Chapter Text
Rip wasn't sure how he ended in Metropolis when he took his leave from the Waverider - a bit less discreetly that he had hoped to do.
He should have assumed that his escape wouldn't go unnoticed , especially since he was living with a former assassin. Not that he had a particular destination in mind in leaving. Rip had briefly thought about visiting the Refuge, even staying there for a while and lending his mother a helping hand before a time storm propulsed the ship out of the temporal zone. He had managed to land without too much damage, cursing the lack of a proper emergency protocol and gritting his teeth when he crashed against the ground, an alarm immediately coming off upon impact. Leaning his head back onto the headrest, Rip went to ask for Gideon to check the damage before he bit down the request, remembering that he was on his own. With a groan,he pushed back his latch and flicked off a few switches above his head, letting out a sigh of relief when the blaring came to an end.
Rip slowly got up, leaning against the pilot's chair as he took a look of his surroundings before leaning back. Again, he breathed out in relief at the lack of immediate damage, his joy short-lived when he took notice off the message broadcast onto the command panel : engine three substained a great deal off damage, there appeared to be an oil leak underneath the dropship and the gps-locating system was offline.
"Oh now, that's just bloody brilliant," Rip muttered, swiping off the notifications.
After making that the cloaking system worked, he pushed himself off the board, grabbed his satchel bag off the ground and made his way toward the latch, allowing a small smile when it lowered without difficulty at his command. Shielding his eyes from the sun, Rip made his way down the ramp, throwing a last look to the jumpship before it disappeared from his sight. At least, he had managed to land in a somewhat desert area, away from prying eyes. Shoving a hand in his pocket, Rip lazily made his way into town, his brow furrowed as he took in his surroundings. While the streets seemed vaguely familiar, his mind couldn't quite pinpoint where - and when - he had ended up.
Eventually, he walked into a busy street, keeping his head down and carefully dodging hurried pedestrians. Rip would look up every two seconds, hoping that he'd been able to identify where he had ended up before he'd groan in frustration and looked back up. Rip found himself raising a fist in triumph when he caught sight of a newspaper parlor. He grabbed the first journal he could get his hands on and froze as he recognized the logo sitting at the top of the front page. Shaking himself out of his transe, Rip looked up from the newspaper and sure enough, the majestic Daily Planet was standing in all its glory in front of him, a couple of miles away.
"Hey pal," Rip started at the sound of the irritated - and irritating - voice of the vendor and turned to him, "you gonna buy that?"
"Ah. Yes. My apologies," he rummaged through his pockets before getting a wrinkled bill out of his pocket, "keep the change."
The vendor ripped the money out of his hands with a grunt, muttering under his breath. Rip let out a sigh, shook his head and walked away from the stand, his gaze quickly skimming through the front page, his gaze lingering on the bylines - Lois Lane - and the date of publication - October 13th 2023. He stopped in his tracks and let his hands fall to his side, the newspaper crumbled in his hand.
2023. Rip hadn't even been born yet.
"Bloody brilliant," he gritted through clenched teeth.
LOS ANGELES,
2017.
Jax wondered if they could truly go through an entire day without crashing the Waverider. It almost as if they were jinxed - Jax wouldn't pass it by them, honesty. He had seen a lot of crazy shit in the last year he had been time traveling - zombies, his former mentor going rogue, a human Gideon, fuckin' Camelot. He wouldn't be surprised if they had been cursed by a witch somehow. His head throbbing at the sound of blaring alarms, Jax slowly sat up and pushed back the constraining belt. From the corner of his eye, he could see Nate making his ears pop by opening his mouth wide while Ray leaned against hs seat, slightly dizzy. Amaya - bless her soul - slowly got up to her feet and walked to the control panel, turning off the alarms.
Jax suddenly felt his heart quicken and his head immediately turned to Stein, the latter still strapped in, his eyes closed as he tried to maintain his breathing to a normal pattern. Trying to ignore the panic his - literal - other half was feeling, Jax made his way to him and crouched in front of him, putting on a comforting hand on his leg. Startled eyes opened and stared back into his own.
"You alright, Grey?"
"Quite, Mr Jackson," Stein muttered, unconsciously matching Jax's breathing pattern.
Giving him a small nod, Jax unbuckled him before he straightened back up, his bad leg straining at the movement. He held out a hand in front at him and waited for Stein to grasp it before he slowly hauled him to his feet. Once he was sure that the older man was steady on his feet, Jax slapped his back and turned to the helm of the ship, where Sara was still getting her bearings.
"Ready to find out what the hell is goin' on?"
"I think I've got a pretty good idea," Ray intervened, eyes widened opened as he stared at the window.
Before Jax could ask him what the hell he was taking about, a loud, thundering roar shook the Waverider, forcing each crew member to either cover their ears or take hold. Letting his hands fall to the side, Jax was barely aware of Mick grumbling about freakin' times spaceships and useless A.I as he followed Ray's line of sight. Dinosaurs. T-Rexs, to be more specific, were surrounding the ship - ship by the way that seemed to be incrusted into the ground as if it had always been there. Freakin' Tyrannosaurs were snapping their gigantic jaws at it and waving their ridiculous short arms around.
"I don't think you'll be able to charmed all of those away," Nate whispered to Amaya.
Whatever the fuck that meant, Jax thought as he stared at the couple, bewildered. Catching his gaze, Ray frowned and shook his head at him, silently telling him to drop it. Jax rolled his eyes in response: Gladly. Ain't got the time to look into Nate's weird kinks.
"Guys," Sara spoke up, putting an end to it their silent conversation, "I think we broke time."
Oh hell no. They were definitely cursed.
METROPOLIS,
2023.
Carter's and Son came into view as the cab stopped a few miles away from it. Swinging his satchel over his shoulder, Rip handed the cabbie two bills of ten and stepped out of the car. Rip breathed out a sigh of relief at the lack f crowds, the small garage having been established miles away from the town square. While it seemed impractical in theory - and practice - Rip liked it better that way. His hands shoved in his pocket, he made his way to the small establishment, acknowledging the closed sign with a smirk before he pushed the door. To his lack of surprise, the door was unlocked and the shop was dark. Looking up at the chiming bells, Rip stepped into the garage and closed the door behind him, his bag sliding from his shoulder and onto the floor. Rip took the time to take a look around as he walked into the shop, his gaze lingering on some figures kept aligned on a shelf. Rip opened the shades, narrowing his eyes at the sudden burst of alight. Sketchbooks and tools were laying around, contrasting with the pieces of machinery neatly put classed and put away. He walked into the workshop - hidden behind a curtain of beads - the unrolled blueprints on the desk immediately catching his eye. Rip sat at the desk and reached into the mini-fridge he knew to be there. He didn't bother turning around when he heard the heavy set of footsteps coming toward him, faintly covering the sound of a robotic whir.
"I'm pretty sure the sign up front says 'closed'."
"Surely you can make a small exception," he retorted, getting up from his chair, a beer in each hands.
He stiffened a smile when met with a wide eyed expression. Rip's gaze briefly darted down to his gloved hands, positioned in way that would have worried Rip if he wasn't certain the other man wouldn't fire. As if to confirm his thoughts, he lowered his hands and took a careful step forward. He looked young, Rip thought, younger than the last time he had seen him. Less tired, perhaps. His blonde hair was swept to the side and he, beside his gloves, was wearing blue overalls - something you'd expect a regular mechanic to wear - covered in oil stains. Above the other man's head, Rip could see a familiar flying orb, its singular eye blinking at him. He blinked along the strange contraception, trying to regain his composure as he got closer to Rip. Surprise and confusion left place to slight excitement and something Rip had yet to identify - it looked a lot like hope - as he grinned at him.
"Junior," Michael Carter breathed out, his voice a mix of uncertainty and relief.
"Hi dad," Rip returned his smile, "Beer?”