Leonard Snart

The job shouldn't have gone sideways, shouldn't have gone so everfucking wrong. But it had. New security upgrade that they hadn't been told about, hadn't gotten the plans for. Cold is all for improvising but he is going to ice their contact for an oversight like that.

Provided he doesn't bleed to death first.

The bullet caught him high in the chest which was an honest relief. Any lower and he'd drown in his own blood. Cold had barely made it to Rhys's conscious, passing out shortly after he broke in.

A distressed voice and hands on him had Snart fighting for consciousness. No. No. Don't touch. Rhys had moved him, was using a small pair of silver scissors to cut up the front of his shirt. He can hear the indrawn breath as his scars are exposed. His flaws. Every time when he wasn't strong enough, wasn't good enough, wasn't something. Len forces his eyes open and for a moment all of his walls are down as he closes a bloody hand over a tattooed wrist.

"Don't." A broken plea. Don't talk about the scars. Don't ask where they came from. "Please."

Before Rhys can acknowledge or even protest, he slips back into the darkness.