When Barry comes to, Caitlin knows something is wrong.

He hugs his side and groans, twisting on the sand. She asks, "Barry?" The bars separating them are five inches wide, but even for her lean frame, they're too narrow to slip through. "Talk to me. What's wrong?"

"My – side," he gasps, groaning deeply in discomfort. It breaks off into a cough and Caitlin feels a chill overtake her. "Cait."

"Keep talking if you can," she encourages, "you're okay, but you probably broke a couple ribs. Breathe."

"Cait," he whimpers, and it hurts. She can't treat pain.

"You're okay," she repeats, and she can feel Cisco's and Julian's gazes split between them, Cisco's brow furrowed in concern while Julian holds onto the bars, maintaining an air of composure that twitches when Barry lets out a yell.

It's a horrible sound, even for him, and as he turns on his side she urges, "Don't move." He's already forcing himself onto his side so he can cough blood onto the sand, ignoring her. She can't entirely blame him; unrestrained and in the same shoes, she'd do the same. "I know you're in a lot of pain, Barry, but I need you to stay still," she urges gently. "It'll make it worse if you move."

He coughs, huddling inward, and fear is sinking its teeth in. Even Cisco senses the abnormality of the situation, requesting in a quiet voice, "Cait?"

Barry twists on the ground, writhing in pain. "Gah—hahh!"

"What's wrong with him?" Julian asks. His voice trembles, just a little. Caitlin understands that fear; in a remarkably cognizant corner of her brain she's deeply, unpleasantly aware that if Barry dies, their odds of escaping nosedive.

Barry's breathing labors, his voice dropping to a thin moan as he curls up tightly around his own chest. It hits Caitlin, then; this isn't a broken-rib-bad scenario. This is a ruptured-kidney-bad scenario.

He's bleeding out internally. With his speeded-up metabolism, they're already approaching code-blue territory.

Straining futilely towards the bars, she makes a frustrated noise in the back of her throat, already aware that she can't slip through them. She can't, but maybe –

Her hands chill automatically, even with the power-dampening necklace around her neck. Cisco meets her eyes and she sees nothing but compassion and anguish there. Help him.I know you can, Cait.

She takes a deep, steadying breath and removes the necklace. Her hands freeze over instantly.

"Barry," she instructs, in a voice that belongs only half to her – the other half to Her. "I'm going to make the pain go away."

Barry's response is a deep, catalyzing howl. Caitlin draws in a deep breath. My name is Caitlin Snow, I'm a doctor, I work at STAR Labs; my name is Caitlin Snow, I'm a doctor, I work at STAR Labs; my name–

She douses death in ice, encasing his side in a swath of white frost. He gasps at the contact, quick, hyperventilating breaths easing into shallow inhalations after ten seconds. After a minute, the rictus of pain on his face fades into an exhausted grimace. He can't even feel the cold, she knows; not yet, anyway. It's a deep cold, a nerve-burning cold, that he won't feel until the cells regenerate. Then he'll really feel it, but then he'll also have a super-metabolism to help shake it off. Like a coat of burning tar, she admits, but it's necessary.

Crouching down, as close as she can get to him, she watches the pain slowly ease from his face. He gags a couple times when he tries to speak, eventually settling for a groan in lieu of an actual response. "We can't stay here," Cisco says quietly, sobered and scared.

No, Caitlin agrees, aware that she can only freeze time for so long before the damage becomes irreversible. "How are we going to get out?" Julian prompts.

"They need me alive," Cisco continues, eerily slowly. "If I'm not—"

It clicks. "Absolutely not," Caitlin says, a fierce, almost angry burn arising in her chest. "You are not going to kill yourself."

"No," Cisco agrees, looking right at her.

She feels sick to her stomach. "I'm not going to kill you, Cisco," she says, and she has to forcibly reign in the urge to snap at him. My name is Caitlin Snow, she insists. I'm a doctor, I work at STAR Labs—

"It's an option we have to consider," Cisco says.

Barry groans. "He's right."

Caitlin wants to clock both of their heads together. "It's not an option," she says firmly

"No—" With a monumental effort, Barry sits up. He's pale as a ghost and shaking, but he keeps upright. That's good, Caitlin thinks, momentarily distracted. But he shouldn't be exerting himself at all, is still dying, just in slow motion. "We need to … get out … somehow."

Dying in slow motion.

The wheels turn.

"It's risky," she says warily, hyperaware of the tension creeping back into Barry's expression.

"So's fighting a super-gorilla," Barry gasps. "Just – do it."

"Bar—"

"Please," he insists. "We have to." I have to.

She knows it's true; by the time they hatch an alternative plan, he'll die from shock, exposure, blood loss, or some unpleasant combination therein. They have to act now.

Standing because she can't be this close to him, can't see the tremble in his jaw, she holds out her palms. "If all goes well," she says, an inescapable tightness in her throat, "this'll be over in a flash."

It only takes a single shot to knock him down hard, his face bluish-white, his chest halting as he collapses back, deadweight, to the ground. He's a convincing actor, she thinks, star-fished and thoroughly sedated. Of course, the painful thing is that he very much isn't acting; is as dead as six feet under, and she's the one shoveling dirt on top of him.

After five minutes, her patience wears thin. Julian asks, "All right?" Caitlin can't answer. She can't take her eyes from Barry, counting the seconds.

Cryogenics is known to be an effective form of preservation, but she never, ever wanted to test it out on a friend.

By her best count almost nine minutes pass before Grodd lumbers into view.

She lets him sniff around, lets him find his deceased prey, and lets the real emotion bubble to the surface when she speaks. Grodd doesn't look at her, somewhere between at-a-loss and furious, a low-burning fury that is vengeance thwarted. I wanted to be the one to kill him, his tense shoulders say, and Caitlin feels like she's going to throw up.

Utterly indifferent to her, Grodd steps forward and opens Barry's cell door. He presses a palm to Barry's face and grunts in dissatisfaction. Cold. Dead.

One muscular hand wraps around Barry's leg and drags, and Caitlin grimaces sympathetically as Grodd tugs him out into the corridor, dumping him in a heap near the door. It's a take-out-the-trash gesture, and when Grodd saunters off it takes everything in her to hold her silence.

Cisco is finally the one to break it. "Okay, Barry. He's gone."

Nothing changes.

"C'mon, mate," Julian cajoles quietly.

There's an interminable pause. Then Barry's face vibrates, thawing the bluish tint from it, and a strangled heave escapes him as he lurches upright. Caitlin exhales. Barry coughs, struggling visibly to stand. "Did I freeze you too much?" she can't help but ask.

Barry shakes his head sluggishly, with a horse-dispelling-flies automation. "No," he rasps. "No, you didn't."

"Barry," Cisco breathes, relieved and a little too loud. Harry, arising from his quiescence, hushes him.

To his credit, Barry stumbles over to the locking mechanism and leans against it. Then he hunches inward, pushing as hard as he can, and with a burst of energy pries the gate open. Cisco and Julian pour out, Harry and she following. "C'mon," Cisco says, a supportive arm under his shoulders. "We've gotta get out of here."

Caitlin desperately wants to assess Barry's condition, but she doesn't dare – Cisco's right. They have to leave – now.

Barry reaches out, grabs a hold of her sleeve; cottoning on, she grabs Julian's arm, and Cisco takes Harry's as Barry leans forward, breathing deep, and runs.

They stumble to a halt outside the city, Barry all but wheezing for breath. "We should be far enough from the city for you to open a breach," he instructs Cisco, hunching over his knees. Caitlin has no way of knowing with his suit covering the injuries themselves, but she can almost see the angry, aggravated bruises dappling his chest.

A gorilla roars nearby, sending shivers down her spine, and they take off, Cisco throwing open a breach they plunge into. Harry and Julian stumble through, followed by Caitlin and Barry, Cisco trailing after them and exhaling explosively when his feet touch the floor of STAR Labs. "Thank God," he breathes shakily.

Barry crumples; Joe is just in time to catch him. "Barry," Iris breathes, a hand rising to her mouth, and Caitlin is already helping Joe drag the barely-conscious speedster to the med bay. It only takes eight seconds for her to get the top half of the suit off his shoulders; the black and blue mat that meets her is somehow even harsher than she anticipated.

She doesn't dare freeze him again, but she does drain the excess blood around the wound. He scarcely complains, thin little breaths the only sign of his distress, weakening once she finishing aspirating the region and bandages it up. By the time she's satisfied he's no longer critical, it's hard to tell if he's even truly conscious, his eyes open but unfocused, his attention hard to gain.

"Barry?" She actually snaps her fingers a little, trying to pull him back. "Hey. You're at STAR Labs."

His jaw works. "STAR?" he repeats stupidly. For a moment, Caitlin thinks, Amnesia. But then he qualifies, "Cisco opened a breach."

"First try," Cisco admits, clasping his calf. Barry grunts softly in undisguised pain. Cisco removes his hand with an apologetic, "Sorry."

"S'okay." Barry tries to sit up a little more rather than continuing to use Joe as an impromptu lean-to, but the effort is either too painful or simply too exhaustive to bother. He sinks back down. "Hurts."

"That should pass soon," Caitlin says.

"How soon?"

He must be feeling bad, Caitlin reflects guiltily, if he's asking. "Within an hour," she says quietly. "Maybe two."

"Mm." Barry seems to take stock of his larger audience, reaching out and squeezing Iris' hand. "Hey. Sorry. 'M okay."

"We have a very different definition of okay," Iris says, eyes glassy but hand steady when she lifts his, kisses the back of it. "I'm just glad you're here."

"We both are," Joe says. "And I am never letting you chase after evil telepathic gorillas again."

Barry makes a soft sound, somewhere between argument and agreement, before his eyelids slide shut, head tipping to rest on Joe's chest. "'M tired," he admits.

"Never again," Joe insists, hugging him lightly. "Go to sleep, Bar."

Barry obliges, and Caitlin feels some of the tension dissolve from her teeth.

"Thank you," Joe says, looking right at her, "for bringing him back alive."

Caitlin nods once. "Of course." Wouldn't have it any other way.

She starts to walk – give them privacy, a chance to finally relax – when a soft voice rumbles, "Cait."

She steps up and Barry fishes for her sleeve, taking her hand in his – colder than normal, but still warmer than it has any right to be – and squeezing it. "Thank you," he mumbles.

In response, she squeezes his hand back. You're welcome.

Their lives will never resemble "normal," but as long as they're all accounted for at the end of the day, she can live with whatever in-between means.