Work Text:
august 2013
in my daddy's el camino,
in her driveway in the rain,
starin' through that windshield,
i could see my future change.
All Roy can think about is how fitting it is that it’s raining, like the sky itself is mourning for the future Roy thought he had. The future he thought he was finally making progress towards getting back.
“Please say something,” Jade whispers next to him, her voice thick with tears, but all Roy hears is I'm pregnant, Roy, looping over and over again in his mind.
He grips the steering wheel tightly, and draws in a deep breath, knows he needs to pull himself together. Jade has to be even more freaked out than he is, and he needs to say something, needs to reassure her that he won't leave her to deal with this alone. She'd already said that she wants to keep it - the baby.
Oh, God, they're having a baby. He's not even twenty-three yet, and neither of them has been clean for even six months.
Neither of them are in good standing with their families, and they can't put this on their friends. They're in this alone.
Unless-
No.
“I'm not going to leave you,” he finally says, and he knows his voice is hoarse, but Jade doesn't say anything about it.
He reaches out and takes her hand, lacing their fingers together, and she squeezes his tightly as her shoulders shake with her barely restrained sobs.
Fuck, Roy wants a drink. Hell, he wants a hit, but that's out of the question, especially now.
A baby.
Can they even afford to have a baby? It isn't like either he or Jade has the kind of job that comes with medical insurance. Is he supposed to look into the going rates for a midwife? Surely all the new-age hippy types have brought home births back in, right?
A wet, hitching breath from next to him pulls Roy from his spiralling thoughts, and he squeezes Jade's hand back.
“We'll figure it out,” he tells her, hopes he doesn't sound as hollow and afraid as he feels.
“Please don't hate me,” she whispers, and Roy shakes his head vehemently.
“Never, Jade,” he promises, “Never.”
They sit there for a while longer, and Roy knows he should go inside with her, should stay the night, hold her and reassure her, but he just can't bring himself to get out of the car.
Finally, he says, “It's late, you should go in.”
Jade's breath hitches again, but she sniffs and reaches up to wipe her cheeks with the back of her free hand.
“I’m not leaving,” he promises her, “There's just… Something I need to do.”
It's killing him to admit it, but Roy knows they're going to need help. Neither of them knows the first thing about raising a child, about how to be a parent. But what he does know is that a kid is supposed to be able to depend on their father, no matter what.
Despite evidence to the contrary, he hopes that will prove true for him now.
Jade takes a few deep breaths, squeezes Roy's hand one last time, and then gets out of the car. The door doesn't slam behind her, but it might as well with how loud it seems in the silence.
He watches her make her way up the front steps in the rain, and waits until she's safely inside before turning the key and settling in for a long drive.
and my heart hit like a hammer,
and my thoughts were runnin' wild;
any fool can make a baby,
but it takes a man to raise a child.
The drive from Gotham to Star City gives Roy plenty of time to reflect on the news he's been given, and on what he's about to do.
His relationship with Ollie has been strained for years, and he knows that Ollie never liked Jade, that he blames her for Roy ruining his life with the drinking and the drugs. He knows this news isn't going to endear her to him anymore. But.
But Ollie is the closest thing he's ever had to a father, even now, when they've barely spoken in going on two years - and Roy really needs his dad right now.
It's raining hard in Star City, too, when he pulls up to the Queen residence, and the short walk up the drive and to the front door leaves Roy drenched and chilled to the bone. He hesitates on the porch for a few minutes before he finally knocks, holding his breath. He doesn't even know if Ollie is home. Should he have called? Would Ollie have even answered if he had?
The door finally opens to reveal Mia, his younger sister, dressed in a nightgown and silk housecoat, and wearing a look of pure shock when she registers who she's seeing.
“Roy?” She asks, bewildered, and he coughs.
“Hey, sis,” he says, more than just a little sheepish, and she steps aside to let him in.
“Roy, it's nearly midnight,” she says, looking him over, and then, suddenly, she's dragging him into her arms and holding him tightly, “What's wrong?”
Roy wonders what expression must be on his face to earn him such a thing.
The words stick in his throat, letting out only a choked little noise, and Mia hugs him tighter.
“Hey,” she says gently, “Hey, whatever it is, it's gonna be okay.” Roy shakes his head, but she just shushes him, then asks, “Should I get Dad?”
Roy is about to respond, but the sound of footsteps on the staircase brings him up short.
“Who’s at the door, Mia?” Oliver asks, and the siblings both draw in a sharp breath.
Mia's grip loosens and Roy forces himself to pull away from her and look up at the man on the stairs. He watches as several emotions flicker across Ollie's face, too fast to name, before settling into a grim frown.
“Roy,” he says, a hint of surprise in his voice, at the same time that Roy himself speaks, his voice cracking over the single word.
“Dad.”
Oliver's expression morphs immediately into one of concern, and he descends the rest of the stairs to join his children.
“Mia,” he says calmly, “Go back to bed. I can take it from here.”
Mia hesitates for a moment, and Roy misses the pointed look she gives their father before obeying and heading back upstairs.
“Roy,” Oliver says, gentle in a way he hasn't been with Roy in so long, and Roy's shoulders shake as the older man puts his hands on them. It's that, he thinks, more than anything, that has Ollie drawing him towards his chest and wrapping him up protectively in his arms.
“Roy,” he says again, “You're scaring me.”
“I need to talk to you,” Roy finally manages to say, teeth chattering despite the warmth of his father's embrace.
Oliver makes a displeased noise and steps back, and Roy is mortified by the little whine he lets escape.
“You're freezing,” Ollie explains, one arm returning to wrap around his son's shoulders, “C'mon, let's get you changed into something dry.”
Half an hour and a hot shower later, Roy shuffles into Oliver's study in a pair of his own old sweats and a long sleeve shirt. Ollie gives him a long look before gesturing to the couch and moving to join him there.
He presses a mug of what smells like hot chocolate into Roy's hands once they're both sitting, and then says, “Talk.”
Roy takes in a stuttering breath and then blurts, “Jade is pregnant.” Oliver takes in a sharp breath, his hands stilling so that his own mug is a few inches from his lips, and Roy adds, “She wants to keep it. Ollie, Dad, I don't know what to do.”
Oliver lets out a long breath, and then takes a sip from his mug before setting it down on the coffee table.
“You're certain it's yours?” He asks, carefully neutral, and Roy tries not to bristle.
“Yes,” he says, tone brokering no uncertainty, and Oliver hums.
“Are you both… clean?” He finally asks, and Roy sighs.
“From the drugs, yes,” he concedes, “Almost six months now.”
Ollie tilts his head at that, considering Roy's words, and Roy takes a long swallow of his hot chocolate and stamps down the wish that it was something stronger.
“Are you going to be able to stay that way?” He asks after a few seconds have passed, “With a baby crying, a diaper to change, the phone ringing, and the timer on the oven going off, all at the same time?”
Roy swallows, and looks down at his drink, swirling the contents as he thinks.
“I don't know,” he finally admits quietly, “But… But I want to. I don't- I can't know that there's a little boy or girl out there, who’s mine, and who I'm not around for. I won't be a deadbeat dad, who can't even come around and just pays the child support like that's all that matters.”
He pauses, and chances a look up at Ollie, stunned to find a proud gleam in the older man's eyes, “I just… I don't know what to do now. I don't know where to go from here.”
“We'll figure it out, son,” Ollie murmurs, putting a hand on Roy's leg and giving a comforting squeeze, “It's going to be okay.”
“I'm not looking for money,” Roy says, suddenly, “I swear I'm not. I just- I just need help. I don't even know what a baby needs! A- a crib, I guess? A cradle? Diapers, bottles, I don't know- Baby wipes, and clothes? But there's gotta be more, right?”
Ollie gives him a bemused look, and opens his mouth to speak, but Roy just keeps going, working himself up more and more.
“And I know you didn't get any of us that young,” he says, “But you know stuff, right? Fuck, maybe I should talk to Dick. He was around when Damian was born, right? He's gotta know more about babies than I do.”
“Roy,” Oliver says.
“What if I break their neck cuz I don't know how to hold them right? Oh God, what if I drop them?”
“Roy!”
Roy's mouth snaps shut, and the look he gives Oliver is nothing short of desperate.
“You're not going to kill your baby,” Ollie says sternly, “As for the rest of it, we have time. You don't have to do this alone, we'll figure it out.” He shifts closer, and takes Roy's mug from his hands, setting it down next to his own. Then he draws Roy into his side, and reaches up to card his fingers through damp hair.
“Thank you,” he says after a moment, “I'm… I'm glad you came to me, Roy. I know-” He cuts himself off with a sharp breath before continuing, “I know that can't have been easy, after everything. I'm sorry, Roy.”
Maybe it's just because it's been a stressful night, or maybe it's because he's wanted to hear that from Ollie for so long now, but the words have tears springing to Roy's eyes. He tries to stop them, but they quickly spill over, and suddenly Roy is crying, and Ollie swears and hauls him into his lap like he's ten again.
“Christ, Roy,” he says, resting his chin on the top of Roy's head when he hunches down to burrow against his father's chest, “Hey, don't you ever doubt for one more minute that I love you, you got that, kiddo? You aren't the only one who made mistakes.”
Roy lets out a choked sob, gripping tighter to Ollie's shirt, and Ollie smooths a hand down his spine.
“Shh,” he soothes, “I'm so proud of you, Roy. Six months is a long time to stay clean without any familial support. You did that, son, and you can do this, too. You don't have to do it alone this time.”
“I’m sorry, too,” Roy weeps, and Oliver keeps rubbing his back and making soothing noises, “I fucked up, Ollie. I fucked up, I know that, but-”
“But you needed me,” Oliver replies, and his voice is thick with shame, “And I cast you out. I fucked up that part, Roy.” He holds his son as he continues to shake, and wonders who held him through the shaking of his withdrawal, if it was Jade, or if she was in too much the same state to be any comfort. The thought fills him with self-loathing, and he smooths Roy’s hair back as much to comfort himself as his son.
The past doesn’t matter, now. Roy is here, in his arms, because despite all of the bad blood and mistakes between them, his boy still trusts him, still thought of him in his time of need, and that means more than Oliver can say. He won’t let him down this time.
Adjusting his grip on the young man, Oliver stands and makes his way out of the study. Roy is lighter than he’s expecting him to be, and Oliver wonders if his boy’s been eating right, if this is just a hold-over from the weight he must have lost during the worst of the drug addiction.
Roy makes a questioning noise and starts to lift his head, but Oliver hushes him.
“It’s far too late for you to be driving back to Gotham, Roy,” he says, “It’s been a few days since housekeeping was in, but your bed is still made.” He hesitates, and then admits, “Your room is always kept ready.”
“Ollie…” Roy whispers, and wraps his arms around his father’s neck and shoulders.
“I always wanted you to find your way home, son.”
He eases the door to Roy’s bedroom open and steps inside, the moonlight and the dim glow of the phosphorescent stars on the ceiling providing just enough light to make a clear path to the bed. Oliver sets him down, and smooths Roy’s hair back one more time when his son rolls over to face him.
“Sleep, Roy,” he says, “We’ll start making plans in the morning.”
He turns to leave, but a hand on his wrist stops him, and Oliver turns back to look at Roy. The younger man seems to war with himself for a moment, opening and closing his mouth a few times, and tightening his grip on Oliver slightly.
“Thanks, Dad,” he finally says, and if Ollie goes a little bit misty-eyed, well, it’s too dark for Roy to tell.
He takes Roy’s hand in both of his own for a moment, squeezing once before letting go and stepping back from the bed.
From the doorway, just before he closes the door, he murmurs, “Goodnight, son. Welcome home.”