lips part, and he could hear deep gulps. Relieved, he kept holding the bottle, slowly raising it until it was halfway empty, at which point the man started coughing, so he quickly removed the bottle, before the man would start choking.
‘How is this happening to me”, Barry thought to himself for not the first time tonight. There was nothing else he could think he could do right now, so how was the hard part: having to carry an adult, in shape male for who knows how long. But there was just no other way.
Turning the man back face down as gentle as possible, he got into the starting position for the fireman carry, as best as he could remember that is. After kneeling down in front, he grabbed the man with both arms under his shoulder, slowly dragging him up against his body. What he failed to realize before, this meant that the man’s very well defined chest was now rubbing against the entire length of his body. While trying to suppress his blush, he reminded himself that this was all necessary to help him.
Finally, they were now on the same level, Barry being able to smell the pungent odour of alcohol or other substances still coming from the other mouth. Now the final test: leaning down, he draped the strangers arm around the back of his neck, pulling until he could feel the broad chest against his shoulderblades. Huh, not as heavy as Barry feared he would be. Now fully upright again, he made sure that everything was secure, no danger of slipping anywhere. (God, that would be terrible, if while he was trying to help, he would just give the man a concussion as well by dropping him. Does Not help anyone if he stresses himself out about it right now though.)
And so, Barry started his long march home again, now with an extra burden on him.
He was finally able to see his house, feeling immense relief. The sounds of his panting was filling the quiet night, his forehead covered in sweat. All in all, it went better than expected: he only almost dropped him twice, and tripped 3 times. Barry felt like he couldn't take another step, but he’s been feeling that way for the last 5 minutes, so he just presses on, the door now so tantalizingly close. With a lot of effort and grunting, he managed to wrangle his keys out of his pocket, the key unlocking being the sweetest sound he has heard in a while.
But his happiness was cut short, after he managed to turn on the lights, now staring at the stairs that were the last obstacle between him and his own bed. He longingly looks over at the couch, debating just dropping off his guest there. But he knows that not end well, not for the man who still needed some medical attention, nor him when Joe asks him why the couch smells like a rave.
With a sigh, he went on the first step of the stairs, and regretted that he never started working out like he planned to. He could already feel his vision starting to blur from exhaustion, but he was so, so close. Just 10 little steps, and he would be there. Barry Allen is not a quitter after all, and that thought gave him the last bit of energy he needed to start climbing. Step after step, he trudged himself upstairs, feeling like he was about to die. But still, he wouldn't give up, until finally reaching the second floor.
The last few steps to his room and bed were almost easy in comparison, and with one last push, he heaved the still unconscious body on there, before breaking down on the floor, his legs basically jelly.
Even though he wanted to make sure the other man was alright, there is no way in hell he can even stand up right now.
‘I’m just gonna take a short break, to catch my breath, just a couple of minutes’ Barry rationalised to himself, before letting his eyes fall shut, immediately going into a deep slumber.
He was woken up rudely by someone shaking him, his whole body aching from sleeping while just leaning against the bed. Barry tried to bat away the offending hand, wanting to just get a bit more sleep, but when an unfamiliar voice started talking, his eyes shot open.
“Hey you, creepy kidnapper, what the fuck did you do with my clothes.”