Samuel Allen was 17 when his mother was killed by something impossible and his father was put in jail for it. Samuel was 17 when he was left to care for his 12 year old brother, Barry. Samuel was 17 when he started having nightmares of a man in yellow surrounded by lightning.
He was 18 when he dived into a life of crime and recklessness. He was 18 when he started motorcycle street racing. He was 18 when he earned the name Racer in the crime world as a thief.
Samuel was 19 when pulled his first crew heist. Samuel was 19 when he was diagnosed with depression and suicidal tendencies. Samuel was 19 when he stopped working with criminal crews.
He was 20 when he met Leonard Snart. He was 20 when he stole a heist from right underneath the future Captain Cold. He was 20 when he nearly got himself killed.
/—/—/
Sam cursed inwardly as he took a sharp right turn down the alley way where he had left his bike. Of course someone else would have been targeting the jewel he stole. Of course he just had to run into them. Of fucking course he was up against a full fucking crew. The one time he pulls a heist without letting a crew with him.
Thank God he was wearing his normal heist gear, and not a simple robber mask. His motorcycle helmet would protect his head from rough blows. Bang! Unfortunately it would not protect him from a gun. Sam cursed quietly as he ducked his head as a stray bullet nearly hit him. The young 20 year old practically threw himself over his motorcycle and turned on the engine.
"C'mon c'mon c'mon," Sam whispered as he kicked the engine into gear.
Click. Shit. Sam froze on his bike as he felt the pistol dig into his back. Right against the spine. Sam slowly rose his hands in a surrendering position. The young male's heart was pounding against his rib cage and thrumming in his head. Joe would kill him if he ever found out about what he really did for a living now-a-days and Barry would kill him if he died doing this.
"Step off the bike."
Sam glanced over his shoulder at the voice. You've got to be kidding me, Sam thought as focused on the man who had him at gun-point. Leonard Snart. A man you never wanted to cross. A man who had a very good reputation as a thief.
This could either go really good or really bad. Sam slowly stepped off his motorcycle and turned the engine off, turning to face the older man. Snart looked him up and down slowly, trailing his eyes up his body causing a light shiver to curl up Sam's spine.
"I'm impressed. No one has ever stolen a heist out from under me," Snart said his voice cool and collected as he dragged his eyes appreciatively up Sam's body again.
"Can't really take that credit now. You have me a gun point. Didn't really steal anything if you caught me," Sam replied back thanking his voice modulator for hiding his identity.
Snart cocked an eyebrow at his voice as he studied him quietly. The blue-green eyed male took a step forward causing Sam to take a step backwards. Snart smirked as he pushed forward until he had Sam backed against the wall of the alley way. Sam's breathing hitched behind his helmet as Snart stepped into his space pressing the pistol against his hip. That should not have the effect that it does.
"My, my, if I didn't know any better, Racer, I would say you have a bit of a gun kink," Snart smirked pressing the pistol into the hollow of his hip.
"Snart. Don't," Sam swallowed as he glanced down at the loaded gun shivering slightly at the use of his street name.
"Hand over the artifact you stole from my crew, and I won't tell anyone else you were here. Wouldn't want you to lose your reputation just because you stole the wrong artifact at the wrong time," the older male drawled as he reached his other hand up to pull at the bottom of Sam's helmet getting extremely close.
Sam snatched at Snart's wrist physically stopping him from pulling off his helmet. The tension between the two heightened as Snart flicked his gaze up and down the other thief's body again. If there was one thing that Sam cared about when it came to this job it was his identity. No one knew who Racer was and he would like to keep it that way.
"You'll have to buy me dinner first to get that," Sam spoke his voice slightly teasing trying to ease the tension between them as he held out the artifact in his free hand.
Snart smirked lightly as he pulled his wrist away from Sam's grip and grabbed the artifact. The tension eased between them as the older male backed away and put away his pistol. Sam rolled his shoulders and pulled his helmet back into place from where it had slightly shifted up.
"Pleasure doing business with you Racer," Snart drawled eyeing the younger male up and down one last time.
Sam merely snorted and shook his head as he headed for his bike giving Snart a small two finger salute. As first meetings go it was far from Sam's worst.
/—/—/
Sam was 21 when he started fixing motorcycles for a cover story. Sam was 21 when he was recruited for A.R.G.U.S.. Sam was 21 when he slowly started to become more of a soldier than a thief.
He was 22 when he got trapped in an Afghanistan prison for a crime he never committed. He was 22 when he was tortured and raped for information. He was 22 when he broke himself out of a high security Afghani prison and killed his assaulters.
Sam was 23 when he was initiated into the Russian Mob. Sam was 23 when he started to use his skills as a thief to become more than an asset for A.R.G.U.S.. Sam was 23 when he let himself suggest the idea of a Suicide Squad to Amanda Waller.
He was 24 when he was sent to Canada for a mission. He was 24 when he was blinded in his left eye. He was 24 when his sniper was shot causing the shrapnel to enter his eye.
/—/—/
Sam cursed quietly as he adjusted his scope for the second time. He hated the cold. He hated snow. He hated the fact that this was a stealth mission, but he needed to move every-now-and-then to stay alive. Sam sighed as he focused on his target.
"Alpha this is Wolf-1 target is moving to the second floor—," Sam spoke into his comms only to cut himself off with a sharp intake of breath as pain exploded through his skull.
Sam didn't even realize he had fallen backwards from his position and was grabbing at his eye. He didn't recognize his own scream. All he could feel was the pain in his skull and the fact that he couldn't see from his left eye.
He was blinded in his left eye. For good.
/—/—/
Sam was 25 when he moved back to Central City. Sam was 25 when he began working as a gun for hire to keep his mind off the man in yellow. Sam was 25 when he started being more present in Barry's life.
He was 26 when he picked up his life of crime again. He was 26 when he started stealing from people who earned their riches through illegal and cruel manners, and began giving to the needy. He was 26 when became a vigilante.
Sam was 27 when he met a member of Lewis Snart's crew. Sam was 27 when he got Lewis Snart sent to Iron Heights. Sam was 27 when he was named an anti-hero in the streets.
He was 28 when he ran into Batman in Gotham. He was 28 when he earned the Gotham Bat's respect. He was 28 when he was named a Gotham Vigilante.
/—/—/
"You've been named a Gotham Vigilante," the dark knight spoke up from his position behind Sam.
"I saw the headline," Sam answered his voice rough from little use.
Batman didn't react to the answer, but he did move to stand next to younger man.
The two stared over the edge of the roof that they were on. The silence caused Sam to sigh heavily. Batman turned to look at his new partner.
"What's your plan now," the dark knight asked as he turned to look over Gotham again.
"I think I'll go back to Central. Gotham already has a hero. It doesn't need another. I need on check on my brother as well," Sam glanced at the older man at the question.
"If you need me, you know where to find me," Batman nodded glancing over to the side as a siren went off.
"That's your cue. Go. I can handle myself," Sam smiled lightly at the sound.
"I trust you'll do fine in Central. Till we meet again," Batman nodded giving a smile of his own as he stuck out his hand.
Sam nodded and took the firm handshake.
"Till we meet again."
/—/—/
Sam was 29 when he became Central City's dark guardian angel. Sam was 29 when he began to clean up Central City's streets. Sam was 29 when he went and saw his Dad in prison for the first time in years.
He was 30 when Barry found out his identity. He was 30 when Barry had to dig a bullet out of his side. He was 30 when his PTSD kicked in and tore his mind apart.
Sam was 31 when he had a panic attack on the Fourth of July. Sam was 31 when he fell apart in his own apartment. Sam was 31 when he realized how much he needed his brother.
/—/—/
The first firework was what caused it. Logically, Sam knew what it was the second his heart rate picked up. Barry was holding him tightly to his chest whispering soft nothings into his ear. Fuck, he's supposed to be the comforter. He's the older sibling. The sound of another firework went off and Sam whimpered.
He was used to phantom pain, but not like this. The sound of the fireworks had sounded too familiar to a sniper round going through a scope. It was like he was in Canada again.
"It's okay Sammy. I'm here. I'm here. Nothing's gonna hurt you. I'm right here," Barry whispered as Sam rocked into him keeping his lungs from giving out.
God, he loved his brother.
/—/—/
Samuel Micheal Allen was 32 when lightning struck.
/—/—/
So this is my first story in this fandom. The Arrowverse belongs to CW. Hope you enjoy. This will follow Canon closely with only a few changes. Please do leave comments even if you don't favorite it or follow. Thank you.