AN: Just something I did on tumblr for cruciomysoul back in December.
The water jumps up to meet him with ferocity, and though Roy spends the 0.2 second drop preparing himself for the impact, he still isn't ready.
Because, the fact of the matter is that Roy Harper is fairly sure he has a concussion. Now, not just a minor oops-I-bumped-my-head-while-playing-football concussion, mind you. No, he's thinking more along the lines of who-knew-that-Talia-al-Ghul's-tiny-little-foot-could-pack-that-much-of-a-punch concussion. And well, now Roy has a completely new level of respect for Robin and his skull, which is definitely impossibly thick. How else would the squirt have survived Gotham this long?
Right, back to the matter at hand. The matter at hand being, of course, the fact that Roy is currently at least five feet underwater in below zero weather, and sinking further each second. And then there's also the fact that his quiver is laying somewhere up on dry ground, completely useless. Not to mention that he had told the Team in no uncertain terms he "didn't have to be babied, so quit checking up on" him.
Well. Bah humbug, indeed.
The water seeps along Roy's forearms and squirms its way into his costume, grasping his skin with its cold talons. An air bubbled floats from Roy's mouth up past Roy's eyes. With that bubbled came something he had experienced many times before: the realization that he could die here.
The air could snake out of his lungs and leave them shriveled and useless. The Team wouldn't know where to look; they might not even realize what had happened. The al Ghuls would escape, leaving only an empty quiver in their wake. Chesire would have to find somebody else to flirt with. And Roy…Roy would be alone at the bottom of a river, without any life or breath to keep him company.
The thoughts that swirl in Roy's head are fragments. His limbs are lead. His hair is a clump of twigs, floating in the water and tugging at his scalp. Whatever is inside his lungs is fire, not air. No, something causing him so much pain cannot be air.
On instinct, Roy's mouth opens and water floods in. His tongue goes numb and his eyes go wide. The talons sink further in, and his throat constricts. Black starts creeping in, crawling along the edge of his vision and taunting him. It spirals into his irises and flows out his mouth, which is wide open, desperate for oxygen.
One more bubble floats in front of his eyes, barely seen, and it is lonely. Roy knows even in his half-lucid state, that that is the last bubble he will be seeing. The might has fled his mind, leaving only a steadfast definite.
He is going to die.
The black has now consumed him and he allows his lids to fall shut. It is odd that he doesn't really think of any one person. No thoughts of Ollie or Dinah or even Brave Bow haunt him as he goes limp. All he can see in his mind is that stupid yellow hat, feather waving with vigilance, lying on the library floor.
Roy really hates that hat.
He also hates how that is his last thought when he is probably definitely dying.
So yeah, Roy Harper, archer extraordinaire, is thinking about a stupid yellow hat when he goes unconscious and faintly feels a strong arm snake around his torso.
Roy Harper, archer extraordinaire, is dead (on Christmas Eve, no less), and to be frank, he was not expecting the afterlife to contain so much…kissing.
And hard ground. The afterlife's ground is very hard. It's actually very distracting. Stupid hard ground, preventing him from enjoying his afterlife and his kissing.
Scratch that. Roy knows quite a bit about kissing and this…isn't kissing. Kissing does not involve air being forced into his air. There's a word for this, he knows, but his dead-yet-still-somewhat-functional brain isn't helping him figure it out.
Another breath. HIs brain becomes slightly more than somewhat functional. Roy moans. It is small, nothing more than a little noise made in the back of his throat, but it still triggers a reaction - and not just from himself. The person doing the…the…not-kissing-thing - mouth to mouth! That's the word. Roy gives himself a weak pat on the back - mentally of course.
And then, physically this time, his body tenses and curls inward, body rolling to the side, and he starts coughing. Water hits his throat, and if he could, he would recoil. But he can't, and so he merely settles for weekly grasping at his chest, as if urging the water from his lungs.
He vaguely realizes there's a hand, strong and steady, on his back. It's warm and seems to keep him anchored to the shore.
The last of the water makes it's way out of Roy's lungs, dripping onto the concrete like a line of ants.
He exhales.
The hand is there again, wrapping around his upper arm and gently tugging him into an upright position. Roy doesn't have the energy to argue. He coughs one last time, a soft, muffled sound. Then, he gathers his energy and looks at his savior.
Kaldur's silver eyes stare right back.
Fuck.
Braiding is nice, Artemis supposes. At least, M'gann had told her it was nice, so Artemis had allowed her VIP access to her hair. It is still debatable whether or not that was a wise decision.
So far, Artemis has counted three bows, twenty-nine hair ties, and what looked like scissors floating into the room. Honestly, Artemis is more concerned about the bows than anything. They had been pink. Her fear is perfectly justified.
A particularly strong tug on her hair makes her wince, and Artemis hesitantly asks, "Um, M'gann? Everything okay back there?"
"Yup! Absolutely!" Another tug. Artemis's eyes narrow.
"Mmhmm," she mumbles. She sits cross-legged on her bed, chin in her palm. "Mind if I take a look then?"
The constant brushing that had been happening across her back stops and if Artemis wasn't weary before, then she sure is now.
"Can…you not wait until I'm finished?"
Now let it be clear that Artemis knows M'gann. Her different expressions, tones, and movements have been sculpted into Artemis's brain, as she was trained to do. Therefore, Artemis recognizes M'gann's oops-I-messed-up-and-I'm-trying-to-fix-it-myself-tone right away. It had been used during The Great Snickerdoodle Incident.
Artemis starts to reach up to the back of her head, but a set of thin fingers catch her wrist. Oh no - direction diversion. It's worse than she thought.
"M'gann," Artemis says, gently. "What's wrong?" The hands grasping Artemis's wrist seem to unconsciously clench. The answer comes softly and hesitantly.
"I - I don't actually know how to braid."
Artemis tries not to be frightened, really, she does. But considering the implications of what M'gann is saying, she thinks she should be allowed to be scared. She has a lot of hair after all. Slowly, Artemis clambers to her feet, the bed jiggling beneath her, and turns to face M'gann. She's still sitting on the bed and wearing her kicked-puppy expression. Great.
"You don't how to braid." It's a statement, flat and absolute.
M'gann shakes her head.
Nodding slowly, Artemis chews on her tongue. Her fingers itch to rise up and pinch the bridge of her nose. She makes them resist the urge. "Alright, lets go find someone who can fix this then."
The room is brightened by the pure luminosity of M'gann's smile.
The snow is stained red. Red like his gloves. Red like his hair. Red like the stuff that is pouring out of Dick's side toofasttoofastmakeitstopmakeitstop. Red like the color that obscured his vision when that random thug - who is happily tied up and hanging off a cliff at the moment - managed to get in a hit.
Wally's fingers rake through his hair and not even a second passes before they are placed on Dick's torso, carefully applying pressure. Conner and the Bioship had long since been summoned via radio maybe three, four seconds ago? Wally doesn't really care.
Dick gasps, a feeble, awful sound that makes Wally's stomach twist. The blood is warm against his gloves and his breath is dry against his teeth. He finds himself murmuring under his breath, though he isn't sure of what he is saying. It's a possibility that he's cussing out the myth that nothing bad happens around Christmas.
The movement of air is heard overhead and Wally starts being able to breathe again. The Bioship is here, there's first-aid, everything will be okay. Then Conner runs out, boots hitting the snow like cannonballs, and the strongest boy in the world gives Wally strength.
Dick is placed on a medical table that Conner conjures and they immediately get to work patching him up the best they can. He has long since lost consciousness. Snow is still caught in the creases of Wally's costume when the Bioship rises into the air.
The snow is still stained red like a little robin's breast.
So, in the way that all Christmas tales end, everything turns out all right. Roy is taken to the Cave for treatment for hypothermia, Artemis is stuck following Dinah around until she has enough time to tend to her hair, and Dick wakes up in the Medbay the next morning with blood transfusion equipment beside him "just in case." M'gann makes gingerbread and Dinah puts on Christmas music and Conner moves the Christmas tree into the Medbay. They gather and laugh and open gifts and there might be a few kisses under the mistletoe, but I'm not going to say who. I'll leave that up to your imagination.
Because that is what Christmas is all about. Love and laughter and believing in miracles. And the Team realizes that they have that in spades.
Then, of course, Batman shows up with a mission.
-gsdlover