Work Text:
Roy ignores the sting of Gotham’s late spring biting his nose as he walks towards the front steps of Wayne Manor, the snow crunching behind him as his cab drives away. He shivers and looks up.
The Manor is nothing like home. That is if the apartment he's been living in by himself could be called a 'home' at all. Not like Ollie or Dinah were around to see it, traveling the country and saving the world and everything else. Roy tries to swallow the sourness down.
They're busy. They're superheroes. He gets it.
Maybe the Tower could be called home, filled with Donna's warm smiles, Vic's sharp wit, and Kory's hugs. He has his own room. Posters on the walls, his drumset, and everything—which is certainly more than he can say for the lonely flat that's across the continent from his teammates.
They're getting worried, Roy can tell. Not enough to say anything, but he's noticed how Dick's eyes glance over him when he comes back from Star City. Raven frowning at him from the shadows during the nights when all he can think about is leaving it all and disappearing into New York's streets. Gar piling tofu-bacon on Roy's plate during breakfast. Even Wally has been laying off with his smart comments, too-stretched grins taking their place.
Roy hates it.
He pauses at the base of the staircase that leads up to the firmly closed doors. The house sits elegantly on top of a low hill, almost like a palace, unafraid of what the city only a couple of miles away could do to it. Most of the windows are dark, curtains pulled shut, but a few cast warm, golden light on the snow outside. From a distance, he's sure it would resemble stars shining bright despite the surrounding darkness.
Queen Mansion hadn't been like this at all. Vast gardens and tall trees practically hid it from view, allowing a sense of secrecy. Roy used to spend hours following Ollie around in those trees, trying to line up the perfect shot with a toy bow and arrow as his mentor pretended not to notice him on the ground below and—
No, he’s not going to think about Oliver. Roy whips his gaze forward, jaw tightening.
The Manor is nothing like home, wherever home is, and he’s never been so thankful for that as he is now.
He climbs the steps and punches the ridiculously ornate doorbell with a freezing finger. Then he waits, breath frosting in the air, wishing he’d grabbed an actual jacket when he’d stormed out and zeta-beamed to Gotham. Bruce would never give out the location to the Cave, so the best he could do was the zeta in the East End section of the city, stuck behind a post office and a strip club. He'd spent too long meandering down the streets before he finally managed to catch a cab and force himself together.
There's a swift breeze, and Roy folds in on himself. How the hell could a city be so cold in fucking March?
One of the doors opens, and Alfred raises an eyebrow as Roy rushes in, leaving trails of mush behind him. “Sorry,” he manages, trying to rub some feeling back into his hands. The butler looks him over, taking in the rumpled sweatshirt, jeans, and snowy boots before shaking his head with something that isn’t quite exasperation but isn’t quite amusement either.
“Master Richard isn’t in the house at this time, Mr. Harper.”
Shit. Of course, the asshole isn’t here yet; it’s not like Dick promised he would be or anything when Roy had called only ten fucking minutes ago.
He’s about to mutter out some excuse to leave; maybe apologize for the slush on the carpet, too, since Alfred lays a firm hand on his shoulder in the way that usually precedes a scolding. He tenses with the contact, but then the old man says, “However, perhaps you would like something warm to drink?”
Oh.
Roy doesn't know how to respond to that, can only nod as Alfred smiles at him with a certain type of fondness that he hasn’t seen from anyone in a while. The butler drops his hand and leads the way to the kitchen, even though Roy’s been in the house plenty of times before to know exactly where it is. Roy follows cautiously and prays that he isn’t leaving a trail of snowy footprints in his wake.
After several seconds of silence, Alfred gives him a knowing side-eye, finally asking, “May I ask what brought you here tonight?”
Roy looks down at his muddy boots and thinks about lying. Then he thinks about how this is the guy who raised Batman.
“. . . Just another stupid fight. Nothing new.”
Because, raising Batman aside, there simply isn’t any point in lying to Alfred. And it was a stupid fight: Ollie going on about recklessness when he’s hardly ever there to see if Roy’s being a dumbass. A fact that Roy was all too glad making known. And, like usual, it escalated, voices rising until he stomped out as Ollie yelled after him.
Calling Dick had been an impulse decision. Because usually he’d go to Donna, whine as she kissed his wounds before telling him that he was an idiot and to go fix his damn problems like a grown-up. Like any of them can be considered grown-ups. Like any of them actually know what they're doing.
But he doesn’t want his girlfriend’s logic and sensibility. He wants to rant to somebody who can understand, and who else is better for that than Dick “Daddy Issues” Grayson. Dick, who’s been visiting the Manor daily while the Big Bad Bat is off-world on some mission.
Dick, who isn’t here.
Fantastic.
Alfred gives him a forlorn look, dragging Roy back into the present.
“Arguments can tear families apart, Mr. Harper. I’ve seen it happen here. If Mr. Queen . . .” Alfred hesitates, hand resting against the doorframe of the kitchen, his grey eyes heavy on Roy's shoulders. "Both you and Master Dick are welcome here if you ever need anything."
Roy picks at the sleeve of his hoodie. It's getting ratty, with seams coming undone and holes at the edges. Ollie had gotten him a new one recently, green with a dumb print of an eagle on it, something from an airport layover. He only wears it when Ollie isn't around. But he can't bear to throw this one away, either. He's too accustomed to wearing things down, getting the full use out of his belongings. It was a habit instilled in him by Beau years before he knew anything about Oliver Queen. His heart suddenly feels lodged between his ribs, and Roy flexes his fingers and stops thinking about Arizona and Beau and lost fathers altogether.
"What about Bruce?" he finally asks.
"Sometimes fathers don't always know best."
"They're assholes, you mean?" He expects a sharp look, not the soft laugh Alfred gives him as he moves into the room. And that makes something ache in Roy’s chest, so he glances away and mutters, “Do you know when Dick is gonna be back?”
The butler doesn’t seem ruffled by Roy’s callous change in topic, not that he's ruffled by much, and continues, “He is out visiting Ms. Anders in New York, I believe.” Fuck, he’s going to be waiting forever if Dick is with Kori. “However, he said that he would be back tonight to spend time with Master Jason.”
Roy blinks.
He hadn’t even thought about Jason being here. Not that it’s a bad thing, he just . . . He hadn’t even thought about it. Which makes him feel a bit shitty, honestly.
They aren’t close, had held mindless conversations whenever Dick had brought the Boy Wonder up to the Titans’ Tower, and sparred together a few times Though Roy doubts that he'll ever live down the time the kid had saved his ass when he had followed a case to Gotham and gotten in over his head; Jason still seems pretty damn smug about it. And he’s talented definitely, but from what Roy’s seen, there’s a heaviness on Jason’s shoulders that the former Robin had never had. Something rough around the edges. Eyes that were a little too sharp and hits that could land a little too hard. Shit, Dick had mentioned before that Jason tends to “use excessive force” on criminals and is less forgiving than any of Bruce's other teammates.
But Roy likes him well enough. Jason is smart, quick with puzzles with an even quicker mouth. And, despite the cocky attitude he puts on, there’s a shyness that appears whenever any of the Titans or League members talk to him. It's fun to watch him get all starry-eyed, though Roy is pretty sure Jason would scoff in his face if he called it hero worship.
Alfred is placing a pot on the stove, and Roy lets himself lean against the doorway to soak up the heat of the kitchen. He closes his eyes and rests his head on the frame, hears Alfred shuffle through the cabinets. He takes in a shaky breath and the world fades away.
God, he’s tired.
He must have dozed off because it’s the sound of chopping that makes him blink back to life. Alfred is standing by the counter, a small pile of chocolate pieces collecting on his cutting board as he goes through a massive slab of the stuff. Roy starts, “You don’t have to—”
“Don’t be ridiculous, Mr. Harper. Hot chocolate is the best remedy for a cold night, and, besides, I was feeling rather chilly myself earlier.”
Roy’s throat tightens and he tries to pull his sleeves lower over his chapped hands. “Thanks.”
“Of course. Please, have a seat.”
He hesitates, then moves to the kitchen island and pulls out one of the stools from beneath it, sitting quietly. Alfred finishes cutting, puts the pieces into the pot, and cranks up the heat. Roy watches and tries not to fall asleep again as the scent of melting chocolate fills the air. Alfred hums from around the sink, and, fuck it, Roy lets himself bury his face in his arms and shut his eyes.
The butler can shake him awake later.
Then he hears the sound of padded footsteps, followed by, “Hey, Alf, Bruce just called; he has some new information for you to put into—oh.” Roy lifts his heavy head and turns around in his seat to see the Boy Wonder in the flesh, clad in flannel pajama pants and a Wonder Woman t-shirt.
Roy’s mouth quirks with a smile before he can even think about it.
Jason stares back at him with big eyes, suddenly seeming very unsure and out of his depth. “Um. Hey. Am I interrupting anything, or . . . ?”
Alfred shakes his head as he dries his hands with a dishtowel. “Not at all, Master Jason. What is it?”
Jason looks away from him, putting his hands in his pockets. Roy watches the kid bite his lip and shift his weight from foot to foot as if neither is comfortable to settle on. “Bruce has a couple of files on the Falcone case he wants you to sort through and organize. But since you’re busy, I got it.”
“There’s no need; I’ll do that if you finish with the hot chocolate here,” Alfred offers innocently. Jason shoots him some sort of look. The two have a brief stare-down, the meaning of which is a complete mystery to Roy. Then, Jason scrunches his face up, and Alfred tosses him the towel, Jason slinging it over a petulant shoulder. Roy relaxes in his seat and tries not to sigh. Bats.
Jason stills, and his gaze flicks to Roy—almost too quick for him to catch it—before going back to the older man and walking over to meet him at the stove. “. . . Fine. All the stuff is by the Computer, next to that report about Scarecrow’s new toxin.” Alfred dips his head and walks out, steps crisp on the hardwood, and Roy swears that he sees the tiniest curl of a smile on the butler’s lips.
Roy stares after him because he must have missed an inside joke or something—
The kid clears his throat, once again rocking on his feet as Roy’s eyes snap back to him. He tilts his head, brow furrowing. Was Jason that tall the last time Roy saw him? Jesus, the kid is already nearly Dick’s height; at this rate, he’ll probably be taller than Roy.
And bigger, too. Jason is solid, certainly not as flexible or as fast as his adopted brother, but will make up for it in brute strength. He's growing, after all, caught between adulthood and the lingerings of youth. His shoulders are too broad, his legs too long, and his posture too tense. But he'll be tall, definitely. Still, it’s a little strange how similar the two adopted brothers look, but up close, the differences are more than obvious. Besides build, Jason is paler than Dick’s racially toned skin, making the blush on his cheeks stand out a hell of a lot more now that Roy’s noticing it. He frowns.
“You good? You look a little—” He makes a wavey gesture to his own face, which only seems to make Jason's flush even brighter when he stiffly shrugs. Whatever. Okay. Roy's not about to psychoanalyze or anything, that's Dick's gig.
But before he can say something else, Jason takes a quick step back, even though there's already a counter between them. “I’m fine, Harper. Just gonna grab the milk.” He fully turns his back on the older teenager, shoulders taut, jaw locked. Roy blinks but only shrugs and sits back down at the counter because okay then. Being a teenager is weird. It still is weird. He really hopes that life will make more sense by the time his brain gets with the program and finishes developing or whatever. Jason keeps his back to him as he goes to the fridge and then pours the milk into Alfred's chocolate concoction, the tension in his body making Roy’s muscles ache.
The silence ticks by. Roy's fingers start to tap on the counter.
Should he talk? He feels like he should talk. He racks his brain, trying to remember anything Dick had said about the younger boy.
He had mentioned getting books for Jason around Christmas, classic novels. Brontë. Roy has never been a big fan of that kind of thing, he prefers nature guides and instruction manuals: facts. Like that stuff on engineering Ollie and Dinah had given him for his birthday last year—
No, he can’t think about Oliver right now. He won’t. And he shoves those memories down, down, down, until he can pretend they never happened.
It takes a few seconds before Roy realizes that he’s been clenching his fist so hard his fingernails have left sharp, angry indents in his palms. He forces himself to lay his hands flat on the counter. Takes a breath.
Fuck, he needs a vacation from this shit.
He looks up just as Jason pivots back around. The red is gone from his face, replaced with a relaxed focus as he walks from cabinet to cabinet, finding and throwing different ingredients into the pot. He doesn’t even need to stop and read the labels; seemingly knowing exactly what he’s doing. Roy watches, a little fascinated by the ease of his movements. There's something about the Bats. It must be the way they carry themselves, with a simple kind of surety that Roy wishes he could emulate. Bruce fills up a room just by being in it. Dick isn't as subtle, his easy charm and confidence pulling people in. Jason is something different. Quieter in intensity, maybe, but still has that quality that makes you pay attention.
Roy can't put a finger on it, but he's over staying quiet. “You cook often?”
Jason freezes, hand hovering over the hot chocolate, and, yeah, Roy should have kept his mouth closed going by the sudden apprehension on Jason’s face. Like the older teen is going to make fun of him. Finally, he says, “. . . Yeah, when I get the chance.”
Jason doesn’t continue, which should probably be Roy’s cue to just shut up, but he’ll be damned if he’s going to sit in awkward silence until Dick gets here. “Why? I'm not a terrible cook, but I've never seen the appeal.” He’s honestly a bit curious. Jason doesn’t seem the type to spend time in the kitchen, and Dick doesn't generally step into one if he can help it. Says it takes too much time and that he can never remember to set the timer. He'd probably live off of smoothies and protein bars if he could.
The kid stares at him cautiously as if he’s waiting for Roy to insult him. For the other shoe to drop. And it kinda hurts that Jason thinks he would do that, and Roy feels the familiar sensation of bitterness as it swells in his chest. He pushes it away and makes himself come to the sad fact that he isn't the only one in the room with trust issues.
Roy leans forward, propping his head up with a fist and putting an interested, friendly grin on his face. Jason watches him for a second before seemingly catching himself, gaze jerking away and back to the stove. Slowly, he says, “We never had a lot of food when I was a kid, so . . . I don’t know. I finally have all the stuff to make whatever I want for whoever I want. Feels good.” Jason wrinkles his nose. “That sounds dumb.”
Roy chuckles and shakes his head. “It’s not dumb, it’s. . . nice, actually.”
Jason blinks, and then his face breaks into a smile. It’s a warm smile—one that Roy hasn’t seen before. “Plus, it’s funny to watch Dick try and help because he always forgets about the food, so it burns nearly every time.”
"And I'm guessing you never remind him?"
The only response he gets is a curled smirk. He laughs and Jason cocks his head, brows coming together. “I have no idea when he’s gonna be back if you need to talk to him.”
Roy shrugs, Dick's absence not stinging like it was a few minutes ago. “He was with Kori last I heard,” he says, and Jason makes a face.
“You might be here for a while then.”
He snorts, and that nice smile appears on Jason’s face again. “Yeah, they’re gross.”
Jason nods in agreement, then frowns. “What did you need to talk about anyway?” Roy freezes as reality douses him like ice water. The kid stills, eyes darting down while he shoves his hands in his pockets. “Sorry. That's your business.“
“No, no, it’s okay. Not like it’s a big secret or anything,” Roy mutters, running a hand through his hair. Maybe he should grow it out; perhaps that would get Oliver’s attention. “Ollie and I had a fight; just needed to rant about it to somebody.”
He looks up at the ceiling, mind swirling slowly and sourly. God, maybe he should leave, go to Dinah’s place or the Tower, fuck waiting for Dick—
“You can rant to me if you want.” Roy's eyes fix back on him, and Jason looks away, almost managing to shrug like he couldn’t care less. But there’s an honest gravity when the kid murmurs, “I—uh—I know I’m not Dick or any of your other teammates, but I’ll listen. If you want to talk.”
Roy goes still, gazing at the other boy silently.
He isn't the type to 'talk' about his feelings, and if he ever does, it's after downing copious amounts of alcohol.
The team knows that, knows not to bring up Oliver when Roy stomps into the Tower eyes blazing. Knows to just let Donna speak to him before approaching. Knows, if Donna's not there, to let Dick or Wally or even Garth follow him into the gym and spar with him for hours just so he doesn't have to talk about it.
Even then, it took years for him to fully open up to the original team. And as of now, Roy would rather stew in anger than share his emotions with Kori or Joey or Raven or Vic or, God forbid, Gar. And he knows it's not fair to keep himself so locked up when they've whispered their darkest secrets to the whole team, but he just can't do it. Can't lay himself out without feeling like an insect, wings pinned down. But now there's Jason.
Jason, who he hardly knows, with his too-big t-shirt and solemn sincerity, and, before he can think about it, Roy's tongue is already moving.
“Well, then. Buckle up, Jaybird. You ready to talk shit about father figures?”
Jason stares at him for a second, long enough for Roy to start believing that he’ll back out, but then a smile creeps across his face. “You gonna call me that the whole time?”
Roy laughs lightly, “What? Jaybird? Don’t like it?”
Jason quickly shakes his head. “No, no, I . . . It’s fine. I like it. Just didn't think you'd keep calling me that after I saved your ass, is all.”
"Never gonna let me forget about that, huh?" Roy groans, but his grin doesn't dim. The kid takes two mugs from a cabinet and pours them both some hot chocolate.
"You were surrounded by a bunch of drug-dealing baseball players; what kind of fucking situation even is that?" Roy hums and doesn't answer, only watches curiously as Jason grabs some whipped cream from the fridge, topping off the drinks along with a bit of cinnamon. “So, Harper—“ Jason slides Roy a cup and rests his elbows on the kitchen island, leaning towards him and looking eager to spill some secrets—“let’s talk shit.”
Roy smiles and takes a sip from his mug. The chocolate and spices dance through his mouth, and he can feel himself relax for the first time in who knows how long. The glow of the kitchen seeps through his skin, and his throat tightens. This is what a home should be like.
Jason watches him, waiting patiently. Roy takes a breath and talks.
It starts with Ollie, his needling over Roy’s every mistake before taking off again for a meeting or a mission or anywhere where Roy can’t go. Disappearing for weeks at a time. They don’t even speak that much anymore, not that they did before, but still. Roy must have messed up, done something wrong.
Saying that out loud stings, or maybe it burns, deep in his chest.
Because what did he do? Dinah hasn’t said anything, but she’s been busy lately with the League, and he hasn’t gotten to actually see her in weeks. And Hal had popped in not too long ago, but the Green Lantern couldn't exactly hang around to go on patrol and listen to Roy's worrying. Still, Roy's sure that somebody would call him out if he had really fucked up. Not Oliver, but somebody.
Somebody has to care, right?
He doesn't say exactly that. Because Jason hasn't seen Roy at worst, certainly hasn't seen Ollie, Dinah, or Hal at their worst either, and Roy isn't about to place distrust in the kid. Because Ollie is still a good person. A good person and a bad father. Even then, Roy's words aren't as barbed as they deserve to be; he'll save that for Dick later. But even just airing out his frustration is already loosening the knot in his throat and the anger from his fists.
And Jason is a good listener, doesn’t interrupt once, only watches him with eyes that get it. He lets Roy curse and ramble, and by the end, Roy’s shoulders feel lighter than air. He’s even smiling as Jason snorts at his impression of Oliver’s ‘You should so definitely be disappointed in yourself even though I did that exact same dumbass thing less than a minute ago’ speech that Roy's heard enough times that he's stopped keeping count. But he still stays careful and keeps out the uglier parts. The needles, sneaking through backdoors, his desperation. Jason is young and easily distracted and understands shitty fathers, yeah, but Roy refuses to burden him with everything. So he complains, sure, but keeps it vague, cracking jokes just to make the kid relax and laugh.
He finishes with several obscene hand gestures that make Jason snicker and then slumps back into his seat, taking a deep sip from his cup. Jason hums from across the counter, rubbing at the dark circles under his eyes, and Roy frowns. Being Ollie’s partner can suck ass sometimes, but at least he’s not Batman.
Gotham is one fucked up piece of work, and it takes a certain kind of crazy to be able to live there and not go insane. Bruce has seen a lot of shit, everyone who picks up the mask has, but sometimes Roy can’t help but wonder what it was that made the Bat so hard on his sons. The logical part of Roy’s brain reminds him that it's because the man cares.
Dick would probably punch that part of him in the face.
And Bruce’s standards were high even when Dick was Robin. But Jason isn’t Dick; hell, Roy can see that, and he hardly knows him. And even he’s noticing how Jason is fraying at the edges, how sometimes his smiles don’t seem to reach his eyes.
Maybe Roy isn’t the only one who needs to be asked if he’s okay.
He opens his mouth to do just that, but Jason interrupts him with an easy grin and says, “So, besides yelling at Oliver, what else do you like to do?”
The question Roy’s about to ask is pushed aside, and he blinks in surprise as he stumbles to answer, “Uh. I’ve been working on these designs for some new trick arrows.”
Jason glances up from where he’d been tracing mindless patterns on the counter. There’s a spark of curiosity in his eyes. That's new. “You create that stuff? Like, you build weapons and shit?” He nods, a little taken aback at the interest. Jason grins at him, wide and beaming. “That is so cool.”
Roy shrugs, attempting to ignore the heat spreading across the back of his neck. He rubs at it, glancing away from the genuine interest on Jason’s face. “Yeah, I like making stuff. I’m working on this sonic arrow right now, trying to mimic Dinah’s scream. But I can’t quite get the sound waves to resonate from the shaft the right way and—“
He's explained this before, plenty of times. Donna follows along, her eyes trailing his hands as he gestures, warm and amused. Oliver tends to nod, sometimes adding something here and there if Roy's lucky. Dick will interrupt, Wally too, pointing out flaws and scribbling their ridiculous suggestions and ideas down on napkins and each other's arms. He shows them to Vic after and listens as revisions and notes are made. But Jason only watches him. He's quiet, gaze firmly focused on Roy's face, and Roy doesn't know what to do with that at all. It makes him shift in his seat, but doesn't leave him unsteady. There's really no reason for a fifteen-year-old to have eyes that are that intense. Jason has really nailed down the Bat-stare that Bruce must have taught him, a thought that Roy keeps to himself because he doubts the kid would be happy to hear him bring up his adoptive father right now.
Then Jason asks him something that makes him firmly shut up.
"Do you want to go to school for engineering or stuff like that?"
His mouth feels like cotton, but he doesn't fumble, and he hopes there's enough dignity in that. Roy knows that Jason is a school kid, likes the textbooks and the blackboards and the essays. The kind of kid that Ollie would prefer instead of what he got. Roy isn't stupid. He's far from it.
And yet.
But Roy only smiles at the question. "I'm a professional high-school dropout."
Jason doesn't blink. "You graduated early, like Dick did." At Roy's lifted brows, the kid quickly continues, "Dick mentioned studying with you, so, uh. Yeah."
"Well," he begins, rolling his tongue around his mouth. "He convinced me to get my GED, that's all. But for a while I was . . ." He doesn't know what he was. He doesn't know what he is. So Roy smiles again with a shrug. "Coasting. Playing a couple gigs for clubs, that kind of thing."
No details. Maybe he's selfish, but he still doesn't want Jason to know that part of him and the world he's sunk into.
But Jason is frowning at his mug. "They let you in there? I mean, you're not old enough to—"
Roy snorts. "Fake IDs, man." Playing adult is vital. The role is familiar to put on, and Roy knows it well, has figured out how to get through the backdoors and how to charm just right. He smirks, and the eyes on him narrow. "I've seen you sneaking smokes at the Tower, so I'm sure you're familiar."
"You think the stores in Gotham care about that?" Jason asks, rolling his eyes in standard teenagedom. The embarrassment is right under the surface, though, and it makes Roy grin. "And I'll have an actual ID in a few months which . . . I guess I'll have to wait until I'm older to buy a pack, anyway. Whatever, I'm getting my license soon. That's my point."
"Yeah, 'soon' as in months."
"I can drive, though," Jason huffs at him. "And you were totally driving before you had a license, I remember."
"Okay, okay," Roy holds his hands up in mock surrender, unable to keep his laughter to himself. "Call me pot, and I'll call you kettle. And you're the big man with a fancy driver's license and everything. What do I know?"
"Not how to shut up, apparently," Jason snarks back.
Roy takes an unabashed sip of his hot chocolate. "I do know how to pump my own gas, though. New Jersey can go fuck itself for that one." An annoyed sigh.
"Let me see your fake, I want to compare it to the real thing."
"Dick been teaching you how to give orders?" he teases but reaches for his back pocket to pull out a battered leather wallet. Donna had given it to him when he turned fourteen, his initials stamped into one corner. Jason turns pink for what must be the tenth time tonight, ignoring the comment, and Roy places his literal cards on the table.
Jason peers down at the two grainy pictures of Roy's face, definitely doing his best to hide how impressed he is, Roy's sure. ". . . Okay, that's not half bad."
"Damn well shouldn't be considering Dick was the one who got it."
"Dick got you this?"
"Don't let him fool you; he's a rule breaker through and through," Roy says cheerfully, picking the IDs up and sliding them back into his worn wallet, fingers light. "If you annoy him enough, I'll bet he even help you get one in a couple of years. But law-breaking aside, what about you, huh? School and everything going okay?" He calls back to their earlier conversation, subtly checks his cell, and tries not to wince at the time. He is absolutely going to kick Dick's ass later.
"I have a biology test on Tuesday and a paper to write," Jason tells him, not even sounding upset at the fact.
Roy puffs his cheeks out. "Fun?" A grin. "You do you, dude." A sudden detail launches itself into Roy's brain, something Dick had only mentioned once in passing about Jason's first date and—"At least you've got your girlfriend at school, yeah? What was her name?"
Wrong thing to say. Jason's expression shutters. "Rena."
". . . Not your girlfriend."
"Not anymore."
"Shit, dude. That blows; sorry for mentioning it."
"Don't worry about it. Besides, I broke up with her, so I'm not really . . . I don't know. That sounds shitty. Is that shitty? Eddie said I shouldn't feel too bad about it since she seems alright." Jason scowls at his mug as if it had said a particularly rude phrase to him. It takes a moment for Roy to place Eddie, the Devil Kid sidekick, or something like that. Roy doesn't really know him. It's probably a good thing that Jason does, though. Kid needs friends who understand him.
"Well," Roy begins, "Guess it depends on why you broke up with her."
Eyes that are caught between green and blue dart up at him, and Roy offers an open smile in return. Jason looks away. "Just . . . stuff. I'm soul-searching."
He snorts but doesn't push. High school romance is one thing he certainly doesn't miss, and Jason doesn't seem keen on talking about it. New subject, then. "Okay, but what about what you're gonna do after school?"
A short shrug as Jason leans back in his seat. "I really want to go to college. Bruce thinks I should teach or something," he's saying it offhandedly, but the praise must mean everything because his smile is shy and proud.
It's enough to make him smile, too. "Gonna go far, aren't you?"
"So will you," Jason responds simply. Like it's a fact. That it's been decided.
Roy swallows and nods along because lying is so easy for him now. "We'll see."
The look Jason gives him is scolding and clear, and Roy thinks he's going to leave it be, but he repeats himself with surety. "So will you."
And perhaps Dick is actually an fucking angel because that's when Roy's phone begins to ring, saving him from having to stare at the truth in its awful face. He pulls it from his pocket and flashes the screen to Jason, who only scoffs when he sees the caller. Roy hits accept and brings the phone up to his ear.
“Okay, I know I’ve left you hanging at the Manor for over ten minutes, but—”
“Forty-five, actually.”
“But I’m going to be there in twenty so—”
“So, you’ve actually left me here for over an hour.”
There are several seconds of guilty silence as Dick goes quiet. Jason raises his brows, and Roy shrugs in response, an amused grin spreading across his face. Dick sighs, low and nearly annoyed. “Kori and I had a fight.”
The grin slides away, and Roy straightens up. “Again? Shit, man.”
“Yeah.” he trails off, then continues, “You tell me about Ollie, and I tell you about this? I know where the key to Bruce’s liquor cabinet is; we can get drunk.”
Roy hesitates. He isn’t angry anymore, just . . . Happy might not be the right word, but with the taste of chocolate on his tongue and the sight of Jason playing with the edge of his Wonder Woman t-shirt in front of him . . . It’s the only thing that explains the weird warmth in his chest. Plus, getting wasted to deal with Ollie's shitty parenting skills won't be worth the hangover in the morning. He shrugs even though Dick can't see him.
“Actually, I’ve been talking to Jason about it.”
The other boy’s head shoots up, eyes wide, and Roy hears Dick from the other end go, “Jason's with you?"
He smiles and flicks a piece of leftover chocolate at the kid, who scrunches up his nose in response. “Yeah, he and Alfred made some hot chocolate, too, if you want. Probably the best thing I’ve ever tasted.” Jason rubs the back of his head at that, cheeks flushing, something that Roy is getting used to. The kid needs to learn to take a compliment.
There’s a small laugh from over the phone. “They . . . Yeah, that sounds kind of nice, actually.”
“Alright, see you in twenty.”
“See you.” Roy hangs up, tucks his phone into his back pocket as Jason rubs his thumb self-consciously on the counter. Neither of them says anything for a moment, lost in their thoughts, an almost comfortable silence settling between them.
Jason looks down at his socks.
“Do you think . . .” His voice goes quiet, and Roy sets his hot chocolate on the island, a heavy feeling growing in his stomach at the kid’s tone. Jason doesn’t continue; only keeps staring at his feet.
Roy’s fingers begin to rap against the counter anxiously. "Yeah, Jaybird?”
Jason looks up at the nickname, then away again. “Do you think that Bruce will . . . make me quit Robin?”
He gawks.
“I’m sorry, what? Why the hell would he—” Jason winces, and Roy immediately quiets and clenches his fists instead. He tries his best to push the initial what the fuck tone out of his voice as he continues lowly, “Jay, where did that thought come from?”
Jason swallows, shoulders hunching like he wants to disappear into the floorboards. “Forget it, man. It’s nothing.”
“Fuck that.” Roy walks around the island and leans against the wall opposite of Jason, eyes beginning to flash. “Have you told Dick about this? You should, I mean—What made you think Bruce would do that?” The kid doesn’t answer, and Roy’s gaze narrows. “Did he say something? I swear to God, he was such an asshole with the whole falling out thing with Dick I wouldn’t be surprised if he—”
“He doesn’t trust me! The guy fell, I didn't—” Jason stops, his outburst echoing off the kitchen walls.
Roy stills and his brow furrows in confusion. Jason is looking down again, face worryingly pale. Roy takes a step forward. “Jason?”
The other boy doesn’t move; only takes a deep, shuddering breath. “I know that I fuck up sometimes, alright. I know that. I know that Bruce doesn’t trust me like he trusted Dick, and that’s okay; I get it.”
His fingers curl tight and sharp. It isn't okay, and he's sure that Jason knows that. But, like Roy, the kid knows how to lie, especially to himself.
“And he was already always fuckin' telling me, ‘I expect more from you,' and ‘Don’t hit that hard, Robin,’ and I’m trying and he doesn’t care, because I won’t ever be good enough for him. And I know that. But I never thought—” Roy’s mouth goes very dry as he notices that Jason is actually shaking, maybe from anger or maybe from something else. He's about to reach out when Jason takes a quick breath and continues, “I never thought that he wouldn't trust me.”
The kid cuts himself off again, turning away and biting his thumb. Roy moves on instinct to put a hand on his shoulder and make Jason meet his worried stare. It takes everything not to punch the wall behind him when he finally fully sees Jason's expression.
He looks broken. Gaze darting over Roy's face and muscles rigid as stone, palm pressed against his mouth like he's trying to hold in the words.
Roy rests both of his hands on Jason’s shoulders and squeezes gently. “What happened, Jay?”
Jason stares up at him, desperate, like he can't keep the words in now that he has the chance for somebody to listen to him. “You have to believe me, Roy. You have to. I—There was this guy, Felipe Garzonas, the other night, okay? B and I had been tracking him for a while and we even walked in on him hurting this girl. Kept bringing him to the cops, but they didn’t do anything. Said there wasn’t enough evidence, that he had diplomatic immunity or some kind of bullshit like that. And because of him, she . . . she killed herself.
So I—I went to his apartment,” Jason whispers, teeth grinding together. “Was hoping to find something on him while Bruce was busy with the police. And I saw him, just—drinking liquor on his damn balcony like he hadn’t done anything wrong. And I was so angry, but, Roy, I didn't—The guy fell, I didn't push him.” Jason stops, breaks out of Roy’s grip, and presses his lips firmly together.
“Jaybird, Jason, I believe you,” Roy promises him. “I believe you, I swear.”
Jason shakes his head sourly. “Bruce doesn’t. He thinks I pushed—” He shuts his eyes tightly—“I didn't. I told him that. I told him, but he benched me.”
Roy is moving before he can even think about it, pulling Jason against his chest into a strong hug. He hopes he's doing it right. Jason doesn't return the embrace, but he lets himself be supported, which is probably a step in the right direction. Dick really needs to show up because comforting his little brother was not what Roy planned on doing tonight, and he has no idea what he's supposed to say. “Hey, you're alright, kid. I got you.”
“You can't tell Dick or Alfred. I don’t want them to look at me like Bruce did, like I'm some kind of fucking disappointment,” Jason confesses into Roy's ragged hoodie.
Something inside Roy fractures, and he pulls away, making sure that Jason is looking him in the eyes. The words he wished someone would say to him are easy on Roy's tongue. “You are not a disappointment.”
Jason laughs, low and bitter, “That’s bullshit, and you know it, Harper.” His eyes suddenly spark, and Roy almost takes a step back. “Besides, what the fuck do you know? You’re a damn Titan, you’re not . . .”
A suffocating silence fills the room, heavy and rotten.
The back of Roy's throat burns when he manages, “What do I know?”
The kid freezes, his gaze dropping to the floor. “I—Fuck, man, I’m sorry. I didn’t think—”
“Jason.” He glimpses up at Roy, face flushed and eyes red. “It’s okay.”
“It’s not.”
“Hey.” Roy places his palms back on the kid’s shoulders. “I said it’s okay, didn’t I?” Jason stares at him for a moment before hesitantly nodding.
Roy drops his hands and hops up onto one of the bar stools, leaning over to grab his mug across the island. He takes a deep swig like he’s drinking vodka instead of hot cocoa and runs through the words in his head.
Jason watches him incredulously. Roy sighs.
“Alright, I’m only saying this once, so pay attention.” He holds up a finger. “Bruce is an asshole. He’s an asshole who thinks he’s always right and who would probably rather dive off of the Wayne Tower instead of talk about his feelings. He’s also an asshole who loves you. That doesn't mean he isn't screwing this up and being a complete fuckface, but he'll come around because he loves you.” Jason snorts, and Roy shakes his head. “No, I'm serious. You’re his son; even if you think you’re a placeholder for Dick, you’re his son, Jay.”
“But Dick is—”
“You’re not Dick.”
That shuts the kid up, and makes him blink at Roy like he isn’t seeing him quite right. Roy shrugs, feeling a little self-conscious under Jason’s stare. “Well, you’re not. You’re nothing like him, and that’s completely fine. Great even.” Roy thinks of Dick’s ever-charming smile and his ability to sweep anyone off their feet in a matter of seconds. He shakes his head. “Honestly, the world only needs one Dick Grayson anyway.”
He grins, sliding off the stool to ruffle Jason’s hair. “Besides, I think you’re pretty awesome. And the rest of the team does, too. You’re smart and good in a fight. You even helped us with that Switzerland peace meeting; shit, I probably would have died if you hadn’t been there to watch my back, Jay. Hell, I haven't even brought up that thing with the crazy baseball guys in Gotham stadium, or the other thing in Zandia that went down."
He nudges Jason with his arm, eyes crinkling with a smile. “So what if you disappoint Bruce? You’ve got us now. And if the others don't want you on their side, then, hell, I do,” Roy finishes, beaming broadly while Jason stares at him, mouth parted and eyes round. That blush is back, going all the way up to the kid’s ears. After several seconds of silence, Roy cocks his head uncertainly. This wasn't the kind of conversation that he could fuck up. “You good?”
Jason starts, shaking his head like he’s clearing out cobwebs. “Um . . . Yeah. Yeah, sorry. I just wasn’t expecting . . . that.”
Roy laughs and rubs the back of his neck with an awkward shrug. “Hey, any of the others would have said the same," he promises, once again putting a friendly hand on Jason's shoulder.
"No, they wouldn’t have, but . . . Thank you, for that, it . . .” Jason's voice tapers off and he's still staring at Roy as if he'd just found the answer to an extremely complicated case.
Roy shrugs again. “Look, you just listened to me rant about Ollie for the last half hour; the least I can do is—”
He isn’t expecting it.
Isn’t expecting Jason to step forward, one of his hands curling into the fabric of Roy’s sweatshirt while the other cups his cheek. Isn’t expecting him to hesitate, just for a second, eyes darting from Roy’s wide, shocked stare to his lips before leaning in. Isn’t expecting Jason to press his mouth against his, kissing him in a way that’s gentle and warm and surprisingly soft.
He certainly isn’t expecting himself to kiss back.
It's instinct. It lasts about two seconds. His hands bunch into that dumb Wonder Woman shirt, vision blurring as his lashes flicker open and closed, and Roy plants a foot to support Jason's sudden weight. The other boy’s mouth parts with a gasp and a shiver and Roy can taste cinnamon and ash. Clever fingers spread over his jaw. He automatically reaches up to grip black curls to keep them balanced, and Jason leans further into him, less shy, and—
—And he’s kissing Dick’s kid brother. Dick, who is going to be here any second and will actually kill him if he sees this. Unless Bruce beats him to it. And Donna. Donna.
Roy has always been so good at finding roads to hell.
He shoves the kid firmly back and stumbles a half-step away, heart lurching and plummeting to his stomach. As Jason jumps back into the wall behind him like Roy is on fire. As a sudden silence fills the air, settling onto his shoulders until it feels like it's crushing him. Because what the fuck was that. What the fuck was that. They stare at each other, breathing too heavily, and Roy's mind enters a freefall of ohnononono. He knows exactly what that was; that was Jason's crush which Roy's clueless ass had managed to run into face first. That was a kiss. A quick kiss, but a kiss, and it shouldn't have happened. He turns, scrubbing a hand over his face because fuck, Jason is just a kid acting out and doesn't really understand what he's doing, meanwhile Roy is the actual worst and he wants to slam his head into the wall because just no.
Jason brings his fingers to his lips, touching them like what had just happened had been in a dream, and he has to make sure it was real. “I . . . Shit, I didn’t think . . .”
His voice trails off, and Roy swallows numbly. He feels like the ground is shifting under his feet as he prepares for the most awkward talk in his life about why they can’t ever do or mention this again. It'll be cool. They'll be cool. Even if he can see the embarrassment falling open across Jason's face, easy to read as a book. Doesn't matter; this won't mean anything because Roy is already fucked every which way, and Jason is too young to understand what this means. But he can fix this. He can make this fine, ensure it never happens again, and show that he stands solidly on the line of a teammate instead of an obtainable teenage crush. Shit, this conversation is going to be the absolute worst.
Roy straightens up, and he can see when Jason makes the mortifying realization and steps away. It feels like he's stepped over a canyon. Any progress they may have made tonight is swiftly falling apart, and Roy hopes he can gather the shreds of it together to maintain some form of friendship. Jason turns away from him for the last time. "Don't. I'm sorry, just . . . That was stupid. Forget about it."
“Jay, I’m only trying to look out for . . . You know this can't happen; you’re—I’m too old for you.”
Jason's voice clips over him, faint, cutting, and ashamed, "Just forget it, Harper."
But he can't. So Roy stands there like the idiot he is, not knowing how to fix this. Not knowing how to fix anything.
“Hey, Roy, you here?”
Dick’s voice explodes through the tense quiet like a bomb, and Roy whips around, brain trying to come up with something to say. Desperately he looks behind him, to try and get a read on how the kid is doing, but . . . Jason is gone.
Like he had never even been there in the first place.
Fuck.
Roy is still staring blankly when Dick enters the room, shrugging off his winter coat. “Hey, I know you said that Alfred and Jay made some hot chocolate, but I grabbed the key to the liquor cabinet anyway because I can’t be completely sober when I tell you what—” Dick stops, voice turning concerned when he sees the look on Roy’s face. “You okay, man?”
He opens his mouth. Closes it. Jason had tasted like hot chocolate with a suggestion of cigarettes. Roy bites his tongue and wonders if blood could overpower that. Alcohol sounds really, really good all of a sudden. He smiles, chest feeling like someone had scraped out an important part of him with a knife. “I’m fine; just really need to be drunk when I tell you about this bullshit Ollie said to me.”
Dick makes an understanding noise, wrapping an arm around Roy’s shoulders as he leads them out of the kitchen. Away from the gentle lights and the smell of chocolate and the way Jason had kissed him, daring and desperate.
He touches his fingertips to his mouth. His stomach churns, and he drops his hand. Dick looks at him with a familiar worry that only makes Roy want to punch him. His skin is crawling like there are ants in his veins. He wants to run. He wants out of this fucking house and to be away from Jason's trust and Alfred's kindness and Dick's pity. He wants someone to tell him how to fix himself. He wants his dad. Dick touches his wrist. “Hey, really, you seem kind of out of it. What if we—”
“I’m fine, honest.” He risks a glance back into the kitchen, but no one is there except their shadows stretching long on the floor. “Just thinking.”
Dick lets him have the lie, saying, “Well, don’t do too much of that tonight.”
Roy forces another grin, still feeling the ghost of Jason’s lips tracing his.
“When do I ever?”