Peace Stained with Blood

By Thalia Drogna

Disclaimer: Legends of Tomorrow does not belong to me and make no money from this.

Notes: I'm a sucker for angst and I've been waiting for the moment when they restored Rip back to his former self. I knew they'd move on quickly from the impact that it might have had on him because they have a story to tell, so this is the angsty, rather dark, drama that I had going on in my head. Possibly it's a little more realistic that the idea that everything is fine after one apology and a kiss, but I don't claim to be a medical professional of any kind.

And somehow Team Flash got involved so now it's also a crossover, but Legends is basically always a crossover, even when it isn't.

Please take care when reading if one of these trigger warnings affects you:
TW: Description of a suicide attempt, and not just the canon one.
TW: Mental health issues, including PTSD

"No doubt there was peace after this, but it was peace stained with blood." Tacitus, Annals, 1.10

"Do not misquote Tacitus to me. I knew him well." Vandal Savage, Legends of Tomorrow, S1x14

The cry of anguish could be heard throughout the Waverider. Sara had always known that getting Rip back to his old self wasn't going to be easy and would probably be hard on everyone in ways that she hadn't even considered yet. In fact it was worse than that, because she hadn't thought about who would be the one to watch Rip's awareness of what had happened return, piece by awful piece.

He was strapped down on the chair furthest from the door in the Med Bay so that they could perform the required checks after the procedure to restore his memories. He'd passed out shortly after Martin had informed him that he was home. Sara had decided that she wanted to make sure that he definitely was back to his old self before they released him, and Jax had agreed that might be a good idea. Gideon had been monitoring his vital signs for any adverse reactions. The act of returning his memories had been as hard on his body as it was going to be on his mind. He'd been unconscious for hours, most likely due to exhaustion.

His eyes opened slowly, bloodshot and watery. He looked around the room, orienting himself. He took a shaky breath and noticed Sara sat at his side.

"Sara… what am I… Why…?" his voice clouded with puzzlement as he realised that he was tied down. Then he frowned, and Sara could see that his brain was putting together everything that had happened. He turned away from Sara as he clearly began to remember why he was here. He jerked against the restraints. Sara grabbed his hand, hoping that the human contact would ground him.

"No," he murmured, with fearful realisation. He shook his head and Sara watched his heart rate rise. "No, no, no, no!" This time he didn't just jerk against the restraints, he pulled against them with bone-breaking strength.

"Rip…" began Sara, but she couldn't continue.

Rip cried out, yelled, with a deep-seated pain, and Sara didn't know what to say or do. She didn't know how to help him deal with this. He only stopped the scream because he'd run out of breath, and then he began to pull so hard on the restraints that she was worried he'd injure himself. If he'd had his full strength then he might have done so already by this point. He slammed himself back into the chair as he attempted to get more leverage, and the whole chair shook with the force of his thrashing. She moved to undo the restraints but stopped herself because she wasn't sure that he wouldn't hurt himself worse.

"Rip!" she shouted his name now, but he didn't seem to hear it. She stood and put her hands on his shoulders. "Rip, please!" She could see that his eyes were wild and filled with pain.

"Gideon! We need something to calm him down," said Sara, frantically.

"I am administering a light sedative," said Gideon, in her frustratingly happy tone.

It took a few seconds but Rip's movements slowed and his breathing eased. He turned his eyes back to Sara, and now she could see the tears in them.

"You should have let me die on the battlefield, Sara."

Sara shook her head vehemently. "I couldn't do that."

"I killed you and felt nothing," he said with anguish.

"I'm not dead, Rip," replied Sara, as calmly as she could manage.

He shook his head frantically. "I lured you all into a trap and then attacked you. I shot you! I broke your neck!" He was having trouble even getting the words out as tears spilled down his cheeks. He seemed unbelievably tired. "I'm a traitor of the worst kind. I was your friend, your Captain, and I hurt you. I deserve to be dead."

Sara held his hand, refusing to let it go. "Thawne brainwashed you."

"No, he altered my memories. That isn't the same thing. I am that person who murdered, who threatened, who destroyed. Deep down that's who I am and I can't say that I won't be that person again. You need to execute me, or at the very least lock me up forever." He blinked tiredly at her.

"No," said Sara, firmly. "That's not happening. If our positions were reversed would you have left me to die, or locked me away? And you know how much blood I have in my past. When I went back to the League of Assassins, and forgot who I was, you didn't leave me behind. You fought for me, and that's what I'm going to do for you."

"I don't want you to fight for me," replied Rip. "I'm not worth the effort."

With that his eyes fell shut and he seemed to have fallen asleep.

"My apologies," said Gideon. "It appears that the sedative worked better than intended. His general exhaustion meant that he was more susceptible that expected."

Sara sighed, squeezing Rip's hand one last time before she let it go.

"Apart from the exhaustion, is there anything else wrong with him?" she asked.

"No, Captain Lance. His brain waves have returned to their previous patterns and his wounds from the battle are healing well."

"Yeah, his physical ones," murmured Sara, she hung her head for a moment, put her elbows on the edge of the chair and rested her forehead on her linked hands as she took a deep breath. She found herself regarding Rip with worry and apprehension.

Professor Martin Stein entered the room, on his way to perform his regular check on Rip's condition. He looked at Sara and noted her expression, correctly guessing the cause. "Did he wake up?"

Sara nodded. "He told me I should have killed him." She couldn't look at Martin to see how he took that news.

"He's bound to be disturbed by what happened to him. They altered his mind, a fate that I wouldn't have wished on my worst enemy, and for someone like Rip, well… Our Captain may have occasionally made some dubious decisions, but it was always because he thought he was doing the right thing. At heart, he's a good man." Martin put down the tablet that he had been carrying.

"Until he wasn't," said Sara. "Until Eobard Thawne made him into someone else."

The professor sighed. "Yes. He took away what made him a good man, and I can only begin to imagine his inner turmoil over what he did whilst he wasn't himself."

"Any thoughts on what we should do with him?"

"You're certain that he is back to his former self?"

Sara nodded. "You can't fake that level of pain, and Gideon says that his brainwaves are back to normal."

"Perhaps we should start by removing his restraints, then," said Martin.

"I'm not sure that's such a good idea," said Sara. "I don't think he'll try to hurt us, but he might hurt himself. I know what it's like to think you deserved to die."

Martin let out a long, unhappy sigh. "We can't keep him in restraints forever. That would just be further cruelty on our part after everything that he's been through."

"Then I guess we'll just have to trust him," said Sara.

"Agreed," said Martin. "Let's remove the restraints and then I can take over your vigil."

Sara shook her head. "No, I'll stay." She got to her feet and began removing the restraints, noting that even though they were well padded, Rip's skin was red where he'd pulled on them.

"You've had hardly any sleep. Are you sure that's wise?"

"He's my responsibility. I'm the Captain." She glanced up at Martin. "You removed all of his codes from the system? He can't use Gideon against us again?"

"No, Raymond and Jax were quite thorough. All of Captain Hunter's authorisation has been revoked."

"That's not going to make him happy either," said Sara. She yawned.

"If you're not going to leave then perhaps you should at least get some sleep in the other available chair," said Martin.

Sara considered Rip for a moment but he was well and truly asleep, and knowing that there were sedatives in his bloodstream, he probably would be for a while.

"Okay, if you insist, but wake me if it looks like he's coming round again."

She moved around to the other chair and lay down. The futuristic chair moulded the fabric to the contours of her body and was surprisingly comfortable.

"Of course," replied Martin and took his position in Sara's vacant seat. Sara closed her eyes and slept.

All Rip knew while he slept was that he was in extraordinary pain. It wasn't physical pain, but in many ways, it was worse than merely corporeal hurt. His entire body ached from the violation of what had been done to him. There was no name for the feeling that he was experiencing in any language that Rip knew and he knew quite a number. It was a deep darkness, a hole that he had fallen in and now couldn't climb out of. It wasn't sadness, or anger, or shame, or guilt, or even self-loathing, but an amalgamation of all of those balled up together into a poisonous mixture that threatened to drown him in its hideous depths. He had no wish to wake up, but his body wouldn't sleep forever.

Consciousness returned lethargically. He could feel the remains of the sedative that Gideon had given him still in his system, but it wasn't enough to do much more than slow his waking. He groaned, disappointed that he had to open his eyes and face the world again. His eyelids unsealed and he blinked up at the ceiling of medbay. For a second he wondered why he was here, and then he remembered his first awakening and the reasons for this pain. He screwed his eyes shut and attempted to pull on the restraints, looking for any kind of feeling to ground himself with. The restraints were strangely absent though.

This time he opened his eyes in surprise and looked down at where his wrists should have been bound but weren't.

"We removed the restraints," said a voice, and when he turned his head, he found that Martin Stein was sat where Sara had been before. "Given that you've regained your memories we didn't see the need for them anymore."

"That was foolish," replied Rip, tiredly. "You have very little proof that I'm back to my old self."

"Well, if you're not then I have a former member of the League of Assassins to protect me," replied Martin, looking over to the other bed in the medbay. Rip was almost too tired to move his head to look in the same direction, but he did, focusing his eyes on Sara.

A memory flashed through his head of her lying on the bed that he was on now, vulnerable, injured and he reached down to put his hand on her neck. He closed his eyes and looked away quickly.

"You need to put me in the cells." Rip said the words but it hardly sounded like his own voice. "I should be executed for what I did. Sara deserves justice… so does Doctor Mid-nite."

Jefferson Jackson picked this moment to walk in. "So you're awake…" he said, crossing his arms over his chest and surveying Rip.

Jax didn't sound at all happy and why would he be? Rip took a deep breath, before turning to his new visitor.

"Yes, Mr Jackson, I am. I was just explaining to Professor Stein that you should arrange for my immediate execution for my crimes against this crew. I fully confess my responsibility for everything that I did from my attempted murder of Miss Lance to my successful murder of Doctor Mid-nite. I also interfered with the timeline and put the entire crew in danger by working with Darhk and Merlyn."

Martin was looking somewhat taken aback. Sara stirred in her sleep.

Jax just shook his head. "That wasn't you."

"I assure you it was. If I was Darhk, or Merlyn, or Thawne then you wouldn't hesitate to kill me."

Martin was already shaking his head, but it was Jax who answered.

"I know this is going to be hard and we have stuff to work through, but I don't want you dead. None of us want that. We didn't go to all of this trouble to bring you back here alive and poke around in your head so that we could kill you. You should know us better than that." Jax was looking even more angry now.

Rip took another deep breath. Jax was setting off a stream of memories, including the moment he tried to kill him in the dark corridors of the Waverider.

"And what exactly are you planning to tell Miss Jiwe? I killed her friend and she will expect justice for him."

"Then we take it from Darhk, Merlyn and Thawne," said Sara's voice. Rip could see that she was now sitting up on the other chair. "They're the ones who get the blame for all of this. I don't care what you think, you're not responsible for them altering your memories and turning you against us."

"No, but I still did those things. I tried to murder you, Sara! I remember it. It was me and no one else standing there with their hand around your neck!" Rip's breathing was speeding up as more memories repeated in his mind. He shook his head trying to loosen them, putting a hand to his forehead. "I could have fought harder. I should have stopped myself, broken out of their prison." His heart was racing and he wasn't sure how to get it under control. He felt removed from reality, like none of this was real.

Gideon stopped any further discussion. "I suggest that you discontinue this conversation. Captain Hunter is experiencing the early signs of a panic attack."

Rip looked up at the ceiling wearily, his breathing faster than was normal. "That makes me feel so much better, Gideon." But he knew she was right. He pushed himself up in the chair so that he was more upright and tried to slow his breathing. No one stopped him from moving or tried to help him, even though it clearly wasn't easy for him. He looked over at Sara.

"If you're not going to lock me in the cells then I'd suggest that you at least confine me to my quarters."

Sara gave him an appraising look, and she hopped down from the couch.

"I know you want to be alone," she said, getting closer to her former Captain. "I know you feel like you already are, but you're not."

"We're all alone, Miss Lance," replied Rip, and he really did feel it in that moment.

"Gideon, is it safe for Captain Hunter to leave the medbay?" asked Martin.

"Yes, Professor Stein, although I would recommend continued monitoring and a daily check-up in the medbay for the next seven days to ensure that there have been no undetected ill effects from the restoration of his memories."

"Noted, Gideon. We'll ensure that happens," replied Martin.

"I'll escort you to your quarters," said Sara.

Rip now felt weirdly nervous. He shuffled forwards on the chair and then put his feet on the floor. He still felt shaky but was stable enough to walk. He somewhat reluctantly let go of the chair and followed Sara out of medbay and towards his quarters. He looked around him as he walked down the corridors, trying to remind himself that this was real and he was no longer trapped in his own brain.

Sara walked beside him and when he wobbled, she steadied him.

"Are you sure you don't want to go back to the medbay?"

"No," he said, quickly. "Just… just get me to my quarters." His memories were overwhelming him and he needed time to process them.

He pretended that he wasn't being supported by Sara as they walked the last few steps to his quarters. He entered the room and had to stop for a moment to let the realisation that he really was home fully sink in.

"You okay?" asked Sara, with concern.

"Not really," replied Rip. "The bed, I think."

Sara helped him to the corner of the room where his bed was and he sat down heavily.

"Better?"

Rip gave a slight nod, trying desperately not to let his memories take over. He didn't want Sara to see this weakness.

"I think I'd like to be on my own now. Quite frankly, I'm worn out and I don't feel like being sociable."

Sara looked at him for several long seconds. "Okay, but I'll be back later to check on you."

"I don't doubt," said Rip, dryly. He lay back on the bed and closed his eyes until he heard Sara's footsteps move out of the room and the door shut behind her. He blinked up at the ceiling.

"Gideon, did they revoke all my codes?"

"Yes, Captain."

"Good."

He wasn't sure how long he lay there, but at some point Martin brought him a tray with dinner on it. He tried to engage Rip in conversation of some kind, but Rip barely even noticed what he said. He couldn't bring himself to do more than pick at the food. He still felt tired, worn through to his bones, and what he did eat didn't sit well in his stomach. He went back to the bed and tried to sleep without much success. His mind dredged up the dark corridors of his mental prison and he felt once again the loneliness and fear of being trapped in his own head. He woke up sweating, breathing hard and with his heart racing.

He knew this ship wasn't the same one that had been his mental prison, but everything felt off. He couldn't seem to ground himself in reality. He kept expecting one of the evil team to walk through the doors and drag him to the cells. This was a nightmare that was going to be hard to shake, and even that wasn't as bad as the things that he'd done in real life whilst his true self had been locked away.

He lost track of time, but he knew from the day night cycle of lighting that Gideon provided that days passed. He couldn't sleep because violent nightmares awaited him, and he couldn't stay awake because his brain wouldn't leave him alone. It kept reminding him of everything evil that he'd done with his twisted mind. In some ways he was as lost as he'd been before Sara and Jax rescued him. Reality was difficult and seemed to fade into his dreams, and his dreams were turgid mirrors of the torture that he was putting himself through as he struggled to understand what had happened to himself. How could he have allowed Thawne to do this to him? As Sara had said: he was Rip Hunter, Captain of the Waverider. None of this should have been possible.

He was aware of people coming and going from his room. His team were concerned. They said words, words that he was certain were aimed at him, but he was lost in his head. He was reliving the images of Sara lying dead on the couch in medbay, the dead knights on the battlefield of Camelot, the dead American soldiers in 1776, and Doctor Mid-Nite bleeding out on the floor. Rip Hunter had never been a killer. He'd killed in self-defence or to save others but that wasn't the same thing. Thawne had turned him into a murderer.

He vaguely registered people bringing him food and persuading him to eat it. He tried his hardest to do as they asked, but never managed much. He didn't bathe or shave, and barely managed to make it out of bed most days. He just stared at the walls and willed himself to stop existing.

At some point, without knowing why, he realised that this was not something that he could continue forever. He put his head in his hands.

"They're never going to be able to forgive me. I can't even forgive myself."

"I think you underestimate them," replied Gideon, even though Rip hadn't said her name.

"It doesn't matter anyway."

Rip pushed himself to his feet and staggered to his desk. He pulled open the top drawer and felt underneath the desk top. He removed a wickedly sharp dagger, one of several weapons that he'd hidden in his quarters. He'd never intended it for this purpose, it was supposed to be for defence, but one of the futures that he could never predict was his own.

"I'm sorry, Gideon, for everything that I've put you through," he said, and put the knife to his throat. He swallowed, took a deep breath and pressed the blade into his skin, drawing a trickle of blood. He could feel tears in his eyes again but there was only his ship to see them.

"Forcing me to disable the ship… or our kiss?" asked the AI.

The tip of the knife stopped, mid cut. "How did you…?"

"If it's the latter, I rather enjoyed it."

It took him a moment to parse that and understand. "As did I, Gideon, as did I."

A spot of blood dripped onto the desk, and he found himself unable to move as he considered this. It was bright red and reminded him of the hole in Sara's stomach. He was so deep in thought that he was surprised by the knife being grabbed from his fingers by someone considerably stronger than he was. The smell of burnt wood and ash gave away that it was Mick Rory before Rip even heard his voice.

"Idiot," growled the intruder. The knife clattered to the ground.

Rip found himself dazed by the sudden movement, as Mick pulled the chair around to face him. He grabbed the collar of Rip's t-shirt and held it away from the wound, examining the damage.

"Well, at least you didn't get far. Still, this is a new level of stupid, even for you," said Mick.

"Kill me," said Rip, simply. "Pick up the knife and stab me. I tried to kill your Captain and I got you captured by the British, knowing that they would probably execute you. I wanted you dead, Mr Rory. I wanted you all dead. So, kill me, because I could just as easily put you all in danger again."

His eyes met Mick's and he saw the fire behind them. Mick was angry and that usually led to bad things happening. Hopefully this time it would play into Rip's hands and Mick would carry out his request.

Mick bent down and picked up the knife, keeping his hand on Rip's collar.

"No," said Mick, bluntly, and threw the knife, rather expertly, into the waste paper basket by Rip's desk. It was now out of easy reach of both of them and Mick still looked very angry.

Sara came running into the room just in time to see the knife land in the bin. "What's going on? Gideon said I should…" She stopped dead at the sight before her.

"Rip here tried to cut his own throat," said Mick, with characteristic frankness. It was at this point that Rip realised that Mick was angry because of his attempt to take his own life, and for no other reason. This left him momentarily speechless.

Sara stormed over to Rip and pushed Mick out of the way, then tilted Rip's neck to get a better look at the wound. Rip just let her, feeling more tired than ever.

"Of all the dumb, idiotic things to do," Sara chastised. "Watch him," she directed to Mick, who nodded in acknowledgement. "Gideon, is there a first aid box in here?"

"Yes, it is located in the bathroom," replied the AI.

"Thank you, Gideon." Sara went into the bathroom and returned with the first aid kit and Rip's razorblades from his shaving kit, which hadn't seen the light of day much since he'd decided to grow a beard several years ago.

She set out the first aid kit on the desk and tended to the cut on his neck expertly, which wasn't really a surprise but somehow still was. The idea that Sara could be gentle was perhaps his stumbling block, but again he should have known better. Assassins tended to need finesse as well as power. She finished her ministrations by taping a dressing over the wound, and then proceeded to tidy away the first aid kit.

When that was done, she looked around the room, located a medium-sized, leather covered chest, which she opened and upended the contents onto the couch. If Rip had been feeling himself then he'd have protested, but he couldn't summon the energy. She retrieved the bloodied knife from the bin and dropped it into the box. The razorblades followed the knife, along with the painkillers from the first aid kit.

She looked at Rip sternly.

"You're going to tell me where every single knife, sword, razorblade and dagger is. Then we'll move on to projectile weapons and anything else that you could use to hurt yourself." Sara also looked angry now, in fact livid might be a better description. "So where do I start?"

Rip looked at her now with annoyance, and folded his arms across his chest. It would have been more defiant if he hadn't been shaking with the adrenaline come down and the effects of very little food and less sleep. He knew that he must look terrible.

Mick gave him a shove on the shoulder. "The lady asked you to tell her where your weapons are."

One look at Mick was enough to realise that he wasn't getting out of this.

"Katana, wakizashi and throwing stars under the sofa," he mumbled. Sara moved off to retrieve them, dropping them into the chest. "Set of throwing knives in the copy of H.G. Wells' Time Machine on the bookcase." Again, Sara said nothing, opened the book and emptied the contents into the chest. "Guns are in the cupboard." He indicated the cupboard with a wave of his hand, and turned away because he had no idea how to process the emotions that he was feeling.

He had an extensive gun collection, mostly from the American West era but with some from further into the future, including his favourite laser pistol, and at least this time Sara was more careful in transferring them to the box. She knew a prized possession when she saw one and Rip had kept his guns well.

"Anything else?" asked Sara.

Rip shook his head.

"Perhaps you are forgetting your boot knife, Captain," said Gideon, helpfully. "In the Captain's wardrobe, Captain Lance."

He hadn't forgotten and he was certain that everyone, including Gideon, was aware of that. Sara gave him a disappointed look and moved to the closet where he kept his everyday clothes. She came out with his boot knife and a set of clean clothes.

Rip was leaning forwards in the desk chair by this point, with his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands. He was feeling both defeated and disheartened, as Mick kept a close eye on him.

"Rip, you need a shower and a change of clothes," said Sara. "Black isn't your colour." She placed the pile of fresh clothes on the bed.

"I'd rather get some sleep," replied Rip.

"Do as you're told for once," said Mick. "You stink. Take a shower."

Rip opened his mouth to protest, but had to admit that he hadn't washed for a while and his body odour was somewhat ripe. He sighed, grabbed the clothes and wearily headed for the bathroom.

"Don't lock the door," said Sara.

He half turned back towards her, intending to protest, but instead he just nodded and continued his walk towards the bathroom. Nothing really mattered, why should he protest.

He was so very tired, even more so now that he'd been before. Sleep wasn't something that he'd found easy. He had a flash of his prison cell on the Waverider in his mind and the feelings of fear and loneliness were almost overwhelming. He put a hand out to the wall to steady himself, but made it into the bathroom and turned on the water, waiting for it to heat up as he undressed. It was a standard ritual, but usually done on autopilot, rapidly, whereas now every action felt like he was moving through treacle. He felt slow and useless, and when he stepped under the shower, he pretended that the water on his face was only the drips of the shower. It was a nice lie. Tears never solved anything, after all.

AN: I love reviews of all kinds. Tell me what you thought.