First off, thank you everyone who has been keeping up with the story, and more importantly, my really long and erratic updating scheduling. I am a horrible person. I had such a good amount of this chapter written before the year turned to 2013, and then... Yeah. I should have probably made a resolution or something.
(The good news is the end is in sight! I actually have a decent outline of all of the chapters that remain, and it's just a matter of finding time to write it all! Now where does one find time...?)
As usual, I do not own Young Justice. (But apparently my (ab)use of the characters is nothing like their original owners. Really, cancelled?!)
Enjoy!
September 27, 3:09 AM
Gotham City
Cassandra stood amongst the shadows of the cave, her eyes carefully flitting through the space before her. The ragged edges watched her in return. Within the texture, there were pockets of darkness tucked away into the rock. The surfaces that had managed to get a passing glance of light were harsh. The cold air itself became an afterthought of the environment.
Her thoughts drifted without preamble, as they had done throughout the night. The image of the box that Wally had carried earlier pulled was constantly reappearing in her mind. There was nothing about the box that was unusual; it was a white, unmarked cardboard box. The redhead's excitement wasn't out of place either. Most people would have assumed he had received some long awaited item. Cassandra had never been naïve enough to believe that there was something innocent in such a box.
Moans filled the walls, breaking the hold her thoughts had on her. She closed her eyes and waited.
"You… little slut." Pyroead's words were tapered with the sound of his breathing. There was pleasure in all of his noises, although the emotion couldn't quite erase the quality of pain from his voice. "Always was… a little slut… right bird boy?"
(always passionate)
"You know, you don't have to be down here listening to this," Wally said. His arrival was sudden and quiet, the trademark of all of Bruce's students.
"It's nice," she replied back.
"Most people would feel awkward listening to it."
"Most people would." Moans continued to fill the air. Some stray words found their way to the two sitting within the shadows. Neither of the former heroes gave the noise much thought, allowing the silence between them to sit.
(but can never last forever)
"You said that Red Arrow called you a slut before." Cassandra's words were brunt, yet her soft voice managed to taint the heaviness. She never wanted to be malicious to the redhead; the transformation he underwent was horrible enough.
"Huh? Oh, yeah. Only during sex." The facts were nonchalant, slipping from his lips as if they were nothing more than a new breath of air.
Her face remained neutral as she digested the words. The concept was not hard to understand; her time as one of Gotham's protectors revealed that other world. Curiosity grabbed ahold of her thoughts and the next question slipped out. "So what makes it different now?"
Bright emerald eyes turned to face her, captured in memories that were carved into his mind. A quiet mood settled over his features. There wasn't any anger or sadness apparent in the speedster, a sharp contrast to the teenager that she had once comforted.
(another thing lost)
The only odd thing was that Wally took a longer time than usual to answer back. "I know better."
"It's not the…" Cassandra paused, her eyes quickly darting as she thought of the word. "…intent?"
"Well, it is partly that. You can never forget that part of it, really." The redhead made an exaggerated shrug, his eyes not following the action. "But why would that matter to me? I'm not in it for love."
(not anymore)
"Sylph lets Pyroead call him that," she said. The moans echoed in her mind, filled with more passion than they had earlier. "Should he not be bothered by it?"
"Those two are different." Wally tossed his head back, indicating the direction of the source of the noise. "I think that it gets Sylph all hot and bothered when Pyroead says it."
"But they why does he say it to you too?"
The moaning faded into the rock walls. Suddenly there was nothing to buffer the question, the residue of the words echoing lightly against the shadows. Cassandra did nothing to aid the mood. Her patience had yet to even consider leaving her, instead worrying that her companion would disappear.
But the redhead only stayed silent for the passing minutes, his eyes dull from the hanging question. When he finally spoke, the words fell heavily. "Because I just prefer things that way."
"You want to remember," Cassandra said. "But you never forget. It's already a part of you."
Wally' gave a weak chuckle. "Yeah. I guess I can't change that, huh?" He lifted his right hand and combed his hair back. His eyes sparked in amusement. "So why are you sticking around here? All you've been doing is just watching."
The answer was quick to slip out of her mouth. She waited to see if the lie would trip over itself when it came out. When it didn't, she kept her surprise to herself. "I watch for the sake of my family. Someone has to remember the ghosts."
(because there's nothing else left)
"Huh." Wally cocked his head to the side, puzzlement spreading over his features. "I never really thought about that."
"You have other things to do," she said. She looked towards the lighter shadows of the caves. "I must leave."
"Already?" There was wanting in the redhead's voice, wishing for the companion that Cassandra had proven to be. But it was impossible to miss the quick glance he gave the darkest shadows. Something from the pits of the caverns remained in the emerald irises when he turned back. "I can walk you back-"
"I will be fine." She offered him a small smile. "Go."
"Ah…" Wally closed his mouth. He looked puzzled for a second, only to quickly wash out the emotion with relief. "Thanks. How about we grab lunch soon? I know this restaurant near Central. Just something normal."
A part of the vigilante wanted to offer automatic consent to the plan. The speedster had become a big part of her life once he took up training with Lampads. The training was rough, but made full use of Wally's science-made gifts. It was after his training sessions that he came to her. Nights were filled with questions and tired answers, sleep never granting them a true rest. Cassandra could not provide every single answer. Her silences, however, worked just as well for him.
The redhead's hiatus as a hero was enough to change the daily routine into a monthly chat. The bond itself never weakened, but Cassandra's information slowly became outdated. It was only through Dryad that she found out about Wally's arrangements with Pyroead and Sylph.
Logic would not allow her to answer back favorably. "I cannot. The Justice League is looking for me."
(but our time is running out)
"Oh. Right." His face fell for a second, only to come up again. The happiness in his eyes, however, had faded. "Well, take out isn't too bad either. I can get a candle for the shadows if you want."
She smiled back softly, her jaded features attempting to erase themselves for the sake of the other. "That sounds good."
"Great! Then tomorrow- no, today. Right, time differences and caves and-" The words stumbled out, the rest of him coming to a complete halt. "I should… yeah. Um, I'll talk to you tomorrow about dinner. Not sure if I'll time, with classes and-"
"Don't worry," Cassandra said. "We all have our duties."
"Right. Well, I'll see you tomorrow! Hopefully!" He offered her a wave before disappearing into the shadows. Only some footsteps proved that he had been there at all; he had not kicked up any dust and his speed barely left an afterimage. Cassandra couldn't help but admire his talents once again.
"You two would be a cute couple." Dryad's voice ghosted over her. He slowly removed himself from one of the masses of darkness, his black clothing holding onto the aura that accompanied the shadows. "The problem is that he's straight as a circle and you don't particularly care."
"Is it wrong to be only… friends?"
"No, nothing wrong with that. I'm just amazed, really." He crossed his arms, exposing a long vine that was wrapped around his forearm. "Then again, I didn't get laid until I was dead."
A corner of her mouth quirked upwards. "You didn't fall in love until you were dead."
Dryad chuckled. "That too." His smile died down as the remainder of the chuckle echoed through the walls. "Does he know yet?"
"I do not think so." Suddenly, she wanted to look down the passageway Wally had disappeared into. She resisted the temptation. "He's too focused on Red Arrow to notice."
"I'm not surprised. His obsession with that man is infuriating," Dryad said, shaking his head. "How much longer do we have?"
"A week? I…" Her voice hitched. "I cannot tell."
Dryad sighed. His posture was suddenly weighed down with pain and unhappiness. "I figured it would be as much. Just… try and keep us updated when you can. I think we all want to say our goodbyes."
(if only I could stop it if only I could help more)
She could say nothing more than two words. The training of her childhood would not allow for anything more than that. "Of course."
September 27, 12:05 PM
Washington DC
The Kryptonian kept his eyes closed, his head trying to drown out the screams with willpower alone. He despised the moments where he was confronted with the secrets of Justice League. There was always the overarching idea that allowed the secrets to exist, the single moral that drove him to do everything that he did. It was an unshakable belief in justice despite all that he faced. He had never negotiated with the ideal. Not even Bruce and his realistic view of the world could taint what Clark had learned from the Kent farm.
(screaming so much screaming)
That didn't make his task any more appealing.
His sky blue eyes shut themselves tighter, his cape falling around him as he stopped walking. Fragments of memories flashed through the darkness. His mind compensated for the rest, completing sentences and conversations that he had hoped to never hear again.
("Please someone help us."
murderer murderer that's what you are murderer
"You let them die Clark."
murderer murderer MURDERER)
It was pointless to tune them out and plead ignorance within his own mind; the words came back during his dreams.
The justification always ran through his head afterwards. The wording had become exact and meaningless, falling pass his careless lips at the mere thought of it. He knew that the emotions behind the words were still valid-
(they have to be valid)
-and it was just the words themselves that had lost meaning.
It was enough to bring Bruce back. It wasn't enough, however, to prevent that horrible night from happening. But there had been no other way to go about the business. Sacrifices-
(that's what they are just sacrifices sacrifices for the greater good they understand right?)
-had to be made at the very instance and the only ones suitable were the members of the Wayne family. There was no other way around it. It could have been considered one of Superman's best moments: he allowed logic to dictate his choice and he allowed the family to die in order for the greater good. The decision was disheartening, but it was the right choice. The Kryptonian was sure that even Bruce would agree with it.
The fear that had coursed through Clark when bodies started showing up was unparalleled. The exact thoughts that haunted him were burned into his memory, never healing in the passing years. His unshakable moral was suddenly wavering. Bruce Wayne, who had never given into his emotions unless logic agreed, had given into his base rage and was slaughtering others. While his reappearance after death alone was enough to raise questions, the murderous intent created an enigma that no one wanted to solve.
There was a collective wave of relief that slipped through them all when someone suggested that it was not actually Bruce who was killing. Theories began to range from insanity as a side effect of coming back to life-
(but they don't have a heartbeat you've listened)
-to a puppeteer working in the background. None of them could be proven, but it was enough. The question of morality fell to the side. Batman became another unfortunate enemy that had to be taken care of.
"If you would like, Kal-El, I can take over the task. There is no need for you to do this as leader of the Justice League." Dr. Fate's voice floated in the air, magic undoing the weight of the Kryptonian's thoughts. It was a quality that made Clark uneasy.
"It's fine, Fate. This helps remind me of what has happened."
"But if these reminders torture you, they will destroy the rest of the League. You are their leader," Fate reminded the Kryptonian. He was calm, his steps showing nothing but his collected sense of being. "There is little that we can do about the girl. She has chosen her path, knowing what destruction would be set upon the world with her choice."
Clark nodded once. The memory of the cold tray of food had not left his hands, which closed around the air as they tried to grab the illusion. "It never gets any easier."
"Sometimes, it is not meant to." The golden helm nodded in the direction of the dark hallway. "But we must remember that this is all for the greater good. Becoming lax because of our emotions can only lead to chaos."
"It just-" The rest of the sentence was suddenly lost in his throat. Clark paused and collected his words. However, when he attempted to speak, an overwhelming pain from his heart stopped him.
Fate kept a steady stare on the Kryptonian. "This is painful for you, I understand. I have the wisdom of centuries to tell you that it must work this way. We do not want to throw Earth into chaos."
"Right," Superman said. His voice did not shake, but the word came into the air unstable nonetheless. "How is-"
"He is unhappy with the situation, as usual. I suspect more time may show him the truth of the matter." The golden cape resting on his shoulders swirled as the man-
(is he a man or just a spirit?)
-turned around. "Come. There is a matter that requires immediate attention."
It was impossible for Clark to miss the painful weight in the tone. "What happened?"
"King Orin has not reappeared since yesterday. I have also found-"
"Justice League." Bruce's voice-
(should be dead shouldn't be here shouldn't be dead)
-filled the walls of the corridor with low, dreadful tones. "There has been a security breach. Assemble in the main hallway now."
The golden helm shook slowly. "I was hoping to show this to you alone to prevent panic."
"Panic?" Clark repeated. "What happened?"
"An Atlantean guard had been decapitated sometime within the last few days. The killer has recently deposited the body in front of the statues at the main hall. I was unable to secure the area without tampering with the scene." Fate's voice was emotionless, yet remained powerful. There was no remorse trapped between the words. The unease that the Kryptonian had experienced came back, pounding in his ears.
"And now Bruce knows."
(how will he react was it Muse will it trigger his memories?)
"We should look at the scene. With more analysis, it may be possible to trace this back to the source." The other nodded towards the direction that led back to the main hallways. "Shall we?"
"Yes."
(so easy to agree)
Clark couldn't help but allow his hearing to linger on the screams. They had persisted throughout the whole conversation, the voice growing hoarse. It was still a painful thing to listen to, despite the three years of experience he had with the particular prisoner. Even subjugating himself willingly could not wear away the blunt force. It was only his single, strong moral that was able to carry him through the daily event of bringing the food.
(sorry Zatanna it's for the greater good)
~4 years ago
March 18, 7:48 PM
Washington DC
Bright emerald eyes followed the pacing figure. His tongue was unable to call up any words, stunned in the moment that was too fast for the speedster to comprehend. Even his ever reliable quick quips failed to form.
(how could you?)
His uncle might have nudged him. Wally wasn't sure, although he could feel the faded presence of a handprint on his shoulder. All of his attention followed the older redhead. At first he had been unsure of what made him stare. He had known the truth longer than the Justice League had even thought something was wrong with the archer. The speedster was there during one of many despicable acts that Red Arrow-
(can no longer be Roy because was never Roy to begin with)
-had committed. What little the archer had revealed to the League was nothing compared to the bigger truth.
It took the speedster a moment to realize that it was the fact itself that bothered him.
(not everything never everything)
Emerald eyes quickly swept through the room, relieved that no one else was present. He couldn't help but wonder if Green Arrow would have changed anything if he was awake from his coma.
"Red Arrow-"
"What?!" Wally couldn't see pass the white lenses of the other's mask, yet it didn't take much imagination to see the irises inflamed in hatred. "Going to make fun of the clone? Tell me that I'm not good enough for your little club?"
"There's no one left in Young Justice."
"Oh, right, it's time for the pity party for the stupid one of the group," Roy said, malice filling each of his words. "Kaldur is actually doing something with his life. That stupid bitch-"
(M'gann is more than you are)
"-is a prisoner here. You. Are. Alone."
Silence filled the room, wrapping itself around both occupants with little care of strangulation. Wally refused to answer the taunt, however, and took pleasure in the way the mood coiled around them both. It had been less than a full year since they had last slept together. The anniversary of Jade's murder was closer. Wally could only hope that Red Arrow would admit the truth.
However, it appeared that the other was just as unlikely to talk as the speedster was. His lips had contorted into a thin, tight line. Wally could easily recall the moments where the lips were open, inviting, and spilling lust into his ears. The bed was the only other witness for those times. Afterwards, it had been the only source of comfort and warmth in the night when the archer disappeared.
Wally was only partially surprised when it was his voice that broke the silence. "You didn't tell them everything."
For a brief moment, pure hot rage flashed through the features of the other man. Wally watched at the body went rigid at his accusation. The hand on the bow quickly tightened its grip, ready to lash out but stopping just short of action. A snarl adorned his face. For one brief second, Wally believed that he brought out the same thing the drugs had: unexplainable, uncontrollable rage.
(same thing killed Jade)
Wally's words, however, still tumbled out of his mouth. "Well?"
The speedster was subjected to an angry glare, only to watch it dissolve into a mocking grin. "You're just upset that I'm not sleeping with you anymore."
"That's not true," Wally replied back, his voice jagged with pain. He had been unable to forget the torment that the memories brought. It was something that he didn't want to admit-
(residue of love?)
-but he found it hard to detach the feelings from the recollections. The simplicity clung onto him, chuckling as it watched him stumble through the day. Everything was tainted in the redhead's life. "I'm still alive. Jade-"
Red Arrow's motions were fluid, years of experience-
(only thing that's really his)
-giving him the ability to surprise the teenager with his speed alone. With little thought the man notched an arrow onto the bow and aimed for Wally's neck. The fury simmered to a flat line, his concentration following the movement of the speedster's Adam's apple.
(just going to kill me too?)
"I don't know what you're talking about." The archer's voice was inhumanly calm, yet managed to have the heavy tone of a threat. Wally wondered if the man's sight wavered behind the mask.
"Jade. Lian. I can't believe that you already forgot them." The tip of the arrow brushed against his throat. Wally entertained the possibility that it had drawn some blood without his notice. It had, at the very least, pierced some of the bright yellow of his suit; the metal of the arrow was warming from the contact with his skin. "You wouldn't have done that."
(can you be so cruel?)
"I'm gonna say it again." The archer drew out each word slowly, careful to pierce each syllable. "I do not know what you are talking about."
Wally could feel tears pricking his emerald eyes. The implications of the statement-
(you would forget me too)
-were not surprising. He was prepared for such a thing in the long run, his emotions gradually building a wall to protect him from the painful truth. He had not expected to deal with it all at once. Red Arrow's confession to his drug habits was a grand surprise by itself.
"Alright," the speedster muttered softly. "If you say so."
He allowed the quiet image of the archer disappear from his sight, his mind retaining the feeling of the metal tip against his throat. His brilliant emerald eyes tried to remain focus on the wall. It wasn't long before it blurred before him. The thoughts, searing into his brain-
(I knew better but why?)
-were as painful as they had been the day the speedster burned Jade's body. This time, however, Wally didn't have naïve adrenaline coursing through his body. This time, he had all the time in the world.
"Wallace." Batman's voice broke the trance. The wall rearranged itself before his sight, one of the many cracks that Pyroead and Dryad had left creating a heavy contrast to the light colored walls. At the end of the crack was where the once-vigilante stood. His arms were crossed and the infamous cape draped the figure in shadows. Wally was sure that the eyes behind the white lenses were focused solely on him.
"I was stupid, wasn't I?" the teenager muttered. "When he began to confess, I wanted to believe that he was going to tell everything. Why only tell half of the truth? Why admit the most destructive thing about himself and then neglect to mention anything about Jade?"
"He only found out he was a clone because of the drugs." The frown on the man's face grew deeper. "A particular mix seemed to have interfered with some of the brainwashing substances that Cadmus gave him. His handler couldn't keep making him forget their rendezvouses."
"Handler?" Wally asked. There was a dazed quality to his voice, but neither him nor Batman said anything about it.
"Crock was the original handler. Now, only Red Arrow knows who it is."
"But you're the world's greatest detective. You could find out easily." Points began to quickly jump about in the speedster's head. Pain fell to the side as the plan began to form. Memories were quick to accompany little tidbits of knowledge. For a moment, he could even feel the pulsing rage that had allowed the others to kill.
Batman nodded once. "You would have to get to the handler tonight if you want to beat Red Arrow."
"Give me the place. That's all I need." Wally closed his eyes. "And I'll leave the League afterwards. Or hiatus. Whatever Superman would allow me to call it so I can just leave."
"They wouldn't find out even if you stayed."
(but the guilt won't I have guilt?)
Wally chuckled softly. "Yeah, but I'm sure there's some rule saying that League members cannot have murderous intentions towards anyone else."
September 28, 9:43 AM
Washington DC
"Do they know that you visit me?" Muse's voice floated through the air, amusement making the words light. She stood with her back against the glass wall of her cell. The shadows gently caressed her figure, gathering around her legs before rising to follow the rest of the contours of her body. "I'm surprised Superman hasn't caught on."
"There's another prisoner in the building," Bruce said. "The masking spell that Fate used for the area was never present until now. I suspect that the spell may have been there for years."
"It could be wearing because of my presence. My powers don't have the patience that I have." The woman rested her head against the glass, her eyes turned towards the ceiling of the large cell. Bruce followed her gaze into the shadows of the unseen surface. While he was unable to visually perceive the ceiling, another unnamed sense whispered the dimension and feel of the cold metal. Electricity mingled with magic before brushing against his awareness. It was a strong yet false sense of security that the rest of the Justice League had fallen for when planning the prisons. They were relying on pain to contain the prisoners.
(a change in morals?)
"We will find out soon enough. Until then, the attention is diverted to Orin's disappearance and the decapitated Atlantean guard." The humor of the situation was kept out of his voice, yet it somehow still tainted the words. "I was unaware that we were going to draw in all of the attention at once."
"Kraken was just the start of it all. Children are always impatient, and we've been waiting for years to take them down." Muse turned her head, and their eyes met. "But you knew that already. That's why you've been pushing to destroy their reputation faster these past months."
Bruce gave her no sign of agreement or disagreement. Experience allowed her to read into all of his intentions, whether loudly proclaimed or silenced through action. "Your last act helped move things along."
The chill of the room became louder as the silence between the two figures appeared. The door to the hallway was brought close for once, and the shadows that Bruce kept close thrived in the environment. A lone flashlight that he had brought was the only light source. It was angled towards the floor between the figures. The metal floor shone back with a brilliant gleam, the reflection attempting to bring some pale glow to the rest of the room. Instead, it only highlighted the gray walls while naively leaving the corners of the cells to the shadows.
Muse turned her head back towards the ceiling before the question left her lips. "How is Harpy, love? He hasn't come around and visited yet."
"Barry's afraid of a mental breakdown. He's keeping constant watch," he answered. "He worries about the kid more than the parents do."
"You're going to have to be more specific about who you are referring to, love. You and I worry over him enough to make up for what those things forgot to give him." Any trace of humor in her voice evaporated as she spoke. "I should have killed them-"
"He is out of their house," the once-vigilante said softly. "They are no longer our concern."
"For now, yes. Still, I do not believe that Harpy would mind too much if I were to kill them."
"We have our own task, Muse. If you actively start to ware away Fate's spell, we can find out who he's keeping prisoner." As he spoke, the flashlight flickered once. It repeated the action before the light disappeared completely. The room and cells were suddenly trapped in darkness, leaving no escape for anything that was caught.
"I will try. I'm afraid that I already know who is in there. It may explain all of the screaming that Zatara does against Fate."
Bruce nodded once, despite knowing how useless the gesture was in the dark. He had deduced the truth with little trouble. However, he allowed hope to blind him with wishes that Clark Kent had not fallen so low.
(what happened Kal?)
He could feel his wife's eyes falling upon him through the darkness. "Is it possible to give prisoners blankets? It's a bit dismal here."
Bruce said nothing to the request. His hands were already open behind his back, waiting for the seemingly impossible to occur. The sound of shadow cutting through the cape slipped through the air. It was quickly followed by the flutter of the smooth material into his waiting hands. He brought it forward and held it out.
"Your cape?" she asked, amusement carrying her words through the glass barrier. The feeling of a hand ghosted over Bruce's glove before the cape disappeared from his grip. "I forgot how warm it can be. It really does have more function than dramatic effect."
"Work on the spell. I rather not find out that they were willing to kill another person." He turned and walked towards the doorway. The lingering question-
(how did you get through the glass the impenetrable prison?)
-dissolved away at the sound of the door automatically opening.
"Visit me again soon?"
Blue eyes turned to look back to the cell. The light of the hallway had filled the area as best it could. Muse had wrapped herself carefully with the cape, the jagged ends resting on the ground around her. Her face was soft and filled with a long lasting sorrow that had never left her.
(Paula)
He answered quickly. "We'll see."
(but we both know better)
September 28, 6:29 PM
Gotham City
"Why?"
The single word lingered in the air, the echoes it left behind in the caverns growing faint. Orin watched the other through the bars of his cell. The young man's body-
(so little has changed hasn't it?)
-did nothing in reaction to the question, the focus of the emerald eyes remaining on the newspaper pages on the table. There was darkness in the red head's character. The caverns did not add the quality to him; it merely highlighted something that was impossible to see anywhere else.
(so he was like this whole time)
The cavern that he was imprisoned within was about the size of the main hall of the Justice League headquarters. The ceiling was naturally curved to a sphere-like shape, stalactites dripping down with shadows as decoration. A few lanterns, scattered around the edges, provided the only light. The soft glow reflected against the metal of the cage Orin was placed in. The bars went into the earth with little thought to the laws of nature. The Atlantean had enough room to stand and lie down, although he was doing more of the latter as time passed on. There was a dark, wood table only a few feet away that served his guards. A matching chair rested next to it, and a lone lantern sat on the surface.
"Why, Wallace?" Orin repeated. There was anger in his voice now, except it only bubbled within him as he was ignored again. It compensated for the loss of power in his voice. It was not a surprising trend; being denied all but the bare minimum of water and food, the strength of the king of Atlantis had been fading. "Well?"
The speedster finally looked up. The green eyes took their time assessing the Atlantean before meeting the gaze. Orin couldn't help but flinch. There was a quality to the look that not even Black Manta could copy. The villain's hatred towards Orin was nothing compared to whatever was behind Wallace's eyes.
"Why don't you tell me?" Wallace finally asked. An echoing crinkle filled the cave after his words, the newspaper folding under his hands.
Orin's gaze refused to leave his captor's as he spoke. "They've tricked you. They talked to you when you were at your most vulnerable, and made you believe that they cared. I believe that they also convinced you to leave the Justice League because they needed to weaken us as a whole. They'll kill you after we are dead."
"'Vulnerable'?" Wallace said. "You made it sound like they asked me at a specific time."
"When they had come back, they used the confusion-"
"No. No. When you said it, you implied that it was at a specific point of time. As if there was no other time in the world when they could have asked me." The newspaper under his grip crinkled again. "You think there was a time that I was most vulnerable."
"Wallace-"
"When?"
"You stopped being with Red Arrow!" The truth spilled past his lips before he could stop the words. Orin quickly shut his mouth, his fear attempting to reign in every other part of him. Wallace, however, said nothing. There was patience in his features as time passed. The anger had lessened, but something unidentifiable coaxed more words out of the king within minutes. "You were so dejected. And you were no longer around Red Arrow. It became obvious that something happened between the two of you."
"Obvious?" A chuckle bubbled in the young man's throat, tainted with mocking glee. "If you were all paying attention, then you would see how Red Arrow didn't care. You all would know that he led me on to believing he loved me back. He was using me for sex!"
"He- he didn't!"
(you know he did how obvious how you pitied)
"Liar." The rage had returned, calm and collected as it had been before. "I might have taken it badly but the level of interaction had already been decreasing when we were seeing each other. He made me do it a month after Superboy came into our lives. It couldn't have been obvious and yet you still knew."
Words attempted to rise up his throat, only to have bitter bile keep them down. "I…"
"You didn't care? You thought it was beneath you to fix something after you allowed Batman's family to die?" An unnatural chuckle followed Wallace's questions. "The king of Atlantis in denial? I should feel honored."
(like them)
"You sound like them now," Orin said softly. "The… the speech pattern. They talked so differently when… when…"
(when they came back)
"They were the only ones to reach out to me. I was resistant at first. But can you really blame someone from breaking down when the people I was supposed to rely on refused to move?" Wallace asked. A gentle smile was now caressing his face. Orin had never seen anything of the like before; the wild swing of emotions from the speedster brought emotions from far ranges, but nothing so close and gentle.
"Wallace-"
"It's just cracking under pressure. That's what you all did. Crack and rationalize your sins." His emerald eyes flickered within the light of the lantern. For a second, a shadow tainted the color so that all Orin could see was a dull, lifeless green staring back at him. "It was okay when you did it in the Watchtower, right? You said that they deserved it. Isn't it fair to say that you all deserve it?"
(we deserve it all deserve it)
The Atlantean chose not to respond. His throat had grown dry from speaking, a fact he failed to notice until his anger lessened. It was a quiet yet powerful reminder that he had little strength to continue such a conversation, much less explain his side. The reasoning was still solid to his own mind-
(liar)
-and it was enough to allow him to hold out. Hoping for Wallace to break free from his belief, however, was a mistake.
Orin closed his eyes. The sounds of the caverns filled his ears, all carrying the undertone of the darkness that he continuously saw. The undercurrent had grown from a mere background sound into a constant pest. Instead of growing use to the nameless thing, the king of Atlantis could feel his sanity beginning to break down. He was desperately clinging to what he could.
A few chords of a lullaby suddenly struck the air. Wallace's voice, soft with the remnants of the faint smile, played the tune out. There was no controlled rage hiding behind the notes. It was peaceful.
That was before Orin could hear its undercurrent. It mocked him with a sinister grin, knowing that no one else could see it. The feeling it left raked claws through his back and ripped open the scars he obtained five years ago. For a moment, he could even feel the blood dripping down his back.
Orin screamed.
September 30, 5:41 PM
Central City
Wally closed his eyes. A rush of air slipped past his lips, sudden and unsure. The blue pen that he was holding was waved rapidly back and forth between his fingers. There were papers scattered before the redhead, each full of tight black text and tighter blue scrawl made only moments beforehand. The young man's green eyes were the only signs of life in the scene. Meticulously, they scanned the blue ink of a page before flitting to the next one.
Barry shook his head, his own lips allowing a sigh to escape. It was not an uncommon sight to see his nephew pouring over his homework at the kitchen counter. Wally had often refused to return home after school was let out, preferring to spend nights with his aunt and uncle. Both parents and Iris refused to complain about the accommodations. Even the wonders of college did nothing to change the habit. At times, Barry believed that the only reason Wally agreed to go to college in California was because his powers allowed him to return to Central City.
He was careful not to let himself sigh again. Instead, the man focused on eating the protein bar before him. Like the rest of the heroes, Barry found himself to be overworked and not always compensated. There had been a time in his career where he wouldn't have minded. However, he had not been expecting the current situation. The nights had grown longer and anything beyond the mission seemed to be out of reach. There were no longer smiles of citizens saved from their perils, nor was there a wife staying up late into the night waiting for his return. Heroic duties had taken over his life.
(but worth it right?)
The blond looked back at the college student. Wally had placed the pen down to the side, busying his hands with gathering and ordering the papers. "Another easy assignment?"
"Yeah." The boredom was heavy in his voice. "I thought being a chem major would be harder." The redhead looked up, his eyes almost lifeless from his academic life. "Was it like this for you?"
"Not exactly," Barry said, a half chuckle following the words past his lips. "I didn't have any powers to make assignments go by fast."
"I don't need any speed for this. It's simple." Wally placed the pile on the table. "Maybe it'll be a challenge once things at the League pick up."
The frown that contorted the older man's mouth came instantly. "Wally, you shouldn't think like that."
"Don't see why not. I need some more excitement in my life. If B-man didn't ask me to help Diana, well, who knows?" The redhead gave a halfhearted shrug. "The League needs all the help it can get nowadays."
"Is that why you join the League?" Barry heard anger rising with his voice. "Excitement? Wally, there are lives at stake-"
"I didn't say it was the only reason!" Wally snarled back. The green eyes flared with anger. "It was just one of the reasons, okay?"
"Really? And what were the others?"
The young man-
(when did he grow up?)
-glared, his hands balling into fists next to his homework. For a few seconds, Barry wondered if the other would just get up and leave without another word. It was unlike Wally to leave in the middle of an argument without getting in the last word. But after Bruce had trained the sidekick-
(always a sidekick or something else?)
-there was something unexpected in the redhead. Something that reminded Barry too much of what Bruce had been like before.
"Truth. Isn't that supposed to be one of the ideals of the Justice League?" The answer came out suddenly, surprising the older hero before the meaning sank in. Wally, however, seemed unwavering as he finished speaking. His whole face steeled as the seconds began to pass. "Well?"
"You still want to find out about what happened to Bruce."
"No. Why did you automatically jump to that?" the redhead asked, an accusation seeming to tail the question. He kept the follow up to himself, leaving Barry to quietly wonder what his nephew wanted to say.
Barry remained quiet. He quickly recalled his thought process, unsure how many jumps took place in such a short amount of time. The scientist within him had successfully pulled off the feat many times before with startling accuracy. This time, however, only had a few pieces of the process.
(don't want to admit it?)
"I…" The blond paused, unsure of what to say next. "I thought that you still wanted to know."
"Yeah, but really? Risk my life because Superman won't air out his dirty laundry?" Wally glared at his uncle. He flexed his fists once, knocking into the blue pen. It quickly rolled to the side of the table and fell off. Neither of the speedsters moved to pick it up. "I'm not that stupid."
"I never implied that you were."
"Are you sure?" the redhead asked.
The frown on Barry's face deepened. "Wally-"
"No, it's okay. That's what everyone thinks." The young man rose from the table, the chair scraping against the floor loudly as it was pushed by the back of Wally's legs. He gathered the pile of papers. The green eyes refused to look up from his homework. "I'm not like Bruce. I don't dwell in my intelligence. It makes sense for them to look at my jokes and assume things."
Now there was guilt pitting the blonde's stomach. "Wally, no-"
"Really, Uncle B. Don't bother." Wally tucked the papers under his left arm before reaching down to retrieve his pen. "It's okay. Really."
Barry closed his eyes in frustration, an answer quickly forming on his tongue. His mind tried to organize his thoughts just as fast. The image of Bruce-
(no)
-however, managed to stop him mid-thought. The emotions associated with the lone image-
(anger sadness guilt)
-came flooding back with startling clarity. He could remember the days, starting at the second Oracle's call came through the communication system. The closing memory was of Bruce's body, as frigid as his personality, placed into one of the metal canisters for almost a year of storage.
(because I didn't stand up?)
He banished the thought just as quickly. "There are-"
Barry opened his eyes. The kitchen was empty.
October 1, 12:48 AM
Star City
The redhead cocked his head to the side as he watched the figure running through the passageways between the buildings. The shadows cast by the moonlight were unable to hide the anger radiating off of the man, the darkness darting alongside the clumsy movements of the archer. He was clothed in hospital garb, his footsteps echoing with the sound of shoes a size too big against the concrete. The boy's-
(can't be anything more)
-eyes were darting across the landscape. There was a struggle behind the darkened irises, merging information almost a decade old with the sensory bombardment that appeared before him. The boy paused every few seconds from the weight of the confusion. Wally allowed himself to wonder if the boy had even bothered to plan his escape from the hospital. If he was to judge based on Red Arrow's actions alone, it was rather unlikely that Roy Harper had even the wisps of an idea in his head. Impatience seemed to define both of their existences.
He sighed softly. Faint traces of chocolate tingled in his mouth, the remainder of the candy bar he ate minutes before. What had once been joy at eating the sweet blend had long fallen to a dull reminder of happiness. The constant need for food had ruined his love for the finer tastes of life. The speedster had yet to lose complete euphoria from blasts of savory flavors, yet he was no longer able to be overwhelmed by such things. First time experiences with new foods were always ruined through the constant need to eat. Barry had never mentioned such a thing being an issue, leaving the teenager at the time to discover the curse within the powers.
(fine things ruined so fast like Red Arrow like Roy)
The weight of the gun on his belt did nothing to ease his nerves. He was not like Pyroead, who handled them with such a cold stance that even his fires seemed to freeze rather than burn. It was almost second nature for him to pull the trigger. Sylph showed more remorse, although there was still something in the blue eyes that took glee from the moment. Wally wasn't sure if it was hints of insanity that slipped into the man when he was under the Justice League's spell.
Wally was different from his two lovers.
(don't lovers require love?)
Guns frightened him. Death frightened him, despite the fact that he was constantly surrounded by such beings. But the speedster had been able to kill several times in the past few years. He enjoyed the act, relishing the way the blood tasted like copper on his tongue. There was never a nightmare afterwards.
He sighed. The anticipated kill wasn't any different than the previous ones. It was only the meaning behind that made him pause. It was only that.
(really?)
He turned to the end of the roof, only the edges of several large crates looking back at him. In a burst of speed, the redhead flew over the pile and landed on the concrete. The only noise made by the movement was the light tap of the soles of his sneakers touching the ground. The holster banged against him impatiently.
"You okay, kid?" Pyroead's voice, full of his usual confidence and arrogance, washed over the speedster. "You were up there for a while."
"Just thinking." Wally brought his right hand to the cold metal, refusing to look up at the other. "You're sure Red Arrow's gonna follow him?"
"Like a puppy. Funny, really. He never was the type."
"You're assuming."
"Sylph's tracking the bastard. We've waited too long for this moment." Pyroead's voice was suddenly smug. "Not going to fuck it up over something small."
"Right." The redhead carefully took the gun out, the metal warming under his touch. There was an uneasy comfort that he found while holding the firearm. It seemed to fit perfectly into his grip despite being a new gun. It was a comfortable weight and had yet to do anything but what Wally wanted it to do.
(made for each other)
"You sure you'll be okay, kid? You've been quiet."
"You know, Pyro? There's one thing that's been bothering me lately," Wally said, finally looking up. The other man was under one of the few lights in the compound. He had donned a black leather jacket over a white shirt that clung to his body. The jeans for the night were a faded light blue, his own set of guns hanging off of his belt. It was a familiar ensemble for the man.
"What?"
Wally brought the gun up, leveling the barrel to his target. "You keep calling me kid. I hate that." As the last word left his lips, the redhead pulled the trigger. The noise that followed burst through the empty corridors that ran between the buildings.
Roy Harper, who had just turned into the corridor and was standing behind Pyroead, collapsed to the ground. Wally couldn't help but feel surprised-
(no remorse never any left)
-that the teenager hadn't made a sound.
Wally lowered the gun slowly, his eyes steeling as they focused on the dead figure. There was no elegance hidden in the teenager. His fall was like his clone's movements: jerky, angular and harsh. There was little compassion in his face, although some confusion had managed to carve itself in before the bullet hit. He had fallen forward, chest against the ground and limbs flailing around him. The vigilante, however, was still trapped in his youth, no doubt preserved by whatever invention Lex Luthor helped created. Accompanying his young age-
(only thirteen)
-was a lack of knowledge. Without the vital years of growth, the boy appeared innocent.
(sorry am I actually sorry?)
Footsteps pounded against the pavement. Wally turned his head and tightened his hold on his gun. He could feel Pyroead approach him, almost hovering but never actually crossing the line. It made sense to the redhead; while the other would love to be within the depths of the action, he was only a helpful observer this time.
"Roy-" The rest of Red Arrow's words failed to appear as he came into view. His gaze first fell onto Wally, the man's face twisting under some unnamed emotion before he turned away. Horror dripped onto his face afterwards. "You- you-"
"This is the first time I've seen you in years, Red." Wally said. He placed the gun back into its holster, unconsciously tracking where the weight of the cool metal went. "I asked Bats how many times you visited Green Arrow since he went into his coma. You know what he did?"
Red Arrow instinctively reached for his quiver. The younger redhead allowed himself to smile, watching as the world around him froze. Even the night air stilled in anticipation.
(too easy)
Wally walked over to the frozen figure, noting how there was still the slightest hints of movement in the vigilante. The hand that he had once known well was partly curled around the tail of one of his arrows. The bow Red Arrow had brought with him was rigid in his other hand. Yet all the speedster could focus on was the mask. The white lenses shielded the eyes, but that didn't matter; Wally knew from experience the emotions hidden behind them.
Barry Allen was thorough with teaching Wally when the mentor relationship had begun. Despite his lack of experience, the blond man was a very good teacher. It was the first lesson, however, that stuck out the most to the newest speedster. The older man had separated the use of their powers into two categories. The first one was the ability to speed up the body. Everything, from direction to duration, had to be calculated almost exactly. But somehow the mind was allowed to remain in the normal sense of time, allowing the senses to understand the world around them as they moved. The second category was allowing the mind to run as fast as the body. Judgment of the environment came at lightning pace because they simply had the time to anticipate.
(but when the mind follows you're alone)
Wally walked around the archer. With some rare nimbleness, the speedster pulled the arrow out of the man's grasp without touching the hand itself. He gathered the remaining arrows into his arm. Every few moments, emerald eyes strayed to notice the position of the hand. The changes that came about were slow, never once within the realm of possible threat. The impulse, however, was not something that he bothered to avoid. He could even admit that there was some sort of sadistic pleasure in the knowledge.
The speedster walked back as quickly as he came. With some care to not to set off any of the trick arrows, he placed them on the ground in a pile. There were about twenty altogether. Each had a different tip, only hinting at the force hiding within them. Wally picked a few to examine with a critical eye. The technology and science that created them was an appealing feature. It was the only reason why he did not simply toss them in the archer's direction.
(would be fitting)
The world slowly returned to normal speed. Red Arrow's hand turned into a fist, realization clouding over his horror. Wally already had his gun out, the barrel leveled with the near-identical head of its last victim.
"Bats laughed," Wally finished. "You are so ridiculously single minded that you forgot about the man that cared for you. You forgot that you had a child."
"She wasn't my-"
"Fucking hell, Red! She looks a lot like you for a bastard child!" The aim of the gun wavered for a second, but was just as quickly returned to its target. "Jade actually loved you. Did you know that?"
The clone sighed loudly, his disbelief clear. "She was an assassin. You think she fell in love with me or something?"
"Yes."
(we were such fools )
The speedster could feel tears pricking against his eyes. Still, he continued to talk. "She fell the same way I fell. And no mattered who it was, you just kept leading them on."
"I didn't-"
"Please," Pyroead said. Laughter and disbelief mingled in his voice. "I've known you far too long. You and your original. It would only surprise me if you hadn't turned out this way."
For the first time, the archer focused his attention on the third person present. The hand on the bow tightened as he did. "Jason-"
"For the last time, it's Pyroead. Can any of you dipshits get it right?" There was a growl underlining his voice. "And you knew that this was coming, Red. I told you I would get back at you one day."
"And you're using-" Red Arrow raised his free hand to gesture at Wally. "-this kid-"
A gunshot rang out. The surprise it drew onto the archer's face was fast and lasting. His hand unconsciously reached up for his shoulder, checking to see if there was any blood. His gaze never left the speedster or the gun.
"Don't call me kid." Wally's words were slow and precise. Despite of his emotions, the gun held steady. "Don't use me as a fuck toy and then still call me a kid."
"That thing is using you!" His gaze returned to the pyro. "And you're allowing yourself to be used."
"And you killing Jade with a bunch of arrows is any different?"
"You just killed Roy!"
"I did. But I never led him on." The speedster jerked his head towards the cooling body. "He didn't know what kind of life you led, did he? You didn't tell him about your drug days? Or how you killed-"
"Stop saying-"
"Then admit it!"
(please)
Wally couldn't stop the surge of relief that washed over him as he saw Red Arrow's face contort in pain. Still, his grip on the firearm tightened. "Well?"
"Fine, you want it so fucking bad? I'll tell you! I…" The archer stuttered slightly, his hand lowering the bow as he tried again. "I killed her."
Wally shook his head. He finally received the truth that had long been denied, but it still wasn't enough. "Why did you kill her?"
Anger surged through Red Arrow again. "Why? Kid, I was on drugs! High as a kite!"
"Not everyone kills someone else when they're high." The speedster forced himself to ignore the overwhelming pressure to cry. Despite all of the time that had passed, he had yet to get over the memory.
"Well if she didn't-" The words died suddenly, and rage hardened to indifference. Wally could see the archer's grip on the bow loosen before tightening again. "She should have known better."
"We all should have, shouldn't we?"
(now it's all gone)
The younger redhead shook his head. "I was hoping for more of an answer, but I'm willing to make do. Later."
Red Arrow opened his mouth, but the protest died before the words could even form. The bow fell to the ground with a clatter. The man followed soon after, crumpling in a manner similar to his original.
Sylph smiled softly, the syringe carefully poised in his hand. The light above him highlighted his smile. For a moment, Wally could see the young child that had given the same smile to an audience in a circus. "That was more satisfying than it should have been."
"Just imagine what beating the crap out of him will feel like," Pyroead said. "This fucker had it coming for a long time."
(no more escape)
Wally nodded once. He tucked the gun away, and turned his attention back to the arrows at his feet. "You guys can bring him back. I'm going to clean up the rest of this mess."
"You sure?" Pyroead jerked his head towards the cooling corpse. Blood had begun to pool around the teenager's body. The surrounding shadows had swallowed up the rest of the body, only allowing the head to be seen in the light.
"Yeah. I'll see you guys later," the redhead said. His eyes remained on the pile of arrows, stealing a few glances at Roy's body. There was no reason for him to question the death.
(really?)
"If you're sure, Red."
Wally counted his heartbeats. By the time he got to ten and looked up, he was alone with the corpse. There was no sign that anyone else had been there.
He eyed the arrows again. While he did not know what each of them contained, he was able to make a few educated guesses. His pending degree in chemistry along with the training Lampads put him under had done enough. Everything else broke down in front of him in simple categories and equations.
"Sorry, Roy," he muttered. "You wouldn't believe me if I said that this was for your own good, would you?" His hands found their way into his pocket and produced a book of matches. He was quick to strike one to life. The flame danced at the end of the stick.
An image of Jade's body-
(here's revenge)
-flashed before his eyes.
Wally shook his head, a whimsical smirk pulling at his lips. With some care for precision, he tossed the lighted match on top of the body. The flame caught onto the garments easily. He could have counted the seconds it took before the fire turned into a blaze. The light it produced ripped through the night, scaring the shadows of the corridors away.
The young man wasn't paying attention to that, however. Instead he slowly gathered up the arrows into his arms quietly, his back facing the blaze. Emerald irises never once turned back to the growing fire. Before the flames had reached the face of the corpse, Wally was gone.
October 1, 3:12 PM
Gotham City
(it's time)
Cassandra checked her wristwatch again. Alfred had gifted her the piece months after the rest of the family had died. It was an intricate accessory, made for a granddaughter rather than the child of assassins. But the smile on the butler's face that day only strengthened what had already been confirmed.
(always a family)
She looked up again. The gravestones that were scattered around glared back at her. The cityscape surrounded the graveyard, peaks of buildings slipping over the brick walls. It brought her a sense of peace that she had never found anywhere else.
She turned to the tombstone before her. Alfred's name had been carved into it with methodical care. There was even some love hidden behind the movements, preserved in the stone yet unseen by anyone who didn't know. It was a stark contrast to the gravestone that memorialized the Wayne family.
"Cass!" Wally's voice pierced through the cemetery. He appeared only seconds afterwards, his arrival only marked by suddenly dented grass. "What are you doing? The whole League could see you-"
"I have to leave soon."
"Well, yeah! The League-"
"I can't see them anymore."
The redhead froze at the words. He looked at the gravestone once, his mouth furiously trying to find the words. Cassandra waited silently. Her own attention was turned deeper into the cemetery. In the last five years she had developed the habit of looking in the general direction of the Wayne tombstone. Her visits to the actual thing itself, however, only made a small handful of moments.
"Why?" The simple word tumbled out of the young man's mouth. There were tears in his voice, although it was obvious neither would be shedding any.
Cassandra closed her eyes. Her grasp on spoken language stuttered back to her. "I…" She paused. "I don't have enough hatred."
"What?" he hissed. "How- what- How is that even possible? You know what they've done. They killed-"
She kept her voice leveled. "I have let go of my hatred. They will suffer, even if I am not there."
The emerald eyes turned away from her gaze. "I don't understand."
"Hating the Justice League… I cannot continue to do it forever. I hate what they did to my family. I hate that they went unpunished for their crimes for so long. But wishing for revenge…" Cassandra looked at the wristwatch again. The cold metal suddenly weighed more than it had ever did. "I don't want to be lost to hatred. I can't be the monster my father meant me to be."
In the corner of her vision, she could see the redhead mouthing the words. She turned her attention away.
(too entrapped in revenge?)
"I… I don't want to understand," Wally finally muttered. "Before this mess happened… Before all of this shit, I wouldn't have. I would probably be naïve and stupid. But now? Now I know too much."
"I'm sorry."
He turned away. Cassandra kept her gaze on the redhead. She had expected him to run away in order to deal with the teaming emotions. The other possibility was silent contemplation, a rarer and direr version of his thinking. She hated the mask that he put on when the thoughts got too overwhelming.
(it can only get worse)
Wally was the one to break the silence. "That means you're leaving."
"Yes," she said softly. She fought off the need to look at towards the Wayne grave.
"I wish you told me sooner." He shook his head, his emerald eyes focusing on the tombstone. "We could have had more dinners."
"You had your own things to do," she reasoned. "And I needed time to say goodbye to the others."
The redhead turned to look at her, the emerald eyes gleaming from unshed tears. "Was there a reason I was the last one?"
(because it means the most)
"I…" Cassandra retracted the word. "You are not like the others. You're not-"
(completely gone to vengeance to dreams)
"-dead."
He nodded once. "I… I understand."
"Thank you."
Silence sat around the two figures before slipping into the rest of the graveyard. The fading sunlight sent rays to spot the area. It was followed by the rapidly cooling air of autumn, which wrapped itself around them. Cassandra remembered how Alfred loved those times of the day. He braved his own dying body in order to enjoy the change from day to night.
"I… I'll find you once this is over," Wally said, the words rushing from his mouth. "If I haven't completely lost my mind."
"That would be fine," she replied. "I'll be waiting."
Wally's face broke out into a smile. "Great! We could go see the world if we want! I mean, I've already seen most of it already- except that was at super-fast speed and-"
Cassandra chuckled softly, ignoring the pulse of sadness that was going through her.
(I'm sorry Wally)
October 2, 12:00 AM
Washington DC
The fear running through Barry's veins was paralyzing. It took all of his effort to keep his breaths as shallow, quiet gasps.
(should have known never to be forgiven)
In a single bought of courage, the speedster had snuck into the prison area within Justice League Headquarters. He wanted to see Muse, something he had denied himself since her capture. It was only recently that he allowed himself to satisfy the craving, planning on how to sneak past in overly elaborate plans. In the end, he trusted the simplest answer to be the key. He was careful in his planning stages; The last thing that Barry needed was for Superman to believe that another hero had become a traitor.
(especially after Zatarra)
Barry had, in the end, used his powers to vibrate through the door. It had come as a surprise to see it actually work; the security measures that were in place were dense in both quality and quantity. He had refused to dwell on the fact and its implications. When luck was agreeable, he rarely argued against it. Instead, he had walked to a corner of the room and looked towards the woman's cell. It was pitch black but he found some sort of peace being within the confines. He had hoped to find the words he needed after entering. When they refused to come, Barry simply stood there. He couldn't remember the last time he felt at peace.
That was before Bruce Wayne entered the room. He had walked in with such an ease that it didn't take Barry long to piece together the truth.
(no)
The hero was unable to leave without drawing attention. He could only watch the events unfold, hoping that his fearful heart didn't give him away.
"You shouldn't get restless, love," Muse said, her voice playful. "It isn't healthy."
Bruce waited as the door to the prison closed before speaking. The plunge into darkness had no effect on him, a sharp contrast to Barry's struggle to remain silent. "Harpy captured Red Arrow."
The speedster forced his surprise to remain silent.
"I expect no less from him. It's only a shame that we cannot adopt him for ourselves."
"There are worse things."
Muse laughed. "Worse, my love? The things that we suffered through have so many other words to describe them."
"What we went through was… special."
"Very special. One would hope that friends do not betray them," she said. Her voice was playful, yet nothing could mistake the cold rage that underlined the words. "Betrayal that kills is worse. Denying the truth is even more so. Remember how that felt, love?"
There was a moment of silence in the room. Barry's inability to see elongated the time, each passing second making him fidget more. He tried to count softly in his head. It didn't take long for him to give up; his voice had almost brought the numbers to life from his fear.
Finally, Bruce spoke. "It would have been better if we remained dead."
"It would, wouldn't it? Even the image of Fate wouldn't be so bad to die to." She paused, and for a second Barry thought he could feel her breath on his neck. He kept himself from crying out in fear. "Hoping that they would own up to their mistakes would have been better to die with. Instead, we were brought back to find Hell waiting for us."
Barry frowned as the words wash over him. There was something glaringly obvious about the conversation before him. There was a jagged edge to the words, being too rehearsed and still unnatural. It was as if-
(they know)
The lights were thrown on without warning. The speedster blinked a few times, eyes adjusting and his mind struggled-
(fight or flight fight or flight can't fight)
-with what to do next.
"I want him to look at me."
Barry's eyes snapped open without thought. The rest of his body froze involuntarily.
(Wally?)
The redhead speedster stood before him, his face grim and arms crossed. He was wearing a red sweatshirt pulled over a white shirt and jeans. All of the pieces were distinctly civilian clothing that spoke nothing at all about the hardships that he had claimed to face as a member of the League. What drew in Barry's attention, however, was the blood splatter that had socked into the cloth.
Wally turned to his left. Barry's eyes followed, widening at the sight of Muse on the other side of her prison. When he spoke, his voice was full of icy indifference. "They'll notice when he goes missing."
"There will be more panic, yes." Muse cocked her head to the side, a cold mask washing out her other features. "But nothing to care about. It's almost complete."
"Of course, Mother."
(no no no)
The redhead turned his attention back to the frozen hero. "I wanted to believe that you weren't a part of it. Why would good old Uncle Barry let one of his closest friends die? Why would he do the obvious wrong thing?
"But you just disappointed me," he said. He turned his emerald green eyes away, focusing on one of the corners of the room. "How is it that all of you failed?"
Barry wanted to open his mouth, an explanation already rising in his throat. His mouth, however, was frozen like the rest of his body. The panic he had felt at his first realization turned into an overwhelming fear.
(no)
"The only thing you didn't do is use me," Wally continued. "I guess I should thank you for that."
"You should leave soon," Muse said softly. Her eyes focused on the youngest within the group. "The rest can be said another time."
"One more thing," the young man-
(his eyes what have they done? what have we done?)
-promised. His gaze fell back to his uncle, a mixture of mercy and cold fury hardening his face. "How long would you have lied to me? You led me to believe that you did everything in your power to save them. But you didn't do anything."
Silence reigned in the room. Bruce-
(not Bruce lost him never had him)
-had remained silent in the exchange, standing off towards the door. His cowl had been pulled down to reveal his face. "Knock him out now."
The young man nodded once. His steps towards Barry were definite. It was only then that the blond noticed the large bow that was tucked into his nephew's hand.
(Red Arrow)
Wally lifted the bow into the air and beyond Barry's sight. Their eyes locked together in a gaze, and the redhead shrugged. "You really should have expected this."
A sharp pain met the back of the hero's neck, and then there was nothing.
This was a fun chapter! (In my opinion, Wally's story is one of the saddest.)
Here's hoping to quicker chapters! *crosses fingers*