Pipster Week 2025

Breaking into Belle Reve wasn't exactly how he thought he'd spend his time post-getting chased across multiple states, shot at, and almost killed; only to find out that it was all planned out by a New Good who wanted to use him for some stupid Equation he didn't even know he possessed before that moment.

It sounded crazy. 

He felt crazy… Nothing he hadn't been labeled before.

Heck, for all he knew this was just some hallucination and delusion. He had been off his meds since he'd been on the run. Maybe a bit before that too. Wolfe thought it was something of a joke to mess around with his meds.

Prick.

And yet… it all seemed like simpler days. Running around with the Rogues, playing cat and mouse with Barry, and Breedmore well… not the best memories there. What came after was; helping people, Wally, Linda, the whole Flash Family and being a part of that, saving the world more than once, James…

Not his James—well, yes, his James but… not the Rogue, not his Trickster. He was sweet, he was good. Maybe too sweet or good for him. They never got to end things. Too much happened. He knew James hated him, he'd leave, it was always going to happen. He shouldn't have even started dating or getting close to people because he would just hurt them and screw up their lives.

All of them. His friends. His partners. The Rogues. His family. Jerrie….

She was probably so scared… wherever she ended up. He never found out… he never… how could he…?

He threw his back against the wall, hard enough to hurt, and slid down to the floor. His throat ached as he sobbed for what must have been the twentieth time just that day. He was exhausted after every time, crawling his way out of panic attacks and trying to convince himself that he was alive… that he was real.

Why did everyone have to leave him all the time? He tried to be what everyone wanted him to be, what he could give, and yet it was never enough—he could never do enough.

Rats crawled over him, most of them trying to find a warm place in his cloak or costume to snuggle in and sleep. They had helped him break in and out of Belle Reve after all. Certainly deserved treats he didn't have on him at the moment; couldn't even remember the last time he ate.

One crawled up his chest and tucked himself in the crook of his neck. 

At least he had them.

His eyes drifted to the body bag laying in the middle of the room. 

Maybe someone else too…

What did that man—or New God even say?

‘You can channel the anti-life equation… you can bring it to life in a way no one can, not even a New God.’

Stronger than a god, huh? Weather Wizard would be jealous.

He smiled, imagining the conversation and how that would happen. Curled up on an old couch or chair in one of their hideouts arguing over a few drinks, maybe a couple of the guys playing cards, and in turn them getting yelled at for arguing too loud; the smell of cigarettes in the air, and Sam’s cigars.

And Trickster…

His chest fluttered, breath quivering.

There were the waterworks again…. Could he cry anymore?

‘The chaos and suffering! If you play, you can end it.’

He scoffed, wiping away the few tears that fell. Well… he made it all go away. The whole damn thing. The entire planet just… poof. 

He didn't—

No. No, he did—he meant to. He meant it. All of it.

Is that what this was? What the anti-life equation was? What he was?

‘A rare human vessel for the anti-life.’

It was him, he was it?

Whatever the fuck that meant.

‘You can do anything you desire, and all you have to do is play.’

Anything—any little thought, even if impossible. He guessed it made sense, given the things he'd done since he could form a thought.

But… anything.

Blow up a planet.

Raise the…

He exhaled steadily.

The body bag was a deep blue. Property of Belle Reve plastered across the front. The rats were scurrying around it; a familiar scent, one that was allowed to handle them… a dead scent. Multiple of them kept alerting him every time they caught a sniff of the stench.

He didn't mind—didn’t care, and in a sick way almost preferred it.

Defrosting.

That's what happens when things that were frozen were brought out.

A thawed, rotted…

He grabbed his flute and pushed himself off the wall and to his knees. Rats shifted around as he crawled to one end of the bag. 

The smell grew stronger. 

He hesitated. He needed to see him. He needed to. He just needed to see—

He grabbed the zipper, yanked it down half way, and shoved the sides apart.

He chuckled, feeling those tears once again.

At least the people that took James' body had the decency of leaving his clown in that ridiculous outfit of his. He ran his hand along the orange and blue stripes; nothing but a firm cold body beneath them. His cape was still attached, bunched up under him.

He looked up. Domino mask still in place. Tattered, covered in blood, but still in place. His whole face was covered in blood. That normally blonde and fluffy hair of his, covered in a dark red, crusted and flaking off all over the place.

Head wounds bled a lot after all.

And… how?

He followed his right arm down.

His hands—both hands!? One was stitched back, attached from where he had… 

His stomach churned, bile burned his throat and coated his mouth as he quickly turned to the side; one of his rats narrowly missed the down pour.

He spit and wiped his mouth with his sleeve. A silent apology to his rats; he took a deep breath.

James would never forgive him. He would—

He stopped.

Anything he desired…? Whatever he wanted to happen, could—would happen. If he just played. Made any little noise. Just as he had always done. Whatever he wanted…. 

He couldn't be on the side of the angels alone.

He grabbed his flute, pressed the mouthpiece to his chin and blew. A soft string of notes flowed out as he focused on keeping his breath even. He increased the pressure, feeling it grow louder.

The skin around the stitches in James' hand started to form. The jagged edges reattached themselves faster than he expected; muscle, tendons, all the layers of flesh, and within seconds the stitches were useless.

He closed his eyes trying to focus on playing. When he opened them he looked at the hole in the middle of his friend's forehead; now a closing hole. What had happened to his hand was happening again. He tried not to look too close, worried he would have to stop to empty whatever was left in his stomach again if he did.

James had taken that shot for him. He had put his life on the line for him. That somehow, some God knew he would do with such certainty that…

He played faster and watched as what happened in front of him followed. The gaping wound quickly became nothing, only dried blood evidence it was once there. The pale pallor grew steadily with a tinge of red; cheeks flushed, his lips and nails lost their tinge of blue.

He stopped playing and lowered his flute.

He ran his hand through the ends of James' hair, pushed it away from his ear, and lowered his lips to it and whispered.

“Wake up.”

They were breaking out. 

Well… sneaking out more like it, but that sounded less dramatic. Their parents and her big brother were The Rogues after all; dramatic were their middle names.

Sorta. Hartley’s was Robert but—

“Jerrie!”

She snapped her head around. Billy, Owen, and Axel were ahead of her sneaking down the hallway. 

“Spacing off. Come on!” Billy whisper-yelled.

Axel stopped at the end of the hall and peaked around the corner. “Clear.”

She caught up, grabbing the notepad from her pocket and tapping Billy to get his attention. She usually preferred her tablet for communicating but notepad and signing would have to work for now. She grabbed her pen and quickly scribbled on the paper then turned it around to him. “Rats?”

He nodded. “Axel!

“What?

“Rats?”

“Crap!” Axel exclaimed under his breath.

Jerrie pushed ahead of them and peaked around the corner Axel had his back too. Their exit strategy, the back door, was being guarded by a bunch of rats. She really needed to talk to Hartley about his anxiety.

She grabbed some treats from her other pocket. She clicked her tongue to get their attention and then tossed the treats away from the door and watched as they all ran to eat them.

Axel laughed. “Too easy.” 

They pushed forward and got to the door. She took the lead and slowly turned the door handle. She paused and felt the rest of them jolt to a stop behind her as the door was pushed open. 

Clothes were scattered everywhere. The carpet was rucked up. Some items from a nearby desk looked like they had been thrown off. And in the middle of the room James and Hartley were laid out on the pull out futon. Her brother cuddled up to James’ side while James was spread out across the mattress. Both of them were wearing far less clothes than she would have liked. 

Billy reached across and pulled the door shut just as quickly as it had been opened with a far off stare. “Yeah, that happens sometimes. Let's just go through the window.”

She shook her head. Now of all times. Her brother’s horny-ness couldn't wait to do it another night when they weren't supposed to be looking after them? She knew the adoption was a bad idea.

She rolled her eyes and followed Billy as he began to fiddle with the window.

“Uh…” Axel cocked his head. “I thought Piper had a boyfriend?”

Jerrie turned her notepad to him and Owen. “Broke up.”

“And your mom?” Owen asked Billy.

“One time thing.” He gestured to himself. “Obviously.” He popped the lock and put it to the side.

Owen and Axel shared a perplexed look. “Wait. How long have they—” he gestured to the door.

“We don't need to talk about that.” Billy waved Owen off while pushing up the window to the fire escape.

Jerrie tapped Owen. “While.” She turned it back to her to write, then— “On and off.”

Billy craned his neck from where he was halfway out the window. “Jerrie!” He yelped, quickly catching himself from slipping. “Can you not?!” He hopped down as they followed through.

She waited, slipped her notepad into her pocket when it was her turn to go through and shrugged after she hopped out. “He's my big brother.” She sharply signed. She softly shut the window behind her.

“And that's my dad!” He dropped down to the next balcony. “What if your dad was hooking up with someone other than you mom?”

She leaned over the railing as he looked up at her. “He's dead.”

He loudly groaned, resulting in all of them harshly shushing him.

“Honestly, if any of the guys were fucking, my money would be on Piper and Trickster.” Owen hoped down after Billy.

“You've thought of this?”

Axel nodded, ignoring Billy. “Mines on Wizard and Mirror Master.”

“Sam?” Owen asked.

“Evan.”

Jerrie nodded. “Makes sense.” She pressed the back of her fist on the underside of her chin, waiting behind Axel.

“Yeah.” He looked down at Owen. “If anyone were doing Sam it would be your dad.”

“What—?!” Owen caught himself from slipping down the ladder. He hopped the rest of the way to the ground and recomposed himself. “My dad's straight.”

Jerrie snapped her fingers to get his attention. “You sure about that?”

“Apple doesn't fall far from the tree.” Axel slid his way down the ladder to the floor.

“What’s that supposed to—” He paused; hesitated. “Yeah, okay, whatever…”

Axel smiled. “Nightwing, huh?”

“Shut up.”

Axel shrugged. “I don't blame you, it's Nightwing.”

He did a doubletake; looked at Jerrie as she dropped down from the ladder. 

Jerrie scrunched her nose and shook her head. He didn't do much for her.

"I wonder if the other guys know?” Billy mused.

“That Nightwing’s hot? Probably.”

“No, Owen! I mean about Piper and my dad—” he waved his hand around, “you know.”

“Fucking.” Jerrie signed.

He sputtered as he watched her. “Why is that sign like that? Why does it—” He gestured aimlessly to her hands.

Owen chuckled. “No, no, I like it, it's a great sign.”

She nodded as they all smiled at Billy's demise. “You can say it, it's okay.” She put a consoling hand on his shoulder.

“No.”

Owen gave him a pat on the back. “She's right.”

“No.”

“Say it! Say it!” Axel chanted. “Say it, say it, say—”

“Okay!” Billy snapped. “My dad and your brother are fucking! Happy?”

A rush of wind blew past them with a blur of red. The Rogues who had gone out early were dumped at their feet with the Flash standing over them.

“Piper and Trickster are what?”

“I told ya!” Digger exclaimed from the floor, giving Sam a shove. “You owe me.”

Axel gave Owen a look. Owen sighed, shaking his head.

The lights switched on inside the hideout.

“Great.” Billy looked towards Jerrie.

“Shit.” She signed. Unsuccessful breaking out—sneaking out. Whatever.

To be honest, it had almost seemed like Earl had thought he was a threat, but had he seen James Jesse’s costume? There was nothing to be sexually attracted to. There were so many layers that any definition the man’s body might have had was completely imperceptible.

Earl had muttered something about stupid sexy clowns when he said that, so maybe Hartley was the one who should actually have been worried.

But for the last several years, every night, when Hartley would be going to sleep, the Trickster was sitting on the branch of a tree outside, ready to talk to him until he fell asleep. One time, he had been playing the saxophone. They would talk late into the night, about anything and everything, with a lot of making fun of the other Rogues.

It was kind of sweet, actually, except for the time with the saxophone.

Hartley was surprised to find just how much he missed it.

About three days after he first noticed the absence, he got the phone call. It was a California area code, so he almost didn’t pick it up, but then he remembered the shoe incident. James had a friend in California, and that friend could be calling him because James was hurt.

He snagged the phone by the wire and lifted it up to his ear. The noise on the other end was loud and sounded like a bar, but he could still hear what sounded like a drunk Trickster shushing the people around him.

“James?” He asked. “Why are you in California?”

“Pipey!” James yelled into the phone so loudly that Hartley had to hold the receiver away from his ear. “Guess why I’m in California!”

“I just asked why... James, is something wrong?”

There was a moment of silence, probably because James was so drunk he couldn’t remember that Hartley couldn’t see him shake his head over the phone.

“You remember Blue Devil? He’s helping me find a job, I’m gonna be staying in California, and guess what! I’m gonna be working in movies! Dan’s so cool and handsome and-” Hartley should probably have questioned that last part, but he’d already tuned out by the time James got to that (and the several-minute-long gushing session about how amazing Dan Cassidy was). He could only concentrate on one thing.

What did James mean by saying he was staying in California?

Did he mean he was leaving forever? Quitting the Rogues?

What about Hartley?

How could he just drop him like a hot potato as soon as something better came along?

--------------------------------

“So anyway, I heard that you came out and wanted to ask how you knew you were gay, Pipey.” Trickster’s face scrunched up as the dial tone filled his ear. “Pipey?”

Next to him, at the bar, a strawberry blond stuntman turned to his companion. “And this is the guy who ‘knows women, Cass’, Jack?” He scoffed, taking a sip of beer.

The sound of heels and dress shoes hitting the pavement followed them for a few blocks away from Rathaway Estate. They finally slowed to a stop as they got out of the neighborhood and through the back alley resting near the trash of a corner store.

Their panting very quickly turned into laughter as they looked at each other. Hartley took off his glasses to wipe away tears while James tried not to touch his face and ruin his makeup.

Hartley held his chest. “Did you—did.” He busted out into another fit of laughter, barely breathing, holding onto the wall so he didn't keel over. “The look on my dad's face!”

That smile, that laugh; he liked making Hartley do those things. Couldn't stand the serious, scared, nervous wreck that he was the whole evening while having dinner with his parents. Which was why the sight of Hartley’s dad when he dropped the falsetto voice and took off his wig was something to be remembered.

Even more Hartley's expression, and the way he was looking at him now. Shock, bewildered… awe.

“I didn't think you were gonna do that.”

James cleared his throat. “Figured the only thing worse to your parents than you having a boyfriend is well…” James looked down at himself, grabbing the skirt of his dress. “This.”

“My dad was treating you like such a lady too.”

“I wore my nicest clothes, Piper.” He did a little half twirl, his dress and coat billowing.

Hartley’s expression softened. He looked him over. “You do look beautiful in them.” He had been there when he picked out the outfit after all.

James felt his heart skip in his chest. He looked away. That wasn't supposed to be part of it. He had been over it—that feeling. It wasn't anything. He could ignore it… he wanted to ignore it. He pulled a grimace, leaning against the wall pretending his feet were bothering him.

“Yeah, remind me to never run in these heels again.” He coughed out a nervous laugh.

Hartley stepped closer into his space, catching his hand as it slipped from the wall and letting him lean on him as he—pretended to—fix his heels.

Worse. Absolutely worse.

“Thanks.”

And if things could get extremely worse. He straightened up and was immediately pulled into a hug.

“I love you.” Hartley tightened the hug. “Thank you; for being my fake girlfriend-slash-boyfriend and for not leaving me alone with them.”

James could feel his heart in his throat. Normally he'd hug back just as tight if not tighter.

It was Piper after all.

How they always were. Shared a room together at the Rogues hideout for crying out loud.

It was just Piper.

He was scared his heart might claim eviction from his chest. Hartley would feel it—he could feel it no doubt. They were just running though, emotions high… maybe he wouldn't know? Wouldn't know—wouldn't have any hint at all that he….

Well…

He closed his eyes and hugged back. “What are friends for, Pipey?”

He was James Jesse, The Trickster. Hartley was a Rathaway, but more importantly The Pied Piper.

They were Rogues.