Roguesbang 2014: Don't worry about him, he's armless (1/3)
Title: Don't worry about him, he's armless
Author:
runenklinge
Artist: Funny95
Genre: Action/Drama
Characters: Axel Walker, James Jesse, Hartley Rathaway, David Singh, Leonard Snart, Lisa Snart, Sam Scudder, Marco Mardon, Mick Rory
Pairing(s): David Singh/Hartley Rathaway, Lisa Snart/Sam Scudder (squint and miss)
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 14k
Warnings: mention of canon-compliant violence (amputation), swear words
Summary: After the Gorilla attack, the Rogues try to get their lives back together, but none more so than Axel. With his arm missing, trapped in the hospital, he has not a lot to live for. His annoying visitor isn't helping either. Why won't Jesse leave? That is not the father figure he wanted, not that he wanted one. Denial is strong with this one.
Fic link: Ao3 LJ - Part 1 Part 2 Part 3
Art link: will follow
Thanks: to my wonderful artist Funny95/Shi_Tenshi who did a wonderful with their fantastic art. Please check out their gallery and more of their works. Also, huge thanks to mein who organized the whole bit and put so much effort into this. Without you, this contest would be so much less than it is. You are amazing and I'm lucky to have found you as a mod.
Author's notes: I know, I know, DCNU? weird, I know, but I had this little plotbunny that wouldn't go away. For a time I was writing three ideas parallel (parallel-y), but realized it wasn't working out, so I settled on the one that had the most words (7k) already and fleshed that out.
I seem to be stuck on a theme with James lately, you'll realize what it is soon...
Prologue
It's not the sight nor the sound, it's this feeling. Like a big crash, like someone falling from a great height, it's not something that you primarily hear, it's something you can feel, deep in your bones. Like a punch to your ribs. Except there's not one crash, not one person falling: it's an army descending, a feral mob: shrieks you only heard on TV before and you were convinced were fake. But it's not TV, not Animal Planet or a horror flick, it's real life. And your world's drowning, in fear and chaos. Someone should do something. Something needs to be done. Where is your hero when you need one? When you need one most, why isn't he there? Why are you left alone, left to die, to bleed until there's nothing left? Another crash, another scream. You want to wake up, but you fear that you may be awake already.
Chapter 1
When David finally went to visit Hartley - much too late, he should have come sooner, but the police needed help with clean-up badly and Hartley wasn't badly hurt - he stopped in the gift shop and brought a card that played 'Happy Birthday' when it was opened. He hoped that Hartley would appreciate the gesture; at least it was better than the sets of cards chirping 'It's a boy!', 'It's a girl' and ' Whatever it is, we love it'.
Of course David had a bad conscience - putting his job before Hartley again - but this had been a catastrophe - super powered gorillas didn't invade every day. David had helped Hartley to one of the ambulances and demanded that someone tend to him. He didn't know if it was his badge or his, as he was told later, frightful facial expression, that convinced the paramedics, but it had done the job.
Piper has been leaning heavily on him and David could tell that it was something serious; not life-threatening, but something that would have to be tended immediately. Thoughts of concussion, pain, this sickness, that wound, stories he had heard from the guys on the force, stories he had heard from victims in accidents and crime, flooded his head, but he held himself together. This was the last thing Hartley needed.
The EMT, hopelessly overworked, managed a brief smile as David helped - more like lifted - Hartley on the stretcher, and then secured the straps. “We're driving to the Keystone Memorial, they have some space left. Or to put it better, they have less patients to deal with, for now.” David barely noticed the other men and women crowding in the back of the ambulance - holding cloth that was once white and new became redder by the minute to their heads, clutching various limbs close, a woman silently weeping. He considered climbing in - he couldn't leave Hartley - but that would be selfish. He wasn't hurt apart from a few scratches and scrapes, and he'd only take space meant for someone who really needed it. Hartley seemed to sense his inner conflict, as he so often did.
“Go on already, they need you more than I do. I've been through worse,” he said, smiling softly.
Suddenly, something inside David swelled up hotly and he leaned forward and placed a kiss on Hartley's forehead. “Are you really going to be okay?”
“Remind me to tell you a bit about Rogues drunken adventures, this is nothing in comparison.”
His smile had been a little bit shaky, but confident.
Soon David had joined the paramedics, firefighters, police officers and the horde of civilians who wanted to help. He had only found out afterwards that they then had taken Hartley to another hospital, because they feared that his implants might have been damaged which they couldn't diagnose without the medical equipment the Keystone General offered. His heart had pounded in his chest as he had gone to the Memorial and no one had ever heard of Hartley being there, but a few phone calls where he might have threatened some poor nurses, later, and he had found Hartley.
The hospital was crowded, everyone either needing attention or seeking a loved one. This time it was the badge which cleared the way to Hartley. According to the tag on the door, he was in a two person room with four other people, the extra names scribbled on colorful post-its and glued to the wall. After steeling himself -and chastising himself immediately afterward, you shouldn't feel the need to steel yourself before seeing your boyfriend - he opened the door and found the unexpected.
Hartley was in the first bed on the door side, lying under a thin white blanket, looking fine. And next to him was a strange man, sharing his bed.
Thankfully the other man was on top of the covers and fully clothed, even still wearing his shoes.
“And then I said, at least you offered to buy me a drink first.”
After a very brief moment of silence, Hartley erupted into laughter. It was his “I can't help it, I have to laugh” laughter which David had only heard a couple of times. It made him look incredibly goofy. Quickly, David did a scan of the room: four other beds, all occupied with one person; two people asleep, one staring out of the window and the man in the bed besides Hartley's trying to suppress a grin.
Only then did Hartley notice him.
“David! You came.”
He sat upright and just smiled at him. No one should look good lying in the hospital, especially not if one was wearing tattered remains of a superhero costume, but Hartley was radiant. Slowly he wanted to get up but David came to his side and placed a hand on his chest, stopping him.
“It's fine, you don't have to get up; rest for a bit.”
Hartley's warm hand covered his and David felt all anxiety melt away. Hartley did have that effect on him.
An embarrassingly long moment later, he remembered the proverbial elephant in the room: the man in Hartley's bed. David really, really wanted him to be a patient for whom they didn't have a bed, but the man looked fine. And utterly too comfortable. He was tall, wore a blue suit - tailor-made and very stylish - and a gold tie lay loosened around his collar. The stranger had blonde hair, blue eyes and was looking at him with a very disconcerting grin. It was hard to phase David - living in Keystone made you reevaluate your definition for 'weird' - but this grin did it.
“I bet you desperately want to know who I am,” the stranger suspected and sat upright. He extended a hand towards David, “Hi, I'm James.”
“David Singh,” he replied almost mechanically and took the offered hand. James' grip was firm and there was something nagging at the back of David's mind. That name rung a bell.
“I know these last days have been a little crazy, but still, explain something to me: what are you doing in Hartley's bed?”
“Would you believe me if I said that the hospital ran out of beds?”
“Not really, no.”
“Pity, that would have been a great story. I'm an old friend who came by to visit.”
“And stayed. In bed.”
“On his bed, mind your prepositions.”
Hartley failed miserably at suppressing a grin.
“We're old friends, he dropped by for a visit.”
“After I noticed your monkey redecoration, I decided to take a look. And what did I find, in the hospital, in a room with his name on the wall? Piper!”
Oh, so this was an 'old' friend, from Hartley's past life. He seemed well off, perhaps he got out and turned his fate just in time. Or he was a better criminal than the rest.
“I have to say, it's more comfy than his old couch, at least.”
“And yet you came back to crash on that.”
“Better to crash on the couch than into a building.”
David felt that there was a story he wasn't a part of.
And then it hit him. James! As in Hartley's ex-boyfriend James! No wonder that name was familiar. That brought up many questions - When? Why? - but the one that interested David the most was
the How. How did that guy get here - the hospital and Hartley's room?“
Briefly jealousy flared in David, a feeling he was usually not accustomed to: some ex of Hartley's, infuriatingly utterly comfortable with public displays of affection, handsome to boot, had found Hartley before him! He hadn't met any of Hartley's exes before, but had heard stories. James was the longest relationship Hartley had ever had, it lasted several years before they split up. And apparently they were on very friendly terms, still. David tried to swallow those new, unpleasant feelings down and forced a grin.
James noticed his discomfort, titled his head and grinned in that disconcerting way again, until Hartley elbowed him in the side.
“Stop it, you're doing that on purpose.”
“Doing what?”
“That.”
“What that?”
“James!”
“Piper!”
Then Hartley grinned and pushed James.
“Out, I need private time with David and you can...do whatever it is you usually do in hospitals.”
“Steal rubber gloves, blow them up, paint faces on them and generally make a mess?”
“Yes, you do that. Come visit me tomorrow, I should be discharged in 36 hours.”
“As you wish,” James said and rolled off the bed in a fluid motion that did absolutely not make David's jealousy flare up. He gave a mock bow and went to the door.
There was black fur, strength and a horrible tear. After that, nothing. At least nothing his brain would supply him with and he was grateful for it. Yay for trauma and repressed memories. Axel would never remember lying in a too quickly growing pool of his own blood, would never remember the Flash hurrying him to an ambulance nor the trip the the hospital, wired up to machinery and needles in his arm. He never regained consciousness in the emergency room or the surgery. Hist first glimpse of the world was a white-ish spot: the ceiling of his recovery room. Not that he knew it was the ceiling or where he was, or even who he was at the time. Yay for painkillers. Really strong ones. There were a few waking moments, when one of the doctors came to shine a light into his eyes, check the vitals on the machines or do small tests, but he forgot them as soon as he drifted back to sleep. His dreams during that times, to put it mildly, were absolutely fucked up. King Kong, a lot of blood and screams, monsters, running and then the weird dreams about birds. And that recurring one about eating a cloud.
Axel awoke for real - as in he remembered doing so - on the third day after the surgery. There was a pretty nurse, talking calmly, asking questions and nodding understandingly when he couldn't and wouldn't respond. She patted his arm and wrote down something on a chart. “I'm glad you woke up, you had us worried here, young man.” He was probably biased, but her smile was the best thing ever. Yay for whatever drugs these were. Everything was a tiny bit fuzzy around the edges.
“I'm going to fetch Dr Young now. Don't worry, you're in very good hands.”
She left the room. Axel looked at what used to be his arm and wondered why he wasn't freaking out. It felt surreal - he felt like he should be yelling, raging, cursing everything and everyone, breaking stuff and just screaming his pain out to the world. But he couldn't. There was numbness and a distant shock. My arm is gone. My arm is gone. My arm is gone. My arm is gone. My arm is gone.
He became aware of other sensations, like the IV in his arm - the one he still had - dull pain just at the edge of being and something in his head. Like.... a pillow, or a cloud. Something blocking him - or shielding him? Why wasn't he yelling? Why wasn't he crying? He guessed that this was too big for his mind to handle, so it decided to just don't. The sun was already beginning to set again, sending red into his room. The room was blank except for an impressive array of machinery of which the majority was hooked up to him. He turned his head slightly and saw three curves and a lot of numbers on a screen. And a lot of cables leading underneath the blanket. He felt like Frankenstein. Half he wished for a mirror, half he feared there would be one. But on the wall was just an ugly painting of colorful splashes which probably cost a fortune and looked like something he might have done in kindergarten. Next to his bed was an uncomfortable looking chair - empty of course - and a plastic table. The light shone through blinds at the window.
The nurse - her name tag said something with an S- returned with a doctor who looked remarkably like the Kentucky Fried Chicken guy. He went over a few charts, looked at the screen and said something Axel deemed irrelevant afterward and forgot about.
Nurse S told him that he'd have a long way ahead of him, physiotherapy, this-therapy and that-therapy, and tests for something or other. Then she asked if he wanted something special for breakfast or lunch later, if he felt up to toast, maybe a peanut butter and jam sandwich? Axel felt his body getting heavy and growing warm, he was tired, but pleasantly so. Her voice was nice to listen to.
Did he like tea? Or would he prefer cocoa? Most hospital food has a bad rep, but ours was not bad.
Oh, if he was allergic to peanuts? Nevermind, you go to sleep, I'll just ask your father when he comes back.
At that time, he was sure that he had dreamed the last part. As if his dad would show up here.
Axel was woken up repeatedly by some doctors who did some tests and spoke gently in hushed tones. Only on the third time he noticed that there was someone in the chair next to his bed, but he couldn't make out who it was. He wanted to say something, to find out who this was, and if this figure was real or just a dream. A hand squeezed his, there was a whisper, but he couldn't understand a word, and then he fell asleep again.
The next morning, a different nurse - not as pretty as nurse S - woke him up. She explained that normal hospital procedure and schedule was messed up - no kidding, but there had been a fucking gorilla invasion - so he could have breakfast first and then get cleaned up. Axel made a joke about sponge bath, she replied that she could get nurse Adam for that and both laughed. Then Axel tried very not to think about his current body hygiene and that he had been pretty much just lying here for days. He had assumed at first that the cables were for EEGs or something, but some must have been there for other uses. Nasty.
At least breakfast smelled good. The nurse - what a joke, her name was Eve - offered to spoonfeed him - or have Adam come in if he liked that - but he wanted to do this on his own. He had just opted for his toast instead of the steaming mug when she fluffed his pillow and told him that his dad had to leave at about 9am but that he said he'd be back. What a dedicated father he was, so caring. And sexy, she added with a wink. Now all doubt was gone, whoever that man was, he wasn't Axel's dad. Axel's dad was a bitter man who had never gotten over the fact that his wife whom he had mistreated for years on end had found the courage to leave him and remarried. Not that she was any better than him, she was quite happy to leave Axel in the hands of his father. Axel had grown up first between two fronts who blamed everyone but themselves - preferably Axel - for everything that went wrong, and then with a father who constantly told him that life was about “tricking or getting- tricked” as he had been tricked by his bitch of an ex-wife. It was no wonder he latched onto a new father figure, even if that one had been a supervillain. For a brief moment he hoped that Len or Mark had sneaked into the hospital and pretended to be his dad - Sam and Mick would have been impossible - but he knew that was false hope. Not after what he did.
But just in case, he wasn't going to tell the staff that his “father” wasn't who he claimed to be and subtly tried to get the nurse to talk about him a bit more. She said that the nurses - yes, even Adam - whispered about him, apparently there was something women found inherently sexy about a man being a dad - and that Axel was just like him; blonde, witty, even his dad was tall and he wasn't and she quoted, complete with gestures “sex on legs in a three-piece Italian suit”.
Nurse S - it turned out that S stood for Soledad - came in with a wheel chair to bring him to a scan. This time for his brain, to check how his nerves coped...or something. He toned out most medical things, whether it was out of not-knowing or psychical self-preservation. He asked why he couldn't walk there - his legs were the part of him that were fine - but she said it was for insurance reasons.
“Are the night-gowns for insurance, too?”
“Mainly we just like the view,” she retorted. If he hadn't had a thing for nurses before - hell, which men hadn't? - he sure had one now.
The scan itself was boring. After injecting him with something, he lay motionless on a bed while some machine whirred above him. The doctor told him again and again not to move, it messed up the pictures or something. But it was so boring, and everything in him just itched to act out and mess up. He restrained himself, though, they'd just leave him in here even longer if he misbehaved and he had better things to do than to lie on a bed and do nothing.
Not really, but at least he could scratch himself then.
The test was over, and he was let go. Finally.
Chapter 2
A few hours later, he had been to the bathroom and had almost thrown up on his way back, despite being pushed around in a wheelchair. There was a fatigue that didn't seem to go away, with no amount of sleep. He asked the nurse about an energy drink, or just something bursting with sugar, but of course she declined. Soledad came out of Axel's room and winked at him and the nurse behind him.
“You have a visitor,” she said dreamily and went on her way.
“PleasebeLenpleasebelenpleasebelen,” Axel hoped, but it wasn't him. He didn't even know what had happened to the Rogues. Or the Flash. Or anything really. He really should pick someone's pocket for a phone.
Inside his room, gazing out of the window, was Jesse. James fucking Jesse, former Trickster, sell-out and hypocrite. Fucking traitor. He wore a white shirt, dark blue waistcoat and a yellow tie, hair slicked back. The suit jacket hung over the ugly chair.
“There you are, my boy,” he said, sounding so genuinely worried and looking so loving and hurt, that Axel believed him for a second. Until he bent down to embrace Axel and whispered a “play along or I'll steal your morphine” and then straightened with a smile. “Can you give us a minute?” he asked the nurse who obliged and left. Jesse closed the door after her. His smile fell as soon as the door closed.
“What the hell do you want here?” Axel spat.
Jesse grimaced.
“And here I thought you'd like to have a visitor.”
“Not you.”
“Pity, me is all you get.”
Axel tried to wheel himself over to his bed, but with one arm, he just banged into a table.
“Why are you here?”
“I'm actually just visiting a friend, and you happened to be here as well, so I decided to take a look.”
“I'm fine, get out.”
“You're missing an arm,” Jesse pointed out.
And the dam finally broke. Whatever walls his mind had put up to protect itself, they crumbled to dust in the matter of a second.
“I know!” he screamed, “my arm is gone! Gone! A fucking ape took my arm! He ripped it off!”
Hot tears ran over his cheeks, a lump in his throat made the screaming harder, but not impossible.
“Grodd took my arm! He just -.”
Axel screamed, and screamed. Until he could scream no more. Then he started to sob and curls in on himself, good arm, still with an IV attached, grasped where his arm should have been. He rocked back and forth, sobbing and howling.
“Why?” he asked, “why?”
Jesse's face is a mask, not betraying any emotion. “Because you were stupid.”
Axel stared at him. That's what people have always said to him. No-good. Troublemaker. Delinquent. Stupid. Idiot. But then Jesse tilted his head, looked pondering.
“But, I don't think that you are going to be stupid any more, are you?”
“What?”
“You faced down a crazed gorilla and survived. Not everyone can claim that. Not everyone in this hospital will be able to say this at the end of this day. You live. And you should cherish that.”
He picked up his jacket, and put it on. There was a white card clipped to it, but Axel couldn't read what it said.
“I'll leave you to your thoughts.”
And he left, and as the door closed behind him, Axel started to sob.
It felt like hot steel was poured down his throat and he couldn't breathe properly. His hand, since he only had one anymore, clutched at the armrest helplessly. Inside, he felt like an burning oven, but on the outside - his grip was weak, like he could barely close his fist.
After a while a male nurse came in and helped him from the chair to his bed. Axel tried to hide his face and just wanted to be left alone. He wanted this to stop. Anything, but this. No more friends, no more Rogues, no more arm - let's face it, his career was over. He was done. With desperation, he looked at the machines he was hooked up to. One clever pull, and it would be all over. Or maybe he could increase his morphine dosage, going out in bliss. The window didn't look far away, and his legs still worked. At least, his legs. Axel looked at the stump where his arm was. Should have been. Would have been, if he hadn't been stupid. His father always said that his recklessness and stupidity would get him killed...maybe it was time he put that to the test. He had seen in countless movies how the heroes ripped out the IV needle with one short tug, and just walked out of the door. He could do it. This gained him a burst of energy, of resolution. No more, not like this.
The decision was made.
He moved to rip out the IV and couldn't. He had no second hand to pull it out, since it was in his arm. His single arm. And then, he screamed. He thrashed and tried to force it out, to shake his arm and just make it stop. With a metallic crash, the IV pole fell to the ground, and alarms began to shriek. The beeping of the machines turned into a cacophony. But then they went quieter. No, he was going away from them. Although he hadn't moved. There was soft darkness creeping in at the edges of his vision. Sound was going away, as well as sight. Strange sounds, like a mechanical hum, or like an old camera recharging. There were white figures rushing into his room, but it didn't get any brighter at all. Is this it? Had he done it?
Probably, otherwise the people wouldn't hurry so.
With his last thought, he realized that he had been wrong. So wrong.
Axel wanted to live.
The next few hours passed by for him in a matter of minutes, he was barely conscious for 10 seconds in a row. For the doctors, it were stressful hours that seemed like days. The patient has had a fit and managed to tore open stitches, rip the IV out and almost fall off the bed. The surgery was long and bloody. Almost, he didn't make it. But the doctors fought - they had seen enough death in the last days to last them ten lifetimes - and it seemed like the patient was fighting with them.
Axel awoke to pain. Quite a lot - more than he had felt when he had first woken up in the hospital. His left side felt like it was on fire. That had been the stupidest thing he had ever done. Period. Gingerly he tried to move his fingers - all five of them - and his toes. He was relieved when it worked. His mouth felt like cotton. As he was cataloging his bodily sensations - catheter, tight bandages, itch at his ankle and the overall feeling that a steamroller had run him over and then put in reverse to finish the job - he felt something on his wrist. At first he thought that the doctors had duct-taped the IV to his arm - he couldn't blame them, not really - but it was strangely warm. Axel blinked and tried to make his eyes focus - it was surprisingly hard - and took a closer look. It was a hand...thankfully attached to an arm, which was in rolled-up shirtsleeves and that arm was attached to - Jesse? Oh that was weird. They hated each other, had proven that on multiple occasions. Jesse had been part of the first crew, when the Rogues were getting started, along with the traitor Piper. But then Piper had left. Some shit went down that no one of the Rogues would ever talk about, not in their most talkative drunken phases - and Axel had heard a lot of things he had never wanted to hear during those - and when Axel had brought it up when they were sober, Sam had looked like he wanted to strangle Axel. So, Axel didn't push further. Jesse must have left after or during the shit that went down - maybe him leaving was the big secret? But it wasn't secret at all and everyone could look that up on the internet - and done....something. Rumors said that he played Robin Hood, that he went abroad, became a monk, joined a circus or joined the police; so Axel believed none of them. But that left his position vacant and Axel - desperate to prove himself and ready to make a name - took it.
Axel had been desperate to prove himself. Cocky, brash, and with a strange talent to poke at whichever weak spot he saw. He got really got at digging that in when anyone else would have stopped. But normal courtesy and manners didn't interest him. When he felt slighted, he lashed out. Insults and sneering words, kicks and then usually explosives. Axel wanted in so badly, so he talked to people who knew people who had been wronged by the Trickster somehow. Surprisingly, most of them were criminals - honor among thieves didn't seem to extend beyond anyone who wasn't a Rogue. Axel found an abandoned hideout that had belonged to the Trickster once - if the scattered toys and craters in the ground were anything to go. He'd been looking for a hint, a sign, equipment that was left behind, maybe some broken stuff he could fix, but nothing. Zilch, nada, nothing. So he left. A few days later, he came back. He didn't know he had expected, but it was something to do. Then it got boring and he left.
And yet he came back again, like something was drawing him there. Or because he felt like he was closer to someone. The Trickster? Who he wanted to be? Or - he felt like he was at the end of his road, really. He was cold, tired, and on top of it all, it was raining heavily. His own place wasn't much better, really, and he went back to the abandoned hideout. He sat and waited, and watched the rain fall. Broken toy train to the left. Chunks of a sofa. Sooty rug. Marbles strewn all over. He felt around in his pockets for a cigarette but didn't find any. Not even a pack of gum. But then, he heard a soft clink. Like something hitting glass. Hail? No, like glass on glass. The marbles? But he hadn't touched them. Yet they were rolling, slowly. An old trick, old trap? They rolled down and - soggy carpet! Axel pulled away the remains of the carpet and there was a hatch! Bent and burnt and heavy, but that's why you rob a hardware store, isn't it? An hour later, Axel came back with a duffel bag full of tools and a small bag of cash. He cracked open the hatch, was dosed with paint - old trap - and found a goldmine. Well, more of an old box that contained a yo-yo and a pair of airwalkers, but it was everything he wanted and needed. It was the day he found his calling. It was another three months before he got the shoes in operating condition. But it was time, he was ready. And then he set out to find the Rogues.
According to the nurse, Jesse had been seen here on multiple days, apparently checking in on Axel, pretending to be his dad. That caused a bittersweet feeling in Axel he couldn't place at first. As much as he wanted to have a proper dad, a father figure, the fact that the only one who had even bothered to show up was one who hated him, brought back issues he had assumed buried under lots of denial and the grim acceptance that his family sucked balls. Axel had wanted a dad that would protect instead of blame him, a mother who cared instead of shrieked, and when his old family fell short, he found a new one: the Rogues. Sure, they were bastards, every single one of them, even Lisa (whom was he kidding, especially Lisa), but they did care. And they protected him, and in return Axel had cared and protected them. But he had to screw it up, he had gotten too greedy, too violent, too proud, and in order to prove himself, he had formed a gang of thugs; people that dressed in blue and yellow and were meant to act as cannon fodder for the Rogues when things went south. But then things went south because of the thugs, and the Rogues shut them down and cast him out.
Maybe it was for the better, seeing as they had used that stupid machine months later and Axel wasn't there. He didn't know for sure what had happened to them, besides the obvious, but Lisa had been comatose, Mark unstable, Sam trapped in his mirrors and Mick - fuck, Mick was a burn victim walking. Axel considered himself lucky - he had been left out, but unharmed. Who knows what the machine would have done to him?
But that was another family who had abandoned him. But at least this time, it came with the grim realization that he had screwed up, and that he knew who was responsible. But he had thought that they were getting along better, at least a bit. And he wished, deep down, that they would have come to see him. But no one had shown themselves. Not a single Rogue, not anyone he cared about.
Only Jesse - who had come close to holding his hand while he slept, as creepy and strangely comforting as the thought felt - had come, and he had never hidden just how much he hated Axel. Why couldn't someone else be here? Why couldn't someone he liked be here? Why couldn't someone who liked him be here? Where was his family? Why did no one come?
His breath hitched and he fought back the urge to sob. He wasn't going to cry. Especially not with a guy practically holding his hand. He could feel his eyes slipping shut. As he threw a final glance at Jesse, he noticed a white patch on his arm. Then he fell asleep again.
There was a knock on the door. Which was strange, because no one ever knocked on his door. Not in the good old days when the guys would come around, they'd burst in or holler. And now - a mirror call from Sam was usually what he got, at the most. And since it was a steel door set in an old steel work - gotta love a recession - it sure wasn't a Jehova's witness or girl looking for her lost cat. He was torn between preserving his hideout and pretending no one was there, or to frighten the poor soul who was out there for life. He'd had a bad day - when did he not have bad days? - and so decided to scare the living crap out of the person outside. Sparks danced around his body, he felt the inner fire, the flame ablaze, he opened the door and was faced with a carton of beer. It took him a few seconds to process this and peer around the carton to look at the person holding the beer. Jesse. James fucking Jesse. He was clad in a suit, a bit rumpled, with a devil-may-care smile on his face.
“First guest brings the snacks?” James said with a hint of hesitation in his voice.
“I don't see pretzels,” Mick replied and moved to the side so James could enter.
“Yeah, but you were gonna torch them anyway, so why bother?”
Christ, that had been a life-time ago, back when James waltzed into their hideout, carrying boxes full of food and booze and the Rogues were wary of about anything he handed them. Marco's tongue had been dyed green for almost a week thanks to some special Trickster candy. And the last time - the pretzels were fuming. Purple.
A crack snapped hi back to reality. James had sat himself down on a chair and had opened a beer can. He tossed it to Mick.
“I hope you don't expect me to taste-test it.”
“I've known you for 10 years and know fully well that you'd eat spiked food just to throw us off anyway.”
“Yeah, good times.”
The silence after had a bad taste to it, toxic.
“What's up with you,” Mick said and took a sip. The liquid that touched his lips was scorchingly hot. Just like he liked it. It wasn't as if he' d had a choice. Marco had drunkenly called him a fiery Midas and Mick had, in retaliation, burned a car to slag. He still didn't know what Marco had meant by that, exactly.
“Not much, really, I'm in town after gorillapalooza and decided to get in touch with a few old friends, that's all.”
“To see if we're still alive?”
“Something like that.”
James leaned back and the chair was only standing on two legs.
It was quiet again, and Mick didn't like that at all. Silence with James was like a canary in a coal mine - if the canary was dead, the mine was dangerous. If the Trickster was silent, then something was wrong.
“Well, we're still alive and kicking. Bit banged up, but we'll manage.”
“What about the knock-off?”
“Knock-off?”
“Yeah, the pretender. Falsey. Off-brand Trickster. Guy who stole my name. The punk you replaced me with.”
Oh. James had been....hurt, after Axel had become public. He'd sneaked up on a few of them in an alleyway, demanded an explanation. Len, in one of his drunken stupors had said that if he didn't want to be part of them anymore, they'd find someone who was. Mick had thought it wrong, wanted to speak out, but, truth be told, everyone was feeling like crap. He didn't like James leaving. Not that he particularly liked Axel then, but sometimes the best way to get rid of pain was hurting others, so he lashed into James as well. Now, Mick had seen a lot of James over the years - amusement, boredom, fun, even concern, seriousness at some rare times - but on that day he saw all the masks drop away and reveal hurt and anger. Deep, proper anger that ate you up from inside. Like he felt now.
“He, uh, was stupid. Tried to reason with Grodd, got his ass kicked.”
“Still alive?”
Sam had checked.
“Yeah.”
Mick wondered why James was really here. To rub salt into wounds, new and old? That didn't seem like James' style, but …
“Why are you really here?”
“Wouldn't you like to know,” James said and got up.
He walked over to where Mick was leaning against the wall.
“I'd offer you a handshake if I was sure that my hand would survive intact.”
“You can see yourself out,” Mick replied sharply.
James had always been good at getting under your skin, like a fine needle that slipped through the cracks in your defenses.
James grinned at him, joylessly, like a reflex.
Mick looked at him, and up close, he looked ….off.
“Bye Mick,” James said flippantly and left.
Mick slammed his fist on the table as soon as James was gone.
A beer can cluttered to the ground, and exploded in a puff of green smoke.
Author:
runenklinge
Artist: Funny95
Genre: Action/Drama
Characters: Axel Walker, James Jesse, Hartley Rathaway, David Singh, Leonard Snart, Lisa Snart, Sam Scudder, Marco Mardon, Mick Rory
Pairing(s): David Singh/Hartley Rathaway, Lisa Snart/Sam Scudder (squint and miss)
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 14k
Warnings: mention of canon-compliant violence (amputation), swear words
Summary: After the Gorilla attack, the Rogues try to get their lives back together, but none more so than Axel. With his arm missing, trapped in the hospital, he has not a lot to live for. His annoying visitor isn't helping either. Why won't Jesse leave? That is not the father figure he wanted, not that he wanted one. Denial is strong with this one.
Fic link: Ao3 LJ - Part 1 Part 2 Part 3
Art link: will follow
Thanks: to my wonderful artist Funny95/Shi_Tenshi who did a wonderful with their fantastic art. Please check out their gallery and more of their works. Also, huge thanks to mein who organized the whole bit and put so much effort into this. Without you, this contest would be so much less than it is. You are amazing and I'm lucky to have found you as a mod.
Author's notes: I know, I know, DCNU? weird, I know, but I had this little plotbunny that wouldn't go away. For a time I was writing three ideas parallel (parallel-y), but realized it wasn't working out, so I settled on the one that had the most words (7k) already and fleshed that out.
I seem to be stuck on a theme with James lately, you'll realize what it is soon...
Prologue
It's not the sight nor the sound, it's this feeling. Like a big crash, like someone falling from a great height, it's not something that you primarily hear, it's something you can feel, deep in your bones. Like a punch to your ribs. Except there's not one crash, not one person falling: it's an army descending, a feral mob: shrieks you only heard on TV before and you were convinced were fake. But it's not TV, not Animal Planet or a horror flick, it's real life. And your world's drowning, in fear and chaos. Someone should do something. Something needs to be done. Where is your hero when you need one? When you need one most, why isn't he there? Why are you left alone, left to die, to bleed until there's nothing left? Another crash, another scream. You want to wake up, but you fear that you may be awake already.
Chapter 1
When David finally went to visit Hartley - much too late, he should have come sooner, but the police needed help with clean-up badly and Hartley wasn't badly hurt - he stopped in the gift shop and brought a card that played 'Happy Birthday' when it was opened. He hoped that Hartley would appreciate the gesture; at least it was better than the sets of cards chirping 'It's a boy!', 'It's a girl' and ' Whatever it is, we love it'.
Of course David had a bad conscience - putting his job before Hartley again - but this had been a catastrophe - super powered gorillas didn't invade every day. David had helped Hartley to one of the ambulances and demanded that someone tend to him. He didn't know if it was his badge or his, as he was told later, frightful facial expression, that convinced the paramedics, but it had done the job.
Piper has been leaning heavily on him and David could tell that it was something serious; not life-threatening, but something that would have to be tended immediately. Thoughts of concussion, pain, this sickness, that wound, stories he had heard from the guys on the force, stories he had heard from victims in accidents and crime, flooded his head, but he held himself together. This was the last thing Hartley needed.
The EMT, hopelessly overworked, managed a brief smile as David helped - more like lifted - Hartley on the stretcher, and then secured the straps. “We're driving to the Keystone Memorial, they have some space left. Or to put it better, they have less patients to deal with, for now.” David barely noticed the other men and women crowding in the back of the ambulance - holding cloth that was once white and new became redder by the minute to their heads, clutching various limbs close, a woman silently weeping. He considered climbing in - he couldn't leave Hartley - but that would be selfish. He wasn't hurt apart from a few scratches and scrapes, and he'd only take space meant for someone who really needed it. Hartley seemed to sense his inner conflict, as he so often did.
“Go on already, they need you more than I do. I've been through worse,” he said, smiling softly.
Suddenly, something inside David swelled up hotly and he leaned forward and placed a kiss on Hartley's forehead. “Are you really going to be okay?”
“Remind me to tell you a bit about Rogues drunken adventures, this is nothing in comparison.”
His smile had been a little bit shaky, but confident.
Soon David had joined the paramedics, firefighters, police officers and the horde of civilians who wanted to help. He had only found out afterwards that they then had taken Hartley to another hospital, because they feared that his implants might have been damaged which they couldn't diagnose without the medical equipment the Keystone General offered. His heart had pounded in his chest as he had gone to the Memorial and no one had ever heard of Hartley being there, but a few phone calls where he might have threatened some poor nurses, later, and he had found Hartley.
The hospital was crowded, everyone either needing attention or seeking a loved one. This time it was the badge which cleared the way to Hartley. According to the tag on the door, he was in a two person room with four other people, the extra names scribbled on colorful post-its and glued to the wall. After steeling himself -and chastising himself immediately afterward, you shouldn't feel the need to steel yourself before seeing your boyfriend - he opened the door and found the unexpected.
Hartley was in the first bed on the door side, lying under a thin white blanket, looking fine. And next to him was a strange man, sharing his bed.
Thankfully the other man was on top of the covers and fully clothed, even still wearing his shoes.
“And then I said, at least you offered to buy me a drink first.”
After a very brief moment of silence, Hartley erupted into laughter. It was his “I can't help it, I have to laugh” laughter which David had only heard a couple of times. It made him look incredibly goofy. Quickly, David did a scan of the room: four other beds, all occupied with one person; two people asleep, one staring out of the window and the man in the bed besides Hartley's trying to suppress a grin.
Only then did Hartley notice him.
“David! You came.”
He sat upright and just smiled at him. No one should look good lying in the hospital, especially not if one was wearing tattered remains of a superhero costume, but Hartley was radiant. Slowly he wanted to get up but David came to his side and placed a hand on his chest, stopping him.
“It's fine, you don't have to get up; rest for a bit.”
Hartley's warm hand covered his and David felt all anxiety melt away. Hartley did have that effect on him.
An embarrassingly long moment later, he remembered the proverbial elephant in the room: the man in Hartley's bed. David really, really wanted him to be a patient for whom they didn't have a bed, but the man looked fine. And utterly too comfortable. He was tall, wore a blue suit - tailor-made and very stylish - and a gold tie lay loosened around his collar. The stranger had blonde hair, blue eyes and was looking at him with a very disconcerting grin. It was hard to phase David - living in Keystone made you reevaluate your definition for 'weird' - but this grin did it.
“I bet you desperately want to know who I am,” the stranger suspected and sat upright. He extended a hand towards David, “Hi, I'm James.”
“David Singh,” he replied almost mechanically and took the offered hand. James' grip was firm and there was something nagging at the back of David's mind. That name rung a bell.
“I know these last days have been a little crazy, but still, explain something to me: what are you doing in Hartley's bed?”
“Would you believe me if I said that the hospital ran out of beds?”
“Not really, no.”
“Pity, that would have been a great story. I'm an old friend who came by to visit.”
“And stayed. In bed.”
“On his bed, mind your prepositions.”
Hartley failed miserably at suppressing a grin.
“We're old friends, he dropped by for a visit.”
“After I noticed your monkey redecoration, I decided to take a look. And what did I find, in the hospital, in a room with his name on the wall? Piper!”
Oh, so this was an 'old' friend, from Hartley's past life. He seemed well off, perhaps he got out and turned his fate just in time. Or he was a better criminal than the rest.
“I have to say, it's more comfy than his old couch, at least.”
“And yet you came back to crash on that.”
“Better to crash on the couch than into a building.”
David felt that there was a story he wasn't a part of.
And then it hit him. James! As in Hartley's ex-boyfriend James! No wonder that name was familiar. That brought up many questions - When? Why? - but the one that interested David the most was
the How. How did that guy get here - the hospital and Hartley's room?“
Briefly jealousy flared in David, a feeling he was usually not accustomed to: some ex of Hartley's, infuriatingly utterly comfortable with public displays of affection, handsome to boot, had found Hartley before him! He hadn't met any of Hartley's exes before, but had heard stories. James was the longest relationship Hartley had ever had, it lasted several years before they split up. And apparently they were on very friendly terms, still. David tried to swallow those new, unpleasant feelings down and forced a grin.
James noticed his discomfort, titled his head and grinned in that disconcerting way again, until Hartley elbowed him in the side.
“Stop it, you're doing that on purpose.”
“Doing what?”
“That.”
“What that?”
“James!”
“Piper!”
Then Hartley grinned and pushed James.
“Out, I need private time with David and you can...do whatever it is you usually do in hospitals.”
“Steal rubber gloves, blow them up, paint faces on them and generally make a mess?”
“Yes, you do that. Come visit me tomorrow, I should be discharged in 36 hours.”
“As you wish,” James said and rolled off the bed in a fluid motion that did absolutely not make David's jealousy flare up. He gave a mock bow and went to the door.
There was black fur, strength and a horrible tear. After that, nothing. At least nothing his brain would supply him with and he was grateful for it. Yay for trauma and repressed memories. Axel would never remember lying in a too quickly growing pool of his own blood, would never remember the Flash hurrying him to an ambulance nor the trip the the hospital, wired up to machinery and needles in his arm. He never regained consciousness in the emergency room or the surgery. Hist first glimpse of the world was a white-ish spot: the ceiling of his recovery room. Not that he knew it was the ceiling or where he was, or even who he was at the time. Yay for painkillers. Really strong ones. There were a few waking moments, when one of the doctors came to shine a light into his eyes, check the vitals on the machines or do small tests, but he forgot them as soon as he drifted back to sleep. His dreams during that times, to put it mildly, were absolutely fucked up. King Kong, a lot of blood and screams, monsters, running and then the weird dreams about birds. And that recurring one about eating a cloud.
Axel awoke for real - as in he remembered doing so - on the third day after the surgery. There was a pretty nurse, talking calmly, asking questions and nodding understandingly when he couldn't and wouldn't respond. She patted his arm and wrote down something on a chart. “I'm glad you woke up, you had us worried here, young man.” He was probably biased, but her smile was the best thing ever. Yay for whatever drugs these were. Everything was a tiny bit fuzzy around the edges.
“I'm going to fetch Dr Young now. Don't worry, you're in very good hands.”
She left the room. Axel looked at what used to be his arm and wondered why he wasn't freaking out. It felt surreal - he felt like he should be yelling, raging, cursing everything and everyone, breaking stuff and just screaming his pain out to the world. But he couldn't. There was numbness and a distant shock. My arm is gone. My arm is gone. My arm is gone. My arm is gone. My arm is gone.
He became aware of other sensations, like the IV in his arm - the one he still had - dull pain just at the edge of being and something in his head. Like.... a pillow, or a cloud. Something blocking him - or shielding him? Why wasn't he yelling? Why wasn't he crying? He guessed that this was too big for his mind to handle, so it decided to just don't. The sun was already beginning to set again, sending red into his room. The room was blank except for an impressive array of machinery of which the majority was hooked up to him. He turned his head slightly and saw three curves and a lot of numbers on a screen. And a lot of cables leading underneath the blanket. He felt like Frankenstein. Half he wished for a mirror, half he feared there would be one. But on the wall was just an ugly painting of colorful splashes which probably cost a fortune and looked like something he might have done in kindergarten. Next to his bed was an uncomfortable looking chair - empty of course - and a plastic table. The light shone through blinds at the window.
The nurse - her name tag said something with an S- returned with a doctor who looked remarkably like the Kentucky Fried Chicken guy. He went over a few charts, looked at the screen and said something Axel deemed irrelevant afterward and forgot about.
Nurse S told him that he'd have a long way ahead of him, physiotherapy, this-therapy and that-therapy, and tests for something or other. Then she asked if he wanted something special for breakfast or lunch later, if he felt up to toast, maybe a peanut butter and jam sandwich? Axel felt his body getting heavy and growing warm, he was tired, but pleasantly so. Her voice was nice to listen to.
Did he like tea? Or would he prefer cocoa? Most hospital food has a bad rep, but ours was not bad.
Oh, if he was allergic to peanuts? Nevermind, you go to sleep, I'll just ask your father when he comes back.
At that time, he was sure that he had dreamed the last part. As if his dad would show up here.
Axel was woken up repeatedly by some doctors who did some tests and spoke gently in hushed tones. Only on the third time he noticed that there was someone in the chair next to his bed, but he couldn't make out who it was. He wanted to say something, to find out who this was, and if this figure was real or just a dream. A hand squeezed his, there was a whisper, but he couldn't understand a word, and then he fell asleep again.
The next morning, a different nurse - not as pretty as nurse S - woke him up. She explained that normal hospital procedure and schedule was messed up - no kidding, but there had been a fucking gorilla invasion - so he could have breakfast first and then get cleaned up. Axel made a joke about sponge bath, she replied that she could get nurse Adam for that and both laughed. Then Axel tried very not to think about his current body hygiene and that he had been pretty much just lying here for days. He had assumed at first that the cables were for EEGs or something, but some must have been there for other uses. Nasty.
At least breakfast smelled good. The nurse - what a joke, her name was Eve - offered to spoonfeed him - or have Adam come in if he liked that - but he wanted to do this on his own. He had just opted for his toast instead of the steaming mug when she fluffed his pillow and told him that his dad had to leave at about 9am but that he said he'd be back. What a dedicated father he was, so caring. And sexy, she added with a wink. Now all doubt was gone, whoever that man was, he wasn't Axel's dad. Axel's dad was a bitter man who had never gotten over the fact that his wife whom he had mistreated for years on end had found the courage to leave him and remarried. Not that she was any better than him, she was quite happy to leave Axel in the hands of his father. Axel had grown up first between two fronts who blamed everyone but themselves - preferably Axel - for everything that went wrong, and then with a father who constantly told him that life was about “tricking or getting- tricked” as he had been tricked by his bitch of an ex-wife. It was no wonder he latched onto a new father figure, even if that one had been a supervillain. For a brief moment he hoped that Len or Mark had sneaked into the hospital and pretended to be his dad - Sam and Mick would have been impossible - but he knew that was false hope. Not after what he did.
But just in case, he wasn't going to tell the staff that his “father” wasn't who he claimed to be and subtly tried to get the nurse to talk about him a bit more. She said that the nurses - yes, even Adam - whispered about him, apparently there was something women found inherently sexy about a man being a dad - and that Axel was just like him; blonde, witty, even his dad was tall and he wasn't and she quoted, complete with gestures “sex on legs in a three-piece Italian suit”.
Nurse S - it turned out that S stood for Soledad - came in with a wheel chair to bring him to a scan. This time for his brain, to check how his nerves coped...or something. He toned out most medical things, whether it was out of not-knowing or psychical self-preservation. He asked why he couldn't walk there - his legs were the part of him that were fine - but she said it was for insurance reasons.
“Are the night-gowns for insurance, too?”
“Mainly we just like the view,” she retorted. If he hadn't had a thing for nurses before - hell, which men hadn't? - he sure had one now.
The scan itself was boring. After injecting him with something, he lay motionless on a bed while some machine whirred above him. The doctor told him again and again not to move, it messed up the pictures or something. But it was so boring, and everything in him just itched to act out and mess up. He restrained himself, though, they'd just leave him in here even longer if he misbehaved and he had better things to do than to lie on a bed and do nothing.
Not really, but at least he could scratch himself then.
The test was over, and he was let go. Finally.
Chapter 2
A few hours later, he had been to the bathroom and had almost thrown up on his way back, despite being pushed around in a wheelchair. There was a fatigue that didn't seem to go away, with no amount of sleep. He asked the nurse about an energy drink, or just something bursting with sugar, but of course she declined. Soledad came out of Axel's room and winked at him and the nurse behind him.
“You have a visitor,” she said dreamily and went on her way.
“PleasebeLenpleasebelenpleasebelen,” Axel hoped, but it wasn't him. He didn't even know what had happened to the Rogues. Or the Flash. Or anything really. He really should pick someone's pocket for a phone.
Inside his room, gazing out of the window, was Jesse. James fucking Jesse, former Trickster, sell-out and hypocrite. Fucking traitor. He wore a white shirt, dark blue waistcoat and a yellow tie, hair slicked back. The suit jacket hung over the ugly chair.
“There you are, my boy,” he said, sounding so genuinely worried and looking so loving and hurt, that Axel believed him for a second. Until he bent down to embrace Axel and whispered a “play along or I'll steal your morphine” and then straightened with a smile. “Can you give us a minute?” he asked the nurse who obliged and left. Jesse closed the door after her. His smile fell as soon as the door closed.
“What the hell do you want here?” Axel spat.
Jesse grimaced.
“And here I thought you'd like to have a visitor.”
“Not you.”
“Pity, me is all you get.”
Axel tried to wheel himself over to his bed, but with one arm, he just banged into a table.
“Why are you here?”
“I'm actually just visiting a friend, and you happened to be here as well, so I decided to take a look.”
“I'm fine, get out.”
“You're missing an arm,” Jesse pointed out.
And the dam finally broke. Whatever walls his mind had put up to protect itself, they crumbled to dust in the matter of a second.
“I know!” he screamed, “my arm is gone! Gone! A fucking ape took my arm! He ripped it off!”
Hot tears ran over his cheeks, a lump in his throat made the screaming harder, but not impossible.
“Grodd took my arm! He just -.”
Axel screamed, and screamed. Until he could scream no more. Then he started to sob and curls in on himself, good arm, still with an IV attached, grasped where his arm should have been. He rocked back and forth, sobbing and howling.
“Why?” he asked, “why?”
Jesse's face is a mask, not betraying any emotion. “Because you were stupid.”
Axel stared at him. That's what people have always said to him. No-good. Troublemaker. Delinquent. Stupid. Idiot. But then Jesse tilted his head, looked pondering.
“But, I don't think that you are going to be stupid any more, are you?”
“What?”
“You faced down a crazed gorilla and survived. Not everyone can claim that. Not everyone in this hospital will be able to say this at the end of this day. You live. And you should cherish that.”
He picked up his jacket, and put it on. There was a white card clipped to it, but Axel couldn't read what it said.
“I'll leave you to your thoughts.”
And he left, and as the door closed behind him, Axel started to sob.
It felt like hot steel was poured down his throat and he couldn't breathe properly. His hand, since he only had one anymore, clutched at the armrest helplessly. Inside, he felt like an burning oven, but on the outside - his grip was weak, like he could barely close his fist.
After a while a male nurse came in and helped him from the chair to his bed. Axel tried to hide his face and just wanted to be left alone. He wanted this to stop. Anything, but this. No more friends, no more Rogues, no more arm - let's face it, his career was over. He was done. With desperation, he looked at the machines he was hooked up to. One clever pull, and it would be all over. Or maybe he could increase his morphine dosage, going out in bliss. The window didn't look far away, and his legs still worked. At least, his legs. Axel looked at the stump where his arm was. Should have been. Would have been, if he hadn't been stupid. His father always said that his recklessness and stupidity would get him killed...maybe it was time he put that to the test. He had seen in countless movies how the heroes ripped out the IV needle with one short tug, and just walked out of the door. He could do it. This gained him a burst of energy, of resolution. No more, not like this.
The decision was made.
He moved to rip out the IV and couldn't. He had no second hand to pull it out, since it was in his arm. His single arm. And then, he screamed. He thrashed and tried to force it out, to shake his arm and just make it stop. With a metallic crash, the IV pole fell to the ground, and alarms began to shriek. The beeping of the machines turned into a cacophony. But then they went quieter. No, he was going away from them. Although he hadn't moved. There was soft darkness creeping in at the edges of his vision. Sound was going away, as well as sight. Strange sounds, like a mechanical hum, or like an old camera recharging. There were white figures rushing into his room, but it didn't get any brighter at all. Is this it? Had he done it?
Probably, otherwise the people wouldn't hurry so.
With his last thought, he realized that he had been wrong. So wrong.
Axel wanted to live.
The next few hours passed by for him in a matter of minutes, he was barely conscious for 10 seconds in a row. For the doctors, it were stressful hours that seemed like days. The patient has had a fit and managed to tore open stitches, rip the IV out and almost fall off the bed. The surgery was long and bloody. Almost, he didn't make it. But the doctors fought - they had seen enough death in the last days to last them ten lifetimes - and it seemed like the patient was fighting with them.
Axel awoke to pain. Quite a lot - more than he had felt when he had first woken up in the hospital. His left side felt like it was on fire. That had been the stupidest thing he had ever done. Period. Gingerly he tried to move his fingers - all five of them - and his toes. He was relieved when it worked. His mouth felt like cotton. As he was cataloging his bodily sensations - catheter, tight bandages, itch at his ankle and the overall feeling that a steamroller had run him over and then put in reverse to finish the job - he felt something on his wrist. At first he thought that the doctors had duct-taped the IV to his arm - he couldn't blame them, not really - but it was strangely warm. Axel blinked and tried to make his eyes focus - it was surprisingly hard - and took a closer look. It was a hand...thankfully attached to an arm, which was in rolled-up shirtsleeves and that arm was attached to - Jesse? Oh that was weird. They hated each other, had proven that on multiple occasions. Jesse had been part of the first crew, when the Rogues were getting started, along with the traitor Piper. But then Piper had left. Some shit went down that no one of the Rogues would ever talk about, not in their most talkative drunken phases - and Axel had heard a lot of things he had never wanted to hear during those - and when Axel had brought it up when they were sober, Sam had looked like he wanted to strangle Axel. So, Axel didn't push further. Jesse must have left after or during the shit that went down - maybe him leaving was the big secret? But it wasn't secret at all and everyone could look that up on the internet - and done....something. Rumors said that he played Robin Hood, that he went abroad, became a monk, joined a circus or joined the police; so Axel believed none of them. But that left his position vacant and Axel - desperate to prove himself and ready to make a name - took it.
Axel had been desperate to prove himself. Cocky, brash, and with a strange talent to poke at whichever weak spot he saw. He got really got at digging that in when anyone else would have stopped. But normal courtesy and manners didn't interest him. When he felt slighted, he lashed out. Insults and sneering words, kicks and then usually explosives. Axel wanted in so badly, so he talked to people who knew people who had been wronged by the Trickster somehow. Surprisingly, most of them were criminals - honor among thieves didn't seem to extend beyond anyone who wasn't a Rogue. Axel found an abandoned hideout that had belonged to the Trickster once - if the scattered toys and craters in the ground were anything to go. He'd been looking for a hint, a sign, equipment that was left behind, maybe some broken stuff he could fix, but nothing. Zilch, nada, nothing. So he left. A few days later, he came back. He didn't know he had expected, but it was something to do. Then it got boring and he left.
And yet he came back again, like something was drawing him there. Or because he felt like he was closer to someone. The Trickster? Who he wanted to be? Or - he felt like he was at the end of his road, really. He was cold, tired, and on top of it all, it was raining heavily. His own place wasn't much better, really, and he went back to the abandoned hideout. He sat and waited, and watched the rain fall. Broken toy train to the left. Chunks of a sofa. Sooty rug. Marbles strewn all over. He felt around in his pockets for a cigarette but didn't find any. Not even a pack of gum. But then, he heard a soft clink. Like something hitting glass. Hail? No, like glass on glass. The marbles? But he hadn't touched them. Yet they were rolling, slowly. An old trick, old trap? They rolled down and - soggy carpet! Axel pulled away the remains of the carpet and there was a hatch! Bent and burnt and heavy, but that's why you rob a hardware store, isn't it? An hour later, Axel came back with a duffel bag full of tools and a small bag of cash. He cracked open the hatch, was dosed with paint - old trap - and found a goldmine. Well, more of an old box that contained a yo-yo and a pair of airwalkers, but it was everything he wanted and needed. It was the day he found his calling. It was another three months before he got the shoes in operating condition. But it was time, he was ready. And then he set out to find the Rogues.
According to the nurse, Jesse had been seen here on multiple days, apparently checking in on Axel, pretending to be his dad. That caused a bittersweet feeling in Axel he couldn't place at first. As much as he wanted to have a proper dad, a father figure, the fact that the only one who had even bothered to show up was one who hated him, brought back issues he had assumed buried under lots of denial and the grim acceptance that his family sucked balls. Axel had wanted a dad that would protect instead of blame him, a mother who cared instead of shrieked, and when his old family fell short, he found a new one: the Rogues. Sure, they were bastards, every single one of them, even Lisa (whom was he kidding, especially Lisa), but they did care. And they protected him, and in return Axel had cared and protected them. But he had to screw it up, he had gotten too greedy, too violent, too proud, and in order to prove himself, he had formed a gang of thugs; people that dressed in blue and yellow and were meant to act as cannon fodder for the Rogues when things went south. But then things went south because of the thugs, and the Rogues shut them down and cast him out.
Maybe it was for the better, seeing as they had used that stupid machine months later and Axel wasn't there. He didn't know for sure what had happened to them, besides the obvious, but Lisa had been comatose, Mark unstable, Sam trapped in his mirrors and Mick - fuck, Mick was a burn victim walking. Axel considered himself lucky - he had been left out, but unharmed. Who knows what the machine would have done to him?
But that was another family who had abandoned him. But at least this time, it came with the grim realization that he had screwed up, and that he knew who was responsible. But he had thought that they were getting along better, at least a bit. And he wished, deep down, that they would have come to see him. But no one had shown themselves. Not a single Rogue, not anyone he cared about.
Only Jesse - who had come close to holding his hand while he slept, as creepy and strangely comforting as the thought felt - had come, and he had never hidden just how much he hated Axel. Why couldn't someone else be here? Why couldn't someone he liked be here? Why couldn't someone who liked him be here? Where was his family? Why did no one come?
His breath hitched and he fought back the urge to sob. He wasn't going to cry. Especially not with a guy practically holding his hand. He could feel his eyes slipping shut. As he threw a final glance at Jesse, he noticed a white patch on his arm. Then he fell asleep again.
There was a knock on the door. Which was strange, because no one ever knocked on his door. Not in the good old days when the guys would come around, they'd burst in or holler. And now - a mirror call from Sam was usually what he got, at the most. And since it was a steel door set in an old steel work - gotta love a recession - it sure wasn't a Jehova's witness or girl looking for her lost cat. He was torn between preserving his hideout and pretending no one was there, or to frighten the poor soul who was out there for life. He'd had a bad day - when did he not have bad days? - and so decided to scare the living crap out of the person outside. Sparks danced around his body, he felt the inner fire, the flame ablaze, he opened the door and was faced with a carton of beer. It took him a few seconds to process this and peer around the carton to look at the person holding the beer. Jesse. James fucking Jesse. He was clad in a suit, a bit rumpled, with a devil-may-care smile on his face.
“First guest brings the snacks?” James said with a hint of hesitation in his voice.
“I don't see pretzels,” Mick replied and moved to the side so James could enter.
“Yeah, but you were gonna torch them anyway, so why bother?”
Christ, that had been a life-time ago, back when James waltzed into their hideout, carrying boxes full of food and booze and the Rogues were wary of about anything he handed them. Marco's tongue had been dyed green for almost a week thanks to some special Trickster candy. And the last time - the pretzels were fuming. Purple.
A crack snapped hi back to reality. James had sat himself down on a chair and had opened a beer can. He tossed it to Mick.
“I hope you don't expect me to taste-test it.”
“I've known you for 10 years and know fully well that you'd eat spiked food just to throw us off anyway.”
“Yeah, good times.”
The silence after had a bad taste to it, toxic.
“What's up with you,” Mick said and took a sip. The liquid that touched his lips was scorchingly hot. Just like he liked it. It wasn't as if he' d had a choice. Marco had drunkenly called him a fiery Midas and Mick had, in retaliation, burned a car to slag. He still didn't know what Marco had meant by that, exactly.
“Not much, really, I'm in town after gorillapalooza and decided to get in touch with a few old friends, that's all.”
“To see if we're still alive?”
“Something like that.”
James leaned back and the chair was only standing on two legs.
It was quiet again, and Mick didn't like that at all. Silence with James was like a canary in a coal mine - if the canary was dead, the mine was dangerous. If the Trickster was silent, then something was wrong.
“Well, we're still alive and kicking. Bit banged up, but we'll manage.”
“What about the knock-off?”
“Knock-off?”
“Yeah, the pretender. Falsey. Off-brand Trickster. Guy who stole my name. The punk you replaced me with.”
Oh. James had been....hurt, after Axel had become public. He'd sneaked up on a few of them in an alleyway, demanded an explanation. Len, in one of his drunken stupors had said that if he didn't want to be part of them anymore, they'd find someone who was. Mick had thought it wrong, wanted to speak out, but, truth be told, everyone was feeling like crap. He didn't like James leaving. Not that he particularly liked Axel then, but sometimes the best way to get rid of pain was hurting others, so he lashed into James as well. Now, Mick had seen a lot of James over the years - amusement, boredom, fun, even concern, seriousness at some rare times - but on that day he saw all the masks drop away and reveal hurt and anger. Deep, proper anger that ate you up from inside. Like he felt now.
“He, uh, was stupid. Tried to reason with Grodd, got his ass kicked.”
“Still alive?”
Sam had checked.
“Yeah.”
Mick wondered why James was really here. To rub salt into wounds, new and old? That didn't seem like James' style, but …
“Why are you really here?”
“Wouldn't you like to know,” James said and got up.
He walked over to where Mick was leaning against the wall.
“I'd offer you a handshake if I was sure that my hand would survive intact.”
“You can see yourself out,” Mick replied sharply.
James had always been good at getting under your skin, like a fine needle that slipped through the cracks in your defenses.
James grinned at him, joylessly, like a reflex.
Mick looked at him, and up close, he looked ….off.
“Bye Mick,” James said flippantly and left.
Mick slammed his fist on the table as soon as James was gone.
A beer can cluttered to the ground, and exploded in a puff of green smoke.