#skhfjsjd im so sorry this took me so long I’ve been so burnt out and jumping from idea to idea I was so out of it

[itsnotamatterofif]

Hi Anon I’m SO sorry this took me a month! Hope you’re still here to receive this, and I hope you enjoy - warnings for…Anti-steamer sentiment? Train racism? I ran with the headcanon that GA either is or at one point was a steam engine.

✨Want a Drabble? Send me a prompt! ✨ (and I’ll answer it in a month apparently)

“I don’t want you sitting next to me, knob.”

Really, in the tight space of the temporary repair tent, it’s not like Green Arrow has a whole lot of choice. Between Tassita and Orange Flash who are laid out on the two flat beds, and Golden Eagle spreading himself across two of the pop-up chairs, there’s only one space left that Green Arrow can sit his aching body in.

Right next to Golden.

“Deal with it,” he spits back, cradling his sparkling arm as he perches as far away from Golden as possible, “maybe if you don’t want me breathing your air, you shouldn’t have started something you can’t finish, asshole-“

He’s cut off by the sharp hissing of Tassita shushing them both, groggily shifting where he’s curled on the flatbed, and all Arrow can do is huff and turn away as far as possible.

There’s a strained but nice stretch of silence after that, but all that really does is make Arrow realise how much he hurts; his entire frame aches where it’s attached to his chassis, like every piston and each rivet is tender in its placement. With every breath he takes he can feel each individual plate of metal on his body as if everything is just ever so slightly out of place, metal grinding against metal as he rolls his shoulders in discomfort. Really, the last thing he wants to be doing is sitting, but it’s the only way he can wait his turn for the repair trucks, so it’s not really a thing he has a choice in.

“I’ll fuckin’ finish it, trust me.” The silence is interrupted by Golden’s whispered hiss, angry and heated. “Once I’m back in the game, I’ll kick your ass, steamer-“

“That’s what this is about?” Arrow argues, unable to help his head whipping about, “can’t handle the fact you nearly got your shit whipped by a conversion?”

Instantly, an incredibly satisfying snarl curls across Golden’s face like smoke, acrid and vicious as he bares his teeth, and Arrow can’t help but smirk. There’s never been anything quite as fun as riling up Golden, especially not when it’s so easy to do.

“You weren’t even close,” Golden growls, and Arrow spots Tassita shifting up again in preparation.

“Oh, you just hung back to beat me up then?” Arrow asks innocently, “right - see, I thought you punched me in the face because you were threatened, but really you just wanted to be near me! Cute-“

“You shut your fuckin-“

“Is it too much to ask for an ounce of peace and quiet?” Tassita shouts, strained, and Arrow is suddenly aware that Golden is mere inches from his face, “if you’re going to fight again, go outside. Some of us actually want to recover.”

With an audible, incoherent grumble, Golden shifts back, eyes filled to the brim with hatred and locked onto Arrow like a gun barrel; there’s a moment though where the strong image breaks as he eases back, hissing through his teeth in what Arrow assumes must be pain. He likes to think he gave as good as he got, and judging by the valley of twisted metal across Golden’s back where Arrow shoved him into a safety rail, at least something he did left a lasting mark.

“I bet you’re happy,” Golden utters, a hint of pain bleeding into his tone now, “that decrepit steamer won, right? She’s probably like your grandma or something-“

“I’m not a steamer,” Arrow bites, peeling open his chest compartment to show the once shiny diesel engine chugging inside his chassis, but all Golden does is roll his eyes, “and I wanted to win just as much as you did - do you really think I’d put all that effort into a race just to help some hunk of junk win by default? Fuck off.”

Clearly frustrated, Golden huffs a breath through his nose, nostrils flaring. “Whatever. At least you’re not going anywhere now.”

“Neither are you,” Arrow points out, “I dunno’ what you wanted to achieve with this - you’re just as disqualified as I am, not unless Greaseball keels over and for some reason picks you as her successor.”

“Right,” Golden mutters, a dry humourless laugh shaking his dented frame, “well, here’s to next year.”

“You just want another excuse to beat me up,” Arrow says with a chuckle, but whatever anger was there has left, only the ache and the frustration at another missed chance of failure remaining; his arm really hurts now, and there’s a visible stream of oil oozing out from under a piece of dislodged plating,

Another laugh from Golden, but this one is more real, more light. It’s kind of nice, in a way, Arrow doesn’t think he’s ever heard Golden laugh like that- what the fuck is he thinking?

“Sure,” Golden remarks noncommittally, “don’t get so close to beating me, then.”

There’s a pause as the repair trucks wander back in, sitting Orange Flash up to begin work on where their leg joint snapped, and even in Golden’s steely eyes, Arrow notices a hint of concern.

He looks over at Golden, sat awkwardly in the chair that seems too small for him now.

“No promises,” he replies eventually, “I’m not losing to you again.”