Will had spent weeks learning how to slow things down. He'd gotten pretty good if he said so himself. But some things, like a certain speedster and his frantic heart rate, apparently were still out of his control.
"We can always go back home," his dad said casually as he suited up by memory, his eyes all the while scanning over Will, no doubt noting the rapid breathing and light sheen of sweat. "I DVR-ed Shark Week. You can get your fill of predator-prey from the safety of the couch."
Will snorted. First patrol ever or a recording of the annual Shark Week which had been airing faithfully for nearly twenty years? "Nah. I'm fine. It's just pre-game jitters. It'll be fine once we get out there."
He wiped his sweaty palms on his clothes as discreetly as he could. It was all-black, nothing flashy. In fact, he looked more like a cat burglar than a badass vigilante, but Cisco said it was just temporary. The clothing contained sensors that would record how Will moved in real-world situations so a suit that bent and flexed the way he needed could be built based on the readings.
"Alright, got everything you need?" Oliver asked, looping his quiver in place.
"Yeah."
"Crossbow? Arrows? Throwing knife? Voice modulator?" Oliver checked off as though Will hadn't already answered.
Will laughed, the scene playing out like a weird parody of their school morning routine. "Yes. I have everything."
"Remember, if you need help or my attention, I'm not 'dad', I'm Green Arrow."
Will nodded. "And I'm not 'Will' or 'Buddy', I'm Speed Warper."
Cisco had been inordinately proud of the name, making sure Will knew how hard it had been to come up with a cool name for someone who's primary power is slowness. Will had to admit it was already growing on him.
Oliver nodded then paused for a second, gripping his bow, looking at Will. Will tried to look reassuringly competent and not like a kid leaving for his first day of kindergarten. Oliver nodded again and slung his bow on his back.
"Let's go."
Will followed his dad out of the former arrow cave and out on the street, heart racing for…
Nothing.
He wasn't exactly sure what he thought would happen. Maybe a Hollywood transition where they went from door to fight in seconds. Or to at least hear sirens that would alert them to potential trouble. Instead, he was trailing his dad up and down different streets. Most law-abiding citizens were in for the night, so the streets were quiet and empty as they walked to and fro. It was oddly like their trips to the grocery store when Will was a kid and he followed Oliver up one aisle and down the next, but less interesting since there were no brightly colored products to distract him.
Time passed slowly and, by Will's guess, they'd already covered fourteen or fifteen square miles of the city which was a bit much even given their training. Will's feet were starting to ache and he was more than a little bored. The only action they'd seen was helping an exhausted looking woman with two small kids push her stalled out car through the intersection to a safer position on the side of the road.
Will paused and flexed his ankle which was totally not swelling. He refused to complain when he knew his dad had braces on both knees. "So why don't we patrol roof tops for a little while? Maybe get in some practice with the grappling arrows?"
Oliver stopped, waiting for Will to catch up. "We patrol on the ground. You only go to the roof tops if you have to. And roof hopping wears out your muscles and dulls your arrows. If we do it for fun, we might get caught flatfooted and tired if we actually need to do it to catch somebody."
The answer was both patient and reasonable, but Will could still hear the slightest hints of 'My bow is not a toy' coloring his dad's voice.
"Don't wish for trouble. Trust me. It will find us. Keep your head on a swivel because when it pops off, we'll be in the thick of it."
Cisco said Oliver didn't have any powers, but damned if he was nearly clairvoyant.
They were patrolling around the abandoned navy yard, an area his dad was vigilant about both as the mayor and the Green Arrow, but the baddies who frequented the area were an insidious game of whack-a-mole. SCPD had just done a bust a week ago so it was far too soon for any new operation to have set up, but his dad said he checked it as part of his usual route.
Tonight, there was a black car, a really nice one. Far too nice for such a rundown part of town. It had been idling with the headlights on for over twenty minutes. Oliver and Will sat crouched along-side the industrial ship barn, waiting to see what the occupants would do. It was clearly some kind of pick up or drop off. Will shivered while Oliver tapped the license plate number into the heads-up display on his wrist.
"The car's clean," he whispered. "Comes back to Sullivan O'Claire."
"Of O'Claire's Coffe Imports?" Will asked.
Oliver nodded. "Yep. O'Claire is so rich he makes my parents look destitute, so you gotta wonder what he's doing in the South End this time of night."
The South End was part of 'The Triangle' bordering the New Glades and Lamb Valley. It was an area fought over by the existing and aspiring crime factions and where Green Arrow spent most of his nights. Definitely no place for a multi-billionaire past dark. Maybe not even during the day.
They didn't have to wait long before three more cars showed up, a small caravan of uniformly black SUVs, kicking up dust and gravel. The driver of O'Claire's vehicle got out and opened the back door. Sullivan O'Claire, a tall, svelte man man in his fifties, climbed out. Normally, in the social life section of the paper, he looked aristocratic and the pinnacle of style and wealth. Tonight, he looked pallid and rumpled, a briefcase clutched in his hand.
From the front of the SUV emerged two men, both in black, like Will, both armed with automatic weapons, unlike Will. One walked to the backdoor of the SUV and opened it. A slender man stepped out, also dressed in all-black except without the face masks of his companions. He also wore a blazer instead of bulky bullet-proof vest. He'd probably be considered good looking if it weren't for the jagged scar slashed over his face, crossing one eye, over the bridge of his nose and onto his cheek. He was probably still pissed at whoever had done it.
"Where's the money?" he asked. As he spoke, more guys in black poured out of the other vehicles.
O'Claire motioned with the briefcase. "It's here. All of it. I didn't call the police or anything. Just like you said."
"Hand it over." Scar guy signaled for a goon to get the case.
O'Claire tucked the case behind his body. "I need to see her first."
Scar guy paused, visibly considering. "Fair enough."
He motioned to one of his lackeys who opened the door and pulled a crying, struggling woman out of the backseat. She was much younger than O'Claire. His daughter if Will remembered correctly. Emily… Amelie. Amelie O'Claire. Heiress to O'Claire Coffe Imports.
"Hey, Speed Warper."
Will looked at his dad who was giving him a look back that said it was not the first time he'd called Will's code name.
"Pay attention. I'm going to try to find a better angle. If this goes bad, I might have to take some of these guys out. You can help from here. Get your crossbow ready. Stay in cover no matter what, got it?"
Will nodded and watched his dad disappear into the night. He gripped his crossbow and tried to remember if his dad had said he'd signal first or what exactly constituted 'this goes bad.' His heart was suddenly pounding so fast he couldn't hear over the blood rushing through his ears.
Years ago, Will had watched a documentary on police officers fresh out of the academy where they described their first day on the streets, how when they witnessed their first crime, a life time of 'let the cops handle it' automatically kicked in and they had to remind themselves they were the cops.
Will was so lost in watching the scene in front of him while trying to think of what he would do if he had to act that he didn't hear the guy sneaking up behind him.
What he did hear was a sharp cracking noise and followed by a bright white flash. His head snapped forward and he would swear on his mother's grave that he felt his brain slosh forward and then back again. He dropped to his knees with a very loud yelp, his crossbow clattering to the ground, the world tilting and his stomach going along for the ride. His mouth watered and he squeezed his eyes shut.
Everything around him exploded into sound and action, people yelling, cursing, and running, guns firing, arrows zinging through the air.
But Will was doing none of those things. Instead, a sharp blow to the ribs sent the air flying out Will's lungs and knocked him completely to the ground, reeling.
"Get up!" He heard his dad screech at him.
He looked up and saw two blurry, spinning Green Arrows rushing at him, only to be tackled by the men in dark clothing. He pushed to his knees, trying with everything he had to stand, but his muscles wobbled like Jello and he collapsed back to the ground. He could see his dad fighting three, four, five guys, desperately trying to get to him, but the guys weren't light weights.
The guy with the two by four hit him again and Will curled up, ribs screaming in agony. He could see the guy winding up again and Will desperately scrambled to get his powers going. He was able to slow wood plank down enough that the guy lost his grip and it clattered to the ground. A green-tipped arrow flying through the air sent the guy to the ground not far behind.
Will dropped to the pavement, that small surge of power too much in combination with the smack to the head.
He wanted to sleep. No, first he wanted to throw up, then sleep. The push was overwhelming. But the niggling voice in his head insisted he had to get to safety first.
Ignoring the waves of nausea, he pushed to his hands and knees and started to crawl. To the back of the boat shed, further into the darkness, away from danger. He couldn't look up, the bright street lamps made his head explode into a million uncontrollable pieces. He put his head down and crawled. Peeking every few seconds, minutes, days, to gauge his progress. Somehow the shed, safety, was getting further and further away and there were more and more bad guys popping out of nowhere.
He could still hear his dad screaming, fighting, grunting.
Get up! Get out of here!
He tried.
Until he just couldn't anymore.
He collapsed on his side, the cold of the cement, shocking to his hot skin even through his clothes, tipping the scale and making him spew the contents of his stomach.
The last thing he saw before the darkness sucked him under was a bright crimson streak and electric blue waves.
