Rain

1. Angry Native American Gods.

Spring, 2006

Barney wonders what he's done to piss off the Universe because the Universe has just given him a resounding slap.

And it's not that what Ted's done isn't awesome - making it rain? Dude! - but he wonders what he's done that the Universe feels the need to take yet another wingman away from him.

The year before he joined Altrucell, and the year before that, he'd lost bros to that most insidious of conditions: Feelings. And now it seems as though Ted is its latest victim.

He shivers. He's wet through and the stairwell is freezing cold. His suit is ruined and every sodden step leaves a Gucci-shaped wet print in the carpet. He heads for the bar because he needs to kindle the flame that's flickering in his belly.

He considers going home, giving up. Yeah, Ted was an awesome wingman and, yeah, Ted's friends are cool and on their way to becoming his friends, but Barney wonders if this is worth it. If getting close to people, in any capacity, just leads to heartbreak. He doesn't understand this need inside him, this need to care for people, look after people, find someone to connect with. He's a serial bro, when perhaps he should just fly solo.

He still misses James, five years after his brother packed up and headed west.

And yeah, yeah, yeah, he's not going to get all psychology 101 and try to work out the connection, calling Ted a substitute for his real brother. Because Barney knows there's something more with Ted, that he's a soul-mate of sorts. He's not kidding when he says Ted is his best friend. He's the closest to a friend that Barney's ever had.

Not just a bro-of-convenience. A real friend.

And so Barney heads down to the bar and fixes on his game face (even thought the edges still feel a little ragged) and seduces Penelope again.

And when she's finally asleep and he slips out of her bed to head on home, he does a little rain-dance of his own.

Because he suspects, in his heart of hearts, that Ted and Robin aren't ever going to be in it for the long term.

But he puts in a good word for them anyways.

2. Moving back

Spring 2007

As much as it goes against his own code of conduct to help a bro move, Barney accepts that he can ignore that rule. After all, he's helping Ted move back to his bachelor pad and away from the siren with flashing eyes and boob-shaped-boobs.

And how in the hell is it that he seems to know where everything goes even better than Ted does?

Barney guesses he spends way too much of his free time in Ted's apartment. Far more time than he does in his own.

Still… he's sorting through a pile of Ted's heavy, old and way too dusty architecture books, when he finds the water pistols.

"Awesome!"

"What?" Ted tries to get up but bumps his head on the underside of his drafting table. "Ow!"

Barney rushes to the kitchen, turns on the faucet and fills one of the pistols, leaving the other in the sink. Hearing Ted call out, he whips around, pistol held out in front of him, held in both hands.

Hold on, what would be cooler?

He lets go with one hand, holding the pistol at arms length.

Is that the best one?

Then he grins. He turns the pistol 90 degrees and aims it right at Ted, gangland-execution style and starts pumping jets of water right into his face.

Ted yelps and dives out of the way but the front of his shirt is soaked. It doesn't take long before the pistol is empty and Ted is elbowing him out of the way. He's crafty, scooping water directly from the sink using a cup and hurling it like a grenade at his friend.

Barney leaps back, empty pistol in hand and backs away, while Ted fills the other.

"Stinson… this is WAR!" Ted yells, trying not to laugh, and fills the pistol to the hilt.

Barney turns tail and runs for the bathroom, slamming the door behind him and quickly filling his own gun once more. There's quiet outside the door so he opens it a crack, creeping through it, holding the gun up beside his right shoulder with both hands like he's in the freakin' FBI.

Ted jumps him from behind, squirting the pistol right into his ear.

Bastard.

He's thrown to the floor in the confusion and Ted manages to get a knee on his chest, smacking him down onto the floor. They both raise their guns and squirt water into each other's faces, spluttering, a torrent of water raining down onto the couch, coffee table, a bunch of Lily's magazines.

It's a mess.

When Robin arrives, they are both drenched, Ted's flat on his back and Barney's doubled over with silent laughter.

Robin calls them both "children", rolls her eyes and heads to Ted's room to get changed.

They high-five.

3. Slots

Spring, 2008

Barney goes to Vegas anyway.

The seconds drag by but the hours skip like frames in a picture book.

He sits on his bed in his suite at the Bellagio and he knocks back scotch after scotch. He goes down to the tables, to the high-roller room and plays poker like it's judgement day.

He wants to lose everything.

(It feels like he's lost everything)

But he wins. He wins. He wins.

(He's lost his best friend)

He hits on the cocktail waitress just because she's showing too much boob and it's against the rules not to. He's surprised when she drags him out back and in the end he nails her in the staff elevator.

He shouldn't be surprised. He's a thing, a doll, barely a person at all.

He's betrayed everything he stands for on the outside.

He's killed everything he thinks and feels, all the most precious things he believes in on the inside.

At four a.m. he goes outside and steps into the fountain. He lets the water splatter over him like a monsoon, hard, like pellets of glass, scratching his face and neck, soaking through the wool of his suit until he's weighed down by it. He sinks down until the water covers his thighs, groin, waist, chest... It's a balmy evening but his teeth chatter.

Perhaps he can just wash it all away, like a baptism, like when he and James used to go to St Thomas's when they were kids?

And for the first time in ten years, he closes his eyes and prays.

Because just saying he's sorry won't fix this.

4. Fall

Autumn, 2008

The first time it rains after he comes home from the hospital, Barney is doubled over in agony.

Every hairline fracture, every green-stick fracture, every compound fracture, every pink scar, white scar, every tear, every bruise, they all come back, all together and all at once.

Ted carries him/drags him up the stairs and into his apartment, gets him on the bed and forces tablets down his throat. Barney doesn't question it - there's too much pain for him to even see straight let alone think.

There's hours (although Ted tells him later that it was only about ten minutes) when he's screaming because his body is full of sharp edges and shards and it's like he's being cut to ribbons by the points and edges.

Then slowly, slowly, the spikes and jagged knives inside him recede and he's left trembling, trembling, his face wet with tears.

Ted drives him straight back to the hospital and they admit him for the night.

His brother sleeps by his bed.

In the morning, Barney listens, silently, head bowed, as the Doc reams him out about forgetting his meds, about drinking too much, about being responsible. He sees Ted's lips twitch into a smirk because he gets it, because it feels like they are naughty children.

Weird thing is, Barney was never a bad kid. He never got told off at school. That was James. Barney was the clever, quiet one.

And look where that got him.

But he's got no fight left in him because he's tired and woozy from the drugs and if the Teacher/Doctor doesn't let him sit down soon he's going to fall down.

Ted sees what's happening and he barks right back, gets in the Doc's face and he screams at him.

Barney smiles, sinking down into the chair, grateful to have someone to fight some of his battles again.

He loves angry-Ted.