a/n: So, I'm trying to get back into Arrow. I've been trying to work on
—In Life, and I'm just trying to get back into that mindset after going off on a tangent of Hawaii Five-0 fics. So, here is this, me trying to get back into it. Hope you enjoy!

Tag: Season 1 Episode 23 - "Sacrifice"

Summary: "No, Dad. Please, Dad. Stay back. I don't want to hurt you." "You can't. And you can't stop me." He pulled the trigger...

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Tommy's hand trembled with the weight of the cold metal in his clammy palm. "Don't come any closer," his voice not to be outdone by his body, held a shaky base. "I don't want to hurt you." He could still hear his mother's dying breaths, an echo of his own gasping panic.

"Tommy," his dad chuckled; but it wasn't a pleasant or comforting sound. In light of what just happened, it was fearsome. "We both know you're not going to shoot. Now, come on," he held his free hand out (the one not holding the wickedly curved sword), his palm up; as if he were speaking to a naughty toddler who had snatched up something with greedy hands that he shouldn't have, instead of a twenty-eight-year-old man with a loaded gun. "Put the gun down. We have work to do."

"He was right," Tommy uttered in lieu of Malcolm's voracious words, despite all that he had seen and heard in the last fifteen-minutes. "I should have listened." Through his shock, it just seemed to be setting in. Oliver, whatever tension had been eroding between them (with the Hood business and Laurel), he had been telling the truth. Moira's press conference a kick in the ass. He focused back on his father, "You're insane. You just killed three police officers without a blink. You need to be stopped—not encouraged!"

"And you're going to stop me?" Malcolm seemed amused by the notion. "You're my son, Tommy. But let's both be honest, hm? You have always been a sheep, you will only ever be a sheep. You're overwhelmed right now; it's understandable that this is just too much for you to handle. Give me the gun. Go home. When you wake up, it'll be to a new world. Everyone put back into their proper place,"

Malcolm stepped forward. Tommy flinched at the sudden movement and his hand spasmed reflexively. His finger pulled the trigger. The bang sent his ears ringing and Malcolm took a stumble-step backward at the impact. Both Merlyn men stared at each other in sullen surprise, before their gaze averted towards the slow spreading red across crisp white material at the edge of Malcolm's hip.

"Dad, I-" Tommy started to stammer in horror, the smoking gun lowering, but the words caught in his throat as Malcolm's face transformed into something terrible and ugly as he looked across at his son. It was a look the dark-haired man had never seen, or maybe he had—just now, when his father killed those cops, back at the ceremony when he shot goon point blank in front of his eyes.

His own fear had drown out the warning signs. But the bells were ringing pretty clear right now.

"No one is going to stop me—not even my own son. You can't." And he hounded forward in a predatory stride.

"Stop! Stop!" Tommy shouted, panicked. He raised the gun again, his second hand cupping the butt as he scrambled backwards away from his father in hot terror as the larger man came at him like a demon. His back hit the floor-to-ceiling wall of windows and he was cornered, back against a wall. "Please!" but Malcolm didn't stop.

Tommy squeezed his eyes closed, face turned into his shoulder, body shaking from head-to-toe. And squeezed the trigger. And kept on squeezing.

It wasn't until the ringing in his ears died down and the empty clicks registered, that he realized that the screaming in the back of his head was coming from the outside. As it tapered off from his aching throat, the silence was drowned in his heavy breathing.

He wasn't sure how much time had passed before he finally convinced himself to open his eyes and look. The only reason, he presumed, that he was even able to contemplate looking was because his father was-

A strained noise left his throat, pulled from somewhere deep in his chest at the sight of Malcolm, just feet away, sprawled on the floor. Tommy hand's dropped listless to his sides, the gun clanking as it hit the floor. He was soon to follow; sliding down the glass wall, knees drawn to his chest like a little boy.

Something built in his chest, strangling him. Hands fisted into his dark hair, nails digging carelessly into his scalp. A primal, animalistic wail pierced the silence of the office as he watched a dark shadow spread around his father.

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"Looks like we just missed him," Diggle muttered aside to the Archer as they took in the bodies of the dead SWAT officers.

"Oliver," Felicity reported in over comms, "We've disabled the earthquake device with minutes to spare."

"Right, Felicity." Diggle answered with relief. "Now we just have to find Merlyn."

"Tommy!" And Oliver was off from his side.

Diggle quickly followed and halted at the sight of the two Merlyn men. "Hold that thought," he told the woman. "Looks like Merlyn's down for the count."

"What? You got him?"

"Diggle?" Oliver said, his attention on his catatonic friend.

The former soldier crouched by the businessman and put his fingers to the man's pulse point. He shook his head at the blond, "He's dead."

Tommy made a high pitched whine from the back of his throat.

"Tommy? Tommy!" Oliver grasped his shoulder and gave it a rough shake, trying to force his friend back into reality. "What happened? Tommy?"

Tommy's eyes flickered and he blinked his eyes rapidly for a moment, but still couldn't tear his eyes away from the body. "I killed him," he whispered. "Oh, God! What did I do? I killed him!" his chest heaved as he started to have a panic attack. "I murdered him. I'm a k-"

"Hey!" Oliver snapped. He grabbed Tommy's chin and forced scion to look at him. "You are not a killer, Tommy. Do you understand me? He gave you no choice, it was self-defence."

"No, no." He shook his head in his friend's hand. "I did. I did have a choice. I could have put the gun down. I could have-"

"And let him go through with it?" Oliver pulled Tommy to his feet whether the other man wanted it or not. "He wouldn't have stopped." He moved them a distance from Malcolm.

"Is it true?" he cried. "Is what your mom said-"

"I'm afraid so," he whispered. "Tommy-"

Tommy lifted his arm and pointed passed Diggle. "He has a really creepy costume."

Both men turned and Diggle stood, approaching the body-safe. "Looks like the Dark Archer outfit."

"Did he kill all those people?" Tommy questioned, fighting to keep his gaze off his father, but was having difficulty. "The Glades-"

Oliver shook his head. "We managed to disable the device."

"Just one?" Tommy asked absently.

"What do you mean? Tommy?" Oliver grabbed his shoulder, turned his back to Malcolm and forced Tommy's attention back on him. "What do you mean, just one?"

He sniffled. "If I've learned one thing from my father in this business—it's redundancy."

Oliver cursed and tapped his comms. "There's another device, Felicity!"

"What? Oh, frack!" the vigilante and his bodyguard could heard her rapid typing. "There's not enough time to find the device if it's on the same timer. I'm going to see if I can disrupt the trigger frequencies and jam it, now that we have control of the first device." There was tense silence.

"Felicity!" Oliver demanded.

There was a faint beeping over comms, like a watch alarm. "I... I think I got it. The timer from the first device should have run out by now, and seeing as the world hasn't come crashing down around us—literally—I think it worked." She gave a nervous chuckle and gulp. "I've sent Det. Lance to look for the second device so we can manually disable it to make sure it won't go off." She exhaled. "Maybe find the remote trigger? That couldn't hurt,"

Diggle started his search as Oliver focused on his distraught friend.

Oiver heaved a sigh. "It's okay. It's going to be okay. Come on, we don't need to stay here." He started to lead Tommy from the office.

After discovering the remote at the first place he looked—Malcolm's person—he followed the pair down the hall at a discreet distance to give the two men some form of privacy.

"Why did you do it, Ollie?" Tommy asked quietly, scrubbing his face with his shaking hands.

"Do-?" he started in confusion.

"Push me to my father," his breath hitched at the word 'father', "Encourage me to-"

"Tommy, I didn't know." the blond swore sincerely. "If I had-"

"You would have what?" Tommy demanded. He halted, shrugging out from Oliver's arm. "Killed him yourself? Let him die at the award ceremony?"

"I don't know!" Oliver confessed to him. "I-I... would have done something! Something different, sooner, so this never would of happened." He pleaded, helplessly.

Oliver grabbed a fistful of Tommy's shirt at his shoulder. Tommy tried to push him away, to get out, but Oliver pulled him close instead. Arms wrapped around him, held against his chest. Trapped, in shock, exhausted, grieving, angry; Tommy slumped against Oliver in defeat and let out a heart-wrenching scream/sob to express such jumbled feelings.

"I'm so sorry, Tommy." Oliver held on tight. "I never wanted this for you. It's my fault. If I'd just been better-"

"No." But Tommy shook his head and took a step back from Oliver's hold. "I was wrong. I should have listened to you when you told me at the club." He wiped tears and snot away on his sleeve. "I was angry and jealous over Laurel." Oliver's expression flashed with guilt and he went to open his mouth, but Tommy shook his head and silenced him. "I didn't get... this." He made a sweeping gesture at Oliver in all his vigilante glory, including Diggle in the gesture. "But... but I think I get it now. M-my d- he was obsessed. He wouldn't have stopped. If I didn't-" he gave a sharp, shaky inhale.

"Come on," Oliver said softly. Tommy didn't fight against the palm on his back, urging his to move again, to walk away.

"What... what are we supposed to do now?" Tommy asked, at a loss in light of everything.

"We live. Move on." Oliver answered, not unkindly. "Don't let this define you. Make up for our fathers' sins."

[END]

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