Chapter Four
He wakes up face first in the damp moss of the jungle floor, bloodied and bruised, covered in leaves and broken branches from the tree canopy above. His head throbs and he's pretty sure he's rebroken the same arm he did weeks before. Outside of blowing himself up as a kid to mimic his uncle's accident, this is the worst he's ever felt.
He crawls to his knees, reaching to the tree next to him for support. Seconds later he falls ass first back to the ground. This might take a few.
The sun is slowly setting to the west, when he sees the flashlights off in the distance, making their way through the thick foliage. That's when his adrenaline spikes and he struggles to his unsteady feet. Before he can figure a direction to explode into motion, he recognizes the Boy Wonder's voice calling out to him. A wave of relief washes over him: and that's when he remembers how he ended up in the jungle in the first place.
The plan, the double cross, the battle, Sportmaster…Artemis.
The young detective finally reaches him, the Atlantean close behind. Carefully they walk him out; the speedster's good arm wrapped around Kaldur's shoulder while Robin tears and makes a tourniquet from his cape. They look bloody but no broken. There's not an ounce of surrender in either of them.
As they reach the clearing the speedster sighs in relief. Up ahead he sees Bane and his mercenaries bound. The unconscious Blockbuster is collared with a meta-human dampener and powerless. Standing guard are Conner. Megan, Zatanna, Raquel and…no one else.
The confused speedster scans the landscape "Where's….."
The young detective turns to his best friend with pain in his eyes
"We need to talk"
The Bioship arrives at Mt. Justice two hours later, but there will be no celebrations, no basking in victory. They may have defeated the Light's plans, but they know they're the ones who lost.
How could they have been so blind?
The speedster disembarks, walking past the scowling Batman and the other Leaguers standing there in all their self-righteousness. The Dark Knight no doubt has a lecture, a scolding, something debasing to say, but he'll let the Boy Wonder deal with the fallout. He just doesn't have it in him.
Canary takes him to the infirmary. He has indeed re-broken the arm, but that pain pales in comparison to the one in his heart. She looks at him with compassion, trying to say the right things, help him process all that's happened, but it all just comes out as white noise. He just feels empty.
In the distance he catches part of the lecture: reckless, foolish, undisciplined; the usual buzz words, but the Dark Knight falls silent when the Atlantean reminds him that they were the ones who brought the archer to their door.
That ends the conversation for now.
He limps back towards his quarters, cradling his aching arm. Canary has given him something for the pain, but it never works. His metabolism burns through it in minutes. The curse of being a speedster.
His parents are going to be so pissed. Every time he comes home with a cut or bruise…or broken arm, his mom cries. When he finally recovers, the lectures will begin again.
It's time to think about hanging up the uniform.
It's time to apply for scholarships and pick a school.
It's time to stop playing superhero.
It's exhausting.
Barry will no doubt add in his two cents; he and his aunt standing by and agreeing with his parents, all ignoring the elephant in the room that it was the elder speedster who trained him to begin with; encouraged him and taught him to be a hero. Even going so far as to tell him the mantle of the Flash would be handed down to him someday. That was then, this is now.
Some mentor…some partner.
Rubbing his weary eyes, he makes his way down the corridor towards his quarters. He's going to need a long scalding shower to wash off this betrayal, and then enough protein and carbohydrates to feed a small army.
Suddenly he realizes where he is, where he's stopped; unconsciously standing in front of her door, waiting for her to call him in.
His hand pauses at the handle, unsure what he expects…what he hopes to find. He peers in and it's just as she left it; spotless, meticulous. It still has that fragrance of eucalyptus and jasmine. Exotic… just like her.
His head drops as he shuts the door for the last time. Cleaning out the room will be someone else's problem.
Find your own spitfire…
"I really thought I had Mr. Nelson.".
He's seventeen and his whole world's been turned upside down. He's always been far too trusting, leading more with his heart instead of his head, only wanting to see the best in people. That naiveté has finally come back to bite him. He though she was the one. He was dead wrong.