Silver Skies - Part 2
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)
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The next day, in so much as anything could be called a day here, waking up had been unpleasant for everyone. Most of the Rogues had forgotten what had happened to them overnight and there was a lot of confused shouting, especially from McCulloch. Waking up blind wasn’t something Owen wanted to imagine.
About an hour's walk from their camp had Owen and the Rogues stumbling upon a strange part of the mirror-world that made it very difficult to proceed.
“I'd really like to know who comes up with this nonsense,” Mardon said, surveying the way ahead, “I want to kill them.”
“Probably Scudder. Laughin' at us from beyond the grave,” Cold spat, “Bastard.”
“Naw,” McCulloch's translucent form appeared to be shaking its head, “'Sno' like Scudder were the firs' to go through the lookin' glass. How else've you got an explanation fer Lewis Carroll?”
“Fascinating as this aside is, it was a rhetorical question,” Mardon said, “How the hell are we going to get past?”
“What's it like?” McCulloch asked, “Maybe I'll mind it if I ken wha' it is.”
“It's hurting my brain,” Owen said, “There's steps that go up and around, but they come back to the start of the stairs without ever going down again. I can't see a way around it.”
“It's very... MC Escher,” Mardon supplied, “I suppose that's another person who might've found his way through here.”
“He must've been on some good shit for a rapper if he fixed the mirror-world like this,” Axel snorted.
“He was an artist,” Mardon corrected, with a look that normally would've had lightning sparking out the edges of his eyes, “Bivolo rather liked him. He did a lot of monochrome.”
“Yeah, well, Bivolo tried to pass off colour-blind counterfeits as the real thing, I don't think he knew that much about art,” Axel said, with a sharp laugh.
“Let's keep movin',” Cold said.
“Roy was more of an artist and a Rogue than you'll ever be,” Mardon snarled, suddenly angry and in Axel's face. Maybe the graveyard drinking earlier had affected him more than it looked like and bringing up dead Rogues wasn't helping.
“I'm the one standing here and where's he? Oh yeah, dead,” Axel hissed right back.
“Break it up!” Cold shouted, trying to push them apart.
Without even glancing, Axel shoved Cold out of the way and onto the ground. Cold's blue glasses fell off and the terror on his face was visible to everyone. Owen took a step forward, instinctively reaching out to help, but Cold pushed himself to his feet furiously and shot a wall of ice between Mardon and Axel, just before they came to blows.
“Argue on your own time,” Cold snarled, “If you've not got anythin' to say about how to get across this shitty nightmare, keep your trap shut.”
“Like you've been the picture of calm during every scenario!” Mark turned on Cold viciously, “Summer '96, ring any bells?”
“Shut the fuck up, Mardon,” Cold snarled right back, “It's not like you've got any problems here, so shut. The fuck. Up.”
Mardon laughed. There was a cracked edge to it that felt soul-destroying. Yet another reminder to Owen that there was something seriously wrong with everyone here. You didn't become a villain because you were successful at life.
“I'll try the stairs,” Axel announced suddenly. His mask was still firmly in place and Owen couldn't tell if Mardon's laugh had unnerved him too.
“Be careful,” Owen said, when it was clear no one else was going to.
Axel grinned a terrifying smile. “Piece of cake,” he said cockily.
Mardon was watching Axel saunter over the the steps and gingerly test the closest. McCulloch's glassy form was stood next to the Weather Wizard and he had a translucent hand on Mick's shoulder. Owen figured he wouldn't get a better chance to ask what was on his mind.
“Hey, Cold. Can I talk to you?”
Cold had been watching Axel's attempt carefully, but followed Owen until they were far enough away that Owen was unconcerned about eavesdropping, yet they were still within sight.
“What d'you want?” Cold asked, keeping half an eye on the other Rogues.
Owen couldn't think of a tactful way to put it, so he just blurted it out.
“Why're you scared of Axel?” Owen asked, he kept his voice quiet, but Cold still gave him an icy glare.
“I'm not!” Cold snapped predictably.
“You're acting like it,” Owen said.
“I don't come across many people who can knock me around without superspeed,” Cold tried to deflect.
That didn't seem quite right. Owen trusted his gut instinct. “It's not just when he's hit you. And you just stood up to Mardon fine. What's so scary about Axel?”
“I keep forgettin' that we've switched,” Cold said grudgingly, “I remember what it was like bein' a teenager...”
“And?” Owen pushed
Cold gave a bone-weary sigh and looked away. “And I look more like my father than I like to think about.”
“So, you're having flashbacks?” Owen confirmed.
“Not entirely, but you've got the idea,” Cold sighed again and stared at something that wasn't there, “He wasn't someone who had any right bein' a parent. I keep thinkin' I'm gonna get my arm broken again. I don't mean to... I keep forgettin' I'm not a kid anymore.”
Owen looked over the rest of the Rogues. McCulloch and Mardon were still talking something over, while Mick watched Axel try going up the steps for the forth time. Something that Owen had wondered for a long time came back to him.
“Do you ever think that Axel thinks that about you?” Owen asked.
“What are you tryin' to say?” Cold said defensively.
“You're the one in charge here,” Owen said, avoiding eye-contact, “Axel looks up to you, but you're bigger and stronger than he is and you aren't afraid to knock him around.”
“Never said I had any business bein' a parent either,” Cold said, but he was looking uncomfortable.
“Yeah, but you are one, so suck it up,” Owen said, feeling stupidly grateful that Cold wasn't in his usual body. There was being brave, and then there was being suicidal.
Cold gave a sudden, short laugh. “This your round about way of tellin' me half the reason you stayed away was because I wasn't a good father after Digger died?”
That hit closer to home than Owen wanted to consider and his mouth moved before his brain could censor it. “You didn't even try!”
“Are you gonna stay if I say I'll try to be a better father?” Cold asked. He looked up at Owen consideringly, even going so far as to remove his glasses.
“It really doesn't work coming from Axel's mouth,” Owen said.
“Doesn't matter,” Cold shrugged, “I'll say it again when I'm back to rights if you want. Are you gonna stay?”
“I... I don't know,” Owen admitted.
“I suppose you could always run off and join the circus as a proper bearded lady if you don't get fixed.”
“Fuck you.”
“Kid Boomerang!” McCulloch called, “The wean wants you.”
Mick was pulling against McCulloch's invisible grip, trying to get away from them and back to Owen. Feeling wrung out as a dishtowel, Owen walked over, ignoring Cold's stare.
“Hey, Mick. You want something?” Owen asked, as Mick finally squirmed out of McCulloch's grasp and ran into Owen.
“'m not feeling well again,” Mick mumbled into Owen's stomach.
“Should you be running around then?” Owen asked, totally channelling his old elementary school teacher.
“...No,” Mick said, “But I really don't feel well an' they don't believe me.”
“When we get out of here we'll all feel better, ok?” Owen said, “Can you be brave until we find a way out?”
“I want to go home!” Mick wailed, tears puddling in his eyes, “I want my mom an' dad an' soup.”
“I know, Mick, I know,” Owen said, “Can you stop crying until we get out of here? I swear we'll get you some soup as soon as we're out.”
“Chicken noodle?” Mick sniffed, thankfully not getting any more hysterical.
“Yes, Mick, chicken noodle soup,” Owen sighed, “But you've got to be brave, ok?”
“'k,” Mick sniffled.
“Got anywhere with those stairs, McCulloch?” Cold asked.
“I've no' been this way in th' mirrors before,” McCulloch said, “Should be safe though, the brat hasnae been ate so far. Try closin' your eyes.”
“That's your brilliant idea?” Owen said, voice full of disbelief.
“There's naebody ken mirrors better'n me,” McCulloch said, a possible smile stretching over his invisible face, “It's all a trick o' the light.”
“Do what he says,” Cold ordered, “Hey! Trickster!”
“Yo!” Axel called back, giving them a wave.
“Try closin' your eyes,” Cold shouted.
“That's such a dumb idea,” Axel called, but nonetheless he slapped a hand over his eyes and started climbing the stairs again.
“Easy way to get rid of him?” Owen asked out the corner of his mouth.
“Hell no!” Cold seemed affronted at the idea, “That's my body he's clownin' around in. And Rogues stick together.”
“Yeah, right,” Owen scoffed, turning away from Cold. He eyed up the brain-melting staircase and stepped forward, “I'll try it next.”
“At least wait fer Walker to git to the other side,” McCulloch said, stopping Owen with a glassy arm.
“Fine,” Owen huffed, keeping his back to Cold. He wouldn't have been comfortable doing that if Cold was in his own body. That thought made Owen shiver and pull his jacket tight over his chest. He had to get out of here.
There was a yelp from Axel. Owen looked up sharply to see Axel sprawled on the ground on the other side of the staircase. Somehow, he'd made it over.
“Some warning would've been nice!” Axel shouted, getting to his feet with a groan.
“You made it, aye?” McCulloch called back. His translucent body shimmered as he turn to Owen, “Go on, Boomerang, if you're so keen. Git.”
Owen flipped him the bird, then realised it was useless against a blind man, and walked over to the drop. It wasn't really a drop, more an empty, sucking hole of nothing, but Owen felt much better thinking about it that way.
The closest corner step was a short jump away - even Mick might be able to do it alone - and it didn't try any weird mirror-world tricks when Owen leapt for it. The step was an opaque block of white glass, slightly slippery underfoot, but covered in the same gritty dust that was everywhere in the mirror-world.
Owen looked up. The stairs ahead went on forever. He looked back. The stairs trailed behind him to infinity.
Well shit.
With a gulp, Owen closed his eyes and cautiously put his foot forward. The toe of his boot hit the next step. Owen started climbing the staircase, one slow step at a time.
Five steps later, Mardon's voice echoed over to him. “In your own time, Mercer. It's not like the rest of us want to get out of here this decade.”
“Fuck you!” Owen shouted. Then he was tripping over something and falling. He was falling into the abyss and he'd never get laid again.
“Hey! Stop thrashing,” Axel said, shaking Owen.
Owen opened his eyes to Axel's mask. Axel grinned and sat back on his heels. Then he grimaced and stood up properly with a dark mutter.
“I'm alive?” Owen said, then felt stupid when Axel cackled at him, “Shut up.”
“The look on your face,” Axel giggled.
“Shut up,” Owen repeated, staring at the silvery-grey pseudo-sky above.
He continued to lie there, until Mardon landed on him heavily. There ensued a lot of flailing and Axel laughed until he broke into another coughing fit.
McCulloch followed, with Mick in his arms, and avoided the fight far too gracefully for a blind man. Cold took the rear and snapped at Owen and Mark to stop pushing each other, so they could keep moving.
“Owen,” Cold said, getting Owen's attention as they set off, “Just so we're clear, we did look for you.”
“What? When?” Owen asked.
“After you'd got separated durin' that mission for the Society.”
“When you left me,” Owen corrected darkly.
“I wasn't the one callin' the shots,” Cold shrugged.
Owen wasn't going to let it go that easily. “You still left me.”
“You want me to say I'm sorry, is that it kid?” Cold snorted, “'Cause that's not gonna happen. I don't do apologies.”
“Because it's weak to admit you were wrong? That's bullshit you know.”
“We did look for you,” Cold repeated, “And even if we left you, you captured Mardon and McCulloch to put them on Salvation. Fair's fair.”
“I was doing my job!” Owen protested.
“So you weren't the one callin' the shots?”
“Yeah!” Owen said, “...Shit.”
There was something wrong with the logic there, but Owen was too tired, too emotionally drained to focus on it. He hated arguing with people who were this pushy.
“Your spot's still open, Captain Boomerang,” Cold said.
“Go bother someone else,” Owen snapped. He lengthened his stride to put some distance and the other Rogues between him and Cold, who couldn't keep up without jogging and therefore stayed away.
--------------------
“Hello, Mark.”
It was an unfamiliar voice and that, more than the malice contained in the two words, made Owen whip around as fast as he could. Mardon made an inarticulate sound and staggered backwards, away from the man who had appeared.
“The hell?” Cold pushed past Axel and levelled his cold-gun at the stranger, “Who the fuck are you?”
“Mark, don't you want to see me again?” the stranger hissed, “I can live again, if you help me.”
“Clyde...” it was barely more than a breath from Mardon.
“Jesus Christ, we don't have time for this,” Cold muttered, then louder, “Mardon, it's just the mirror-world messin' with you. Close your eyes if you have to, we're movin' on.”
Mardon was shaking like a leaf. His face so white that Owen would've put good money on him fainting in the next ten seconds.
“Mark. Help me. Please.”
Cold shot at the stranger and coated him in a solid layer of ice. “Mark, get it together.”
“Clyde died to make the Weather Wizard,” Mark's voice was still quiet enough that Owen was having trouble hearing him.
“And? You're still the Weather Wizard, whether or not...” an unpleasant thought appeared to have struck Cold. He yanked Mardon down to eye-level, though he probably only succeeded because Mardon let him, “You are still the Weather Wizard, right?”
Mardon gave him a sickly smile.
“Fuckin' hell, Mardon!”
“Mark!”
There was a crunch like glass underfoot and the ice around the stranger shattered. He looked unhurt, rather the ice hadn't done anything to his already-decaying body.
“Mark, please. I want to live. You want me to live,” the stranger lurched forward and Mardon made a noise that sounded like he wanted to be screaming, but couldn't quite manage it.
Cold tried to blast the stranger in ice again, but the stranger knocked him aside with a gesture that produced a sudden gust of wind.
“You can't,” Mardon whimpered.
“Of course I can,” the stranger hissed, “Do you think I made that wand for you? It was to be mine! But you came and stole it after I died. Now, little brother, now I have my power back!”
“There's naebody there,” McCulloch whispered frantically to Owen, “I cannae see, but I ken where everythin' is a wee bit. An' there's naebody there.”
“You mean this isn't a mirror-trick?”
“I dinnae ken.”
“Shit,” Owen sighed.
Axel placed himself in front of Mardon, glaring at the apparition through his mask. “Weather Wizard's killed you once already, he can do it again!” he declared cockily.
“Can you, Mark?” the stranger seemed to find that funny, “Can you kill your only brother again? No. You want me to live.”
“I didn't kill you,” Mardon said, “It - the wand -”
“The wand only does what you want it to. I wouldn't be dead if you hadn't wanted it.”
There was something wrong with that sentence, but Owen couldn't put his finger on it.
“But that doesn't matter, does it? I can live again. We can share the power. You just have to help me.”
“...How?” Mardon breathed.
“Kill them.”
The fact that Mardon didn't dismiss that right out of hand was scarier than the shambling remains of his brother. Each and every one of the Rogues was a fucked up nightmare. Maybe that even included Owen by now.
“Mardon...” Owen said, as a realisation struck him, sure as lightning, “Mark, it's lying.”
“I know,” Mardon said, not taking his eyes off the stranger, “But what if it isn't?”
“If your brother could control the weather wand, why did he let it zap him?” Owen asked.
“Because...” Mardon faltered.
“Mark, brother,” the stranger pleaded, taking another step forward and reaching for Mardon.
“Stay back!” Axel shouted, he shot a blast of fire at the stranger, but misjudged his aim and was knocked aside by another gust of wind.
“Don't you love me, Mark?”
“Because... my brother had never used the weather wand,” Mardon said, his voice was still quiet, but it was as strong as it had been before they'd entered the mirror-world, “Clyde had never known what it was to be a god.”
“Rage. Avarice. Fear. Will. Hope.” the stranger hissed, “That will do.”
He lunged forward and clawed at empty air, as Owen yanked Mardon away in a burst of superspeed.
“Ow! Ow! Ow!” Owen yelped. Even with one arm clamping his breasts down it still hurt.
“Come back, Mark. Come back, little boomerang. Don't you want to see your father again?” the stranger hissed after them.
Owen tripped. The tumbling skid he fell into across the gritty floor was going to leave a mark. Mardon slid off in another direction, but Owen didn't stop to check, his attention entirely on the stranger.
“My father?” Owen gasped.
“I can bring him here. You can help him live again, just like I offered Mark,” the stranger hissed, lurching after Owen.
If Dad came back then Owen would finally be able to find his place in the world. No more flitting between teams. No more trying to be something he wasn't, whether it was a hero or villain, Owen wasn't trusted, didn't fit in anywhere.
Just him and Dad, as a family.
“Avarice. Fear. Hope. Love.”
“Move, kid!” Cold shouted, jolting Owen out of his thoughts just in time to jump backwards out of the stranger's clawed reach.
“You're lying,” Owen said, barely staying out of the stranger's grasp, “You... you're lying.”
“But what if I'm not?”
It shouldn't have been so persuasive, it shouldn't, not with two attempts on their lives so far, but Owen felt his resolve slipping. Something was pulling at his feelings, and after an unrestful sleep and too many heavy talks, his mind was an emotional turmoil. He couldn't think straight and a seed of doubt was worming its way into his heart.
“Owen?” it was Mick's voice.
But he couldn't leave a kid like Mick - who just wanted to go home - to a twisted, undead monstrosity. He couldn't leave Cold afraid when he was the only one to see it. Axel was keenly aware of his own mortality and scared. McCulloch was terrified without his sight. They needed his help.
And Mardon knew what Owen was going through.
And no matter how much Owen's dad returning would give him a family, maybe he already had one here.
Owen stepped away from the stranger deliberately. It gave a snarl, making its already decomposed face look inhuman.
“I should show you. I can bring him here. I can bring them all here,” the stranger hissed, a new metallic twang infecting its voice.
“Argh!” McCulloch collapsed. It was difficult to tell on a translucent body, was he holding his hands over his face? No, he was trying to cover his ears.
“What are you doing?” Owen demanded.
“I'm bringing them here.”
“No' in my mirror-world! I'm th' one who says who comes an' goes here!” McCulloch shouted.
There was a dull whumph and it felt like something physically landed on Owen for a split-second. McCulloch was now entirely invisible, no trace of a glassy body remained.
“Weather Wizard, keep the kid out of the way. Captain Boomerang, Trickster, we're takin' him down,” Cold said, levelling his cold-gun at the stranger, “If you're still around, Mirror Master, keep any others away.”
“Wha' d'you think I'm doin'?” McCulloch's voice echoed around them, filled with frustration.
“Go!” Cold shouted, opening fire on the stranger.
Owen chucked a couple of razor'rangs at the stranger.
“What am I supposed to do without my tricks?” Axel complained.
“Hell if I know!” Cold shouted at him, “Either think of somethin', or get out of the way.”
Axel's face lit up, the scariest grin on his face that Owen had seen yet. The Trickster immediately threw off the heat pack on his back and started dismantling it. Owen couldn't justify splitting his attention between the weather-controlling undead and his sociopathic teammate, but it was hardly the first time he'd had to keep an eye on someone he was meant to be working with.
And yet, Cold didn't so much as glance back. Whatever Axel was doing, Cold trusted him to do it right. Maybe Owen should try having a little more faith in the Rogues and concentrate on the fight in front of him.
“I'll take your hearts!” the threat was punctuated with a vicious sting of hail. Stormclouds were beginning to grow dark overhead and Owen didn't need Mardon's shout of warning to know that lightning was coming next.
Mardon had said that the Flash could outrun lightning, maybe Owen could too.
“Two minutes!” Axel shouted.
“We don't have that long!” Owen shouted back. No matter if the boomerangs that hit the stranger were razor-sharp or explosive, it kept coming. Shaking off ice and regenerating limbs with barely a pause
“I said two fucking minutes, alright! I can't go any faster,” Axel snapped.
The hail was coming down hard and fast now. The lumps of ice were getting larger and it was difficult to see the stranger in the midst of it all, nevermind sending a boomerang through it all. Lightning struck right in front of Cold. He jumped back with a curse that Owen couldn't hear because the thunder crashed at the same time that Cold opened his mouth.
The Flash could outrun lightning? I was amazing Owen had ever tagged him.
“Whatever you've got had better be good enough to put him down for good!” Cold yelled over the ringing in Owen's ears.
“Relax. I've got this, old man,” Axel called, a grin in his voice, “Fifty seconds.”
Owen didn't see the bolt of lightning, but every nerve in his body lit up and then he couldn't see. White fire raced through him. Owen staggered. His eyes felt like they were burning for a second, then his vision returned. Chunks of ice hung suspended in the air in front of him. The hail slowed down to a crawl.
The sliver of speed he'd always struggled to catch wasn't so tiny anymore.
Holy fuck.
Beside him, Cold had his gun raised and the trigger pulled, yet the ice-white beam had only gone about a yard into the storm and was getting longer at a snail's pace as Owen watched. Behind him, Axel was halfway through turning the heatpack over, his hands covered in oily fluid.
In the storm, the zombie of Mardon's brother was easy to pick out amidst the drifting hail. Owen grinned, time for a Flash trick he'd never been able to pull off before. As fast as he could, Owen started running in circles around the stranger.
It was difficult to tell if it was working, but Owen could see the air distorting on either side of himself as he pushed his legs faster and faster. Loop by loop, a twister started to grow around the stranger.
Owen slowed to a halt and watched the anger and disgust start to flicker onto the stranger's face. The whirlwind was beginning to form, blurring the stranger from view. There had to be something else Owen could do to -
“Argh!”
Cold. Icy, burning cold hit Owen like a sledgehammer. His left shoulder went numb and had could feel his speed draining away with a sudden lash of hailstones on top of his body as time caught up. Owen staggered, tripping over his own feet, fighting to keep his footing on the uneven, icy, gritty ground.
A whumph of displaced air caught the stranger and tossed him haphazardly upwards. The hail died down and the clouds above lightened as the stranger lost his grip on them. At least Owen had managed to do that before stupidly standing in front of the cold-beam Cold had shot.
“Owen! Move!”
Owen turned his head to see Axel hefting the heatpack, ready to toss it into the storm. Surly he hadn't been numb to time long enough for Axel to finish up his preparations? Shaking the thought off, Owen stumbled away from the stranger at a walking pace, unable to reach even the sliver of speed he used to rely on.
Axel knew what he'd been doing - the explosion was deafening. Owen was thrown forward, getting a faceful of slush and grit for his troubles. There was a scream of outrage from the stranger that cut through even the ringing in Owen's ears.
“Owen!” despite half-deaf ears, Mick's cry was agonising.
Owen pushed himself up. If you can't run, walk. If you can't walk, crawl. If you can't crawl, inch forward. Keep moving, that's what Owen had been taught, keep looking forward and taking one step at a time or you would die. Even with the new ache in his chest and legs like lead, Owen staggered forward, watering eyes fixed on his friends.
Pressure slid over Owen, then a glassy wall shimmered into being between him and the stranger. It stretched and rose, until the rebuilding zombie was completely surrounded. When Owen reached the Rogues, McCulloch was back in his transparent form.
“I got 'im, aye?” McCulloch was asking. Still blind then.
“Looks like,” Axel replied, peering at the storm trapped in the prism.
“Owen!” Mick squirmed out of Cold's grip and barrelled into Owen, making him hiss at the painful contact. Owen returned the hug, desperate for some stability. “Owen! Your shoulder's cold!”
“Yeah, I think I'm ok though,” Owen hissed, letting go of the kid to pat down his shoulder. It was cold and numb, but he could move his arm with some effort and when he looked beneath his jacket, the skin was only reddened, not black with frostbite.
“Didn't know you could move that fast, kid,” Cold said, with no trace of apology in his voice.
“It's not going to happen again soon,” Owen said.
“Do you think there's going to be anyone else? He's not the only one that could've come back, right?” Axel asked. There was a oily smear on his nose where he must have rubbed it with greasy hands.
“Aw, shite,” McCulloch groaned, “It's bloody obvious, ain't it?”
“Spell it out. I'm not in the mood for riddles,” Cold snapped.
“We're all trapped in the mirror-world, an' I've been havin' trouble getting' things to work the way they should,” McCulloch said, “An' we've jus' had Mardon's brother back from the dead. Who else's go' a good enough grasp on the mirror-world to do summet like this?”
“You're sayin' it's Scudder?” Cold confirmed.
“Aye. I cannae see an' naebody else could take a Mirror Master on their own turf, 'sides the Flash,” McCulloch said, “If Scudder's gone the way o' Mardon's brother, we should be leggin' it.”
“I could use a rest,” Owen said.
“There's no' enough time,” McCulloch said, “No' if Scudder kens we go' it figured oot.”
McCulloch sounded desperate, moreso than Owen had ever heard before. Owen had seen some crazy shit via McCulloch's interaction with the mirror-world, and the thought of that power in the hands of someone better than McCulloch and out for death sent a trickle of fear down Owen's spine.
“Let's go then,” Cold ordered. He grabbed McCulloch's arm and pulled him along, asking questions in a low voice that Owen couldn't quite make out.
Owen ignored his tired legs and obediently tagged along after - it was something he was used to doing - but then he noticed that they were a person down. Only Mick and Axel were following, Mick holding Owen's hand and Axel practically skipping without the heat pack weighing him down.
Mark was stood where they'd left him, staring at the stormcloud beyond the glassy prism walls.
“Go with Axel, Mick,” Owen said, “I've got to go back a sec.”
He'd expected more of an argument - Mick had never taken to Axel, showing surprisingly sensible caution for a child - but Mick trotted over happily and started chattering excitedly about the explosion and if it was possible to make it even bigger.
Must be a pyromaniac thing.
“Hey, Mardon,” Owen snapped his fingers in front of Mardon's face when his words didn't do anything. Only the barest flinch showed that Mardon was paying any kind of attention.
Owen looked over his shoulder. The other Rogues were making steady progress and would probably get out of sight soon. Owen didn't want to end up lost and stuck as a girl forever.
“C'mon, Mardon,” Owen pulled him along by his elbow, “We need to catch up with the others.”
Mardon let himself be steered without protest. The dull look in his eyes was way creepier than the lightning that usually filled them outside the mirror-world. Owen tried not to look and lengthened his stride to catch up to the others.
“Aren't you going to leave me again?” Mardon said, voice as dead as his eyes, “You did it before. Me and Mick. Shipped us off to that hellhole of a planet.”
“I haven't got orders to this time,” Owen replied.
“Orders,” Mardon snorted. He fell silent, glancing over his shoulder every few steps. Owen didn't let him go, worried that Mardon would stop walking again.
Up ahead, Mick was still happily chattering at Axel, who must have been in a very good mood after blowing up Clyde, because he hadn't tried to run Mick off yet. Or he just liked the attention and was enjoying having a fan. Further ahead, Cold was nodding along to something McCulloch was saying as well as scanning their surroundings.
“Hurry up,” Owen said, trying to pull Mardon a bit faster, “I don't want to lose sight of the others.”
“What does it matter? We're not getting out of here,” Mardon said, looking back at the storm again.
“For fuck's sake,” Owen grumbled, “Stop getting hung up on the dead when we need to move.”
“Fuck the dead,” Mardon said.
“Then what the hell are you angsting about?” Owen snapped.
“You tasted it back there, didn't you?” Mardon said, fixing Owen with a look that Owen still expected to have a crackle of lightning accompany it, “True power.”
“I just went a bit faster,” Owen said. The pure speed and adrenalin rush that went with it was more than that, but Owen didn't want to think about how un-fucking-fair it was that the Flash got to experience that all the time. If he started to think about it, Owen would stop like Mardon had.
“It's not like it matters,” Mardon said, as though he hadn't heard Owen, “Real superspeed or a pale imitation, we're stuck here. The blind leading the blind.”
“We're going to get out,” Owen said decisively.
“Are we?” Mardon asked, his voice hollow, “We're going to die. There'll be no one left to bury our remains in Avernus and we're going to die. I'm never going to feel the wind again. I should've let Clyde kill me,” dead eyes focussed accusingly on Owen, “You should've let Clyde kill me.”
“I'm not going to let anyone die if I can stop it,” Owen said.
“Hero,” Mark snorted.
“You know, my dad left a message on my phone just before he died,” Owen said, “I'd give up my superspeed to have him say it to my face so I could talk him out of the job.”
Mardon gave his broken laugh. “I'd bury Clyde again with my own two hands for my rightful power.”
“So it's not about friends and family dying, you're having a nervous breakdown because the weather wand doesn't work for you right now?” Owen clarified. Somehow he'd expected to be more surprised.
“Its... complicated,” Mardon said softly, “My power comes from death. My power causes death. I am unto a god, but what is a god without being able to smite? What is a god that cannot give and take? Clyde. Roy. Lisa. Your father... Even James. I couldn't... I...”
“You killed your brother,” Owen said.
“That was never my intent.”
“No justifying it with godhood?” Owen sighed, “You can't even get your story straight. Pick something and stick with it.”
Mardon shook his head and looked away. The dismissal left Owen feeling wanting. He gave Mardon a harsh jerk forward.
“If you fall behind I'm leaving you,” Owen threatened.
“Rogue,” Mardon said, albeit with a fond tone.
“Shut up.”
--------------------
The first shimmer hanging in the air didn't get a second glance from Owen, until Axel yelped.
“Hey! I know that shop!” Axel jogged over to the shimmer and tried to put his hand through it, only making the shimmer wobble further. “Lame.”
Owen looked closer. Through the shimmer he could see a street. It was vaguely familiar, it certainly was a street that looked like it belonged to Central City in Owen's mind.
“Is this what unset mirrors look like?” Owen asked.
“We would've seen a lot more if that's the case,” Cold said, nevertheless dragging McCulloch closer to have a feel of the shimmer, “There's a lot more mirrors around that you'd think.”
“I might've used this one before,” McCulloch said, blindly groping at the shimmer, “It's nae any use noo.”
“Can we use it to work out which direction to go?” Owen asked.
Cold studied the image through the shimmer, frowning behind his glasses. Eventually he pointed a little off the way they came.
“That's the way I'd get back to the safehouse,” Cold said, “But we're in the mirror-world, so fuck if I know.”
“It's not just... backwards?” Owen felt stupid even suggesting it.
“Aye, sometimes,” McCulloch said with a short laugh, “If it were consistent, anybody'd be usin' it.”
“Just once. Just once I'd like something to be easy,” Owen muttered. Then, louder, “So which way do we go?”
McCulloch gave a transparent shrug. “Further oot from Scudder'd be best. Let's no' go back tha' way.” Despite his easy manner, Owen could hear an undercurrent of fear.
As they set off again, Owen glanced back over his shoulder and maybe it was just his tired eyes, but it looked like the silvery-grey sky behind them was darkening. Owen stepped up his pace, keeping his grip on Mardon to hurry him along. If that was Scudder's doing, Owen didn't want to be anywhere near it.
Thankfully, more shimmers started to appear before them. They looked so natural in the gritty-grey mirror-world that it nearly felt like they'd been there the whole time and it was only just now that Owen was noticing them.
Using the shimmers, and Cold and Axel's knowledge of Central City, it wasn't long before Owen started catching glimpses of the Flash museum and recognising more and more of the streets they passed.
A structure of grit and silver rose up out of the ground, suddenly there without obviously appearing when Owen could've sworn there was nothing ahead of them. The structure held a shimmer trapped on its surface and, between cracks and grit that looked like it had come from what passed as the floor of the mirror-world, there was a wonderfully familiar sight.
The safehouse.
Even though Owen's memories pulled up the smell of stale beer, mouldy walls, and dusty mattresses, that was heaven compare to the neverending silver-grey mirror-world.
“Alright, Boomerang, you first,” Cold ordered.
“What? Why me?” Owen protested. The mirror looked even more unpleasant close-up, the cracks surrounded by an oil-slick rainbow of colours. Owen's faint reflection was warped to near unrecognisable.
“Because we don't know what's on the other side, or how long it'll take us to get fixed,” Cold said, “You can still run.”
“What a vote of confidence,” Owen muttered, but nonetheless stepped forward.
Getting through the mirror was like pushing through a wall of semi-hardened molasses. The parts that weren't solid were gooey and clung to Owen's clothes and face unpleasantly.
“Keep goin',” McCulloch said, when Owen grimaced and stopped moving, “The sooner you git it o'er wi', the better.”
Owen decided that opening his mouth to shoot back a comment would be a bad idea when he had a faceful of crystallised mirror-substance. He pushed forward, shuddering at the gritty scrape against his skin.
Stale, cold air washed over Owen as he pulled himself through the rest of the the mirror and fell out of it into a heap on the dirty warehouse floor.
“Owen!” Mick yelped.
“I'm ok,” Owen said. He gave himself a quick once-over, then did it again to make sure.
Sweet merciful heavens, he had his balls back.
“Awright, I'm gonna go,” McCulloch said, “Git.”
Owen jumped to his feet and got out of the way, revelling in the fact that his chest didn't hurt and his pants were no longer digging into his hips.
“Ah!” McCulloch flinched away from the light as he dropped out of the mirror and covered his eyes with his hands, “Feck.”
“Are you alright?” Owen asked, trying to rein in his enthusiasm at being fixed and failing miserably.
“I’m no’ complainin’,” McCulloch said, “It’s jus’ bright.”
“So you...”
“Aye, I can see,” McCulloch squinted through his fingers up at Owen, making eye contact for the first time since Avernus.
Owen whooped and punched the air. It felt like the most euphoric moment of his life.
“Me next!” Axel said. He hit the mirror solidly, “Hey! What's the deal?”
“Wheesht, you wee ned. You'll have to go with Snart at the same time, else who knows who's gonna end up where, you ken?” McCulloch said.
Axel groaned and thudded his head against the mirror. Mardon stepped up to a grimy part of the mirror next to him and cautiously put his hand against the surface. After a second, Mardon's hand slid through the gritty silver and grasped at the empty air beyond.
Owen realised that he'd braced himself for a sudden change in the weather, but nothing happened. Mardon continued to push through the mirror, much slower than Owen or McCulloch, almost as though he was afraid of what he might find on the other side.
The second Mardon bodily staggered out of the mirror a harsh wind whipped up then calmed within seconds. Mardon looked very emotion. Owen kept his eyes focussed on the mirror to give him some privacy.
That was probably the only reason Owen noticed the black shadow appearing behind the others still in the mirror.
“Shit! Get out quick!”
Cold glanced back, swore, then chevied Mick toward the mirror first. The kid flinched away from the grimy mirror with a look of childish disgust.
“Come on, Mick,” Owen cajoled, reaching his hands forward to help, “It's not as bad as it looks.” It was much worse, but even though Owen wasn't good with kids, even he knew that saying that outright wasn't a good idea.
Mick put his hand against the glass then quickly yanked it away. “It's sticky,” he complained.
“It's not that bad,” Owen insisted. Was the dark shadow growing tendrils now? Owen tried to keep his face neutral, but felt apprehension creep into his tone, “Come on. Look at me and push through.”
Mick tried again, but couldn't sum up the courage. “I can't, Owen.”
“For fuck's sake.” Cold grabbed Mick by the scruff of his neck and chucked him at the mirror. Mick cried out and hit the glass, but bounced off like it was solid. Thankfully Axel's body didn't have much strength behind it, so Mick wasn't injured, though he was starting to tear up.
“Come on,” Owen said, reaching his hand back through the cracked mirror. A tingling, burning sensation ran over his fingers and up his arm, changing him back into a girl. Owen tried to ignore it and focus purely on Mick, “Come on, Mick. I'll help you through.”
Even with Owen's reassurances, he wasn't sure if Mick would've taken his hand if Cold hadn't been quite so threatening. Mick gripped Owen's hand tight and let Owen pull him through the mirror with only a few whimpers.
Once Mick was on the other side, Owen had to take a hasty (non-speedy) step back to avoid Mick's sudden change into adulthood.
Mick staggered. Completely off-balance and totally bewildered for several seconds, until his brain processed what his eyes were seeing. Owen put a hand on his arm reassuringly.
“Where's my flamethrower?” Mick rasped, his voice freakishly deep to Owen's ears after so long listening to a child's version.
“Fuck your flamethrower,” McCulloch said, still too cheery at being able to see to put any real heat into the words, “Oot the way.”
Mick stumbled again, not entirely away from the mirror. Owen took pity on him and pulled him out the way entirely, so McCulloch could focus on getting Axel and Cold out of the mirror-world.
Shadows were thickening deep in the mirror. Owen's eyes kept being drawn back, seeing peculiar shapes in the darkness that was approaching unrelentingly. Even though he was still high on finally being male again, the urge to make a stand or flee was prickling at the back of Owen's neck.
Owen was distracted from staring at the shadows, not by Cold and Axel's attempt to get out, but by Mick cursing loudly as he rummaged through a couple of singed crates.
“Bastards!” Mick ripped open another crate, but whatever he was looking for wasn't inside, “They took my stuff!”
The irrational part of Owen's brain that got him into trouble in serious situations considered chiding Mick for swearing.
“Who?” Mardon asked. He was trying to sound disinterested, but lightning licked the corners of his eyes eagerly.
“What do I know?” Mick snapped, “It's not like they left a calling card. All I know is my flamethrowers are gone.”
“Could be some kids,” Owen offered.
“Naw, kids'd be messier,” Mick said, “Could've been a cop raid. They sometimes do that.”
There was a heavy thud behind them, followed by several yelps from Axel in a voice that worked for him. Sure enough, both Axel and Cold had emerged and were acting like they were in the right bodies. However, there was a sticky tar-like substance caught on them like a thick cobweb and it was trying to pull them both back into the mirror, if their struggle was anything to go by.
“McCulloch!” Cold shouted, “Get the fucking thing closed. Trickster, give me my gun!”
“It's gotten stuck!” Axel yelped, trying to gain traction on the dusty warehouse floor in bare feet.
A flash of light blinded Owen and a bone-rattling BOOM nearly knocked him off his feet. When his eyes cleared, he saw McCulloch frantically doing something to the large mirror, while Cold and Axel shook off the last of the tar substance, which was slowly turning into the silver grit of the mirror-world.
“I missed that,” Mardon said softly.
They really were free of the mirror-world. Owen gave a tired laugh. He was looking forward to a takeout and a bed. And spending some time alone.
“Quiet,” Cold was halfway through peeling Axel's mask off his face and stock still.
Owen cocked his head and heard faint... “Sirens,” he sighed, “Does it ever end?”
“They must've been watching the place,” Mick said, “Set up cameras when they took my flamethrowers.”
“I'm looking forward to this,” Mardon was already moving toward the door.
Actually, doing some damage sounded really therapeutic right now. Owen ran a hand over his boomerangs to count them. He was doing alright for general numbers, but he could do with stocking up on razor'rangs.
“Ready to go?” Cold asked Owen, shrugging his coat on and grinning that scary, paternal smile, “Rogue?”
“Whenever you're ready, Captain.”
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)
---------------------------------------------------------------------
The next day, in so much as anything could be called a day here, waking up had been unpleasant for everyone. Most of the Rogues had forgotten what had happened to them overnight and there was a lot of confused shouting, especially from McCulloch. Waking up blind wasn’t something Owen wanted to imagine.
About an hour's walk from their camp had Owen and the Rogues stumbling upon a strange part of the mirror-world that made it very difficult to proceed.
“I'd really like to know who comes up with this nonsense,” Mardon said, surveying the way ahead, “I want to kill them.”
“Probably Scudder. Laughin' at us from beyond the grave,” Cold spat, “Bastard.”
“Naw,” McCulloch's translucent form appeared to be shaking its head, “'Sno' like Scudder were the firs' to go through the lookin' glass. How else've you got an explanation fer Lewis Carroll?”
“Fascinating as this aside is, it was a rhetorical question,” Mardon said, “How the hell are we going to get past?”
“What's it like?” McCulloch asked, “Maybe I'll mind it if I ken wha' it is.”
“It's hurting my brain,” Owen said, “There's steps that go up and around, but they come back to the start of the stairs without ever going down again. I can't see a way around it.”
“It's very... MC Escher,” Mardon supplied, “I suppose that's another person who might've found his way through here.”
“He must've been on some good shit for a rapper if he fixed the mirror-world like this,” Axel snorted.
“He was an artist,” Mardon corrected, with a look that normally would've had lightning sparking out the edges of his eyes, “Bivolo rather liked him. He did a lot of monochrome.”
“Yeah, well, Bivolo tried to pass off colour-blind counterfeits as the real thing, I don't think he knew that much about art,” Axel said, with a sharp laugh.
“Let's keep movin',” Cold said.
“Roy was more of an artist and a Rogue than you'll ever be,” Mardon snarled, suddenly angry and in Axel's face. Maybe the graveyard drinking earlier had affected him more than it looked like and bringing up dead Rogues wasn't helping.
“I'm the one standing here and where's he? Oh yeah, dead,” Axel hissed right back.
“Break it up!” Cold shouted, trying to push them apart.
Without even glancing, Axel shoved Cold out of the way and onto the ground. Cold's blue glasses fell off and the terror on his face was visible to everyone. Owen took a step forward, instinctively reaching out to help, but Cold pushed himself to his feet furiously and shot a wall of ice between Mardon and Axel, just before they came to blows.
“Argue on your own time,” Cold snarled, “If you've not got anythin' to say about how to get across this shitty nightmare, keep your trap shut.”
“Like you've been the picture of calm during every scenario!” Mark turned on Cold viciously, “Summer '96, ring any bells?”
“Shut the fuck up, Mardon,” Cold snarled right back, “It's not like you've got any problems here, so shut. The fuck. Up.”
Mardon laughed. There was a cracked edge to it that felt soul-destroying. Yet another reminder to Owen that there was something seriously wrong with everyone here. You didn't become a villain because you were successful at life.
“I'll try the stairs,” Axel announced suddenly. His mask was still firmly in place and Owen couldn't tell if Mardon's laugh had unnerved him too.
“Be careful,” Owen said, when it was clear no one else was going to.
Axel grinned a terrifying smile. “Piece of cake,” he said cockily.
Mardon was watching Axel saunter over the the steps and gingerly test the closest. McCulloch's glassy form was stood next to the Weather Wizard and he had a translucent hand on Mick's shoulder. Owen figured he wouldn't get a better chance to ask what was on his mind.
“Hey, Cold. Can I talk to you?”
Cold had been watching Axel's attempt carefully, but followed Owen until they were far enough away that Owen was unconcerned about eavesdropping, yet they were still within sight.
“What d'you want?” Cold asked, keeping half an eye on the other Rogues.
Owen couldn't think of a tactful way to put it, so he just blurted it out.
“Why're you scared of Axel?” Owen asked, he kept his voice quiet, but Cold still gave him an icy glare.
“I'm not!” Cold snapped predictably.
“You're acting like it,” Owen said.
“I don't come across many people who can knock me around without superspeed,” Cold tried to deflect.
That didn't seem quite right. Owen trusted his gut instinct. “It's not just when he's hit you. And you just stood up to Mardon fine. What's so scary about Axel?”
“I keep forgettin' that we've switched,” Cold said grudgingly, “I remember what it was like bein' a teenager...”
“And?” Owen pushed
Cold gave a bone-weary sigh and looked away. “And I look more like my father than I like to think about.”
“So, you're having flashbacks?” Owen confirmed.
“Not entirely, but you've got the idea,” Cold sighed again and stared at something that wasn't there, “He wasn't someone who had any right bein' a parent. I keep thinkin' I'm gonna get my arm broken again. I don't mean to... I keep forgettin' I'm not a kid anymore.”
Owen looked over the rest of the Rogues. McCulloch and Mardon were still talking something over, while Mick watched Axel try going up the steps for the forth time. Something that Owen had wondered for a long time came back to him.
“Do you ever think that Axel thinks that about you?” Owen asked.
“What are you tryin' to say?” Cold said defensively.
“You're the one in charge here,” Owen said, avoiding eye-contact, “Axel looks up to you, but you're bigger and stronger than he is and you aren't afraid to knock him around.”
“Never said I had any business bein' a parent either,” Cold said, but he was looking uncomfortable.
“Yeah, but you are one, so suck it up,” Owen said, feeling stupidly grateful that Cold wasn't in his usual body. There was being brave, and then there was being suicidal.
Cold gave a sudden, short laugh. “This your round about way of tellin' me half the reason you stayed away was because I wasn't a good father after Digger died?”
That hit closer to home than Owen wanted to consider and his mouth moved before his brain could censor it. “You didn't even try!”
“Are you gonna stay if I say I'll try to be a better father?” Cold asked. He looked up at Owen consideringly, even going so far as to remove his glasses.
“It really doesn't work coming from Axel's mouth,” Owen said.
“Doesn't matter,” Cold shrugged, “I'll say it again when I'm back to rights if you want. Are you gonna stay?”
“I... I don't know,” Owen admitted.
“I suppose you could always run off and join the circus as a proper bearded lady if you don't get fixed.”
“Fuck you.”
“Kid Boomerang!” McCulloch called, “The wean wants you.”
Mick was pulling against McCulloch's invisible grip, trying to get away from them and back to Owen. Feeling wrung out as a dishtowel, Owen walked over, ignoring Cold's stare.
“Hey, Mick. You want something?” Owen asked, as Mick finally squirmed out of McCulloch's grasp and ran into Owen.
“'m not feeling well again,” Mick mumbled into Owen's stomach.
“Should you be running around then?” Owen asked, totally channelling his old elementary school teacher.
“...No,” Mick said, “But I really don't feel well an' they don't believe me.”
“When we get out of here we'll all feel better, ok?” Owen said, “Can you be brave until we find a way out?”
“I want to go home!” Mick wailed, tears puddling in his eyes, “I want my mom an' dad an' soup.”
“I know, Mick, I know,” Owen said, “Can you stop crying until we get out of here? I swear we'll get you some soup as soon as we're out.”
“Chicken noodle?” Mick sniffed, thankfully not getting any more hysterical.
“Yes, Mick, chicken noodle soup,” Owen sighed, “But you've got to be brave, ok?”
“'k,” Mick sniffled.
“Got anywhere with those stairs, McCulloch?” Cold asked.
“I've no' been this way in th' mirrors before,” McCulloch said, “Should be safe though, the brat hasnae been ate so far. Try closin' your eyes.”
“That's your brilliant idea?” Owen said, voice full of disbelief.
“There's naebody ken mirrors better'n me,” McCulloch said, a possible smile stretching over his invisible face, “It's all a trick o' the light.”
“Do what he says,” Cold ordered, “Hey! Trickster!”
“Yo!” Axel called back, giving them a wave.
“Try closin' your eyes,” Cold shouted.
“That's such a dumb idea,” Axel called, but nonetheless he slapped a hand over his eyes and started climbing the stairs again.
“Easy way to get rid of him?” Owen asked out the corner of his mouth.
“Hell no!” Cold seemed affronted at the idea, “That's my body he's clownin' around in. And Rogues stick together.”
“Yeah, right,” Owen scoffed, turning away from Cold. He eyed up the brain-melting staircase and stepped forward, “I'll try it next.”
“At least wait fer Walker to git to the other side,” McCulloch said, stopping Owen with a glassy arm.
“Fine,” Owen huffed, keeping his back to Cold. He wouldn't have been comfortable doing that if Cold was in his own body. That thought made Owen shiver and pull his jacket tight over his chest. He had to get out of here.
There was a yelp from Axel. Owen looked up sharply to see Axel sprawled on the ground on the other side of the staircase. Somehow, he'd made it over.
“Some warning would've been nice!” Axel shouted, getting to his feet with a groan.
“You made it, aye?” McCulloch called back. His translucent body shimmered as he turn to Owen, “Go on, Boomerang, if you're so keen. Git.”
Owen flipped him the bird, then realised it was useless against a blind man, and walked over to the drop. It wasn't really a drop, more an empty, sucking hole of nothing, but Owen felt much better thinking about it that way.
The closest corner step was a short jump away - even Mick might be able to do it alone - and it didn't try any weird mirror-world tricks when Owen leapt for it. The step was an opaque block of white glass, slightly slippery underfoot, but covered in the same gritty dust that was everywhere in the mirror-world.
Owen looked up. The stairs ahead went on forever. He looked back. The stairs trailed behind him to infinity.
Well shit.
With a gulp, Owen closed his eyes and cautiously put his foot forward. The toe of his boot hit the next step. Owen started climbing the staircase, one slow step at a time.
Five steps later, Mardon's voice echoed over to him. “In your own time, Mercer. It's not like the rest of us want to get out of here this decade.”
“Fuck you!” Owen shouted. Then he was tripping over something and falling. He was falling into the abyss and he'd never get laid again.
“Hey! Stop thrashing,” Axel said, shaking Owen.
Owen opened his eyes to Axel's mask. Axel grinned and sat back on his heels. Then he grimaced and stood up properly with a dark mutter.
“I'm alive?” Owen said, then felt stupid when Axel cackled at him, “Shut up.”
“The look on your face,” Axel giggled.
“Shut up,” Owen repeated, staring at the silvery-grey pseudo-sky above.
He continued to lie there, until Mardon landed on him heavily. There ensued a lot of flailing and Axel laughed until he broke into another coughing fit.
McCulloch followed, with Mick in his arms, and avoided the fight far too gracefully for a blind man. Cold took the rear and snapped at Owen and Mark to stop pushing each other, so they could keep moving.
“Owen,” Cold said, getting Owen's attention as they set off, “Just so we're clear, we did look for you.”
“What? When?” Owen asked.
“After you'd got separated durin' that mission for the Society.”
“When you left me,” Owen corrected darkly.
“I wasn't the one callin' the shots,” Cold shrugged.
Owen wasn't going to let it go that easily. “You still left me.”
“You want me to say I'm sorry, is that it kid?” Cold snorted, “'Cause that's not gonna happen. I don't do apologies.”
“Because it's weak to admit you were wrong? That's bullshit you know.”
“We did look for you,” Cold repeated, “And even if we left you, you captured Mardon and McCulloch to put them on Salvation. Fair's fair.”
“I was doing my job!” Owen protested.
“So you weren't the one callin' the shots?”
“Yeah!” Owen said, “...Shit.”
There was something wrong with the logic there, but Owen was too tired, too emotionally drained to focus on it. He hated arguing with people who were this pushy.
“Your spot's still open, Captain Boomerang,” Cold said.
“Go bother someone else,” Owen snapped. He lengthened his stride to put some distance and the other Rogues between him and Cold, who couldn't keep up without jogging and therefore stayed away.
--------------------
“Hello, Mark.”
It was an unfamiliar voice and that, more than the malice contained in the two words, made Owen whip around as fast as he could. Mardon made an inarticulate sound and staggered backwards, away from the man who had appeared.
“The hell?” Cold pushed past Axel and levelled his cold-gun at the stranger, “Who the fuck are you?”
“Mark, don't you want to see me again?” the stranger hissed, “I can live again, if you help me.”
“Clyde...” it was barely more than a breath from Mardon.
“Jesus Christ, we don't have time for this,” Cold muttered, then louder, “Mardon, it's just the mirror-world messin' with you. Close your eyes if you have to, we're movin' on.”
Mardon was shaking like a leaf. His face so white that Owen would've put good money on him fainting in the next ten seconds.
“Mark. Help me. Please.”
Cold shot at the stranger and coated him in a solid layer of ice. “Mark, get it together.”
“Clyde died to make the Weather Wizard,” Mark's voice was still quiet enough that Owen was having trouble hearing him.
“And? You're still the Weather Wizard, whether or not...” an unpleasant thought appeared to have struck Cold. He yanked Mardon down to eye-level, though he probably only succeeded because Mardon let him, “You are still the Weather Wizard, right?”
Mardon gave him a sickly smile.
“Fuckin' hell, Mardon!”
“Mark!”
There was a crunch like glass underfoot and the ice around the stranger shattered. He looked unhurt, rather the ice hadn't done anything to his already-decaying body.
“Mark, please. I want to live. You want me to live,” the stranger lurched forward and Mardon made a noise that sounded like he wanted to be screaming, but couldn't quite manage it.
Cold tried to blast the stranger in ice again, but the stranger knocked him aside with a gesture that produced a sudden gust of wind.
“You can't,” Mardon whimpered.
“Of course I can,” the stranger hissed, “Do you think I made that wand for you? It was to be mine! But you came and stole it after I died. Now, little brother, now I have my power back!”
“There's naebody there,” McCulloch whispered frantically to Owen, “I cannae see, but I ken where everythin' is a wee bit. An' there's naebody there.”
“You mean this isn't a mirror-trick?”
“I dinnae ken.”
“Shit,” Owen sighed.
Axel placed himself in front of Mardon, glaring at the apparition through his mask. “Weather Wizard's killed you once already, he can do it again!” he declared cockily.
“Can you, Mark?” the stranger seemed to find that funny, “Can you kill your only brother again? No. You want me to live.”
“I didn't kill you,” Mardon said, “It - the wand -”
“The wand only does what you want it to. I wouldn't be dead if you hadn't wanted it.”
There was something wrong with that sentence, but Owen couldn't put his finger on it.
“But that doesn't matter, does it? I can live again. We can share the power. You just have to help me.”
“...How?” Mardon breathed.
“Kill them.”
The fact that Mardon didn't dismiss that right out of hand was scarier than the shambling remains of his brother. Each and every one of the Rogues was a fucked up nightmare. Maybe that even included Owen by now.
“Mardon...” Owen said, as a realisation struck him, sure as lightning, “Mark, it's lying.”
“I know,” Mardon said, not taking his eyes off the stranger, “But what if it isn't?”
“If your brother could control the weather wand, why did he let it zap him?” Owen asked.
“Because...” Mardon faltered.
“Mark, brother,” the stranger pleaded, taking another step forward and reaching for Mardon.
“Stay back!” Axel shouted, he shot a blast of fire at the stranger, but misjudged his aim and was knocked aside by another gust of wind.
“Don't you love me, Mark?”
“Because... my brother had never used the weather wand,” Mardon said, his voice was still quiet, but it was as strong as it had been before they'd entered the mirror-world, “Clyde had never known what it was to be a god.”
“Rage. Avarice. Fear. Will. Hope.” the stranger hissed, “That will do.”
He lunged forward and clawed at empty air, as Owen yanked Mardon away in a burst of superspeed.
“Ow! Ow! Ow!” Owen yelped. Even with one arm clamping his breasts down it still hurt.
“Come back, Mark. Come back, little boomerang. Don't you want to see your father again?” the stranger hissed after them.
Owen tripped. The tumbling skid he fell into across the gritty floor was going to leave a mark. Mardon slid off in another direction, but Owen didn't stop to check, his attention entirely on the stranger.
“My father?” Owen gasped.
“I can bring him here. You can help him live again, just like I offered Mark,” the stranger hissed, lurching after Owen.
If Dad came back then Owen would finally be able to find his place in the world. No more flitting between teams. No more trying to be something he wasn't, whether it was a hero or villain, Owen wasn't trusted, didn't fit in anywhere.
Just him and Dad, as a family.
“Avarice. Fear. Hope. Love.”
“Move, kid!” Cold shouted, jolting Owen out of his thoughts just in time to jump backwards out of the stranger's clawed reach.
“You're lying,” Owen said, barely staying out of the stranger's grasp, “You... you're lying.”
“But what if I'm not?”
It shouldn't have been so persuasive, it shouldn't, not with two attempts on their lives so far, but Owen felt his resolve slipping. Something was pulling at his feelings, and after an unrestful sleep and too many heavy talks, his mind was an emotional turmoil. He couldn't think straight and a seed of doubt was worming its way into his heart.
“Owen?” it was Mick's voice.
But he couldn't leave a kid like Mick - who just wanted to go home - to a twisted, undead monstrosity. He couldn't leave Cold afraid when he was the only one to see it. Axel was keenly aware of his own mortality and scared. McCulloch was terrified without his sight. They needed his help.
And Mardon knew what Owen was going through.
And no matter how much Owen's dad returning would give him a family, maybe he already had one here.
Owen stepped away from the stranger deliberately. It gave a snarl, making its already decomposed face look inhuman.
“I should show you. I can bring him here. I can bring them all here,” the stranger hissed, a new metallic twang infecting its voice.
“Argh!” McCulloch collapsed. It was difficult to tell on a translucent body, was he holding his hands over his face? No, he was trying to cover his ears.
“What are you doing?” Owen demanded.
“I'm bringing them here.”
“No' in my mirror-world! I'm th' one who says who comes an' goes here!” McCulloch shouted.
There was a dull whumph and it felt like something physically landed on Owen for a split-second. McCulloch was now entirely invisible, no trace of a glassy body remained.
“Weather Wizard, keep the kid out of the way. Captain Boomerang, Trickster, we're takin' him down,” Cold said, levelling his cold-gun at the stranger, “If you're still around, Mirror Master, keep any others away.”
“Wha' d'you think I'm doin'?” McCulloch's voice echoed around them, filled with frustration.
“Go!” Cold shouted, opening fire on the stranger.
Owen chucked a couple of razor'rangs at the stranger.
“What am I supposed to do without my tricks?” Axel complained.
“Hell if I know!” Cold shouted at him, “Either think of somethin', or get out of the way.”
Axel's face lit up, the scariest grin on his face that Owen had seen yet. The Trickster immediately threw off the heat pack on his back and started dismantling it. Owen couldn't justify splitting his attention between the weather-controlling undead and his sociopathic teammate, but it was hardly the first time he'd had to keep an eye on someone he was meant to be working with.
And yet, Cold didn't so much as glance back. Whatever Axel was doing, Cold trusted him to do it right. Maybe Owen should try having a little more faith in the Rogues and concentrate on the fight in front of him.
“I'll take your hearts!” the threat was punctuated with a vicious sting of hail. Stormclouds were beginning to grow dark overhead and Owen didn't need Mardon's shout of warning to know that lightning was coming next.
Mardon had said that the Flash could outrun lightning, maybe Owen could too.
“Two minutes!” Axel shouted.
“We don't have that long!” Owen shouted back. No matter if the boomerangs that hit the stranger were razor-sharp or explosive, it kept coming. Shaking off ice and regenerating limbs with barely a pause
“I said two fucking minutes, alright! I can't go any faster,” Axel snapped.
The hail was coming down hard and fast now. The lumps of ice were getting larger and it was difficult to see the stranger in the midst of it all, nevermind sending a boomerang through it all. Lightning struck right in front of Cold. He jumped back with a curse that Owen couldn't hear because the thunder crashed at the same time that Cold opened his mouth.
The Flash could outrun lightning? I was amazing Owen had ever tagged him.
“Whatever you've got had better be good enough to put him down for good!” Cold yelled over the ringing in Owen's ears.
“Relax. I've got this, old man,” Axel called, a grin in his voice, “Fifty seconds.”
Owen didn't see the bolt of lightning, but every nerve in his body lit up and then he couldn't see. White fire raced through him. Owen staggered. His eyes felt like they were burning for a second, then his vision returned. Chunks of ice hung suspended in the air in front of him. The hail slowed down to a crawl.
The sliver of speed he'd always struggled to catch wasn't so tiny anymore.
Holy fuck.
Beside him, Cold had his gun raised and the trigger pulled, yet the ice-white beam had only gone about a yard into the storm and was getting longer at a snail's pace as Owen watched. Behind him, Axel was halfway through turning the heatpack over, his hands covered in oily fluid.
In the storm, the zombie of Mardon's brother was easy to pick out amidst the drifting hail. Owen grinned, time for a Flash trick he'd never been able to pull off before. As fast as he could, Owen started running in circles around the stranger.
It was difficult to tell if it was working, but Owen could see the air distorting on either side of himself as he pushed his legs faster and faster. Loop by loop, a twister started to grow around the stranger.
Owen slowed to a halt and watched the anger and disgust start to flicker onto the stranger's face. The whirlwind was beginning to form, blurring the stranger from view. There had to be something else Owen could do to -
“Argh!”
Cold. Icy, burning cold hit Owen like a sledgehammer. His left shoulder went numb and had could feel his speed draining away with a sudden lash of hailstones on top of his body as time caught up. Owen staggered, tripping over his own feet, fighting to keep his footing on the uneven, icy, gritty ground.
A whumph of displaced air caught the stranger and tossed him haphazardly upwards. The hail died down and the clouds above lightened as the stranger lost his grip on them. At least Owen had managed to do that before stupidly standing in front of the cold-beam Cold had shot.
“Owen! Move!”
Owen turned his head to see Axel hefting the heatpack, ready to toss it into the storm. Surly he hadn't been numb to time long enough for Axel to finish up his preparations? Shaking the thought off, Owen stumbled away from the stranger at a walking pace, unable to reach even the sliver of speed he used to rely on.
Axel knew what he'd been doing - the explosion was deafening. Owen was thrown forward, getting a faceful of slush and grit for his troubles. There was a scream of outrage from the stranger that cut through even the ringing in Owen's ears.
“Owen!” despite half-deaf ears, Mick's cry was agonising.
Owen pushed himself up. If you can't run, walk. If you can't walk, crawl. If you can't crawl, inch forward. Keep moving, that's what Owen had been taught, keep looking forward and taking one step at a time or you would die. Even with the new ache in his chest and legs like lead, Owen staggered forward, watering eyes fixed on his friends.
Pressure slid over Owen, then a glassy wall shimmered into being between him and the stranger. It stretched and rose, until the rebuilding zombie was completely surrounded. When Owen reached the Rogues, McCulloch was back in his transparent form.
“I got 'im, aye?” McCulloch was asking. Still blind then.
“Looks like,” Axel replied, peering at the storm trapped in the prism.
“Owen!” Mick squirmed out of Cold's grip and barrelled into Owen, making him hiss at the painful contact. Owen returned the hug, desperate for some stability. “Owen! Your shoulder's cold!”
“Yeah, I think I'm ok though,” Owen hissed, letting go of the kid to pat down his shoulder. It was cold and numb, but he could move his arm with some effort and when he looked beneath his jacket, the skin was only reddened, not black with frostbite.
“Didn't know you could move that fast, kid,” Cold said, with no trace of apology in his voice.
“It's not going to happen again soon,” Owen said.
“Do you think there's going to be anyone else? He's not the only one that could've come back, right?” Axel asked. There was a oily smear on his nose where he must have rubbed it with greasy hands.
“Aw, shite,” McCulloch groaned, “It's bloody obvious, ain't it?”
“Spell it out. I'm not in the mood for riddles,” Cold snapped.
“We're all trapped in the mirror-world, an' I've been havin' trouble getting' things to work the way they should,” McCulloch said, “An' we've jus' had Mardon's brother back from the dead. Who else's go' a good enough grasp on the mirror-world to do summet like this?”
“You're sayin' it's Scudder?” Cold confirmed.
“Aye. I cannae see an' naebody else could take a Mirror Master on their own turf, 'sides the Flash,” McCulloch said, “If Scudder's gone the way o' Mardon's brother, we should be leggin' it.”
“I could use a rest,” Owen said.
“There's no' enough time,” McCulloch said, “No' if Scudder kens we go' it figured oot.”
McCulloch sounded desperate, moreso than Owen had ever heard before. Owen had seen some crazy shit via McCulloch's interaction with the mirror-world, and the thought of that power in the hands of someone better than McCulloch and out for death sent a trickle of fear down Owen's spine.
“Let's go then,” Cold ordered. He grabbed McCulloch's arm and pulled him along, asking questions in a low voice that Owen couldn't quite make out.
Owen ignored his tired legs and obediently tagged along after - it was something he was used to doing - but then he noticed that they were a person down. Only Mick and Axel were following, Mick holding Owen's hand and Axel practically skipping without the heat pack weighing him down.
Mark was stood where they'd left him, staring at the stormcloud beyond the glassy prism walls.
“Go with Axel, Mick,” Owen said, “I've got to go back a sec.”
He'd expected more of an argument - Mick had never taken to Axel, showing surprisingly sensible caution for a child - but Mick trotted over happily and started chattering excitedly about the explosion and if it was possible to make it even bigger.
Must be a pyromaniac thing.
“Hey, Mardon,” Owen snapped his fingers in front of Mardon's face when his words didn't do anything. Only the barest flinch showed that Mardon was paying any kind of attention.
Owen looked over his shoulder. The other Rogues were making steady progress and would probably get out of sight soon. Owen didn't want to end up lost and stuck as a girl forever.
“C'mon, Mardon,” Owen pulled him along by his elbow, “We need to catch up with the others.”
Mardon let himself be steered without protest. The dull look in his eyes was way creepier than the lightning that usually filled them outside the mirror-world. Owen tried not to look and lengthened his stride to catch up to the others.
“Aren't you going to leave me again?” Mardon said, voice as dead as his eyes, “You did it before. Me and Mick. Shipped us off to that hellhole of a planet.”
“I haven't got orders to this time,” Owen replied.
“Orders,” Mardon snorted. He fell silent, glancing over his shoulder every few steps. Owen didn't let him go, worried that Mardon would stop walking again.
Up ahead, Mick was still happily chattering at Axel, who must have been in a very good mood after blowing up Clyde, because he hadn't tried to run Mick off yet. Or he just liked the attention and was enjoying having a fan. Further ahead, Cold was nodding along to something McCulloch was saying as well as scanning their surroundings.
“Hurry up,” Owen said, trying to pull Mardon a bit faster, “I don't want to lose sight of the others.”
“What does it matter? We're not getting out of here,” Mardon said, looking back at the storm again.
“For fuck's sake,” Owen grumbled, “Stop getting hung up on the dead when we need to move.”
“Fuck the dead,” Mardon said.
“Then what the hell are you angsting about?” Owen snapped.
“You tasted it back there, didn't you?” Mardon said, fixing Owen with a look that Owen still expected to have a crackle of lightning accompany it, “True power.”
“I just went a bit faster,” Owen said. The pure speed and adrenalin rush that went with it was more than that, but Owen didn't want to think about how un-fucking-fair it was that the Flash got to experience that all the time. If he started to think about it, Owen would stop like Mardon had.
“It's not like it matters,” Mardon said, as though he hadn't heard Owen, “Real superspeed or a pale imitation, we're stuck here. The blind leading the blind.”
“We're going to get out,” Owen said decisively.
“Are we?” Mardon asked, his voice hollow, “We're going to die. There'll be no one left to bury our remains in Avernus and we're going to die. I'm never going to feel the wind again. I should've let Clyde kill me,” dead eyes focussed accusingly on Owen, “You should've let Clyde kill me.”
“I'm not going to let anyone die if I can stop it,” Owen said.
“Hero,” Mark snorted.
“You know, my dad left a message on my phone just before he died,” Owen said, “I'd give up my superspeed to have him say it to my face so I could talk him out of the job.”
Mardon gave his broken laugh. “I'd bury Clyde again with my own two hands for my rightful power.”
“So it's not about friends and family dying, you're having a nervous breakdown because the weather wand doesn't work for you right now?” Owen clarified. Somehow he'd expected to be more surprised.
“Its... complicated,” Mardon said softly, “My power comes from death. My power causes death. I am unto a god, but what is a god without being able to smite? What is a god that cannot give and take? Clyde. Roy. Lisa. Your father... Even James. I couldn't... I...”
“You killed your brother,” Owen said.
“That was never my intent.”
“No justifying it with godhood?” Owen sighed, “You can't even get your story straight. Pick something and stick with it.”
Mardon shook his head and looked away. The dismissal left Owen feeling wanting. He gave Mardon a harsh jerk forward.
“If you fall behind I'm leaving you,” Owen threatened.
“Rogue,” Mardon said, albeit with a fond tone.
“Shut up.”
--------------------
The first shimmer hanging in the air didn't get a second glance from Owen, until Axel yelped.
“Hey! I know that shop!” Axel jogged over to the shimmer and tried to put his hand through it, only making the shimmer wobble further. “Lame.”
Owen looked closer. Through the shimmer he could see a street. It was vaguely familiar, it certainly was a street that looked like it belonged to Central City in Owen's mind.
“Is this what unset mirrors look like?” Owen asked.
“We would've seen a lot more if that's the case,” Cold said, nevertheless dragging McCulloch closer to have a feel of the shimmer, “There's a lot more mirrors around that you'd think.”
“I might've used this one before,” McCulloch said, blindly groping at the shimmer, “It's nae any use noo.”
“Can we use it to work out which direction to go?” Owen asked.
Cold studied the image through the shimmer, frowning behind his glasses. Eventually he pointed a little off the way they came.
“That's the way I'd get back to the safehouse,” Cold said, “But we're in the mirror-world, so fuck if I know.”
“It's not just... backwards?” Owen felt stupid even suggesting it.
“Aye, sometimes,” McCulloch said with a short laugh, “If it were consistent, anybody'd be usin' it.”
“Just once. Just once I'd like something to be easy,” Owen muttered. Then, louder, “So which way do we go?”
McCulloch gave a transparent shrug. “Further oot from Scudder'd be best. Let's no' go back tha' way.” Despite his easy manner, Owen could hear an undercurrent of fear.
As they set off again, Owen glanced back over his shoulder and maybe it was just his tired eyes, but it looked like the silvery-grey sky behind them was darkening. Owen stepped up his pace, keeping his grip on Mardon to hurry him along. If that was Scudder's doing, Owen didn't want to be anywhere near it.
Thankfully, more shimmers started to appear before them. They looked so natural in the gritty-grey mirror-world that it nearly felt like they'd been there the whole time and it was only just now that Owen was noticing them.
Using the shimmers, and Cold and Axel's knowledge of Central City, it wasn't long before Owen started catching glimpses of the Flash museum and recognising more and more of the streets they passed.
A structure of grit and silver rose up out of the ground, suddenly there without obviously appearing when Owen could've sworn there was nothing ahead of them. The structure held a shimmer trapped on its surface and, between cracks and grit that looked like it had come from what passed as the floor of the mirror-world, there was a wonderfully familiar sight.
The safehouse.
Even though Owen's memories pulled up the smell of stale beer, mouldy walls, and dusty mattresses, that was heaven compare to the neverending silver-grey mirror-world.
“Alright, Boomerang, you first,” Cold ordered.
“What? Why me?” Owen protested. The mirror looked even more unpleasant close-up, the cracks surrounded by an oil-slick rainbow of colours. Owen's faint reflection was warped to near unrecognisable.
“Because we don't know what's on the other side, or how long it'll take us to get fixed,” Cold said, “You can still run.”
“What a vote of confidence,” Owen muttered, but nonetheless stepped forward.
Getting through the mirror was like pushing through a wall of semi-hardened molasses. The parts that weren't solid were gooey and clung to Owen's clothes and face unpleasantly.
“Keep goin',” McCulloch said, when Owen grimaced and stopped moving, “The sooner you git it o'er wi', the better.”
Owen decided that opening his mouth to shoot back a comment would be a bad idea when he had a faceful of crystallised mirror-substance. He pushed forward, shuddering at the gritty scrape against his skin.
Stale, cold air washed over Owen as he pulled himself through the rest of the the mirror and fell out of it into a heap on the dirty warehouse floor.
“Owen!” Mick yelped.
“I'm ok,” Owen said. He gave himself a quick once-over, then did it again to make sure.
Sweet merciful heavens, he had his balls back.
“Awright, I'm gonna go,” McCulloch said, “Git.”
Owen jumped to his feet and got out of the way, revelling in the fact that his chest didn't hurt and his pants were no longer digging into his hips.
“Ah!” McCulloch flinched away from the light as he dropped out of the mirror and covered his eyes with his hands, “Feck.”
“Are you alright?” Owen asked, trying to rein in his enthusiasm at being fixed and failing miserably.
“I’m no’ complainin’,” McCulloch said, “It’s jus’ bright.”
“So you...”
“Aye, I can see,” McCulloch squinted through his fingers up at Owen, making eye contact for the first time since Avernus.
Owen whooped and punched the air. It felt like the most euphoric moment of his life.
“Me next!” Axel said. He hit the mirror solidly, “Hey! What's the deal?”
“Wheesht, you wee ned. You'll have to go with Snart at the same time, else who knows who's gonna end up where, you ken?” McCulloch said.
Axel groaned and thudded his head against the mirror. Mardon stepped up to a grimy part of the mirror next to him and cautiously put his hand against the surface. After a second, Mardon's hand slid through the gritty silver and grasped at the empty air beyond.
Owen realised that he'd braced himself for a sudden change in the weather, but nothing happened. Mardon continued to push through the mirror, much slower than Owen or McCulloch, almost as though he was afraid of what he might find on the other side.
The second Mardon bodily staggered out of the mirror a harsh wind whipped up then calmed within seconds. Mardon looked very emotion. Owen kept his eyes focussed on the mirror to give him some privacy.
That was probably the only reason Owen noticed the black shadow appearing behind the others still in the mirror.
“Shit! Get out quick!”
Cold glanced back, swore, then chevied Mick toward the mirror first. The kid flinched away from the grimy mirror with a look of childish disgust.
“Come on, Mick,” Owen cajoled, reaching his hands forward to help, “It's not as bad as it looks.” It was much worse, but even though Owen wasn't good with kids, even he knew that saying that outright wasn't a good idea.
Mick put his hand against the glass then quickly yanked it away. “It's sticky,” he complained.
“It's not that bad,” Owen insisted. Was the dark shadow growing tendrils now? Owen tried to keep his face neutral, but felt apprehension creep into his tone, “Come on. Look at me and push through.”
Mick tried again, but couldn't sum up the courage. “I can't, Owen.”
“For fuck's sake.” Cold grabbed Mick by the scruff of his neck and chucked him at the mirror. Mick cried out and hit the glass, but bounced off like it was solid. Thankfully Axel's body didn't have much strength behind it, so Mick wasn't injured, though he was starting to tear up.
“Come on,” Owen said, reaching his hand back through the cracked mirror. A tingling, burning sensation ran over his fingers and up his arm, changing him back into a girl. Owen tried to ignore it and focus purely on Mick, “Come on, Mick. I'll help you through.”
Even with Owen's reassurances, he wasn't sure if Mick would've taken his hand if Cold hadn't been quite so threatening. Mick gripped Owen's hand tight and let Owen pull him through the mirror with only a few whimpers.
Once Mick was on the other side, Owen had to take a hasty (non-speedy) step back to avoid Mick's sudden change into adulthood.
Mick staggered. Completely off-balance and totally bewildered for several seconds, until his brain processed what his eyes were seeing. Owen put a hand on his arm reassuringly.
“Where's my flamethrower?” Mick rasped, his voice freakishly deep to Owen's ears after so long listening to a child's version.
“Fuck your flamethrower,” McCulloch said, still too cheery at being able to see to put any real heat into the words, “Oot the way.”
Mick stumbled again, not entirely away from the mirror. Owen took pity on him and pulled him out the way entirely, so McCulloch could focus on getting Axel and Cold out of the mirror-world.
Shadows were thickening deep in the mirror. Owen's eyes kept being drawn back, seeing peculiar shapes in the darkness that was approaching unrelentingly. Even though he was still high on finally being male again, the urge to make a stand or flee was prickling at the back of Owen's neck.
Owen was distracted from staring at the shadows, not by Cold and Axel's attempt to get out, but by Mick cursing loudly as he rummaged through a couple of singed crates.
“Bastards!” Mick ripped open another crate, but whatever he was looking for wasn't inside, “They took my stuff!”
The irrational part of Owen's brain that got him into trouble in serious situations considered chiding Mick for swearing.
“Who?” Mardon asked. He was trying to sound disinterested, but lightning licked the corners of his eyes eagerly.
“What do I know?” Mick snapped, “It's not like they left a calling card. All I know is my flamethrowers are gone.”
“Could be some kids,” Owen offered.
“Naw, kids'd be messier,” Mick said, “Could've been a cop raid. They sometimes do that.”
There was a heavy thud behind them, followed by several yelps from Axel in a voice that worked for him. Sure enough, both Axel and Cold had emerged and were acting like they were in the right bodies. However, there was a sticky tar-like substance caught on them like a thick cobweb and it was trying to pull them both back into the mirror, if their struggle was anything to go by.
“McCulloch!” Cold shouted, “Get the fucking thing closed. Trickster, give me my gun!”
“It's gotten stuck!” Axel yelped, trying to gain traction on the dusty warehouse floor in bare feet.
A flash of light blinded Owen and a bone-rattling BOOM nearly knocked him off his feet. When his eyes cleared, he saw McCulloch frantically doing something to the large mirror, while Cold and Axel shook off the last of the tar substance, which was slowly turning into the silver grit of the mirror-world.
“I missed that,” Mardon said softly.
They really were free of the mirror-world. Owen gave a tired laugh. He was looking forward to a takeout and a bed. And spending some time alone.
“Quiet,” Cold was halfway through peeling Axel's mask off his face and stock still.
Owen cocked his head and heard faint... “Sirens,” he sighed, “Does it ever end?”
“They must've been watching the place,” Mick said, “Set up cameras when they took my flamethrowers.”
“I'm looking forward to this,” Mardon was already moving toward the door.
Actually, doing some damage sounded really therapeutic right now. Owen ran a hand over his boomerangs to count them. He was doing alright for general numbers, but he could do with stocking up on razor'rangs.
“Ready to go?” Cold asked Owen, shrugging his coat on and grinning that scary, paternal smile, “Rogue?”
“Whenever you're ready, Captain.”