Chapter Text
2046.
Charlotte Queen, one of the last surviving members of the Queen family, walks into what remains of the bunker and her heart clenches as a lifetime of memories wash over her. Birthdays celebrated with Team Arrow. Her father hoisting her up into his arms at five-years-old when she wanted to try the salmon ladder. Kissing Uncle Digg’s boo-boos to make them better before carefully covering each of them with Incredible Hulk band-aids. Listening to the comms alongside her mother and William. Rene playfully calling her parent’s mom and dad. Chasing Curtis with Dinah’s staff in her tiny hands.
That was all before.
Before the Uprising split her life into before and after.
She blinks away the tears because it will do her no good to break down now. It’s been 15 years since the Uprising tore through Star City.
Exhaling slowly, Charlotte walks further into the bunker, slowing to a stop in front of the empty cases that once proudly displayed her family’s crime-fighting suits. “Identity concealment,” Uncle Digg moaned every time someone (usually Rene) mocked their uniforms, “It’s not a costume.” Each of them is covered with layers of dust now.
Charlotte feels a queasy sinking in her stomach.
Sometimes she can’t believe what’s become of her home.
Star City was never supposed to fall into chaos. Star City was supposed to stand together, united, just like her father always dreamed it would. It’s horrible, so horrible, but there are times Charlotte’s relieved that her father died during Grant Wilson's Uprising because it would break his heart, she knows, to see what has become of his city in his absence.
Which is why she is going to travel back; why she is going to change it.
A delicate diamond arrow bracelet (the last gift she received from her father) encircles her wrist and serves as a constant reminder of why she’s doing this. Going back in time, changing the past, Charlotte knows it has to be done. The war for Star City’s soul needs to be fought in the past, not in this time, but that doesn’t make it any easier to leave because there are still people here, in this time, that she loves. People that she has sworn to protect with her every breath.
William, her beloved brother.
Connor, her best friend in life.
And then there’s—
There’s a small crash, then a curse, and Charlotte’s mouth curves into a sad smile.
She turns and there, on the platform where her mother used to sit, is her cousin Robbie. He’s sitting at the old conference table, a portable work light illuminating his work area as he hunches over the table, working absently on the device that will send her back to 2015. He’s no longer the gap-toothed little boy she remembers from her childhood, he’s older now, he’s 25, and he looks so much like Uncle Roy that sometimes it physically pains her to look at him.
Charlotte watches him and feels a stab of sadness.
She hates to leave him behind, but he can’t come with her.
Still, it breaks her heart to leave him behind, but she must believe that William, that Connor, will look after Robbie. Not that Robbie needs someone to look after him, Charlotte knows. Robbie is as stubborn as his father and as strong as his mother. He’ll be fine, even if it’s through sheer force of will. He’s a Queen, after all.
(
"Queen? Not Harper?" Charlotte's father questioned the first time his nephew was placed in his arms, but Uncle Roy shook his head.
"Technically," her uncle answers with a slight grimace, "Roy Harper died in Iron Heights. To the rest of the world, I'm Jason Roy Booth. The name Booth has no meaning to me, but you guys— you, Thea, even Moira —have been more of a family to me than my folks ever were. If my children can’t have my name, I want them to have the Queen name."
)
Robbie hisses and scowls down at the device.
When Charlotte came to the realization that the fight had to be fought in the past, not the present, she had reached out to Cisco Ramon. He’d been a friend of her parents; one of her Uncle Barry’s partners. And, after a lecture about the dangers of time travel, featuring a lot of outdated references Charlotte knows her mother and Uncle Curtis would have understood, Cisco finally agreed.
“You’re going to do this with or without my help,” Cisco had grumbled before heading to the drawing board. He hasn’t been the same since he lost his hands (Charlotte knows it was during a fight with the metahuman known as Killer Frost, but that’s all she knows because as a child no one ever wanted to answer her questions and it always broke her heart when she saw how sad they looked when she asked about Killer Frost) but he’s as intelligent as ever.
In the end, Cisco drew inspiration from a fax machine while Robbie acted as his hands, and together they crafted the device that will send her back in time. It’s small, designed to look like a medallion, one that will rest at the hollow of her throat like a necklace. Still, regardless of how brilliant Cisco Ramon is, even now, Charlotte knows Robbie would never let her use a piece of tech without going over it himself.
Robbie’s smart in the way her mother was smart.
Charlotte tilts her head to the side, “Hey.”
Robbie jerks and looks up, blue eyes wide and startled, but he relaxes when he realizes it’s Charlotte, “Hey. Connor came by looking for you,” He leans back in the battered chair, stretching. “He wasn’t happy to find out you went out— and ‘by her goddamned self’,” Robbie says in a fair approximation of their friend’s voice, and then he straightens in the chair, scanning her person for injuries.
Charlotte shakes her head, her blonde wig falling in waves around her shoulder, and smiles as she wanders over to stand beside Robbie. “Sometimes Connor is so totally Uncle Digg’s son,” Charlotte muses, lips twitching as she leans back against the table, her thigh brushing against his shoulder as she peers down at him, amusement plain.
Robbie snorts, “He’s a worrywart, you mean.”
She gives him a crooked grin, “Isn’t that what I said?” She asks, teasing, and then she drops a grease-stained paper bag onto the table after ensuring nothing of value is in the way because she knows how hissy her cousin is about his tech. “Falafel,” Charlotte explains when he glances at her, brows furrowed, then she hoists herself up onto the desk and removes her mask and wig, revealing her natural dark hair before she retrieves her own pita pocket from the bag.
“Where were you anyway?” Robbie asks with a mouthful of food.
“I heard some rumors that Kali was operating out of Starling Bay. It was solid Intel, but it ended up being a bust.” Charlotte ignores the way Robbie’s eyes flash when she mentions Kali and adds, “I figured I’d make the trip worth it by grabbing us some food.”
Robbie does look at her now, eyes flashing, “You went after her without back-up? Without Connor?” He demands, angry, “What if she’d actually been there?”
She tilts her chin in an impossibly brave way, an action she can vividly remember her mother executing when she’d been convinced Charlotte’s father had his head up his ass. “If she'd actually been there, Connor would have been nothing more than a liability,” Charlotte defends. Connor is unable to think rationally when it comes to Kali. Connor hears the name Kali and he becomes blinded by hate and a thirst for vengeance. Not that Charlotte blames him; she feels much the same way about Grant Wilson.
Robbie looks like he wants to argue with her, but he can’t.
“Connor won’t rest until he has Kali’s head on a pike,” Charlotte continues, and her eyes become unfocused as she recalls the night Kali brought her wrath to Star City. It’s been a little over six years and they still don’t know why Kali decided to target the remnants of the Diggle family, still don’t know who she is, but the why doesn’t really matter because she succeeded. Connor was spared, something Charlotte’s thankful for every day, but Kali’s attacked resulted in the death of Connor’s older brother: JJ. John Junior, Uncle Digg and Aunt Lyla’s eldest son.
“I had things handled,” Charlotte continues, “There was no need to call in Connor.”
Robbie scowls at her, then says, “There was every need. He should have had your back, Canary.” He spits her code-name like an insult and Charlotte straightens her back in response. She was barely eighteen when she donned the familiar black mask and took up the mantle of Black Canary, the third to hold the title, while Connor took up her father’s mantle of Green Arrow.
Because Star City will always need the Green Arrow and Black Canary.
That’s why Charlotte needs to travel back in time to 2015.
Before the Uprising, Deathstroke, and Kali are unleashed on Star City.
Before Star City loses its heroes and stops believing in a future where they stand united.
Charlotte needs to travel back before Barry Allen ever has the chance to screw up the future.
Charlotte fiddles with her delicate diamond arrow bracelet as she stares down at the headstones.
It has been months, if not years since she last visited their graves, but she’s leaving tomorrow, and she needs to say goodbye.
It breaks her heart to see their graves desecrated but it doesn’t surprise her like it should.
Star City had a lot of hatred for Oliver Queen and the Green Arrow after the Uprising, but Charlotte feels overcome with emotion at the sight all the same.
She takes a deep breath. “Hey mom, hey dad,” Charlotte whispers and her voice breaks on the last syllable. “I know it’s been a while. A long while,” Her brows furrow. “I’m really sorry about that.” She exhales and crouches down, then, with a trembling hand, she reaches out to trace the letters of each of their names, “I just, I miss you both so much.”
Oliver Jonas Queen Felicity Megan Smoak-Queen
1985-2031. 1989-2031.
Charlotte stares down at her bracelet, before closing her eyes for a moment, trying to remember the last time she saw her parents while they were still alive. It was the day before the Uprising, a Saturday, and she remembers waking up to the smell of bacon and her father’s famous banana pancakes. She’d stumbled down the stairs of their townhouse, sleep in her eyes, to find her mother sitting on the counter tapping away on her tablet, acting as her father’s taste-tester.
After each bite, her father would kiss her mother, and her mother would smile.
That’s what Charlotte remembers the most, the way her mother would smile after each kiss.
She swallows hard around the lump in her throat before she looks back at their headstones. “There’s something I need to do, something I couldn’t do while Uncle Barry was still alive,” Charlotte says. She remembers the vow her godfather made when she was a child to never, ever alter or mess with the timeline again and she’s tried so hard to honor his vow, but it’s been nine months since she lost her beloved Uncle Barry; nine months since she learned about the altered timeline he created before she was born.
“I tried,” Charlotte vows, and it’s true, she tried everything before deciding to travel back to 2015. “God,” She sobs, voice ragged, “You know I’ve tried everything.”
Charlotte thinks back to everything that has happened since the Uprising, everything she has tried to prevent.
It has been nearly a decade since she took up the mantle of the Black Canary and it feels like she hasn’t accomplished anything.
Star City still smokes and smolders around her while crime and criminals run rampant. Herself and Connor have tried to save their city, but their city has become chaotic and grotesque since the Uprising. Star City no longer wants to be saved.
“This is the only thing I haven’t tried,” Charlotte sinks back on her heels and takes a deep, shuddering breath as she wipes away her tears with the back of her sleeve. “I can travel back and make it so none of this ever happens. I know Uncle Barry changed the timeline and I know he did it before I was born. That’s when I’m going to travel back to,” The lump suddenly returns in Charlotte’s throat and fresh tears stream down her face when she adds, “But I’m not going to tell you who I am.”
She wants to preserve as much of the timeline as she can, but Charlotte has another reason for not telling them.
She’s buried it down deep because she wants to believe she can save everyone, but she also knows that may not be the case.
She understands that some deaths may be preordained and nothing she does will be able to change it (she has heard all the stories about Uncle Barry, about how he tried for months and months to save the love of his life, only to still lose Iris to Savitar) and for this reason she cannot tell them who she truly is. Charlotte cannot bear to become close to her loved ones again, not after living without them for so long, only to have to return to a future where they aren’t. She cannot lose them all over again.
“I think I can handle your mistrust,” Charlotte admits, her fingers reaching out to trace the letters of their names once more, and then they wander down to the year of their death, “But I don’t think I can survive you loving me.” Emotions are a distraction and, if she’s going to do this, if she’s going to succeed, she cannot be ruled by them. She knows her family and she knows that telling them the truth would only slow her down.
Besides, there’s one more possibility, one she hasn’t voiced to Robbie or Connor: the truth that traveling back to before she’s born may alter her parents’s future as well as her own. She could cease to exist. She cannot allow them to become close to her, only for her to be erased from existence. It would only hurt them, and that’s the last thing Charlotte wants to do.
“Whatever happens,” Charlotte rasps, then lifts her palm to her mouth and kisses it before she presses her hand over each of their names on their headstones. “Please don’t think less of me,” She begs.
“It’s not too late to back out, Charlie,” Robbie’s anxiously watching her, his brows furrowed, and his mouth pinched, staring at the device she’s holding in her hands. “You don’t have to do this,” He insists when she merely stares at him and Charlotte knows, if she said that she’s changed her mind, Robbie would support her. “We can find another way,” Robbie practically begs.
Slowly, Charlotte shakes her head, “No, Robbie.”
“Charlie,” Robbie murmurs with a plea in his voice.
“No,” Charlotte snaps, glowering at Robbie, “I am tired of having this argument with you. There is no other way because we’ve already tried everything else! We have tried, for years, to save this city, but nothing we have tried has worked because we are not enough.” She shouts, her mother’s loud voice tumbling from her mouth, and he flinches before she turns away from him. “The only chance we have is to stop all of this before it ever happens,” Charlotte rasps.
Robbie reaches for her, taking her hand, pulling her in close, “But at what cost, Charlie?” He pauses, turning his eyes away for a moment before he continues. “You were there,” His blue eyes are like hooks for the soul when he looks back at Charlotte, “You heard what Cisco said.”
“I have a great idea, but it could also be a horrible idea, but either way it’s an idea,” Cisco had babbled before explaining the device to her, ”Think of it like a fax machine. To send a fax you had to break the message down into a stream of electrons before you sent it, which is essentially what we’ll be doing to you.”
“You understand what this device will do,” He continues as fear etches into his handsome face and it breaks Charlotte’s heart because he looks wrecked. “It will strip you down to the molecular level, Charlotte.” Head shaking, Robbie looks away to somewhere only he can see. “That means, for a moment, you will cease to exist.”
Charlotte stills, and it takes everything she has not to flinch at those words.
Realistically, she knows, there is a chance she could cease to exist even if the device and her plan both work.
Charlotte extracts her hand from his hold, takes a step back. “I don’t matter,” She insists.
Charlotte’s words make Robbie’s heart pound frantically in his chest. “You do matter, Charlie, you matter.” He insists as he wraps his arms around his cousin’s thin frame and pulls her as close as physically possible, burying his face in her dark waves while Charlotte stands idle in his embrace. “I have already lost Liana,” Robbie’s voice breaks over his little sister’s name, then he leans back enough so he can look Charlotte in the eye. “I can’t lose you, too. You and Will are the only family I have left. Please don’t do this, Charlie. Don’t leave.”
Charlotte cups her cousin’s cheeks with her hands, using her thumbs to brush away the tears that have escaped his impossibly blue eyes and says, “I’m sorry, Robbie, I am so sorry.” Robbie turns to stone in her embrace, back rigid. “But I have to do this,” Charlotte persists, “Nothing you say will change my mind.”
Betrayal flickers across his face as he backs away from Charlotte.
Robbie throws his hands up in defeat and wanders off to the side, shaking his head, then Connor’s there at her side.
“You have something you want to say?” Charlotte challenges, eyebrow arched.
Connor glances from Robbie to Charlotte, and sighs, “Nothing you want to hear.”
Charlotte’s mouth curves into a frown as she turns to look at Robbie, as does Connor, and she reaches into her pocket to retrieve a letter she hands off to Connor. “I need you to deliver this for me,” She insists and Connor tenses when he sees the name written on the envelope in her loopy handwriting: William. “Will’s stubborn, he won’t understand why I had to do this, so I need you to be there for him,” Her impossibly blue eyes are heavy with tears when she looks at Connor, “I need you to be there for both of them,” She’s talking about William, about Robbie; the last remaining members of the Queen family.
(
Charlotte’s broached the idea of traveling back in time with William once before, and her brother had been furious, unwilling to see the reason behind what she’d been saying because he’d been afraid for her.
“I’ll give you two a moment,” Zoe murmurs (she’s been in their lives as long as Charlotte can remember, an honorary member of the family as the daughter of Rene Ramirez) as she climbs to her feet, tightening her cardigan around herself when she pauses near Charlotte, murmuring, “Be gentle. He’s more fragile than you think,” She insists.
Charlotte nods, staring at the floor, her arms crossed defensively across her chest when she murmurs, “I don’t understand why you won’t support me on this.” Wetness clings to the edges of her eyelids, but the tears don’t spill. “I can fix it, Will,” Charlotte insists, “I can go back and make it so none of this ever happens. I can save our family,” She chokes out.
“No,” William protests, anguished, “I have already lost too many people. My mom, Dad, Felicity, Liana… I won’t lose you, too, Charlie,” His voice is uncharacteristically sharp and tinged with something dark that reminds her of their father when something threatened their family. “I refuse to lose anyone else,” William insists, and she understands what Zoe meant by her departing words, claiming her brother was more fragile than he wanted to appear.
“But that’s just it,” Charlotte points out in triumph, “We don’t have to lose anyone. Will, we can have them back,” Her eyes are bright with hope for the first time in years, “I can save them, I know I can.”
“Saving them doesn’t save you,” William shouts as he takes a step towards Charlotte, fear and desperation and fury warring for dominance on his face, “Going back in time before you were born? It’s suicide, Charlotte.”
Charlotte blinks. “…I don’t matter,” She murmurs dully.
William growls deep in chest and stalks forward, pulling his sister into his arms, holding her as close as physically possible as if he’s afraid she’ll cease to exist right before his eyes. “Don’t you dare,” He snarls, sharking her, “Don’t you dare think there is anything, past or present, more important to me than you. Promise me you’ll let this go, Charlie,” He begs.
“I promise,” Charlotte murmurs, knowing even then that it’s a promise she’ll never be able to keep.
)
Blinking the memory away, Charlotte asks, “Am I making the right call?” Connor’s brows furrow when he turns to look at her, giving Charlotte his undivided attention. “By not telling them who I am,” She clarifies.
“Yes. You can’t tell them anything,” Connor’s expression becomes pinched and he reminds her so much of Uncle Digg (but there are traces of Aunt Lyla in his expression, too, Charlotte can see it in the familiar curve of his jaw and the steely determination in his eyes). “Just stick to your cover story, Charlie. The less they know about the future, the better.”
She nods as she fiddles with her diamond arrow bracelet, then asks, “But what if they find out who I really am?”
Connor shakes his head, “They won’t. Not if you stick to your cover story; not if you can pass yourself off as another vigilante.” He places his hand on her shoulder and until now she’s never understood what her mother meant when she claimed a hand on the shoulder can feel more intimate than a kiss. “Just remember: protect the timeline, and protect our parents.” He exhales carefully and adds, “Keep them alive for our future.”
Great, Charlotte thinks. No pressure there. “You say that like it will be easy, but I think you forget how much of clusterfuck 2015 is for everyone,” Charlotte drawls, voice dry as sandpaper. “Grandpa Lance turned his back on Team Arrow, Uncle Roy left until his return in 2019, not to mention the whole fiasco with the League and Ra’s...”
Connor frowns, pulling her closer, planting a kiss on her forehead. “Yeah, but you don’t have to concern yourself with all of that,” Steel enters his voice, a warning. “Just focus on keeping our family safe, and that includes you. I mean it, Charlotte. Don’t take any unnecessary risks, don’t pull any life-threatening stunts…”
“Same goes for you, partner,” Charlotte orders, “I fully expect you to be here waiting for me when I come home.”
Her words feel like barbed-wire wrapping around her heart, but she doesn’t let it show.
“Copy that,” Connor says, a smile on his face, his brown eyes sad.
Robbie makes his way over then, and Charlotte moves out of Connor’s embrace, looking at between two of the people she loves most in this horrible wreck of a future.
She wonders what it will be like to have their family back.
“Okay,” She nods resolutely, “I’m ready.”
2015.
Charlotte activates the device around her neck and watches as the world around her fades from view, replaced by a bright, opalescent light.
She learns quickly that time traveling hurts, like being set on fire from the inside out, and she can actually feel as her every molecule is torn to shreds. It’s over quickly, her molecules quickly knitting back together, so quick that she doesn’t even have a chance to scream as a wicked lance of white-hot agony rushes through her, and then...
Charlotte feels a spasm shake her body and she draws in a gasping breath, sitting up, only for another wave of white-hot agony to ripple through her. “Motherfucking fuck,” She gasps, dropping back to the ground before she presses the heel of one of her hands to her forehead, moaning, “Ow.”
“Are you okay,” a woman’s voice asks softly.
Given that she was just broken down the molecular level and, hopefully, sent back in time to the start of 2015, Charlotte admits to herself that the answer to that question is probably no but what she says is: “Yeah,” Charlotte mumbles, voice barely more than a whisper and even that feels like a shout, but she forces an eye open and stares at the blurry shape crouched beside her on the pavement, asking, “Don’t suppose you got the plate off the truck that hit me?”
“No,” the woman growls angrily, “Whoever they were, they were gone before I arrived.”
Charlotte nods but she needs information. Facts to work with. Answers.
“Where am I?” Charlotte asks, trying not to move her head as she wills the pounding to subside.
“An alley between 52nd and Werner, in Starling City,” the woman answers after a brief pause and Charlotte’s entire body relaxes because, prior to the re-brand the city went under in the summer of 2015, her home was known as Starling City. “You really shouldn’t be out at this time of night, especially alone,” the woman adds, but Charlotte’s happy to note her voice isn’t scolding, “It’s not safe.”
Charlotte wants to laugh, because when has Star City ever been safe?
“Do you remember how you ended up here?”
“No,” Charlotte croaks, voice thick with emotion because it worked. “Last thing I remember I was home,” It’s always best to mix a little bit of the truth to tell a believable lie — according to her Uncle Roy. It’s obvious that the device worked because the last thing she knew she was standing in the bunker saying goodbye to Robbie and Connor, then activating the device she can still feel hanging around her neck.
She’s just not sure why it chose to drop her here.
“Hey,” the woman murmurs, and then she rests her gloved hand on Charlotte’s shoulder, “Are you sure you’re okay?”
Charlotte presses a hand to her forehead as the sharp, burning pain fades into more of a dull ache. “Got a headache,” She offers as an explanation for her emotional state because she’s far too raw now, knowing that she’s succeeded in traveling back, and she rubs the pad of her thumb over her middle and index finger as she resists the urge to hug a total stranger.
“You probably hit your head when you fell, but it doesn’t appear to be a robbery,” She adds in a quiet, gentle tone when she notices the brunette’s necklace and diamond bracelet and then she asks, “Are you hurt anywhere else? Do you need a hospital?”
Charlotte blinks. “What?” Her head swims and it takes a moment before her eyes focus, but then her vision clears enough that the blurry figure resolves itself into a woman dressed in black leather from head to toe and a mouth that’s painted deep purple. ”No,” Charlotte mumbles distractedly, focusing on the mask because she recognizes that mask, “I’m fine.”
Charlotte climbs to her feet and the woman reaches out to steady her, giving her an encouraging smile as she says, “Woah, easy.”
“Who are you,” Charlotte rasps, brows furrowed, her impossibly blue eyes heavy with tears because she’s 83% sure the woman in front of her is Laurel Lance. Her parents’ Laurel; Grandpa Lance’s eldest daughter. It’s always been the greatest regret of Charlotte’s childhood, never having the chance to meet Laurel, the first Black Canary.
But Laurel died in the Spring of 2016, a little over two years before Charlotte was born
Still, she knows who she is. Charlotte’s grown up with stories about Laurel Lance.
The woman that was her mother’s friend; her father’s first love; and Grandpa Lance’s rock.
Dinah Laurel Lance, the Black Canary.
“You can call me the Black Canary,” Laurel introduces. “Can you tell me your name?”
“Charlie,” Charlotte answers quietly, her throat starting to close up, “My name is Charlie.”
TBC.