The sound of flesh hitting flesh echoed around the room. Barry's fist collided with Oliver's jaw, causing the man to stumble backwards. Finding his footing, Oliver bent his knees and propelled himself towards Barry, his arm outstretched.
Barry darted out of the way and sprinted to the other side of the room.
"You're a murderer!" He yelled at Oliver, clenching his hands into fists.
Oliver merely cackled, letting is head roll back on his shoulders, making him look like the kind of cliched villain you'd see in a movie. "And you let those people die, Barry Allen." He hissed. "You weren't fast enough."
Barry darted towards Oliver yet again, landing a punch in the stomach, winding the ex-millionaire. With a grunt, Oliver doubled over, trying to regain the ability to breathe.
"I'm not the one known for being a killer." Barry didn't know what he was saying. Part of him hated this man before him, but something was telling him to pull back. Something was telling him he didn't want to hurt the vigilante. Something was telling him to stop. It was the same itching sensation at the back of his mind. Heneeded to remember.
Oliver shared the feeling, but he couldn't help himself. The fire inside of him was burning through his chest, fueling an unknown rage. "I'm not the one with a dead mother at the hands of my own father."
Another burst of speed and another fist to the Arrow's jaw. But Oliver didn't seem to be affected by the attacks. He spat out the blood pooling inside his mouth and straightened himself, facing the furious glare of the Flash.
"Look's like I'm not the only one who needs some control.
This time, he was ready.
As Barry came barreling in his direction, he calculated exactly where Barry was planning to hit. His rib-cage. With strength he didn't know he had, he held out an arm to block the punch that was coming, and grabbed Barry's forearm with his other. Barry yelped in surprise and instinctively tried to pull away, but Oliver only tightened his grip.
"Ah! Let go of me!" The speedster ordered.
Oliver wasn't sure how he had known to do what he had just done. It was like his body acted out of pure instinct. He was glad it had, of course, but could this be similar to Barry's speed? Could he just ... do things he'd done before?
"Not gonna happen."
The vigilante twisted Barry's arm so it was pinned against his back. Then, without a second thought, he yanked it upwards.
A loud crack resonated around the room.
Barry screamed in anguish, kicking his heel into Oliver's shin and running to the far wall, cradling his arm.
"What the hell did you just do?"
Oliver rubbed the spot on his leg which Barry had kicked. "Dislocated your shoulder." He said simply, as if it was something he did every other day.
Barry could only stare at the man in disbelief. Maybe provoking a fight wasn't such a good idea ...
Oliver, however, was enjoying the sport. It was like he was a predator, hunting, playing with his food. And Barry was his meal ... the prey.
Hesitating not a moment longer, Oliver ran forwards, sprinting towards an intimidated Barry. Luckily for him, Barry's speed got him out of the line of impact before Oliver could grab him yet again. But he could already tell he was getting tired. The speed, the injury, the half-eaten meal, the emotions, they were all taking their toll on the speedster, and he knew that he had to wrap this up fast or he'd have no chance.
There was only one thing left he could try. Reasoning with an unreasonable man.
Holding up his uninjured arm, he took a deep breath and said, "OK, OK, stop. Please."
Oliver, who had been gearing up for another attempt at pinning down the boy, stilled.
"I-I know, I know I said s-some horrible things. I-I don't know why." Was he imagining it, or was he feeling guilty? "But, but Oliver please," He was speaking to Oliver like a friend. What had come over him? "P-please don't do this." That was all the speedster could manage, his energy rapidly draining.
It took a moment for the words Barry had spoken to hit Oliver. The boy was pleading? He understood he was exhausted, injured and no doubt regretting picking a fight with the Starling Vigilante, but the boy wasn't innocent.
Neither am I. An internal fight was going on inside Oliver's brain.
So what if I killed a few people? They were criminals anyway.
So what? Barry only tried to save people. Barry has a good heart deep down. So do I. Barry is my friend.
What?
I know it. Barry is my friend.
I've known him for less than a day. And in that time we have tried to beat each other to a pulp.
I know I knew Barry before this, I know we worked together, I know I need to remember?
Remember what?
My past, everything that's happened, everything between the both of us.
Shut up.
No.
I said be quiet.
Barry watched on in bemusement. Oliver Queen was staring into space, occasionally twitching and blinking. It had been thirty seconds now, and Barry really needed to sit down.
"Oliver?" He puffed out.
Whatever daydream Oliver had entered, he snapped out of it just as quickly.
"Oliver?" Barry called again, louder this time.
The man puffed out his chest and sighed through his nose. The fire turned into a blazing inferno.
Barry barely had time to register the answer before he was knocked off his feet and pinned on the floor. Oliver's knee was pressed against his neck, while the other dug into his un-dislocated arm.
That was when it clicked inside Barry's head. Something was reunited in his mind.
"O-Oliver," He gasped, trying to speak with Oliver's knee slowly cutting off his oxygen supply.
But Oliver didn't listen. A ginormous fist flew down onto Barry's nose.
Unable to scream, Barry struggled and writhed underneath the vigilante's hold.
"Ol-ver, pl-se. You d-n't wan- to d- thi-s"
Another punch to the jaw.
"Wh-t are you d-ing?" Barry's face was turning a plum colour now, veins starting to throb in his forehead.
To tell the truth, Oliver didn't know. This wasn't him. This wasn't Oliver Queen. This wasn't the Arrow.
Barry's attempts at trying to break free began to get weaker and weaker. Blood streamed from his nose, his face was changing shade yet again, from a plum to a pale red, his fingers began to go numb and his shoulder throbbed painfully.
"Pl- Ol-"
Barry could barely breathe anymore. The exhaustion didn't help. Black dots danced in his vision and a grey mist began to creep around the corners of his eyes.
Oliver had stopped punching the boy, but he hadn't relented on his hold. His knees still dug into the boy's neck and arm.
Stop it!
Barry is my friend.
Barry is the Flash.
Remember!
You're killing him! You're killing your friend!
You are meant to protect him, guide him, help him, keep him safe.
You are the Arrow, now save him!
"Ple ..."
Barry's mouth hung open, still trying to complete his last sentence. His eyelids started to flutter, the fight to stay conscious not in his favour.
With one last raspy intake of breath, Barry let his grip on reality go, letting a small whisper escape from his mouth.
"Olly, please ..."
(A/N)
More to come next week!