AN: One-shot on what-if Barry and Len had met before Barry became the Flash.

Leonard Snart, thief, son of a bad cop, had a reputation in the criminal underworld as one who took the characteristic 'cool-headed' to a whole new level. Some thought him meticulous to a fault, counting down every move in a heist to the last second and woe to the person who threw off his schedule. He could work alone or with a team, so long as they followed his rules.

Despite his hatred for his abusive father, and his scorn for the police force, Leonard was against shooting cops. Kill a cop and you had the whole police department on your trail, tearing apart the city until they found you. No, Len did not want that kind of attention on his case. The only good thing the cops had ever done was arrest his father.

Everyone thought Len as cold as steel, heartless, and at twenty-six he had helped more than one person meet their Maker. Leonard Snart was not a good man, he was not nice but there were those happy few who would remember his kindness. For all his dark deeds, Len was not a monster and there were many things he did not approve of. Even a criminal such as he had a line he would not cross. Such as abuse, unnecessary violence, bad cops and kicking a man when he was down.

Len would be the last person to admit it, but he had a soft spot for sob stories, and kids out of their league. Like the too skinny, obviously in his first year of college, kid who was currently getting quite a beating.

Now all Len wanted, was to walk into one of his favorite bars and relax. Have a few beers, maybe look for a few contacts and see if there was anything worth stealing on the move, but mostly he had just wanted to relax. However, looking down the alley and seeing a scrawny kid being battered to a pulp had stopped him cold in his tracks.

If Mick Rory had been there Len would have told him he was stepping in because it was four-to-one, and the thief was all about fair odds. Len could, of course, handle four ticked off college students, no problem, but he perfectly understood why others might struggle handling such a fight.

"That's enough," Len said, stepping into the alley, using his business voice, cold and hard.

The four bullies, all looking like football scholarship types, turned to look at him. The leader, Len pegged him as such since the red head was the primary beater, paused mid-strike, the two holding up the poor freshman nearly lost their grip from shock and the fourth, who had been filming the entire thing, swung the camera in Len's direction.

"Stay out of this!" The leader snarled, "It doesn't concern you."

Len took the remaining steps forward, grabbing the raised fist that was readying to clobber the kid in the face. Whose bloodied and bruised nose and mouth clearly showed he could not handle another hit.

"I said," Len tightened his hold, a cool smirk appearing on his face when the football player winced as his fingers were crushed, "that's enough."

The leader stared at him in shock, before his face twisted in outrage and Len felt a thrill of excitement shoot up his spine. Giving bullies a taste of their own medicine was always satisfying.

With his hand still trapped in Len's grip, the leader tried to kick out at him but Snart was no rookie. When the bully raised his leg Len pulled him off balance and sent him careening into the garbage dumpsters near the bar's backdoor. The 'runt abuser', as Len tagged him, staggered to his feet, flexing out his right hand and glaring at Len's grinning face.

"Get him Butch!" One of the others yelled.

Butch? Really? Any person being given that name was just bound to be a bully.

'Butch' charged Len, lowering his head and shoulder in what was probably a signature-tackling move of his, but Len dug in his feet and swung. Throwing his weight into the punch, Len's fist smashed into Butch's face, knocking the college athlete to the side.

Len was on top of him then, grabbing Butch's right arm and twisting it back. A whimper of pain had Len looking up, just in time to see the two who had been holding the freshman charge him. They had dropped the runt, leaving him to lie in a heap on the dirty ground while they rushed their leader's attacker.

The thief wrenched Butch's arm, earning a yell of pain from the leader, before dropping the limb. He let the other two get close, grabbing a swinging arm and kicking out before getting both by their heads. He brought them quickly together, bashing against one another and let them fall with pained groans. Len turned to the fourth, still holding the video camera, but staring at him wide, fearful eyes.

Walking with deliberate steps toward him, Len grabbed the camera and pulled the memory card out of it. Tossing the camera back to its owner Len sneered, "Get out of here!" and the young man paid no heed to his fallen companions as he ran out of the alley.

Len surveyed his work, tucking the memory card in a pocket to be destroyed later. Then he turned to the runt, who was breathing hard and looking up at him with glassy eyes. Sighing, Len reached down and gently lifted the kid up, helping him to the backdoor. "Come on it, kid, let's get you cleaned up."

Really, his work was done. He had saved the kid, beaten up the bullies; he really should just send the freshman to a hospital. But that face, that bloodied face and bruised eyes looking at him, reminded him so much of when he had looked in the mirror, after his father had gotten done with him.

So Len did what he had never done before, he took a civilian to a back room of the bar usually reserved for those criminals who needed a more private place to convene. It also had a first-aid kit, which Len grabbed after he sat the kid down by a table. Opening the box, Len got out antiseptic wipes, Band-Aids, and some Tylenol to help with the pain.

"What's your name, kid?" Len asked, carefully starting to wipe away the blood from the battered face.

"Barry," the kid whispered, wincing at every touch Len made. "Barry Allen."

"Name's Len, and that Butch sure did a number on your face. Any idea why?"

"He—" The kid, Barry, broke off, a whimper escaping his mouth as Len dabbed at cleaning a nasty cut over Allen's left eye. "He said his girlfriend had called me cute. Told me he'd break my face up so she wouldn't think so ever again."

Len rolled his eyes, more at Butch then at the kid though. "Well, the good news is he didn't break your face. You won't need stitches," Len said, using a scissors to cut a couple of the Band-Aids into butterflies. These he used to pull together the cut over Barry's eye, as well as another on the kid's cheek.

Cleaned up Barry Allen looked even younger than Len originally thought, he surely could not be in college. "How old are you, kid?"

"Eighteen."

Len raised a dubious eyebrow, "You look fifteen."

The flush of indignation rising up over the kid's skin would have been amusing, had the boy's face not been so bruised. Hiding a smirk, Len finished taking care of Barry's face, when he was done the white butterfly Band-Aids stuck out clearly against the purpling black bruises and red cuts. The kid looked a sight, and anyone seeing him on campus would know see the marks left by those football jocks.

"You hit you anywhere else, kid?"

Barry hesitantly lifted his shirt, showing the bruises marring his stomach. "Winded me when I tried to yell."

Len winced in sympathy, "Nothing much I can do for those, kid. Now, where do you live? I'll give you a ride there if it's close by."

Barry shook his head, "You don't have to do that, I can just go back to my dorm."

"Kid, no offense, but I think you should take advantage of the weekend, go home and put ice on your face so the bruising and swelling goes down. Come Monday you'll look a lot better and less like you'd been run over by a football team wearing their cleats. Now, do you live here in Central City?"

Thankfully the kid gave in, "Yes, I do. My foster family has a house in the suburbs, other side of town."

Foster family, huh? Kid was lucky someone had taken him in, unlike Len though his sister Lisa had landed in a good home. Len had seen to that.

"Come on then, my bike's out front, and we'll get going. Your foster dad got any beer in the fridge?"

Barry smiled, wincing almost as soon as he did from a split lip, "Yeah, he does. Joe likes to keep some on hand in case anyone from the department stops by."

Len froze, about to enter the bar area and looked back at Barry. "Department? Your foster dad a cop?"

"Yeah, he is, Joe West, you know him?"

Well, wasn't it a small world? Joe West had been one of the officers arresting his dear old dad. Len had a list of every cop involved in the arrest, just in case he ever got wind of any of them being in trouble. Leonard Snart paid his debts, and he owed a debt to each one of those cops for putting Lewis Snart behind bars.

Did saving the hide of the foster son of Joe West wipe his debt to the man? Maybe it did.

He would have to find a way out of going inside for a beer though, for Joe West would surely recognize him. Len had already done time in juvie and prison for a few crimes, before he got good at covering his tracks. He knew the cops had leads, and suspicions about him being involved in other crimes, so, no need to add fuel to the fire by walking into a cop's house.

The ride to the kid's home was quiet, neither being really able to speak since they were on a motorcycle and Barry was probably in too much pain anyway.

Once they reached the house Len was relieved to see it dark, hopefully he could continue his little act of charity before being spotted. "Well, here you go, kid, I'd better get going it's later than I thought."

Barry's face fell a little and he shifted a little unsteadily on his feet, "Oh, okay."

"Remember, put ice on right away to keep the swelling down. You got any Vicks in the house? A neat trick I to put Vicks on wherever you have any bruising and it will help. In about four hours you'll be good for some more Tylenol, or if your foster dad takes you into the ER be sure to tell them you've had some Tylenol already if they try to give you anything."

"Thanks. I–" Len wondered if the kid was blushing, he could not tell but the way Barry bit his lip nervously implied he might be. "I hope some day I can be like you."

Len started, his fingers tightening over the handlebars, "Like me?" Did the kid know? Had he seen something? His foster father was a cop after all; of course he probably showed Barry pictures of people he was trying to arrest.

"A hero," Barry half smiled, a little bit of a far away look appearing in his eyes. "Some day I'm going to be a hero, like you, and I'm going to prove my dad's innocent, and I'm going to get him out of prison."

The kid known as Barry Allen ducked his head then, acting like he had said too much, but Len was too shocked to think what that might be.

"Well, goodbye. Thanks again."

Barry Allen walked up the steps and rang the doorbell, a light appearing on the second story window jolted Len out of his daze. Without a backward glance he fired up his bike and took off, not really paying attention to anything until he was back in his crummy apartment. A cold beer in hand, Len sat down and took a few swigs before laughing.

A hero? Him? He was the son of a bad cop; bad blood practically flowed through his veins. He was no hero. He was a thief. He liked stealing. Liked taking from rich snobs who never had to worry about a thing their entire lives. Heroes were noble, the characters in folklore that always won.

Heroes were good people, like Barry Allen. He looked like a good kid, had turned out right despite, from what he had said, that his real dad was in prison. Just like Len's was.

Len put his beer down and walked to the nearest bar, he needed something stronger to drink. Needed to forget the similarities between him and that kid Allen. Needed to forget Barry's words about being a hero.

People like him were not heroes, they did not get happy endings.

{After the Flash and Captain Cold have met, when Len kidnaps Cisco and his brother.}

Len grabbed the annoying twit's hand, bending a finger back just enough to make Dante Ramon yell. "The name, Cisco!" He yelled at the kid scientist, needing to know the Flash's identity. If he knew that, he would have the city's hero under his thumb, the power such a hold could bring.

Cisco Ramon, held by Mick, fought tears as he watched his brother get a beating. Len did not want to actually break something; he did not want to take this farther. Surely Cisco had to break now.

"Barry," Cisco whispered, hanging his head in shame. "His name's Barry Allen."

Len smirked, the thrill of winning rushing through him, but it quickly turned to ice. That name rang a bell in his memory, he knew it, he was sure he had met someone by that name years ago.

Then he remembered.
"Barry Allen?" He let Dante go, crouching down in front of Cisco, grabbing the kid by the chin and making him look up, "Barry Allen is the Flash?"

"Yes," Cisco whispered.

"Well then," Len whispered, equally as soft, "looks like Barry got part of his wish after all."

AN: So, how was that?