#who wouldn’t be scared shitless of being single if you had to navigate that system

[canisvesperus]

“Eridan is an incel” He had two girlfriends at age 13 and you didn’t.

[reivenesque]

Dirty Deeds Done Dirt Cheap Final Chapter

Epilogue: For Those About to Rock (We Salute You) (3556 words) Flag can’t tear his eyes away from the too young face and the gaunt cheeks and memories from the night of the shooting come flooding back; seeing the young boy crying before him, asking for him to help find his mom. Staying with the boy for however long before the crying woman comes running up to them, thanking him for helping her son or some shit like that. Flag berates himself for not seeing through the act.

[ch1] [ch2] [ch3] [ch4] [ch5] [ch6] [ch7]

(ao3)

Rick Flag would no longer begrudgingly admit to having developed a bit of a soft spot for his newly acquired and rather unruly in a violent murderous manner subordinates. If fact, he’s become quite proud of the fact. They were still a bunch of disorderly, disrespectful assholes with absolutely no disregard for superiors, but ultimately they were still his charges and his responsibility.

He would begrudgingly admit that at this point he’d even consider all of them friends, if not actual family.

He has no family of his own, at least none that he’d consider as such. But between GQ and Boomerang feeling like the incorrigible little brothers he never wanted; Harley, Pamela and Katana the sisters he simultaneously wanted to protect and was scared shitless of. KC is the jock cousin that comes by during his off days at college who always considers himself cooler than he actually is and June as his cute nerdy girl high school sweetheart who somehow never considered herself good enough when in truth it was Flag who asks himself every day how he managed to land such an amazing girl.

He pats the small unseen velvet box in the side pocket of his jacket subconsciously.

And Floyd; Flag doesn’t even know how to describe how he considers Floyd; a bit like a friend, a bit like family but an equal in every way nonetheless. And then there’s dear sweet Zoe. Flag’s never considered himself a fatherly type person; or rather he never thought his profession and life really made him the best candidate to be a parent to anyone. But after knowing Zoe, after accepting her into his life and into June’s life; watching her grow through all those months, watching her accept everything happening with a grace, cleverness and maturity despite her age and turning into such a fine young lady that Flag would be more than honoured to be able to call her his daughter. Everything that’s happened up to this point only ended up opening his eyes to the reality of his life and to all the possibilities; to things that he suddenly realized that he really did want and for the first time in his life, he realized isn’t so far out of reach.

An actual family. His own family.

He considers the squad closest to anything he’d ever describe as such but he wouldn’t deny the appeal of having his own legacy live on and have a gaggle of little Rick Flag’s and little June Moone’s running around the world. If nothing else, he wanted a chance to start over, to prove to himself that he isn’t the defective fuck-up his own family had convinced him he was; that being a terrible father isn’t in his genes like he’d thought all this time.

‘Company halt.’

GQ’s familiar voice floats in through the communication system interrupting his thoughts. It’s only two words but Flag can already feel the pulsing of an incoming headache behind his eyeballs

‘Uh, Diablo’s feeding cats again.’

The staff tries not to make it obvious but Flag can hear the sound of muffled snickering resounding from a few people in the command center. He’s not sure how it was before when Waller was in charge, but the atmosphere in the command center nowadays feels more relaxed. The people who come in to work under him, monitoring the movements of the squad and assisting them remotely all seem pleased to have him in charge. Besides his strict rules about being punctual and people not half-assing their job, Flag’s not all that concerned about the little things like what they chose to wear or whether or not they’re hanging around chatting with each other when office traffic is a little slow. As long as they’re doing their duty and nothing gets in the way or affects the efficiency of the squad or the mission, then Flag really doesn’t care. Flag believes that happy people do their job better than people who are scared, which seems to be the root of most of his disagreements with Waller these days.

He doesn’t hear from Waller often, but when she does manage to peel herself away from whatever secret and most likely illegal things she’s doing for the upper echelon of US government, they never fail to get into something short of an outright shouting match that always ends with him feeling both mentally and physically drained.

His back still hurts. His body hurts. His head hurts. His patience hurts. His soul hurts and he can do nothing to really help any of his ailments. It doesn’t help when the squad is out on a mission (without him, a fact that he still hasn’t gotten used to even after all this time) and he has to hear the happenings second hand.

‘They’re creatures of this earth too, man. They deserve to be alive just as much as we do, maybe even more.’

Flag likes Diablo, he really does and he more than respects the other man’s beliefs and his sense of morality. But it doesn’t mean it helps his pounding headache in any way whatsoever.

‘You know what,’ Floyd’s annoyed voice come booming in immediately after. ‘As squad leader, I would like to make my very first commandment.’

Flag thinks he hears KC in the background saying offhanded how squad leaders don’t make commandments, but he decides to not comment.

‘Official name change declaration; El Diablo will from now on be known as El Gato.’

Flag can almost imagine Diablo’s chilled demeanour and expression when he speaks again, his voice floating through the very epitome of cool.

‘You say that like it’s an insult, man, but I take it as the opposite.’

A third voice chimes in. ‘We’re going to have to start an animal subdivision of the squad after this.’

‘You would know all about animal subs, wouldn’t you, Boom?’

Flag thinks he made a mistake when he handed out those fancy ear bud communicators to each member of the squad. He was going to have to give that decision a serious rethink. Mostly he did it out of a sense of misplaced nostalgia. No matter how much he denied, it he missed being a part of the squad banter. It often frayed at his nerves and annoyed the living shit out of him, but he admits that the day to day is anything but boring. He misses the camaraderie and the familiarity the squad provided and the sense of safety and confidence that every single person out there had his back.

‘You’re one to talk KC you are literally an animal.’

‘There’s a difference between being physically an animal and not being a human being, obviously you wouldn’t know the difference.’

‘Boys, boys, boys.’

The seductive voice chiming into the fray gives Flag both a sense of relief and apprehension.  The newest member of the squad has proven to be a valuable asset, during and outside of missions. Despite her almost provocative demeanour and near default seductive personality at first glance, Pamela’s near genius level of intellect and expertise in botany and toxicology (not to mention the power to fucking control plants) proved to be an invaluable addition. Though Flag will absolutely deny this fact if accused, but seeing the way Pamela treats Harley—like she’s the most cherished flower in the world and watching the way Harley’s whole demeanour lights up because of it, it gives Flag a sense of happiness and satisfaction himself. He’s never been a fan of Harley’s toxic ex, despite what Harley has to say about him.

For being a bunch of dangerous killers, the squad ended up bringing out best of the humanity in each other.

Flag doesn’t hear Harley’s voice, but he hears a purring sound in the background and he has no doubt that it’s coming from Pamela’s communicator because Harley no doubt just draped herself over the other woman.

‘Let El Gato feed his cats, gentlemen. It’s not like we’re in a rush or anything.’

Flag was about to remind them that they were indeed in a rush. They had approximately an hour left to traverse the three blocks of the abandoned back alley they were navigating headed towards the heavily guarded compound that was their mission destination; get in, get the package before said package could board a private plane set for some distant country with a distinct lack of extradition laws, get out and get back to the operations base to board their own flight back to the US.

‘Yeah guys, let miguelito feet his kitties. We’ve got an hour.’

Flag was about to interject again, but decides against it. At the very least, he settled with finding comfort in the fact that they knew they had a time limit and what it was. It was hard leaving the mission in GQ’s hands, he’d always been meticulous when it came to missions and handling his teams and assigned squads, and having to relinquish control like this was a trying experience, but it needed to be done and he needed to have faith in his own squad. He did have faith in them; it just seemed to get tested by his own sense of self-doubt.

“However the fuck you do it, guys, just get it done. I don’t need Waller even more on my ass than she already is.”

‘Roger that, colonel.’

GQ was turning out to be a much better field commander than Flag would ever have given him credit for. But that was GQ, he forced other people to underestimate him and when least expected, he’d do a complete 360 and take them down. It was one of the things Flag saw immediately when the younger man came onto his team. He reminded Flag a lot of himself in that respect.

‘You want us to pack you something from the street vendors on our way back?’

Just the memory sends shivers of terror down his spine.

“Just get the fucking thing done,” he says, completely ignoring the question. “Flag out.”

The beep signals an affirmative to his last command. Flag releases a long, exasperated breath and sinks into his seat. The oncoming headache had finally arrived, pounding on his frontal lobe and behind his eyeballs like a jilted former lover beating down his front door.

June was coming over in a few hours with Zoe and they were going to head out to lunch together. It was just enough time to see through the mission to completion—bar any unwanted complication, and considering the squad in question, Flag would have to pray to all the gods he doesn’t believe in in hopes of keeping them on schedule. Then to file up the official paperwork and wait the 5 hours for the squad’s flight to arrive back on US soil. That way Floyd will at least get to see Zoe for a few hours and Flag won’t have to deal with their shit on an empty stomach.

“Colonel?”

The new voice attracts his attention away from the mountain of files in front of him. Who knew working in an office away from the danger and the fire fight could be so fucking stressful.

“Commander Jeffries,” he acknowledges the older mans’ presence with a respectful nod.

“We got him,” he says seriously, as if the good old commander had another default attitude. “He’s waiting for you in your office. I’ve got men guarding the room and the doors so that he doesn’t try to make a run for it.”

“Thank you, commander,” he says earnestly, reaching for his cane and getting to his feet.

Bringing the good commander into the squad was one of his personal requests to Waller before he took on the position; both Waller and Commander Jeffries had been sceptical at first, but Flag could see in the man’s tough and weather-worn eyes that the prospect of getting out into the field again excited him. He’d been cooped up too long indoors being Waller’s personal lap dog and because of that, he knew the man could put aside his utter disdain for Floyd to come and work under him. He wasn’t keen on the squad on a whole, but he’d taken bit of a shine to KC oddly enough, and he was respectful enough to Harley and Pamela for it to not be an issue. Diablo mostly ignored him and he in turn mostly ignored Boomerang, but Floyd on the other hand he absolutely despised. Truthfully Flag found the whole thing entirely too amusing. Floyd for his part seemed to genuinely like the disgruntled commander.

The next moment finds Flag in the corridor, walking—or rather, limping—the few steps to his personal office at the end of the hall, watching as the two suited men standing guard outside his door snap to attention when he approaches. He returns the salute before entering, and repeats the motions again with the two other men standing inside the room. He dismisses them curtly as he walks around the length of the table, all whole time keeping a sharp eye on the person sitting warily in the chair in front of his desk.

“What’s your name?” he asks after a few stilted seconds pass by in silence.

The boy keeps silent.

Flag can’t tear his eyes away from the too young face and the gaunt cheeks and memories from the night of the shooting come flooding back; seeing the young boy crying before him, asking for him to help find his mom. Staying with the boy for however long before the crying woman comes running up to them, thanking him for helping her son or some shit like that. Flag berates himself for not seeing through the act.

“My name’s Rick,” he says when the boy doesn’t seem at all inclined to answer his question. “Rick Flag.”

The only sign that he’s actually listening is the way he shuffled slightly in his seat when Flag tells him his name.

“I don’t hold you responsible for what happened that night,” he adds, watching as the boy continues to avoid making eye contact, focusing instead of picking at the leathery material of the arm rest of the chair he’s seated on.

He couldn’t be more than 14 years old, Flag observes; clothes tattered and dirty. Too little meat on the bones and lack of care makes it obvious that the boy has no one to care for him. It immediately tugs at Flag’s heartstrings.

“Did they pay you?” he asks, “To pretend to be her son?”

Still the boy doesn’t answer, he just slouches deeper into himself and Flag takes pity on him.

He leans forward across his desk, resting on his elbows and continues eyeing the boy, willing him to look up and meet his eyes.

“You’re not in trouble, kid. I’m not going to do anything to you. I just brought you here to get some answers. I don’t blame you for what happened, whether or not you knew what was going to happen. I want to help you but that’s only going to happen if you look me in the eyes.”

Reluctantly, after a few tense seconds pass by in mute silence, the boy actually moves. His head lifts and finally his downtrodden gaze meets Flag’s own.

Flag can’t help the smile that breaks out on his face.

“You wanna tell me what happened?”

The boy breaths in heavily through his nose, biting the inside of his cheek tensely before he opens his mouth to speak.

“They just paid me to keep you there. I didn’t know what was going to happen.”

Flag nods. Though it was the answer he expected he has a feeling that the kid isn’t telling him the whole story, but he decides not to pursue the line of questioning. The ‘whys’ didn’t detract from the fact that they preyed on a desperate child and used him to carry out their dirty work and it’s never been in Flag’s nature to use any children in that way, especially given his traumatic history, but especially recently since Zoe became a permanent fixture in his life.

The boy looks away again but Flag’s gotten his answers, he’s going to have to accept that it’s the most he’s going to get at this point.

“When’s the last time you ate?”

He asks again, watching the way his whole body almost stills at the question, making it clear that it’s been a while. The boys’ shrug only confirms his suspicions and he can only sigh.

“Commander,” he calls out to older man he knows is standing outside his door. Not a moment passes before the door opens to reveal the weathered face of a man with too much life experience and has obviously seen too many terrible things in his life. But looking at his eyes looking at the pathetic form of the boy sitting in front of them, Flag knows their gazes mirror each other in both anger and sadness. “Commander, why don’t you take the kid down to the cafeteria and get him something to eat, and maybe a change of clothes.”

The boy looks up at him at this point, obviously startled by the request. He looks him straight in the eye when he directs his comment at the boy.

“Go with Commander Jeffries. But I suggest not trying anything stupid like running, kid, don’t underestimate him just because he looks like someone’s kindly grandfather”—he hears a derisive snort at that—“the good commander here clocked 12.2 seconds flat in a 100 meter dash.”

Hesitantly the boy gets to his feet and with one last glance in Flag’s direction, walks towards Commander Jeffries’ outstretched arm.

“Hey, kid, you never told me you name.”

The question statement stops the boy just a foot away from the awaiting commander. It looks like he’s having an intense internal debate with himself before he half turns towards Flag and almost like the words are being dragged out of his mouth one syllable at a time, mutters, “Jason,” he says almost under his breath. Both Flag and the commander have to lean in slightly to hear what he said before he repeats his words again. “Jason Todd.”

Flag nods satisfied at the boy before motioning for him to go with the far too patient commander waiting by the door.

As the door swings to a close, Flag can’t help the exhale of half exhaustion, half relief that seems to emanate from his very soul as he leans back into his sinfully comfortable chair.

He thinks of his squad out there on the mission without him; GQ having turned out to be a far better and more effective leader than anyone (including Flag) ever gave him credit for. Diablo undoubtedly just found more stray animals to feed much to everyone’s (including Flag’s) chagrin.  Harley and Pamela probably being way too touchy feely and sexual with each other than is really necessary, especially during missions. Boomerang most likely ogling the two, making inappropriate comments and getting his ass kicked twice as hard and KC finding everything far too amusing.

Flag feels himself attempting to live vicariously through Floyd and undoubtedly Floyd at the same time is channelling all of Flag’s pent up annoyance and frustration by being benched and away from the squad he loves so much by being twice the disgruntled pain in the ass. That thought gives Flag a measure of comfort, knowing that he’s a constant thorny presence in the squad’s side even from all the way on the other side of the world.

The only question left on his mind at this point was what in the hell was he going to do with this kid?

He doesn’t get to mull over that question for long when one of the men comes running into his office, without knocking too, and Flag immediately knows that some shit just went down.

“Colonel—”

Flag feels his headache returning sevenfold. “How many are dead and do any of them belong to us?”

“No reports of casualties so far, sir. But—uh…apparently half the compound is in flames and the entire third floor of the mansion just blew sky high,” he reports quickly and Flag can only massage the bridge of his nose tiredly as the shit just keeps getting heaped on his day. “There’s an on-going firefight and—uh—”

“Just spit it out.”

“Quinn and Isley are reportedly making out on the patio.”

The sad thing is nothing Flag just heard surprised him in the slightest.

He grabs his cane and gathers the remnants of whatever is left of his patience and sanity as he tiredly trudges out of his office. The tech guy, he’s pretty sure the guy’s name is Harold or something; all these nerds look and sound the same, skitters after him nervously.

The first sound that reaches him as he walks into the frenzy that is the command center; nerds scurrying nervously left and right and the rattling sound of gunfire sounding from the coms in the background is a booming explosion and a psychopathic laugh sounding somewhere in the distance that sounds suspiciously like GQ.

Flag sighs exasperatedly through the fond smile he can’t keep of his face as he subconsciously thinks out loud, “All in a day’s work.”

There it is guys! Finally I have reached the end. At one point I didn’t think I was even going to make it to this point; the last couple of months have been rough inspiration wise, but I made a promise to myself that I wasn’t going to start a story I didn’t intend to finish. And to finish this story feels like an accomplishment unlike anything I’ve felt before.

Also just like with the rest of this story, I have taken liberties with certain characters, their backstories and circumstances, like the thing with Jason Todd. That was just a bit of name dropping and to tie up the loose end that no one but me actually noticed. I’m following one of the incarnation of the comic character where his parents were killed by KC (which they later ret-conned and made Two-Face their killer) so in my headcanon, one of the reasons he took on the job to trap Rick was not only for the money but also because of Rick is leader of the squad with the person he believes killed his parent. It’s just a bit of character background I had in mind that I won’t go anywhere with. It’s just all in good fun

I would like to thank all my readers on ao3, tumblr and fanfiction dot net who have stuck with me and this story through thick and think; who have taken time to read this quaint little thing I started on a whim, left kudos and some really, really amazing, mind-blowing reviews that I sometimes still think ‘I can’t believe people are saying this about something I wrote’. I am eternally humbled and appreciative of every single one of you and I hope you enjoyed reading this story as much as I have writing it and hopefully it ended on a note that lived up to all your expectations.

Thank you all and I love you guys so much!