A/N: I'm a sucker for the tough guy getting boo-boos apparently, and I'm only partially sorry. This is my first attempt at writing some real whump, so feedback is appreciated.

Story title from The Tempest by William Shakespeare: "Hell is empty. And all the devils are here."

Just a warning that it is going to get painful and bloody up in here. Dark and bloody. Slade is a very angry man.

Disclaimer: I don't own. But what I wouldn't give to own a bit of Stephen Amell amirite?

"Yes, Oliver," Felicity said with mock patience as she answered the phone. "I'm walking in to the club as we speak. And you better be down there and not demanding I'm here already when you're actually just getting out of bed and trying to make me feel bad."

She heard Oliver's warm laughter on the other side of the line. "I promise I'm downstairs. See you in a bit."

Pocketing her phone, she smiled and pulled open the side door to Verdant, but as she stepped over the threshold, the early Sunday morning burst into red and orange and heat and noise and pain. She instinctively threw her hands up to protect herself as she was thrown back. Something struck her from behind, and her world fell to darkness.

Felicity opened her eyes slowly and immediately regretted it. Surrounded by blinking machines and a heavy sterile smell, she felt waves of pain radiating from her head down to her toes. She blinked and saw the blurry outline of John Diggle reaching out and handing her her glasses.

"Good to see you awake, Felicity."

"Thanks," she said as she put them on and everything came back into focus.

"What happened?"

She tried to sit up, but he gently pushed her back down.

"Be careful. You got knocked around pretty hard. You've been out for a couple of hours, and you have a minor burns and a concussion."

"I was at Verdant," she said, wracking her brain to remember. "Oliver called me in to track a money transfer. There was-"

John's expression grew grim, his mouth a tight line. "There was a bomb." He seemed to be deliberating over every word. "The entire foundry is destroyed."

"Oliver?"

He shook his head. She saw his fists clench on the bed as he leaned against it heavily. "He was inside."

"But he's Oliver. He probably got out and is arrow-ing whoever did this."

He wouldn't meet her gaze.

"He got out," she pleaded. "Please tell me he got out."

"They found a body."

Suddenly, she felt very empty inside.

"No. That can't be right. Maybe it was someone else."

For a moment, she felt terrible, wishing for someone else's death, but the thought that Oliver could be dead was heavy in her chest, suffocating her.

"The club was closed. Nobody was supposed to be working at Verdant at the time. They're still waiting on the reports and the autopsy, but it doesn't look good. There wasn't much left standing."

"Who could have done this?" she asked, her voice high and frantic. "How did a bomb get inside the club?"

It felt like her lungs were compressing. Her throat was swelling shut. Lights were appearing before her eyes, and the room swayed around her.

"Felicity." John grasped her shoulders firmly. "Felicity, breathe with me."

He took deep calming breaths, and she did her best to follow suit.

"We'll get through this together. We'll find out who did this."

She felt tears spilling over against her will. "He can't be dead, John. He can't."

"Good to see you awake, old friend."

Oliver hissed as light pierced the room. Held up by his wrists from chains hanging from the ceiling, he scrambled to find his footing as he returned to consciousness. Manacles around his ankles clinked together, secured tightly to the floor. Memories assaulted him as he glared at the man standing in front of him.

"Slade."

The Australian mercenary smiled darkly, sitting comfortably in an armchair directly across from him, the only furniture on the large, cavernous room.

"What did you do? The club—"

"It would be a tragedy if your pretty hacker was inside the club when my bomb exploded, wouldn't it?"

Oliver felt the bottom of his stomach drop out from under him. His fists clench tightly as he struggled against his bindings.

"I'll kill you," he said, his voice low and full of venom. "If you hurt her—"

"Don't worry your pretty little head. She's safe for now."

"Leave her out of this, Slade. Your fight is with me."

"And what will you do to stop me? You are at my mercy, and your friends think you're dead."

He paused a moment to let his words sink in. Oliver reeled at the thought that once again, his family thought him dead.

Slade stood and leisurely walked toward Oliver. When he was in range, Oliver tried to head butt his former friend. Slade easily intercepted his attack, holding him off with one hand. With his other hand, he grabbed ahold of Oliver's trapped right hand and, with superhuman strength, crushed Oliver's index finger.

Through Oliver's grunt of pain, he did the same to his other fingers and said, "It's just you and me here, old friend."

A/N2: Thanks for reading! Reviews and feedback are always appreciated.