Working With Red

Backstories and Dark Memories

Updated: 2021.08.19 

"(Y/N), this really isn't a good idea," Oliver muttered, shaking his head. He was starting to get worried for both you and Roy now. Roy was nearly gaping in anticipation, while you looked as though you were about ready to blow up. Oliver puffed his cheeks uncomfortably as he pulled you back and turned you to face him. "I don't want--"

"I'm not worried about him releasing this to his girlfriend, or lover, or whoever the hell he says she isn't," you replied quietly. "If you want your sidekick to get back in line, he should know what I'm really doing here. This isn't a debate anymore, Ollie." You were beyond pissed, practically shaking with frustration, but you did your best to keep your composure. Your injured hand was cradled tightly in the other, so tightly it almost hurt. Oliver knew you was angry, which was what was frightening him; unbeknownst to you, your eyes had begun turning green.

"(Y/N), I really don't--"

"God, just let her spit it out already!" Roy growled, folding his arms tightly over his chest. He was growing impatient; as much as he hated to admit, he was borderline desperate. He wanted to know why you were acting so secretive about everything; why you seemed so terrified to talk about yourself.

"You heard him, Ollie," you whispered, an uncomfortable shudder rolling through your body. "I should talk to him alone."

"I can't allow that," Oliver piped up, a stern look crossing his face. "The way you two have been arguing, I don't want to leave you alone with each other."

"It's not like this is a simple chat we can all share over a cup of coffee, or something!" you snapped, pointing a finger at Oliver. "You already know damn well what I'm about to say, and Roy should know, too! Keeping this from him any longer won't do any good for any of us!"

Oliver took a step back, as did Roy, as you let out an aggravated growl.

"Take me somewhere we can talk," you hissed, throwing Oliver a pointed glance over your shoulder before adding, "privately."

Before Oliver could interject, Roy gripped you by the bicep and dragged you off to the garage. He didn't give you any time to marvel at the vehicles as he slammed and locked the door behind him, snatching a ring of keys from the wall and leading you to a black '70 Grand Prix SJ.

"Get in," Roy snapped, throwing your arm back to you as he moved around to the driver's side of the Grand Prix. You scoffed, and even though you were pissed, you delicately pulled the passenger side door open and slid into the seat. Roy carelessly slammed his own door shut, only adding to your aggravation.

"Let's go," you muttered as you buckled your seat belt, choosing to ignore the lavish leather seats and polished customized dashboard. Roy rolled his eyes, shoving the keys into the ignition and bringing the roaring engine to life. He then peeled out of the garage, barreling through the gates as they opened up and drifting out into the streets of Star City.

"Start talking." Roy's eyes remained fixated on the road as he drove, running first a red light and then weaving through traffic. You took a deep breath, your eyes widening as you suddenly realized what you'd promised to do.

You had to tell Roy. You had to, now.

"Not until you tell me where we're going," you uttered out, voice wavering for a split second. Roy briefly glanced at you out of the corner of his eye before huffing quietly to himself.

He kept silent for the next few minutes, as did you, until Roy slowed and pulled into the parking lot of a broken-down warehouse. He continued to drive through the busted doors, creeping through the open space until he settled the Grand Prix in the corner between a couple of shipping creates. He turned off the motor and the headlights, the only light in the place now coming through a set of broken windows lining the top of the far wall.