Seeing the worried shrieks and flailing of my readers when I threw a curve ball into what they think is happening is rather satisfying. Especially since they have every reason to be worried.
Hypothermia is not something that can be easily shrugged off, especially the more severe stages. Benign arrhythmias, such as sinus bradycardia, slow AF, other atrial arrhythmias and transient ventricular arrhythmias are common physiological responses in hypothermia and require no specific treatment other than rewarming. Most cardiac arrhythmias associated with hypothermia will resolve spontaneously with rewarming. However, profound depression of myocardial function, with bradycardia, hypotension and life-threatening arrhythmias, V-Fib (especially at 22 degrees Celsius) and asystole (especially at 18 degrees Celsius), can develop with severe hypothermia.
Ventricular fibrillation, or V-Fib, is when the heart quivers instead of pumping due to disorganized electrical activity in the ventricles. The ventricular muscle twitches randomly rather than contracting in a coordinated fashion (from the apex of the heart to the outflow of the ventricles), and so the ventricles fail to pump blood around the body. Because of this, it is classified as a cardiac arrest rhythm and patients in V-fib should be treated with cardiopulmonary resuscitation (CPR) and prompt defibrillation.
Left untreated, ventricular fibrillation is rapidly fatal as the vital organs of the body, including the heart, are starved of oxygen, and as a result, patients in this rhythm will not be conscious or responsive to stimuli. Ventricular fibrillation can also quickly progress to asystole, a cardiac flatline and the state of total cessation of electrical activity from the heart. That would be clinical death, with no pulse and even the chaotic electrical activity stopping as the person goes from a "shockable" rhythm to a "non-shockable" one. This is followed by death in the absence of treatment.
Rates of survival among those who are out of hospital when ventricular fibrillation is detected is about 17 percent and is about 46 percent if it happens within a hospital. For an asystolic patient… the numbers are worse.
In cardiac arrest, it should be further noted that the severely hypothermic patient will be resistant to both drug and electrical therapies. If there is no initial response to these then further attempts are unlikely to succeed until rewarming has occurred to at least 32 degrees Celsius. The only good news is that there are well-documented cases of complete recovery from very prolonged hypothermic cardiac arrest, and prolonged resuscitative attempts are warranted in the hypothermic patient.
In summary: hypothermia is bad, Mick is in trouble, and while the cold might buy him more time, it also makes it harder to help him. And I am an evil writer. So death is a distinct possibility.
There were several different types of alarms aboard the Waverider. Even more after Nate set up a method to alert them to time aberrations. The one that startled him into nearly spilling his porridge was different than the others. But if there was one thing that a former hemophiliac would recognize, it was a medical alarm.
"Gideon?" asked Ray, climbing to his feet.
"Even with precautions, Mr. Rory is experiencing rewarming shock," she reported, the normally-calm A.I. speaking quickly. "The excessive stress on his body has resulted in disrupted electrical impulses in his heart, causing ventricular fibrillation."
Rip had already run out the door at the sound of the alarm, before Ray started questioning her, but everyone else was surging to their feet. Barry vanished in a flash of speed that crackled with power. And Nate saw Snart, the man that he'd only known as the cold and ruthless member of the Legion of Doom, looked almost desperate as he tried to stand.
Mick almost yelped in surprise as his back slammed against the wall, the twelve-year-old dropping the box of matches in his hands. His father glared down at him as he kept the boy pinned in place. Mick already knew what the man would say. This wasn't exactly a new conversation.
"So we have to stop keeping matches in this household because of you and you decide to steal them?" he yelled. "What is wrong with you, boy?"
"I can't help it," said Mick dully.
"Yes, you can. You just need to grow up. Grow up and take responsibility for what you're doing. This can't go on," he yelled. "I can't believe I ended up with a selfish and stupid son like you. How many times do we have to keep doing this?"
"It's not my fault," said Mick, not knowing what else to say by now. "I've tried. I can't stop."
He'd never been able to explain it properly. He couldn't make anyone understand. He couldn't escape how fire called him.
Life was so much like fire. Both could grow. Both needed to feed and needed air to breathe in order to survive. Both could seem bright, lively, and beautiful. And both could fade and die in time.
He could no more escape fire's hold on him than he could escape life itself.
His father slammed him against the wall again. Mick didn't even flinch this time.
"Michael Calhoun Rory, I swear I'm going to drive this disobedient streak out of you, one way or another."
Mick wanted to say something, to yell back in defiance. But whatever fire that normally burned inside the boy seemed to be far weaker and dimmer than normal. He just accepted the normal shouts without a word.
"What's wrong with you, boy? Giving up? Are you as stupid as you are crazy?" He slammed Mick again, the man's expression twisted in frustration. "Come on then. Fight back."
Rip cursed under his breath as he ran down the halls of the Waverider. They were too complacent. The recoveries of their criminal teammates had been going smoothly and they let their guards down. But just because Snart survived his time in absolute zero with nothing so serious that medbay couldn't fix it didn't mean that Rory would be just as impossibly lucky.
When he reached medbay (a rush of wind alerting him to the fact that the Flash had also arrived), Rip found Jax and Stein already trying to help the patient. Undoubtedly following Gideon's steady directions, one of them managed to locate the facemask to provide oxygen. It fit more snuggly than those of their native times and would force Rory to breathe without the need for non-trained people to attempt intubation. And even more importantly, Jax apparently learned enough about CPR at some point that he'd started chest compressions.
That was important. He'd heard Gideon's diagnosis even as he'd raced from the galley. He vaguely remembered what ventricular fibrillation meant from those distant first aid courses. Rory's heart was weakly spasming rather than beating anymore. And until it was restored, his blood would not pump through his body without outside influence.
They assumed he would be all right. Rory managed to recover enough earlier that Gideon didn't need to continue the more intense rewarming treatments. Rory had even started breathing on his own at a lower temperature than expected. Rip assumed that since Snart managed to wake up, Rory would certainly follow a similar path. They had assumed that the worst had passed.
"Gideon," Rip prompted.
"Mr. Rory's heart rhythm needs to be reestablished before it progresses from ventricular fibrillation to asystole," said the A.I. quickly. "However, hypothermia reduces the effectiveness of both electrical and chemical treatments."
"Work on raising his temperature as fast as possible then," he said, pulling out the defibrillator from where they were stored. "Causing further medical shock is the least of our problems."
He felt like he'd forgotten something, but Mick knew he couldn't have missed much. The flames might be dying down, but the house was still burning. He felt numb even as his eyes couldn't look away from the fire.
Mick always felt a kinship with fire. They were the same in the end. But Mick wasn't the good and beautiful parts of the light and heat. He was only the worst elements of flames.
He burned everything around him. He was chaos. He was pain. He was destruction.
He was death.
Mick destroyed his family and home. He'd done this. He created this destructive force and ran, leaving it to burn. He took everything in his life and turned it into ash and smoke. In the end, all he would be left with would be fire.
He didn't deserve anything else.
"Mick?"
He turned slightly, spotting one of the cops approaching him finally. Mick recognized the man. He'd dealt with the teenager a few times, mostly shoplifting and a few more public fights. Mick couldn't remember the cop's name. The man clearly remembered him though.
"Do you know what happened?" he continued, keeping his voice steady and calm.
Mick nodded slowly. He felt so disconnected and numb, but he knew what happened. It was a distant knowledge, like it happened to someone else. But he knew. There was no reason to deny what he did. There was no denying what kind of monster he was.
"I started the fire. I killed them."
The cop looked paler at the blunt admission. Mick turned back towards the dying fire. He watched the fading orange light, his eyes burning from the smoke. So much destruction and death caused by something so beautiful.
"Okay," said the cop. "Okay. You're going to need to come with us, Mick. Please make this easy on us. Just give up."
Barry had run into the medbay, barely behind Rip even with his head start. He arrived in time to see Rip giving orders to the A.I. while digging out something silver and black with the expression of a man on a mission.
There was nothing that the Flash could do to help Rory, but Barry took some first aid classes before he started working at crime scenes. It wasn't much, but you never knew what could happen in the field. And whenever Jax grew tired, Barry knew enough to take over. CPR could be exhausting to perform.
Rip took the twin objects that Barry now recognized as wireless defibrillator paddles and, telling Jax to move, yanked the blanket out of the way and sent a jolt into the limp figure.
Then Barry heard the others hurrying down the hall.
Mick shouted wildly as his new favorite weapon sent flames into the night. Snart was right. This was better than just stealing. Fire and frost, side-by-side as they turned Central City into their personal playground.
He would be the force of destruction and chaos that fire had revealed Mick to be. They would burn the cops and scorch the buildings. They would rob and steal anything that caught his attention. They would plunge the city into chaos and crime. It would be glorious.
There was only one obstacle. The speedy young man in the red suit, the one that Snart challenge to this showdown. The Flash.
Mick and his partner would just have to kill him.
One cop with a shield tried to play hero and help the Flash, blocking flames and cold from finishing the job. The young cop ended up shoved back out of the line of fire before Mick could scorch him for the interference.
"I know you can do better than this," the Flash shouted, breaking his earlier silence abruptly. "Fight back."
"Go," snapped Leonard, forcing his tired body to obey. "Get in there. I'll catch up."
Sara hesitated, reaching towards him in case he needed help. He shrugged it off, gesturing for her to hurry. He needed her there. Mick needed help and Leonard would only slow everyone down.
It wasn't logical, but he felt like Mick would have a better chance if Sara was there. As if she could somehow watch his back and protect him from whatever was happening. Leonard certainly wasn't in any condition to provide backup this time, no matter how ridiculous the idea.
Maybe she believed that he could manage on his own or maybe she just realized it was important for some stupid, illogical reason. Either way, Sara gave a short nod and vanished out the same doorway as everyone else.
Leonard tried to run after her. Desperation and a heavy sense of dread wrapped around him, whispering things he stubbornly ignored. The knowledge that his partner was in danger spurred him on. And by some miracle, he did run across the galley.
But no further. Exhaustion sapped what little strength that worry managed to provide. Leonard nearly collapsed as his body tried to surrender, forcing him to grab the wall to stay upright.
Panting and limbs shaking, he refused to give up. It wasn't that far. He ran into an assassins' stronghold after amputating a limb on his own and this was a far shorter distance. He could do this.
His partner needed him.
A hand abruptly grabbed his arm and slung it over his shoulders. Leonard nearly took a swing at them, however weakly, before he realized it was Heywood. The new historian apparently stayed behind to help.
"I've got you," he said. "Just hang onto me."
Every instinct screamed to be on guard, to get some distance from this stranger and be wary of the possible threat far too close to him. He was vulnerable and didn't know this person enough to trust them. But his need to get to Mick now won out.
Leonard dug his fingers into the shoulder of the other man's shirt and let him support the thief's weight.
Like always, Snart had a plan.
Specifically, this plan would end up with the Santini crime family losing both a lot of power and money. And if his partner was right, they'd even replace their lost Heat and Cold Guns along the way.
That part would fall on Lisa's shoulders, but Mick knew she could do it. He'd spent a lot of time helping Snart with his little sister over the years and he'd watched her grow up to be a smart and tough young woman who could take care of herself. Mick and Snart had the more dangerous job.
Snart's plan involved them sending a pretty strong message to the Santini family. But the first part required their muscle to capture the pair. So Mick figured being held at gunpoint meant the plan was going well.
"Don't even think about it," sneered the closest goon with a gun. "Just give up."
Jax hated health class in high school. It wasn't even that complicated of a class. Mostly, it was an easy "A" that filled in a gap in his schedule. But they'd all had to practice on the ugly dummy with the permanent marker mustache, the worn-out demonstration tool that should have been replaced years ago. Mrs. Cuevas insisted that they at least leave her class with a few useful skills. That included both the Heimlich maneuver and CPR.
As he threw all his weight and strength into each compression while mentally counting the steady beat she taught him, Jax silently promised his old teacher a fruit basket or something for Christmas.
CPR wasn't like on television. It was harder and exhausting. Keeping his arms stiff and putting enough force behind each compression was tough. And when Jax thought he felt something crack and give way under the pressure, he nearly stopped. But Mrs. Cuevas' sharp voice cut through his mind with nearly the same clarity that Stein's did when merged: a cracked ribcage was easier to survive than no heartbeat.
"Step back again, Mr. Jackson," Rip ordered, the black-and-silver defibrillator paddles in his hands.
He flung himself back briefly as the former-captain once more sent electricity jolting through Mick's body. Again, it wasn't like television. It was less dramatic. Rather than the full-body spasm, he barely twitched.
But more importantly, the display didn't change and Rip's strained expression remained the same as he pulled back. It didn't work.
"I've got it," said Barry, slipping in front of Jax to take over and give his shaking arms a break.
He knew the aching muscles belonged to him, but Jax couldn't tell if the barely-restrained panic and worry came from himself, Stein, or both. His partner, after finding the facemask, couldn't do much more to help. Nor could the crowd of people gathering near the doorway with horrified and concerned expressions.
A rebellious thought, one Jax couldn't completely bury, suggested there wasn't much any of them could do to help because nothing would be enough to stop what was happening.
After a week trapped on the Waverider without the opportunity to burn anything to the point he was practically twitching, after being forcibly dragged from the criminal-controlled version of Star City, and after watching his partner gradually transform into someone he didn't recognize much anymore, Mick's temper was already burning beneath the surface. Getting locked in a small room with the kid, the frustrated captain, and some woman didn't help. Tensions were high all around. What came next was inevitable.
Mick and Rip were snarling at each other, practically at each other throats even as Jax tried to play peacekeeper. It wasn't going to work. Rip was too stressed and upset. And even if Mick couldn't set a physical fire, he could feel the flames burning inside and he couldn't resist. He let it rage as the argument burned brighter.
Rip should have known what to expect. He brought Mick onboard for his kinship with fire. He chose Mick because he saw his potential just like everyone else on the team had the potential to achieve his mission. Even with the lies, that part was a fact. Rip wanted a deadly criminal arsonist and that's what he got.
"No," snapped Rip, "I recruited you because you and your partner are a package deal."
That stopped him cold, the fire dying down to embers.
"What?" he asked numbly.
"I'm sorry, Mr. Rory, but a serial arsonist was never part of my plans to stop Savage," continued Rip harshly. "Much less one with the I.Q. of meat."
It shouldn't hurt. It shouldn't surprise him. And yet even after years of hearing similar statements, it still cut deep. People always wanted Snart because he was brilliant and could plan even the most impossible crime if given the chance. Unless they needed a fire, Mick was always an afterthought. The dumb muscle.
They didn't want him around. They never wanted him in the first place. He and Snart should have never listened to the Englishman. The two of them should have stayed in 2016.
"Nothing to say? Not even a word?" asked Rip. "Don't stop now. Fight back."
"Come on," muttered Rip as he pulled the defibrillator paddles away, eyes locked on the display. "Come on."
The more times that they used a defibrillator on him, the lower the chances of success. And while Gideon was raising Rory's core body temperature faster than before, they hadn't managed to shock him out of V-Fib. The only thing keeping their arsonist alive was the CPR.
Switching him back to the setup where Gideon managed all of the patient's vital processes like when they first brought Rory in with hypothermia wouldn't work. His condition had devolved too far. It would probably kill the man if they tried.
All they could do was what they were already doing for him. Gideon was warming him, forcing him to breathe, and dosing him with epinephrine through the cuff on his wrist to hopefully force the return of spontaneous circulation. Ray was slipping over, apparently ready to switch places with Barry and take over CPR.
Then the fragile balance shifted. Rory's heart fell out of the ventricular fibrillation, which was what they wanted. But it wasn't in response to the defibrillator. Rip hadn't used them again yet. Rory's condition was instead devolving further.
"Mr. Rory is now asystolic," Gideon reported clinically. "His heart has completely ceased all detectable function."
The pain finally faded from his mind, leaving him limp in his chair and dragging in a shaking breath. He couldn't tell how long he'd been there, trapped and at the non-existent mercy of the Time Masters. He thought being stranded in that forest, starving and losing his grip on sanity, was as bad as it could get. He thought that Snart turning on him, abandoning him in that forsaken place, and a slow death from hunger and exposure was the worst fate possible. But that was before Time Master Declan found him.
"What is your name," asked Declan.
He knew what he was supposed to say. They'd ripped his mind apart countless times and put him back together again. They'd nearly broken him repeatedly only to repair him once more. That team left him behind to suffer and the Time Masters took advantage. They were remaking him into something else.
He knew what Declan expected him to say. The word was on his lips, unbidden and automatic. A name that they'd chosen for their creation. He knew it was the only way to make it stop. All he needed to do was submit to what his body and mind wanted to become. It was all imprinted and burned into place, scorching away who he used to be.
But there was too much stubbornness and hatred in him to surrender just yet. He hadn't been erased completely. Not yet. The fire in him was smoldering, but not yet gone.
"You're dead," Mick managed to choke out, his threat not quite believable.
Frowning in mild disappointment at the answer, Declan said, "You are making the induction process far more painful than it needs to be. And for what? How much of your old identity even remains after so long?" He shook his head and Mick knew that the indescribable pain was about to return. "There is no escape from this. It was your fate to come here. We ensured that this would happen before you were even born. You cannot win." There was a sharp gesture, indicating for them to continue the process. "Just give up.
Amaya didn't know what exactly was being accomplished by how he others were pressing on Mick's chest, Iris' quick mention of CPR not really clarifying anything, but she could tell it was meant to help. But since she didn't know how to help, she found herself watching anxiously at the doorway with Sara, Iris, and Cisco.
He wasn't getting any better though. She could see that much. It was etched in the faces of everyone in medbay. Whatever they were doing wasn't helping enough. Mick was getting worse.
"Amaya," called Nate, causing her to look down the hall.
He was hurrying towards medbay as quickly as Snart could manage, Nate supporting the man's weight. Snart clearly didn't have much energy to spare, exhaustion weighing him down and leaving him pale. Even the short distance from the galley left him panting. He was barely out of medbay himself, after all. But his expression was stubborn and even if he tried to keep his face mostly blank, he couldn't completely hide the worry. Nothing was going to stop him.
Sara moved in front of the two men suddenly, blocking their path. Nate blinked in surprise, but Snart kept trying to reach his goal.
"Leonard, don't," she said gently.
"What's happening to him?" asked Snart, still breathing hard.
"Please," Sara pleaded, reaching for his shoulder, "you don't want to see this."
Refusing to be deterred and obviously deciding to get answers elsewhere, he said, "Gideon, tell me. What's happening?"
Eyes widening, Sara glanced up and started, "Gideon, don't—"
"Mr. Rory is in full cardiac arrest," reported the A.I. before she could be stopped. "He can be considered clinically dead, though his low body temperature and the continued use of cardiopulmonary resuscitation has prevented complete biological death thus far."
For a moment, Snart looked like the news would make him collapse. But then he tore away from all of them, staggering the last few steps to reach the doorway. He grabbed the doorframe for support, keeping upright if only barely. But Snart's eyes were locked on the still and silent figure.
He'd known Lisa for most of her life. Leonard introduced him to her little sister not long after they left juvie. Mick helped his partner watch over her, sometimes even picking her up from school when Leonard couldn't get there in time or needed to keep a low profile. Anything to keep her away from Lewis Snart as much as possible. Mick wasn't her family; his family was ash and smoke by his own actions. But Mick kept an eye on her when he could and cared about the young woman that he watched grow up.
For decades, all he had was her and Leonard.
But having this conversation with Lisa was something he'd never wanted to do. He never expected to track her down at a safehouse like this, alone and feeling like someone ripped out something deep inside. But someone had to tell Lisa. So Mick told her.
Not everything and not in detail. He couldn't scrounge up the willpower to talk much. But he told her the only thing that mattered.
Mick told her that Leonard was dead. That he was left behind and died alone.
She didn't break into tears or collapse in response to her clear pain. Lisa wasn't like that. She took that pain and turned cold and sharp.
"How could you?" she hissed, her eyes bright and wet. "You were partners. You were supposed to watch his back. You should have protected him." She closed her eyes, taking a breath that shook in heartache and fury. "But now Lenny's gone. He's gone."
He dropped his gaze to the ground, unable to look at her any longer. There was nothing he could say. Mick completely agreed with every word. It was everything he'd already told himself since he woke up on the Waverider and realized what happened. And those thoughts hadn't stopped since Rip dumped them off the timeship back in 2016.
She could blame him all she wanted. He should have found a way to keep Leonard from switching places like that. He was supposed to protect his partner, to keep him from getting killed. It should have been Mick.
Leonard was dead, it was Mick's fault, and he couldn't even kill the Time Masters for creating the Oculus because they were blown up too.
"He's gone and it's your fault. I hate you," she snarled, lashing out in pain and sorrow. "You couldn't even watch his back. You let him die."
She threw a punch to his stomach, strong and sharp enough that Mick staggered back from the unexpected pain. They taught her to fight long ago. She knew how to hit.
But Mick's temper didn't even flicker. Any fire left in him was nothing more than tiny embers. He deserved this. He deserved the young woman's hatred and fury. She was right. Everything she accused him of was right.
"Get out," Lisa snapped. "Get out of here. I never want to see you again."
"Lisa…"
"Go!" She shoved him back and slammed the door in his face. Her voice shaking slightly as it came through the door, she said, "Why couldn't you save him? Do something? Fight back? That's what you're supposed to do. Fight back."
Ray could feel his arms shaking from the effort by the time that Rip took his place. They couldn't stop. It was vital to always continue CPR until either the patient recovered or trained medical personnel arrived. And since no help would be coming, they would have to keep going. Mick's life depended on it.
But hope was fading. Ray could feel the very atmosphere around them darkening. He could see the tension in their bodies and the strain in their faces.
Everyone either stood near the walls or in the doorway, watching for any sign or hint that the CPR and the drugs from Gideon were making any difference. They all looked for anything that might suggest that Mick still had a chance.
Ray had hope. He refused to believe it was too late. If Snart could come back when everyone believed him to be dead, then Mick wasn't beyond reach. They could still save him.
He had to believe that. Ray refused to lose a friend like this.
Mick tried to focus on what was real. The smells of sickness, blood, and smoke were real. The crying and shouts of pain from within the hospital tent, the background conversations, and the distant explosions were real. The uncomfortable fabric from his uniform rubbing against the covered burn scars was real.
The cold and sharp version of his lost partner, one who reminded Mick so much of Lewis Snart (though he would never say it aloud), was probably not real.
No matter what his senses told him, Leonard was gone. And he was never coming back. So he certainly wasn't outside a hospital tent in World War I. Mick needed to focus on reality.
They had a mission. They needed to destroy the Spear of Destiny. That was the job.
"Mick, Mick, Mick," scolded Snart. "When have we ever destroyed anything we've ever stolen, let alone the most valuable score of the century? What have they done to you?"
They done it once. Destroyed what they'd stolen. That ugly painting from the rich couple. That was when he first received the Heat Gun.
Rip contacted Mick through the comms. A welcome distraction from how he was trying to avoid looking at Snart. The man was gone. This wasn't real.
"What happened to the man who never took orders from anyone?" asked Snart, edging closer. "I respected the hell out of that guy. Now you're just their trained pet. 'Sit, Mick. Fetch, Mick. Good boy, Mick.' Ruff."
The mocking bark got under Mick's skin almost as much as the accusations. After so many years around each other, Leonard knew how to get a reaction.
No. He had known. But not anymore. Because this wasn't real.
"I'm no one's… pet," Mick growled, nearly snarling at the word.
"Sure, you are." The man's snark was impossible to miss. "They may act all friendly to you, but they'll never trust you. Never. When the chips are down, they'll look at you the same way they always have: as a thug."
Snart was practically in his face by now. It was harder not to look. And it was harder to ignore the words. Every doubt he'd ever had on the team was laid out in a few carefully-chosen words.
They didn't trust him. They didn't respect him. They didn't want him.
He didn't even have to look hard to see the truth. They didn't really try to hide their feelings from him. They probably thought he was too dumb to notice. And with Snart discussing it so bluntly, Mick couldn't ignore it and pretend it didn't matter like normal.
"But you and me? We're partners." Mick couldn't help meeting Snart's eyes briefly that time. "At least, we were. And we could be again."
Snart kept turning his head, scanning the surroundings. He was sizing up threats, planning escape routes, watching for anyone who might interfere, and locating targets. The familiarity of watching his long-gone partner's mind at work hurt so much. Mick wanted him to be real. It tore at old wounds and left them raw once more.
Hissing quickly, Snart said, "Take the Spear of Destiny. Use it for yourself. Use it for us."
"There's no us," he said, glancing briefly at the man. "You're dead."
Mick forced himself to say it. Yes, he and Gideon had figured out that Leonard was actually technically alive. Trapped in a frozen moment, unreachable and unaware. But there was nothing he could do. They couldn't get him back. It was easier to call him dead. There was a finality to it that kept Mick from hoping.
Hope hurt too much.
"I don't have to be, Mick. With the Spear, it would be so easy to bring me back."
Mick closed his eyes, trying to ignore the temptation. Snart was right. An object capable of rewriting reality could do it. He could save his partner from what happened. He could undo it all. But the team kept talking about the dangers, about how anyone who used it would risk losing control. And he already knew what happened when fire ran wild.
He couldn't risk it. And he couldn't betray them.
Mick breathed out as he tried to steady himself. Why was he even thinking about this? Why was he listening?
"You're in my head. You're…" Mick struggled to sort through his turbulent thoughts for the word. "You're an illumination."
"Hallucination?" asked Snart dryly.
"That's it."
Snart turned slightly, as if he intended to walk away. Then he threw a punch, causing the right side of Mick's face to explode in pain.
Real pain. Snart was real.
As Mick straightened back up, Snart asked, "Now did that feel like a hallucination?"
Mick stood there in stunned silence as his partner turned and started walking away.
"Things aren't going to get any better the way you're going now," Snart called over his shoulder. "Just give up."
Just give up.
Just give up.
Just give up…
"Don't give up," whispered Leonard, his voice less steady than he intended.
He couldn't look away. Everything shook with exhaustion, his body had no energy left, and Leonard felt as if he could pass out at any moment, but he couldn't look away. This was wrong.
How long could someone survive without their heart beating, even with CPR? How long until there was no possibility of revival, no matter what futuristic technology was onboard?
He always knew death was a possibility for them. Either on a heist or on a mission, Leonard always figured they'd be killed in a fight of some kind. But he never imagined him or Mick dying in a hospital or medbay. It seemed wrong for his partner to end up like this, his body abruptly surrendering while surrounded by miraculous medical technology that could do nothing to stop it.
Mick was dying. After everything that happened, Mick was dying. And he was dying because Mick tried to save Leonard.
It was bad enough that Leonard killed another version of his partner, even if he didn't remember it. But now he was killing Mick again. And this time it would be permanent.
"Please, Mick," Amaya said quietly, the woman standing right next to Leonard probably being the only reason he heard her. "Don't leave us. Not like this."
He wasn't sure where he was. Mick only knew that he was slumped weakly on his knees, partially buried in ash. As far as he could see, there was nothing else. Thick layers of ash covered the ground, deep enough he'd sank into it enough that it covered his legs and hid his limp hands from sight. Smoke drifted through the air, just as gray as the powdery and cold ash. Soot coated his body, grimy and dark. And everything was dead silent.
Fire might have once existed in this place, but it was gone. Only ash and smoke remained.
Mick didn't even try to move. He felt too tired and weak to bother. He stared down numbly at the gray substance, the man half hidden in the ash. He couldn't quite find the right words to describe how he felt. The strange fading sensation, like he barely existed anymore…
He was like a fragile candle flame guttering in the wind, on the brink of extinguishing completely.
There was no strength or will left to draw on. No coals to rekindle the flames. He was as barren and empty as the landscape around him.
Alone and lost, Mick let his eyes slip close. He couldn't do anything else. There was nothing left in him.
"You can't quit now. What are we supposed to do without you around?"
Surprised, Mick's eyes opened. Stepping out of the smoke towards him on the right was Nate. The historian wore a concerned expression across his face, but didn't seem to care about their surroundings. Nor did he seem to care about the fact that he was walking on top of the ash rather than sinking into it. Nate was only looking at Mick
"You've got to get up, man. We're not leaving you like this," said Jax, also appearing through the smoke to the left.
"The world would be all the poorer without you in it," Stein said solemnly as he joined his partner. "Let no one ever convince you otherwise."
Stepping into view closer to Nate, Ray said, "You're our friend. We want you to come back, Mick."
"The team needs you, Mr. Rory," said Rip, striding into view next to Stein. "We truly do. And we're sorry that you ever believed differently."
"You shouldn't be here," Sara said as she came through the smoke just a little to the right. They seemed to be gradually forming a half circle around him that was slowly meeting towards the middle. "You don't belong in this place. Not yet. You belong with us. So don't give up. You have to fight back."
"Don't do it, Mick," Leonard whispered in a strained voice.
As if his partner could hear him. As if his words would make a difference.
"Don't you dare."
He blinked a few times, his eyes burning as he stared at his partner.
"Fight back."
Mick heard their words, but he wasn't certain he could do what they asked. He wasn't even sure what they were exactly asking him to do. They looked at him with concern on their faces, but Mick didn't know what to do about it.
Honestly, there wasn't much that he could do. His limbs felt limp, heavy, and useless. He could only slump there, as cold and lifeless as the ash around him.
But his team needed him. They were asking him to do something. Practically begging. They needed him to fight whatever was weighing him down. Mick scrounged deep down, trying to find the strength to do something.
"Please," said Amaya as she stepped through the smoke. She kept walking forward until the woman stood right in front of him. "You can't stay here. Come back to us. Come home."
She reached out a hand towards him. A pleading expression met his eyes, one that made something in his chest twist uncomfortably. He didn't want her to look like that, so upset and worried.
Where was home anymore? A burnt-out husk of the house from his childhood? Any of the safehouses that they'd used over the decades?
Or was it a timeship filled with familiar faces, people that he'd fought beside throughout history?
Amaya's hand remained outstretched. Waiting for him. Imploring him.
Pulling his arm out of the dark ash was harder than it should have been. It was a loose powder, long since cooled and settled. It shouldn't weigh him down at all. But his body didn't want to cooperate. Mick struggled to lift his shaking hand, but he slowly managed to move it towards Amaya's offered help. But before he could reach her outstretched hand, his strength slipped away and his arm fell once more.
Mick slumped further. He couldn't do it. He couldn't even reach out and take her hand. What was the point of struggling and trying when he failed something so simple? There was simply nothing left. He couldn't keep going anymore. He was too weak and tired.
"I know you can do better than that, Mick."
Leonard came through the smoke. Not the cold and sharp-edged version he saw in hallucinations and in World War I, the one forged by too much time alone among those he couldn't trust and then given the knowledge of his future fate by the Legion. This was the man he last saw in the Oculus. This was his partner, the one that he missed desperately.
This was his friend.
"We'll help you. That's what a team is for. And that's what a partner is for. But you have to meet us part way," Leonard said as he joined Amaya in front of Mick. The rest of the team drew a little closer, watching the man with clear worry. Leonard reached out to him and said, "I've never known you to give up easily. Fight back. Show us what you're made of."
One more. One more try.
Gritting his teeth, Mick forced his heavy and limp arms up again. He reached for the waiting hands, Leonard and Amaya watching patiently. And by some miracle, even if it took too much effort to achieve and left him shaking, Mick grabbed on.
The warmth from Amaya and Leonard's hands sank into his palms, making Mick realize how truly cold he was. The contact practically burned. But it also made him grin.
Amaya holding his left hand and Leonard grasping his right, they pulled him slowly to his feet and out of the ash. The rest of the team drew near, reaching out to steady him and ready to catch him if he fell back down. Each hand that touched his arm, shoulder, or back burned even as they supported him. With everyone crowded around him, Mick could feel the heat practically wrapping around him.
He welcomed the sensation. The warmth and even the burning from the contact felt right. Perhaps a few smoldering embers still remained. They just needed to be rekindled before they could be completely extinguished.
Life and fire were so much alike. And Mick always had a talent for letting things burn.
Never in her life had Sara been so happy to her a soft beep.
She almost missed it, the young woman trying to prepare for the fallout. She needed to be ready to catch Leonard since he was clearly on the verge on falling and she desperately wanted to know what she could say if they lost Rory. Because no matter how hard he was trying to hide it, Leonard was not doing all right. She was so distracted on how to manage this piece of the crisis that she didn't immediately realize she heard the soft sound.
But those in the room did. She saw them stiffen, their heads snapping towards the display. And she saw Leonard holding his breath, listening intently even as his arms shook with the effort of holding himself up.
The second beep was easier to notice, everyone dead silent and straining to hear. And then there was a third. And a fourth. Slow and weak, but relatively steady.
"Mr. Rory's body temperature has apparently risen enough for the epinephrine to be effective," reported Gideon. "He is no longer in cardiac arrest."
A bit of a longer chapter, but I figured you'd murder me if I split this one up. And please, don't take medical advice from fanfiction. I do a lot of research and try to make certain things authentic, but I'm not a doctor. I assume that most of you have enough sense not to use fanfiction as your source of knowledge of medicine, but I figured I'd mention it anyway.
In case you were curious, Mick's sections were mostly a combination of his actual memories (the whole "life flash before your eyes" thing) and stuff his brain created to basically tell him "hey, you're kind of dying right now" and trying to decide if he should resist it or not. So the pieces of dialogue at the end of each memory that don't match the episodes exactly are intentional.