#god im so excited to break them soon <3 (im lying im actually dreading it)

[perceivedregret]

so it continues

written for @thefreakandthehair lex’s spicy six summer challenge! prompt was hurricane for a ronance centric fic. i'm super excited to be part of my first writing challenge! i hope folks enjoy this stand alone work that's set in the supernatural creatures au i've created. i was super lucky to have the prompt available to help motivate me to complete this idea that's been nagging at me for months. this fic takes place later in the timeline but works well enough on its own. feel free to explore the rest if you'd like, but for now!! have werewolf!nancy and witch!robin

tomorrow is closed (part one of two)

Nancy has this thing with the weather.

She’ll wake up naturally with the rise of the sun by the internal clock, or the damn wolfy-senses as Max likes to begrudgingly call it. Whether or not she got a good night’s rest the night before is besides the point. The habit only calls for a single peek between the blinds, doesn't require more than a squint behind bleary eyes to know what kind of day to expect.

It's become a sort of game for her. Every morning she makes a bet with herself. She tunes in to the local news and weather as she gets ready for the day, waits for weatherman Frank to confirm her guess. 

And today is no different.

Nancy raps her knuckles lightly against the glass of the window as she watches the huddle of birds in the nest. She takes a moment to study the horizon where flashing lights illuminate the shadowy clouds, moments later accompanied by a distant roll of thunder.

Static cuts from the junk radio that sits haphazardly along the edge of her desk and Nancy flinches, the radio's feedback piercing. Fiddling with the knobs she turns down the volume until the hum of music no longer rings harshly in her ears, shifting the station to the local news and weather.

Finding the station is easy, has become an ingrained muscle memory as she only teeters back and forth between the one and the most tolerable music station she could find in college town.

Another display of flashing lights and she celebrates her win preemptively, the room further dimming. It comes in today , she thinks with a knowing grin, fingers sweeping deftly across her lashes and clearing away the sleep.

“Today's the day, huh?"

Nancy jumps at the sudden voice, hand to her chest as she spins towards the source. Robin's head peeks out from behind the door of the bathroom that connects their rooms, the upturned corner of her mouth covered in blue-white foam.

"Dammit, Buckley, you can't keep doing that, the whole…" Nancy motions vaguely between themselves, exasperation apparent in the movement. Somehow Robin smiles around the toothbrush. "It's not fair, this one-sided mind connect… thing ."

"D'as no’ 'ow id wo'ks 'nd– gib muh sec." Robin chokes out, free hand rushing to cup her chin as she tilts her head back. A raised pointer finger is the last thing Nancy sees before Robin disappears behind the door entirely, the sound of Robin spitting and the sink running sneaking through the gap.

Nancy rolls her eyes, the line of her mouth thinning as she tries to hide an endeared grin. She makes her way across her room, quick to comb her fingers through her hair. She knocks once before stepping inside but the door that leads to Robin’s room is shut, the bathroom empty. Nancy takes the opportunity to inspect herself in the mirror before going through her usual routine, not bothering to do too much since classes had already been canceled for the week.

She’s trying to tame the final loose strands of her hair when a loud thud comes from Robin's room, followed by low muttered curses one without superhuman hearing would miss. Nancy considers checking on her, gives up on the flyaways that are at constant war with the humidity and sets the hair clip just above the nap of her neck when Robin’s throat suddenly clears.

“No, it's okay, I’m fine! I’m fine, it’s just, this damn cat,” Robin mutters, followed by another succession of low ushered dammit's.

“Robin, seriously? Get out of my head!”

“Sorry, sorry!”

“No you’re not,” Nancy mutters quietly around a smile, leaning into the sink to collect water in her palm. There was never any real venom behind her words, but this other game she plays demands at least a response.

Like the weather, Nancy has this thing with Robin Buckley. A back and forth, one that Nancy still doesn’t entirely understand but one she enjoys, nonetheless. But like her thing with the weather, this thing with Robin involves a game.

Nancy isn't altogether opposed to the constant intrusion that comes with the mind thing. If she’s honest with herself she finds that she rather enjoys it, delights in the fact Robin has this bit of access to her, this connection.

But if she's honest with herself on this then she'd have to further investigate why she doesn't mind. Why the constant reminder that comes in Robin’s one-sided replies sends a familiar warmth through her. A sense of longing that has itself raveled so snuggly around her it nearly smothers her.

She doesn’t have to dig too deep to know the why. The path to truth is as shallow as the empty faux-graves Hopper and the Suits had dug up for their group back in Hawkins.

Except she isn’t ready to delve into it, not after Steve or Jonathan, especially not after Barb, not yet at least. Robin is too important. After everything, the thought of ruining anything between them, most importantly their friendship, would surely kill her the way the wolf-turned-werewolf bite was meant to do all those years ago.

Instead she hides it, buries it as deep as her heart allows and hopes it's deep enough to ignore and not be uncovered, especially not by the one who is privy to her thoughts and capable of uncovering said truth.

So, Nancy has this thing with the weather and Robin Buckley. Another game, one she's determined not to lose.

Even if she's the only one playing.

Another series of thuds this time accompanied by a disgruntled yowl. Nancy eventually hears the unmistakable click of Robin’s window being unlocked and opened, followed by the scattered footsteps of the stray Robin has been so determined to save.

Satisfied with her reflection Nancy starts to make her way back to her room, now actively making an attempt to be less attuned to all things Robin and her current spout of rambling apologizes. She chances a glance outside where the growing clouds cast a shadow over the adjacent buildings, thinks she sees a white-tipped tail disappear around a corner.

Nancy has tried to befriend the grey-white Manx but her attempts to do so have proved unsuccessful. She hasn’t been able to get closer than a few feet before he’s hissing at her, the fur along his spine and tail puffing up with each spitful warning. It doesn’t help when the werewolf part of her instinctually reacts, eyes flashing a defensive yellow, the bed of her nails going numb as her claws prepare to extract.

She hopes he finds somewhere safe to hide, especially today. The cat would rather brave an incoming storm than share a space that houses four other supernatural creatures and a human witch he barely tolerates. She tries not to think about him getting caught in the coming storm.

At the sound of Robin’s door opening her heart flutters in her chest. She tries vehemently to not think about that either.

"As I was trying to say." Robin sidesteps into the room, the hinges of the door whining as she shuts it with a fuzzy-socked heel. Nancy makes an attempt to not stare as Robin leans heavily against the door.

It was a valiant two second attempt, but an attempt nonetheless.

She can’t help but let her eyes wander when Robin gives her the opportunity. Robin tips her head and her hair falls forward, presenting the crown of her now nearly blonde head that has ever so slightly lightened from the constant Florida sun.

Robin's knees knock together as she sinks against the wall, seemingly trying to make herself small under Nancy’s attention. Nancy’s eyes slowly trail up Robin's exposed legs, still surprisingly pale after all these months, her gaze coming to a stop just before she reaches her face. She takes in the oversized shirt that nearly drowns her frame, one she safely assumes belongs to Argyle for its bright colors and assortment of oddly shaped leaves.

When Nancy’s gaze does finally reach the other girl’s face, she feels her own cheeks flame pink. She doesn't need to be able to read Robin's mind to know she's been made.

Instead of calling her out on it Robin’s smirk shifts, her nose scrunching and her hands coming up defensively in front of her chest. "We've been over this, the mind thing–"

There’s a hint of nerves behind her words. Why? 

"–that's not how it works, Nance. If–"

She didn’t notice, how did she– no, don’t. Stop, don’t think. Don’t think .

Robin's eyes narrow as her mouth snaps shut. Before she can start again Nancy cuts her (and herself) off with a dismissive wave and what she hopes is a reassuring smile, begs her voice to not come out as tightly as her chest feels. 

"I know, you don't have to say it." Nancy directs her attention towards her desk, eyes darting over the mess of her recent project that clutters the surface. "I think of you, I end up in your head, and it makes you think of me. 'If we're both thinking about each other hard enough, we meld ,' or whatever the hell you and Steve used to call it."

“Yes, exactly! Except… no, no, not really. Me and him, that's a little different.” Robin sucks air between her teeth and Nancy looks over her shoulder, watches Robin’s head tilt left and right in consideration. “It’s just a little bit different, we–”

"I know . You two have a back and forth, we don’t. Regardless, it doesn't mean I'm used to you having access to my thoughts."

Cheater she thinks, and this time tries to think it as loudly as she can. She spares a final glance over her shoulder if only to glare teasingly before focusing on opening the lockbox that conceals her gun. A strong gust slaps against her window, the quick flash of lightning making the double action revolver she holds in her hand shine.

A mock offended gasp followed by an incredulously low muttered "I don't cheat, " from behind just barely pulls Nancy's attention. Nancy tries to suppress a chuckle as nimble fingers run over the cold metal, trigger finger aligned with the barrel.

Thumbing the release, she flicks the cylinder out of the frame to inspect the circle of wooden bullets in the chamber. Blowing air through the exposed rear of the barrel, she picks away the splinters of wood that litter the opening.

They're still not as good as Argyle's. Dammit, how does he make them so perfect, I don't– Nancy bites her tongue, uses the sting to try to rein in her thoughts again as she continues to inspect the revolver and the bullets inside.

"Ever the sore loser, Wheeler," Robin sighs as she leans back against the door, still across the room.

"Shut up, no I'm not. Besides, this is different."

"Different how? You against the weather, you against Fred and the school paper–" Nancy winces with a silent rest in peace “–now you against Henry. Well, I guess it's now you against Argyle against Henry.”

"The difference is that this is actually important. If we're ever going to take down Henry and his hounds I need to get just as good, if not better at this. The wrong sigil or the wrong shape and weight of the bullet is life and death, and death is not an option. I need to get this right."

Robin whistles low. Nancy can picture the scrunch of her nose without having to look back. "Okay, yeah, you're right. That– it's different."

I'm always right, cheater, Nancy thinks with a smirk, knows not to speak or else expose her amusement.

"Except I don't cheat, so you're not actually always right. But, honestly, this weather game you've got going on… I don't know Nance, this one feels a little teeny-tiny bit like cheating. The weather man's been talking about this storm all week."

"No! I mean, yes, technically he has, but they're still not sure if it’s going to hit us as a tropical storm or a hurricane. I obviously don’t want it to be anything more than a storm, but my bet is hurricane.

"It's been light showers and tropical storm force winds all week, but today is the day. They’re going to announce it picked up over the Atlantic, you watch. Florida weather is already so unpredictable and–"

As if on queue the emergency alarm system blares through the speakers of her radio and Nancy nearly jumps out of her skin, making Robin cackle.

"Shut up. You know my hearing is different from yours," Nancy mutters around her own fit of giggles, lowering the volume as Frank's static voice cuts through. He announces fervently the list of counties that are under tropical storm advisories, including theirs, urging everyone to begin any last minute prep for the fast approaching storm if they haven't already.

"Tropical storm? What- I was so sure it was going to upgrade overnight. I mean, obviously I’m not saying I want a category five or anything, but not even a CAT one?” Nancy mutters with a pout, turning the volume down to a low buzz.

“I know it’s not the Once in a Lifetime Hurricane you were expecting, but a storm is coming in today. As your unofficial ref, I say you won today’s bet.”

“Yeah okay,” Nancy says with a self-deprecating roll of her eyes, the corners of her mouth slipping into a sheepish grin. It's dumb, I know.

"Nothing you do is dumb, Wheeler," Robin says quietly around a chuckle, her hands rising preemptively in apology. But, Nancy doesn't comment on it, can't bring herself to act peeved at the intrusion, instead allows herself a genuine smile.

Nancy’s amusement is only short lived. She redirects her attention towards the gun still in her hand, knocking the wooden bullets out of the extractor and onto her desk where she rolls one of the crudely carved bullets underneath her fingers, unimpressed by her own work.

Another crack of lightning illuminates the room, this time the accompanying crash of thunder following sooner than it had before. With a resigned sigh Nancy reaches out to change the station, today’s bet against the weather officially over.

Dreams starts sifting through the speakers and Nancy tenses, looks over in time to catch the look that masks Robin's face the moment the song registers. Her fingers are immediately back on the dial.

"It’s okay. You don't have to change it, it's fine," Robin says, voice soft.

Nancy hesitates. "Are you sure? I don’t mind changing it."

"No… I mean, yeah? Shit." Robin mutters. After a moment that feels like an eternity passes her eyes slip shut, a pained wince shadowing her features as Stevie Nick's floaty vocals carry their way around the room.

Nancy's fingers twitch, itching to reach out and turn the radio off all together. Instead she waits, barely flinching at the crack of thunder that seems to shake the entire complex. Robin exhales a shaky breath with another low muttered curse. Eventually she nods, opens her eyes as the instrumental breaks and her gaze immediately locks on Nancy.

Nancy watches as the harsh lines between her brows melt away with the slow guitar bridge, Nancy’s own heartbeat moving with the faster drum beat. Robin takes a shallow breath, steadier, and she clears her throat.

"Honestly, I’ve kinda missed this. It used to drive me absolutely bonkers trying to understand how two complete flower children like my parents could have ended up stranded in a town like Hawkins. I used to dream of life after seventeen, ya know... Bella Donna promised a life of adventure.

"But then I turned seventeen and our lives went to shit... What I’d give to come home and find my mom in the middle of our living room, stoned, dancing to Fleetwood Mac."

Robin sniffs quietly with a quick succession of teary blinks that makes Nancy’s own heart ache as she thinks of her own family back home. She wants to take the steps that will carry her across the room, wants to take Robin's hands in her own, help carry the pain that's all too familiar, to hold her.

She doesn't. She musters up what she hopes is an encouraging smile. Robin grins back, line of her mouth tight before she resigns herself to looking out the window. Nancy takes it with a quick swipe to her nose before she turns back to her desk.

They remain silent for a while.

Nancy goes over the carvings, jotting down notes for later. The only noise that fills the space is the music from the radio, her pen scratching along the paper, and the occasional��clank as she snaps the barrel of the revolver in and out of the frame.

They remain content in the quiet as the chorus of thunder continues to crack in the distance.

After some time Nancy turns her head to prop her chin onto her own shoulder. In the safety of shadowed light, she allows herself to look.

Robin is looking out the window, watching the angry dark clouds continue to creep in across the sky. The coming storm casts shadows and light across her face. If Nancy focuses hard enough she can almost see the reflection of it in her eyes.

Heavy rain starts to fall and the room darkens even further, heat from the little bit of sun the day had to offer slowly dissipating. The wind howls and Nancy can only just hear the birds in their nest, their silent chirps nearly hidden behind the sound of the wind as the tree that houses their nest trembles.

"I'm not cheating, by the way."

Nancy speaks suddenly, her voice soft. Robin turns to look at her. When her brows pull together and her lips pout in question Nancy has to look away. She focuses on Robin's hands, her fingers interlocked and laid against her stomach. 

Nancy chokes on a swallow, attempts to hide it with a cough as she turns back to her desk. “Today, the storm. I'm using context clues, taking the hints nature has to offer. It’s Journalism 101. ‘Don’t just ask if it’s raining; go look .’

"You, though, hearing my thoughts with all your witchy magic? That's definitely cheating."

"Fair point,” Robin murmurs with a chuckle. "In my defense, Wheeler, if you don't want me to have access to your thoughts, have you considered…"

Nancy hums when Robin doesn't continue, half focused on cleaning up the mess of her desk. She shuffles note cards of the sigils she's been learning and stacks them neatly atop a book of supernatural studies.

She continues to skim the titles of cut out newspaper articles she's been using to track Henry and his pack as she waits. After no response she shoves them unceremoniously below the pile of neatly handwritten pages dotted with information she's picked up about the hybrids from Argyle.

She's inspecting the edge of her blade when she hums again. A nudge. The other part of her, the most demanding part, is still waiting, reverted to being completely attuned to all things Robin Buckley. She tampers the fluttering in her chest, or at least she tries to as she sets down the dagger and unearths a random article, tries to settle her nerves and focus on the words on the page.

The door creaks as Robin finally pulls herself away from it and Nancy’s stomach swoops as the energy shifts inside the room, mirroring to the torrent that plays outside.

She can hear the pop as Robin pulls on her fingers, the way she shakes her hand out. Robin spins the ring on her thumb as she makes her way across the room with a ghost of a smile on her lips, one Nancy knows is there without having to look back.

Another passing moment and Nancy clears her throat. Have I considered what? She thinks, doesn't trust her voice to not give her away.

"Have you, Nancy Wheeler, considered…" Robin's voice is low, scratchy, and it sends a shiver down Nancy's spine. The articles crinkle in her hands as she makes a desperate physical grab for control of her nerves.

The lights flicker and Nancy shudders. Nancy inhales deeply as Robin approaches from behind. She closes her eyes, sinks into the familiar scent and warmth that washes over.

"Have you considered not thinking about me?" Robin's voice is barely a whisper.

Nancy nods, perfect brows pulling together with a dazed shake of her head because- "Of course I have."

"So, why don't you?"

I can't.

"Why not?"

Because I'm pretty sure I’m in love with you.

part two soon!

[pinkletterday]

A Stitch In Time Ch1

Pairing: Oliver Queen/ Barry Allen

Rating: Mature

Tags: canon-typical violence, hurt/comfort, so much angst, some bad jokes, Oliver Queen' trauma conga line, Oliver and Iris friendship, alt Arrow Season 3, untagged plot twist.

Summary:  Oliver hadn't expected his world to come crashing down when he had sent his boyfriend off to  see the Particle Accelerator launch. All he can do now is hold on to faith as Barry sleeps on - until he witnesses a miracle. 

He should have known that even miracles come at a price.

Chapter 1

Read on AO3

Oliver knew it was a bad idea to start necking in public view at the metro station but he couldn't help himself. They were lucky it was late and the other stragglers waiting for the eleven pm train were few. Besides, this was the last taste and feel of his boyfriend he was going to get till New Year's and he already looked unfairly adorable in his peacoat with his windswept hair.

"You are so bad at getting rid of me," Barry laughed as Oliver kissed his way down his jaw. 

"Yes," he murmured, licking the shell of Barry's ear, pleased at the shiver it elicited, "that's clearly what Im trying to do."

"Cant stand the sight of me already, huh?"

Oliver cupped his face and kissed him deeply. They were both panting when he drew away, thumb tenderly brushing the kiss-swollen lips. "You have no idea."

Their breath misted between them as leaned their foreheads together. "Mmm. This is a terrible plan," Oliver grumbled. "I hate sleeping without you."

"Hey, It's just for a few days," Barry pecked his lips soothingly. "Should be enough time to break the news to Joe about who I'm dating -"

" - I'm sure he'll be thrilled -"

" - and smooth things over so that when you fly in to meet him at New Year's, he'll be willing to give you a chance," Barry grinned at him. "I mean, he'll grunt and glare and do his whole cop Dad routine but he won't -"

" - go for his gun?" Oliver deadpanned.

"Don't be so dramatic," said Barry, pulling him firmly in by his coat lapels. "Joe's not unreasonable, just protective." 

Oliver quirked a brow. "You forget. I have some experience with dating the kids of cop Dads."

"True," Barry nodded solemnly, "but your experience is coloured by having dated both kids at once."

"Touché," Oliver conceded, "I'm sure that will be a point in my favour when it comes up." 

Barry titled his head, a sly smile playing on his lips. "Are you actually afraid, Mr. Scourge of Starling City?" 

"Is that my new nickname? Shame, The Arrow was kinda cool."

"No, but seriously," said Barry, entwining their fingers in reassurance. "You have nothing to be afraid of. My Dad likes you and so does Iris. You'll win over Joe too, in time."

Warmth suffused him, as it always did, at the unwavering faith in his lover's eyes, banishing the winter chill. He raised their interlocked hands and pressed a kiss on Barry's knuckles, reflecting that softness back at him. "I hope so. I want to be someone you can take home to your cop Dad."

"You should have thought of that before starting a career in vigilanteism," said Barry dryly. 

"Definitely a misstep, I see that now," Oliver nodded. 

They grinned at each other, insulated from the night's chill in their own small pocket of warm happiness, surrounded by the sludge and sleet of the city. A tendril of fear curled in Oliver's chest, some part of him still paranoid and disbelieving that he got to have this at all. 

He cradled the side of Barry's face, protectiveness rising. "Be careful," he told him seriously.

"Of what? Central is not the crazy town full of masked criminals and crimefighters," Barry rolled his eyes and raised a brow pointedly at him. "Besides, it's a little rich coming from the man who nearly coded in the Arrow Cave two nights ago. You're the one who needs to take better care of yourself."

"If I do, will you stop calling the foundry that?," said Oliver, resigned.

"Nope," Barry kissed the palm that cupped his cheek, eyes dancing.

Something of the lingering worry must have shown in his eyes however. His partner's face softened. "Don't worry, Oliver. I'm just going to watch Harrison Wells give a speech, witness the revolution of science as we know it and then go home with Iris and eat Joe's Christmas turkey. What kind of trouble could I possibly get into?"

The distant rumble beneath their feet announced the arrival of the train. "Barry Allen, if there's one thing I've learned about you over the past year," he said, a wry smile tugging at his mouth, "it's that if there's trouble to be had, you'll find it."

...

He was on the island again, stones scraping and bloodying his bare feet as he scrabbled up the rocky slope from the beach. Barry grinned at him in excitement from above. "Oliver, hurry up! We have to catch the man in the lightning!"

Storm clouds menaced from overhead and dread sank deep into his bones. He tried to climb faster with little progress. "Barry, it's not safe!" he yelled, but the wind that buffeted his face carried his words away. "Wait for me!"

Barry merely waved and disappeared over the hill. Oliver belly-crawled to the top to see him running through the trees, too far for him to ever catch up, but he had to try.

"Barry, please!," he called as he ran, jumping over tree roots, struggling to keep him in his sights as the driving sheets of rain obscured his vision. Thunder split the air, drowning his cries and Barry continued to out-pace him, his carefree laughter ringing eerily throughout the forest.

Something caught his foot and he tripped, falling face-down in the mud. He twisted around, trying to free himself, and came face to face with Shado.

She had emerged half-way from the earth, covered in mud and silt, her once-beautiful face sunken and waxy in death. "You left me to rot," she spat at him, "now you're going to stay with me."

He twisted and kicked out in horror but her grip was a vice around his ankle. Lightning speared down from the sky, striking the tree above him with a deafening crack. He rolled out of the way in time to avoid the enormous branch that crashed to the ground, crushing Shado back into the earth. "No!" he cried. He had never meant her to die again.

Lightning flashed once more and suddenly Slade stood over him, a huge sword pointed at his chest. An arrow was potruding out of one eye, blood streaming down his face. "You killed her, kid," he snarled. "You killed her again.

His elbow sank into the silt as he scrambled backwards - and then the rest of him was also sinking, trapped. "Oliver!" Barry's voice echoed above him as the bog dragged him down, the rain pelting into his mouth, choking him, "Oliver!"

"Oliver. Wake up."

He shot upright with a gasp, hand ready to land a nerve-strike to the other person's neck a split second before he recognized Iris. Trying to calm his breathing, he put his hand down slowly, heart juddering against his ribs.

The hospital room was dark except for the light above the bed, illuminating Barry's unconscious form, the quiet only broken by the steady beep of the heart monitor and the susurration of the ventilator. Iris was eyeing him in concern, dark curtain of hair brushing his arm as she leaned over him. 

"Hey," Oliver rubbed his eyes. "What time is it?"

"Eight. Dad'll be back soon. I came straight from work. Did you eat anything?" she asked briskly, bustling around the room.

Oliver shrugged, wincing at the now-permanent kink in his neck. "Grabbed something from the hospital cafeteria. Surprisingly good pudding cups."

She gave him an unimpressed look and handed him a Jitters pastry bag. He stuffed a croissant into his mouth gratefully.

"Have the doctors been? Anything new?" She leaned over Barry worriedly, pushing his hair back from his face as though searching for signs of change.

"Not since you called this afternoon, no."

She sighed, then forced a bright smile. "So," she said, dragging a chair beside him. "Did you two have fun today?"

"Oh, yeah. We had a busy morning," said Oliver, forcing an answering brightness in turn, "I helped the nurse give him a bath and a shave. Don't get me wrong, I love the man, but scruff is not a good look on him," he shook his head ruefully.

Iris giggled. "Yeeah. Barry just can't grow facial hair. It's the bane of his life," her grin turned wicked. "Did he tell you about the time he came home from college with a moustache?"

"No, really?" Oliver snorted in surprise.

"It was awful. He looked like a used car salesman from the seventies," she said in glee. "Dad and I couldn't keep a straight face. He was so mad!"

He put his pastry down to look seriously at her. "Please tell me you have pictures."

'Pfft, please. I ran for the camera the moment he walked in the door." Iris broke into fresh giggles at Oliver's admiring expression.

"You are an evil person."

She gasped. "You hear that Barry?," she said in mock offence, "He's calling me evil. You gonna take that lying down?"

They both froze, staring wide-eyed at each other. Then burst into almost hysterical laughter.

"Oh my God," Oliver buried his face in his hands, "that was awful."

Iris swatted his shoulder, still shaking with mirth. "Excuse you, it was an amazing pun. Don't you think so, Barry?"

"You see?," Oliver leaned toward Barry conspirationally, "Evil."

They subsided, smiling. Iris took Barry's hand. "You think he can hear us?," she asked wistfully, playing with his limp fingers, "The forums say they can hear and understand sometimes but can't respond -"

"It's a Scale 3 coma, Iris. Brain activity in that state usually indicates complete unconsciousness." He had, in the last three weeks, researched the subject with a diligence he had failed to apply to any of his abortive careers at Ivy League universities. He knew Iris had too.

"Doesn't mean he's not dreaming," she said stubbornly, "I know the doctors say it's unlikely because he doesn't have a sleep-wakefulness cycle but they also don't have a clue why he's flatlining and seizing at the same time..."

There was another pause, both of them holding their breath. They had fallen into a pattern of not talking about the seizures more than necessary, first beause they were terrifying but also out of an unspoken shared superstition that the mere mention of them would precipitate an onset.

But the moments went by and Barry continued to be still, the heart monitor beeping steadily.

Oliver finally broke the silence. "Well, if he can hear us, he's probably horrified at how much blackmail material we're going to be exchanging while he's getting his beauty sleep," he said, teasing a wan smile out of Iris. "And pretty bored, cause I've been reading QC's financial reports and quarterly projections to him."

"Wow. Sounds riveting."

"He thought it was a real snooze, actually," said Oliver solemnly.

Iris broke into a peal of laughter. Oliver grinned back, pleased with himself, before his eyes fell on the doorway where -

- Joe West was standing frozen.

"Detective West," he stood up from his seat, heart sinking. Well damn. After three weeks of painstakingly gaining the man's grudging approval too.

Iris turned around quickly as well. "Dad, we were just -"

But a smile was creasing his normally forbidding countenance, turning into a grin that transformed his face into a sunshine warmth that reminded Oliver of Barry's own. "A real snooze," the detective repeated, giggling.

The laughter that rippled among the room momentarily alleviated the pall that hung over it. For a few minutes they sat around Barry and chatted easily, occasionally talking to him too. It felt as though they were sitting in the Wests' living room having the normal family conversation he and Barry had envisioned during the holidays. Before the Accelerator explosion. 

Unfortunately, it was short lived.

The machines suddenly went haywire the exact same moment as the hospital lights started to flicker and die.

"Oh God, not again!"

Barry began to convulse and jerk on the bed. Oliver raced to hold him down but he kept thrashing like some ghastly marionnette pulled by invisible, torturous strings. Dimly he could hear Joe calling for help and Iris crying Barry's name over the terror drumming in his ears. The medical team streamed into the room, pushing him away and he let himself be shunted outside, reduced to watching helplessly.

"Barry!"

Iris was being restrained by a nurse, still shouting. Oliver watched numbly as Joe pulled her into his arms, face as haggard with shock as he felt. She buried her face in her father's chest and fell apart, the way he didn't know how to do anymore.

...

Henry Allen's face was always hopeful whenever he saw him. Oliver tried not to resent him for it, because having to extinguish it every time was awful.

"Is Barry -?" It was the first question that passed his lips the moment he picked up the phone, almost before he sat down and he slumped and aged a little more every time Oliver shook his head wearily.

But like his son, Henry was resilient of spirit, composing himself in short order. "It's been a while, Oliver," the man's smile and tone betrayed no accusation but Oliver still felt a stab of guilt.

"Yeah, I'm sorry about that, Dr. Allen," he rubbed the weariness from his eyelids. "Barely had any time between Barry and my mother and wrangling the board at Starling."

"That wasn't a complaint. Just concern. And when are you going to start calling me Henry?" the older man asked in mock-stern humour.

Oliver huffed a laugh and relaxed. "Sorry, Henry."

"You shouldn't worry about me," Henry's blue eyes were painfully understanding, "Iris has been stopping by regularly, keeping me in the loop."

"I'm glad. She's been amazing," said Oliver warmly. Because she really was. But he had come to talk of a less pleasant topic. "Speaking of in the loop, Harrison Wells has spoken to Joe."

Henry's jaw tensed. "What does that man want?"

No one who loved Barry had much sympathy for the architect of the Particle Accelerator explosion, paralyzed and humiliated as he was. Even Henry Allen, as kind a man as had ever lived, couldn't forgive what he had done to his only child. Oliver hadn't thought he was the kind of man who would want to deck a man in a wheelchair but his knuckles itched every time he saw him on TV. Only the thought that this was probably how many Starling residents felt about his mother sobered him.

Still, objectively speaking, Wells's plan seemed pragmatic. Oliver didnt need a medical degree to know that the doctors were at a complete loss and with every seizure they came that much closer to losing Barry. 

Henry mulled this over at the end of his explanation. "What do you think?," he asked Oliver.

"It does make sense," he said begrudgingly.  "Barry's not getting better. We can't not try everything we can. And it would make me a hypocrite to begrudge someone trying to find redemption for a terrible mistake."

"But what do you think?"

The fact that Barry's father had grown to value his judgment so much never failed to catch Oliver off-guard and humble him. He looked the older man directly in the eye through the dirty glass that separated them.

"I don't trust him as far as I can throw him."

Henry searched his face for a long moment. Finally he jerked his head in a nod of understanding. "But you'll be watching him?"

Oliver's own jaw tightened. "You can count on it."

***

"You have to come home."

He ignored Felicity, continuing to stare at Barry's lax wrist in his hands, feeling the pulse beat humming-bird fast and thready, always seeming thin enough to dissolve.

She sighed. "I know you don't want to -,"

"I can't," he interjected firmly

" - but it's been five weeks. The Mirakuru is still out there and we still have no clue who the man in the skull mask is even though Digg and I have been shaking down as many known drug dealers as we can in the Glades. Isabel Rochev has been hounding us with calls...," Felicity sighed again, and this time he could hear the exhaustion in her own voice. A gentle hand laid on his shoulder. "The city is heading toward some kind of implosion, like with Merlyn last year. We can't let that happen again."

It was too much. Then let it implode, he thought savagely. Why do I have to be the one to save the goddamn city. What makes me so special? Haven't I paid enough for my family's sins?

His grip on Barry's hand tightened convulsively. The truth was that he was terrified to let go for fear that the tremulous thread anchoring Barry to life would snap. He should have known it would end this way. Should have known better than to hope, should have pushed Barry away when he had the chance before he let him down too...

"Why would you want to be with me?," he asked, searching Barry's eyes that still looked at him with such steady faith. "I failed the city. I failed everyone." Especially you.

"You didn't fail everyone. We helped people. You gave people a chance to save themselves. Gave them hope," Barry cupped his cheek tenderly. "Gave me hope."

"It wasn't enough," but Oliver couldn't help turning his face into the comfort of that hand. "I wasn't enough. I'm no hero, Barry."

"Maybe not. But what you are is a good man willing to risk everything to keep people safe," said Barry. "Maybe that's what the city needs, more than a hero. And for that," his hand curled around Oliver's, "you will always be a hero to me."

"Oliver," Digg's urgent voice made him look up sharply. "There's been a bombing downtown. Three people dead. We have to go back now."

Oliver nodded and stood up, making himself release Barry's hand.

I'm going to try and be the man you deserve.

He felt the shift from Oliver Queen to the Arrow as he squared his shoulders, emotion replaced by cold calculation. "I need to call Iris. Felicity, find out all you can about the bomber. Digg, get the jet ready. We'll plan en route."

***

"How's Barry?"

Felicity had the answer automatically ready for Oliver's habitual question almost before he had finished clattering down the stairs to the Arrow Cave, Sara at his heels.

"Still stable. At least according to the video feed," she waved at the monitor that displayed the STAR Labs cortex, where her friend was hooked up to a depressing number of machines. "I feel kinda bad about hacking into that. Cisco and Caitlin really do seem to be doing their best to take care of him."

"I'm not willing to take any chances," said Oliver, hanging up his bow and divesting himself of his quiver almost carelessly, his eyes trained on the screen.

A derisive scoff sounded behind him. "Well that's a big fat lie."

Felicity tensed as Oliver rounded on Sara. The small blonde was unfazed by his looming. She continued to put away her gear without looking at him, ire emanating from her own movements.

He turned around in time to unfortunately catch Felicity sharing a nervous glance with Diggle, who immediately adopted his stolid dealing-with-Oliver's-dramatics stance.

Oliver took a deep breath and cocked his head with an even expression. "Something you want to tell me?" he said, with that "definitely-not-bristling-I-am-a-calm-rational-human-being" demeanor he used when defending some exceptionally stupid decision.

Diggle, as usual, opened with the reasonable tack that invariably put Oliver on the defensive. "Oliver, we know how hard this has been on you. We care about Barry too. But it's been three months -"

"I'm not giving up on him!"

"We're not asking you to!" Sara exclaimed. "But you're being sloppy! You're distracted, you're barely rested, you're taking stupid risks and getting hurt more than usual, which is really saying something," she accentuated her point by slapping her glove against his chest. Felicity flinched. Oh boy.

"I'm doing the best I can," Oliver gritted mutinously.

"Don't you get it, Ollie? You don't have to give up on Barry but you're not helping anyone like this!" Sara got right in his face and Felicity inched her chair further back into the safety of her computer bank. "Slade's got us like sitting ducks, Roy's out of control and whatever issue you're having with Moira right now, our families are in danger! Starling needs you!"

Colour had risen in Oliver's cheeks, his eyes glinting dangerously like he was about fire right back at Sara. But then the fight seemed to deflate right out of him. He slumped, the sheer exhaustion he was fighting a losing battle with weighing down his broad shoulders. It made Felicity's heart hurt. "I'm already doing all I can think of," he sighed, running a hand over his face, "what more do you want me to do?"

Sara stepped back. Her expression had softened but her voice was still stern and unyielding. "If there's anything I've learned while I've been gone, it's that to protect people you have to focus on what's in front of you. You can't have your head in Central City if you're going to fix the problems here," Felicity winced a little at her bluntness. "Otherwise you'll lose both."

***

Despite years of yearning for its comfort, the Queen mansion had never really felt like home after he had returned. Now it was merely a hollow shell preparing to pass into the hands of strangers, his failures dogging him with each echoing footstep. 

"Thea is out there hurt or worse because of one person - and it's not Slade Wilson," Roy's eyes burned in his gaunt face. "I believed in you."

"How could you not tell me Malcolm Merlyn was my father?" Thea's eyes were full of accusation and betrayal as she curled into herself. "I believed in you."

"I'd say they'd lost faith in your leadership, but that would imply there was any," said Isabel snidely, vicious victory sparking in her eyes. "Maybe you should have focused a little less on your...evening activities."

"Your father had a weakness for beautiful, strong women."

Even his own room felt like it belonged to someone else, except for the framed picture of himself and Barry sitting on the mantlepiece.

They were both wearing ugly Christmas sweaters that Barry had insisted were traditional, snuggled on the couch in the twinkling lights of the Christmas tree. Barry was wrapped in his arms with a look of supreme contentment on his face while Oliver pressed a tender kiss to his tousled head tucked under his chin. He had spent that night at the mansion for the first time, smugly relishing making love in the bed of Oliver's adolescence. Waking up to Barry's drowsy half-lidded gaze had filled him with a contentment he hadn't known was possible.

"I'm so happy I'm frightened," Oliver confessed, his face buried in Barry's neck.

"Why are you frightened?" Barry reached back to card his fingers through Oliver's hair.

He tightened his arms around him. "Of what would happen if I lost you."

Barry turned around to face him, smile sleep-soft and sweet. "You could never lose me."

But you lied, thought Oliver, bile rising in his throat as he stared at the picture in his hands. You left me too.

The rage he hadn't realized had been simmering just beneath the surface suddenly blazed white-hot. He hurled the picture at the wall and swept an arm across the entire mantlepiece, clocks, curios and pictures joining the shattered frame on the floor.  The memories of failure and betrayal chased him one after the other as he destroyed every memento in the room in a red haze, kicking, ripping, smashing.

The room was littered in glass shards and debris when he was finally spent, sliding along the wall to drop limply onto the floor. At his feet, Barry's and his happy smiles gazed up at him from the broken frame. 

***

Oliver had had this nightmare many times before, replaying that night again and again until he was crying for it to end. But those had taken place in the darkness and freezing wind of the island, the pale torchlight illuminating Sara's and Shado's terrified faces before Ivo shot Shado in the head. Sometimes both her and Sara. Over and over.

Now the harsh beams of the truck's headlights and Oliver's own concussion made everything swim in amber, and the voices begging for their lives belonged to his mother and sister.

"Choose!" No. This was just another nightmare. It had to be. Please God. Please.

But the ropes cutting into his wrists felt very real and part of him knew there would be no merciful awakening from this, any more than there had been the last time. 

"Let me make the right choice now! Kill me! It's me you want!" he pleaded desperately, ignoring Thea's and his Mom's renewed cries. I can't take this anymore. Please stop hurting them. Let me die and be with Barry. Let it all end.

"I will kill you," sneered Slade, drawing his gun from his belt and cocking it. "Only more slowly than you would like. I confess, I enjoyed how much pain you've been in watching your lover die by inches," he gloated over Oliver's face and the thought of the deranged man standing over Barry's unconscious form sent ice through him, "But it wasn't enough. Despite everything, you still keep clinging to a strand of hope, however thin. Hope that I can never have." Slade straightened, turning back to his mother and sister. "No, Oliver. I need you to taste true despair. I need you to suffer by my own hand, not just fate's."

"And so...," he laid the barrel of the gun over little Thea's head in a mockery of benediction, ignoring her face soaked in tears. "Choose."

"Please," Oliver choked. "Don't."

"Choose!" Over his mother's head this time.

The fury erupting from his chest was a living thing, searing across his veins, raging to rip Slade's throat out, to feel the satisfying crunch of his neck breaking, to stab an arrow clean through his other eye socket with his bare hands. Yet, the ropes still held.

"CHOOSE!"

But Moira was struggling to her feet, head held proudly aloft despite the arms wrenched behind her back.

"Mom?" No. No no no no no. "What're you doing?"

"There is only one way this night can end," said Moira, voice steady through a throat raw with tears. She turned to Slade, composed and dignified even with the sweat and grime streaking her hair and face, "we both know that, don't we, Mr. Wilson?"

Oliver heard himself and Thea pleading as though from far away. It wasn't real. It couldn't be real. He suddenly remembered his Dad in the raft, pointing the gun at his own temple. 

"Close your eyes, baby!" Moira implored, but Oliver was transfixed.

Slade seemed taken aback. "You possess great courage," he said deferentially, lowering his gun and turning away. For one wild moment, it seemed as though she might be spared - but then he saw Slade's hand grasp the hilt of his sword.

Thunder rumbled, reverberating the ground beneath his feet. Oliver remembered distantly that there had been a storm on the island that night as well. 

Thea screamed as Slade whirled around, the blade flashing silver.

And the world turned gold.

The flare of incredible light seared his eyes, static raising every hair on his body. A moment later, a sonic boom knocked him sideways as something immense cleaved the world in two.

Oliver was only stunned for a bare moment before his reflexes took over, rolling him to his feet almost in the same motion. He shook his head, clearing his vision to see Slade fallen against a tree some ten feet away, trying to struggle to his feet. His mother and sister were nowhere to be seen except for the ropes on the ground.

Panic thudded wildly in his chest. "What did you do?," he yelled at Slade, "What did you do to them?"

But the other man's seemed just confused as he staggered around almost foolishly.

"Thea! Mom!" Oliver yelled. He suddenly realized his hands were untied.

Slade seemed to finally regain his bearings and rounded on him, his face a rictus of fury. "SEARCH THE PERIMETER!" he roared into the darkness. "BRING THEM TO ME!"

Something gleamed on the ground a few feet away. A bare flicker of Slade's eye confirmed that he had seen it too. Their eyes locked on each other for a milisecond before they both lunged sideways for the gun.

Oliver's knee landed in Slade's gut the same time as Slade's armoured knuckles caught him in the jaw. Stars burst across his vision but he hooked his ankle around the other man's leg without a moment's pause. They rolled around in the dirt, scrabbling for the weapon until Slade managed to pin Oliver to the ground, closing his preternaturally strong hand around his throat.

He knew what it was when he felt it this time, the earth rumbling beneath him a second before gold light filled his vision, incandescent enough to blind him through his eyelids, to burn him - but it only enveloped him in a gentle warmth before the world tilted.

The ground under his feet turned to pressurized air, locking him in place as the rest of the world rushed past in a blur, a tidal wave giving the illusion of being dragged into the sea. But he was not grasping for breath and his eyes did not sting; he was engulfed in a warm, secure bubble as the golden rods of light streamed on either side of him, of them, a masked person with lightning eyes -

- and suddenly it all stopped, slamming the breath from his lungs, the ground hard beneath his feet. The thunder clap rang in his ears before he had finished falling to his knees.

It had all happened between one blink and the next. He grasped the earth, disoriented. Only it wasn't earth at all but concrete.

"Whoa, easy there," said an oddly vibrating voice. A gloved hand laid on his back. Oliver flinched and rolled away from it, gaining his feet again.

A tall, almost lanky man in a form-fitting suit was silhouetted against the backdrop of...city lights? They were on a rooftop?

"Who are you?" Oliver demanded, falling into a defensive stance despite still fighting nausea. "Where are we?"

"We're on the roof of Verdant" said the man again in that mechanically resonant voice. There was something oddly familar about it. "Don't worry, your mother and sister are safe. I left them at the Glades precinct. Captain Lance will take care of them."

Oliver noted that the man had gotten Quentin's designation wrong but there were more pressing concerns. "How did we get here? Where's Slade?"

"Deathstroke is, uh, taking a small nappy nap," said the man, airily wiggling his  fingers. "I knocked him out, picked you up and ran you here. Don't worry, it wasn't a bridal carry."

"You carried me?"

"Don't sound so surprised. I'm pretty strong. The speed also helps a lot," he shrugged in what seemed like self-deprecation.

"That's not possible."

Oliver swallowed, thoughts racing. He had to find a way to get off this roof and he needed answers. But how do you escape something this fast?

"Isn't it? I thought you said you were more ready to believe in the impossible than most people." I've spent my whole life chasing the impossible. His heart stopped.

"Who are you?"

The man stepped closer to him so Oliver could see his face more clearly in the blazing glow of the city that suffused the evening sky. He wanted to take a step back but his feet were again rooted to the ground as the man ducked his head and pulled back the mask. Barry smiled tentatively, hair tousled and cheeks wind-flushed. "Hey."

***

Either Oliver had forgotten how beautiful Barry was when he was awake or Slade had hit him really hard and he was now hallucinating.

"You. You're not-" his throat was closing. "You're not real."

Not-Barry looked at him gently. "I promise I'm real. See?" He took off a glove and reached out a hand between them. Oliver stared at it. The long slender fingers and slim wrist were so familiar, he reached out to touch it almost without thinking.

The other man's eyes were tender and his smile tired but sweet as ever, dimpling his cheeks. The hand, soft and warm, slotted neatly into his own, fingers intertwining in sense-memory.

"It's me, Oliver," he said, stepping closer. "It's really me."

Oliver touched the man's face as though in a dream. He traced the planes of those cut-glass cheekbones, the shadows cast by his sweeping lashes, the freckles around his eyes, the plush pink lips. They gently brushed his own open mouth and he was suddenly surrounded by the scent of rainstorms and honey beneath which he could sense the taste and feel that was uniquely Barry.

"Barry," he breathed. "Barry."

Oliver grabbed him by the shoulders and hauled him forward for a furious kiss that made him grunt and stagger in surprise. He fisted his hands through those soft chestnut waves, holding Barry's head in place to sweep his tongue deeper into his mouth, starving for his taste, his touch, his moans driving him even more delirious.

It was an eternity of bliss and yet not nearly enough when his lover broke free. He caught Oliver's wrists, panting. "Oliver," Barry leaned their foreheads together, both their breathing ragged. Oliver's blood pounded in his ears. He only realized he'd been crying when Barry brushed the wetness away with his ungloved thumb. "Oh Ollie," he murmured sadly.

"Are you dead?," Oliver choked out. His vision blurred with tears but he let them brim over, afraid to blink.

"Are we both dead? Is this heaven?"

"What? Ollie, no," Barry huffed a laugh and turned his face into Oliver's hand to kiss it. "We are both very much alive."

"But I need you to listen to me," his grip on his wrists tightened urgently, those wonderfully awake and alert eyes pinning his own with startling intensity, "I don't have much time. First off, I'm not really back."

Oliver's heart sank and he pulled Barry impossibly closer, running frantic hands over his body searching for damage. "What do you mean?"

Catching his hands again, Barry turned Oliver's chin up to face him full-on. "To understand what I'm about to tell you," he spoke careful and clear, "you need to believe in the impossible. Can you do that?"

Oliver laughed incredulously. "I don't need to believe, I just saw it."

"No, there's more to it. Listen," he took a deep breath, "I'm from the future."

"From...the future," repeated Oliver blankly. This somehow seemed to make perfect sense, in that surreal way the twists and turns of a dream seemed perfectly reasonable.

"Yes. The me of right now is still in a coma at STAR Labs," said Barry. "I'm going to wake up in a few months and I'm going to have these powers."

"Powers? Like...turning into lightning?"

"No, but I am lightning fast and I can generate my own lightning bolts...eventually." Something tight flickered over his expression but he shook it away and refocused. "The point is, I will develop my powers over time until one day I accidentally time-travel."

"Absolutely nobody can find out what really happened here tonight, not even me. I need to find out about my powers by myself and you can't tell me or anyone until one day, I have to deliberately choose to time travel for the first time," Barry cupped Oliver's face in his hands, almost vibrating with urgency. "You have to promise me."

Oliver was still struggling to get a grip on reality. "But why?"

"Because that is how it happened before and now must be again," said Barry. His face was inscrutable. "Anything else will create a paradox. Promise me."

"I promise. I won't tell anyone." He still didn't have the slightest idea what Barry was saying but he would promise his soul to have his partner back like this, warm, responsive, alive.

He couldn't make himself let go of him though. He wasn't sure he knew how. "But - Barry, there's so much happening in the city right now - I need you. I don't know if I can do this without you."

"Oliver, you can do this," and there was that immovable trust in Barry's eyes that he had been starving for, making his heart soar and humbling him to his core at the same time, "It won't be easy but you're not alone. Trust in your family and your team. They have your back. You can save the city and you will beat Slade."

The band that had constricted his chest for months finally loosened, allowing free breath. "You really believe that?"

Barry smiled. "I don't have to believe it. I've already seen it."

It suddenly struck Oliver that this Barry was different in a way that had nothing to do with the mask or the powers. There was an invisible weight on the slope of those broad shoulders. Even his smile was not the full-blown beam of sunshine he was used to, some sad shadow pulling at the creases of his mouth and eyes, and the furrow of his brow. There was a battered and bowed gravity to him that Oliver recognized.

What happened to you? What made you so much like me?

Perhaps Barry had seen him reading too much in his demeanor. Stepped back uncomfortably, he pulled Oliver's hands away. "I have to go," he softened at the sound of distress that escaped Oliver, hands scrabbling to pull him back. "This is real, Ollie," he framed his face in his hands again, eyes as tender as they were intense, "I promise. I'm going to wake up."

Oliver swallowed past the knot in his throat and nodded. "Okay. I believe you."

"And I believe in you," Barry gently pried his hands loose and Oliver, with a Herculean effort, let him.

He stood at the edge of the building, silhouetted in shadow and scarlet against the liquid yellow-gold of the city. Electricity crackled at his feet, spidering up his body which Oliver could sense vibrating with power even at this distance. Almost a demi-god, an entity that belonged to a place and time Oliver could not hope to follow. 

A sudden desperation gripped him. "Barry," he called, "I love you."

Barry gave him that soft, sad smile over his shoulder. "I know," he said, lightning sparking in his eyes.

Oliver was braced for the sonic boom this time. He watched in awe as the red-gold comet blazed across the city into the horizon before disappearing into a vortex of swirling blue light.

Now that... is really cool.

Bonus deleted scene

Chapter 2