Roy is in the middle of this idiot sandwhich
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“He slipped,” the kid says subdued, sulking again.
“Sure,” says Roy, “we’ve all been there. Sometimes they slip, sometimes my hand slips on the arrow, shoulder shot goes straight through the cranium.”
“I didn’t." The kid's face twists in anger. “I really wanted to but I didn’t. Fucking should’ve since I’m getting blamed for it anyways.”
“You do that next time.”
He turns to offer the kid a hit. And catches a whiff of a faint sweet smell, the kind that happens when an Omega is wearing out their scent patch.
Roy freezes. Don’t smoke weed with teenage Omegas when you're alone with them. Roy drops the Juul, and leans back. Don’t smoke weed around them period. Fuck, he’s sitting at Roy’s feet. This looks so fucking bad.
Roy accidentally gets high and watches soft-core porn with Robin, while babysitting him. He thought the kid was an Alpha.
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A whine sounds from behind him, too high to be Dicks. The brother, J something, Jake? Fuck Roy knows his name, or will when he’s sober again.
Roy turns. J-something’s on his knees. Dick’s foster brother, Dick’s kid omega foster brother. This doesn’t have to be sexual, right? He’s just missing something. Maybe Dick is just really pissed, and that’d still be yikes, but less yikes.
Sometimes it’s like Roy see’s a crashing plane, and can’t stop himself from compulsively jumping on.
It’s telling he’s not sure if this is worse than Cheshire, or not.
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“Jay,” Dick says, “you good?”
There’s a pause, and the tension rackets up in the room. Jason opens his mouth, closes it, then bursts into tears.
Roy does some damage control, and then plays relationship councillor. Not for Dick; for Jason.
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