"You've never tried to kill me," Barry said, finding it easier to focus on the absurdity of that statement than on everything he had just said. "Not really. If you had killed me, you would've had to go back to being the best and...that would have been boring. So, no. You've kidnapped my friends and you've stabbed me in the back and you are kind of a total dick who likes terrible puns, but you've never tried to kill me." Time and distance had helped him see that Snart had a code, however strange that had been. The casualties from his escapades were minimal - even the security guard had likely been a case of assuming Barry would be faster than he was at that point - and he didn't use violence if he didn't need to. He'd even killed a potential ally to save his life. So Barry knew, if nothing else, Snart wasn't a killer.
He gritted his teeth as the thief moved around him, knowing he was doing it to poke at his nerves but unable to entirely rein in his reaction. "It's about helping people," he said. "The threats we face...I was the only one who could stop them. And now I can't. Even when I had my speed, I watched enough good people die because I wasn't good enough. And now...I can't be a hero any more. Not the way I used to be. And yeah...it's selfish. I miss it. I miss feeling like...like I matter. Like I'm special. But who wouldn't? I had freaking superpowers. And I've lost that. But it's not just that. I lost my mom. And I watched my dad sit in jail for years for something he didn't do. And I just...I wanted to make sure that, if I could help it, that would never happen to something else. There's only so much you can do inside the system. But as the Flash...I could make a real difference."
He looked down again. Snart was voicing all the things he'd thought about his condition. "I don't know why it hasn't healed here," he said. "Maybe it's something with this place...or something with me...I don't know." He might have said more, but the next words startled a laugh out of him. He wasn't even sure why it was funny, but it was.
He rolled the chair into the kitchen area, purposely running over Snart's foot as he did so. "Oops," he said with feigned innocence, because he really could be petty when he wanted to be, "sorry." Opening the fridge, he pulled out a bag of marshmallows and tossed them at Snart. "Iris keeps them in there. I don't understand it. Happy now?"