Chapter Six: Brothers in Arms
In the blink of an eye the book bag abruptly hit the ground, spilling its contents as Harry was swallowed by the forest. As the wizard disappeared, an ungodly screech echoed through the island as if something was ripping the fabric of reality; its power enough that the hooded figure carrying Oliver on his shoulder froze where he stood as if a mouse before a hawk.
For Harry, it felt like he was dragged into a nightmare. Claws so cold they felt like they dug into his soul, lifting him into the air, and then the world melted into a jumbled blur. Flashes of an ever-darkening green and brown was all he could make out.
It was so quick that he couldn't even scream. As it grabbed him, tearing into his flesh, it squeezed the breath right out of him like he was in the grip of a troll.
As he flew through the air, burning lashes crossed his body. Cold as the claws might have been, warmth raced through him. Its grip ever tightening around him, his heart began beating rapidly, spreading fire through his veins. His vision turned red, then faded to darkness all at once.
It was only an electrifying pain shooting through his ribcage that forced him awake again as the claws suddenly let go and he went crashing towards the ground. Instantly, he stuck his arms to stop himself. As the ground raced up to meet him, he felt one arm abruptly snap like a dry twig as he tumbled to a halt. For a lightning-fast moment his vision went dark again only for everything to rush back to him in a wave. The world became painfully clear. The grass beneath him, the pain littered across his body, the gentle breeze pushing his hair back… and the lingering warmth in his veins fighting the creeping cold. He wondered if he was dying as he lifted his head up. He couldn't be sure, but it looked like a black mist was crawling across the ground away from him, leading to a man walking in the distance.
He tried to move, but his body wouldn't budge. As the figure in the forest disappeared, darkness took him.
When he opened his eyes again, it felt like a dream. His right arm was dead, yet the fire in it said otherwise. Crawling to his knees, Harry took in a shallow breath as he felt a piercing lance of fire in his lung.
In that moment, logic eluded him. For all his time at Hogwarts, he had never heard of nor seen anything like it. Was it all his imagination? It couldn't have been. Among the confusion, the anger, the helplessness, a new emotion was creeping in as the air shifted: Fear… for the woods no longer held any sense of safety…
Stumbling to his feet, Harry's eyes slowly scanned the area as a gentle shift in the wind brushed his face. The leaves on the ground swirled around him and moved towards the direction of where he had seen the figure. Like a hand caressing his cheek, the forest breeze seemed to call to him.
He could feel the fear rising in his chest. He was wandless and alone, whatever grabbed him was still somewhere close, he could feel it in his bones… yet something felt different.
"Harryyy…" a voice called out. His eyes widened as he spun in every direction but found nothing. Quiet as a whisper, yet powerful enough to be heard everywhere. It was so close, yet so far. His entire body was on high alert, and at the same time, wanted to relax.
"N-no… I, I'm imagining things."
"Harryyyy… come to me," the voice whispered again. His face became calm all at once as he took a step forward. The wind pushed against his back, urging him onwards. The branches of the trees overhead pointed ahead, as if they were guiding him.
The voice was unfamiliar yet had a familiarity to it all the same. Comforting like a parent's hug, but unsettling as being stalked by a wolf. Even though he should have fought the lure, Harry slowly walked into the thick of the forest.
As he disappeared into the growing fog, the wind carried the voice's call once more.
"Harryyyyyyyyyyy-"
"Harryyyyyyyyyyy-" a mocking voice called his name as the teen came to. There was a disturbing taste in his mouth that was hard to ignore, but thankfully seeing a man wearing a devil mask inches away from his face made it a bit easier. "HARRY! Wakey-wakey, buddy…" the masked man barked.
"Huh?" Harry raised an eyebrow, unphased by the situation as he turned to see Oliver across from him tied to a chair. Tommy was nowhere to be seen however, and that took all of his attention.
"Good, you're awake. Now we can finally talk!" the "Devil" chuckled. "Tell me, what do you know about the Queen's Gambit?"
Harry groaned under his breath, still reeling from the tranquilizers. It felt like a hangover and waking upside down. He might have never been properly drunk, but this was about the only way he could describe it. His senses were all fuzzy, but he could faintly hear Oliver growl at the mention of the Queen's Gambit, earning Devil's full attention. "Oh-ho, so you finally break your silence? Don't make me ask again!"
"I don't know anything! I was just on it when it sank!" Oliver hissed. Out of the corner of his eye, Harry could make out another masked individual walking up alongside him, and without warning something hard hit him in the stomach. "Hey! Leave him alone!"
"Then tell us what we want to know, Mr. Queen!"
"I told you what I know! What does it matter to you anyway?!"
"Oh, it doesn't," Devil chuckled maniacally, turning towards Harry. Somehow the fact the mask was smiling made it that much more irritating. "You there, pal? What do you know?"
Biting the inside of his cheek to draw blood, Harry tilted his head and smirked before spitting in his captor's face, earning a satisfying growl of discontent.
"I know you're a dick, if that's what you're asking," he shrugged, his words still laced with sleep. Just as he expected, he was met with the butt of the thug's gun right across his jaw. Honestly, he couldn't help but laugh then; Harry barely felt a thing. Each hit felt like a light slap, but he'd learned to fake pain. Now when it came to the hit to the jaw though, that was pitiful. "Come on, don't tell me that's the best you got?"
The thug went to hit him again, but Oliver cut in with: "Hey! He doesn't know anything, he was twelve!"
The Devil turned back to Oliver, missing the faint nod exchanged between the hostages. Harry leaned back confidently, feeling a malicious grin spreading across his face. He knew what that nod meant.
"Well, since you won't cooperate, how about I kill him?"
"Pfft!" Harry snickered, silently breaking his restraints.
"What's so funny?" Devil hissed, tilting his head at him as Harry gave an amused shrug and sighed.
"Oh, it's nothing. It's just the fact you think you can kill me," he replied confidently, chuckling lightly. "Now, don't get me wrong. You guys are doing a great job and all… very melodramatic and theatrical. It's very adorable, almost like watching a… yappy… puppy."
"Excuse me?!"
"Heh, no… I don't think I will, I'm not done yet. Also, that was kind of rude, don't you think Ollie?"
"Well, now that you mention it, it is rude to cut someone off mid-conversation." the billionaire mused as Harry laughed.
"Now, if you'd excuse me… if you're really that curious about what I know, I can let you in on a secret. You guys are amateurs."
"Is that so?" Devil hissed lowly.
"See, look! You're already losing your cool. Let's look at the facts for a minute, shall we? We can call it a performance review! You're not professionals, right? I mean, it's kind of obvious. You were following us for quite a while, and you couldn't keep your space. Isn't it like rule 1 for tailing somebody that if you're in a vehicle you need two car lengths? If that wasn't bad enough, you guys parked in full view of the restaurant? That right there is prime time amateur hour. Honestly, I hope they aren't paying you much… because this has to be your first job. It feels like it's your first job!" the teen laughed uproariously.
"Oh yeah?"
"Yup," he chirped, popping the 'p'.
Suddenly Devil had his gun pressed against Harry's forehead as the teen let out a sarcastic whistle. "What are you thinking right now, Sherlock?" he asked ominously.
As Harry raised his head to face the barrel of the gun, his eyes darkened and his confident smile was replaced with a malicious one.
"That I'd enjoy killing you," Harry growled, gritting his teeth. Taking in a deep breath, his shoulders relaxed slightly. "However, I'm feeling generous right now. So, I'll give you one chance. I'll give you the chance to put the gun down and walk away before I do something you won't like."
The thugs looked at each other for a moment and turned back to him as Oliver silently dislocated his thumb to free himself. He'd wait for Harry to start this off.
"So, fellas… what's it going to be?"
Their fate was sealed as the Devil's finger slid over the trigger. With a quick crack of his neck, Harry sighed happily.
"Good… I was hoping you'd choose that."
Raising his hands with a theatrical wiggle, the thugs froze. In that split second of inaction, the two made their move simultaneously. Sliding his hand to the side of the chair, Harry grabbed the back and threw it into Devil, sending the thug flying off of his feet. At the same time the other thug, (whom Oliver had labeled 'Skull' for his mask) raced towards the billionaire as he stood from his confinement.
Rolling over the back of the chair, Oliver grabbed the legs and brought it up to block Skull's fist, catching his arm in between the spindles. With a quick jerk Oliver twisted the chair, shattering his assailant's arm in multiple places. Just as Skull began to let out a blood-curdling scream, Oliver broke one of the spindles free and brought the makeshift stake into his throat, silencing him. Ripping the stake out, Oliver watched Skull collapse to the floor with a sickly gurgle.
Turning to face Harry, Oliver caught a blurred motion of the teen's arm as he broke the Devil's neck. Pulling a knife out of his captor's pocket, Harry smirked at the body.
"Did I say this was your first job? I actually meant to say it was your last." he chuckled under his breath, earning an eye roll from Oliver.
"You're enjoying this, aren't you?" Oliver asked, stepping over Skull's body to make his way over to him.
"Hey, as much as I hate to say it, don't you think it's a little flattering somebody thought we were important enough to kidnap?"
"No, Harry… I don't. I'd rather not get kidnapped."
"Pfft, you're no fun."
"Come on, we need to find Tommy."
There was no argument from the teen as he casually flipped the blade in his hand and walked to the doorway, glancing out through the glass.
"What do you see?" Oliver asked as Harry knelt down out of sight, biting his cheek.
"There's four wandering out there. Two are up on the catwalks and the others are on the ground. One of them keeps checking one of the doors on the far right, so that might be where Tommy is. How do you want to play this?"
"I don't know, you're the assassin."
"W-what?" Harry coughed in surprise, turning to face him seeing Oliver pointing at the tattoos on his arm. "Oh, right."
"You're a lot faster and quieter than I am. I'll take the ground floor if you take the catwalks."
"Alright, let's do this. We need to hurry, who knows when they'll decide to come check on us."
Now this situation was right up their alley, so to speak. They'd lost count of how many times they'd been in this exact scenario of being kidnapped and forced to escape. At this point it was like clockwork. Harry closed his eyes, taking in a deep breath as he took in all of the information his senses were feeding him.
Like a predator stalking its prey, Harry had to be smart in his approach. One wrong move and it could set their assailants off, and he couldn't allow that to happen. If either of them screwed up, Tommy could die.
"You ready?" Oliver asked quietly, his voice both distant and echoing in Harry's ears as the teen reopened his eyes and opened the door. Before Oliver could take a step, Harry was rushing forward with incredible speed towards the crates in front of him. Incredibly, the teen did not make a sound as he raced through the warehouse before ascending the stack of crates and pallets.
Oliver shook his head. While he admired the teen's agility and determination, patience was essential. Nevertheless, he couldn't help but feel a sense of pride in seeing how Harry handled himself without their usual gear to rely on; after all he remembered when Harry was just a young kid training on the island. It was a far cry from those days.
As he shook his head, however, Oliver made his own move. He turned away from Harry's path, keeping to the shadows, using the rows of shelves as cover. Peering over one of the iron grated shelves, Oliver could see one of the thugs gazing out the window. He was relaxed and unaware of any danger closing in on him.
Harry leapt from the last crate, grabbing the railing of the catwalk with his left hand, propelling himself over with a level of grace that the playboy couldn't hope to match. Flipping over the railing, Harry's instincts took over, his eyes locking onto the two thugs. In an instant his heart started pounding like a war drum, and without a second thought embraced the chaos of combat.
The teen glanced down to see Oliver creeping towards the one gazing out the window and smirked. Springing into action, Harry began racing across the catwalk towards his target.
Moving with the stealth of a panther in the night, Oliver closed the distance soundlessly. Closing in, Oliver's arm snaked around the thug's neck, cutting off the brief gasp of shock with a suffocating chokehold. The thug struggled, clawing futilely at Oliver's arm. With a swift and brutal twist, Oliver ended the thug's life with a sickening crack, his body going limp in an instant as the playboy eased him onto the floor.
Harry lunged through the air with the grace of a large hunting cat as his target turned around, the barrel of his gun now aimed squarely at Harry's chest. In a split second, the teen's leg struck the side of the gun, snapping the thug's finger like a dry twig. The gun crashed against the metallic structure of the catwalk as Harry rolled to his feet, making eye contact with the thug. With him disarmed, Harry wasted no time. His movements were a dance of death and devastation, as in one fluid motion, he spun around, his boot colliding with the thug's chest with a sharp crack, breaking his sternum. Any sound that could have escaped the thug's lips were silenced as he collapsed to the floor with a metal hum.
Glancing up, Oliver could see the second thug guarding the door on the far side of the room now looking towards him. Reaching down to steal the knife from his foe's corpse, Oliver waited. The shadow was his friend, but it wouldn't hide him for long, not that he needed it to. All he needed was the right opening.
Harry huffed his breath, looking up to see his other target had heard the commotion. There was easily thirty feet between them, but despite the distance, he could see the desperation and rage behind the man's mask as he brought his gun up. With a flash of silver, Harry threw his hand forward, the knife cutting through the air with a whistle as it impaled the man in the throat, his gurgling gasps staining the air as he fell backward.
As the final thug closed in on Oliver's position, the playboy gripped the blade tightly, preparing for his moment to strike.
"Yo, Art… what are you doing, man?" he asked, as Oliver rose to his feet. In one fluid motion, he let the blade fly, soaring through the air like an arrow. It found its mark with an unerring accuracy, impaling the guard through the throat. Stumbling backwards against the wall, the man slid to the ground, choking on his own blood. The horror in his eyes was on full display as Oliver stepped into the light and made his way to him.
Kneeling down before him, Oliver closed his eyes and sighed heavily. Their deaths could have been avoided, but they chose the wrong targets. As the last vestiges of life left the guard, Oliver pulled the blade free, wiping the blood off on the guard's sleeve. They couldn't leave traces of their actions, which included fingerprints that could have tied them to their kidnappers' deaths.
Harry turned back to the other thug laying there, grasping his chest and struggling to breathe. Walking back to him, Harry watched as his one hand rose towards him.
"P-please-" he whimpered, but Harry shook his head, bringing his boot down like a jackhammer breaking the man's neck.
"Tough luck, pal."
Harry took the blade from the one thug's corpse and crushed it crudely into a ball. While he might have still had a possible use for the knife, Harry knew just as well they'd have to dispose of them and make sure their fingerprints weren't on the murder instruments. Besides, Oliver had one still.
Jumping down, he landed in front of the door without a sound. Oliver shook his head as he approached the teen. "Showoff."
"Aw, come on Ollie… don't be jealous," Harry chuckled, turning towards the door. They went silent as the teen slowly opened the door enough to peer through. In the center of the room was a man with a burlap bag over his head; based off of the clothes, it looked to be Tommy, but there was only one way to be absolutely certain.
Scanning the room, he found no trace of anyone else being in there, so Harry slowly crept through the threshold with his senses on high alert. Once it was apparent the room was clear, the two hurried to Tommy's side, pulling the bag off of his head and removing his restraints. Tommy was still unconscious from the tranquilizer, so they didn't have to worry about him knowing the truth of what had happened here.
Without a word, Oliver sat beside Tommy and quietly waited for the inevitable approach of the sirens. Meanwhile, Harry had taken Oliver's knife as well and disposed of it to where the police wouldn't find them. He'd acquire them after it was all said and done, that way he could properly dispose of the weapons.
Now it was simply a matter of waiting as the sirens approached…
Oliver cracked his eyes open in the dim light of a cave, with a singular beam of light shining in through the roof. He was parched, and his body was stiffer than he could remember. Even the mornings after his drunken galavanting couldn't compare to this. Bobbing his head around for a moment, the sight of something sticking straight off of his chest caught his attention. Then, as his eyesight cleared, the shape of the stone arrowhead formed and it all came back to him.
The man in the hood had shot him.
The burning sensation that seared across his chest and shoulder as he attempted to sit up brought tears to his eyes, wrenching a blood-curdling scream from the playboy as he collapsed onto his uninjured side. In between the rapid shuddering breaths that forced his eyes shut, Oliver came to realize what was missing, or rather… who was missing.
"H-Harry?" he called out the kid's name, only to be met by cold silence. Where the hell was he? The thoughts running through his head turned rampant, morbid outcomes flashing one after the other. Oliver had to find him, he couldn't let anything happen to him.
Suddenly, the entrance to the cave darkened as the shape of a man appeared clad in forest green, long and matted coal locks, with blood stained hands that sent chills down Oliver's spine. His heart stopped as he caught the sight of the bow and quiver.
"Wh-who are you?" Oliver inquired, receiving no reply as the man lowered his hood. He was an older Chinese man, with an unkempt beard. His eyes were dull with a gaze like he was a thousand miles away. "Why did you shoot me?"
The man didn't reply at first, kneeling down beside him and grabbing a small bowl filled with a mushy substance that resembled dead wet grass. "Weile bǎohù nǐ."
"What? I don't understand," he replied, but received no response. The man took some of the mush into his hand and held it out to him. "What do you want me to do with this?"
He shouldn't have been surprised to see the man roll his eyes and make an eating motion. Cautiously, Oliver took a bite of the substance and was met with a flavor that he could only describe as heavenly. He couldn't get enough.
The man gave him the bowl and watched as Oliver dug his face in like a dog trying to get as much of the food as possible. Sighing, the figure glanced at the arrow protruding from Oliver's torso and repeated: "Weile bǎohù nǐ. (To protect you.)"
Then, he pulled the arrow straight out of Oliver.
Oliver rubbed his chest where that scar was as footsteps approached. "SCPD!" voices called out as the door swung open to reveal an older disgruntled man in a suit. From the scowl that formed upon seeing him, he needed to consider himself lucky if he wasn't shot in a few seconds.
"For the love of god, of all the people it could have been, it had to be Oliver Queen causing trouble," groaned Detective Quentin Lance, Laurel and Sara's father. From the corner of his eye, he could see Harry's amused grin and wished that Lance would simply shoot him and get this over with.
"Long time no see, Detective."