ˢⁱⁿᶠᵘˡ ⁱⁿᶠᵃᵗᵘᵃᵗⁱᵒⁿ

໒꒰ྀི'🐍‧｡⋆

[ confessions ]

authors note; very brief mention of abuse. barely.

𝐆𝐨𝐝, 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐝 𝐚𝐥𝐜𝐨𝐡𝐨𝐥. The whiskey burned against your throat, but you continued taking small, leisurely sips of the amber liquid. 

"What ya having, K.C?" Harley questioned from her station behind the bar.

"Bloody Mary, right?" Deadshot joked.

"Drink dulls the mind," the crocodile grumbled, his beady eyes trained on the decorative fish tank across from him.

"K.C, it's the end of the world," you sighed, tracing your finger over the rim of the short glass. "Have a drink."

He ripped his gaze away from the aquarium before him, glancing over his shoulder to shortly answer, "Beer."

"There he is," Harkness mused. "Give the man a beer."

Harley complied, reaching down and grabbing ahold of one of the beer cans left in the lower fridge. Sliding it over the luminated bar, she looked over at Diablo.

"How about you, hot stuff?" she wondered.

"...Water."

"That's a good idea, honey," Harley implored, pointing at him for emphasis before reaching over and lifting a long glass from the stands beside her. "Ninja? You want some sake?"

"Whiskey," Katana corrected.

"A woman after my own heart," you jeered with a dry smile. "She's a keeper."

Harley made work with the bottle, filling up a small yet heavy-bottomed glass, just like yours, and handing it to the woman who reached over. 

Floyd lifted the shot glass in the air with a raise of his brows, "What am I, twelve?" Harley rolled her eyes but filled it up once again, and you noted it was his fourth one for the night. "Here's to honor among thieves," he said, raising the glass.

"I'm not a thief," Katana denied when he glanced her way, stepping back into the dark little corner she'd grown accustomed to.

"Oh," Deadshot whispered mockingly. "She's not a thief."

Clinking glasses with each villain, you drained what was left in your glass. Sighing out, Harkness sniffled slightly as he spoke, "I actually prefer to think of myself as an asset relocation specialist."

"Shut up," you huffed out in a chuckle, whilst Floyd merely hummed with a nod.

"Well, we almost pulled it off despite what everybody thought," he stated.

"We weren't picked to succeed. You know that, right?" Diablo spoke up in question. "We were all chosen to fail."

"Yeah, I know that. Worst part of it is, they're going to blame us for the whole thing. And they can't have people knowing the truth. We're the patsies. The cover-up." Looking over at Katana, he was quick to murmur, "Don't forget. We're the bad guys."

"So, are you gonna tell us know what your 'big deal' with Flag was?" you questioned, craning your head to watch the hitman beside you. 

"Same thing Waller offered me, to kill Harley," he answered. "The chance to be a father. Chance of a life outside the shadows. I trusted Flag."

You snapped your gaze to Diablo when he slammed his palm against the bar table in annoyance. "Flag had you chasing a carrot on a stick, homie. You don't- You don't know that?"

"I love this guy," Harley abruptly admired, pointing at Diablo.

"You played yourself, dawg," he continued, ignoring the woman. 

"Bitch, I'm havin' a drink," Deadshot scowled. "I'm breathing fresh air. And, uh, for about two sweet seconds, I had hope."

Diablo scoffed, "You had hope, huh? Hope don't stop the wheel from turning, my brother."

"Hmm. You preaching?"

"It's coming back around for you. How many people you killed, man?

"You don't ask nobody no question like, ese." 

You could see it and hear it; Floyd was growing to be pissed and annoyed, and by the way he was staring at Diablo, it was growing ever so quickly.

"You ain't ever whacked down no women. No kids."

"I don't kill women or children."

"I do."

The confession had your eyes widening and eyebrows furrowing in an awkward frown. Your shoulders became ridged, and you felt a cold tingle slither up your spine.

Killing children?... Surely not.

"See, I was born with the Devil's gift," Diablo murmured, fingers twining together as he rubbed his palms against one another. "I kept it hidden for most of my life, but... the older I got, the stronger it got. So, I started using it. For business, you know. The more power on the street I got, the more fire power I got. Like, that shit went hand in hand, you know? One was feeding the other. Ain't nobody tell me no... Except my old lady."

Diablo sat comfortably at the head of the small, wooden table. His wife, Grace, wandered around the dark countertop, tapping a spatula against the pan she was holding and placing it on the wood.

He slapped her butt, although wore a good-natured smirk upon his tattooed face, and she rolled her eyes with a grin as she walked towards the front door to retrieve the mail.

"You know, she used to, uh, pray for me. Even when I didn't want it."

As Diablo struck his fork into the meal, the plate was quickly covered by a newspaper which had been slammed down onto the table. 

Grace began exclaiming in Spanish, her eyes cast in a saddened glow as tears lined her long lashes. He read the article that was displayed on the front page, jaw clenching as it regaled the events of a house fire from last night.

That he committed.

"God didn't give me this," Diablo muttered, gazing at the woman of fire dancing in the palm of his hand. "Why should he take it away?"

"Hey." Diablo looked up from his rapid pacing, watching as Grace slammed a cardboard box on the table. From its contents, there was nothing but pistols and large rolls of money. "This is our home!"

"You put that back where you found it," he ordered, pointing at the box.

"I'm taking my kids to mum's," she stated with a defiant lift of her chin.

"You ain't taking my kids nowhere!" Diablo bellowed, and he was quick to chase her up the stairs.

"See, when I get mad, I lose control. You know, I just... I don't know what I do... till it's done." 

He placed the glass of water he originally drank from, now empty, over his palm, encasing the woman. She banged her flaming hands against the confining walls around her but soon sunk back into his skin. 

The breath that escaped you was quiet and wobbly. From beside you, Deadshot placed a hand against his forehead, rubbing the skin as he too, just like the others, processed the sudden story.

"And the kids?" Harkness questioned in the silence.

"He killed them." The captain watched Harley, who had just spoken, before she turned her gaze to Diablo. "Didn't you?" The man's lip wobbled as he didn't answer, his eyes welling with tears that hadn't been shed in years. "Own that shit... Own it! What'd you think was gonna happen, huh?"

"Hey, Harley. Come on," Floyd tried.

"What, you were just... Thinking you can have a happy family and coach little leagues, and make car payments?" she questioned, to which Diablo's only reply was his gaping mouth and glistening eyes. "Normal's a setting on the dryer. People like us, we don't get normal!"

"Why is it always a knife fight every single time you open your mouth?" Harkness exclaimed in interruption. "You know outside, you're amazing. But inside, you're ugly."

"We all are," she whispered. "We all are! Except for him." Her head snapped in gesture to K.C, who looked up from his drink. "He's ugly on the outside, too."

"Not me, shorty," the crocodile denied, lifting the hoodie from over his head and revealing his scaly head. "I'm beautiful."

"Yeah, you are," Harley smirked.

K.C growled, glancing away in annoyance which irked a short smile from you until you heard the sound of the entryway of the bar door opening. 

Glancing over your shoulder, you watched as Flag silently walked into the room. Immediately, you cut your gaze forward, your jaw clenching as he sat down on the stool beside you. 

"We don't want you here."

He ignored Harley's statement, looking at Diablo before risking a glance at you. He found you staring dead ahead, fingers white due to the harsh grip you had on the glass.

"You get to the part in that binder saying that she was my sister?" he asked.

Floyd nodded slowly, "Yeah... I never been with a witch before. Would you mind?" Rick couldn't muster a snarky reply so he merely settled with a cold gaze to which the hitman chuckled. "Apparently that's why the creatures chase him all the time," he explained. "Cause, uh, the witch is scared of him."

"My little sister is trapped inside that monster," Rick mumbled. "If I don't stop the witch, it's over. Everything is over. Everything." You heard the starchy removal of a band, and before you could look over in question, the device on Rick's arm was smashed against the countertop. "You're free to go."

Immediately, your hand shot up to your neck, expecting to feel something, anything... but nothing. He wasn't lying. At least, not this time.

Harley too checked her neck in the mirror stuck on one of the bar pillars, and the sounds of Harkness' thick boots against the floor and the banging of the door alerted his escape.

Reaching into his cargo suit, Rick pulled out what looked to be envelopes, and upon further inspection when he slid them past you to sit in front of Deadshot, you discovered a dozen letters, each with their own unique drawing.

"Your daughter writes you every day," he revealed. "Every single day."

You hadn't seen such pure emotion on Floyd's face. His brows were drawn into a deep frown, although his lips were curling and shaking with the deep threat of tears.

A soft sigh escaped him, and as Rick stood up to leave, he was quick to follow, a newfound rage boiling underneath the leather of his suit. His hand pressed against his chest to stop his movements whilst his other held up the letters.

"You had these the whole time? You had letters from my daughter the whole time?" Floyd questioned. He breathed heavily through his nose, and lifted his finger, almost stabbing it into Flag's chest. "I'm gonna get you there. And you're gonna end this. I'm gonna carry your ass if I have to. Cause this shit is gonna be like a chapter in the Bible. Everybody's gonna know what we did. And my daughter is gonna know that her daddy is not a piece of shit."

Deadshot marched off and out the door, leaving yourself, Flag and the other villains in his wake. Suddenly, Harley retrieved her bat with a nonchalant shrug.

"I'll come," she said, walking around the side of the bar and glancing at the remainders of the group. "What? You got something better to do? Come on... Pussies."

As she passed you, she patted your shoulder and quickly disappeared into the hallway, and soon, K.C, Diablo and Katana followed. The latter glanced at Rick, who merely nodded to which she returned the gesture in silent understanding.

Now, you were alone with Rick. Yippee.

The room was quiet until the soft shuffling of Rick was heard, the sound of the barstool scraping gently against the marble floors caught your attention. You were acutely aware that he was taking the same seat again as he had beforehand, and you glanced over from the corner of your eyes, watching his movements. 

Rick Flag was, yet again, nervous.

He was fidgeting with his hands, closing and opening them, and allowing the pads of his fingers to run against the material of his gloves. His posture was (un-surprisingly) stiff, although his shoulders were hunched over. 

To quell your nerves, you reached over and grabbed the bottle of whiskey, filling up the small sector of your glass at the bottom. The liquid was harsh against your throat, and if you weren't an experienced drinker, you would've coughed and cursed at the burning sensation.

"Did you really want to know about what really happened?" you asked.

Flag snapped his head, looking over at you, surprised that you were the first to speak. "What do you mean?"

"My sister," you clarified with a slight huff. "When you asked, were you asking as Waller's lap dog, or..."

"Or as me?" Rick finished, his tone doubtful, however your soft nod was enough to answer as he replied almost instantly, "Yeah... It was just me being nosey."

You cracked a short grin, and it was quick to disappear, but Rick still saw it, enticing him to tilt his head to try and catch your eye. He caught it a moment later, a swelling of pride in his chest. The look he offered was reassuring enough; a simple expression overtaking his face. No smile or frown. His features were more relaxed. Inviting, but not in an overbearing way. Open.

"I didn't kill my sister."

After a second, he mumbled, "I figured." When you rolled your eyes, he reeled back slightly, instead saving the silence with a wondering thought. "I thought you said you would never tell me."

"People change," you shrugged.

"In three hours?" Rick smiled, though it was tiny.

You didn't answer, instead taking a deep breath, one you didn't know you needed until you realized how empty your lungs felt.

"My father, um... He used to hurt us. Allot," you nodded to yourself. "Growing up, all I wanted to do was run away and take her with me. So, one day, after he had really hurt us.. I shot him. Before the cops could find us and his dead body, I was already an hour away from Metropolis. It was stupid to go there, knowing what I had done and the fact that I was a meta-human definitely didn't help... But it was worth a try.

We lived there for about two years. Comfortable, too. I was a..." Rolling your eyes, you continued, "A dancer. It was a pretty high-end club, and I had a great wage. I was a favorite, according to my boss, which ended up having my name tossed around the members. I used to dance privately for a man who worked in the Falcone Gang. He had come all the way from Gotham. One day, another man who was also associated with them asked for me. Said I was highly recommended."

You were starting to grow nervous, your fingers picking at the skin around your nails and cracking your knuckles.

"I didn't mind, and when he flashed a roll of those hundreds... I couldn't say no. So, I performed a little dance and offered some honey-covered words before the time was up. But, he wanted it to continue outside of the club, and I immediately rejected it. I had him kicked out, and he was off my mind within the hour.

For about a week, everything was normal. I would get home late, and find Evie sleeping soundly. Then, one night, I kept getting these messages every twenty minutes or so. I thought it was just some internet creep and shrugged it off, deciding to block the number after the fourth text. 

It was only when I clocked off at about two in the morning when I got a phone call. I answered, started yelling all those lovely curse words... Until I heard screaming."

Your eyes pinched shut, and you felt that disgusting sting behind your eyes, that you hadn't felt in years. You hated the way it made you feel as though you had feelings. You couldn't.

"Evie was screaming. I knew it all too well. Everything was a blur; running to my car, speeding through the streets. But I do remember walking through a door that had a dozen bullet holes lining the wood... I remember wandering through that shitty apartment with all my hard-earned spendings gone to dust... And I remember Evie. Lying face down with a shot wound in the back of her head."

The single tear that escaped your eye didn't go unnoticed by the colonel, who was watching you with parted lips and a furrowed brow. 

"So, Flag, now you have that understanding you wanted so desperately," you finished with a sigh, finally peeling your eyes away from the bar before you and pinning your eyes onto Rick.

"If I had known-."

"If you had known?" you echoed with a tilt of your head. "If you had known, Flag, you would've used it as another means to put me under control. You already had a grenade in my neck, and now you have my story."

"The bomb's gone," he reminded.

"But the threat isn't," you retorted, leaning closer. "You can still put me back in jail. You can still torture me. You could still kill me."

"I wouldn't."

"You wouldn't?"

"I can't."

The confession was huffed out through gritted teeth and it had you blinking slowly in slight shock. Sometimes you wondered if Flag would just air out his thoughts, given the previous statements he said in the past day. 

And it was only now that you realized just how close you were to the colonel. His head was craning lower, given his height, and your eyes were glued to his, whilst his would make the continuous mistake of glancing down at your lips.

"Don't tell me..." you trailed off in a whisper, your breathing fanning over the plush pink of his mouth. "You're thinking about it."

"Thinking about what?" Rick muttered.

"Kissing me."

His eyes widened, and although he was in such a compromising position with the Viper, Flag still found himself entranced in the ways your eyes danced across his face and the soft yet sultry curl of your lips. 

"I wouldn't kiss you."

"You couldn't," you corrected.

"I shouldn't."

It seemed now, that only in this moment, you realized that the colonel was... genuine. Frank. Honest. 

Somehow, it took you until his lips were ghosting over your own to spring backwards and abruptly stand up. Your hands flexed, reaching behind you to grab the axe that was strapped to your back. Your breathing was labored, and you hated that it was because of the man sitting across from you. 

"We should go," you proposed after a moment as you turned around to face the exit. "Catch up with the others. They're probably wondering what the hell we're doing."

"... Yeah," he muttered, and you heard him standing up. "I'd hate to give them the wrong idea."