As Barry wakes up, he slightly shifts his hand and places it on his thigh. He lets out a sigh in the realization that he still couldn't feel anything. It was becoming more and more frustrating by the day. He wanted to be able to walk. He wanted to be able to run. He wanted to be able to fight back.
But he couldn't. He was stuck in his own pit of misery— glued to his bed or a wheelchair, powerless against the people who did this to him. He had become completely dependent on someone else. He couldn't go to the bathroom on his own. He could not shower on his own. He could barely eat on his own. Yet, not even a month ago he was speeding around Central City saving lives.
It enraged him. It saddened him. It also motivated him.
He kept thinking about the day he would regain the feeling in his legs and would have the ability to act on the thoughts that poisoned his mind. To finally be able to run again. To be free of the chains of the paralysis that restricted him and set him back in his goals of vengeance. He wanted to get back to work but for the moment, he couldn't. He had to accept his predicament and allow others to help him get stronger because ultimately that was his goal— to be stronger.
He looked to his right and smiled. He seemed to tame the irate feelings that flew around in his mind. Oliver rested on his back, having a peaceful restfulness about him. He knew he was going to have to wake him up, there was no other way for him to get ready for the day.
He slightly nudged Oliver with his hand and got no response. He then started to shake his shoulder in a light manner, saying Oliver's name repeatedly. He woke up in a panic, immediately turning to look at Barry with worry. "What's wrong?"
"Nothing," Barry tells him defensively. "I was just waking you up."
Oliver lets out a sigh in relief before bringing his attention to the clock on the nightstand beside him. "We need to leave soon, don't we?"
Barry nods. He reaches his arm out to Oliver, giving him a smug smile. "I'm sure Cait won't mind us being a little late."
"I do not want to test that," Oliver says softly. Barry was set to start some physical training to strengthen and retrain the muscles that had weakened in his upper body during his coma.
Oliver takes Barry's hand. "Any change?"
"Nothing." Barry responds in defeat. Oliver shoots him an empathetic look with his eyes before mustering up an assuring smile.
"It'll come back soon. Just have patience."
Barry patiently waits in the bed as Oliver makes his way to Barry's closet, grabbing a tee off of a hanger as well as a pair of loose sweats from the dresser that rested next to the doorway. He walked towards Barry, placing the clothing items next to him. He rests his hand underneath the small of Barry's back and lifts his torso up, using pillows to prop up the upper half of his body.
Barry lifts his arms up, allowing Oliver to slip on the tee over his bare body. He finishes it himself by pulling it over his ribs and stomach. One after the other, Oliver places Barry's legs through the elastic waist, carefully drawing the pants over his limp legs. Barry felt none of it. He just watched as Oliver assisted him in doing something he used to be able to do for himself every day. A daily skill that his parents taught him to do, something that had become a natural, routine thing for him to do in the last 29 years of his life. He physically was unable to do it.
"It's cool outside." Oliver begins. "You want a sweatshirt?" Barry somberly nods his head bringing his attention away from Oliver as he slides the hoodie over him. "You need to use the bathroom or anything?"
"Could you bring me my deodorant?" Barry asks. "And whatever I need to brush my teeth?" Oliver shoots him a soft smile before walking out of the room to the bathroom. When he returned and handed him what he had asked for, he gave Barry a questioning look. "What?"
He purses his lips. "Do you need help or anything?"
"I can handle brushing my teeth." Barry tells him stately. Oliver throws his hands up in defense and slowly steps backwards. He turns around and makes his way back into the bathroom, shutting the door behind him.
Oliver had handed him a glass of water with his toothbrush as well as the tube of toothpaste. He squeezes a dab of the paste atop of the bristles, slowly bringing the brush into his mouth. As he began to scrub his teeth, he felt the muscles in his arm getting tired. He attempted to use his opposite arm and it only became weary quicker. He eventually had to use one arm to give the other support as he struggled to efficiently brush his teeth.
Weakly, he reached over to the nightstand to grab the glass of water, taking a swig of it and splashing it around in his mouth before spitting it back into the cup. As he tried to set it back onto the stand, his arm gave out on him, causing the glass to fall to the ground and shatter.
"Damn it!" Barry yells, causing Oliver to run back into the bedroom with Iris following close behind. She stood at the doorway as Oliver ran to the bedside. "I can't even brush my fucking teeth!"
Oliver gives him an assuring but empathetic grin. He softly pats the top of his thigh. "You're fine. . you're fine."" He looks at the shards of glass that were scattered on the hardwood floor below him. "I'll go get something to clean this up."
He squeezes by Iris through the doorway as leaves the room. Her eyes are locked on to Barry's— he can sense the hurt in them. He sighs and looks down at his hands that rested limply in his lap. "I'm pathetic. I know."
"You are absolutely not," Iris replies stately. "Caitlin said you can start working on your upper body today. You'll get your strength back. Just have patience."
Barry groans. "Patience doesn't come easy to me anymore, Iris."
"I know, Bear." Iris looks at him knowingly. She walks to his bedside and sits beside him, lightly grasping his hand. "But you're going to be okay. We are going to be with you every step of the way."
Barry smiles, squeezing her hand in response. Oliver walks back into the room, broom and dustpan in hand. As he finishes sweeping up the shards of glass, he looks up to Barry with assuring eyes. "You'll get there soon."
Oliver finishes cleaning up the broken glass, handing the remains over to Iris as she had offered to take them downstairs. He quickly throws a hoodie over his bare skin and slips on a pair of shoes. He looks over to Barry. "You ready?"
"So you're just going to carry me everywhere?" Barry quips as Oliver prepares to life him from the bed.
Oliver lets out a laugh. "I'll carry you down the stairs. They've got a electronic wheelchair waiting for you at the bottom."
"Guess that puts me in good company," Barry tells him smugly, nodding to an old mentor figure who had betrayed him.
He lifts him off the bed effortlessly, staring at him with a smile before beginning to walk. "Guess so."
They are met downstairs by Joe and Iris, who were awaiting him by the wheelchair. Joe helped Oliver set him into the seat, adjusting Barry's lower half for him.
The dependency and high maintenance that followed Barry drove him even closer to madness. He couldn't ride in a normal vehicle anymore— he had to be driven around in a S.T.A.R Labs van that was specifically manufactured for someone to be able to maneuver it in a wheelchair. He had to be followed around, everyone checked his every move to make sure he was breathing normally.
He felt pathetic even though everyone was telling him otherwise.
Caitlin started him with some basic strength exercises in his arms, liking lifting them up and bringing them back down. She allowed him to do some curls with extremely light dumbells. But even with the slightest exercises, he would quickly grow weary. His muscles felt weak. He had trouble breathing .
Everyone told him it was normal. Caitlin even told him he was making progress.
He believed otherwise.
The weakness started to become less of an issue in a few days time. His arms and upper body felt stronger. His breathing was slightly improving.
Physically, Barry was getting better. He knew it. His legs, however, had gained no feeling yet. They remained motionless, without even the slightest tingle.
Everyone assured Barry that it would come back. He believed it. But everyday that he woke up without feeling, another portion of his sanity went away. Another light in his heart was dimmed. He could sense the darkness beginning to make its presence more known every hour.
He couldn't fight it anymore. He was done fighting it.
Barry was like a runner before a race, sitting steady on the line— his front leg bent, back leg straight, steadily standing in a position awaiting for the green light to start running. And when the green light was given, he would take off and never look back.
The man he was before the start of the race was lost in the gunfire. A new race was about to begin.
-/-
"So Caitlin said I should be getting feeling back in my legs any day now." Barry tells the group as he's sprawled out on the couch. Oliver sits on the floor next to him, with Joe and Iris on the loveseat across from them.
"How is everything else feeling for you?" Iris asks.
"Everything else feels great," Barry begins. "I'm just ready to be able to run again."
"It'll be a while before you're able to do that, you know." Joe adds stately.
Barry nods nonchalantly. "I know, I know. I've been out of commission for nearly a month and a half now. I'm ready to get back out there."
Oliver intently listens in on the conversation, feelings his nerves grow in intensity as Barry continues to talk about getting back out into the field. It worried him on multiple fronts— his overall safety and how he would handle himself and the criminals he faced.
He was beginning to remind him of who he was when he first became a vigilante— someone who saw everything as black and white. Someone who believed elimination was a better punishment than imprisonments.
Not only did he fear for Barry, he began to dwell on who he was then and who he is now. Regret added onto the all-consuming feeling of fear. As his emotions overtook him, he stood up and began to walk out of the room and towards the door. Barry questioned where he was going.
"I just need some air." Oliver walks out the door of the West home, feeling footsteps rushing behind him. He turns around slowly to the sight of Iris staring at him intensely. "Can I help you?"
"The question is do I need to help you?" Iris replies, crossing her arms as she sternly responds. "Because it's fairly safe for me to assume you're about to head to a bar."
Oliver sarcastically laughs as he completely turns his body to face her. "Let me guess," he begins with a mocking tone, "you're about to tell me how I need to quit turning to alcohol to deal with my problems. I get that enough at home in Star City."
"No." Iris says, holding out her elbow for him to take. "I'm going to go with you."
-/-
"Whiskey?" Iris asks inquisitively. "I always saw you as more of a beer drinker."
Oliver shakes his head, taking a long sip out of his glass. "It's easier to drown myself in whiskey than it is beer." Iris shoots him a questioning look. Oliver's face becomes sullen. "You seem to forget, I'm an alcoholic. I don't drink for the hell of it."
"I actually didn't know that." Iris responds.
Oliver furrows his eyebrows. "Barry never told you?" Iris shook her head. "Well, you knew I came here just about every night whenever Barry was in a coma. I figured you were able to infer it."
"That's not my place, Oliver." Iris watches him down the glass as two shot glasses are placed in front of him. "I can't even begin to comprehend what you've been through."
Oliver downs the shot before smugly smiling. "Everyone has their own issues. I just choose to deal with mine by ruining my liver."
"The things you've had to live with, the burdens you've carried and still carry— you've survived. A lot of people don't."
"Look at you," Oliver starts, a kindness seeping into his tone. "Your life hasn't been easy? You've lost people. You've had to watch Barry suffer. Have you turned to alcohol?"
He brings his attention to the wooden countertop that stood in front of where they sat. He fiddles with the glass in his fingers before finishing. "You're strong, Iris."
"And you're not?" Iris asks in disbelief.
"You and Barry's engagement turned me into this. Something that small set me off." Oliver sulks before taking the second shot. "I'm pretty damn weak."
"Quit saying that." Iris tells him stately. "Addiction does not make you weak."
Oliver asks the bartender for a draft as he feels Iris' stare burn into the side of his face. He disagreed with all she was telling him. He could not deal with the crucibles that life put in his way. Even before he turned to alcohol, he felt as if he was barely trekking along the road— as if he was crawling to the finish line with broken arms, struggling to even move an inch. Drinking doesn't rid him of this feeling yet it allows him to feel like he can make it one more minute, one more hour, one more day.
He stares down at the glass in front of him, not bringing his attention to Iris as her's had never left him. He takes a long breath before responding hollowly, "then why can't I stop?"
"You can-"
"I can't!" Oliver responds harshly. "Do you not understand that there are demons that are screaming in my head every fucking day?" He looks to her. "My life is full of darkness. Full of loss. Full of regret. It will never change. I can never change."
"I've accepted that. So should you."
Iris sighs as she watches Oliver down half of the glass without even breathing. She brings her hands over his arms, forcing them towards the countertop causing the beer to miss his mouth and fall in his lap. "I'm not just going to accept that."
"Why not?" Oliver asks, already perturbed at her stopping him mid-chug and making a mess of his drink. "Why do you give a damn about me?"
Iris closes her eyes, taking a deep breath in an attempt to compose herself before she speaks. "Because my mom was an addict. And her being an addict tore my family apart."
She changes the position of her arms to where her hand gently rested over Oliver's arm. She looks at him with passion and intent. "And frankly, I hate seeing someone else self-destruct their life like she did. Someone who has so much more to offer the world."
"I don't want that for you— and I especially don't want that kind of pain for Barry. It would destroy him. He cares so deeply about you. "
Oliver bites his lip as he feels it begin to quiver. He looks away from Iris as tears slowly build up. "I don't want that for Barry either."
"Hey," Iris places her hand on Oliver's cheek and turns it to face her. She smiles at him softly "Remember when I said it's okay to cry?"
Oliver meekly smiles back before letting out a shaky laugh. "I hate myself for being this way. For what I do to myself and my loved ones."
"So be better." She tells him. "Be better not just for Barry but for yourself as well." She stands up and reaches her elbow for him to grab. "You can start by picking yourself up now. Let's head out."
Oliver pulls out his wallet and leaves two twenty-dollar bills on the counter. He stumbles while placing his hand on her elbow. They try to take a couple of steps but Oliver could not keep his balance, causing Iris to have to brace his arm with her shoulders and handle a good bit of his body weight.
"Do you really think that your addiction really stemmed from Barry and I's engagement?" Iris tells him as they trek back to the West home.
Oliver shakes his head. "I think it triggered it."
"So you've had these issues before?"
"I drank a lot in college," Oliver explains. "But it was never to cope or escape. I loved alcohol and the feeling it gave a little too much then— it was just fun."
Iris purses her lips and gives him a knowing look. "I think a lot of us were like that. What makes this different?"
"I loved that feeling then and I remembered that feeling. And whenever Barry told me about you and his engagement I-" he trailed off, clearing his throat as he felt it closing up. "I felt like I needed that feeling to stop all the pain I felt, all the regret that I felt. It was a downward spiral."
"Tell someone this. Tell someone who can professionally help you," Iris begins. "Go to AA meetings, counseling."
"I'm ashamed of myself." Oliver states sullenly. "Doesn't that just show that I'm weak?"
"No." Iris tells him. "It proves that you're strong enough to rise above it— and beat it."
They arrive back to the house. Iris helps Oliver up the steps as he was still trying to regain his motor skills. He stumbles into the door as Iris opens it, causing Barry to jump and bring his attention to the door. "Is he okay?"
Oliver nods as Iris leads him to the couch. She aids him as he takes a seat beside where Barry sat. "He just had a bit too much to drink."
"Are you drinking again?" Barry asks Oliver with concern. Oliver nods.
Iris begins to walk towards the stairs, putting her hand on Barry's shoulder as she spoke. "I'm going to give you two the room."
Barry keeps his sights set on Oliver as Iris leaves. His attention doesn't move from him. "For how long?"
Oliver takes a deep breath and exhales shakily. "About a month after we got together ."
"Ollie. . ." Barry sighs. His tone was not sharp but gentle and sincere. "How come you never told me?"
Oliver had assumed that he would be filled with disgust and hurt. His eyes were full of hurt— but it wasn't in disdain for Oliver's disclosure. It was in sympathy. He hurt for him.
"I thought I was doing better," Oliver begins. "I had you and I thought that was going to be the end of it." He stops to swallow the lump that rested in the bottom of his throat. "But then life got hard again— work was overwhelming. I missed you. And when I had finally come to terms with my addiction again, you were shot."
"From then on, I knew who I was. I knew what I was— an addict. I felt like I no longer had anything to live for. I hated myself. I hated who I was and who I'd become. So I simply did not care."
Barry then takes Oliver's shaking hand and brings it to Oliver's cheek. He uses his finger to wipe a tear that was slowly rolling to his jaw. "But you have everything to live for. You've got your thriving job, your city. You've got you sister, your team— you've got me."
"You told me whenever I drank the formula Cisco made for me to get drunk with that I was better than that. You told me to lean on the people closest to me," Barry takes Oliver's hand and brings it closer to himself. He grasps it tighter. "It's time you take your own advice. Laurel and Felicity are here for you. Iris is here. I am here. And we care about you so fucking much."
"You can and will be better, Oliver." Barry finishes with a smile. "I believe in you. We believe in you."
Oliver keeps his gaze on Barry— staring at him with pride and affection. He bites his lip as he tries to hold back tears, squeezing Barry's hand as he does so. "I'm going to start going to AA meetings as well as counseling. I want to turn my life around."
"I will be with you every step of the way." Barry smiles, accepting a soft kiss from Oliver not long after he finishes. He looks over to Iris, who is standing at the top of the staircase with an approving look. He flashes her a smirk and she returns the gesture before walking out of his line of sight. He turns back to Oliver.
"You grew up with a great family, Barry." Oliver tells him knowingly. "You're incredibly lucky."
Barry grins. "I know. And it's nice to see that they've already accepted you as apart of it."
Oliver nods with a smile. Barry raises his arms up, signaling that he was ready to go bed. Oliver laughs before lifting Barry from the couch, cradling his back and his knees and holding him close to his chest. "For someone who consumes nearly 10,000 calories a day, you're fairly light."
"Years of doing that salmon ladder did you a lot of good," Barry remarks, his tone becoming sensual. "A lot."
"Ha ha," Oliver says mockingly. "I get it. You're only into me because of my body."
"You finally figured it out."
The two men laugh together as he continues to carry Barry up the stairs and to his bedroom. Oliver helps Barry prepare for bed— pulling the corner of the sheets and comforter out from under the pillows for him to make his place in the bed. He aids him in taking his clothes off before putting him under the covers. "You need anything else?"
"Not right now." Barry responds while shaking his head. He was asleep not long afterwards, exhausted from another day of adjusting to what would temporarily be his new normal.
Oliver's new normal was yet to manifest. It terrified him to the core— having to openly talk about his issues and breaking down the walls between the people in his life. Talking to Iris and Barry tonight lifted a weight off his chest, allowing him more room to breathe. It began the airway for peace. Something Oliver so desperately wanted to feel. It was a first step, a small one at that.
Yet it was the biggest stride that Oliver had yet to make.
-/-
His chest felt as if someone was pressing a large rock against it. He could feel his heart beating rapidly. The feeling of tens of eyes being locked on him caused his face to become filled with warmth. He nervously tapped his heel against the floor as he prepared the words that he was going to say in his mind.
He took a deep breath before looking up to face the attentive crowd. They were all sitting in chairs awaiting the words he was going to say.
"My name is Oliver Queen. And I'm an alcoholic."