Falling of the Arrows
Jun. 15th, 2018 12:04 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
madimpossibledreamerNot perfect, but better than it had been. I am of the opinion that, like several other Buffy things, the idea was there, but the execution just wasn't, quite. So if I keep rewriting it, we'll find so many ways to actually get it to work, right?
And I definitely don't have the brainpower to fix it 100% (heading into the bulk of a full time work week so half asleep).
~Dreamer~
Main Points:
Buffy the Vampire Slayer/NCIS/Arrow
Chapter Summary: Xander's wedding goes differently...
Word Count: 3312
Rating: Gen
Andrew knows that no one knows he’s here. No one but the Archer, that is. He’s supposedly at a convention (Warren didn’t like it, he insisted, he’ll have to fake an autographed something-or-other with his magic by the end of this but it’ll all be worth it in the end). He shows up with the home-cooked brownies (supposedly his ‘on the road snack’), realizes belatedly that he’s an idiot and weddings are definitely different things from potlucks, and sneaks them in beside the other wedding gifts anyway. He has a decently long internal debate hiding around the corner about whether he should hide the kind of pitiful looking glass container or just put it in the front because it’s a food item and really should be eaten, and eventually just ends up rushing past and placing it wherever it falls, because he’s working on it but he’s still a little bit of a coward.
But he still has a bad feeling about it all, and not just because Xander’s getting married. He has no idea if Anya’s been told about the Archer’s little flirtations, although given that he hasn’t been asked to join a threesome and they’re not broken up (the two most likely options), she doesn’t know. Even so, he knows they’re just childish dreams and don’t mean anything, and Anya’s a pretty cool person and even kind of attractive for being a woman. Xander looks…well, nervous, but not tense, for the first time in maybe years, and it’s nice to see that goofy smile.
It’s a worry in the back of his head, the same kind of one that had led him to turning on Warren in the first place (which, it’s surprisingly not hard to continue acting the fool, the sychophant, like Grima Wormtongue maybe even if Grima never had a chance to redeem himself because he didn’t want it, so maybe the metaphor was wrong, and it continues to not be hard even when it comes to the physical and emotional stuff, which is completely and utterly weird and normal at the same time), and everything says he shouldn’t be taking this lightly. At first he wonders if it’s because of the wisdom of putting Xander’s dad and a bunch of demons together in the same place. And there’s something his research hadn’t found, because while he’d gotten the idea that Xander’s home life hadn’t been good, the careful way Willow doesn’t flinch when Harris Senior says hi says a lot more than anything else and puts Andrew’s newfound determination to be one of the good guys a little under the test, which he eventually passes by reminding himself that he didn’t come to the wedding to cause a scene or hurt anyone no matter how much the guy deserves it. It also makes the careful explanation of how Andrew doesn’t deserve the hurt that much more poignant, and also more convincing, because if Dad Harris hurt his own son who certainly didn’t deserve it, maybe Andrew didn’t, either.
He’s just making small talk with the demon to his left (he has to talk to them more often when he summons them, because it’s not like he gets enough small talk, and also he’s not about to talk to the Harris family), when the lights go out, and the alarm bells in his head go from tiny little tinkling bells that you can fit in the palm of your hand to big, deep, warning knells.
There’s no reason to jump to conclusions. This is Sunnydale. It’s not like they’ve invested in infrastructure recently. But this is the exact same m.o. the Archer uses when hitting other places—say, the demon brothel in that one warehouse in what passes for downtown. Takes out the lights, makes some move for maximum impact and intimidation, and then the arrows start flying in earnest. Problem, though: why the frell would he hit his own wedding? Especially this way, because when he kills the lights rather than taking out individual targets and slipping out, he’s not planning on leaving anything alive. There are a lot of…well, not all innocent, but not deserving of death people here.
There’s a lot of worried whispers, and Anya definitely sounds upset. He can’t blame her. It’s such a big day, that anything going wrong is a nightmare. But a couple people ask about Xander, where he is and what he’s doing, and that nightmare might just get worse. Dawn speaks up. “Last thing I saw he was talking to this old guy.”
The dread and adrenaline peak.
And that’s when an arrow explodes one of the wedding presents. It’s probably the present, not the arrow, because he’s pretty sure that the Archer has no exploding arrows, although if there were any presents that would explode, Xander would know. A second brings the garland down on the guests, and it’s only a matter of seconds before one of those arrows goes right through one of the guests. Or Anya. The Archer has a flair for the dramatic, and if he’s turned—or, more likely, been turned—he’s going to show that.
“Down! Everyone down!” Andrew yells. Fortunately, he’s been practicing his shielding spells, so the next arrow bounces off the shield.
There’s a growl of frustration. It’s kind of hot, admittedly, but he’s feeling far too many emotions for that to actually affect him. Icy fear is pretty strong. He’s fought the Archer before, but they’d been basically just playing. He’s not sure what exactly set this off (though that old guy most likely had something to do with it), but the Archer is playing for keeps this time. There’s a fiery fury, too—fury that someone would do this to him. And he doesn’t want to fight the man he kind of loves. He’s a little worried about playing hero for the first time, worried that Warren will figure it out, but on the other hand he can’t worry about that at the moment. Or rather, he can totally worry, but he can’t let it hold him back. Not when people might die.
People have begun running and screaming and he just hopes they find shelter or get out before the shield comes down. For all that, it’s kind of muffled, like none of this is really happening, which he recognizes as shock he’s just going to have to ignore if he’s going to keep himself and others alive.
The kind of terrifying thing is that the Archer isn’t saying anything. He tends to be quieter, or probably more like stoic, than, say, Buffy, or oddly enough even Xander in the fight, but once he’s made a point with the point of an arrow he’ll usually have some sort of quip.
The next arrow barely bounces off two inches from his face, which, well, at least he’d gotten the Archer’s attention. Dangerous for him, better for the other wedding guests.
Buffy knocks over a few tables to serve as shields when his fails and then is right over next to him, face furious. “What are you doing here, you little weasel?” she hisses, and, yes, okay, that’s about as welcoming as he expects it to be.
An arrow thwacks deep into the wood of the table, right next to where Buffy’s head had been before she ducked. “Saving your face. Apparently.” He shrugs casually. “I know, it’s not how I expected my day to go, either.”
She shakes her head. “He’s going after you. And I’m going to help.”
There it is, that willful blindness that at times drove Xander crazy, even as he loves her.
Two more arrows fly past. He’s trying to smoke them out, get them to make a move. Seems like he still has some understanding of who the dangerous fighters are, even when he’s confused. He probably hadn’t shown up in the leather, which means he must’ve changed at some point. (Dawn or Buffy would’ve stopped him from showing up in the Archer’s outfit, right? And bow and arrows within building’s reach were probably just meant as a safety blanket.)
He casts something that’s pretty much a sparkler. It’s bright and shiny and hopefully distracts him enough to put him off his aim.
There’s a scream and another, and that sounded like Dawn, and Buffy turns pale, fury turning icy and controlled. Oh, Xander’s going to be totally upset when he comes back to himself.
“Somehow, he doesn’t seem to have gotten that memo,” Andrew disagrees, and for once he’s getting the cool lines! Must be something about being a hero agreeing with him, or something. Which bodes well for his future plans. “I definitely didn’t do this, because I am not about the whole violent crime thing, and I wouldn’t do that to the Archer anyway.” He flinches at the next scream. “I was actually here for much the same reasons as you—to see someone I care about get the happiness he deserves. Looks like someone decided postponing that would be better. Probably the old man. He’s a weapon, only this time someone else is pulling his trigger. Like this, he’s a danger to absolutely everyone, which includes me.”
The thunk of arrow on wood is very quick and absolutely rhythmic.
“While he’s focused on me, he’s not going to go for anyone else. And someone has to get these innocents out of harm’s way, and since it’s been established I’m a villain and you can’t trust me anyway….” He smiles his best, most disarming smile, and now it’s Buffy growling at him.
“I find out you did this, and they’ll be finding pieces of you for the next twenty years,” she states with a friendly smile.
The shiver crawls down his spine, but all he does is nod. “The fact that I didn’t do it is the only thing keeping me from wetting myself.”
Anya runs past, tears and blood streaming down her face as she clutches at her cheek. There’s blood on her dress, staining that pretty white. It’s not a lot of blood, so she’s probably physically fine, but somehow that makes the sight all that much worse.
“Willow? Tara? Help me keep these people alive!” Buffy yells and makes a run for it during the next lull. As expected, it was a trap. Fortunately, recasting the shielding spell around a single target is a lot easier, and the arrow is redirected, burying itself in a wall instead of Buffy’s flesh.
Telekinesis is also a handy trick he’s been working on, and he throws a barrage of chairs to catch the Archer’s attention. “Bad guy over here, about to make his escape,” he yells and takes off running.
He can’t hide the grunt of pain as the arrow burrows into the flesh of his arm, but then, he doesn’t want to. Wounded prey’s just that much more interesting for the hunter to chase.
The footsteps follow. Sure, light, filled with doom and purpose. He gets around a corner just in time as something light and deadly whistles past his ear.
“And just where do you think you’re going?” the Archer growls.
“Getting you right where I want you.” It doesn’t mean much, honestly, just that he’s away from other people to hurt, but it sounds cool.
“Are you sure that’s not just you?” There’s that amusement, but when it’s twisted like this it’s honestly kind of terrifying. Even more so when he’s showing emotion in his voice, but there’s nothing on his face. Just a blank. Especially in the eyes, which look completely and utterly dead. And the arrows are just ruthlessly efficient. He’s definitely affected by some sort of magic, but identifying it and undoing it when he’s not even sure what kind of creature cast it could be nigh impossible. On the other hand, he’s not about to just let the Archer do this when Xander’s going to be hugely upset by what someone else had made him do.
Andrew blinks, sways a little. Oh, that’s what the Archer had meant. Well, that’s just not fair, because seriously, he’s not used to working through the pain, let alone poisoned or drugged or whatever.
“I’m not going to run anymore, Archer. That’s not who I am anymore.” He smiles slightly. “Or should I say, ‘Ollie.’”
Those panther-like steps falter, just a little.
“Yeah, I know who you are. I’ve always known. But I wouldn’t use that knowledge, your family or friends against you. It wouldn’t be, what’s the word, sporting?” Time to play the villain, even as everything in his entire word is topsy-turvy. He holds his hands open in a melodramatic gesture. “Let’s have an arena.” Magical glass walls raise, holding the two in an area, away from the others who could get hurt. This could get him killed, but if he’s going to die, this isn’t the worst time or place. “I give my body over for this battle to the service of Sekhmet. Give me the strength to fight for what I believe in.”
He feels the power fill him, ducks the next arrow whistling over his head. “Let’s try this again.”
There’s a dual nature to his voice, the touch of the rising sands.
His punch actually gets the Archer to stagger, just a little. The responding one-two punch with the added force of the bow to his shoulder and wounded arm makes him bare his teeth, eyes still dead.
They continue trading blows. The Archer runs up the side of the magical glass just long enough to give himself physical leverage, and they’re to the floor, wrestling. Andrew would be enjoying this more if the confused hero wasn’t currently trying to strangle the so-called ‘villain’.
But while their bodies are busy, that’s no excuse for their minds to not be fighting this.
His next spell is cast entirely using his imagination, wordless and gestureless except in the confines of his own head.
And suddenly they’re someplace Andrew doesn’t recognize at all. It looks like some sort of forest.
“Who are you?” a feral face that can only be Oliver Queen (despite the whole brunet thing which is random and has nothing to do with the comics and he’d never imagined him this scruffy) asks, staring at him, and Andrew smiles shyly and waves.
“Hi. I don’t exactly have an agenda. You want to save your city, Starling City. And/or you might have seen magic or metahumans or something by this point, because that’s what the comics say. This is magic, right here, and someone’s messing with your head, and I’m trying to fix that. We’re not actually here,” he explains as succinctly as he can manage. He’s doing that a lot these days.
He actually looks a little amused (or is that bemused?). “You know Constantine?”
“Know of, really, and it’s really cool that you know him, but that isn’t really important right now,” Andrew agrees, trying not to lose track of what he’s doing because he’s too busy geeking out.
“Okay. How do we get out, then?” And that quick and easy trust…Xander’s probably in there still, somewhere.
“That’s the part I’m not entirely sure about. I’m not sure who did this, so I’m not sure how to undo it,” Andrew confesses. He also really, really doesn’t want to accidentally let Sekhmet kill Xander while he’s not there, but it’s the only thing he could come up with to keep the Archer busy.
Ollie takes a deep breath, closes his eyes, and opens them again. “I shot the bride, but she’s fine. Just grazed her cheek. Though from the way she looked, I broke her world. There’s you, I assume, someone else’s leg, arrow in the back for one old demon lady, hand and a couple scrapes, and…” He pales slightly. “Brunette. Would’ve been a kill shot, but you cast your little distraction just in time. Got her shoulder, though. Why does that feel like I’ve shot Thea? Who are all those people? I feel like I should know them.”
“More weird magic stuff. Part of you exists in someone else’s brain. Which is where we are now, I guess.” Andrew hates feeling inadequate, which makes all of this suck big-time.
Oliver apparently has a great poker face, but he’s probably not missing the slight look of confusion in the twitch of the lips and most miniscule of forehead furrows. He closes his eyes again. His eyebrows raise a little as he smiles a little when he moves closer to look at Andrew closer in a way that makes his skin tingle. Except it’s not actually his skin, because this is just mental, in multiple senses of the word. “Villain, huh. All the information’s in there, just a little…dry. Though I definitely remember enjoying flirting with you.” All emotion leaves his voice for the next comment. He sounds like a robot. Again. “Anya will never forgive me for this.”
“It’s not your fault Janus or some other jerk decided to play your brain,” Andrew defends him hotly, earning another tiny smirk.
“No, but it’s still my hands on that bow she hates bringing her pain.” He shrugs. “I can’t go back, even if I wanted to, but she’ll never see that. She’ll be more upset about the lack of American Dream fulfillment than me almost shooting her, I think.” Somewhere behind the nonchalant tone, his heart is breaking, but he can’t handle the emotion so he’s distancing himself. Like he does. “If you can play some music, that’ll help. Give me something to focus on.”
“You’re fighting for your family,” Andrew explains, even as he tries to imagine music to play. He actually gets a chuckle for the anime theme he chooses first.
“My greatest mission is to protect them, above everything else.” He bites his lip, trace of guilt in his eyes. “Why didn’t I question?”
“Do you ask questions when you’re going after your targets, once you’ve decided where to point your bow? Someone just redirected that certainty.” Andrew lays a hand on Ollie’s arm, and he shivers. “These things happen to everyone. I’ll be there to save you every time, as long as you do the same for me.”
The way Oliver’s eyes and lips tighten, he looks like he’s about to start crying any second, but he nods firmly. Fortunately, Andrew sees the second Xander decides not to feel guilty about it, to compartmentalize it instead. Wallowing in guilt will help no one. “See you on the outside.”
He disappears, and Andrew glances around for a moment before following.
Unfortunately, Sekhmet’s blood-lust isn’t quenched, even when Xander stands down and bows his head in supplication, blood trickling quietly down his scalp. “You know, this is a wedding celebration. I didn’t really want to tell my parents, but there is a bar. I could give you the alcohol in celebration of your victory.” Drip, drip.
Quiet, reasonable, and apparently enough to let her feel the joy of victory. “You are a very interesting mortal, Archer,” she responds in the dual tone, stretching Andrew’s neck and disappearing, leaving Andrew feeling empty and drained.
“I’d say you are, too,” Xander tells Andrew softly, wincing a little in sympathy as Andrew staggers at the drug and blood loss and pain that’s suddenly hitting him like a punch from a Hulk. He catches the so-called ‘villain’ before the walls even come down.
“Anti-demon racist cultist,” he explains, voice still measured and controlled as if to make up for the previous lack of control. Andrew doesn’t see who he’s talking to, but he assumes it’s the others, back by this point. “No, given what he just did, and what I just did, I’d think that the least we owe him is a little medical attention, and I am so sorry Dawnie.”
The darkness swallows Andrew whole before he can hear anything else.
And I definitely don't have the brainpower to fix it 100% (heading into the bulk of a full time work week so half asleep).
~Dreamer~
Main Points:
Buffy the Vampire Slayer/NCIS/Arrow
Chapter Summary: Xander's wedding goes differently...
Word Count: 3312
Rating: Gen
Andrew knows that no one knows he’s here. No one but the Archer, that is. He’s supposedly at a convention (Warren didn’t like it, he insisted, he’ll have to fake an autographed something-or-other with his magic by the end of this but it’ll all be worth it in the end). He shows up with the home-cooked brownies (supposedly his ‘on the road snack’), realizes belatedly that he’s an idiot and weddings are definitely different things from potlucks, and sneaks them in beside the other wedding gifts anyway. He has a decently long internal debate hiding around the corner about whether he should hide the kind of pitiful looking glass container or just put it in the front because it’s a food item and really should be eaten, and eventually just ends up rushing past and placing it wherever it falls, because he’s working on it but he’s still a little bit of a coward.
But he still has a bad feeling about it all, and not just because Xander’s getting married. He has no idea if Anya’s been told about the Archer’s little flirtations, although given that he hasn’t been asked to join a threesome and they’re not broken up (the two most likely options), she doesn’t know. Even so, he knows they’re just childish dreams and don’t mean anything, and Anya’s a pretty cool person and even kind of attractive for being a woman. Xander looks…well, nervous, but not tense, for the first time in maybe years, and it’s nice to see that goofy smile.
It’s a worry in the back of his head, the same kind of one that had led him to turning on Warren in the first place (which, it’s surprisingly not hard to continue acting the fool, the sychophant, like Grima Wormtongue maybe even if Grima never had a chance to redeem himself because he didn’t want it, so maybe the metaphor was wrong, and it continues to not be hard even when it comes to the physical and emotional stuff, which is completely and utterly weird and normal at the same time), and everything says he shouldn’t be taking this lightly. At first he wonders if it’s because of the wisdom of putting Xander’s dad and a bunch of demons together in the same place. And there’s something his research hadn’t found, because while he’d gotten the idea that Xander’s home life hadn’t been good, the careful way Willow doesn’t flinch when Harris Senior says hi says a lot more than anything else and puts Andrew’s newfound determination to be one of the good guys a little under the test, which he eventually passes by reminding himself that he didn’t come to the wedding to cause a scene or hurt anyone no matter how much the guy deserves it. It also makes the careful explanation of how Andrew doesn’t deserve the hurt that much more poignant, and also more convincing, because if Dad Harris hurt his own son who certainly didn’t deserve it, maybe Andrew didn’t, either.
He’s just making small talk with the demon to his left (he has to talk to them more often when he summons them, because it’s not like he gets enough small talk, and also he’s not about to talk to the Harris family), when the lights go out, and the alarm bells in his head go from tiny little tinkling bells that you can fit in the palm of your hand to big, deep, warning knells.
There’s no reason to jump to conclusions. This is Sunnydale. It’s not like they’ve invested in infrastructure recently. But this is the exact same m.o. the Archer uses when hitting other places—say, the demon brothel in that one warehouse in what passes for downtown. Takes out the lights, makes some move for maximum impact and intimidation, and then the arrows start flying in earnest. Problem, though: why the frell would he hit his own wedding? Especially this way, because when he kills the lights rather than taking out individual targets and slipping out, he’s not planning on leaving anything alive. There are a lot of…well, not all innocent, but not deserving of death people here.
There’s a lot of worried whispers, and Anya definitely sounds upset. He can’t blame her. It’s such a big day, that anything going wrong is a nightmare. But a couple people ask about Xander, where he is and what he’s doing, and that nightmare might just get worse. Dawn speaks up. “Last thing I saw he was talking to this old guy.”
The dread and adrenaline peak.
And that’s when an arrow explodes one of the wedding presents. It’s probably the present, not the arrow, because he’s pretty sure that the Archer has no exploding arrows, although if there were any presents that would explode, Xander would know. A second brings the garland down on the guests, and it’s only a matter of seconds before one of those arrows goes right through one of the guests. Or Anya. The Archer has a flair for the dramatic, and if he’s turned—or, more likely, been turned—he’s going to show that.
“Down! Everyone down!” Andrew yells. Fortunately, he’s been practicing his shielding spells, so the next arrow bounces off the shield.
There’s a growl of frustration. It’s kind of hot, admittedly, but he’s feeling far too many emotions for that to actually affect him. Icy fear is pretty strong. He’s fought the Archer before, but they’d been basically just playing. He’s not sure what exactly set this off (though that old guy most likely had something to do with it), but the Archer is playing for keeps this time. There’s a fiery fury, too—fury that someone would do this to him. And he doesn’t want to fight the man he kind of loves. He’s a little worried about playing hero for the first time, worried that Warren will figure it out, but on the other hand he can’t worry about that at the moment. Or rather, he can totally worry, but he can’t let it hold him back. Not when people might die.
People have begun running and screaming and he just hopes they find shelter or get out before the shield comes down. For all that, it’s kind of muffled, like none of this is really happening, which he recognizes as shock he’s just going to have to ignore if he’s going to keep himself and others alive.
The kind of terrifying thing is that the Archer isn’t saying anything. He tends to be quieter, or probably more like stoic, than, say, Buffy, or oddly enough even Xander in the fight, but once he’s made a point with the point of an arrow he’ll usually have some sort of quip.
The next arrow barely bounces off two inches from his face, which, well, at least he’d gotten the Archer’s attention. Dangerous for him, better for the other wedding guests.
Buffy knocks over a few tables to serve as shields when his fails and then is right over next to him, face furious. “What are you doing here, you little weasel?” she hisses, and, yes, okay, that’s about as welcoming as he expects it to be.
An arrow thwacks deep into the wood of the table, right next to where Buffy’s head had been before she ducked. “Saving your face. Apparently.” He shrugs casually. “I know, it’s not how I expected my day to go, either.”
She shakes her head. “He’s going after you. And I’m going to help.”
There it is, that willful blindness that at times drove Xander crazy, even as he loves her.
Two more arrows fly past. He’s trying to smoke them out, get them to make a move. Seems like he still has some understanding of who the dangerous fighters are, even when he’s confused. He probably hadn’t shown up in the leather, which means he must’ve changed at some point. (Dawn or Buffy would’ve stopped him from showing up in the Archer’s outfit, right? And bow and arrows within building’s reach were probably just meant as a safety blanket.)
He casts something that’s pretty much a sparkler. It’s bright and shiny and hopefully distracts him enough to put him off his aim.
There’s a scream and another, and that sounded like Dawn, and Buffy turns pale, fury turning icy and controlled. Oh, Xander’s going to be totally upset when he comes back to himself.
“Somehow, he doesn’t seem to have gotten that memo,” Andrew disagrees, and for once he’s getting the cool lines! Must be something about being a hero agreeing with him, or something. Which bodes well for his future plans. “I definitely didn’t do this, because I am not about the whole violent crime thing, and I wouldn’t do that to the Archer anyway.” He flinches at the next scream. “I was actually here for much the same reasons as you—to see someone I care about get the happiness he deserves. Looks like someone decided postponing that would be better. Probably the old man. He’s a weapon, only this time someone else is pulling his trigger. Like this, he’s a danger to absolutely everyone, which includes me.”
The thunk of arrow on wood is very quick and absolutely rhythmic.
“While he’s focused on me, he’s not going to go for anyone else. And someone has to get these innocents out of harm’s way, and since it’s been established I’m a villain and you can’t trust me anyway….” He smiles his best, most disarming smile, and now it’s Buffy growling at him.
“I find out you did this, and they’ll be finding pieces of you for the next twenty years,” she states with a friendly smile.
The shiver crawls down his spine, but all he does is nod. “The fact that I didn’t do it is the only thing keeping me from wetting myself.”
Anya runs past, tears and blood streaming down her face as she clutches at her cheek. There’s blood on her dress, staining that pretty white. It’s not a lot of blood, so she’s probably physically fine, but somehow that makes the sight all that much worse.
“Willow? Tara? Help me keep these people alive!” Buffy yells and makes a run for it during the next lull. As expected, it was a trap. Fortunately, recasting the shielding spell around a single target is a lot easier, and the arrow is redirected, burying itself in a wall instead of Buffy’s flesh.
Telekinesis is also a handy trick he’s been working on, and he throws a barrage of chairs to catch the Archer’s attention. “Bad guy over here, about to make his escape,” he yells and takes off running.
He can’t hide the grunt of pain as the arrow burrows into the flesh of his arm, but then, he doesn’t want to. Wounded prey’s just that much more interesting for the hunter to chase.
The footsteps follow. Sure, light, filled with doom and purpose. He gets around a corner just in time as something light and deadly whistles past his ear.
“And just where do you think you’re going?” the Archer growls.
“Getting you right where I want you.” It doesn’t mean much, honestly, just that he’s away from other people to hurt, but it sounds cool.
“Are you sure that’s not just you?” There’s that amusement, but when it’s twisted like this it’s honestly kind of terrifying. Even more so when he’s showing emotion in his voice, but there’s nothing on his face. Just a blank. Especially in the eyes, which look completely and utterly dead. And the arrows are just ruthlessly efficient. He’s definitely affected by some sort of magic, but identifying it and undoing it when he’s not even sure what kind of creature cast it could be nigh impossible. On the other hand, he’s not about to just let the Archer do this when Xander’s going to be hugely upset by what someone else had made him do.
Andrew blinks, sways a little. Oh, that’s what the Archer had meant. Well, that’s just not fair, because seriously, he’s not used to working through the pain, let alone poisoned or drugged or whatever.
“I’m not going to run anymore, Archer. That’s not who I am anymore.” He smiles slightly. “Or should I say, ‘Ollie.’”
Those panther-like steps falter, just a little.
“Yeah, I know who you are. I’ve always known. But I wouldn’t use that knowledge, your family or friends against you. It wouldn’t be, what’s the word, sporting?” Time to play the villain, even as everything in his entire word is topsy-turvy. He holds his hands open in a melodramatic gesture. “Let’s have an arena.” Magical glass walls raise, holding the two in an area, away from the others who could get hurt. This could get him killed, but if he’s going to die, this isn’t the worst time or place. “I give my body over for this battle to the service of Sekhmet. Give me the strength to fight for what I believe in.”
He feels the power fill him, ducks the next arrow whistling over his head. “Let’s try this again.”
There’s a dual nature to his voice, the touch of the rising sands.
His punch actually gets the Archer to stagger, just a little. The responding one-two punch with the added force of the bow to his shoulder and wounded arm makes him bare his teeth, eyes still dead.
They continue trading blows. The Archer runs up the side of the magical glass just long enough to give himself physical leverage, and they’re to the floor, wrestling. Andrew would be enjoying this more if the confused hero wasn’t currently trying to strangle the so-called ‘villain’.
But while their bodies are busy, that’s no excuse for their minds to not be fighting this.
His next spell is cast entirely using his imagination, wordless and gestureless except in the confines of his own head.
And suddenly they’re someplace Andrew doesn’t recognize at all. It looks like some sort of forest.
“Who are you?” a feral face that can only be Oliver Queen (despite the whole brunet thing which is random and has nothing to do with the comics and he’d never imagined him this scruffy) asks, staring at him, and Andrew smiles shyly and waves.
“Hi. I don’t exactly have an agenda. You want to save your city, Starling City. And/or you might have seen magic or metahumans or something by this point, because that’s what the comics say. This is magic, right here, and someone’s messing with your head, and I’m trying to fix that. We’re not actually here,” he explains as succinctly as he can manage. He’s doing that a lot these days.
He actually looks a little amused (or is that bemused?). “You know Constantine?”
“Know of, really, and it’s really cool that you know him, but that isn’t really important right now,” Andrew agrees, trying not to lose track of what he’s doing because he’s too busy geeking out.
“Okay. How do we get out, then?” And that quick and easy trust…Xander’s probably in there still, somewhere.
“That’s the part I’m not entirely sure about. I’m not sure who did this, so I’m not sure how to undo it,” Andrew confesses. He also really, really doesn’t want to accidentally let Sekhmet kill Xander while he’s not there, but it’s the only thing he could come up with to keep the Archer busy.
Ollie takes a deep breath, closes his eyes, and opens them again. “I shot the bride, but she’s fine. Just grazed her cheek. Though from the way she looked, I broke her world. There’s you, I assume, someone else’s leg, arrow in the back for one old demon lady, hand and a couple scrapes, and…” He pales slightly. “Brunette. Would’ve been a kill shot, but you cast your little distraction just in time. Got her shoulder, though. Why does that feel like I’ve shot Thea? Who are all those people? I feel like I should know them.”
“More weird magic stuff. Part of you exists in someone else’s brain. Which is where we are now, I guess.” Andrew hates feeling inadequate, which makes all of this suck big-time.
Oliver apparently has a great poker face, but he’s probably not missing the slight look of confusion in the twitch of the lips and most miniscule of forehead furrows. He closes his eyes again. His eyebrows raise a little as he smiles a little when he moves closer to look at Andrew closer in a way that makes his skin tingle. Except it’s not actually his skin, because this is just mental, in multiple senses of the word. “Villain, huh. All the information’s in there, just a little…dry. Though I definitely remember enjoying flirting with you.” All emotion leaves his voice for the next comment. He sounds like a robot. Again. “Anya will never forgive me for this.”
“It’s not your fault Janus or some other jerk decided to play your brain,” Andrew defends him hotly, earning another tiny smirk.
“No, but it’s still my hands on that bow she hates bringing her pain.” He shrugs. “I can’t go back, even if I wanted to, but she’ll never see that. She’ll be more upset about the lack of American Dream fulfillment than me almost shooting her, I think.” Somewhere behind the nonchalant tone, his heart is breaking, but he can’t handle the emotion so he’s distancing himself. Like he does. “If you can play some music, that’ll help. Give me something to focus on.”
“You’re fighting for your family,” Andrew explains, even as he tries to imagine music to play. He actually gets a chuckle for the anime theme he chooses first.
“My greatest mission is to protect them, above everything else.” He bites his lip, trace of guilt in his eyes. “Why didn’t I question?”
“Do you ask questions when you’re going after your targets, once you’ve decided where to point your bow? Someone just redirected that certainty.” Andrew lays a hand on Ollie’s arm, and he shivers. “These things happen to everyone. I’ll be there to save you every time, as long as you do the same for me.”
The way Oliver’s eyes and lips tighten, he looks like he’s about to start crying any second, but he nods firmly. Fortunately, Andrew sees the second Xander decides not to feel guilty about it, to compartmentalize it instead. Wallowing in guilt will help no one. “See you on the outside.”
He disappears, and Andrew glances around for a moment before following.
Unfortunately, Sekhmet’s blood-lust isn’t quenched, even when Xander stands down and bows his head in supplication, blood trickling quietly down his scalp. “You know, this is a wedding celebration. I didn’t really want to tell my parents, but there is a bar. I could give you the alcohol in celebration of your victory.” Drip, drip.
Quiet, reasonable, and apparently enough to let her feel the joy of victory. “You are a very interesting mortal, Archer,” she responds in the dual tone, stretching Andrew’s neck and disappearing, leaving Andrew feeling empty and drained.
“I’d say you are, too,” Xander tells Andrew softly, wincing a little in sympathy as Andrew staggers at the drug and blood loss and pain that’s suddenly hitting him like a punch from a Hulk. He catches the so-called ‘villain’ before the walls even come down.
“Anti-demon racist cultist,” he explains, voice still measured and controlled as if to make up for the previous lack of control. Andrew doesn’t see who he’s talking to, but he assumes it’s the others, back by this point. “No, given what he just did, and what I just did, I’d think that the least we owe him is a little medical attention, and I am so sorry Dawnie.”
The darkness swallows Andrew whole before he can hear anything else.
