Chapter 3: Five Years Later

The world felt different when Henry finally opened his eyes. For the first time in what felt like an eternity, the constant sound of crashing waves and the oppressive, damp heat of Lian Yu were gone. His mind, clouded with fog, tried to piece together what had happened. He remembered the ship sinking, the screams, the water... but now, he was somewhere else. The smell of antiseptic replaced the stench of decay, and the sterile white walls of the hospital room seemed so alien, so far removed from the island that had consumed the last five years of his life.

His body, still weak and battered, throbbed with each shallow breath he took. His muscles ached as though they had been stretched and pulled to their limit, and the sharp sting of old wounds—scars now—reminded him of how far he had come, and yet, how much was still left undone.

Beside him, Oliver lay still, his eyes closed, his breathing slow and measured. The younger Queen sibling's face was no longer the boyish, carefree expression that Henry remembered. His features were more defined now, hardened by five years of isolation and survival. The scars on his body were a testament to the years spent on the island—mementos of his struggle to stay alive. But the emotional scars, the ones Henry knew all too well, were invisible to the doctors, to anyone who looked at them and saw only the physical wounds.

As Henry lay there, his thoughts drifted to the life they had once had. The mansion in Starling City. The father who had never truly understood him. The weight of legacy, both a burden and a purpose. Everything had changed.

The door to the room creaked open, and Henry's attention shifted to the figure that stepped inside. Moira Queen, their mother, her face a mask of worry and exhaustion, entered the room slowly. She looked almost as though she had aged five years in the short span of time it had taken them to be rescued. But she was still Moira—strong, unyielding in her love for her children.

Her gaze fell on Henry first, her eyes softening as she approached him. "Henry," she whispered, her voice trembling as she placed a hand gently on his arm. "You're awake."

It wasn't until she spoke that he realized just how much he had missed hearing her voice. He hadn't known it then, but he had longed for her presence on the island, for the love and warmth she provided, even if it had been imperfect in the past.

"I'm... I'm here, Mom," Henry croaked, his throat dry and raw.

She nodded, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. "You've both been through so much."

Henry tried to sit up, the effort pulling at the stitches and bandages that covered his body. The pain was immediate, but it wasn't unfamiliar. The scars were the least of his worries. The weight of what they had endured on that island—what they had lost—was heavier than any physical pain.

Oliver stirred beside him, his eyes fluttering open. He looked as though he hadn't slept in days, his face gaunt, his skin pale and streaked with the remnants of tears. But despite the exhaustion and the trauma that weighed down on him, there was a faint flicker of recognition in his eyes as he saw their mother.

"Mom..." Oliver's voice was strained, barely above a whisper, but the relief was clear.

Moira leaned down to embrace both of them, her arms wrapping around their battered forms with an almost desperate strength. She held them close, as though this moment could undo everything that had happened, as though the five years of silence and pain could be erased with this one embrace. But the truth of their situation was unavoidable. They were no longer the same. They couldn't go back.

A few minutes passed, but the quiet of the room was interrupted by the sound of a light knock on the door. A doctor entered, his expression solemn, though it softened slightly as he addressed Moira.

"Mrs. Queen," the doctor began, his tone professional but laced with concern, "I need to speak with you."

Moira hesitated for a moment, exchanging a brief, unsure glance with her sons, before she nodded. "Of course," she said softly. She followed the doctor out of the room, and Henry was left with Oliver.

The silence between them was heavy, the years of their separation hanging over them like a thick fog. Neither of them knew how to bridge the gap between the brothers that had grown over five years of survival. They hadn't been the same before the island, and they were certainly not the same now.

Henry's hand drifted to his stomach, feeling the tender, jagged lines of scar tissue that marred his skin. "How are you holding up?" he asked quietly, his voice rough. It was a question he wasn't sure he had the right to ask. But it was necessary. They both needed to start somewhere, even if that somewhere was a simple acknowledgment of the pain.

Oliver's gaze drifted away from him, his hands clasped tightly together on his lap. The answer to Henry's question was clear without words—the silence was all that was needed. He didn't have the strength to respond just yet.

Meanwhile, in the hallway, Moira stood with the doctor, her heart sinking as the doctor continued to speak. His words were slow and deliberate, carefully chosen to soften the blow, but the gravity of the situation was unmistakable.

"Your sons," the doctor began, his eyes flicking between the two brothers' rooms before looking at her, "they've sustained significant injuries. Both of them, but especially Henry... the scar tissue is extensive, more so than Oliver's. He's got a greater degree of bone fractures, deep tissue damage. And the emotional scars... they're just as severe, if not more so."

Moira's breath caught in her throat, her mind reeling with the realization of how much her sons had endured. "But they'll heal, right? They'll be okay?" she asked, the desperation in her voice clear despite her attempt to remain calm.

The doctor hesitated, a look of sympathy crossing his face. "I can't promise that," he replied softly. "Recovery will be long, and I'm afraid I can't say whether they'll ever fully recover—physically or mentally. The damage is... extensive. And the psychological trauma they've endured... it changes people."

Moira's mind raced, the weight of his words sinking in. She had always known her sons were strong, but this... this was something she had never expected. "But they will recover, right? I need to know they'll be okay."

The doctor sighed deeply, his expression grave. "They'll recover, in time. But it won't be the same. They won't be the same."

Back in the room, Henry and Oliver sat in silence, the air thick with unspoken words. But Henry was thinking ahead. He was already strategizing, his mind working through the pieces that needed to be put in place. The island had taught him how to adapt, to survive. It had broken him down and built him back up in ways he had never thought possible.

For Oliver, the island had been the crucible where he learned the raw truth of survival. For Henry, it had been the place where his intellect had to evolve into something more—something capable of protecting those he loved, no matter the cost.

As the hours passed and the weight of their trauma settled over them like a blanket, both brothers knew they had changed. But neither was willing to accept that they would never be the same. They had survived Lian Yu. Now, they had to survive what came next.

And as the sun set outside the hospital window, casting long shadows over the room, Henry knew one thing with certainty: the world they were about to return to would be nothing like the one they had left behind.