Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Roy should've trusted his instincts.

The pain that ripped through Roy's arm reached an unbearable level, radiating up through his bones from the epicenter at his left wrist. Right where the scrawled marking of his soulmate’s name was etched into his skin in curling black lines: Jason Peter Todd.

Roy should've never let Dick talk him into going on that stupid mission into space.

The burning. The gut-wrenching pain. It felt like his bones were breaking. His ears ringing, his mouth stuffed with cotton. He couldn't hear. His ribs were caving in. He couldn't breathe. Oh God, why couldn't he breathe!?

Something was wrong. He felt like he was being ripped in two, like he was dying.

Roy didn't even realize he was screaming, crying, writhing on the floor of the spaceship, clutching his left arm to his chest until strong hands were grabbing at his shoulders, wiping at his face, brushing sweat-soaked locks of red hair away from his forehead.

“—y, Roy! Hey… Roy, eyes up and open. Hey, you’re okay. Just focus on my voice.”

Green eyes blearily fluttered open, hiccuping breaths escaping his lips as he was met with the bright blue eyes of Nightwing—Dick—staring at him. Worried.

No.

Not just worried.

Terrified.

Him and the rest of the Titans.

“I’m—” Fuck.

Roy's tongue was like lead in his mouth. The taste of copper flooded his senses. The acidic feel of bile burned in the back of his throat.

His brows scrunched together as he pushed himself back up to his feet, ignoring the looks and the slickness beneath his fingertips that Roy could only imagine was blood where his nails had dug into his arm.

He swallows back the sick feeling in his throat, his heart thudding too quickly in his chest.

Like a bird trapped in a cage.

“...We have to go back… Back to Earth.”

An indecipherable look passes across Dick's face as he shares a glance with Donna, hands still outstretched towards the archer as if to make sure he doesn't fall over again. “Roy… What are you talking about? We're in the middle of a mission. In space. We can't just turn around.”

Roy's brow furrows, his teeth cutting into the inside of his cheek as he stifles a cry from the fresh wave of pain that shoots up his arm. “Look, Dick, I don't care,” Roy grinds out, smacking the hand away. “Jason is in trouble.” He ignores the involuntary flinch that Dick gives at the name. “Deep trouble. I can feel it.”

An inhale. Then an exhale. And something cold flickers across the Titan’s leader's expression.

“... I'm sorry. But we can't abandon our mission, Roy. Jason will be fine. He's got B looking out for him.”

For a moment, all Roy can do is stare at his friend in front of him. Something angry and bitter twists in his chest. He lashes out without thinking, giving a shove against Dick's chest that sends him stumbling back.

Wally was by his side within the space of a heartbeat, arms catching Dick before he could fall. Not that Dick was capable of falling from something like that.

“Look, I'm fucking sorry that my soulmate had to end up being your little brother, alright? Not all of us got lucky enough to be able to be with our best friend,” Roy snaps at Dick, gritting his teeth as Wally's eyes narrow. “But no matter what your fucking problem with Jay is, or all your daddy issues with the big bad Bat, I am not about to abandon him when I can feel that something isn't right! And you know, if you would've just let him come with us—”

“Hey, man, that's not—”

“Shut it, West.”

“Boys!” Donna interrupts, stepping in-between them before more bitter words can be thrown between them.

The silence that fills the air is heavy, thick with tension.

It does nothing to ease the roiling nausea that settles itself within Roy's gut with each passing moment.

Tick. Tock.

Tick. Tock.

A scoff makes its way past the archer's lips as he turns away, bracing his forearm against the nearby wall in an attempt to catch his breath. “...If this is how things are gonna be… Then the Titans are better off without me... I quit.”

Roy ignores the sounds of protest that rise behind him as he stumbles down the ship’s hallway. He's not going to deal with this shit right now.

Or ever again.

Tick. Tock.

Tick. Tock.

It doesn't take long before his single duffle bag is packed and Roy's standing in front of the airlock to one of the emergency shuttles.

A slender, calloused hand lands itself on his shoulder before he can enter. The soft feminine voice was the only thing that kept him from snapping again.

“Roy…”

Tick. Tock.

Tick. Tock.

He takes a slow breath, resting a hand on top of the Amazonian’s. Guilt made his throat constrict. “I'm sorry, Don; I know how much this mission means for you, but I— I can't—”

“Shhh…” A hand against his jaw, tilting Roy's face until he's met with warm blue eyes framed by wavy black hair. “You do not need to apologize to me, Roy Harper. I understand.” She brushes a thumb against the corner of his eye, wiping away the moisture there. “Jason's a part of your soul. I would never try to keep you from that…”

Tick. Tock.

Tick. Tock.

Warm lips press faintly against Roy's cheek before pulling away, her hand giving one final squeeze to his shoulder.

“Now, go. And if you ever need anything…”

“...Thanks, Donna.” Roy lingers in the doorway to the shuttle. “I hope you find what you're looking for…”

Tick. Tock.

Tick. Tock.

The airlock hisses closed behind him.

Tick. Tock.

Tick. Tock.

The ship disengages and begins on its trajectory back towards Earth.

Tick. Tock.

Tick. Tock.

And there, surrounded by only the inky black expanse of space…

Tick. Tock.

Tick. Tock.

Tick…

Boom!

There was one final flare of pain that coursed through Roy's left arm.

Before he's met with an inexplicable icy numbness that follows.

Tears slip soundlessly down freckled cheeks.

As the black lines of Jason's name…

Fade from Roy's skin…

And all that's left in their place…

Are raised white scars of the bond that used to be...

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

Weeks later…

Rain drizzles from the Gotham sky, soaking the man’s red hair and plastering it against his head. Dark circles ring haunted, sleepless green eyes, pale skin appearing almost gaunt against his dark clothing.

A bouquet of white calla lilies and forget-me-nots lay in front of the tombstone at his feet.

“... I'm sorry…”

A choked sob escapes the man’s lips, shaky fingers trailing against the rain-slick granite.

“... I'm so fucking sorry, Jaybird… This is all my fault… ”

He gripped the edge until the stone cut into his skin.

“...I'll make it up to you. I’ll hunt down the bastard who did this to you…even if it’s the last thing I do… I swear it…”

Chapter Text

Roy Harper had never considered himself to be a very patient man. Even more so, given the fact that—barring a few scant exceptions—he was completely and irrevocably alone in this world.

In the months directly following Jason’s death—his soulmate’s death, damn it—Roy’s relationships with the people around him had quickly gone downhill.

Though that tended to just be his life in general those days, it seemed.

What friendships the archer had with the members of the Titans had all but vanished after he’d walked out of the group.

Losing his soulmate led Roy to trying to find something, anything, he could use in an attempt to numb the pain, to make up for that gaping, aching absence where there had once been a familiar warmth and sense of belonging.

And oh, but of course, Oliver didn’t approve once he found out about Roy's addiction. Didn’t—couldn’t, wouldn't—understand what Roy was going through.

So Roy was left without a mentor.

Without a home.

Because even as much as Dinah insisted that Roy would always have a place there…

Well…

Roy had seen that look on Oliver's face. The disgust, the judgement. Heard the words of outrage that Ollie had said to Hal and Barry. As if Oliver's alcoholism wasn't a problem, but Roy's addiction was.

Hypocrite.

And sure, Roy had his problems. He could admit that!

But boy, did things just keep getting worse…

For one thing…

He never should've had that fling with Cheshire. But it had felt…nice to be needed, wanted, if only for a couple of nights.

Of course, there was no way that he could've predicted that the assassin would show back up into his life over a year later.

Over a year later with a child that was his…only a week after his soulmate's name had burned back to life on his wrist.

Roy could still remember the moment in crystal clarity. When his arm felt like it had caught fire and the raised white lines of Jason’s name shifted and were flooded with a green-tinged black color, pulsing at the edges with all the tenderness of a freshly inked tattoo. Roy was half-convinced that he’d blacked out from the sudden rush of it all.

But the pain and the mental haze that followed it… The days, weeks, months that he spent in that god awful mental state of limbo…

Only to get jolted into clarity by a glass of cold water being thrown into his face. And an unimpressed Cheshire standing over where he lay sprawled haphazardly on the floor of his apartment. Which was, quite frankly, an absolute mess at the moment.

Story of his life.

He wasn't even going to bother questioning how she got in.

“...wha’ th’ hell, Chesh?”

“Seriously, Red? You need to snap out of it.”

Roy let out a scoff, running a shaking hand through his soaked hair as he pushed himself up into a sitting position. “Th’ fuck do you— Hey!” He sputtered, his teeth grinding together when Cheshire grabbed his wrist and yanked.

Her deep brown gaze settled on the soulmate marking on his skin, a quiet hum rising from her lips. “...That’s what I thought.” She tapped a long fingernail against the name that was etched into Roy’s skin. “Your boy… He’s alive.”

The words made Roy still. Like a shock to his system, waking him up more than the glass of cold water ever could.

“...what did you say?”

“I said that Jason is alive, dumbass. Your soulmate?” Cheshire rolled her eyes with an annoyed scoff. “Or did you forget about him already?”

Ginger eyebrows furrowed together as the archer pulled his wrist away from the assassin's grip, stumbling to his feet. “I know who you’re talking about. But that's… That's impossible. Jason died. I felt him die.” His fingers absent-mindedly trace over the black curves of the name in his skin. “I've visited his grave. I hacked the databases. I've seen his death certificate. Death by asphyxiation. Smoke inhalation... There's no coming back from that. Nothing that I can do. No one that I can—...” No one that he can blame. Just a mission that went wrong…

Roy inhales, dragging a hand down his face.

No… He refused to break down now. Not in front of Cheshire. It was bad enough that she was here in the first place. But he'd be damned if he'd show any more vulnerability in front of her.

“...Why are you here?”

“I just told you… Your soulmate is alive.” Cheshire stepped in front of Roy once more, coming back into his view. “I've seen him. I've met him.”

“...How…?”

“Oh, come on, Red… I know you're smarter than that. You know the League has ways of bringing people back.” Before Roy even has a chance to respond to the mention of the League of Assassins, Cheshire made a show of looking over her nails before glancing up at the man through her lashes. “...Don't tell me you don't know what really happened? You seriously went through all that trouble of finding the little Robin’s death certificate, but didn’t bother to dig for his autopsy report? You’ve gotten sloppy, Harper.”

“Hey!” Roy’s lips twisted into the beginnings of a snarl, his left wrist pulsing hotly with the slowly simmering rage that was building within him.

Even though he didn’t want to admit it, Cheshire was right.

From the moment that he had felt his connection to Jason become severed, Roy had become more…careless. More reckless. Too consumed by his pain and grief and guilt—he should’ve been there, damn it, he should’ve brought Jason with the Titans instead of leaving him alone with Bruce—to think fully clearly. Rationally.

He closed his eyes for a moment.

Inhaled.

Exhaled slowly.

He needed answers.

“...What do you know? And why come now?”

There was another pause, Cheshire shifting her weight to one leg as the quiet filled the air with an almost oppressive weight.

Roy could hear the thrumming of his heartbeat deep within his ears, sweat beading along his forehead. And it was only then that he realized that something was…off. The way that Cheshire was holding herself almost defensively as a quiet noise like a whine escaped from somewhere behind her.

“Because you’re needed, Red. Your soulmate needs you. And…” She exhaled softly, the corners of her eyes pinching together in an almost pained expression. “…your daughter needs you.”

The breath felt as though it had been knocked from Roy’s lungs as the assassin shifted the sling that had been strapped to her back. And in her arms was a small bundle. A child. A little girl with dark wisps of hair and an adorable button nose that crinkled up softly in her sleep.

He was a father.

If Roy’s face hadn’t already been wet from the water that Cheshire had thrown on him, he knew it would’ve been from the tears that slipped free from the corners of his eyes as the woman passed their daughter—his daughter—into his arms.

“Oh.”

The baby was so…small and fragile-looking.

She fit perfectly in the crook of his elbow.

She was so light that he could hold her with a single arm.

He could break her so easily.

He didn’t deserve her.

He wasn’t good enough to deserve a child.

He had failed so much. Had failed so many people. Had hurt so many people. Had lost so many people in his life.

He couldn’t—

“Her name’s Lian. She has your eyes.”

Roy’s chest constricted, his heart aching with a burst of affection for this little life. For his little Lian.

No…

He had to get himself together. Get his life together. For Lian.

For himself.

For Jason.

Jason, who was alive, despite everything. Jason, who was out there all alone. With no friends and no family to rely on.

Because god, if Roy only just found out, there was no way that Bruce or even Dick would've had a clue. It wasn't like people just came back from the dead.

No, Jason shouldn't even be alive right now.

But Roy could feel it. Could feel it in his bones, in his soul, through their bond that Jason was alive.

That he was alive and hurting.

There was another pause, his calloused fingers gently smoothing over the soft pudge of Lian’s cheek and the small smattering of freckles across the skin, an ache filling him at the way that she subconsciously nestled into his touch.

Roy could imagine it. For the first time in months, he could imagine a future.

A future of him and Jason, and the two of them looking after and raising Lian together. A daughter he hadn't even known about until she was in his arms.

Of lazy mornings and breakfasts in bed. School recitals and teaching her self-defense together.

And Roy…

Well, Roy would sooner be damned to hell than to let that future slip away from him again.

Green eyes flickered over to the assassin, lips pursed together. “...You said that Jason’s alive… So tell me everything you know about what happened...”

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

Water dripped slowly from the crack in the ceiling—a soft, steady plip, plip, plip as Roy sat alone in the prison cell, his head resting back against the cold stone wall behind him.

His eyes were closed, one side swollen shut in an ugly bruise against pale skin, his chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm. His wrists were bound together with thick rope, rubbing against his skin until they had become raw and tender to the touch.

Blood stained his hands, his armor and clothes, his face splattered in crimson splotches.

Blood that still felt warm and wet between his fingers. A contrast to the cold and damp that had settled in the air around him.

Not his blood though.

No, not his own.

The Joker’s…

Roy didn't regret it.

Didn't regret killing him.

No matter how much backlash he was sure that the Justice League—that Ollie—would call against him once they knew.

Roy would never regret it.

Not after what the bastard had done to Jason. How the bastard had laughed—and laughed and laughed and laughed—as he admitted all the ways that he had beaten the Robin, the Boy Wonder, until Jason was broken and left for dead.

How Batman hadn't been able to save the little broken bird before the building went boom.

And all that Roy could remember after that was seeing red.

Seeing red until hands eventually pried him away from the Joker’s mangled corpse, knocking the archer unconscious and locking him up.

Locked him up as if Roy hadn't been the one to finally rid the world of a psychopathic menace to society.

Not that it mattered.

Because at least Roy had kept his promise when he first visited Jason's grave.

Not that being locked up mattered when he knew Cheshire would be by soon to break him free.

And then he could go find Jason.

He could find Jason and then take him home. Take him home to Lian.

And then finally, after the past two years, they could rest. They could heal.

Soft steps echoed in the hall some time later, so quiet that Roy wouldn't have heard it if he hadn't been listening for them.

Except…

They were heavier than Roy had been expecting. Not heavy enough to be any of the guards that were patrolling or keeping watch. But certainly too heavy for it to be Cheshire.

Roy’s good eye cracked open as the steps stopped outside his cell, a dark shadow looming in front of the bars. A dark hood and mask covered the tall figure’s hulking frame, obscuring their identity in the darkness. The manner of dress clearly marked them as a member of the League of Assassins.

Roy could at least tell that much.

And yet, there was an almost aching familiarity there as the figure lingered, fingers clutching one of the bars of the cell.

And then came the voice, muffled behind the mask. Rough and hoarse. Whether from disuse or overuse, Roy couldn’t be sure.

But even without the way that his wrist ached and pulsed with their proximity, no matter how much time had passed and things had changed, how life had changed them… Roy would be able to recognize that voice anywhere.

“Well, well… Look what the cat dragged in…”

Chapter Text

For Jason, dying had not been a pleasant affair.

But then, coming back to life hadn’t been either.

He hadn’t asked for that. Hadn’t been asked to be brought back.

Coming back…different. Coming back wrong. Too large. Too angry. Too broken. Too many scars from where he’d been beaten and cut open and plucked apart piece by piece by piece.

Too— Too much… It was all too much. All courtesy of the dip that he had been given in that god awful Lazarus Pit. It made his skin burn, his lungs burn, his everything burn down to the depths of his soul. Or whatever part of his soul that he still had.

Of course, he wouldn’t have been surprised if most of his problems stemmed from nearly having his brains bashed in with a crowbar or getting obliterated by that warehouse bomb.

At that point, Jason couldn’t bring himself to care. And quite frankly, he wasn’t sure it mattered, no matter how much Talia tried to insist that everything was okay. No matter how much she tried to coax him into caring, even with the little Demon Spawn of Bruce’s that she called a son. (Jason still cared for the little brat anyways.)

Not when he was missing months of his life.

Not when his murderer was still out there.

Why was the Joker still out there?

Why hadn’t Bruce done something about it? Why couldn’t Bruce put that miserable bastard out of the world for good?

Why couldn’t someone choose him for once in his life? Why, why, why—

But…

There was someone though, wasn’t there?

He was sure of it.

Once the rage of the Lazarus Pit had subsided. Once Jason could control it. Once he could remember. The aching throb of the name that was etched into his skin. The connection that he could feel simmering just below the surface.

The pain and the anguish of someone who had lost their entire world. The memories of someone from a better time, a happier time, a time when Dick had been with the Titans and Jason still believed that being Robin gave him magic. Memories of someone who wasn’t Bruce.

It wasn’t long after that he had been approached by another of the assassins. A woman with a child, a little girl that was practically a newborn. Cheshire, the woman was called.

He hadn’t cared much at the time, but he could at least appreciate the irony of the Alice in Wonderland reference after the fact.

The Cheshire Cat that was bound to be leading the poor lost “Alice” on a wild goose chase in order to escape the hell that he was trapped in…

It was all convenient timing. The fact that this Cheshire knew so much. So much about Jason, and Jason’s life before he’d died and came back wrong, wrong, all wrong.

But Jason couldn’t bring himself to care about that.

Not when he gets shown the security footage.

Once-blue, now-green eyes stare in thinly-veiled disbelief at the display.

On the screen was a familiar man, a vigilante with shoulder-length red hair, in full gear with a quiver of arrows strapped to his back and a bow slung over his shoulder. Oh, but he wasn’t using his bow against the man on the ground.

Jason could see, could feel, the rage emanating off of him. Could almost hear each dull thud, thud, thud as fists rained down blow after blow against painted white skin and poison green hair. Arrow after arrow stabbing in until rivers of red are freely flowing and pooling on the concrete flooring beneath the body. Beneath the corpse that makes no movement besides the final twitching spasms of a body caught in its death throes.

A flash of pain coursed up Jason’s arm and through the side of his head, his thumb absentmindedly brushing along the ridges of his soulmate marking along his inner wrist as he watched one of the goons knock the archer out and drag the unconscious man out of the frame.

“...Why are you showing me this?” he asked eventually, turning towards the cat-masked woman, his eyes narrowing as he took in her appearance. The slight tell in the way that she fidgeted with the cuff of her uniform. She was nervous… Hiding something…

“It doesn’t really matter,” Cheshire said, flicking at an invisible piece of lint on her clothes. “But what does matter is that he needs you just as much as you need him. So you better get your ass in gear, little bird.” She gave a faint wave of her hand over her shoulder before turning and disappearing somewhere into the League’s compound.

That was three days ago.

And now…

“Well, well… Look what the cat dragged in…”

Jason leaned against the bars of the prison cell that was holding the man who had murdered Jason’s own murderer. How was that for poetic justice?

His gaze slowly slid across the archer’s form from behind his mask, taking in the bruises and the blood. The way that Roy’s hair had grown longer and more limp since the last time that he had seen him, how his face seemed thinner and not as full as it should’ve been, the dark circles beneath his eyes from god only knows how many sleepless nights.

It felt like it had been so long ago since Jason had seen that face that it felt like it was in another lifetime.

Another lifetime where they were both younger and happier. Not completely happy, no never that, but at least more so than they were now. Younger and happier and wearing brighter colors. When they hadn’t both been changed and broken by the horrid, shitty world that they were a part of. When they’d had hopes and dreams to look forward to in the future.

And a small traitorous part of Jason’s mind yearned for those moments all over again. For that softness that was so lacking in his life, that he didn’t feel like he deserved.

Jason swallows at the way that Roy’s eyes widened at the sight of him standing there, the archer’s breath hitching until he seemed almost breathless to seeing him there. Obviously not expecting him to show up.

Which only led a small bitter part of Jason to wonder who it was that Roy was expecting.

But no, that didn’t matter right now.

“So…why’d you do it?”

Jason had to ask. Wanted to hear it from the man’s own mouth.

After all, Roy was here, and Bruce wasn’t.

Roy was the one who had killed the monster that plagued Jason’s nightmares, despite all the time and opportunities that Batman must’ve had to finish it.

And Jason wanted, needed to know why.

“...Jaybird…”

And oh, Jason’s heart could’ve broken with the emotion that ripped its way from Roy’s lips. Maybe it did. This close to one another, it felt almost impossible to separate his feelings from the ones he could feel pulsing through their bond at their proximity.

The way that the world seemed to simultaneously narrow and expand all at the same time. An all-encompassing sense of hope and home and belonging and need.

The way Roy staggered to his feet to close the distance, his bound hands gripping the rough metal of the cell bars that separated them. The need to feel whole again. The yearning for that little bit of normalcy in such a fucked up world.

“...Oh, Jaybird, why wouldn’t I?” Roy croaked out, and there was a wetness to those beautiful green eyes as Jason looked into them. So close he could see the flecks of gold, could count every eyelash and freckle on his face. That was all that Jason had wanted, could ever want.

“You’re my soulmate, and he took you from me. Took you from me in the most painful way imaginable. I felt it. What other reason could I possibly need than that?”

A pause.

“Besides… I made a promise to you, even if you were dead. And I’m a man of my word.” The corners of Roy’s lips twitched into the start of a grin. “Couldn’t risk breaking my promise and have you coming back as a ghost and haunting me, yeah?”

And despite the seriousness of the situation—Jason still needed to break Roy out of that stupid prison cell after all—he couldn’t help the bark of laughter that managed to slip from his lips. How easy it was to slip back into old habits. Familiar bantering. The sense of belonging that he’d never felt anywhere else.

If there was no one else in this world that he could trust… Even if the entire world turned against him… Jason at least knew he had Roy.

“Hey, I may be dead, but at least I’m still pretty… Which is more than I can say for your hair.”

Roy let out an offended noise of protest, but it quickly died on his tongue the moment that Jason reached through the bars and grasped onto his forearm.

Sliced the ropes with his knife and tugged him forward to press his lips to his name so gracefully etched across Roy’s skin.

Felt the way his pulse leapt and fluttered from the contact, the tips of his ears flushing a soft pink.

“...Let’s head home.”

And home had never felt like such a wonderful word.

Chapter Text

“So…this is where you live, huh?” Jason raised an eyebrow as he glanced around the apartment, green eyes flickering with a certain level of scrutiny.

Or at least Roy thought it was scrutiny. Outside of the snarky sarcasm that Jason had directed at the redhead, it had been just a smidge difficult for him to get a true read on the man’s emotions.

And okay, fair enough, Roy's apartment was a mess, but he had been a mess before Cheshire showed up and told him he had a daughter and that his soulmate was alive, and okay yeah Roy still was a mess, trying to pick up all his broken pieces and get his life back on track within these past couple weeks, which admittedly was going to be hard to do once the Justice League—or hell even just Oliver and Bruce, and fuck, he really didn't want to face Batman right now—found out that he killed the Joker, and oh God they were going to have to go on the run now that Roy was probably a wanted man for murder (even though he totally didn't regret it), and—

“Hey.” The solid weight of Jason's hands landing on Roy's shoulders jolted the archer out of his thoughts. “Don't go spiraling there, Harper. It's gonna be okay.”

Roy's gaze flickered up to meet Jason's. And honestly, it was an experience that Roy had to actually look up to look Jason in the face, when his last memories of the man—only a teenager at the time—had been when the little Robin barely reached the center of his chest.

And now?

Now Jason was at least an inch or two taller, and he had definitely muscled up. More so than what Roy was at the moment. And…

Jason tensed slightly as Roy's hand came up to his face…before relaxing as the archer's thumb traced lightly along a scar that ran along his cheek and ending at his hairline, fingers brushing along the shock of white hair there. Whether it was from dying or simply a result of the Pit, he'd never been sure.

“... You're really here…right?” Roy asked in a small voice, barely more than a whisper.

It made Jason's chest ache. And not in a way that had to do with the Joker or the fire or the Lazarus Pit. It ached with something…softer. Soft in the way that Jason had always cared too damn much for the people around him. People that always left or didn't give a damn about him in the end.

Except for Roy. Roy Harper…a broken, lonely man who knew exactly what it was like to lose everyone he loved too, and who still went to the ends of the earth to avenge the soulmate he had thought had been lost forever.

Yeah… Jason's sure that he loves him.

A quiet breath escaped Jason's lips as he gave a small nod, threading his fingers with Roy's and pressing their foreheads together, resisting the urge to reach out and wipe the water from the corner of the redhead's eye. “Yeah. I'm here. Gonna take a hell of a lot more than just dying to keep me away from you, y’know.”

They stood like that for several long moments before Jason stepped away, glancing at the bassinet situated by the edge of the couch where Lian was swaddled and sleeping soundly.

“... She's a cute kid,” Jason says, giving Roy's hand a squeeze, a slight smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “Cuter than you, at least.”

That earned him a snort from the archer and a roll of his eyes. “Yeah, can't really argue with that one.”

“Not gonna lie. Didn't really think I'd be a dad already, but I guess I can't complain when she looks like you.”

Those words caused Roy's breath to hitch, his eyes going wider and the faintest hint of a blush dusting across freckled cheeks. “...Yeah? You don't mind it?”

“I don't mind, since she's yours…” Jason murmured—Ours, he thought—tracing where his name was marked on Roy's wrist. And I love every part of you. Not that he would say that aloud. Not yet at least.

He pulled back, clapping his hand against Roy's shoulder and giving a squeeze. “Let's get you a haircut and a shower, and then we can start cleaning and baby-proofing the place, hm? Don't want our kid getting hurt on something.”

Roy bit the inside of his cheek, desperately trying to hide the way that his lower lip trembled from the rush of emotion—of relief—that flooded him. As it was, he gave a small sniffle, pressing the heel of his hand against his eye to push back the tears that threatened to spring loose, even as a wide smile spread across his lips. “Sounds perfect.”

They could deal with everything else—the consequences of the Joker's murder, the Justice League, the League of Assassins, Oliver, telling Bruce and Dick that Jason was alive, the fact that Bruce has a biological son—later.

For now…

They deserved a moment to rest.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

“Are you seriously watching that video again, Jaybird?”

“What? I can't help it! You looked sexy when you crashed out like that.”

“Oh yeah? You think that's sexy? How about you come here and I'll show you what real sexy looks like~”

“Yeah? I think I'll take you up on that.”