They hadn't even known until it was too late – until it was over.
He'd wanted to delay, to wait, to not have to do this alone, but the funeral home spouted off things about policies and embalming techniques and schedules and other things he'd just tuned out. At the insistence of those closest to him, he allowed it to go on – let them plan everything while he sat in a chair next to a hospital bed.
The day of the funeral, he hadn't wanted to go. He wanted to stay in that chair, right next to that bed like he had since he himself had been discharged from the hospital. In the end, the only reason he agreed was when the doctors told him of the small surgery planned that day and that he wouldn't be allowed in the operating room.
There were a few key people missing from the funeral – all understood, but painful nonetheless.
Honestly, he didn't even hear anything that was said during the service or the burial – his mind was back in that hospital room.
The first time he really registered anything was when he looked up and realized he stood at the fresh gravesite alone. Barry walked up shortly after – in one piece, he noticed.
"Sorry I missed the funeral." Barry apologized.
Oliver didn't turn around. "Zoom?" Oliver asked of the villain that had been plaguing Central City over the last six months.
"Yeah." Barry let out a breath.
"There was a time I would have thought this was my fault. That I brought this darkness upon us. Now I know it's not my fault. It's my responsibility." He said, his mind once again on that hospital room.
"Responsibility? To do what?" Barry sounded worried – and honestly he should be.
"To end it." Oliver spoke. The darkness, the pain, the suffering – it had to end. "I'm going to kill him." Neither one of them needed to say who – both of them knew of the darkness he spoke of.
"Is there anything I can do?" Barry asked.
"I want to be left alone." Oliver simply said – alone before he went back to the hospital.
"Okay." Barry nodded, before speeding off.
Oliver resumed his focus on the grave – on the words carved, on the name, on the numbers that represented the short life that ended not even a week earlier. He knelt down, careful not to step on the fresh dirt. He laid his hand on the stone and a single tear fell down his face. He looked down and closed his eyes, once again thinking of that hospital room.
He lifted his hand and rubbed his temples, a throbbing beginning to set in. The pain, the grief – it was just too much.
It wasn't fair.
Of all the physical pain and the losses he'd suffered all his life, the last week was testing him the most. The agony was bone deep – soul crushing and energy draining to the point where he didn't know how exist anymore.
The only thing that kept him going was that this needed to stop. This darkness – the one they call Damien Darhk. He was beyond evil, beyond villainous. He had no purpose in his cause other than to inflict torment on others – him and his H.I.V.E. would pay for that.
He'd survived losing his father, Tommy, his mother, and all the others. He would have probably survived losing Thea as well, eventually anyway, but this –
This was unimaginable.
There remained the fact, however, that he wouldn't be alone in this grief and that was most painful of all.
A ringing in his suit pocket nearly took his balance and struggled to his knees. Cringing on the leg that was still healing, he pulled the cell out and immediately answered it.
"Ollie!" His sister answered the phone.
Rolling his eyes, he was about to tell her that he wanted to be left alone. "Thea, please—"
"Ollie, you have to come quick. The doctors, they say she's waking up soon." The younger Queen blurted out.
Oliver tensed. "She's awake? Does she know?"
"No, not yet – but they say she's showing signs of up waking up in the next hour or two. Ollie, you have to be here when Felicity wakes up. You have to be the one that tells her."
She didn't need to remind him of that.
"I a-am- I will. I'm on my way." Oliver grunted, standing up and ending the call.
He glanced back at the stone again, at the single year on that stone: 2015. With one last quick touch to the stone, he was off toward his bike – to Felicity.
End.
A.N. So . . . what did you all think? I just came up with this on a whim, but I might have ideas to continue this if there's an interest.