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Tell Me Why It Hurts	By : NekoMalik Category: DC Verse Comics > The Flash Views: 1211 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own the Flash, nor the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 1-Tell Me Why It Hurts
- 2-Chapter Two
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Piper hoisted the heavy duffel bag over his shoulder with a groan, his muscles screaming from overuse. He was exhausted, annoyed and starting to question the logic that had made him come back to the Rogues in the first place. He’d spent some time on the ‘right’ side of the law, both before and after Trickster’s death at the hands of Deadshot. It hadn’t lasted though; the stress of losing the blonde haired man had unhinged him a little.
Trickster...the man had been loud, obnoxious, annoying, frustrating as hell and horrifically homophobic, but his passing had hit Hartley far harder than it really should have. They’d just about started piecing their broken friendship back together when the other man had been cruelly ripped away from him, but the pain that followed had been far more intense than anything he’d felt before. Cradling James’ lifeless body in his arms, sobbing hysterically, Hartley hadn’t known what to do. It felt as though his own heart had been ripped out when that bullet struck the blonde between the eyes, ending his too short life, and it was a pain that was still resonating through him.
He couldn’t really understand it; the only feelings he had for the Trickster were ones of annoyance and a slight sadness at the loss of the friendship they’d once shared, all because James couldn’t accept the fact that Hartley preferred the company of men and chose to rib the Piper about it at every possible opportunity. It had hurt, a lot, that someone he’d cared about would treat him like that.
After the event he’d tried to take down the Rogues, and in doing so lost what little respect Len still had for him. He probably shouldn’t have done it, but Hartley was so convinced that it was what James had wanted that he didn’t care about the consequences. Failing, he retreated back to Wally, spending much of his time in the other man’s company, not really caring to seek out anyone else. Wally’s wife, Linda, hadn’t really objected at first, but when weeks had turned into months and he was still sleeping on their sofa, she had put her foot down and told him to move back to his own apartment. He had, reluctantly, and slipped into a deep despair.
Leaving the shelter of his apartment only to retrieve whatever foodstuffs he needed, Hartley barely saw a single soul. He was lonely, painfully lonely, but Wally’s weekly visits kept him going. Eventually, his friend had suggested he visit a psychiatrist, understandably worried about his mental state. Hartley had agreed, if only to make his last remaining friend happy, and had booked in with one that week.
The man had the most soothing voice Hartley had ever heard, and seemed so kind. He opened up easily, sobbing on the couch of a total stranger, spilling his soul between pained gasps. Everything poured out, the loneliness, losing James, the homophobia that seemed to follow him no matter where he went, the pain of having to carry that heavy body around with him for so long and then having no choice but to dismember it himself by cutting off James’ hand. Recalling how he had felt when James had started rotting had been the worst; he wasn’t even sure if the psychiatrist could understand him by that point.
The man had simply nodded and voiced his encouragement in that impossibly soothing tone, a sympathetic look on his face. Finally, when the session was over, he’d patted Hartley on the shoulder and told him to wait on the couch for just a little while so he could organise something. Hartley had waited for over half an hour in that room, alone, tears still falling freely, his face red and swollen.
The man tried to have him committed. Hartley fled.
Wally had come over the next day, keen to find out how the session had gone. Piper, still distraught from the betrayal of the man he’d opened up to, snapped. He took it out on Wally, who eventually left with a black eye and a split lip. The speedster hadn’t been back since.
Months passed, and eventually the loneliness became too much to bare. He’d ended up at the Rogues old hideout, looking for Captain Cold. He’d found him, fortunately or unfortunately he didn’t know, but the older man hadn’t been pleased to see Hartley, grabbing him by the collar and holding the Piper in place so that he could introduce the younger man to his fist. The beating had lasted a good ten minutes, and would probably have lasted a good while longer had Mick not eventually pulled Len off him and dragged the spitting, swearing leader of the Rogues out of the room. Piper had simply laid there, somewhat thankful for the pain that was coursing through his body. He’d eventually been scooped up from his place on the floor by Mark, who’d carried him somewhat roughly to his room and spent some time cleaning and dressing the various cuts and bruises that now marred Hartley’s slim body.
Neither had spoken for the whole time he was in there, the silence broken only by the sound of Axel watching some cartoon on the old TV, his obnoxious laughter ringing through the safehouse. It made Hartley’s blood boil, knowing that some punk kid had effectively stolen James’ identity and was making a mockery of it. He wondered, what would James do if he was here? The thought brought so many painful memories back up to the surface, though if Mark had noticed his sudden tension and look of pain he didn’t show it.
Len had finally reappeared, Mick hovering over his shoulder, not trusting the older man not to snap again. He’d sworn and shouted, making sure the Piper knew exactly what he thought of him and his defection to the other side. Hartley simply hung his head and nodded in the right places, knowing that most of what Cold had said was completely true. He never should have left the Rogues in the first place. If he hadn’t, maybe, James might still be alive.
“If you’re back, you fucking STAY back. No more of this do-gooder shit, you’re a Rogue and you do as yer told, got it?” Len spat, his disdain obvious. Piper nodded, not looking up still, his hands clasped together in his lap. “You do as I tell you, no questions, no complaining. You got some serious fucking brownie points to win back, kid.” He’d turned to leave then, looking back over his shoulder and adding as an after-thought, “Once a Rogue, always a Rogue.” He was gone then, striding through to the kitchen, in desperate need of a beer and some painkillers for his pounding headache and bloodied fist.
“Welcome back, Piper.” Mick had nodded to him, before following his leader out of sight. Hartley had visibly relaxed at that, the small motion gaining him eye contact and a small but warm smile from the Weather Wizard.
So here he was, carrying whatever he was told to carry, stealing what he was told to steal, following orders to the letter. It had been a good six months since he’d returned to the Rogues, but Len still wasn’t ready to trust the redhead. Not that Hartley blamed him; he’d betrayed them once, so now it was up to him to prove he wasn’t about to do the same again.
“Get a move on, Piper.” Cold snarled over his shoulder, not bothering to look back at his struggling comrade. He’d gained a little more respect for the younger man recently, and it was encouraging to Hartley that he’d actually started including him in planning sessions again, even defending him against Evan once when the Scot had made a particularly nasty comment. He was getting there, and even this voluntary slave labour was better than returning to the life he’d abandoned.
“I’m coming, hold on.” He called back, hoisting the heavy bag a little higher on his shoulder. The Weather Wizard shot a look back at him, an encouraging smile on his lips for a moment before his whole face twisted into a look of shocked disbelief. A strange strangled noise tore through the air from the handsome man, somewhere between a gasp and a shout, as he stared at the space directly behind Hartley.
A look of confusion flitted across Pipers face for a moment, before his eyes widened, back straightening in shock as an impossibly familiar voice pierced the near-silence.
“Hartley?”
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Tell Me Why It Hurts