Hair Play

Random idea that popped into my head in the car. Just a little post- Laurel’s death doodle.

 

 

Four. Four days since the grim tidings of Laurel’s death had reached the Waverider. Four days since Sara had even thought about eating or sleeping. Four days since she had left her room or spoken to any of the team. She was distraught with grief. Everyone from Ray to Mick had tried consoling the, assassin, but it was clear that Sara wanted to be left alone- she’d commanded Gideon to lock down her room and disable the intercom system. The most they’d seen of her was her hand poking out of her room to accept a glass of water when offered.

Eventually they gave up, but every once in a while pounded on her door to remind her that she had to eat SOMETIME.

Late one night, as Snart was asleep, he heard the soft hiss of the door to his quarters sliding open. He had his back to it, so he quietly reached for his gun under the blankets. He heard light footsteps, padding towards his bed, carefully and slowly.

“Len?” Croaked a voice. He didn’t need to look to know it was Sara. The thief took his hand off the Cold Gun.

Sitting up without a word, he moved over to make room for Sara on the edge of his bed. She sat down, wrapped in a grey oversized sweatshirt.

“Can you play with my hair?”

“Huh?’ He replied groggily.

“Play with my hair. Laurel used to do it all the time when we were little,” she sniffled.

In the dim light Snart could see that her face was wet with tears.

“What… what exactly am I supposed to do?” He asked, his usual snarky drawl missing.

“Flip it, toss it, just play with it.”

He didn’t ask any more questions. Parting her golden locks into three sections he began crossing them, this over that, one across the other.

“You… you *sniff* know how to braid?”

“An essential skill for raising your sister.”

Fresh tears rolled down the tiny blonde’s cheeks.

“I’m sorry- I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to bring it up!”

“No, no it’s not your fault! I just… oh, Len! She whimpered, burying her face in his chest, his over shirt muffling her wails.

He wrapped her in a tight hug. They sat like that for a long time, or at least, it felt like it. Sara’s breathing slowed, and her eyelids began to droop.

“Sleep well, little Canary,” he whispered.

 

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