The words didn't really shake him. Yelling was a language he was intimately familiar with. He'd learned how to be non-reactive to the confrontational years before Barry Allen had even been born. Not that there was any comparison between Lewis Snart and the frustrated kid in front of him. Not at all, but practice helped him keep that neutral expression on his face. And he could understand, too. There were reasons that he liked provoking Barry that had nothing to do with the crime or even a dislike. The kid was in his element. Making adjustments, getting better, which in turn was a benefit to his own skill. The Flash was a sight to see and he could imagine that the gravity of losing the best part of his abilities was no easy thing. Why would it be?
"First, don't apologize to me. I hate when people apologize. It feels wrong. Especially when I've tried to kill you myself." He wasn't going to let Barry forget that, because it was important. To him, specifically. Regardless of whether or not he really was trying to.. atone for something with this whole Legends business, the past was very much set in stone. He'd learned that the hard way, very recently. And he didn't need his sins to be erased. Least of all by Barry and his frustrating penchant for optimism.
"Second," he paced around him, intentionally, well aware that Barry's movements were hindered but that didn't matter. "Assuming you can't help people without your legs is ignorant. So you can't speed a kitten out of a tree. Find something else. Or stop pretending that it's about helping people and not about you being able to help people better than everyone else." He'd made it to the coffee table by then and started paging through the various things scattered there before he set his sights on the kitchen space. If Barry asked, he'd say he was casing. In truth it was more of an excuse not to look at him too much just now. For all the bravado, Barry in a wheelchair was still going to take some getting used to.
"Third," he had his nose in a cabinet by then, but with intent now as he moved on to the next and then the next. "I saw the TV spots. Is that what he calls himself? Zoom? Not very original. But if he broke your spine then, that was before Christmas. Which means you're supposed to get better. And you haven't. So maybe it's not what's going on down there," Len shut the last cabinet behind him and finally turned his expression on Barry again. "Maybe it's what's going on up there. In your head. Or this place. Whatever it is, I assume it's for a reason."
Len settled then, temporarily at least, with his hip cocked against the countertop and his arms crossed over his chest. Ever assessing, but at least this time he had the decency not to look self-satisfied. He really wasn't happy about Barry's state. Not at all. Even considering his attempts to end him in the past, that wasn't actually what he'd wanted.
"And you're still out of little marshmallows, by the way."