repeatrenegade:

The hug was the last thing Roy had expected at this point. He didn’t deserve it, didn’t think he’d ever get it, especially not from Jason, not after what he’d done, not after the punch the other had just landed. But, when it happened, the ex- SEAL couldn’t do much but let out a deep, shaky breath. He knew he’d been holding it (that much didn’t come as a surprise) and with it, he found the strength to lift his arms, hugging Jason back with a grip that spoke just how much he needed it.

“Yeah, Bud.” And he hoped his friend would ignore the breaking in his voice. “I missed you too.” After a moment’s hesitation, Roy pulled back from the embrace, nodding as he cleared his throat.

“Shit. You have no idea how good getting wasted sounds right now.” The red head let a slow grin spread, though it seemed slightly reserved, his cheeks flushed with emotion. “I’d like to say I cut back but, you know what they say about old habits.”

Jason grinned, clapping a hand on Roy’s shoulder.

“Well, I just so happen to have a fully stocked bar back downstairs. Let’s get us down there, then I can have a crack at that lump of metal you’re calling an arm now.”

He punched his bicep as he turned away from him, all the emotions and awkward feelings gone, for now. They’d been brothers too long to waste time hating each other. Blood had been spilled for the other, by the other. There was no closer bond, regardless of how angry they made each other.

“You’re a prick, Roy. Can’t believe you weren’t dead.”

The lift was taking them down now, and Jason filled the silence with his usual means of inducing stress, perfected with Dick these last few years.

“I was sad, man. I won’t let you live that down.”

repeatrenegade:

Roy was so tired. Though he kept his hands pocketed as he walked toward the door of the roof, he wanted nothing more than to grind the heels of his palms into his eyes. His skin itched, and for the first time in a while, he had to chide himself for the thoughts that accompanied such a feeling. He hoped this fall out didn’t mean he’d have to stop spending time with the kid. Dick had seemed happy to see him at least, and if their movie night turned slumber party was anything to go by, he just couldn’t leave the boy twice.

At the sound of his name, the red head’s heart skipped a beat. He didn’t really know what he was expecting Jason to say, but he honestly hadn’t expected his name to be said at all. Turning on his heel, though not all the way around, Roy watched his old friend continue to deal with him. Sometimes, when things got complicated, when feelings got hurt and he was tired (but he was always tired lately), the militant wished he had picked normal people to spend his time with.

Normal. As if he was some golden standard. No, not normal— but easy to talk to. People who said what they felt, and felt exactly what they said. It’s not as if Roy didn’t know how to interpret his friends’ words by now, their actions, but sometimes he wished he didn’t have to do the extra work just to understand; to feel better. He wished his friends were open books, more like him, but, on second thought, Roy didn’t want that at all.

Heaving a heavy sigh, the red head watched, listened to his rap sheet, to the debts he could never repay, and tried not to start walking away again. Tired, yeah. Tired made you sad. But, this. This was guilt, burden— this was all his failures— and that, that destroyed you.

And he was welcome to be Arsenal again? What is that? Some shitty party favor?

Roy didn’t want Jason’s goddamn blessing to be. He didn’t want the man to tell him he could have some shitty fucking name back. Welcome to be Arsenal again— as if he needed permission. The red head didn’t care about the fucking name. He wanted… Jason knew what he wanted. He wanted to be a part of the Outlaws, to be welcomed back into their weird, pseudo family, even at an arm’s length, even with a grudge. He didn’t fucking care about a name he—

And of course he saw it coming, with everything he’s known in life, how could he have not? But Roy had come into this expecting it, knowing he wouldn’t fight back, so he didn’t. He didn’t even roll with it, letting Jason connect with a sharp sound. The red head caught himself as the force sent him down, balancing on one knee, one palm supporting his weight, the other cradling his jaw. Slowly, he pushed himself back to his feet, stood straight as he worked his jaw a few times before dropping both hands back to his side. Gritting his teeth at the sting, knowing the hit had broken skin without having to feel the warm liquid oozing to the surface, Roy looked back at Jason with no real feeling. There was no other way to do it, because he didn’t know how to feel anymore. He could feel some type of anger rising in his gut, but he didn’t know who he was angrier at anymore, who he felt worse for, didn’t know what to do. So, instead, he stood there, as if waiting for Jason to hit him again, and right now, he half expected him to.

Hundreds of thoughts ran through his head as he watched the SEAL stumble, then stand without reacting. The broken man he’d pulled out of a burning hut in Africa. The vomiting mess as he’d come down off his morphine hangover, holed up in a hostel in Austria. Swapping conquests and stories of exotic locations and local women, ignoring Kory’s looks of annoyance. Clogging the comms with karaoke as she attempted to zap them as they danced just out of reach of her bolts. Even the nights when they’d black out, waking up safe in bed somehow, rum and whiskey still on their breath.

Numbness was plastered on Roy’s face, and with his pain came a release of emotions that Jason had managed to keep repressed for years. Stepping forward, he pulled Roy tight, clapping him on the back in a rare show of brotherly love. 

“I missed the fuck out of you, Harper.”

The smallest hint of a tear squeezed itself out of his eyes, and he released the shorter man and took a step back. 

“There’s lots to catch you up on, okay? Let’s grab a drink-assuming you still partake-and catch up before we go see Kory." 

repeatrenegade:

Betrayal? And what about Ollie— Roy flinched. His past with Ollie… that wasn’t fair. Ollie wasn’t the same as them. He didn’t mean to Roy what Jason, Kori and Dick had. The red head had never gone into much detail about it, he knew, but to compare his treatment of them to his relationship with the man he would never really consider family? Roy clenched his jaw but refused to truely react. It wasn’t right, Jason was missing the facts. But if playing that card would make him feel better, if that’s the story he believed, the reasoning he chose to help cope with the militant’s actions, if that’s who he thought Roy was after all the time they spent together, so be it. The red head wanted to defend himself, to explain— he had to escape from Green Arrow because living with Ollie was not a home and knowing his didn’t make him family, but he wouldn’t feed Jason any more excuses. Jason was hurt, and he had the right to be. Roy loved his family here at the compound, and though not by choice, he had left them the same way he had the place he abandoned by choice.

The hurt, the pain and the rage that manifested behind Jason’s piercing gaze, Roy was ashamed and he was guilty and he deserved it. Because this man was a brother, and this is how he had repaid him.

As Jason took a step forward, Roy lifted a boot clad foot, reacting on instinct as if to step back. He stopped himself, however, setting the sole of his right shoe back down on the worn cement roof where it was before. It was painful to hear Jason say these things, whether he meant them or not, but he didn’t deserve the right to be angry- to fight back. On Jason’s last words, however, Roy looked up, shock and hurt plain on his features. His heart jumped in a beat of anger but he refused to let it show. This wasn’t about him.

“Is that what you think? Man, I’ve done a lot of shitty things in my time on this God-forsaken dung heap, you and I both,” He shook his head. “But don’t you go accusing me of not caring cause you and I bother know that’s fuckin’ bullshit. It wasn’t true two years ago, and it sure as hell ain’t true now.” If he didn’t care, why would he even be here when it would have been so much easier to— No. He had said his piece. From the get go he had never expected it to go well, and if this was Jay’s answer—

“I told you why I’m here, Jay. If that’s not good enough for you, or you just don’t believe me, well, I don’t have any other explanations to offer you, man.” No more excuses to give. “I’m sorry— for everything. For leaving, for coming back, whatever I put you guys through, I would change if I could, believe me, I would give anything… But I can’t. I’m not welcomed back, fine. I get it, and I’ve always respected your decisions.” Taking that previously halted step back, Roy turned on his heel to leave.

He hadn’t chosen to leave them, and he didn’t want to leave now, but at least this time, Jason got to make the choice.

He’d chosen his words well; he saw them land with deadly precision, reflected in Roy’s face. Surprisingly, it didn’t make him feel any better about himself, or the years he’d gone through without his best friend and comrade in arms. The betrayal hurt, yes. But was it so hard to accept the man back? 

Jason let Roy’s words tumble out, let the man get the last bit of confession off his chest. It was hard to listen to, the confessions and apologies. He’d never been much on remorse, personally. What was done was done. It was this very philosophy that had his anger burning away, leaving cold reason behind.

“Roy.” His name stopped the man in his tracks, and Jason found himself face to face with him again. Up close, the SEAL looked even worse; new scars and marks dotted his worn face. Not even a hint of the humor that had so annoyed Jason was remaining; it was if he’d lost his very soul. 

“You’re right. You don’t owe me anything. Not for the detox, not for bringing you to Gotham, not for saving your life what, two times now? Right. We were warriors. We’ve both lost good men, both lost family. Death happens. I get it.” Drawing in a breath, he came within arm’s length of the redhead. 

“But that doesn’t mean you get to just disappear. You had too much going for you to throw it all away, but you did. I’ll never understand; but then again, we’ve always had our disagreements.” Another pause. “If you’re back-really back-then you’re welcome to become Arsenal again." 

Jason turned around, facing the morning sun. While bright, it wasn’t hot, something that made their rooftop conversation much more bearable. With thoughts of the sun came thoughts of Kory; with those, rage followed. How could he have left her like that? Jason, fine. But her? Weren’t they in self professed love? He remembered just how devastated she’d been, how much it had changed her as a person.

Spinning back around, Jason planted his left foot, throwing a right hook that caught Roy square on the cheek. 

”That’s for making Kory cry.“

repeatrenegade:

Okay. So it was clear Jason wasn’t having a good night, if the sudden tensing, the controlled shake of his shoulders, was anything to go by (and of course, it was). But then again, when did the older man have a good night? By definition everything he did, everything he felt, it twisted up inside him, tearing harshly at his insides like barbed wire if you tried to pull it out. But Roy didn’t come here to shy away from what needed to be said, and apparently, that’s exactly what Jason wanted to hear.

“Aw, jeeze…” Scrubbing a hand through his hair, over his face and letting out a hefty sigh, Roy scuffed his boot against the worn roof top, kicking a small pebble and watching it fly over the edge. The red head would have liked to think the threat wasn’t real, that Jason, his best friend, wouldn’t really kill him. Rough him up a little? Sure. Give him the cold shoulder? Check. But kill him? Still, it had been two years, and for all he knew, this Jason was different. At least he hadn’t lost his affinity for chain smoking.

“I can’t really convince you not to kill me. We both know you’re gonna do what you want once you’re set on an idea, and I totally get you’re not my biggest fan at the moment. It’s just—” Roy cut himself off, his hands stuffed in his pockets as he resisted the anxious urge to wave them around, animated as he spoke.

“I’m gonna sound like a fuckin’ asshole, but I— Man, I didn’t have a say. In anything. If it were up to me, believe me, Jay— I’d be dead right now, just like you thought I was five minutes ago.” The ex- SEAL sucked in his cheeks, lips pursed as he debated his next move. Jason’s back was still to him, but he watched, fixed on the red glow of ash and the smoke that rose over the man’s broad shoulders. No matter what he said, he knew his friend (ex-friend?) was going to be disappointed, so Roy relented. If this was it for them, Jason at least deserved the truth for once.

“After I disappeared, I was sure I was done for. I mean, I dunno if you noticed,” He tried to joke. “I lost an arm. I was in shock, disoriented and cut off from communications. I didn’t know how to contact you guys, didn’t know how to cope with the.. handicap. I spiraled, dude. Self ‘medicated’ on heroin of all things.” The red head shifted on his feet, suddenly feeling self conscious and childish as he shared his vulnerability with the man he knew would be judging every word that came out of his mouth. He respected Jason so much, almost too much in fact, to the degree that every disappointing word that fell out of his mouth just made him want to turn tail and run again. “I was out of it maybe a couple months before Waller found me. She set me straight, got me back on my feet, on a team and it.. it was her decision to declare me dead. No contact. That way, there would only be the mission. I owed her, and you know how I am with debts…” He smiled lightly, remembered Jason couldn’t see him and sighed.

“I stayed with the team for almost two years before it occurred to me Amanda would never let me out of her debt, that I was there until I died. And I…” He shrugged. “Dunno. I realized I didn’t owe her anymore, that real families don’t owe each other, aren’t pawns for each other. So I walked. But, you know me, I’m the bad kid in foster care— I just leave one family and go on to the next. I came back because…  Well, I was sorta hoping I hadn’t outstayed my welcome in this one.”

Roy wasn’t sure how Jason would feel about his words, but he had explained himself, had said what he needed to, and if the older man was still upset, he’d accept it. He’d be sad, upset, disappointed; but he’d understand.

“But, that’s not my decision. It’s yours.”

The tale of the lost archer should have roused sympathy in Jason’s heart. After all, he himself had been scared, lost, confused, broken-dead. Actually dead. That thought caused anger to well up in his chest like a vice, squeezing the air from his lungs, iron bars around his ribs.

Another cigarette, gone. He tried to purge the rage from him with every exhale, trying to make the smoke carry away two years of regrets and unfulfilled fury towards the people who had murdered his best friend. The source may have changed, but the cause was still there. It was only made more complicated now that Jason knew that Roy himself had been responsible for the death of Arsenal, and that didn’t calm Jason’s nerves at all.

He dug for another clove, only to find that he was already smoking the last one. Dammit. A response was expected here, and Jason wasn’t ready to talk yet. So he slowed down, savoring the last cigarette, watching the golden sunlight bathe the city in rays of life. He thought about the good that had come from Roy’s death, the bonding he’d had with Dick in his absence. Happier things. Slowly, his anger faded, just enough to feel reasonably confident that he wouldn’t put rounds in Roy’s chest.

He turned around.

The sight of him-scruffy beard, thick jawline, copper hair. The bulky arms, bigger than Jason’s own. Stocky, as if a giant had been compressed into a six foot frame by being squashed slightly. The clothes that looked like they’d been tossed out from a Goodwill donation site. The eyes, broken and weary and sad-snapped him out of the semi calm he’d managed to muster up.

“I should have expected it, you know. Your inevitable betrayal.” Great start, Jason. “I went to Star City, about six months after you disappeared. Talked to the Green Arrow.” He paused, locking eyes with Roy. “He didn’t even know you were dead.” Jason saw the hurt in his eyes, and it made him feel slightly better. 

“He told me about how you up and left for the Navy one day, with no warning. I couldn’t believe I hadn’t seen it coming. I mean shit, Harper, you did the exact same fucking thing with me!” Jason was yelling now, fully past the point of holding back.

“You had people who cared about you. You had a woman who loved you, who stuck up for you when I was sick of your bullshit. You had a family, but the genius Roy Harper doesn’t need that, does he?” Jason exhaled, running a hand through his black and white hair. 

This conversation was reminding him far too much of the one he’d had with Bruce, the one that ended in blood and pain and broken bones and nothing accomplished except for seeing another man’s regrets come to the surface of his soul. Jason didn’t want to fight, not here, not with Roy. So he swallowed the urge to deck the man, instead taking one step closer to him.

“You showed us you don’t care. You have nothing to return to. Why are you here?”

repeatrenegade:

Well. That could have gone worse.

He could have been shot.

Roy suspected that in the time it took Jason to turn around and recognize him, he was already taking stock of the different ways to attack, to defend himself, all the while wondering what this untold threat could be. It was so completely Jason, that the red head couldn’t imagine those brief seconds in the older man’s mind going any other way. Roy was a little surprised at the fact that a gun hadn’t been pulled, Jason didn’t so much have his hands on one when he turned around. So he was getting better at controlling his impulses? Or did this showcase some of that ‘change in character’ he had been wondering about?

Still, in the brief moment it took Jason to stride across the room, the ex-SEAL wondered if maybe the gunslinger was going for a more personal touch. A punch across the jaw wouldn’t exactly be welcome, but he figured he deserved it. Yet, ah, Jason was walking straight past him, a hard ‘No.’ as his response. So he didn’t want to deal with this, wanted to push his feelings and turmoil aside? It was such a Jason response, one he knew so well, that Roy couldn’t help but grin. Turning on his heel, following, he watched the lift carry Jason up and up, before heading to the stairs himself. He didn’t have the will nor the patience right now, to wait for it to come back down for him.

Maybe this had been the right thing to do. Maybe they could work it out. The red head wasn’t so disillusioned to think that he could fix this, that he could just show up and everything would be okay. This was going to be hard, and it was going to be painful, but Roy’d like to think it was worth it. So he’d fake nonchalance, because in a situation like this, nothing would make Jason angrier, and the sooner Jason got angry, the sooner they could move past it. Jason was Roy’s best friend, and if the militant needed to take a beating before he could be anything close to accepted back into his best friend’s life, he was willing to do it.

Barely breathing hard, Roy stepped out onto the open roof. He could see Jason’s posture change, see him tense ever so slightly, shoulder’s stiff, though they didn’t look to be. This was his friend, his brother, a person who, sometimes, the red head thought he knew better than he knew himself, and he wondered if that assumption would still hold true.

“Hey, man. I… Look, I know this has gotta’ be the total last thing you wanna talk about. But, it’s sorta… Well, y’know— gotta be talked about.” So he wasn’t a modern day Shakespeare, cut him some slack. The ex- SEAL had a lot more pressing matters in his time alive than learning how to turn everything he said into poetry. The few moments he could string a few verses together— well those times were reserved for those Roy hoped to better get to know. If you caught his meaning.

Still, this required at least some thought on his part, especially if he planned to figure out the best way to navigate such a minefield. Where did he start? What did he say? ‘Surprise, Jaybird. I’m actually not dead. I never was dead. But I couldn’t tell you. Mostly because I relapsed and had no idea where I was half the time. Yeah, and you know that woman, Amanda Waller? The one who almost got me killed in Africa? Well, I started working for her again until I realized I didn’t owe her anymore and I wanted to come home. So can I come home?’  Yeah. Cause that wasn’t an explanation that would blow up in his face. Unfortunately for him, however, it was the truth. It was just a matter of explaining with a bit more… tact.

Roy didn’t like to be full of himself, well, okay, he did, it was in his nature, but he was also self aware enough to know what he meant people. The red head knew what he meant to his dad, to the reservation and to Dinah. He knew what he was to Ollie, to Amanda and the rest of the SEAL team. Roy knew what he was to Kory, and he knew who he was through Jason’s eyes; so he understood what it must of felt like, to find out he was dead. Or so he thought. Still, he also knew the types of lives lead by Outlaws, and it must have been seven types of hell around and following his death. Jason wasn’t just going to be upset that he never came forward with the truth, Jason was going to blame him for all the issues Roy had abandoned him to deal with alone.

“You can’t deny the situation forever, Jaybird. I’m standing right here. And I’m gonna stay here ‘til you say something. And ‘no’ isn’t a sufficient something.”

There was a tightness in his chest, a pressure that constricted his thoughts and sent adrenaline surging through his body. The all too familiar panic attacks he used to get in the years following his death had started with this sensation, and it was only a decade and a half of experience that allowed Jason to harness the event, rather than let it control him. 

The shakes were easy. Breathe, in and out. In, out. The muscles would loosen up sooner or later. The racing pulse would follow. It was the flashbacks that were the worst. The crowbar lifting up against a florescent light, drops of blood and brain matter fanning away from it in a cinnamon spray. The horrible, horrible laughter.

An involuntary shudder ripped through Jason, and he let it run its course. For years, he had tried to suppress the episodes, eventually learning that the best method of treatment was to accept them. Still, he hadn’t had one since…Well, since the night after Bane was killed. After he’d accepted that his teammate, his First Mate, his best friend, was dead.

Godammit, Harper. God fucking dammit. We buried you. We moved on. We tried to forget. We dealt with your loss. And now, to find out you’ve been alive? That you put us all through this for nothing? That’s not something brothers do. Kori won’t ever be the same. Dick, sure. Chalk that up as the silver lining. But to toss away the two life debts you claimed you owed me for this? Never again.

Roy was rambling, stumbling from word to word like he was afraid Jason would kill him at the first silence. To be fair, Roy wasn’t far wrong; however, Jason would at least wait to hear the story before deciding to kill Roy. Jason wasn’t in a hurry anymore. 

Still looking out over the Gotham skyline, Jason pulled out a pack of cloves, putting the first one in between his lips. Turning slightly to look behind him, he spoke around the cigarette. “You have until this pack is empty to convince me not to kill you where you stand.” The Zippo clicked, and flame erupted around the tip of the black cigarette. “There are four after this. Go.”

repeatrenegade:

Maybe it wasn’t too late to turn around and go back the way he came.

No. He had to do this.

Roy swallowed down a shaky breath and shook his head. Coward. Mentally berating himself, the red head reminded his sorry self why he was here. How he rehearsed the lines, the reasons over and over until he was having nightmares about the whole event. Though Dick had promised not to tell the others of their encounter, and he seemed to keep his word, the militant knew he had to come clean on his own. He owed this to older man, to his team, he had to do this. No matter the outcome (and more than anything, Roy expected a less than positive outcome) they deserved the truth.

Getting into the compound hadn’t been hard. Perhaps it was nostalgia on Jason’s part, or perhaps just something the vigilante over looked (both reasons doubtful), but Roy’s information and physical signature had been stored in all the alarm systems. It allowed him to bypass security as easily as he would in his own house. So though it had been years since he had last stepped into his old home, he walked the halls easily and without difficulty. He had wondered where he might find Jason in the multi-leveled facility, but Roy figured he might as well start with the older’s favorite spots.

The ex- SEAL had been wandering the compound for a good twenty minutes now, working his way up from the garage. Sure, it had been a while, but Roy never forgot about his friends, nor did he forget their habits and hobbies. Jason hadn’t been in the garage though, wasn’t restoring a new bike, or cleaning his guns. It made the red head wonder, as he boarded the lift, how much had the group changed? Roy himself, felt like there was so much different about him, his experiences of the last few years changing him, yet at his core, he was very much the same. Though he had been in Gotham for a few weeks now, he hadn’t gotten much intel on his old team. A while back they had been involved in cleaning up a break out at Arkham, but since then, things had been quiet. Had they given up their nightly activities? Were they just completely different people?

It was things like this that continued to shake Roy’s confidence in his decision. Still, it’s why he had come back to Gotham in the first place, and if he didn’t at least take the chance of being rejected he would kick himself for it later. He had to at least try. This was the last family he had left, he needed to know… So when Roy encountered the sound of Jason’s voice carrying from behind the upcoming door, the ex- SEAL paused in front of it. He hadn’t heard that voice in so long, and Roxy’s bark— everything seemed exactly the same. It made the red head smile and want to run away simultaneously. He was about to rip open an old wound, he knew that, but was it for the best, or was it just his own selfishness?

With one final burst of dutiful determination, Roy twisted the knob, slowly pushing the door to the library open, catching himself holding his breath.

“Hey, Jaybird. Long time no see.”

Oh yeah.

This was going to be good.

The fingers on Roxy’s ears froze at the sound of a male voice. The words were lost on Jason, barely registering.

Not Henri. No French accent. Dick’s isn’t that deep, and besides, he’s asleep right now. Lack of accent rules Ilya out too. That’s it. No one else could be in here. No one.

There was silence in the library now, save for the barely audible growling of Roxy, who was now standing at attention in front of Jason. Her ears were pulled tight to her head, and her fur stood on end. She was a friendly dog by nature, but fiercely loyal and protective. And, at the size of a small bear, she was more than capable of defending her family.

“Easy girl. I’ll handle it.” Jason murmured. She whined once before sitting, unhappy to be called off.

Standing, Jason ran through his weaponry before turning around. No hood. Two Sig Sauers, twelve in the mags and one in each chamber. Six spare mags on my belt. Ka-Bar tucked into my boot. Airweight .38 special in the ankle holster. The jacket hides the shoulder holster, but it’s unbuttoned so access won’t be an issue. 

He turned on his heel, scanning the room until he spotted the intruder, standing barely a meter inside the door. Decently tall, muscular. Hands in his jacket pockets. Worn leather over an even more worn hoodie. Red hair. 

Fuck.

The words he’d barely heard clicked into place now. 

“Hey, Jaybird.”

Roy. 

Goddammit, it was Roy. 

Roy was dead. Jason had dug his arm out of the rubble himself. He’d held it, felt the callouses and scars he’d been so intimate with. Ran a finger over the tattoo, barely visible under the burnt hair and scorched flesh. He’d carried it all the way back to the Complex, cleaned it off in the sink in the garage. He and Kory, with Henri and Dick and Zatanna, had stood vigil over a small grave behind the Complex. The tombstone was simple; Kory had chosen it. “Roy William Harper, Jr. A good soldier.” Dick and Zatanna had cried, and Kory had cursed and yelled and pleaded for the gods to bring him back. Jason turned his pain into rage. Gotham was still bleeding. He’d mourn when whomever was responsible for dropping a building on Arsenal was dead.

Less than a week later, Bane was dead, and Roy seemingly avenged. None of the thugs and cronies he interrogated seemed to remember being near Arsenal that day, and he had ways of ensuring they told the truth. Eventually, he accepted that he’d taken care of his honor bound duty, and began life again. He’d spent a good chunk of change on tracking anyone that fit the description of Arsenal, even making a trip to Star City to have a chat with the chartreuse archer about their obvious connection. Nothing had come of it. It had been two years or so since he’d been seen, but here he was in the fucking library, saying hello like nothing had happened.

A thousand reactions ran through his mind, each less rational than the last. Let Roxy at him. Screaming at him. Beating him senseless. Accepting him back with no questions asked. He could kill him, fill the rest of the grave. 

He chose none of these. With a snap of his fingers, Roxy was at his heel, and Jason was walking towards his former teammate. Twenty feet. Fifteen, ten. Five. He could see the harsh profile of the prosthesis outlined in the leather jacket, see the size difference in one arm to the next. His clothes were dirty, and he looked worse for wear. Like he’d been through hell while he was gone. Pity rose up in Jason, and he started to think of how Dick and he had bonded after his death, how close they were now. Then he remembered the months he’d been without Kory, and that pity burned away. He’d been alone, abandoned twice by his Outlaws. Alone. Exactly how he should be. Drawing a breath, Jason spoke to Roy for the first time in two years.

“No.”

He roughly pushed past him, shouldering him in the collarbone as he left the library. Quick steps took him to the lift, and he was on the roof within a minute. It was midmorning, and the sun was without a hint of warmth. Frost curled in the shadows, and the sounds of a weekday echoed up from the streets. From here, you could see all of Gotham; three hundred and sixty degrees of metal, stone, and glass. He exhaled, watching his breath fog outward. Attempted to let his anger burn off, to shove it back deep inside of himself. Roxy nuzzled his leg, attuned as she was to her master’s emotions. 

Boots on pavement behind him. Jason groaned inwardly. Why did you follow me, Roy? He turned to face him again, this time prepared for what he would see.