Silver Skies - Part 1
Title: Silver Skies
Words: 13319
Characters: Owen Mercer, Len Snart, Mick Rory, Mark Mardon, Evan McCulloch, Axel Walker
Summary: Owen's had enough trouble taking care of himself over the years, he doesn't need the Rogues' issues too. Unfortunately he's stuck with them. For the RoguesBang'15.
Warnings: References to child abuse.
AN: Sort of during Blackest Night. (All you need to be aware of is that the dead were coming back to life and trying to induce emotions in the living, so they could feed on their hearts).
Part 1 | Part 2
Artist: mashimero (art post)
---------------------------------------------------------------------
Owen swirled the dregs left in his cheap plastic cup and looked up at the statue of his father from his place seated on the ground. It didn't look anything like the man he'd met. If not for the boomerang in its hand and the nameplate, Owen wouldn't have been able to pick his father out of all the statues of people buried here.
Here, Avernus, where he'd only been once before for his father's funeral. Maybe it was because there were only five costumed weirdos in the place, rather it than near-overflowing with them, but it looked completely different to Owen's eyes.
The Rogues were in the middle of telling drunken stories about the dead. Owen was only half paying attention. He'd listened to some of the earlier ones about his dad, but everything from the earlier years just sounded ridiculous and Owen wasn't drunk enough to find them funny.
He really shouldn't have been there. He wasn't a Rogue. He was just someone who wanted to remember his dad, and these villains were the only ones who would oblige him.
McCulloch took Owen's cup to do a round of refills. “You dinnae have to look so gloomy.”
Owen waved a hand at his dad's grave with a snort. If he wanted to be gloomy, he could fucking well be gloomy.
“You're jus' bringin' the party doon,” McCulloch said, “An' you're no' even pished enough to justify it.”
“I shouldn't be here,” Owen said, “I should head home.”
McCulloch shrugged and handed Owen a full cup, “Awright. We're doon to the last nip anyway, then we'll be headin' back to the safehoose. You can go then.”
Owen made a noise of agreement and focused on his cup. It was better than joining in with the Rogues. The beer was poor quality, the sort Dad had liked before he'd died. Owen sniffed, feeling morose to his core, and poured the rest of his cup onto his father's grave.
True to his word, McCulloch staggered upright and opened a mirror-portal not ten minutes later. Owen got up, stretching out his stiff legs, and went over to go home.
The sky opened to a blackness that was the complete absence of light. Even in Avernus, Owen could feel down to his bones that something was very, very wrong. He opened his mouth to shout a warning, but the light from the mirror-portal washed over them and pulled them hurriedly - haphazardly - into the mirror-world, as thought it was trying to escape the strange dark above.
Owen landed badly. His shoulder impacted the ground first and the rest of his body followed in the worst sequence possible. He lay there, panting, trying to summon the energy to move. His head was throbbing already and he really didn't feel up to opening his eyes.
It was a child's crying that finally got Owen to take in his surroundings. He might be a bit of a bastard, but he wasn't cruel enough to leave a kid sobbing like that. With great effort, Owen sat up.
The kid was sitting with his knees drawn up to hide his face (at least Owen assumed it was a boy, it was difficult to tell from this distance). Owen pushed himself to his feet with much swearing and limped over. He was walking on a beyond reflective surface and couldn't see the horizon, that meant he'd made it to the mirror-world. Great.
The Rogues were lying around, presumably unconscious for the time being. Owen decided to leave them where they were and carry on to the kid.
“Hey there, little guy,” Owen tried, “You ok?”
The kid looked up at Owen, face red and covered in snot and tears. His lip was trembling and he looked like he was about to burst into tears again.
“I'm Owen,” Owen said quickly, “What's your name?”
“M-Mick,” the boy choked out.
“That's cool. I know someone called Mick,” Owen said, “You want to be friends?”
“Not s'posed to talk to strangers,” Mick snuffled, but he was starting to look calmer.
“Well, you can just stay with me until we get you back to your parents, ok?” Owen offered. He hoped that was how you were supposed to talk to kids. He'd never really spent much time around anyone this much younger than himself for any real length of time. Even teenagers didn't end up with Owen for very long - Axel didn't really count and Kara was another thing entirely.
Mick gave him a smile and wiped his nose on his sleeve. It was a bit big for him and Owen realised that Mick was sitting in adult's clothes.
“Fuck!”
Owen and Mick jumped as Axel jerked upright with a loud curse. Mick tried to get to his feet, but tripped over the over-large clothes and Owen had to grab him to keep him steady.
“Shut up, Axel,” Owen snapped, “There's a kid here.”
“What the hell did you call me?” Axel snarled. Owen stared at him in disbelief and Axel paled behind his mask at the sound of his own voice.
“Axel?” Owen said.
“I'm not Axel,” Axel snapped, patting himself down with one hand and feeling his face with the other, “Shit.”
Well, it was the mirror-world. Owen helped Mick stand up and came to the sinking realisation that the kid was swimming in Heat Wave's gear. This wasn't looking good.
“If you're not Axel, who are you?” Owen asked, dreading the answer.
“Captain Cold,” Axel replied, staring at the other unconscious Rogues with horror clear on his face.
Owen just managed to turn his laugh into a quick cough. It still earned him a glare from Cold. It didn't work coming from Axel's face and Owen had to bite the inside of his mouth to stop from laughing hysterically.
“Wake the others up,” Cold ordered, yanking off Axel's domino mask. It didn't help in the slightest, making him look even younger.
“I've got a kid here,” Owen repeated, trying to help Mick stand up in his too-big clothes.
“I said -” Cold cut himself off and stared at Owen.
“What?” Owen started to pat himself down and ran into what Cold was staring at pretty quickly. “Fuck.”
Owen had attributed his general soreness from his earlier landing and being off balance down to still being a bit drunk. Obviously he should have checked himself better before, as he would've noticed the curving of his chest and hips. Now he was listening for it, his voice was also sounding higher pitched too. Or maybe that was just him panicking.
“Lose the beard and you'd make a pretty girl, Boomerang,” Cold said, with a leer that looked all wrong on Axel's face.
Owen couldn't deal with this.
“Owen?” Mick interrupted, tugging on Owen's sleeve, “Can we find my parents now?”
“That's Heat Wave isn't it?” Cold said, eyeing up the kid.
“I think so,” Owen said, helping Mick out of the flame-retardant suit until he was dressed just in a shirt and boxers. Owen had to roll up the sleeves and tie off the boxers to make them even close to fitting. Mick still looked ridiculous.
Meanwhile, Cold had gone over to his body and tried to relieve it of his cold-gun. There was a thump and a yelp and Owen glanced over just in time to see naked fear on Cold's face as his freshly-split lip began to bleed.
Cold's body gave a low groan, then quickly twisted over and threw up.
“Eww,” Mick said with a child's gusto at gross things.
“Trickster,” Cold barked, or tried to anyway. Axel's voice wasn't made for giving orders.
“Aw, shit,” Axel - since it looked like he was in charge of Cold's body for now - groaned, “What the hell was I drinking, man?”
Owen wished he had a camera to record Axel's reaction as he noticed his own body standing in front of him. Axel gaped, then quickly patted himself down, then made a strangled noise and started to choke.
“I'm old!” Axel moaned, once he'd gotten his breath back, “That's so not cool.”
“Give me my gun,” Cold demanded.
Axel started to unclip the holster, then stopped. “Why?”
“Why?” Cold repeated incredulously, “It's my gun. Hand it over.”
“So what, I can just be unarmed?” Axle snorted, “Where's my tricks?”
“How the hell should I know?”
Axel stood up and Cold took a step back, looking ready to run at any second. The wrongness of the situation triggered the part of Owen's brain that had forced him to get up and look for Mick when he'd been crying.
“Give him the gun, Axel,” Owen said.
Axel took one look at Owen and burst into an obnoxious laugh that didn't fit his new voice in the slightest. Owen could feel his face heating up bright red, one of the disadvantages of being ginger.
“Fine, man,” Axel tossed the cold-gun to Cold. The smile Axel was wearing on Cold's face honestly made Owen feel like he was about to have his throat slit at any second. “You can have these too. Can't see a fucking thing,” he added as he chucked the eskimo glasses over too.
Cold quickly put the glasses on and it helped to cover up the open expression on his face. Owen looked away when Cold glared at him, feeling sorry for reasons he couldn't place.
“Nice look, Boomerang,” Weather Wizard said. He was standing behind Owen without any hint of how long he'd been there.
“Cram it,” Owen said, “What's wrong with you?”
“Nothing,” Mardon said, a smug smile firmly in place. And it looked like he was telling the truth, a quick scan showed he was still adult and male - Owen pulled his jacket tighter - and there wasn't any of the confusion that Cold and Axel had been through.
“There's gotta be something,” Owen insisted.
“You're welcome to search me if you want. I'm sure I'll enjoy it,” Mardon said, with a sly look. Owen was getting really sick of being leered at.
“I'll pass.”
“Where the hell's McCulloch?” Cold snapped.
Mardon snorted, earning himself a glare that promised a slow and painful death from Cold. Owen wondered what the chances of them all getting out alive were. Probably slim to none.
“McCulloch!” Cold cupped his hands around his mouth and shouted. An odd, not quite echo reverberated around them, it made Owen's eyes water and Mick started whimpering.
“Wheesht!” McCulloch hissed - though from where, Owen couldn't tell, “You'll no' go anywhere wi' tha' kinda noise.”
“Get us out of here and fix this,” Cold snapped, apparently fine communication with a disembodied voice.
“Ah, that'll be... a wee bit gnarly,” McCulloch said, “Me gun's fucked an' I've lost me sight.”
“You can't see?” Owen asked.
“Aye, hen,” McCulloch's voice sounded amused, “I didnae ken we'd found us a lassie.”
“I'm not a girl!” Owen snarled.
“Doing a good job of pretending to be,” Axel said, his unsettling grin still on Cold's face.
“Shut up!” Cold shouted, “How the hell do we fix this, McCulloch?”
“Gi' us a second,” there was an odd shimmer and a glassy, transparent version of McCulloch appeared next to Mardon, “Still cannae see. Feck.”
Mick tugged on Owen's hand and whispered, “Is that a ghost?”
“There's summet wrong wi' th' mirror-world though, I ken tha' much,” McCulloch continued, “It's... huh, it kinda feels like hate.”
“Hate,” Cold said flatly.
“Tha's what it feels like,” McCulloch said defensively.
“Fuckin' brilliant,” Cold hissed.
“It seems to me that we should be looking for an exit,” Mardon said, the corners of his mouth still pulling up in a smile that Owen wanted to punch off his face, “Mirror-world effects don't usually last long in the real world.”
“Me pistol isnae workin',” McCulloch repeated, “We cannae jus' stroll oot.”
“I've seen you use mirrors without it,” Owen said.
“Aye, pre-set ones,” McCulloch sighed.
Axel's head perked up. “Like the one in the hideout? Didn't you leave that ready for us to come back?”
“It's worth a shot, right guys?” Owen pushed.
“Might work,” McCulloch agreed.
“And which way's that then?” Cold scoffed, gesturing to the vast and unusual mirror-world landscape.
There was an awkward pause as those with working eyes surveyed the area. Sometimes the mirror-world actively mirrored the real world and you could navigate by landmarks. The part they'd tumbled into was one of the messes of silver and white with no real substance.
“If we pick a direction and start going, we'll reach something recognisable eventually,” Mardon suggested.
It was difficult to tell with a translucent face, but Owen thought McCulloch looked a little wary at that idea. He didn't say anything though.
“Fine,” Cold snapped, “Weather Wizard, scout ahead. We'll follow.”
“Ah, about that,” Mardon said, a drop of hesitation in his voice, “We're in the mirror-world. There isn't any weather here. Not without McCulloch's portals to the real world.”
“That's nae -” McCulloch's mostly-invisible form jerked away from Mardon, as Mardon shifted his weight, “...Aye. He's got the right o' it.”
“There you go,” Mardon said brightly.
Cold peered at them both suspiciously. Again however, it just didn't have the same effect coming from a body half as wide and a foot shorter than Cold's usual. You couldn't glare someone down if you had to look up to meet their eye-line.
“Right then,” Cold said, obviously still displeased, but not doing anything about it. Yet. “Boomerang, take a run about. See what you can find.”
“On it,” Owen couldn't hide his relief at having something to do. He shook his hand where Mick was still gripping it, “I've got to go, kid. Stay here.”
Mick just clung on tighter. Owen couldn't really blame him for being worried about the other Rogues. He tried to picture leaving Mick with one of them and it turning out alright, but he couldn't.
“Fine. You can come with me, but you've got to hold on tight,” Owen said, crouching down to let Mick scramble onto his back.
“For fuck's sake, kid, leave the brat with us,” Cold said
“No!” Mick appeared to have gained confidence now he was eye-level with most of them.
“There's no harm,” Owen said, trying to shrug with Mick's arms pressed tight around his neck, “I can run with him like this.”
Cold exhaled harshly and muttered something undoubtedly nasty under his breath. He pushed his glasses up to rub at his eyes, Owen felt another stab of pity and looked away.
“Dinnae go too far, ken,” McCulloch advised, “If you git lost... dinnae git lost.”
“Good to know,” Owen mumbled.
There wasn't a way that stood out particularly, so Owen started jogging in the direction he was already facing. Once he had established the right rhythm to move to with Mick on his back, he kicked into top-speed, intent on letting his speed take him as far as it was able to and take a look around where it got him.
That was the intent.
“FUCK!”
Owen skidded to a halt and grabbed his chest, letting Mick drop in the process. The pain he'd assumed was due to Mick's tight grip on his shoulders had intensified dramatically when he'd tried to run fast.
Looked like running without breast-support was a bad idea.
“Ow, ow, ow,” Owen hissed. He felt around his breasts and winced whenever his fingers poked the connecting tissue.
Axel's wrong-voiced, obnoxious laughter filtered over from the Rogues.
“That hurt,” Mick said accusingly.
“Sorry,” Owen said reflexively, even though in his experience you didn't count as hurt until you had more blood outside your body than inside.
With one arm carefully clamped over his breasts, Owen led Mick back to the Rogues, hissing everytime he stepped too heavily and jolted his chest. Mick watched Owen with worried brown eyes, but the other Rogues were still laughing when Owen reached them. He scowled at them.
“Let's have a look, kid,” Cold ordered, still smirking.
“Like hell!” Owen flinched away and winced again as his chest gave a throb.
“Everyone needs to be fighting fit and I know what I'm looking for. You're really not my type, I like my women clean-shaven,” Cold added, keeping up an unfairly reasonable voice. He'd always been a stickler for making sure all the Rogues went through the first-aid kit whenever they got back from a heist, or so Owen remembered.
“What'd you do to your women that they ended up injured like this?” Owen hissed, still not trusting.
Cold's face darkened. The flat stare on Axel's face gave Owen the creeps. “I had a sister. One who fought the Flash far more than you ever did,” Cold spat.
Mardon sobered right up and elbowed Axel in the side, hard. Owen was only partially aware of the Golden Glider, but even he knew she was a touchy subject around Cold.
“Even so, I don't think she got you to help her,” Owen said.
“I kept up to date on her medical records.”
“...Alright,” Owen said carefully. He had a feeling that disagreeing would cross a line he wasn't entirely sure was there.
“Shirt off, let's see the damage,” Cold ordered, then pointed a threatening finger at the other Rogues, “Look and I'll have your eyes.”
“No fun,” Axel pouted.
“Wipe that look off your face. I'm a grown man, not a sulking teenager,” Cold snapped.
“Not from where I'm standing you're not,” Axel said cockily.
Cold gestured rudely at Axel. The distance between them must have been helping with whatever wariness he'd felt before.
Owen turned his back on the Rogues and stripped out of his jacket and tshirt. It was the first time he'd seen himself since they'd gotten into the mirror-world and all this crazy shit had gone down. Given that his active life-style had lead him to be pretty lean, Owen wasn't entirely surprised that his currently-female body hadn't managed to scrounge up much fat for a pair of breasts.
Or maybe he was perfectly proportional and just used to over-developed superheroines.
Along the sides and top of each breast there was a swollen, reddish mark. It hurt when Owen poked at it. Owen had gotten cuts, bruises, broken bones, and all manner of injuries before - it was inevitable in his line of work and he'd been a clumsy child - but this was freaky on a level that seeing his dislocated fingers bent out of shape hadn't come close to.
Amazingly, there was no leer on Cold's face as he hissed through his teeth. “That's gonna leave a nasty bruise.”
“No shit,” Owen said.
“That's ligament damage,” Cold continued, “With any luck you ain't torn anythin' and some bindin'll let you run again.”
“I'm not running again like this,” Owen said.
“You might not have a choice,” Cold said, “I'll see if we've got anythin' for bandages.”
“Well that was useful,” Owen muttered.
Cold gave Owen a glare that didn't look the slightest bit intimidating. “Your scarf'll do.”
“What for?”
“Bandages. Keep up, kid,” Cold said. He gave Owen's scarf a yank and choked him for a moment before Owen knocked his hands away and unwound his scarf himself.
Getting his breasts wrapped up was one of the more awkward moments of Owen's life. Cold was rough, but businesslike, and Owen didn't know what to do with his hands.
Owen had a stray wish for a sports bra, but clamped down on the thought quick, in case the mirror-world tried something freaky with it. He'd only spent a short time with the Rogues and working through mirrors on the job, but he remembered all the warnings McCulloch had given back then. The crazy shit he'd seen the Mirror Master do was still unbelievable.
“Let's go,” Cold said, gesturing at the others as Owen pulled his tshirt back on, “I want to get out of here before something else happens.”
Owen hitched his jacket on over his shoulders, absentmindedly running a hand over all his boomerangs out of habit, to make sure they were still all there. He left the jacket open, not wanting it to press against his sore chest.
Cold started walking in the same direction Owen had been running in. He nearly tripped over by taking too long a stride, obviously used to longer legs than Axel's. Owen bit his tongue and avoided catching Cold's eye as he overtook, dragging Mick into the lead. Owen didn't feel safe trusting the Rogues to keep a lookout for danger.
“What's got your boomerangs in a twist?” Axel asked, catching up to Owen easily. He'd picked up Heat Wave's flamethrower and kept adjusting the shoulder straps of the fuel tank as he walked, “Tits really that bad?”
“I'm fine,” Owen snapped, crossing his arms over his chest and hating the way it was awkward.
“What's it like being a girl?” Axel asked, cocking his head.
“I don't know. What's it like suddenly gaining thirty years?” Owen snapped. Everything felt tender and he just wanted to get away from everyone.
“A nightmare,” Axel rubbed the back of his neck and then rolled his shoulders, only to stop it with a groan. “Old man's got a crick in his neck I can't do shit about.”
“What'll you do if we don't change back?” Owen asked.
“What? Be an old man for good? Fuck that,” Axel said, trying to fix his neck again and failing.
“Everyone grows up sometime,” Owen snorted.
“Totally not worth it,” Axel groused.
“Goddammit!”
Owen looked back to see Cold sprawled on the ground, glaring at his feet. Axel started to laugh again, but this time it cut off into coughing for a good minute.
“Fuckin' shoes,” Cold snarled, ripping the air-walkers off his feet.
“Can't you just switch them off?,” Owen asked, trying not to laugh himself.
“Damned if I know,” Cold said, bouncing on the balls of his feet a little to test the floor through his socks, “Don't care. Walkin' without them's easier.”
“What the hell's wrong with your lungs, Cap? I can't breathe properly” Axel choked, barely over his coughing fit.
“That's what smoking will do to you,” Mardon said, smugly. Owen was starting to wonder if he was ever not smug.
“Remind me to avoid it,” Axel said, rubbing his chest, “Hey! You can't just leave my shoes there! That's not cool.”
“I'm not wearin' them,” Cold said.
“So? I'm gonna wear them when we're fixed,” Axel said, storming back to pick them up, “How'd you like it if I just left your coat here, old man?”
“Do that and I'll make you regret it,” Cold said.
“Oh yeah? How?” Axel said, standing in front of Cold and using every bit of his new height to be intimidating.
Cold stepped back and clenched his jaw. There was a tremor running though his clenched fists and Owen's protective instinct kicked in.
“Axel,” Owen said warningly.
“Get off my back,” Axel snapped, whirling on Owen, who flinched instinctively after years of being hit during costumed work.
“Stop fighting over petty things!” Owen snapped right back, angry at himself for being intimidated, “We've probably got a long way to go and it won't go any faster with you two bitching at each other!”
Cold snorted and Mardon gave a little chuckle. The serial-killer smile was back on Axel's face. Owen had the feeling he'd missed a joke.
“Whatever,” Owen sighed. At least the tension was broken for now.
“Why don't you just swap?” Mick asked, poking his head out from where he was hidden behind Owen, “If he doesn't want to carry his shoes and he doesn't want to carry his coat, why don't they just swap, Owen?”
“Because they're not as smart as you,” Owen replied.
“Hey! I'm totally smarter than a five-year-old,” Axel said.
“I'm not five!” Mick said indignantly, as Owen muttered, “Not that you act it.”
“Let's keep movin',” Cold said. He wasn't paying attention to Axel and nearly fell over again when his heavy, blue coat was dumped unceremoniously on his head.
There was a moment when Owen thought Cold would start shouting again, but with a wary look at Axel, he swallowed his tongue and moved on.
“You don't see that everyday,” Mardon murmured.
“See what?” McCulloch asked from right behind Owen, making him jump.
“Don't sneak up on me,” Owen said.
“If I wasnae blind I'd give it a shot,” McCulloch said. The cheer in his voice sounded forced.
Owen sighed. He had to remember he wasn't the worst off by far. “Sorry.”
“C'mon,” McCulloch said, “You can be me guide-dug.”
Owen looped his arm through McCulloch's and pulled him after the others.
--------------------
The mirror-world wasn't consistent. The horizon kept shifting without drawing attention to itself and Owen found himself frowning every five minutes or so to try and figure out if it had been at that angle before. The ground was gritty beneath their feet, like fine sand, and sparked if Owen kicked his steel-capped boots against it hard enough. Yet Mick's feet weren't any worse off for being bare on it.
Owen had led McCulloch along for an hour or so, then Mardon took over and Owen was relegated to keeping ahold of Mick, as the kid had a habit of wandering off on his own if unsupervised.
“I want soup,” Mick whined, tugging pathetically on Owen's hand.
“We don't have any soup,” Owen said, distracted, “And I thought you weren't hungry.”
“I feel sick. I want soup,” Mick insisted, “Mom always makes me soup when I'm sick and it makes me feel better.”
Owen put a hand to Mick's forehead. “You don't feel warm. Are you sure you're sick?”
“Yes,” Mick said stubbornly.
“Hey, McCulloch,” Owen called, “Are there any bugs in the mirror-world that this little guy could've caught?”
“None tha' I ken,” McCulloch replied, with a glassy movement that might have been a shrug, “'Course I didnae make a habit o' pullin' weans through.”
“I'm cold and I want soup,” Mick complained.
Cold looked over at his name and frowned at Mick with a puzzled look on his face.
“Maybe Heat Wave was sick before all this,” Mardon offered, “I can't recall him showing any symptoms, but a virus might've hit a child harder than an adult.”
“Best if we just fix it quick,” Owen said, “C'mon, Mick, I'll carry you if you want.”
“You not gonna drop me again, are you?” Mick said suspiciously.
“Promise,” Owen knelt down and let Mick scramble onto his back, “Here we go!”
“Can I be the blind one?” Mardon said, disgusted.
“Mark,” Cold said, with a tone Owen couldn't recognise.
Mardon scoffed. “Don't try that, Len. Not in the kid's body.”
To Owen's surprise, Cold dropped the subject. Owen hoisted Mick further up on his back and set off again, though not without several glances back.
--------------------
Owen couldn't keep up the piggyback for more than half an hour and soon Mick was trotting alongside him again, hand firmly grasped in Owen's. Mick's skin was warm, but not to the point that Owen was ready to believe him about being sick.
“How long's it been since we started walking?” Axel complained, shrugging the heat pack uncomfortably on his shoulders. Cold had only been wearing a wifebeater under his coat and raw marks were beginning to show on Axel's shoulders, “Are we nearly there yet?”
“Shut up, Axel,” Mardon said reflexively.
“C'mon. We must've been walking for hours!” Axel huffed, “Nothing's changed. We might as well be on a treadmill.”
“He's right,” Owen said, before someone could start shouting at Axel again.
“Can you figure anythin' out, Mirror Master?” Cold asked.
“I cannae see. Mirrors dinnae work wi' no light.,” McCulloch said defensively. He was currently being shepherded by Axel, which, along with the heavy flamethrower, might have been the reason the Trickster was being particularly whiny.
“There's plenty of light,” Cold said, “Doesn't matter if you can see it or not, it's there. Do somethin' with it.”
“Tha's no' how it works,” McCulloch said stubbornly.
Cold made a fist, but then looked at his hands and let out a sharp, annoyed breath.
“Why don't we have a rest?” Owen suggested, “Things'll look better in the... well, there's not really a morning, but things should be better after some sleep.”
Mardon snorted and gave Owen a pitying look. “When have things ever looked better in the morning?”
“I'm just trying to be optimistic.”
Mardon shook his head with a sigh.
“Well fuck you too,” Owen said angrily.
“Owen?” Mick said tugging on Owen's hand again, “You'll get in trouble if you keep using bad words.”
The non-sequitur threw Owen and he found himself replying without conscious thought. “In trouble with who?”
Mick had to think for a moment. “My mom,” he decided gravely.
Cold's mouth pulled in a tight line that Owen somehow recognised as sorrow. He'd worn that same look when he was eulogising Owen's dad.
Mick's mom was probably dead.
“I'll...” Owen swallowed, throat dry, “I'll keep that in mind.”
“Let's get some sleep,” Cold decided.
“I'm not tired,” Axel said, “We should keep going.”
“Tha'll be the mirror-world,” McCulloch said, “There's no food or drink an' we dinnae need them, but you can git worn oot.”
“So we'll get some sleep,” Cold said, trying for a tone that brooked no argument, but mostly came across as whiny in Axel's voice.
“If we’re not getting tired we should keep going,” Axel argued, “The faster we get out of here the faster I can be back in my own body.”
“I agree,” Mark said.
“I think we should rest,” Owen said.
“Two for and two against,” Mardon said, sounding amused, “Want to be the tie-breaker, McCulloch?”
“This isn’t a vote,” Cold growled, before McCulloch could say anything, “We’re restin’ and that’s final.”
“You’re not in charge in here,” Mardon said airily, “I’m much more inclined to listen to the blind man or the tranny. At least they can look me in the eye.”
Owen flinched and crossed his arms over his chest self-consciously. Mick hid behind Owen’s legs, peering out at the arguing pair fearfully.
“Like you ever got off your cloud to look anyone in the eye,” Cold snarled, “Why don’t you go back up? At least you didn’t backtalk there.”
Fury crossed Mardon’s face. “There isn’t any weather in the mirror-world!”
The force of the words made Owen take a step back and he nearly tripped over Mick. For a second, Owen wondered if he should intervene, but Cold didn't so much as flinch.
“Do I fuckin’ look like I care about that? Get over it,” Cold snapped, “Rogues look out for each other and right now that means gettin’ some rest so we’re sharp as ice for whatever this shithole’s gonna throw at us and we’re not at each others’ throats.”
“It won’t help,” Mardon said, his voice and eyes suddenly dead, “Sleep won’t change anything.”
“Mark,” Cold started to say, relatively gently, but then glanced at his gloved hands and grimaced. When he continued to speak it was in a firm voice, “We need rest.”
“It won’t change anything,” Mardon repeated quietly. He gave a shudder and turned away from the other Rogues.
Owen didn’t know what to do. Once upon a time he’d thought that the Rogues were simple criminals. Dangerous and untrustworthy, sure, but pretty straightforward as criminals go. They weren’t supposed to have more issues than the Suicide Squad and the Outsiders put together.
“A bit o’ kip’ll do us good, aye,” McCulloch said into the silence.
“Fine,” Axel threw himself to the ground and yelped when he landed heavier than he expected to.
“I’m not tired, Owen,” Mick said.
“Well I am,” Owen lied, “You might feel less sick if you get some sleep.”
“...Ok,” Mick sighed, as though it was a huge imposition for him to take a nap.
Owen chuckled and put his head down.
--------------------
Owen wasn't sure what had woken him - maybe his subconscious recognised the hiss of phosphorous igniting - but he wasn't the only one stirring groggily. Axel, no Cold, was already upright and looking over the sleepers.
“Fuck's sake,” Cold grumbled, scrambling over Mardon to get to Mick. The kid was holding a lit match and staring at it, enraptured.
Mick gave a heartbroken cry when Cold snuffed the flame. Tears were welling up in his eyes as Cold searched for every last match and lighter that Mick had somehow accumulated.
Owen went over to give Mick a hug when he wouldn't stop hiccuping wetly. The kid had stark black circles under his eyes and was drawn and pale to the point of looking sickly.
“You doing ok, kid?” Owen murmured, rubbing Mick's back.
“No,” Mick sniffed.
Despite the fact that they hadn't needed food or water since getting stuck in the mirror-world, Owen wondered if Mick was suffering for it - being a child it was natural that he'd get hit first.
“Are you hungry?” Owen asked.
“I don't know!” Mick wailed, “I just want the fire!”
“You're not gettin' fire until you can control it,” Cold snapped. He'd gone to sleep without his glasses on, but wrapped up in his heavy blue coat, which he had to keep pushing the sleeves up when he wanted to use his hands.
Mick sobbed into Owen's jacket, pressing uncomfortably tight against Owen's tender chest.
“How'd he get it under control the first time 'round?” Owen asked.
Cold shrugged, then had to irritably yank his coat back over his shoulders again. “He didn't half the time.”
“Then what are we going to do?” Owen asked, more to the universe than Cold specifically. He was tired.
Cold didn't reply. Owen looked over to see Cold smiling fondly at him. Like he used to do when Owen started running with the Rogues just after his dad had died.
“What?” Owen snapped, somewhat more irritably than he meant to.
“Nice to have you back,” Cold said, still smiling. On Cold's face it had looked paternal - scary, but paternal - on Axel's face the grin put Owen in mind of a kid pleased with his prize fighting dog.
“Don't get used to it, I'm leaving the second we get out of here,” Owen warned.
“To do what?”
Owen opened his mouth, but no immediate answer came to mind. Mick shifted his grip, probably in response to the increasing tension, and made Owen flinch.
“Careful there, little guy,” Owen said, glad of a distraction from his conversation with Cold.
“Sorry,” Mick got out between sobs.
“Your spot's still open,” Cold said, turning away and wrapping his coat tightly around himself to settle down for some sleep again, “Keep it in mind.”
“I won't,” Owen whispered to himself in promise. He'd spent a long time boomeranging between teams, trying to find a place in life, and he knew that the Rogues were the last thing anyone should look for in a team.
Yet, as he tried to soothe Mick and absently noted the trust between the group that allowed them to sleep near each other without fear of being backstabbed, Owen tried to remember the last time anyone had felt this much like family.
Part 2
Words: 13319
Characters: Owen Mercer, Len Snart, Mick Rory, Mark Mardon, Evan McCulloch, Axel Walker
Summary: Owen's had enough trouble taking care of himself over the years, he doesn't need the Rogues' issues too. Unfortunately he's stuck with them. For the RoguesBang'15.
Warnings: References to child abuse.
AN: Sort of during Blackest Night. (All you need to be aware of is that the dead were coming back to life and trying to induce emotions in the living, so they could feed on their hearts).
Part 1 | Part 2
Artist: mashimero (art post)
---------------------------------------------------------------------
Owen swirled the dregs left in his cheap plastic cup and looked up at the statue of his father from his place seated on the ground. It didn't look anything like the man he'd met. If not for the boomerang in its hand and the nameplate, Owen wouldn't have been able to pick his father out of all the statues of people buried here.
Here, Avernus, where he'd only been once before for his father's funeral. Maybe it was because there were only five costumed weirdos in the place, rather it than near-overflowing with them, but it looked completely different to Owen's eyes.
The Rogues were in the middle of telling drunken stories about the dead. Owen was only half paying attention. He'd listened to some of the earlier ones about his dad, but everything from the earlier years just sounded ridiculous and Owen wasn't drunk enough to find them funny.
He really shouldn't have been there. He wasn't a Rogue. He was just someone who wanted to remember his dad, and these villains were the only ones who would oblige him.
McCulloch took Owen's cup to do a round of refills. “You dinnae have to look so gloomy.”
Owen waved a hand at his dad's grave with a snort. If he wanted to be gloomy, he could fucking well be gloomy.
“You're jus' bringin' the party doon,” McCulloch said, “An' you're no' even pished enough to justify it.”
“I shouldn't be here,” Owen said, “I should head home.”
McCulloch shrugged and handed Owen a full cup, “Awright. We're doon to the last nip anyway, then we'll be headin' back to the safehoose. You can go then.”
Owen made a noise of agreement and focused on his cup. It was better than joining in with the Rogues. The beer was poor quality, the sort Dad had liked before he'd died. Owen sniffed, feeling morose to his core, and poured the rest of his cup onto his father's grave.
True to his word, McCulloch staggered upright and opened a mirror-portal not ten minutes later. Owen got up, stretching out his stiff legs, and went over to go home.
The sky opened to a blackness that was the complete absence of light. Even in Avernus, Owen could feel down to his bones that something was very, very wrong. He opened his mouth to shout a warning, but the light from the mirror-portal washed over them and pulled them hurriedly - haphazardly - into the mirror-world, as thought it was trying to escape the strange dark above.
Owen landed badly. His shoulder impacted the ground first and the rest of his body followed in the worst sequence possible. He lay there, panting, trying to summon the energy to move. His head was throbbing already and he really didn't feel up to opening his eyes.
It was a child's crying that finally got Owen to take in his surroundings. He might be a bit of a bastard, but he wasn't cruel enough to leave a kid sobbing like that. With great effort, Owen sat up.
The kid was sitting with his knees drawn up to hide his face (at least Owen assumed it was a boy, it was difficult to tell from this distance). Owen pushed himself to his feet with much swearing and limped over. He was walking on a beyond reflective surface and couldn't see the horizon, that meant he'd made it to the mirror-world. Great.
The Rogues were lying around, presumably unconscious for the time being. Owen decided to leave them where they were and carry on to the kid.
“Hey there, little guy,” Owen tried, “You ok?”
The kid looked up at Owen, face red and covered in snot and tears. His lip was trembling and he looked like he was about to burst into tears again.
“I'm Owen,” Owen said quickly, “What's your name?”
“M-Mick,” the boy choked out.
“That's cool. I know someone called Mick,” Owen said, “You want to be friends?”
“Not s'posed to talk to strangers,” Mick snuffled, but he was starting to look calmer.
“Well, you can just stay with me until we get you back to your parents, ok?” Owen offered. He hoped that was how you were supposed to talk to kids. He'd never really spent much time around anyone this much younger than himself for any real length of time. Even teenagers didn't end up with Owen for very long - Axel didn't really count and Kara was another thing entirely.
Mick gave him a smile and wiped his nose on his sleeve. It was a bit big for him and Owen realised that Mick was sitting in adult's clothes.
“Fuck!”
Owen and Mick jumped as Axel jerked upright with a loud curse. Mick tried to get to his feet, but tripped over the over-large clothes and Owen had to grab him to keep him steady.
“Shut up, Axel,” Owen snapped, “There's a kid here.”
“What the hell did you call me?” Axel snarled. Owen stared at him in disbelief and Axel paled behind his mask at the sound of his own voice.
“Axel?” Owen said.
“I'm not Axel,” Axel snapped, patting himself down with one hand and feeling his face with the other, “Shit.”
Well, it was the mirror-world. Owen helped Mick stand up and came to the sinking realisation that the kid was swimming in Heat Wave's gear. This wasn't looking good.
“If you're not Axel, who are you?” Owen asked, dreading the answer.
“Captain Cold,” Axel replied, staring at the other unconscious Rogues with horror clear on his face.
Owen just managed to turn his laugh into a quick cough. It still earned him a glare from Cold. It didn't work coming from Axel's face and Owen had to bite the inside of his mouth to stop from laughing hysterically.
“Wake the others up,” Cold ordered, yanking off Axel's domino mask. It didn't help in the slightest, making him look even younger.
“I've got a kid here,” Owen repeated, trying to help Mick stand up in his too-big clothes.
“I said -” Cold cut himself off and stared at Owen.
“What?” Owen started to pat himself down and ran into what Cold was staring at pretty quickly. “Fuck.”
Owen had attributed his general soreness from his earlier landing and being off balance down to still being a bit drunk. Obviously he should have checked himself better before, as he would've noticed the curving of his chest and hips. Now he was listening for it, his voice was also sounding higher pitched too. Or maybe that was just him panicking.
“Lose the beard and you'd make a pretty girl, Boomerang,” Cold said, with a leer that looked all wrong on Axel's face.
Owen couldn't deal with this.
“Owen?” Mick interrupted, tugging on Owen's sleeve, “Can we find my parents now?”
“That's Heat Wave isn't it?” Cold said, eyeing up the kid.
“I think so,” Owen said, helping Mick out of the flame-retardant suit until he was dressed just in a shirt and boxers. Owen had to roll up the sleeves and tie off the boxers to make them even close to fitting. Mick still looked ridiculous.
Meanwhile, Cold had gone over to his body and tried to relieve it of his cold-gun. There was a thump and a yelp and Owen glanced over just in time to see naked fear on Cold's face as his freshly-split lip began to bleed.
Cold's body gave a low groan, then quickly twisted over and threw up.
“Eww,” Mick said with a child's gusto at gross things.
“Trickster,” Cold barked, or tried to anyway. Axel's voice wasn't made for giving orders.
“Aw, shit,” Axel - since it looked like he was in charge of Cold's body for now - groaned, “What the hell was I drinking, man?”
Owen wished he had a camera to record Axel's reaction as he noticed his own body standing in front of him. Axel gaped, then quickly patted himself down, then made a strangled noise and started to choke.
“I'm old!” Axel moaned, once he'd gotten his breath back, “That's so not cool.”
“Give me my gun,” Cold demanded.
Axel started to unclip the holster, then stopped. “Why?”
“Why?” Cold repeated incredulously, “It's my gun. Hand it over.”
“So what, I can just be unarmed?” Axle snorted, “Where's my tricks?”
“How the hell should I know?”
Axel stood up and Cold took a step back, looking ready to run at any second. The wrongness of the situation triggered the part of Owen's brain that had forced him to get up and look for Mick when he'd been crying.
“Give him the gun, Axel,” Owen said.
Axel took one look at Owen and burst into an obnoxious laugh that didn't fit his new voice in the slightest. Owen could feel his face heating up bright red, one of the disadvantages of being ginger.
“Fine, man,” Axel tossed the cold-gun to Cold. The smile Axel was wearing on Cold's face honestly made Owen feel like he was about to have his throat slit at any second. “You can have these too. Can't see a fucking thing,” he added as he chucked the eskimo glasses over too.
Cold quickly put the glasses on and it helped to cover up the open expression on his face. Owen looked away when Cold glared at him, feeling sorry for reasons he couldn't place.
“Nice look, Boomerang,” Weather Wizard said. He was standing behind Owen without any hint of how long he'd been there.
“Cram it,” Owen said, “What's wrong with you?”
“Nothing,” Mardon said, a smug smile firmly in place. And it looked like he was telling the truth, a quick scan showed he was still adult and male - Owen pulled his jacket tighter - and there wasn't any of the confusion that Cold and Axel had been through.
“There's gotta be something,” Owen insisted.
“You're welcome to search me if you want. I'm sure I'll enjoy it,” Mardon said, with a sly look. Owen was getting really sick of being leered at.
“I'll pass.”
“Where the hell's McCulloch?” Cold snapped.
Mardon snorted, earning himself a glare that promised a slow and painful death from Cold. Owen wondered what the chances of them all getting out alive were. Probably slim to none.
“McCulloch!” Cold cupped his hands around his mouth and shouted. An odd, not quite echo reverberated around them, it made Owen's eyes water and Mick started whimpering.
“Wheesht!” McCulloch hissed - though from where, Owen couldn't tell, “You'll no' go anywhere wi' tha' kinda noise.”
“Get us out of here and fix this,” Cold snapped, apparently fine communication with a disembodied voice.
“Ah, that'll be... a wee bit gnarly,” McCulloch said, “Me gun's fucked an' I've lost me sight.”
“You can't see?” Owen asked.
“Aye, hen,” McCulloch's voice sounded amused, “I didnae ken we'd found us a lassie.”
“I'm not a girl!” Owen snarled.
“Doing a good job of pretending to be,” Axel said, his unsettling grin still on Cold's face.
“Shut up!” Cold shouted, “How the hell do we fix this, McCulloch?”
“Gi' us a second,” there was an odd shimmer and a glassy, transparent version of McCulloch appeared next to Mardon, “Still cannae see. Feck.”
Mick tugged on Owen's hand and whispered, “Is that a ghost?”
“There's summet wrong wi' th' mirror-world though, I ken tha' much,” McCulloch continued, “It's... huh, it kinda feels like hate.”
“Hate,” Cold said flatly.
“Tha's what it feels like,” McCulloch said defensively.
“Fuckin' brilliant,” Cold hissed.
“It seems to me that we should be looking for an exit,” Mardon said, the corners of his mouth still pulling up in a smile that Owen wanted to punch off his face, “Mirror-world effects don't usually last long in the real world.”
“Me pistol isnae workin',” McCulloch repeated, “We cannae jus' stroll oot.”
“I've seen you use mirrors without it,” Owen said.
“Aye, pre-set ones,” McCulloch sighed.
Axel's head perked up. “Like the one in the hideout? Didn't you leave that ready for us to come back?”
“It's worth a shot, right guys?” Owen pushed.
“Might work,” McCulloch agreed.
“And which way's that then?” Cold scoffed, gesturing to the vast and unusual mirror-world landscape.
There was an awkward pause as those with working eyes surveyed the area. Sometimes the mirror-world actively mirrored the real world and you could navigate by landmarks. The part they'd tumbled into was one of the messes of silver and white with no real substance.
“If we pick a direction and start going, we'll reach something recognisable eventually,” Mardon suggested.
It was difficult to tell with a translucent face, but Owen thought McCulloch looked a little wary at that idea. He didn't say anything though.
“Fine,” Cold snapped, “Weather Wizard, scout ahead. We'll follow.”
“Ah, about that,” Mardon said, a drop of hesitation in his voice, “We're in the mirror-world. There isn't any weather here. Not without McCulloch's portals to the real world.”
“That's nae -” McCulloch's mostly-invisible form jerked away from Mardon, as Mardon shifted his weight, “...Aye. He's got the right o' it.”
“There you go,” Mardon said brightly.
Cold peered at them both suspiciously. Again however, it just didn't have the same effect coming from a body half as wide and a foot shorter than Cold's usual. You couldn't glare someone down if you had to look up to meet their eye-line.
“Right then,” Cold said, obviously still displeased, but not doing anything about it. Yet. “Boomerang, take a run about. See what you can find.”
“On it,” Owen couldn't hide his relief at having something to do. He shook his hand where Mick was still gripping it, “I've got to go, kid. Stay here.”
Mick just clung on tighter. Owen couldn't really blame him for being worried about the other Rogues. He tried to picture leaving Mick with one of them and it turning out alright, but he couldn't.
“Fine. You can come with me, but you've got to hold on tight,” Owen said, crouching down to let Mick scramble onto his back.
“For fuck's sake, kid, leave the brat with us,” Cold said
“No!” Mick appeared to have gained confidence now he was eye-level with most of them.
“There's no harm,” Owen said, trying to shrug with Mick's arms pressed tight around his neck, “I can run with him like this.”
Cold exhaled harshly and muttered something undoubtedly nasty under his breath. He pushed his glasses up to rub at his eyes, Owen felt another stab of pity and looked away.
“Dinnae go too far, ken,” McCulloch advised, “If you git lost... dinnae git lost.”
“Good to know,” Owen mumbled.
There wasn't a way that stood out particularly, so Owen started jogging in the direction he was already facing. Once he had established the right rhythm to move to with Mick on his back, he kicked into top-speed, intent on letting his speed take him as far as it was able to and take a look around where it got him.
That was the intent.
“FUCK!”
Owen skidded to a halt and grabbed his chest, letting Mick drop in the process. The pain he'd assumed was due to Mick's tight grip on his shoulders had intensified dramatically when he'd tried to run fast.
Looked like running without breast-support was a bad idea.
“Ow, ow, ow,” Owen hissed. He felt around his breasts and winced whenever his fingers poked the connecting tissue.
Axel's wrong-voiced, obnoxious laughter filtered over from the Rogues.
“That hurt,” Mick said accusingly.
“Sorry,” Owen said reflexively, even though in his experience you didn't count as hurt until you had more blood outside your body than inside.
With one arm carefully clamped over his breasts, Owen led Mick back to the Rogues, hissing everytime he stepped too heavily and jolted his chest. Mick watched Owen with worried brown eyes, but the other Rogues were still laughing when Owen reached them. He scowled at them.
“Let's have a look, kid,” Cold ordered, still smirking.
“Like hell!” Owen flinched away and winced again as his chest gave a throb.
“Everyone needs to be fighting fit and I know what I'm looking for. You're really not my type, I like my women clean-shaven,” Cold added, keeping up an unfairly reasonable voice. He'd always been a stickler for making sure all the Rogues went through the first-aid kit whenever they got back from a heist, or so Owen remembered.
“What'd you do to your women that they ended up injured like this?” Owen hissed, still not trusting.
Cold's face darkened. The flat stare on Axel's face gave Owen the creeps. “I had a sister. One who fought the Flash far more than you ever did,” Cold spat.
Mardon sobered right up and elbowed Axel in the side, hard. Owen was only partially aware of the Golden Glider, but even he knew she was a touchy subject around Cold.
“Even so, I don't think she got you to help her,” Owen said.
“I kept up to date on her medical records.”
“...Alright,” Owen said carefully. He had a feeling that disagreeing would cross a line he wasn't entirely sure was there.
“Shirt off, let's see the damage,” Cold ordered, then pointed a threatening finger at the other Rogues, “Look and I'll have your eyes.”
“No fun,” Axel pouted.
“Wipe that look off your face. I'm a grown man, not a sulking teenager,” Cold snapped.
“Not from where I'm standing you're not,” Axel said cockily.
Cold gestured rudely at Axel. The distance between them must have been helping with whatever wariness he'd felt before.
Owen turned his back on the Rogues and stripped out of his jacket and tshirt. It was the first time he'd seen himself since they'd gotten into the mirror-world and all this crazy shit had gone down. Given that his active life-style had lead him to be pretty lean, Owen wasn't entirely surprised that his currently-female body hadn't managed to scrounge up much fat for a pair of breasts.
Or maybe he was perfectly proportional and just used to over-developed superheroines.
Along the sides and top of each breast there was a swollen, reddish mark. It hurt when Owen poked at it. Owen had gotten cuts, bruises, broken bones, and all manner of injuries before - it was inevitable in his line of work and he'd been a clumsy child - but this was freaky on a level that seeing his dislocated fingers bent out of shape hadn't come close to.
Amazingly, there was no leer on Cold's face as he hissed through his teeth. “That's gonna leave a nasty bruise.”
“No shit,” Owen said.
“That's ligament damage,” Cold continued, “With any luck you ain't torn anythin' and some bindin'll let you run again.”
“I'm not running again like this,” Owen said.
“You might not have a choice,” Cold said, “I'll see if we've got anythin' for bandages.”
“Well that was useful,” Owen muttered.
Cold gave Owen a glare that didn't look the slightest bit intimidating. “Your scarf'll do.”
“What for?”
“Bandages. Keep up, kid,” Cold said. He gave Owen's scarf a yank and choked him for a moment before Owen knocked his hands away and unwound his scarf himself.
Getting his breasts wrapped up was one of the more awkward moments of Owen's life. Cold was rough, but businesslike, and Owen didn't know what to do with his hands.
Owen had a stray wish for a sports bra, but clamped down on the thought quick, in case the mirror-world tried something freaky with it. He'd only spent a short time with the Rogues and working through mirrors on the job, but he remembered all the warnings McCulloch had given back then. The crazy shit he'd seen the Mirror Master do was still unbelievable.
“Let's go,” Cold said, gesturing at the others as Owen pulled his tshirt back on, “I want to get out of here before something else happens.”
Owen hitched his jacket on over his shoulders, absentmindedly running a hand over all his boomerangs out of habit, to make sure they were still all there. He left the jacket open, not wanting it to press against his sore chest.
Cold started walking in the same direction Owen had been running in. He nearly tripped over by taking too long a stride, obviously used to longer legs than Axel's. Owen bit his tongue and avoided catching Cold's eye as he overtook, dragging Mick into the lead. Owen didn't feel safe trusting the Rogues to keep a lookout for danger.
“What's got your boomerangs in a twist?” Axel asked, catching up to Owen easily. He'd picked up Heat Wave's flamethrower and kept adjusting the shoulder straps of the fuel tank as he walked, “Tits really that bad?”
“I'm fine,” Owen snapped, crossing his arms over his chest and hating the way it was awkward.
“What's it like being a girl?” Axel asked, cocking his head.
“I don't know. What's it like suddenly gaining thirty years?” Owen snapped. Everything felt tender and he just wanted to get away from everyone.
“A nightmare,” Axel rubbed the back of his neck and then rolled his shoulders, only to stop it with a groan. “Old man's got a crick in his neck I can't do shit about.”
“What'll you do if we don't change back?” Owen asked.
“What? Be an old man for good? Fuck that,” Axel said, trying to fix his neck again and failing.
“Everyone grows up sometime,” Owen snorted.
“Totally not worth it,” Axel groused.
“Goddammit!”
Owen looked back to see Cold sprawled on the ground, glaring at his feet. Axel started to laugh again, but this time it cut off into coughing for a good minute.
“Fuckin' shoes,” Cold snarled, ripping the air-walkers off his feet.
“Can't you just switch them off?,” Owen asked, trying not to laugh himself.
“Damned if I know,” Cold said, bouncing on the balls of his feet a little to test the floor through his socks, “Don't care. Walkin' without them's easier.”
“What the hell's wrong with your lungs, Cap? I can't breathe properly” Axel choked, barely over his coughing fit.
“That's what smoking will do to you,” Mardon said, smugly. Owen was starting to wonder if he was ever not smug.
“Remind me to avoid it,” Axel said, rubbing his chest, “Hey! You can't just leave my shoes there! That's not cool.”
“I'm not wearin' them,” Cold said.
“So? I'm gonna wear them when we're fixed,” Axel said, storming back to pick them up, “How'd you like it if I just left your coat here, old man?”
“Do that and I'll make you regret it,” Cold said.
“Oh yeah? How?” Axel said, standing in front of Cold and using every bit of his new height to be intimidating.
Cold stepped back and clenched his jaw. There was a tremor running though his clenched fists and Owen's protective instinct kicked in.
“Axel,” Owen said warningly.
“Get off my back,” Axel snapped, whirling on Owen, who flinched instinctively after years of being hit during costumed work.
“Stop fighting over petty things!” Owen snapped right back, angry at himself for being intimidated, “We've probably got a long way to go and it won't go any faster with you two bitching at each other!”
Cold snorted and Mardon gave a little chuckle. The serial-killer smile was back on Axel's face. Owen had the feeling he'd missed a joke.
“Whatever,” Owen sighed. At least the tension was broken for now.
“Why don't you just swap?” Mick asked, poking his head out from where he was hidden behind Owen, “If he doesn't want to carry his shoes and he doesn't want to carry his coat, why don't they just swap, Owen?”
“Because they're not as smart as you,” Owen replied.
“Hey! I'm totally smarter than a five-year-old,” Axel said.
“I'm not five!” Mick said indignantly, as Owen muttered, “Not that you act it.”
“Let's keep movin',” Cold said. He wasn't paying attention to Axel and nearly fell over again when his heavy, blue coat was dumped unceremoniously on his head.
There was a moment when Owen thought Cold would start shouting again, but with a wary look at Axel, he swallowed his tongue and moved on.
“You don't see that everyday,” Mardon murmured.
“See what?” McCulloch asked from right behind Owen, making him jump.
“Don't sneak up on me,” Owen said.
“If I wasnae blind I'd give it a shot,” McCulloch said. The cheer in his voice sounded forced.
Owen sighed. He had to remember he wasn't the worst off by far. “Sorry.”
“C'mon,” McCulloch said, “You can be me guide-dug.”
Owen looped his arm through McCulloch's and pulled him after the others.
--------------------
The mirror-world wasn't consistent. The horizon kept shifting without drawing attention to itself and Owen found himself frowning every five minutes or so to try and figure out if it had been at that angle before. The ground was gritty beneath their feet, like fine sand, and sparked if Owen kicked his steel-capped boots against it hard enough. Yet Mick's feet weren't any worse off for being bare on it.
Owen had led McCulloch along for an hour or so, then Mardon took over and Owen was relegated to keeping ahold of Mick, as the kid had a habit of wandering off on his own if unsupervised.
“I want soup,” Mick whined, tugging pathetically on Owen's hand.
“We don't have any soup,” Owen said, distracted, “And I thought you weren't hungry.”
“I feel sick. I want soup,” Mick insisted, “Mom always makes me soup when I'm sick and it makes me feel better.”
Owen put a hand to Mick's forehead. “You don't feel warm. Are you sure you're sick?”
“Yes,” Mick said stubbornly.
“Hey, McCulloch,” Owen called, “Are there any bugs in the mirror-world that this little guy could've caught?”
“None tha' I ken,” McCulloch replied, with a glassy movement that might have been a shrug, “'Course I didnae make a habit o' pullin' weans through.”
“I'm cold and I want soup,” Mick complained.
Cold looked over at his name and frowned at Mick with a puzzled look on his face.
“Maybe Heat Wave was sick before all this,” Mardon offered, “I can't recall him showing any symptoms, but a virus might've hit a child harder than an adult.”
“Best if we just fix it quick,” Owen said, “C'mon, Mick, I'll carry you if you want.”
“You not gonna drop me again, are you?” Mick said suspiciously.
“Promise,” Owen knelt down and let Mick scramble onto his back, “Here we go!”
“Can I be the blind one?” Mardon said, disgusted.
“Mark,” Cold said, with a tone Owen couldn't recognise.
Mardon scoffed. “Don't try that, Len. Not in the kid's body.”
To Owen's surprise, Cold dropped the subject. Owen hoisted Mick further up on his back and set off again, though not without several glances back.
--------------------
Owen couldn't keep up the piggyback for more than half an hour and soon Mick was trotting alongside him again, hand firmly grasped in Owen's. Mick's skin was warm, but not to the point that Owen was ready to believe him about being sick.
“How long's it been since we started walking?” Axel complained, shrugging the heat pack uncomfortably on his shoulders. Cold had only been wearing a wifebeater under his coat and raw marks were beginning to show on Axel's shoulders, “Are we nearly there yet?”
“Shut up, Axel,” Mardon said reflexively.
“C'mon. We must've been walking for hours!” Axel huffed, “Nothing's changed. We might as well be on a treadmill.”
“He's right,” Owen said, before someone could start shouting at Axel again.
“Can you figure anythin' out, Mirror Master?” Cold asked.
“I cannae see. Mirrors dinnae work wi' no light.,” McCulloch said defensively. He was currently being shepherded by Axel, which, along with the heavy flamethrower, might have been the reason the Trickster was being particularly whiny.
“There's plenty of light,” Cold said, “Doesn't matter if you can see it or not, it's there. Do somethin' with it.”
“Tha's no' how it works,” McCulloch said stubbornly.
Cold made a fist, but then looked at his hands and let out a sharp, annoyed breath.
“Why don't we have a rest?” Owen suggested, “Things'll look better in the... well, there's not really a morning, but things should be better after some sleep.”
Mardon snorted and gave Owen a pitying look. “When have things ever looked better in the morning?”
“I'm just trying to be optimistic.”
Mardon shook his head with a sigh.
“Well fuck you too,” Owen said angrily.
“Owen?” Mick said tugging on Owen's hand again, “You'll get in trouble if you keep using bad words.”
The non-sequitur threw Owen and he found himself replying without conscious thought. “In trouble with who?”
Mick had to think for a moment. “My mom,” he decided gravely.
Cold's mouth pulled in a tight line that Owen somehow recognised as sorrow. He'd worn that same look when he was eulogising Owen's dad.
Mick's mom was probably dead.
“I'll...” Owen swallowed, throat dry, “I'll keep that in mind.”
“Let's get some sleep,” Cold decided.
“I'm not tired,” Axel said, “We should keep going.”
“Tha'll be the mirror-world,” McCulloch said, “There's no food or drink an' we dinnae need them, but you can git worn oot.”
“So we'll get some sleep,” Cold said, trying for a tone that brooked no argument, but mostly came across as whiny in Axel's voice.
“If we’re not getting tired we should keep going,” Axel argued, “The faster we get out of here the faster I can be back in my own body.”
“I agree,” Mark said.
“I think we should rest,” Owen said.
“Two for and two against,” Mardon said, sounding amused, “Want to be the tie-breaker, McCulloch?”
“This isn’t a vote,” Cold growled, before McCulloch could say anything, “We’re restin’ and that’s final.”
“You’re not in charge in here,” Mardon said airily, “I’m much more inclined to listen to the blind man or the tranny. At least they can look me in the eye.”
Owen flinched and crossed his arms over his chest self-consciously. Mick hid behind Owen’s legs, peering out at the arguing pair fearfully.
“Like you ever got off your cloud to look anyone in the eye,” Cold snarled, “Why don’t you go back up? At least you didn’t backtalk there.”
Fury crossed Mardon’s face. “There isn’t any weather in the mirror-world!”
The force of the words made Owen take a step back and he nearly tripped over Mick. For a second, Owen wondered if he should intervene, but Cold didn't so much as flinch.
“Do I fuckin’ look like I care about that? Get over it,” Cold snapped, “Rogues look out for each other and right now that means gettin’ some rest so we’re sharp as ice for whatever this shithole’s gonna throw at us and we’re not at each others’ throats.”
“It won’t help,” Mardon said, his voice and eyes suddenly dead, “Sleep won’t change anything.”
“Mark,” Cold started to say, relatively gently, but then glanced at his gloved hands and grimaced. When he continued to speak it was in a firm voice, “We need rest.”
“It won’t change anything,” Mardon repeated quietly. He gave a shudder and turned away from the other Rogues.
Owen didn’t know what to do. Once upon a time he’d thought that the Rogues were simple criminals. Dangerous and untrustworthy, sure, but pretty straightforward as criminals go. They weren’t supposed to have more issues than the Suicide Squad and the Outsiders put together.
“A bit o’ kip’ll do us good, aye,” McCulloch said into the silence.
“Fine,” Axel threw himself to the ground and yelped when he landed heavier than he expected to.
“I’m not tired, Owen,” Mick said.
“Well I am,” Owen lied, “You might feel less sick if you get some sleep.”
“...Ok,” Mick sighed, as though it was a huge imposition for him to take a nap.
Owen chuckled and put his head down.
--------------------
Owen wasn't sure what had woken him - maybe his subconscious recognised the hiss of phosphorous igniting - but he wasn't the only one stirring groggily. Axel, no Cold, was already upright and looking over the sleepers.
“Fuck's sake,” Cold grumbled, scrambling over Mardon to get to Mick. The kid was holding a lit match and staring at it, enraptured.
Mick gave a heartbroken cry when Cold snuffed the flame. Tears were welling up in his eyes as Cold searched for every last match and lighter that Mick had somehow accumulated.
Owen went over to give Mick a hug when he wouldn't stop hiccuping wetly. The kid had stark black circles under his eyes and was drawn and pale to the point of looking sickly.
“You doing ok, kid?” Owen murmured, rubbing Mick's back.
“No,” Mick sniffed.
Despite the fact that they hadn't needed food or water since getting stuck in the mirror-world, Owen wondered if Mick was suffering for it - being a child it was natural that he'd get hit first.
“Are you hungry?” Owen asked.
“I don't know!” Mick wailed, “I just want the fire!”
“You're not gettin' fire until you can control it,” Cold snapped. He'd gone to sleep without his glasses on, but wrapped up in his heavy blue coat, which he had to keep pushing the sleeves up when he wanted to use his hands.
Mick sobbed into Owen's jacket, pressing uncomfortably tight against Owen's tender chest.
“How'd he get it under control the first time 'round?” Owen asked.
Cold shrugged, then had to irritably yank his coat back over his shoulders again. “He didn't half the time.”
“Then what are we going to do?” Owen asked, more to the universe than Cold specifically. He was tired.
Cold didn't reply. Owen looked over to see Cold smiling fondly at him. Like he used to do when Owen started running with the Rogues just after his dad had died.
“What?” Owen snapped, somewhat more irritably than he meant to.
“Nice to have you back,” Cold said, still smiling. On Cold's face it had looked paternal - scary, but paternal - on Axel's face the grin put Owen in mind of a kid pleased with his prize fighting dog.
“Don't get used to it, I'm leaving the second we get out of here,” Owen warned.
“To do what?”
Owen opened his mouth, but no immediate answer came to mind. Mick shifted his grip, probably in response to the increasing tension, and made Owen flinch.
“Careful there, little guy,” Owen said, glad of a distraction from his conversation with Cold.
“Sorry,” Mick got out between sobs.
“Your spot's still open,” Cold said, turning away and wrapping his coat tightly around himself to settle down for some sleep again, “Keep it in mind.”
“I won't,” Owen whispered to himself in promise. He'd spent a long time boomeranging between teams, trying to find a place in life, and he knew that the Rogues were the last thing anyone should look for in a team.
Yet, as he tried to soothe Mick and absently noted the trust between the group that allowed them to sleep near each other without fear of being backstabbed, Owen tried to remember the last time anyone had felt this much like family.
Part 2