#coldwavewinterweek2018

"Sometimes a game is more about the play than the end result," Snart says. "Especially when you play with Central City rules."

Mick is going to strangle him.

"No, really!" Snart protests, undoubtedly in response to Mick's expression. "We played with favors and deals as part of play - you can sneak a peek at my tiles in exchange for one piece of my selection from yours, I'll put down half of a board if you put down the other half, I'll swap you one now if you swap me one later, that sorta thing -"

"Snart," Mick snarls. "I don't care about Rummikube."

Snart scowls. "Fine. Tell me more about this spell thing."

"You mean the giant eldritch monstrosity about to eat you -"

"Other than that."

"The Fae used to dominate the planet," Mick says. "They had all sorts of powers, which I guess is similar to what your world's speedsters had, and they used it to enslave humanity. Then the great sorcerer Tam Lin fell in love and fucked it up."

Snart frowns. "How's that? You didn't mention love before."

"Well, that's what happened. He fell in love with a Fae, a weaker one, and the only way they could be together was if humanity were free or something like that, I don't remember exactly. Either way, he came here on Midsummer's Day and set a spell locking the power of the Fae into the Underhill, keeping them from using all their powers and forcing them to stay there most of the time, and reinforced that spell with his love for his girl - maybe boy, maybe something else, I dunno, wasn't really paying attention - with his love for his soulmate, anyway. And the spell gets stronger every time some pair of lovers plight their troth with his name, which of course everyone does. But if you want to break it, you need the exact opposite."

"Huh. So that's why they needed you to get me, I guess? The necessary ingredient being a soulmate willingly sacrificed?"

"A seventh son's soulmate, willingly sacrificed," Mick corrects. "Tam Lin was a seventh son, too, and it's Midwinter - best time of the year to defeat a spell set at Midsummer. Besides, that's just the last ingredient - they've been pulling pain and agony out of humans for decades to build the spell up as much as it is."

"Does it matter that you ain't really willing anymore?"

"No. I agreed to a deal and as long as they keep to their half, I can't weasel out. And that means they can do whatever the hell they want to you as long as my family gets out."

"And what they want is to feed me to this spell."

"Yeah," Mick says grimly. "That spell."

He points.

The spell's even bigger than it was before: a glowing mass of blue light, snarled in on itself like a Gordian knot, pulsing with a hunger to consume and destroy.

"Beautiful, isn't it?" Savitar comments, appearing by their side. He has the dragonfire spear in his hand, the asshole; he's just rubbing their loss into their faces now. "Enhancement spells built on enhancement spells - I wouldn't suggest casting a fireball anywhere near it, not if you wanted the city to remain intact."

"So it's the spell equivalent of a nuke," Snart says thoughtfully.

"A spell that gives whatever spell you cast around it nuclear force," Savitar corrects, then smiles unpleasantly. "And the spell we're going to cast is going to be a good one. Midwinter betrayal will free us all from our chains."

"Speaking of betrayal," Snart drawls, "what exactly are the terms you set for Mick's deal? He just needed to get you your items, right? Minus the ones you forgave as a 'gift'?"

Savitar frowns, and Mick frowns, too.

"That's right," he says, wondering where Snart was going with this.

"Well, then, he's done that," Snart says. "His family should be free to go already."

Mick turns to look at Savitar, who's gone from frowning to scowling, albeit with an expression that suggested that he was mildly impressed.

"You're good with words, for a human," he says.

"I used to be a politician," Snart explains. "You'd be amazed how well I eel through loopholes."

Savitar snorts, surprised into something almost human. "A politician. Really, seventh son? I would've thought you'd have better taste."

"So would I," Mick grumbles.

Snart rolls his eyes at both of them. "Deal done, yes?"

"Yes," Savitar says. "They're free to go."

A weight lifts off Mick's shoulders.

"I'll do you one better," Snart says. "I'll go down to the spell willingly if you guarantee their safe passage."

Mick's spine stiffens. He hadn't thought about that.

"Why would I care if you go willing or not?" Savitar asks, arching his eyebrows and crossing his arms. "I could carry you there in less time than it takes to blink."

Now it's Mick's turn to roll his eyes. "Because with his way, you won't have to go anywhere near the spell," he says. "Do you think we haven't noticed that it's all alone there? I bet it doesn't like you Fae all that much."

Savitar looks mutinous for a moment, then the expression fades. "Very well," he says. "Your willingness to proceed in exchange for safe passage out of the Underhill."

"Mmm," Snart says. "Not what I said. For a Fae, you really ought to be more careful with your words. Thanks for agreeing, though."

Mick frowns. "What's the difference between what you said and what he said?"

"He said 'safe passage out of the Underhill'," Snart explains. "I, however, said 'safe passage' - without any limitations."

"I'm not protecting that many people indefinitely!" Savitar exclaims.

"You should've been more cautious, then."

Savitar glares. "No. Trade down, or I'll break contract and take whatever consequences fall out."

"Oh, all right," Snart sighs, all put-upon. "You give his family safe passage out of Underhill and, hmm, seven years and a day of immunity, and I get to take whatever I like with me."

"Safe passage out of Underhill, three years and a day of immunity, and you can take whatever's yours with you. Best offer."

"Done."

Mick's head hurts. Also, Snart clearly took Mick's story about what his universe's doppelganger did far too much to heart.

Still, immunity for his family is good.

Just -

He wishes it didn't have to come at the expense of Snart's life.

He likes Snart. Even his ma likes Snart, and that's even after he finagled her into gambling against the Fae.

(Mick's dad is a little more iffy, but that won't stand up against Ma's views for very long. Everyone knows where the real power in their family lies.)

"What do you want to take with you?" Savitar asks, amused again. Fae are changeable like that. "Decide now - your time is up."

Mick swallows. It's too soon - he's just found Snart; he doesn't want to lose him -

"Mick," Snart says.

Mick looks at him.

"Come with me."

"Are you nuts?" Mick exclaims. "What, and get myself killed for no reason?"

"Please, Mick. I have a plan -"

"Oh, yeah, like the old one worked so damn well!"

"Mick. Please. Trust me?"

Mick just met the guy. They're not even together, not really, they're just a possibility, and so what if they're soulmates? Just because they affect each other doesn't mean they have to let it -

Mick's a goddamn idiot.

"Fine," he growls, ignoring Savitar doing something judgy with his eyebrows.

He grabs Snart's hand, and together, they go down to the spell.

"You take me to all the nicest places," Mick says as they draw near to the gigantic pulsing hunger of the spell.

"Next time, I'll pick a nice restaurant instead."

"There won't be a next time."

"No, there won't," Snart says. "Mick..."

"Yeah?"

"Thanks for trusting me."

Snart turns around and waves to Savitar. He's got a piece of white paper in his fingers. "Hey, you!"

Savitar peers down at him.

"One of yours for one of mine!" Snart calls, which - what?

"Is that from your stupid Rummikube game?!" Mick exclaims, because seriously? Now?

"It is," Snart says. "We played Central City rules, where you can also trade favors. I didn't use 'em up all."

"But what's the point of bringing it here? Those apply to the game -"

"Says who? I've made political deals over a game of Rummikube. Why not magical deals, too?"

Mick starts to get a bad feeling about this. A feeling, it occurs to him, that he should've started getting way earlier.

Snart did say that he had a plan.

Mick really should've believed him.

Man with the fucking plan...

"What the hell are you trading him?" Mick demands.

Snart smiles at him. "A soulmate."

And then, with a tug, Mick's gone -

He blinks.

He's standing at Savitar's side, all the way up the hill.

"No!" he shouts.

Savitar stares at him, human disbelief bleeding into his face, and then he looks back down the hill.

Snart's still there, with the spell starting to reach out bright blue tendrils to grab him. By his side, there's a woman - dark hair, dark skin, and a very confused expression.

"Iris," Savitar breathes. The spell reaches out a tendril, and wraps around her, too. "No!"

He's gone.

No, not quite gone.

He's down the hill, speedster-quick, but the spell is closer and it realizes what Savitar is doing and it's lashing out to grab its victims first - Savitar is slowing - no, not slowing -

He's stopped, so as to better aim the spear that he throws.

The spear of dragonflame goes straight to the heart of a Fae spell.

Opposites meet.

Everything explodes.

When Mick finally manages to open his eyes again, he's lying on his back on the hill.

He sits up.

Snart is lying beside him, alive and intact, the bastard. And beside him, there's the woman - Iris? - sitting up and rubbing her eyes.

Mick suspects, but checks anyway.

Yeah, she's human.

"Hey there," he says. "Nice day, huh?"

"Is it winter?" she asks. "It's freezing."

Huh, yeah, she's wearing a summery blouse and not much else.

Mick shrugs off his jacket and hands it over.

"Thanks."

"It's Midwinter," Mick says with a shrug. "Winter Solstice. Guess you were inside or something?"

"Not exactly," she says wryly. "Last I remember, it was summer, and I was walking in a park."

"Iris," Savitar rasps. He's standing right behind her. "Oh, Iris..."

She twists to look at him. "Barry," she says blankly. "What's wrong?"

(Barry? Savitar's True Name is Barry? Really?)

"You - you died -"

"You're dating a Fae?" Mick asks her, deciding that he didn't want to know. "And here I thought you had some sense."

"You don't pick your soulmate, and anyway he grows on you," Iris says wryly. "Also, Bar, what do you mean, I died?"

"Wouldn't have called that, I admit," Snart croaks, sitting up. "But I guess the swap spell didn't pay attention to where your soulmate was - and it was nuke-powered."

"Wait, what's this about nukes?!"

Mick looks down the hill, but the spell is gone. In its place, the barrier shines gold, strong and unwavering.

A Fae and a human, soulmates, rescuing each other. Just like Tam Lin.

Instead of destroying Tam Lin's spell, they've strengthened it a thousand times over.

Oh, the Fae aren't going to like this one bit.

Savitar doesn't look like he cares, though, with Iris in his arms and his head on her shoulder.

Snart pokes Mick in the shoulder.

Mick looks at him.

Snart mimes a hasty exit.

...yeah, good idea.

They sneak out of there.

To be fair, they could have probably have made a giant racket and no one would have noticed – Savitar and Iris appear to be having their New Years’ kiss a bit earlier than expected, but hey, Mick’s not going to look gift Fae in the mouth.

(Unlike Iris, apparently.)

The second Mick's pretty sure they're out of earshot, he whistles for Garima.

She comes, of course, lights flashing happily and doors sliding open.

"Good girl," Mick tells her.

After all those dimensional portals, getting back Overhill is a cinch for her.

"So," Snart says.

Mick turns to look at him.

Snart grins at him. "Restaurant?"

“Oh, now I’m going to press,” Snart says. “Any time you pause, it’s you hoping you can lie to me or evade the subject, and it never works. Just tell me now.”

Mick makes a face at him.

“Soulmates,” Snart reminds him. “I won’t mock you. Much.”

“Yeah, right.”

“Really! At most I’ll just tease you about it on every anniversary we have for the next twenty years. At most.”

Twenty years of anniversaries.

That…doesn’t sound too bad.

Mick kinda likes the idea of this guy sticking around for twenty years.

“Well,” Snart muses, “I’ll either tease you about it or about the fact that you wouldn’t tell me about it…”

Mick rolls his eyes. "Okay, remember what I said about using my Sight to find the Book of Brigid?"

"Given that you said it only about twenty minutes ago, and I ain’t a goldfish? Yeah, I remember. What is that? The Book? Some magic thing?"

"You could say that."

"You wanna say more than that?"

Mick winces. "It's a magic book that incarnates stuff that you write in it."

Snart is quiet for a long moment.

Mick braces himself. The Book of Brigid may not be as infamous in Snart’s world as it is here, but Snart’s an intelligent guy – and perhaps more importantly, a guy – and there’s only one place his brain’s gonna jump.

"So," Snart drawls, his eyes delighted, "if you were to write porn -"

Yep. There he goes.

“It requires creativity to function! You can’t just write a list of instructions or something. It’s got to be artistic.”

“So, what, you wrote erotica?”

"I wrote a romance," Mick says with dignity he totally doesn’t have. "Science fiction. Garima was the Queen of an alien planet and had samurai fighting powers."

"Samurai don't have powers."

"On your world, maybe."

Snart considers that, then shrugs in acceptance. "Alien, huh," he says. "If I promise not to judge, would you tell me if she had any, uh, special -"

"Three tits."

Snart presses his lips together.

"You said you wouldn't judge!"

"I said if. But as it happens, I can't blame you for giving a book like that a shot, and at least you did something interesting with it. Three tits is a good start. I’d be more disappointed if you’d just gone for something totally vanilla, like a secretary willing to bang you or something."

"S'not like the stuff the book creates lasts," Mick says, still embarrassed. Though at least Snart likes his creativity – that’s a positive sign. "Otherwise I would've just written me some loot or something."

Snart smirks. "Do I get a turn with the book?"

"Depends. You a creative type? Writer, artist, playwright..?"

Snart frowns. "I'm...really good at drawing blueprints?"

“Not quite what I meant,” Mick says, rolling his eyes. "But hey, if I ever need a temporary house built, I'm coming to you."

"I'm better at banks. Anyway, what's the point of building a house that doesn't last?"

"Dunno. Trap?"

"Hmm. Not a bad idea. So what's this book got to do with your flying, universe-hopping car...wait. No."

Mick grins. "Yep."

"You didn't."

"I did," Mick confirms, reaching out to pat the dashboard of his wonderful flying car fondly. "Meet Garima, in her newest incarnation."

The car purrs at him.

Snart bursts out laughing.

Mick can't really blame him.

"We're -" Snart chokes. "You telling me we're inside -"

He loses it again.

Mick smirks.

"Yeah, yeah, laugh it up," he says, unable to keep from smiling at Snart's irrepressible mirth. "You won't be laughing when we're dealing with dragons."

"If I can deal with a real life Chitty Chitty Bang Bang - emphasis on the bang bang, if you get my drift -"

Okay, that's enough to get Mick to start laughing, too.

"- then I think I can handle some measly dragons!"

"You'll need to stop sniggering if we're gonna make it in," Mick warns.

"I'll sober up in time to help us sneak in," Snart says, wiping his eyes. "I promise."

Actually, getting into the dragon meeting-hall is the easy part.

Even with Snart stopping to stare in awe at the dragons every five seconds. Not that Mick can blame him: dragons are majestic beings, with bodies the size of a moose and then wings and tails besides. Some of them even breathe fire.

They're also remarkably indifferent to humans wandering through their halls, but Mick's pretty sure that's only because they're a bit iffy on telling humans apart and don't want to accuse one of their own servants of being an intruder.

Dragons hate being embarrassed.

Unfortunately, that also means that they won't take being the victim of a theft lightly, so they're going to have to be careful, cautious, and -

"Are you staring again?" Mick hisses. "Snart, the dragons haven't changed! Get your head together and start planning!"

"I will, I will," Snart says. His voice is oddly strangled - more like he's trying not to laugh than the wonder that he'd had at first. "It ain't that. It's just - are - do dragons always talk like that?"

Mick frowns. He hadn't noticed anything unusual - the dragons, talking amongst themselves, just sounded like dragons always did. "Talk like what?"

"You know."

"If I knew, I wouldn't be asking, would I?"

Snart waves his hands as if that'll explain everything. "Like," he hesitates. "Well, like they've just escaped a Gotham gangster movie."

Mick scowls at him. "None of those words made sense."

"I don't know how else to explain it," Snart says defensively. "It's like they stepped out of the 30s or whatever. Prohibition-era, rum-running, gangster molls, the whole lot of 'em..."

"Snart. Not helping."

Snart sighs. "Yeah, I can tell. Does the accent at least match your Gotham?"

"...what's Gotham?"

Snart's eyes go wide. "Oh. Oh. This is your Gotham, ain't it?"

"You're talking nonsense."

"No, this is great," Snart says. "It makes no sense, but if it's true...tell me, is there a particularly wealthy dragon -"

"They're dragons. They sleep on gold and complain of poverty while they do it."

"Well, maybe gold isn't a valuable measure of currency for them," Snart says dismissively, like it hadn't taken humans an unreasonable number of generations to puzzle that out. "But I mean - especially wealthy, even among dragons. Indulge me; I'm testing out a theory."

"There's a few," Mick says. He has no idea where Snart is going with this. "Among the entirety of dragonkind? Or just local?"

"Local."

Mick thinks about it. "Uh," he says. "One by the name of Wayne, I guess?"

"I knew it!"

"Shhh!"

Snart shuts up and they continue walking through the hallways. The dragons might be oblivious, but they're not stupid.

"Why do you care, anyway?" Mick asks. "Wayne's a ditz, even for a dragon. Inherited his hoard from his parents."

Snart's eyes are bright with amusement. "I suppose that depends on whether this place has a bat problem."

"A what? No, wait, shit -"

It's too late. One of the dragons walking by has, for some reason, started to turn towards them - a fairly involved endeavor, but one that didn't take as much time as Mick would've preferred.

"What do you know about bats?" the dragon - a female, from the tone of her high-pitched, nasal voice, though who is Mick to know how dragons do gender? - asks. "You got something to say?"

"Depends," Snart drawls, his own voice suddenly gone nasal as well. "You got a name, doll?"

The dragon -

Giggles.

What in the name of fuck...?

"You're funny," she says. "I'm Harley."

Snart puts a hand to his chest. "Not Harley Quinn? I'm honored."

The dragon blinks. "You've heard of me?"

Now it's Mick's turn to blink. How could Snart've heard of the name of a dragon in a totally different universe?

"Oh, sure," Snart says. "Tough as nails and twice as funny, just like a harlequin play...you with Ivy now?"

Now the dragon really looks shocked. "You know Ivy?"

"I'm in the know."

"Clearly! Who youse got squealing to ya, anyway? Tell me!"

"Oh, you get to know all sorts of people and find out all sorts of interesting things in my line of work," Snart says vaguely. "Pass along a kiss under the mistletoe to Ivy, will you? Courtesy of my employer."

"Your employer. Ooooooh, you gotta tell me!”

"I ain't saying nothing," Snart says. "But if a wink'll do you -" He taps the side of his nose for some reason. "- then you might think of someone cold and squawky."

"Oswald!" the dragon - Harley, apparently? - squeals. "Oh, that's rich. What's he want?"

"Dunno," Snart says. "Something about some sorta spear or shit? Heavily guarded."

"The Spear of Destiny? Why's he want that?"

"New centerpiece?"

The dragon snorts fire when she laughs. "For the Iceberg Club? He would! Alright, c'mon, let's go get it for ya. If Ozzie wants to ask for trouble, he's welcome to it - Bats can handle retrieval, and we’ll all laugh it up."

"You're the best," Snart says, very sincerely.

Mick checks - for about the fifth time - to make absolutely sure the guy's a human.

They're walking out with the spear less than twenty minutes later.

"Snart," Mick says, then stops. Where does he even start?

"Gotham," Snart says with satisfaction, as if that means anything. "I'm a Central City boy born and bred, but every criminal knows the basic rules of play for Gotham."

"What is Gotham?" Mick demands.

"In my world? A city. A corrupt, stinking cesspit of a city, where everyone who ain't a supervillain knows what's what and those that are? Well, they’re are crazier than a crapload of cuckoos, and I’m pretty sure it’s just intentional blindness."

Mick shakes his head. "You're telling me you know the human equivalent of all those dragons?"

"Yup."

“…they really must be crazy.”

“No kidding.”

"Still…you were able to manipulate 'em all based on just what you knew about their personalities in your universe? How'd you know they’d still be the same? Especially since they’re dragons here!"

"Lucky guess."

Mick's eyebrows arch. He's not using his Sight right now, but the frequency of Snart's "lucky" guesses is starting to become a bit suspicious.

He opens his mouth to ask when Snart's own eyebrows suddenly go up.

"I suggest we hurry without looking like we're hurrying," he says.

"Why?" Mick asks, subtly speeding up already.

"See that dragon?" Snart asks, nodding at a short but unusually rotund dragon waddling towards the main hall with a small entourage of dragons and humans trailing behind him. "If I had to guess just based on looks, that's probably this world’s Oswald."

"...the guy you said sent us to get the spear?"

"Yeah. And Harley's gonna ask him about it when she sees him."

"And then she'll get embarrassed and swear vengeance on us. Great."

"Harley Quinn doesn't get embarrassed," Snart says. "She finds things funny. But, uh, just in case -"

"Race you to the car?"