When Roy looked back on his life, on the whole of his accomplishments, he often focused on the more artistic moments. The first time he was praised for his art. The first time he sold a painting. The first crime he got away with. Meeting the Rogues and all the heists they had managed to pull off. Beating the Flash and the cops.
He considered those matters of high art as well.
He couldn't have ever imagined that his single greatest accomplishment would come down to, not his artistic ability, but his ability to start a fire.
But here he was.
Hunched over a small pile of wood and paper, both of which were covered in dust and what was most likely some type of killer mold. Hands shaking. Water dripping from his hair down onto not only his hands, but also the match he was desperately trying to protect.
The paper stuffed in between the wood was stained. But he was certain it wasn't from the rain. He hadn't noticed it at first, when Digger had grabbed a magazine off a nearby table and started stuffing the paper in between the logs. Those small stains that seemed to spread into everything.
Digger should be doing this. The man had more survival skills than Roy would ever accumulate over the course of his entire life.
But Digger had stood up to grab the matches off the mantle of the fireplace and had promptly passed out on the ground.
Massive amounts of blood loss, exhaustion, and endless days without sleep tend to do that to a person. The man was still bleeding sluggishly on the ground beside Roy. His wounds having reopened…at some point. Digger needed medical attention.
Roy turned his attention back to the wood.
First things first.
Start the damn fire.
It seemed like every time he tried to strike the match his hands would slip. The little splinter of wood would bend or break. He tried to keep using the head of the match, even when it was just a nub. Get couldn't get his damn hands to work like they should. How hard was it to strike a match?
Even when he was successful, and there would be a sudden spark, the wood wouldn't catch. The paper would remain frustratingly untouched by the small flame.
He was getting low on matches. Only having several in the box when he started. He didn't want to see how many chances he had wasted. Didn't want look at the physical remains of his failures littered on the ground around him.
It didn't help that he kept feeling his eyelids slipping closed. Every few moments his eyes would move without his permission, his head longing to lay on the ground. To just be able to rest…
He had taken the matches from the mantle when Digger had passed out and then forgotten why he was holding them.
57 hours was too long to go without sleep.
He tried to shake off the exhaustion. Tried to focus on his current repetitive motions. But found himself being oddly soothed by it.
Strike the match.
Create a spark.
Watch as the paper resists the flame.
Watch the match burn out.
Start over.
Was it because his hands were wet? Was it because the magazine paper was stained or should he try to find a book or something else to burn? Though that would require him to move from his hunched position, and if he did that, he might end up like Digger.
If Mick was here…
Roy shook off that thought.
He'd seen Mick light a thousand fires in the years he had known him. And not always with his gun, though it had been his preferred method. The man had made it seem so easy. Like the fire just jumped from his fingers. Like the fire belonged to Mick.
He didn't know how long he sat there. He was ignoring everything else happening around him. Those LexCorp drones could be hovering above his head right now and he would never even notice. He was focused. This was important. He had to do this.
Start a fire.
Don't freeze to death.
Don't let the others freeze to death.
He could do this. Cave men figured out how to do this for god's sake.
Light you worthless piece of…
He takes a deep breath. Tries to refocus.
It's just a fire. He can light a fire. He can do this. He can… Please. Just one little…
The paper catches. Roy stares at it dumbfounded for a moment. His hands had already pulled out another match, already starting the process over again. His body taking too long to catch up to the idea that he had actually accomplished his goal.
He blows lightly on the paper. He doesn't really know why. He'd seen people do it in movies when trying to start a fire. And it always worked for them.
After another eternity, the wood finally catches. Roy almost cries in relief.
He started a fire.
He looks at it for a moment, feels the heat start to build around his face. It's so warm…
His head almost slams into the fireplace before he catches himself.
He forces his eyes open. He can't sleep. Not yet. There's…there's other things he was supposed to do.
Axel is still unconscious in the car.
Digger had managed to carry in Lisa, and Roy had all but dragged Mark through the door of the remote cabin. The rain outside had been relentless. In the time it took to walk from the car to the door, they had all been soaked through. The freezing cold seeping deep into their bones, from the combination of rain and sleet. Digger was supposed to go back for Axel, but had fallen asleep.
Like an ass.
Roy sighed. The mercenary had been shot. Twice.
If anyone deserved the rest it was Digger.
Especially since he had taken one of those bullets when protecting Shawna.
Roy looks at the three of them. Digger unconscious on the floor. Lisa and Mark laying half on top of each other on a couch that only barely qualifies for the description. Loveseat might be a better name. Why anyone would buy a loveseat instead of a couch, if there was room for a full size couch, which there clearly was here…what was he supposed to be doing? Moving the couch? Roy found himself staring at the floral pattern, he can only image that it must be doubly horrific in color.
He shook his head slightly. Damn it, focus. He started the fire.
That was only step one.
Roy struggles to his feet. He has to get Axel out of the car. His left knee twinges, the pain so dull and muted he forgets that he should be screaming. Should be lying down with his leg propped up, letting the wound heal. He wasn't in any condition to be carrying Axel, he could barely stand without wanting to fall back down and curl up into fetal position.
But he was conscious.
Which was more than any of the other Rogues could claim.
He drug himself back out into the downpour. At once cursing it for being so cold, and thanking it for being the only thing that saved them from being caught. The sleet causing the drones to have to fall back, the rain and clouds blocking any satellite surveillance.
It takes him several tries to get the door open. The handle fumbling between his unresponsive fingers.
Axel looks pale. The kid was always pale, but now he was damn near ghost like. He's shivering and Roy mentally apologizes to the kid. Axel is still dry. Things are only going to get worse for him for a bit. Roy puts his hands under the kid's armpits and drags him into the house.
He winces when he drops the kid inside the cabin. Axel's head bounces off the wood floor. He should have tried to be more gentle, but his hands had simply lost the ability to grip the kid with anything resembling strength.
He…he should go out and hide the car. Move it so it isn't so noticeable. He still didn't know what happened to the others. Being separated after that last attack had…
He can barely stand, he can feel himself getting weaker by the second. He brought Axel inside, that had been step two. There was still more to do.
He'd started a fire. That…that was supposed to make things warmer, wasn't it. But he was still shivering, his hands still almost numb. He looked down at his shirt and pants, they were completely soaked through. The fire wouldn't be enough if they didn't get out of their clothes. He limps over to Digger and lowers himself to the ground beside him.
The hoodie the mercenary was wearing takes a few tries to pull off. But Roy manages it eventually. There are no more boomerangs hidden on the unconscious man. He'd used the last of them against those cops…yesterday? Or was that two days ago? Everything had run together in one endless moment of fear and adrenaline.
He starts on the man's shoes and socks, then pulls off Digger's pants. He finds himself incredibly thankful the man was unconscious. He can only imagine what Digger would say about this situation.
Roy thinks about rolling Digger closer to the fire. He dismisses the idea almost as soon as it forms. His arms barely had the energy to pull off the man's shoes. Not to mention the fact that he might push Digger too close and accidentally set him on fire. So he just checks on the bandage on Digger's leg and the one on his shoulder. There's nothing he can really do for either of those.
He moves slowly over to Lisa, pushing Mark off of her so that he slumps against the other side of the loveseat.
He's got her shirt off and is working on her shoes when he feels a hand on his head. Take him a second to understand it means she's awake.
He'd be embarrassed in any other situation. Undressing her like this, but he finds he can't really find it in him to feel anything right now.
"…buy a girl a drink first Roy…"
He doesn't even pretend like he can manage the muscles necessary to force a smile. So he just keeps trying to get her shoes off. He's glad they're just gym shoes and not some complicated straps or…
"I got it Roy. Help Axel. I'll get Mark."
Takes Roy another minute to get her shoe off. Then a few more to realize she had been speaking to him.
He finally looks up at her. Her hair is matted down. Her normally dark brown locks have been dyed blond. Her hair so short, it's hard to tell the color in this light. Which apparently had been the point when she explained it to him.
There is exhaustion in her eyes. And in her voice. But he finds himself still following her command.
"Alright."
He doesn't think he has the energy to stand and then kneel back down again. So he just semi-crawls over to Axel. Axel's sweater is heavy against his skin. The thick material seems to weigh more than the kid does.
He finally manages to strip Axel down. He feels the cold so much more acutely over here. The warmth of the fire doesn't appear to spread this far. It's not until he feels water on his face that he realizes he never closed the front door. Rain is pooling at the entryway. The three feet it would take for him to move enough to close it seems insurmountable.
Thankfully Lisa saves him the additional agony. She walks over to the door and slams it shut. The sound of the storm outside continues to rage on.
None of the other Rogues have so much as stirred.
She helps him out of his jacket. He fumbles with his belt buckle but she just makes a small sound and undoes it for him.
If anyone was awake they might say something about the ridiculousness of the situation. Of all of them laying around in their underwear.
Even conscious he doesn't know if anyone would comment. It had been too close this time. They were all so tired and scared and…
"They should have been here before us."
Roy doesn't know why he says it. He knows that Lisa would have realized the second she woke up. Would have noticed the absence of her brother, and Mick, and Shawna. Would be calculating all the places they might have ended up. What could have gone wrong.
"I know."
She doesn't offer anything else. No reasons. No 'they must have had to hole up somewhere until the storm passed.' Or 'they'll be here any minute.' She just puts an arm around his shoulders and helps him limp back towards the fire. She's put a pillow under Digger's head and Mark isn't lying at an awkward angle any more. Roy glances towards where Axel is laying sprawled behind the couch.
He should offer to help move Axel…
"I'll get him Roy. You get some sleep."
He wants to argue. He really does. He knows Lisa had gone just as long without sleep as he had. The last few hours in the car ride here not withstanding.
He can see all the bruises and cuts and scratches and pains she's been hiding underneath her clothes. She raises an eyebrow at him when she sees him staring.
"Trust me sweetheart, you look worse."
He supposes that's true. He glances down. Bruises seem to cover his entire torso. Shawna had thought his ribs were only cracked not broken. Hadn't even had time to wrap them before they had to start running again. The wound on his leg, the all encompassing bruise that swallowed his knee. What was that one from again? He vaguely remembers…glass shattering?
Roy starts to lie down. A pillow magically appearing on the ground behind his head.
"Roy, sweetie. I promise I'll let you sleep for the rest of the night and all through tomorrow if you want, but I need you to answer a few questions for me first ok?"
"Ok."
"Did Digger say if he saw any sign of us being followed?
"No. Thinks we were clear."
"Ok. That's real good. Just one more thing…"
She's looking at him oddly. She's been doing it since she woke up. Roy had figured it had to do with the situation. With the exhaustion and the pain and all the shit they'd been through. But now he can see it's something different. There's…concern. More than just for his bruises and cuts.
"Did you have to use…did you use that aspect of your powers you promised you never would?"
Roy glances up at her.
Did he?
He tries to recall the events that led up to them making to the cabin.
They were surrounded in Utah. Cops everywhere, drones and helicopters flying overhead. Random people on the street trying to cash in on the bounty. Taking pictures or trying to slam their trucks into the Rogue's car. Everywhere they turned they were trapped. Being forced off the road. Running to find another way out…
Roy remembered using his powers. Remembered people scrambling in fear. Remembered this…this one asshole who put a knife to Mark's throat. There was blood running down Mark's neck…
Then the guy wasn't there anymore…and…and then Roy was in a car. And they were outrunning the cops. And he kept using his powers on anyone who so much as glanced at them. And…
"I don't remember. Why?"
"Nothing. It's probably that you're just tired is all. Get some sleep ok?"
Roy nods.
There were several times where he had tried to use his powers and it had taken him a few tries. His eyes had felt cold and…
Exhaustion.
That's all it was.
He just needed to sleep. That's what they all needed. Just some sleep.
Some rest. Finally be able to close their eyes for just a moment.
He could feel a blanket wrapped around him. He could hear the fire crackling just above his head. He was going to kiss Lisa when he finally managed the strength to move.
That moment was not now.
He opened his eyes blearily. He should try to at least see if there was anything that had woken him.
Digger was laying on the loveseat. Mark was on the floor, a blanket wrapped around him as well. He couldn't see Lisa or Axel from his position, and try as he might, he couldn't force his body to actually muster up the energy to do more than tilt his head slightly.
The sun was shining. Which meant it had to have been at least six hours since Roy fell asleep.
Which was something of a record these past few weeks. He had gone well over two days without sleep before reaching the cabin. But he didn't think he had gotten more than four consecutive hours a night since they'd made their mad escape from Metropolis.
They had all been beyond exhausted. Constantly moving. Running. Hiding. Fighting. Slipping away by the skin of their teeth. Their injuries ignored in the face of having to keep moving no matter what.
They couldn't get caught.
If they got caught, it was all over.
Luthor would either get new guinea pigs, or they would be killed by an angry mob. Either way, they were dead. And no one would give a damn.
The sound of floorboards squeaking prompted him to attempt to move his head again. It didn't respond this time. So he just lay there and waited for whatever made the noise to come to him. After a few minutes, Shawna appeared in his line of sight. She bent over and started checking on the bandage on Digger's leg.
Roy felt his eyes slipping closed again but found a sudden untapped reserve of energy.
"Shawna?"
His voice was little more than a whisper. But it was more than he had thought himself capable of.
She glanced over and gave him a smile.
"Hey. Give me a second and I'll come check you out."
She goes back to wrapping Digger's leg. Roy takes a moment to look her over. She looks the same as when he last saw her. Exhausted. On the verge of collapse. Standing up by sheer force of will.
"Snart? Mick?"
"Both sleeping. Everyone's pretty much dead to the world at this point. This place is safe as far as we can tell. Snart scoped it all out after you guys got here…"
Roy was certain that everything she was saying was important. But he was having so much trouble focusing on the words.
"Hm."
She's kneeling beside him now. She puts a hand on his forehead.
"Doesn't look like you've got a fever."
Her hand lingers on his forehead and he suddenly wishes he could move his arms. He focuses on it. He doesn't manage much but his hand slips out from underneath the covers.
"You slept yet?"
She smiles slightly, removing her hand.
"I got a few hours yesterday. I was just finishing up checking on everyone."
Roy could see the lines around her eyes, the slowness of her movements. She'd been keeping Mick alive since Metropolis, then Digger got shot, then pretty much all of them were injured in someway or another.
Roy's hip was screaming at him rather loudly. Reminding him that he wasn't some teenager who could sleep on a wooden floor and not be feeling it for days.
Still, it wasn't enough to be able to convince him to actually stand up.
He finally manages to find the energy to move his arm.
He lifts the edge of his blanket slightly.
Shawna smiles again. She doesn't say anything, just slips underneath the blanket and lays her head on the pillow next to his. He does his best to cover her with the blanket. She deserves to be warm.
There's an odd sound. It takes Roy a moment to realize he has heard it somewhere before. It's familiar. But not something he recognizes immediately. He finally gets the idea to open his eyes to try to find out the source of the sound.
He blinks, not only at the light streaming in from the window, but at the sight in front of him.
Axel is standing almost over top of him and Shawna. Staring down at them with an odd look. Roy focuses on the object in Axel's hands.
"Is that a Polaroid camera?"
The piece of once cutting edge technology in Axel's hands is now spitting out a photo.
"Right? How freaking retro is this? I mean look. A picture! And you're supposed to shake it right? That's what that old song said right, shake it like a Polaroid picture?"
Axel begins to dance to his own humming while shaking the photo.
Roy wonders if he is actually awake. This would be a very odd dream.
"You awake this time?"
Mark is sitting at a table, in what Roy has to assume is the kitchen. Axel had been blocking his view, but now he can see Mark sitting with a cup of water in his hands.
Roy thinks he might have the strength to pull himself out from underneath the covers, so he supposes he is finally truly awake.
He extradites himself from the blankets, careful not to jostle Shawna's head on the pillow. His first attempt at standing is met with a sharp pain radiating down his left knee.
Shit.
Forgot he had jammed that thing running. Or was it still healing from when their car crashed in Arizona? A combination of both most likely
"Easy there old timer, let me help you. I bet I could earn a Boy Scout badge for this. Helping an Elderly Meta Badge."
Roy would have denied Axel's help if he thought he would be able to stand without it.
Instead he took the kid's hand and let him guide him over towards another chair at the table. Roy all but collapsed into it.
Mark, being the saint that he is, pushes Roy two pills and a glass of water.
Roy swallows them, hoping they will be able to dull some of the pain his entire left side is feeling.
"You going to let him call you an old man like that?"
"If I didn't think I was two seconds from falling apart, I might be offended. I feel like an old man."
Mark hands Roy's shirt and jacket to him. Roy slips them on. It's taken him this long to realize he is already wearing his pants.
Mark's giving him a look.
"You alright?"
"My leg's still…"
"Don't mean the leg, I mean…" Mark makes a motion with his hands towards his head and eyes.
Roy has a vague memory of Lisa asking him about his powers.
"I'm just tired."
"Right. Well, supposed to keep an eye on you when you woke up, just in case."
"Hm."
Roy tried to remember what it had felt like when his powers had turned against him. Tried to remember if it was this same weariness that he felt now.
"You guys think we'll stay here long? I mean, don't get me wrong, sleeping was super awesome. But like…this place is a dead zone. We can't do anything even remotely related to the 21st century."
Roy stared at Axel for a moment. Despite his own proclamation that the cabin was within a dead zone, he was holding a cellphone up in the air, like reception might spontaneously just exist in the far corner of the room if he believed hard enough.
Roy honestly had no idea how long they were going to stay here. He had been so focused on just making it this far.
That's all they had to do. Get to Mick's cabin in Montana and they would be safe. They would be able to rest. To regroup. To finally be able to take a moment to breathe. Instead of having to be constantly on guard. Constantly not sleeping.
It had never even crossed his mind that they would get to the cabin and not be safe. That they would be followed. Or somehow the cops would track them here.
Just get to Montana.
Get to the cabin.
They'd be able to stop running once they made it.
Roy didn't think he'd be able to run much longer. He was surprised they hadn't died in Arizona. Or in Utah. Or North Dakota.
They'd had to take so many alternate routes that it had taken them much longer to get here than it should have.
But they were here now. In this, half run down, incredibly small cabin in the middle of nowhere.
No power.
No running water.
No food.
"Hopefully it won't be too long."
Roy turns back to Mark.
Mark shrugs.
"Snart's still sleeping. Lisa's scoping out the area. Making sure everything's good. Though considering there isn't anything around for 50 miles I think we will be alright."
Roy finally makes the effort to look at his surroundings. The cabin is more modern than the one he had outside Central. But there were signs of disrepair. Signs that the whole thing might just collapse if a strong enough breeze were to come through.
The drive towards the cabin had been…fuzzy at best. He remembered the road turning from pavement to gravel to dirt to grass. Only Digger navigating by the map Mick had made them did he continue to believe they were headed in the right direction. He had driven over fledgling pine trees growing in the middle of the path on multiple occasions. He couldn't imagine something could still be classified as a road if there were trees growing in the middle of it.
When they finally reached the end, he couldn't say how long they had been driving. It had been dark, and he had been struggling to stay awake. Having to wake up Digger to help navigate more times than he liked to admit. Mark, Lisa, and Axel all passed out in the back. Succumbing to their exhaustion and injuries after their last run from the cops.
Roy had been certain, many times over the past few weeks, that it was the end for them. That they didn't have another miraculous escape up their sleeves.
Roy wasn't entirely certain he wasn't just hallucinating all this.
Or he was dead.
And hell was some bizarre reflection of life. Where everything just felt…slightly wrong. Like at any moment the quiet would be ripped away and replaced with fire and screaming.
Roy sighed and rubbed his eyes. He could sleep for another week and he didn't know if that would be enough to make the exhaustion go away.
"It's safe here?"
"Safe as anywhere is for us. Snart, Mick, and Shawna teleported up into Canada, then drove back down across the border. Snart did something or other, making it look like we were trying for Alaska so we could cross over to Russia."
"Hm."
"You sure you're not…"
Roy just shook his head slightly.
"Just tired."
He couldn't feel his powers at the moment. He didn't even try to access them. When they had crossed over into Wyoming and had to pass through that checkpoint, Roy had attempted to access his powers and his eyes had felt…odd.
There wasn't that familiar feeling like this eyes were burning with rage. Or that strange feeling on the rare occasion that he used happiness on someone.
He hadn't been able to access his powers. Hadn't been able to help when the cops had set up a roadblock not two miles away because Roy hadn't been able to calm the lady who spotted them down.
He had written it off at the time. A side effect of his powers being maxed out. He had never gotten to that point before. Had never had to hold them like that, constantly holding people in his power for hours until he was certain they had escaped.
Roy turned slightly in his chair, looking towards the two doors at the back. Snart and Mick must be back there.
"How's Mick?"
"Same."
It was a familiar refrain. Even as the man's wounds had started to heal, it felt like they were constantly asking the question.
Mick's face had healed relatively well. No permanent damage to his right eye.
His hands…
His hands were burned so badly he could barely use them. They hadn't had the chance to go to a real doctor. To take a moment to slow down, to figure out what they could do to help heal them. They had just been running.
Roy knew that they all remembered the rules. That when they were on a job, any pain, any fight, had to wait until they were safe.
Roy wasn't looking forward to the explosion from Mick now that they were finally at the cabin.
The tension between Mick and Snart had built with every passing day. Every day that Snart didn't remove the collar from his neck. Every day that Shawna checked Mick's hands and they didn't move when he tried to move them.
Snart had been acting…more reserved than normal. If it wasn't for the fact that they were literally all stuffed into cars for the past few weeks, Roy figured that Snart would have been keeping himself as far away from the rest of them as possible.
It wasn't just the fear of his powers. There was something else eating away at Snart. Something else weighing the man down.
Roy had been too exhausted, too caught up in his own pain, to try and determine what Snart was feeling.
It wasn't just that the man wasn't wearing his parka anymore. That he didn't have the cold gun. That he wasn't using his powers.
The man had barely spoken.
Which was the largest red flag of all. And when he did speak, it was succinct. Barking out orders instead of revealing the plan. There was no grandiose speeches, no puns, no theatrics.
Leonard Snart appeared to have left Captain Cold behind somewhere along the way.
Maybe back in Metropolis.
Roy stared at Mark for a moment.
Mark just raised his eyebrow.
"Same too."
"Hm."
Roy felt a sudden desire to stand up. To walk outside and figure out their surroundings. Which was ridiculous. They were in the woods somewhere. He would no more be able to figure out which way to go than he would be able to spontaneously see in color.
The door swung open slowly, and Lisa entered. She was wearing a flannel jacket that was four or five sizes too big for her. Her short hair hidden under a trucker's cap.
It was the strangest look on her.
No gold. No makeup.
And yet, somehow, she still one of the most elegant people he had ever met. She raised an eyebrow when she saw him sitting at the table. He nodded to her slightly.
"Welcome back."
Axel was now standing on the kitchen counter, raising his phone above the small window.
"Axel, get down before you break your neck."
Lisa looked at Roy for a moment.
"Finally awake I see. Shawna and Digger still out?"
Roy sort of waved towards the two unconscious members.
Lisa nodded then sat down on the rickety folding chair beside Roy.
"Anything happening out there?"
"No. Still no sign that anyone has seen us. We might actually have escaped relatively intact."
No small miracle considering how many times they almost got caught. Roy wasn't entirely certain how many times it was exactly. Or where they were. He rubbed his eyes again.
"How are you feeling Roy?"
"Dude why do you guys keep asking him that? Like, he's doing better than half the people…"
"Shut up Axel."
"Much better now that I've slept."
He was aware that Lisa wasn't pushing the fact that he hadn't answered the question yet. But she seemed willing to drop it for now.
"There's food in the car. Axel, Mardon, be a couple of dears and go get it for me would you."
Or not.
Mardon grabbed Axel's arm before the kid could ask another question and all but drug him out of the cabin.
She sat down in the vacated chair and stared at him a few moments. He was able to meet her eyes for most of the evaluation.
"This is different."
Roy raises an eyebrow at her tone. It wasn't a question. It was a statement of fact. Whatever was wrong with him wasn't the same as last time.
"I don't know."
She sighed slightly.
"Ok. Well, whatever it is, we will deal with it like we have everything else."
"Ignoring it until it becomes a debilitating issue, then ignore it some more?"
She smirks.
"Hopefully we can…"
A noise from the floor draws their attention. Shawna is stretching out, her eyes opening slightly.
"What'd I miss?"
Lisa stands up with a smile.
"Food. I'll help the boys get it from the car. Be good to eat something other than food we stole from a gas station for a change. Not that the selection I have is much better."
Shawna keeps the blanket wrapped around her and wanders over to the kitchen. She sits in the chair next to Roy. She extends a part of the blanket so it covers his legs.
"Everyone still alive?" She asks, through a loud yawn. She scoots her chair closer and puts her head on his shoulder.
He smiles slightly at the familiarity of the motion.
"Thanks to you."
"Hmm, yea. I'm basically the best."
"Basically."
She hums slightly in agreement.
He can hear the muffled sound of Axel and Mardon talking. Their voices gaining in volume as they came closer to the door.
Roy closes his eyes for a moment. Letting the calm, the familiarity of it all, seep into his bones.
They made it to the cabin. They were safe for the moment. They could stop running and just breathe.
Even if it was only for a moment.
In one of his more profoundly drunken moments, a few seconds after launching a beer bottle at Len's head, Lewis had stopped and looked his son in the eyes. For a moment, Len thought the man might have suddenly realized what he had done. It was the first time he had done more than slap or the occasional punch. Len and his mother taking the brunt of his father's anger. Lisa still too small to be the subject of their father's ire for the most part. Except on the rare occasion where Len couldn't get her to stop crying quickly enough.
Len had never known a greater fear than when his father had drunkenly grabbed an 8 month old Lisa out of his arms. Len's heart had stopped. The way Lewis was gripping her arms so tightly. Making her cry harder. Screaming at him that she was too loud. How was he supposed to provide for the family if they kept him awake at all hours of the day?
It had been 10 am. And Lewis hadn't had a legal job in over a year.
Trying to explain that fact to his father had gotten his mother a bruised eye and Len a split lip.
Throwing beer bottles had become more commonplace after their mother died. But this…this had been the first time. They had both stared at each other. The sound of the glass shattering against the wall had stopped his father's shouting. Stopped his demands to know why dinner wasn't on the table, where the hell was Len's no good mother, why wasn't she doing her job? She had been at the grocery with Lisa. Lewis wasn't supposed to be home for another two hours. Apparently that didn't matter.
All that mattered was that he had already been drunk when he got home. That there was only one beer in the fridge. That Len had the audacity to not know what channel the football game was on.
He hadn't memorized the TV schedule.
So his father threw a beer bottle at his head.
Years later Len would of course realize it had nothing to do with football. And everything to do with his father being an unrepentant piece of human garbage.
He wasn't sure how long the silence lasted. Their odd staring contest keeping him rooted to the spot. He had been paralyzed. Unable to run, to turn away. Unsure if breaking eye contact would cause his father to suddenly realize that Len hadn't already started cleaning up the broken glass.
Eventually, his father started laughing.
It was a low sound. As though suddenly remembering a favorite joke. One he had heard a thousand times before but still elicited the same response. Still provided the same amount of humor as the first.
"Clean up that mess boy."
He was still chuckling as he sat down in his chair and flipped through the channels. He was almost back to the kitchen with the glass when his father called out.
"Bring me another beer."
Lying to his father would only delay the inevitable.
"There isn't anymore."
"Come here."
He dumped the glass in the trashcan then walked back towards his father's chair.
He was hoping that maybe Lewis was so drunk that he would forget why he had called him over.
"Your sister annoys you sometimes doesn't she?"
Len hesitated for a moment. He didn't know the right answer. Saying no, knowing that Lewis sometimes found Lisa annoying, would be to contradict him. Saying yes, might mean that Lewis was looking for an excuse to punish Lisa.
"No."
Lewis laughed again. That same dark laugh that kept sending fear spiking through Len's chest.
"Of course she does. Everyone will annoy you at some point. She's a baby. Crying all the time. Even your mom gets tired of her."
Len decided to stay silent. If Lewis got to the point, maybe Len could figure out a way to redirect his focus away from Lisa. If he had to bring up that there was no more beer maybe Lewis would…
"Your mom used to get tired of your crying the same way. Lying around in bed for hours at a time. Didn't realize how lazy she was until after she had you."
He doesn't bring up that his mother isn't lazy. That Lewis might be at least partially to blame for her "cloudy days", as she called them.
She had been smiling, but Len could swear he saw tears behind her eyes.
"You know baby, how sometimes when it's cloudy outside, you get sad? Because you can't play or do anything you want to do? And even driving to the store can be scary because of how hard the rain makes it to see?"
Len had nodded.
"Well, sometimes even if it's sunny outside, it feels like a cloudy day to me. And it's raining so hard that I can't see to drive to the store or pick you up from school. But they pass by baby. So don't you worry about it."
Len had spent a lot of his younger days worrying about it.
Len had to keep a careful eye on both of his parents during those times.
Lewis' eyes were still on the TV. Len got the feeling he might have forgotten that Len was even standing there. Len didn't risk walking away while his father was talking.
Disrespect like that wasn't tolerated in the Snart family home.
"Should have married Susan like my ma told me to. She wasn't as pretty as your mother but at least she would have kept a good home. Wouldn't have talked back to me, or given me two kids who don't know their place."
Lewis was building himself up to something. Len tried to stand as still as he could.
"But I had to have your mom because she was the prettiest. The best. Then she got stuck with you and she couldn't exactly turn down my marriage proposal."
Lewis reaches for a non-existent beer on the side table. He glares at the empty space for a moment and Len stops breathing.
"Can't even do the shopping right. I provide for this family and this is how she repays me."
Len could barely think through the fear that his mother and Lisa would walk through the door right now, with Lewis in this odd mood, and Len wouldn't be able to stop him.
"You'll understand one day."
Lewis finally turns his gaze towards Len.
"One day, you'll realize what I've had to go through. All the bullshit I've put up with. You're not doing good in school, have to take you along on jobs to justify keeping you around, as much food as you eat. Not like you're smart enough to do anything else. If you're lucky maybe you can make it as an enforcer with a Family."
Len wasn't doing well in school because he was never there. He had convinced several of his teachers that he had a recurring illness. Forging a few doctor's notes and excused absences from his parents. But he wasn't sure how long that was going to work. Eventually he would just have to drop out. It was the only way to keep an eye on his mom and sister.
"One day you'll be just like me."
Lewis had dismissed Len after that. The yelling had started back up when his mother got home. She ended up with a couple bruises in places the neighbors wouldn't see. Lewis had been getting better about that. Getting better at hurting them in places no one would ever know.
It had haunted Len for a long time.
"One day you'll be just like me."
He had read about how behavior got passed down through families. Checked dozens of books out of the library on psychology and behavior. He had sworn no matter what he did, no matter who he became, he would never be like his father. He would never hurt Lisa or his mother.
He had protected them both as best he could. After his mother died…
He had never broken that promise. Never hurt kids, was never violent with anyone who shared his bed, never let his anger affect anyone who didn't deserve it.
He never lost control.
Until Metropolis.
Until he almost killed his sister. And Mick. And the rest of the Rogues.
He remembers seeing Mick standing there. And then it was just a heat source. It was just something he felt compelled to reach out and take. He knows there was an explosion. Remembers the blast and the pressure. He didn't feel the heat of it.
Mick's jacket was on fire. His hands…his face…
He had kneeled down by his oldest friend. Not sure the man was even breathing. Certain he had killed him. The control he had cultivated for so long finally failing him when he needed it the most.
"One day you'll be just like me."
Lisa had come through the smoke and Len had almost run. She had been bleeding. He had barely been able to see anything else around him, the smoke and fire obscuring the destruction. But Lisa he had seen clear as day.
He had almost killed her. He had lost control and hurt his sister. If he had thought himself capable in the moment, he would have been throwing up. But then Lisa was standing next to him. She attempted to touch him, to comfort him, and he had flinched.
He can only imagine what he must have looked like for her to look at him with such sadness in her eyes.
She had grabbed his arm, keeping him in place. He had wanted to run, wanted to turn himself in. He had hurt Lisa. And Mick…
He doesn't remember much about how they got back to the mansion. He remembers being able to push it all down for a little while. Able to almost function.
But then the lack of sleep, and the pain, and the fear, and the guilt…
Staring at the ceiling of the cabin, idly touching the collar on his neck, he remembers his mother's last words to him.
"Don't worry baby. I have a plan. A way to get us free. It's going to work. I promise."
His mother hadn't promised that in years. And Len had long since been past the point where he thought she could stop Lewis. Where he thought calling the police would work. Where the cops and doctors wouldn't just look the other way when confronted with the evidence of his father's lack of control. If they had run, Lewis would have found them. If they tried to leave, Lewis would have forced them to stay.
It had been one of her "cloudy days", but he had been so focused on getting Lisa ready to go to their grandfather's house he hadn't been paying attention. Trying to move quickly, trying to keep Lisa smiling.
Lewis had called. He had lost his car keys and needed her to pick him up from the bar. She was going to drop them off at their grandfather's house, and then pick Lewis up.
He remembers the look in her eyes. The determination. She had meant it then.
She had tried to protect them.
It should have worked.
Years later, after reviewing the police files of the accident, it was only pure dumb luck that it hadn't. The rain from the past few days causing the ground to be muddy in that one exact spot. The ground just soft enough.
A concussion, instead of a cracked skull. A broken collar bone, instead of a broken neck.
Police never did figure out why she never hit the brakes. Or why neither of them were wearing their seatbelts.
She hit the pavement. Lewis hit the soft ground.
They had lived with their grandfather while Lewis recovered. It would be years before they got another reprieve. Only after their father was sent to jail for twenty years did Snart let the man's words slip away. Writing them off as impossible.
They had come back with a vengeance after Metropolis. Taunting him everywhere they went. Every time they were surrounded by the police, and he couldn't use his powers for fear he would lose control. Fear he would hurt his family.
Now that they were safe at the cabin. Now that he had a chance to focus, he was able to push his father's words to the back of his mind. He let his mother's take the foreground.
She had promised. And she had failed. He didn't hate her for it. As much as he wished he could. She had loved them both dearly. It must have been the only option she could see available to her. The only way to protect them from someone stronger than her. Someone who held all the cards.
He touched the collar at his neck again.
He would find a way to protect his family. Find a way to either rid himself of these powers…or the man who was taking away his control. Taking away his ability to protect his family.
And he wasn't going to leave anything to chance when he did.