Barry saw the moment when it hit Snart, the way his smirk turned into something else, and he wanted to scream. This was what he had wanted to avoid. He was so tired of the pity, or worse, of the looks people gave him like his condition was hurting them. He knew they didn't mean anything by it, but he felt so angry every time, so helpless and devastated and furious because this was his life now. The looks and the uncomfortable silences when people couldn't find the words.
"Stop looking at me like that," he wanted to snap it, to yell at Snart the way he hadn't been able to with Iris or Felicity or Jay, but it came out quiet and choked. "I have enough people looking at me like I'm broken. I don't need it from you."
It wasn't fair, taking this out on Snart. He hadn't done this to him. He'd been, in some ways, almost a friend at times. But there was so much pain and anger and it was clawing at him. He didn't know how to deal with it. He felt like he had when he'd learned the truth about Wells, that the man he had trusted and looked up to and believed in had killed his mother. It was that feeling like the world had fallen out from under his feet, only every single day.
"I was going to tell you." The words came quietly after a long moment. He couldn't look at Snart, so he just looked down at his legs. His useless legs. He gave a brittle laugh. "Not like I could hide it. I just...I felt normal for the first time in months and..." It wasn't an excuse. He wasn't trying to make an excuse. He was just so tired.