Disclaimer: I do not own Arrow, the DC comics, Supernatural, Grimm or Buffy the Vampire Slayer - I just borrowed characters and elements of those shows for my own amusement.

A/N: This is what I consider the "pilot" episode of a series. The episode is complete and I'll post it all eventually, whether or not I continue to develop the series will depend on how long my interest remains with the project. This episode is set in 2012 with the actors playing close to their actual ages at the time. Constructive criticism is appreciated and pleasant reviews enjoyed.

Starring: Colin Donnell, Stephen Amell, Katie Cassidy, David Ramsey, Willa Holland, Audrey Marie Anderson

Guest Starring: Andie McDowell (Rebecca Merlyn), Susanna Thompson, Jessica De Gouw, Jacqueline MacInnes Wood (Sarah), Kelly Hu, Summer Glau, Amy Gumenick, Roger Cross, John Barrowman, Ryan Robbins, Kathleen Gati, Terrell Ransom Jr. (JJ Diggle)

Part One

Yellow eyes gleamed in the settling dusk. A wind whistled through the park situated on the edge of the city. A rabbit nibbled on its dinner, upwind of the wolf. The wolf inched forward in a crouch. The rabbit paused; its nose twitched as it scented the air, and tensed. The wolf's hind legs tightened in preparation for the opening salvo of a life-and-death chase. Then a ribbon of flame whipped through the trees. The rabbit bolted but the wolf paused in confusion, an almost human intelligence replacing instinct. An instant later the ribbon of fire slapped the wolf's flank. Now instinct overrode intelligence, but it was too late.

The wolf bound in the opposite direction of the rabbit. A square wall of fire burst a quarter-inch off the forest floor, cutting off the most direct route out of the woods. The wolf skidded to a halt mere inches from the searing blaze. The fringes of his fur curled and smoked as he took off in a new direction. He tried to course correct, to flee the park, and return to civilization where he knew he'd be safe. Another square of flames blocked him and then another followed, forcing him back into the park. Each time he tried to pick a new direction a wall of fire prevented him, and the ribbon of flame lashed at him, corralling him.

A clearing appeared. The wolf recognized the end, his end. The sparks ahead told him before he arrived. He wanted to run in any other direction, but fire hemmed him on the sides and the ribbon whipped behind. The wolf entered the clearing, snarling. The walls of searing heat and light enclosed around him. He spun around, seeking a break, but there was none. The heat was suffocating; fear, human and animal, pierced his body. Six dark forms cast shadows through the flames as they walked through the fire, tightening their net around the wolf. A laughter, cruel and female, echoed in the night. The wolf howled.

SR*SR*SR

An emancipated boy lying in a cot, reaching with a skin-and-bone hand for help. A woman in a gele wept over her husband's prone form. Black and red flesh from second- and third-degree burns. The busted remains of leg that had had the misfortune to meet a landmine. Blood and broken bones, so much blood. A wolf writhing on the floor, yellow eyes shifting to blue, a man whipped and burned, then a wolf again. Howls of pain.

Thomas Merlyn woke with a gasp. He shot up in his bed and for a moment expected to hear the rat-tat-tat of machine guns in the distance. Sweat slicked down his back and he sucked in a ragged breath. His pulse raced from the nightmare; the memories of the horrors he'd seen, all smashed together. When his mind at last recognized the guest bedroom he'd been loaned, Tommy calmed down. He untangled from the sweat-soaked sheet and padded his way to the en suite. Water gushed out of the faucet as Tommy held onto the rim of the sink, his head bowed. After several calming breaths, he cupped his hands under the cleansing flow and bent his head lower. Scentless, chilly water splashed against his face and washed away the last traces of his nightly terror. He ran his dripping hands through his hair and down the back of his neck. Then he turned off the tap and patted his skin dry with a hand towel.

He observed himself in the mirror, the bathroom half-lit from the rising sun. A three-day-old beard, tense shoulders, and dark bags under blood-shot eyes. He looked a wreck. The nightmares certainly weren't helping. The wolf was a new part to the ever-repeating montage of his worst cases. For a moment he'd felt the man's pain, had felt as if he were transforming from human into beast himself, and had been beaten and starved for days. The terror he'd felt as that wolf, that had been what had woken him up. He wondered what his subconscious mind was trying to help him sort through with the image of the wolf. Could be a few things, and psychiatry was not his specialty. Still, Tommy couldn't get back to sleep; not after that dream. He walked over to the sofa and hunted around for the remote to the TV. An hour or two of mindless distraction would have to suffice instead.

SR*SR*SR

The sleek, silver Aston Martin whipped around the other car on the road. In the passenger seat, Tommy resisted the urge to hold onto the door for dear life. A glance at the speedometer showed sure enough, they were cruising along at a hundred miles an hour. One hand on the wheel, wearing a dark pair of shades despite the overcast sky, Oliver Queen smirked at his childhood best friend. One part loyal, two parts reckless, and devoted to living life on the edge; that was Oliver in a nutshell.

Tommy wouldn't have survived medical school if not for Oliver. When the workload threatened to overwhelm him, Oliver was there to drag him out of the books for a decompressing night on the town and a decent amount of sleep. Any time Tommy voiced doubts about following in his mother's footsteps, Oliver reminded him of all that he'd accomplished already and could do, if he persevered. Oliver may not have known what he wanted out of life, but he certainly knew how to be a great friend.

As they neared the busier roads leading into Seattle, Oliver slowed closer to the speed limit. The police would be more prevalent now. Oliver was reckless, but occasionally responsible, and he didn't want to get a ticket. Traffic picked up, forcing Oliver to slow further as they made their way towards the hospital.

"You sure you want to do this, now? We could always get a drink first," Oliver offered as signs started directing them to their destination.

"It's nine-thirty in the morning, what bar is open?" Tommy retorted, a small grin breaking.

"Well, for you, mine is open and free," Oliver replied with a proud quirk of the lips.

"You mean you haven't burnt that place to the ground yet?" Tommy joked.

"Now you sound like my mother." That reminder, unintentional as it was, drove a nail through Tommy's chest. His grin disappeared, the humor lost. Oliver apologized.

"It's fine," Tommy answered, a little stiff but his voice devoid of the pain in his chest; "Thank you – for the offer. And thank you, for letting me crash at your place."

"You're family Tommy, you're welcome any time."

Tommy nodded to acknowledge he'd heard. Family was a touchy subject for him, but he appreciated the place the Queens had made for him in their family, and they knew it. They drove the last leg in silence.

SR*SR*SR

The hospice wing carried the same antiseptic smell and feeling of emptiness as the rest of the hospital. Tommy disliked the scent of death and hollow heart that clung to a hospital, despite his profession. Perhaps that was why he'd jumped at the chance to work in a third-world country after his residency ended. He'd had no strings tethering him to the city, no loans to worry about as his parents had paid for his schooling, and he'd been thinking his stories might impress some women. He'd thought he'd have an interesting experience, then come back home and join his mom's clinic, make her proud.

The people he'd met in that war-torn country had showed him what a self-centered fool he was. He'd done his best but lost so many. And the faces of those he couldn't help would be with him forever. A part of him had wanted to stay in the end, but the part of him that knew he couldn't take much more had been relieved to go home. He just wished he'd come back to happier news. Not this.

He found the door that read: Merlyn, R. For a breath, he hesitated, and then steeled his nerves. He twisted the handle and walked into the dimly-lit room. The heart monitor beeped in normal sinus rhythm. Her oxygen levels sat low, even with the tube down her nose, but that wasn't unexpected with her body shutting down on her. A morphine drip snaked along the edge of her bed and into her pale arm. A splashy, yellow and blue bandana wrapped around her head and provided the only color in the room besides the burgundy roses. The flowers were from his father; she didn't even like roses, she preferred daisies. Though she'd been sleeping when he arrived, as Tommy settled into the chair next to her, Rebecca Merlyn stirred.

"Tommy?" she rasped.

"I'm here Mom, I'm here," he grasped her stretching hand between his own. Her hand was so cold and frail. His mom had never been frail to him before. Her eyes found him, alert and intense even as her body failed her.

"I have so much... I need to tell... you," Rebecca whispered, then paused due to a dry mouth. Tommy found a plastic cup filled with water beside her bed. He brought the straw to her lips and helped her take a few small sips. She weakly patted his hand in thanks. "Don't push yourself Mom, just rest."

"No, you don't… understand. When I die…the gift, the gift… will pass, to you."

"I don't want to talk about money Mom."

"Not your trust fund… I thought, I thought we'd have… more time…I wanted to prepare you … but even I couldn't… see this, see my end… I'm so sorry Thomas, so sorry," a tear welled in her eye. Tommy brushed it off her cheek and soothingly rubbed her shoulder.

"It's alright Mom. Don't upset yourself, I'm okay."

"Listen to me Tommy," Rebecca grabbed his hand and mustered the last of her energy, knowing they wouldn't have enough time; "You're going to awaken. The world you think you know is only one side of the truth. Once my gift passes to you, you'll see. You'll have visions of what is to come, what might be. They're only the beginning. You must prepare yourself, you must stop it. Find the journals, they'll explain what I cannot."

Then Rebecca collapsed back on her bed. Her rhythm turned tachycardic and she heaved. A seizure hit, and Tommy pulled her onto her side as nurses rushed in. They pushed him out of the way and reminded him he didn't have privileges at their hospital. The doctor on duty arrived and tweaked her lorazepam line. His mom settled down and drifted off again. After the medical staff left, Tommy returned to his seat. He tugged her blanket up higher and watched her sleep. She had an inoperable oligoastrocytoma; the brain tumor had been messing with her mind for months. Her stories about demons and witches had been the symptoms that at last alerted people to her failing health. They'd been too late.

His mom had been dying and Tommy had been half the world away. She'd held on long enough for him to return home to say goodbye, but her mind was too far gone to have the conversations he wanted. Tommy wiped away the tears streaking down his cheeks and took her hand again. He was here now, that was all that mattered.

SR*SR*SR

Dressed in only his boxers, Tommy turned off the lights in the bathroom. He took a sip of water from the glass he kept near his bed, then slipped under the sheets. He clicked off the nightstand lamp, plunging the room into darkness. Hopefully tonight he'd have a peaceful REM cycle. He should've known better.

The nightmare started out the way they all did. He was back in the med tent. The doors flapped to a nonexistent wind, revealing the arid landscape outside. He was arctic chilly inside. A dozen cots lay on either side of him, neatly made with thin brown blankets and thin white pillows. He was alone. Then in a blink, one cot held a man. Bloodied, in pain, hand reaching out for aide. He froze; stethoscope in one hand, syringe in the other. The man on the bed groaned. Revulsion choked him.

Then the nightmare twisted. The man on the cot changed into a white man with yellow eyes. The cots disappeared, the medical tent too. Tommy found himself neither here nor there in the dream and semi-alert. He was a spirit observing the dream-world. He saw the white man's back. He'd been stripped naked. Bruises and lashes covered his back. Chains held the man to the floor; thick, silvery chains that rattled with every wheezing moan. Water dripped unsteadily and slow in the distance.

Tommy cringed, and the man vanished. An inferno roared around him. Dark orange, angry red, pinpoints of white, and flickers of blue and violet flames. The blaze rose ten, twelve feet above his head. Heat ate at the very marrow of his bones. The flares cackled. He tried to suck in a breath and couldn't breathe.

The inferno whooshed away. He found himself in darkness. A wolf howled, high and rapidly. No other voices joined. Then a scaled, black hand with claws for fingers reached out of a fiery pit. The hand reached up and up, seeking to grab Tommy. He flailed his arms, trying to go higher, to get out of the way. He instinctively knew that if that monstrous hand touched him, he'd die. The white man appeared again. His face huge and directly in front of Tommy. His eyes weren't yellow this time, but blue and filled with fear. "Help me! Please! Help me!" the face begged, searing its façade into Tommy's mind.

Tommy gasped, and his eyes snapped open.

SR*SR*SR

Coffee, black, steamed in the mug. Tommy picked up the cup and wandered back into the Queens' parlor. He was having brunch with Oliver and his family. The food was all ready and sitting in the dining room, they were just waiting on Thea Queen to tromp downstairs. Oliver's younger sister seemed to enjoy arriving fashionably late to everything. Moira had marched up the stairs a short while ago to usher her daughter down at a reasonable hour.

Oliver sat on a peach-colored sofa in the parlor; the television on but muted. Tommy meandered over to the alcohol and debated spiking his drink, just a little. A flash on the screen caught his eye. He turned to look and nearly dropped his mug. Hot coffee sloshed onto his hand. Tommy yelped and cursed. He set the cup down and shook his stinging appendage.

"You alright there?" Oliver turned around to glance at him.

"I'm fine. Just needed a jolt of coffee to wake me up," Tommy deadpanned. Oliver chortled and returned to the news.

Tommy headed for the nearest linen closet where he knew the Queens' housekeeper kept towels. He looked at the television one more time before he left the room. The white man from his dream had his face plastered on the screen. According to the headline he was a local hero who'd suddenly gone missing. Tommy had never seen his face before this morning, so how had he dreamed about the man the night before?

Moira and Thea made it downstairs while Tommy finished blotting up his spilled coffee. He retrieved his mug and followed them into the dining room. Oliver went to fetch his newest girlfriend who'd gone in search of the powder room. Brunch was a pleasant affair that reminded Tommy of happier times in his youth. Thea chatted about her college classes, groused about some of her professors, and mentioned an internship she was hoping to get in the spring. She'd really settled down from her wild-child days in high school, though she assured Tommy she still knew how to party. Oliver's current fling gushed about the romantic trip he'd surprised her with a couple weeks earlier. She had curly black hair, was kind of leggy, and Tommy had already forgotten her name. Tommy and Thea had a bet going that she wouldn't last another two weeks – Thea felt one week was optimistic. Oliver smiled at his girlfriend whenever she patted his arm and grimaced behind his cup when she called him sugar. Tommy tried not to laugh at his friend's expense.

"What about you Tommy?" Moira asked with a kind smile that hadn't reached her eyes in years; "Did you enjoy your volunteer work?"

That was so like the matriarch of the Queen family. She never wanted anyone to feel left out at a gathering. She'd had a sadness about her since her husband's death four years ago, where only Oliver had miraculously survived. Yet she still went out of her way to look after Tommy. She was basically a second mother to him. That was why he only told her about the better days and the victories he'd had abroad.

"My apologies," Raisa, the Queens' housekeeper and Tommy's other surrogate mother, said after knocking on the door frame to get their attention; "Mr. Thomas has a phone call. The hospital."

A few minutes later, Tommy wished he'd stayed in the dining room, in that peaceful moment before his world crumbled.