This is my version of how Snart should return to DC Legends. And Sara. Because if Barry can do whatever he wants to do to the timeline, then so can I.
After it had first happened, she refused to believe it.
It couldn't have been true.
She remembered the looks of pity that the rest of the team had given her at first. As if she was some wounded animal they all looked down on, as if she needed their pity.
That was far from the truth.
Mick was the only one who treated her as if she was a person.
Sara had started sleeping in Snart's room at night, disliking the empty feeling that had invaded her own room. When she was in Snart's room it was as if he was coming back, as if she wasn't quite as alone as she felt. Sometimes Mick would join her, coming into the room and simply sitting in there with her. Neither one of them would ever utter a word, simply sitting and remembering what they had lost.
They would remember Snart.
After a week or so, Sara started talking again. It was a while longer before she started feeling again, before she could let herself feel. Any emotion she might have felt would have been a betrayal, an act of heinous against his memory. So she chose not to feel. Chose not to love.
At the moment she was sitting on the floor of Snart's room, going through some old pictures on her phone. Laurel, her dad, Snart. She smiled at the last one – she'd taken it when he wasn't looking, capturing him at his best. That was one of the last missions we had been on before he died, not long after she had gotten back from the League.
She laughed out loud at the next picture. Apparently, Snart had had some fun on her phone, finding several snaps of Leonard giving her the finger, which she promptly returned, not even thinking about the motion.
She smiled, feeling a warm feeling somewhere deep in her chest. It was probably the first thing she had felt in a while. At that realization, her smile fell and the feeling vanished, betrayal and guilt replacing it.
"Don't give up, dammit."
Sara snapped her head back at the door, the origin of the voice. If she didn't know any better she'd think it was –
"You can't think like that, Sara."
She saw him. Really, truly, saw him. Snart.
Immediately she was torn between hundreds of different emotions, anger, disbelief, and hope. Small as it was, it was still there. Still thriving.
It was the only thing keeping Sara from snapping this false-Snart's neck at the moment. She jumped onto her feet, reaching for her bow staff located in the corner of the room.
"One step closer and you lose the hand," she warned the imposter. "Gideon," she started, "let the crew know we have a stowaway." She glared at the man standing before her, her eyes flashing in anger.
"Bastard," she spat. "You're not him. You can't be."
The man tilted his head, smirking at her, "I'm not what you think I am, Sara. I'm real." Sara looked at him, hesitating – she was torn.
He took advantage of that, taking a step closer to her. She tightened her grip on her bow staff.
"You can't be real, you can't be real," she muttered to herself. It just didn't make sense. "You're dead." She stated this as if it was the most ordinary thing in the world, when in reality it was probably the most heartbreaking. It was tearing her heart in two to look at him.
The fake Snart looked up at her, his gaze piercing her soul. "You've been dead before," he stated softly. "You know it's not impossible." His eyes were pleading, begging her to see the truth in his words.
Begging her to see him.
Something inside her broke at that moment – she didn't know what it was that did it. The eyes, the voice, the way he moved; it was pointless guessing. All that mattered was that she was broken, and weak, and angry at the death of a man that had shown up after months of mourning.
"Snart?" She looked up at those eyes, her voice failing her.
"Sara, I have to tell you," but he didn't get a chance to finish, Rip coming up from behind, knocking him out with the back of his gun.
"Bout time," she croaked, her voice failing her entirely. She sank to the floor, taking the imposter's head into her hands, her fingers tracing every inch of his face, hoping that it was real.
"Come on, Sara," Rip looked at her, "let's go see who's come aboard our ship." His eyes were soft. "Maybe.. ." he started, but it was too late. She wasn't listening anymore.
She placed Snart's head onto her lap, placing a soft kiss onto his brow. "I just want you back," she whispered into his ear. "Is that too much to ask?"