he saw his face everywhere: on television, on his phone. it was his face and a myriad of others. all fo them had one thing in common. they were all being taunted by the same, sadistic fool. it was a fool they'd all dealt with before, but this time it felt different. it felt infinitely more personal. maybe, too, it was a second chance. it wasn't like he could go back and undo the things that Prometheus had done to him and his family in the past, he knew Roy's daughter would remain among the dead in another version of this world, but he could do something <i>here</i>. He could stop this reign of terror.

It felt good to shoulder his quiver of arrows. it felt good to hold his bow in his hands. Even without testing a theory, he knew his aim would be as sure as it ever was. There was a tingling in his fingers that had been absent the past few times he'd been aware, like something of his very essence was missing. But now it was back. And he knew he'd be more than capable of taking on a mortal with a penchant for explosive toys.

It isn't hard to find the heart of the battle. For a moment he feels overwhelmed by everything he sees. There is carnage, human and otherwise, everywhere. He should have been more prepared, but, like with most things, he charged headfirst into the fray rather than preparing himself for what was certain to lie ahead. He lets the feeling wash over him, then he rolls his shoulders, reaches behind him for an arrow, and makes his presence known. He's feeling feisty, for the moment, so he sends an arrow through the forearm of his foe. The man howls with pain and looks in the direction that the arrow came from. He spots Oliver, who mock salutes him and reaches for another arrow.

He sends it flying into a minion before it can reach him. He scans the battle field and sees the one thing he wishes he would not: his son. All at once, Oliver has purpose. He runs into the fray. He's not thinking about himself, he's only thinking about how he's going to reach his son and pull the boy to safety. <i>Man,</i> he thinks, correcting himself. But that doesn't matter. He'll be damned if he loses anyone else, especially in this life.

He shoots off arrows left and right, fights with his fists when he has to (feels damn good) but no matter how he fights, he's still too far off when he sees the grenade flash and watches his son crumple. A sound of utter rage erupts from his throat and for a moment he's about to fly off the handle and do something incredibly stupid, but a hand stops his forward progress. Not only does it stop him, but it positively yanks him back. With anger etched on his face he turns to look and finds himself looking into the eyes of the one person he would allow to do such a thing: Dinah. She's radiant in green, the color offsetting her blonde hair. She stands beside him and he smiles.

"Like old times," he smirks.

And just like that, it is. They launch into battle together as if no time, no bad choices, have parted them. He finds that if he lets go, he remembers it all. His body is not used to the way he fights, but somewhere, deep down, is all the martial arts he painstakingly learned in another lifetime. But fighting at Dinah's side helps him to remember. He protects her (like she needs it) and she protects him; his hands protected by the constructs she makes him with her Green Lantern ring. It gives him a boost of power and confidence.

Together they fight closer to their foe. They aren't the only ones, by any means, but Oliver has revenge on his mind. The closer they get, the more singular his focus. And its that focus that costs him. He's taunting Prometheus when the grenade is launched. It takes him down easily. He's knocked out, for how long he doesnt know, but it doesn't seem like its long. When he comes to, there's a ringing in his ears. He can see Dinah yelling at him, but her mouth moves in slow motion. He drags himself to his feet, staggers, then stands facing a literal blast from his past.

He sees, almost too late but not late enough, another grenade heading towards Dinah. He knows she can protect herself, but instinct kicks in as he grabs for her on instinct and covers her with his body as the grenade explodes, showering them with debris. He figures she'll be mad enough as it is so, in a what the hell moment, he kisses her as they shake off the debris. "I missed you, pretty bird," he whispers against her lips.  And then he's off and running, limping really, toward his target.

Prometheus is talking, laughing at him, taunting him. But Oliver is just pissed.  He staggers, then rights himself, pulls himself up to his full height.


"Didn't I kill you already?" he asks as he pulls an exploding arrow from his quiver. He knocks it and fires into the heart if his enemy. He smiles as the arrow explodes, then drops to his knees. He'd bloody and bruised. His ears still ring. But he feels satisfied. He drags himself to where he last saw his son. Exhausted, he collapses at Connor's side. Oliver sighs. "Wish you weren't so much like me, kid," he says, trying to joke.

Then he passes out.