Chapter Text
Roy woke up when he felt the press of something against him. No, not something. Someone.
The archer opened his eyes, his brow furrowed as he tried to get his mind back on track. He wasn't at home, no… these sheets were way too nice. Silk or something. He let his sleep-heavy eyes adjust to the darkness around him as memories came back, dripping into his head like syrup through a strainer. He had been out drinking, hadn't he? Yeah, someone took him out. He could still taste the fuzzy alcohol on his tongue, the booze making the memories even harder to chase down. Not to mention the disgusting taste was distracting, tasting like bile mixed with stale beer.
So was this his booty call for the night then? He glanced over at the shape in the dark, but it was too hard to pick up anything more than a few minor details. He could feel warmth from the body though, leaking out from the softly breathing figure as fingers occasionally squeezed at his own arm. The grip was soft, but prominent. Roy let out a long breath into the darkness and let his head look back up at the ceiling so he could focus on putting his memories back together.
Yes, he had been out drinking. Donna had been there, as usual, and Dick with his girl of the night. They were in some shitty Gotham bar, using fake ID's to get booze and down them like no tomorrow. No designated driver because they had no car, no where to drive, nothing to do in the morning. Just one of those nights where everyone wanted to get plastered and fast. Dick had been fighting with Bruce again, but he didn't want to talk about it, not sober at least. Roy was always up for a drink or seven, anything to forget the feelings he had for his best friend with the velvet black hair and eyes like pools of deep water, dragging him in, drowning him when he smiled that famous smile. His straight best friend.
Roy's thoughts were interrupted when he felt the shape move beside him, a warm breath washing over his shoulder along with a gentle shudder. His eyes darted down, adjusted enough to see dark hair, and his heart skipped for a second. Dick? No. No, it was thicker, curlier, the kind of hair you could get a handful of and just hold between your fingers, the kind that you could bury your face in and breathe in the scent of whoever owned it. He watched for a moment longer, wondering if the movement would continue and he could see a face, but they settled back into their sleep, fingers still wound around Roy's arm and face still hidden against his shoulder as if hiding from the real world.
Roy's eyes settled back onto the dark ceiling, taking note of the light fixture that looked familiar. He rifled through his memories to where he left off, when Dick was drunk and leaning on the bar counter like it was the only steady thing in the world, filling Roy in on every single detail of the fight he had with Bruce. Replaced. Hurt. Too young. Scared. The rest of the conversation was swallowed by the liquor he had downed his own sorrows in. Only the key phrases stuck out, but it was enough for Roy to figure it was about the new Robin. How Dick was hurt to be replaced, how the kid was too young to be there, how Dick was scared of how their relationship would turn out. Or at least that's how Roy figured the spiel went.
Another movement, but Roy didn't look down at the figure. Instead, he glanced at the room around him. Now that his eyes were adjusted, he could see the unitard strewn on the ground, the mug he got the acrobat for Christmas, the robe hanging on the bathroom door, which was ajar. This was Dick's room in the manor. Wait, if he was in Dick's room, that meant they had crashed here, too drunk to get back to the apartments. And if he was in Dick's bed, then where was Dick? And who… he looked down at the shape again, whose movement earlier had tilted his head so Roy could see a face.
Definitely not a booty call. This was a kid, couldn't be older than 12, 13 maybe. Curly dark hair, soft lashes, and oh god were those freckles? Roy's wide eyes lingered on the freckles for a moment longer, before they narrowed to finish solving the mystery, scouring what was visible on the boy's face. Lips, with a healing split on the bottom, parted slightly as he slept. Eyelids fluttering, like he was lost in his dream. Mask lines, from someone who took off their mask too quickly. This was Robin, the new Robin, the second. What was his name? Roy wasn't sure he had ever even been told his name in the first place, honestly. Why was he in bed with the second Robin, and why wasn't the first one in his own bed?
A groan from the bathroom filled in what was left to be filled in Roy's memory, and he let out a long breath when he realized he had been holding it in his startled befuddlement. Dick was sick, curled around the toilet. Must've fallen asleep there, puking cheap tequila and beer into the porcelain throne while Roy passed out on his bed. He had never intended to stay the night, which was clear from how he was still in his day clothes, tank top and dirty old jeans. He had just intended to wait out Dick's sick spell and get him to bed, but laying down with his alcohol-laden brain knocked him out. Then he must have wormed his way under the blankets somehow, probably in his sleep. Why the second Robin was curled against him now though, was still a mystery.
Roy looked back down at the kid, whose sudden shiver drew his attention. The archer paused for a moment, before he reached over their bodies with his free arm to pull the blanket closer to the sleeping boy, who actually hummed in his sleep and huddled closer. The redhead's brow furrowed, remembering to the only other times he had seen the boy, with mask and pixie boots donned, always grinning and boasting and kicking. But here and now, he really was just a kid, a small kid, smaller than Dick ever was. Or maybe he just seemed smaller because Roy was bigger now.
But why was he here? Why was he curled up against the archer, sleeping with his fluttering eyelashes and his breath slipping through parted lips so softly it was like he was keeping it a secret? A possibility came to mind a moment later, when the boy's brow furrowed to a crease in the middle, his lips pulling shut to a thin line, jaw clenching against Roy's arm. Soft whimpers came from the child's throat, making Roy's chest ache as he wondered what was coming to the Robin's mind to taint his dreams. He was such a brash kid, headstrong and fearless, it made Roy think nothing could penetrate those walls. But then again, Roy couldn't be one to talk; he had nightmares of his own, but kept his own personality up as untouchable, unbreakable.
Roy glanced to the bathroom door, but he couldn't move without waking the kid up, and he also didn't want to be tasked with waking a hungover Dick Grayson. So instead, he held his breath, looking back over at the kid who was beginning to shudder against his body. He lifted his free hand, and hesitated for only a moment before he was resting it on the Robin boy's head, letting his fingers sink in through the curly locks to brush them out of the way and try to soothe him. The reaction was instantaneous- the child went from shivering to stilling, a sigh slipping out of his relaxed lips, and his eyes steadied behind his lids as he slept soundly once more. Roy let out his captive breath in relief, thankful the boy hadn't woken and asked him what in the world he was doing, why a stranger was touching him. But then again, Roy had a reason to be here, and there hadn't been a kid in the bed when he passed out here.
He kept combing his fingers through the curly locks for several more moments, just enjoying the texture as they curled around his fingertips and felt like feathers against his skin. But then the boy sighed, a happy, contented sigh, and Roy was afraid the action could wake him if he continued. So instead, he moved his hand to rest it on his own stomach, his eyes lingering on the sleeping boy with the freckles sprinkling his face. Sparse, not thick and clustered like his own, but instead like stars on a cloudy night, peeking out from between the dark shapes like a secret, like a blessing. And the last thought on his mind as he fell asleep, watching the kid's sleeping face, was simple.
Where the fuck did Bruce find these kids?