Chapter 26.

The Right Side.

Oliver lost track of time because the tent was always dark, but he knew the chance to take the supply plane had long passed. It had to be at least the following evening. He was plagued with thoughts of being left behind, wondering how he might feel about it if he found himself on this island alone. His thoughts never strayed to death, no matter how damp the sand beneath his feet became. Some part of him was sure he was going to live, no matter the cost. It was always like that. Oliver was not the man who died, he was the man who lost the people he never wanted to live without – so he saw their faces: Sara, Robert, Slade, Yao Fei, Shado. He felt their lives hanging in the balance. He wondered who he was going to lose, what his mistakes would cost him.

And it was not just the torture that made him weak, made him sick. Something was wrong. It was like his soul was rebelling against the changing timelines. It was like being in deep, dark water, feeling the pressure bearing down, but having no way to escape, no way to surface.

You have to go back. You told me you could do better.

Billy Wintergreen visited infrequently, resigned to get nothing from him in this state, only coming to check that he was still alive. He heard Fyers outside the tent, talking to Wintergreen, "Let him die if he's going to die. No point in trying to speed the process along. I have no interest in wasting more resources keeping him alive. We need to focus on breaking Yao Fei, and for that I need you to find his daughter. Scour the island."

His words were water.

Oliver drifted for hours after he heard their conversation, and no one came to see him for a while. His chance to leave the island had certainly passed by now. His thoughts shifted to home – to his real home – and he was forced to wonder if his family would simply cease to exist, or if his actions were creating some kind of alternate version of them. Barry had never explained it very well – he had only said that thinking about it could easily drive someone insane.

It was dawn when the tent flap jerked open, and then closed again. Oliver was blinded for a moment. The cold plastic edge of a canteen touched his lips.

Luke grabbed him by the jaw and held his head upright, tipping water over his lips. It was rainfall in a desert. Oliver drank until the canteen was empty, groaning when the water hit his empty stomach. How long had he been here?

"I think he gave up on getting you to talk," Luke said. He looked Oliver up and down, grimacing, stepping backward to get out of the wet sand. "You've lost a lot of blood…"

"I know."

Luke said nothing. It was hard to imagine what he might be thinking in the dark. Oliver could only see the edge of his mouth, the scowl that lived there.

"They're waiting for me to die," Oliver said.

Luke said nothing again, standing there, silent as a statue.

"Let me go," Oliver whispered. "Please."

"I can't," Luke responded.

But he stayed there, and more than a minute passed. Oliver let his head drop again, deciding it was not worth the energy to stare at a dark face.

And then, finally, Luke said, "Okay." He walked behind Oliver, rustling around, "I have to find the keys. Do you know where he put the keys?"

Oliver stirred, "Pick the locks." He wiggled his arms, which were suspended above his head with a pair of bloody handcuffs. His wrists and forearms had been numb for a while, but the prospect of being freed woke him up again.

"I don't know how to pick handcuff locks!"

Something moved outside.

Oliver stared at the tent flap, listening intently to the sound of voices, to grunting, to shearing flesh. He heard blades sliding against armor.

And then the flap was cut in half.

Slade Wilson was there, in the harsh light of dawn, with a mercenary caught between his blades. He had him by the neck, holding him up for a moment, and then he drew both his blades back and nearly decapitated him. He charged into the tent, blood spattered, panting, eyes as wild as an animal, and bore his blades at Luke.

"No! Wait!" Oliver said, as Slade lunged, and missed, and Luke dove behind him. "Wait. He was helping me. He was helping me."

Slade growled, "He's the reason you're strung up, kid."

"Just cut me down."

Slade got a good look at him, his eyes sinking down to the red sand. He scowled, "Billy."

"I need the keys," Luke said, motioning to the cuffs.

Slade snorted and slashed out with one of his blades, shearing through the center of the handcuffs. Oliver dropped like a rock, and the armored warrior stooped to catch him, dropping his sword. It was like getting caught by sandpaper. Oliver could suddenly feel his wounds again. Adrenaline raced through his blood. His heart hammered. He slipped out of consciousness for a precious moment while he tried to fight through it.

He was dragged upright, supported roughly on one side.

"You look like shit, kid," Slade grunted.

Oliver smiled, somehow. He felt better with his feet under him again. Slade let off until he was standing on his own; swaying but standing.

"Did you have an escape plan?" Oliver wondered, "Or was 'guns blazing' as far as you got?"

"Shut up and come with me."

Oliver had time to look at Luke, briefly, and wonder if he was really going to free him, before Slade dragged him out of the tent. The hairs on the back of his neck stood up immediately. He was blinded by the dawn, squinting as Slade urged him through the sand. Oliver stumbled over a maze of bodies, some of them missing entire limbs, some of them still clinging to life, groaning, with their chests sheared in half.

Bullets started flying before they made it away from the tents.

Slade dropped Oliver suddenly and Oliver crumpled, unable to catch himself so suddenly.

It was Fyers.

He was coming toward them, a pistol in his hand, firing furiously. His shots burrowed into the sand, ricocheted off of Slade's armor, sometimes missed Oliver by a hair, or less – until the gun clicked. Oliver lurched for the nearest wounded mercenary, firing at Fyers as he fled.

"We gotta go!" Oliver said, turning back, puzzled at the still figure lying in the sand beside him. Oliver got a hand on Slade and shook him, "Slade? Hey!"

His heart lurched and the worst crossed his mind.

"No, no, no, please, Slade, come on!"

Oliver got onto his knees, fighting through a pain like fire in his chest. He shook Slade again and then pressed his fingers desperately to his neck. He grasped for a pulse, waiting, trying to distinguish between the beating of his own heart and the weak throbbing in his friend's neck.

He was alive, but he had been shot.

His leg was spurting fresh blood, painting the sand. It had hit him right below the knee, between two of his armor pads. It was a very lucky shot.

Oliver staggered to his feet, the world spinning around him. He got a hand on Slade's vest and tried to drag him, only moving him a few feet before he had to give up. Slade was too heavy.

"You have to get up" Oliver said, shaking him again. "Come on. Wake up! Slade!"

Something moved a few tents over, coming toward them. Oliver heard gunfire on the other side of the camp and people shouting. A distraction? Did that mean Sara was nearby? He drew one of the swords from Slade's back and held it defensively in front of them, waiting for the stray to emerge from the tents – or waiting for Fyers to come out and shoot them both.

But it was Luke.

He came from behind a tent, a gun in his hand.

"Why are you still here?" he hissed.

Oliver only stared at him for a moment, trying to shift his reaction. He just said, "What?"

"You have to get out of here!" Luke said, his eyes shifting to Slade.

"He was shot," Oliver said.

"Come on."

Luke got on his other side and grabbed his vest, and the two of them dragged him together. When they had gone forty feet, nearly to the edge of the beach camp, and the end of the trail of bodies Slade had left on his way in, Slade started to stir.

"I need you on your feet. Come on. Stand up." Oliver wrapped his arms around Slade, guiding him up to his feet, and helping him stay there. "We have to keep moving."

Slade groaned, "Should have left me behind, you… idiot."

Oliver smiled.

XxX

It was past midnight and they should have been asleep.

But tonight was the night.

Oliver could not make himself go to sleep knowing what he had to do.

He sat silently on the couch, watching William hand Mia one block at a time to assemble a tower, only to knock it down again. Just last year William would have been out with his friends at this hour. He would be chasing girls and trying to pass his finals. He would be anywhere but here on a Saturday night. But it was dangerous in the city and most of his friends had left already. Some transferred colleges, and some just vanished without a trace. Oliver knew it wasn't fair for him to live through something like this. He had already had his life disrupted.

Felicity made a point to avoid talking to him. It was like she knew already, like she could sense what he was going to say. She was all smiles for the baby, all pretend.

She gave in, though, and asked, "Can you just say it already?"

William looked up sharply, waiting.

Oliver was quiet for a long time, wondering if he could even answer her. He had been planning it for so long that it seemed like an abstract concept. Months ago they had promised to each other that they could fight this, that they were never going to give in – and that they were never going to be forced apart.

"I need you to leave the city."

She said nothing, and William looked between them. He looked like he wanted to object, but there was also a vein of relief on his face.

Oliver said, "His targets are becoming random."

"We don't know that," Felicity interrupted, rambling, "We don't know how he picks his victims. He could just be picking up the pace, branching out. We just have to let the algorithm work. We just have to-"

"I'm sorry," Oliver cut in. He kept his emotions at bay. "We have no way to stop him. We might have to go to extremes. We might have to do things that put innocent lives at risk. I can't have you here. I can't have William and Mia here."

Felicity sat beside him on the couch, her hand resting against the base of her throat, like it did when she was nervous.

William asked, "For how long?"

"I don't know yet." Oliver hated that the most. He had to send them away, with no guarantee that he would see them again. In truth, they might never meet again.

William might have sensed that, or maybe he just felt the fear radiating from Felicity. He was a smart kid. He looked at Oliver with a painful understanding in his eyes. He was slightly younger now than Oliver had been when he ended up on Lian Yu, and he looked more and more like him every day – it was like staring into a mirror.

Oliver cleared his throat, looking away from his son, and his wife, and focusing instead on his young daughter. Mia was oblivious to their serious conversation. She was happy with her blocks.

"Thea will take you away and keep you safe. Mia will have Sam to play with, and you can transfer your credits to another college, Will."

"I would, if the university was staffed."

Oliver sighed.

William handed his sister another block, "When?"

"Get packed in the morning. Thea will be here by tomorrow evening."

William nodded stiffly and stood up, "I'll be in my room."

"Can you…?" Felicity asked, without finished.

William stooped and took Mia with him.

When it was just the two of them, Felicity sat back against the couch, sinking into it. She crossed her arms, and uncrossed them, and sighed, and held her breath. Oliver waited for her to decide what to say, sitting stiffly beside her and staring out the far window at a city half in darkness.

"I thought we could handle this," she said at last.

He looked at her, finally, and found her face stony. It had been a long time since he had seen a genuine smile on her face. She was usually the optimistic one, the one who believed their team could accomplish anything. But here they were, discussing fleeing their own city, their own home.

"I wish you would come with us," she said.

Oliver sat back with her, shoulder-to-shoulder, and rested his head on the couch. His body ached. "I have to stay here and keep trying to stop him."

"You could just leave with us. We could all leave, and he can just…"

"Keep killing people?"

"I know you want to save people; I know you want to help people, but you don't owe the world your life, Oliver." Her voice was quiet, pressing. She put her hand on his arm. "You didn't create this monster. You tried so hard to stop him."

"You know I can't come."

"I know you won't come." Felicity stared hard at him for a moment, and then rested her head on his shoulder. She shut her eyes. "You know, I had a dream the other day that we took Mia to the park. She was running around, trying to eat bugs, and you were right behind her, prying every little beetle out of her pudgy little hands." She paused for a while, and then, "But that never happened, because we stopped taking her out two months ago, and she only started walking a month ago."

"I wanted you to leave sooner."

"I wanted my daughter to have a father."

Oliver let that statement hang in the air, let it sting. When the Juggernaut showed up, they spent months fighting him, pretending he was just a regular bad guy. Something had to give. But nothing gave. Oliver invested so much of himself in trying to stop the killings. He could have left, but something stuck him here, like a magnet on the streets of Star City. He was supposed to protect this city. He was its guardian, its hero.

He had to see this through.

He had to make a hard decision, maybe the wrong decision.

Oliver kissed her forehead, whispering, "I'll come find you when we win."

He left her there and went to the roof. His conversation was supposed to have happened earlier, and been shorter, but Oliver kept stalling. Now it was the dead of night, and his visitor was sitting on the edge of the roof, yawning.

"Sorry, I lost track of time."

Barry glanced up, "Did you talk to her."

"I did."

"How soon can we start?"

"Thea is picking them up tomorrow night." Oliver sat down beside him, bracing his hands on the damp concrete. It seemed like it had been raining for weeks in Star City. "But, listen, I had another idea, and I don't think you're gonna like it."

"Does this new idea mean we'll have to send them to the other side of the planet? Because I already bought plane tickets for Australia. I'm way ahead of you."

Oliver thought of his family, wishing there were another way, and murmured, "There's nowhere we could send them to get them away from this."

Barry seemed to realize what this was about. He started shaking his head. "I know this has been taking its toll. I know that. I've been here before. I've been right here, trying to make this decision. If we go down that road… this whole fight will have been for nothing. Everything we went through will be for nothing. Mia might not even exist. Our whole lives would change – the lives of everyone on this planet could change. You understand that, right?"

"How many people has the Juggernaut killed already?"

"That's not-"

"How many?"

Barry steeled his jaw. "Hundreds, at least."

"One thousand and sixteen." Oliver looked out over the city – his city – which lay half in the darkness. Sirens went off in the distance. "Most of the city has evacuated; the economy has collapsed. Juggernaut has destabilized this region. We're lucky he stays in this city, because we have no idea how to stop him. If he branched out, if he took on another city, the rest of the world – what would we do? What could we do? The police can't stop him. The military can't stop him. It's not just about Star City, Barry, or your life, or mine."

Barry was looking at the city, too, his brow furrowed. "But there's no guarantee… I mean, we could mess everything up for no reason…"

"We have to try. We're out of options."

"We can think about it, try some of our last-ditch plans."

"When the rest of the citizens move out, what do you think he'll do?" Oliver motioned to the highway, the road that led home for Barry, "He could hit Central City. He could go rogue and terrorize the countryside. We could lose him, and he could start killing anonymously in some other country. We could fail there just as badly as we have here. Or we can try to stop it before it begins."

Barry took a long, deep breath, and then groaned, "I hate time travel."