A/N, PLEASE READ: Wow, long time since my last story, huh? Sorry about that. Anyway, rated—obviously—for drug use and an f-bomb or two. This is the companion to my story Heroin, which is good to read if you haven't, but not necessary for this story to be understood. They can stand by themselves. Oh, yeah, and I know next to nothing about drugs. So I'm just making up the effects. Sorry for any inaccuracy, but I couldn't really find a junkie and go, "oh, hey, what's it like to OD?" xD
It's surprising, he thinks, how much you can learn about yourself when you're confined to a white hospital bed in a white hospital room with nothing to do but feel the effects of heroin withdrawal. With nothing to do except feel it, feel the shaking, the sweating, the vomiting, the pain. When all you can do is lie there, helpless, your mind tends to wander off.
For instance, Roy Harper—Speedy, Green Arrow's sidekick and member of the Titans East—has learned that while he's resentful of his guardian, Oliver Queen, he still admires him. He thinks that he might even love him and idolize him as a son does his father, but he isn't yet ready to face that thought. He knows that he wouldn't have started using drugs if Ollie had been around more often. He knows that he wouldn't have started using drugs if he were more responsible. He knows that if he hadn't been found, he would have died.
It was the one year Roy had gone home to Oliver's for Christmas since joining the Titans, and the first time he had seen Ollie for something other than their superhero business. The man had seemed somewhat happy to see him and spent a day at a Christmas party with him, but when Christmas Eve came, Roy woke up to a note saying that his guardian was at an "adults-only" party and he didn't know when he would be back.
Roy was angry. Roy was hurt. He did the only thing that he could think of, leaving the house in a whirlwind and pounding the pavement. He had no idea where he would end up, but his feet took him straight to the park where he had first encountered the drugs that became his downfall. He saw the same dealer, talking to some kids about his age, giving them drugs. Roy considered busting him. But the addiction, the hurt, the anger, the neglect—they won. He marched on up to the man as soon as the others were gone and held out all the cash he had on him—a lot, he knew when the man's eyes lit up—and echoed the words that had first set him on this path.
"I'm here to buy."
The dealer gave him all the heroin he had on him—a lot, Roy knew, his eyes lighting up—and said, "Merry Christmas." Roy laughed, not the charming, flirty sound that he used on all the girls, but a harsh, cold laugh more suited to this Roy, the drug addict.
"Yeah, right," he scoffed. "Merry fucking Christmas."
It was getting dark when he made it back to the house. He had flashbacks to the first time he had ever done this. He relived it all, the hesitation, the deal with himself not to do it if only Ollie would come home and stop him, the guilt. This time, however, it came with a doomed air. Roy knew that he would shoot up, he knew that Ollie wouldn't come home, he knew that even if Ollie were to come home, he wouldn't care enough to stop him. Roy thought that his guardian might even laugh at how pathetic he had gotten, how far he had fallen since he left the older man's side.
He was wrong.
Roy had taken a little longer than usual to do it, having some trouble getting the vein. But he did, eventually, and the high had just begun to sink in when Roy was pulling the needle out of his arm. He heard someone coming into the house and felt a touch of panic before the apathy the high caused took over. He stopped pulling the needle out, leaving it stuck in his flesh. Ha, he thought, if it is Ollie coming home, let him see. What do I care?
Suddenly Roy felt sick, and he knew something was wrong. Heroin never made him feel sick. Never. What was wrong? He could hear Ollie calling his name, starting to get a touch of annoyance in his voice when he didn't get an answer. Roy saw double, the room twirling and blurring. He knew it wasn't just a bad trip—he'd had those before. They sucked, but they weren't like this.
"Roy? Where the hell are you? If you're in there, answer me or I'm coming in!" Ollie's voice came from just outside the door. Roy tried to yell back, tell him that he was fine and ask him to please go away, but it didn't come out that way.
"I need help," he gasped out, and then felt like hitting himself. Why had he said that? Now Ollie would come in and see him like this, he would know!
He would also save his life.
"Are you alright?" Ollie yelled through the door. "Roy? Roy! I'm coming in." He pushed the door open, and Roy was feeling too sick and too dizzy to protest. He saw Ollie standing a few feet away from him, distorted and blurred. "Oh my god." His mouth moved in slow motion. If Roy hadn't felt so bad, he might have thought it was funny.
Roy saw black on the edges of his vision. Ollie didn't seem to notice. "You're on drugs," Ollie whispered. Then he said it again, angrily, yelling it. "You're on drugs. You're a damn junkie!" Roy flinched and nearly passed out. His breathing became shallow and came faster and faster. He wasn't sure if it was the drugs or a panic attack. Either way, it didn't mean anything good for him.
"Ollie," he gasped. The man crossed his arms, glaring at his ward. "I don't feel so good."
"That's what happens when you shoot up, Roy," Ollie snapped at his ward. Again Roy flinched. He knew he was getting what he deserved, but he needed Ollie to understand that he needed help and that he needed it quickly.
"I need your help—" he started, but he was quickly interrupted.
"What, you expect me to help you? You got yourself into this mess and you'll get yourself out of it," Ollie yelled at him. Then he turned and left the room, slamming the door behind him. Roy swore.
"Now what am I gonna do?" he muttered to himself. He groaned as the darkness moved in farther than just the edges of his vision. I'm going to pass out. No, I'm going to die. I'm overdosing. I have to tell Ollie.
As much as it would hurt his pride to do it, Roy knew that if he wanted to see daylight again, he would have to talk to his guardian. He mustered all the strength that he was able to and pulled the needle out of his arm, taking a moment to wince before standing and leaving the room.
He had to find his way on memory alone, being unable to see where he was going because of the darkness. Objects were moving, becoming more and more distorted with every step he took.
"I... Ollie?" Roy called. "O-Ollie..." He reached out and grabbed the back of a kitchen chair to keep himself upright.
"Get back in your room," the man growled at him. His voice indicated that he was nearby. Good. "I don't want to deal with you right now. Damn, you really screwed up this time!"
"I'm sorry," Roy whispered. What am I doing? I don't have time to apologize! "But—"
"Let me guess, you're just sorry you got caught!" screamed Ollie. "It's too late to say you're sorry, Roy."
"I have to... I have to tell you something," he ground out through clenched teeth as the pain spread and intensified. He swayed, unable to keep his balance.
"I don't want to hear it. There isn't anything you can say to get yourself out of this one."
"I know, I just—fuck," Roy said, finishing his sentence early as his hands went numb. Unable to feel the chair, he let go and the fell to the floor at Ollie's feet.
"I'm not falling for your 'pity me' act this time, Roy, now get yourself up."
"Not an act." Roy was nearly wheezing now. "I need... need hospital..." He threw up onto Ollie's shoes then, and he knew he would be in for it. Those were Ollie's favorite boots.
As he blacked out, the last thing he heard was Ollie beginning to yell at him again.
It's New Year's Eve now, almost a week after that. The doctors tell Roy that he'll be done detoxing tomorrow, for which he's grateful. He doesn't notice the way they give him pitying looks, he doesn't notice that all the others in the rehab clinic have family members and friends visiting them and bringing them presents. He doesn't care that it's Christmas Eve. He pretends that he doesn't care that Ollie hasn't come.
Roy spends the holiday in the hell that is withdrawal. He's shaking, sweating, throwing up. He feels restless, wanting to get up and move but feeling too weak and dizzy when he tries. It dies down around midnight, and he finally feels a little bit better. Happy New Year to me, he thinks sarcastically, and laughs. He feels tears well up in his eyes, finally acknowledging the fact that he's alone when he hears happy cries coming from the other rooms.
He rolls over and lets the tears come, crying himself to sleep for the first time in years.
When he wakes up the next morning, a cheerful nurse tells him that he'll be starting his therapy that day.
"They'd like your mother or father to come in at least once, if possible," the woman tells him as she pours him a glass of water. "For family therapy."
"My parents are dead," he tells her, not sure why. He could have just told her they couldn't.
"Oh," she says with a frown. "Then the man who brought you in—who is he?"
"My guardian," Roy answers, hating that he brought up Ollie. He should have just stayed quiet—he doesn't want to think about him right now.
"Well, maybe he can come in then," she says, perking back up. "He was very worried about you." Roy laughs.
"I doubt he'll want to see me any time soon," he tells her. "He's kind of mad at me." She frowns, but tries not to let him see. He does anyway.
Therapy is boring. He doesn't tell the shrink what he realized about himself during detox. He doesn't talk at all, actually, other than introducing himself. They spend an hour staring each other down before Roy finally wins, the middle-aged doctor sighing and telling him to go back to his room.
That night he has nightmares. He dreams that he is back at Ollie's and he's still overdosing, begging Ollie to take him to the hospital.
"Don't let me die," he shouts at his guardian from the floor. "Please, you have to help me!"
"Why should I?" the man asks contemptuously. "You made your choice! You ruined your own damn life! I don't ever want you to come here again!"
"Dad, no! Please!" Roy yells back. It doesn't make a difference. The man begins to walk away.
He doesn't look back as he says, "You're such a disappointment, Roy. I'm ashamed of you."
Roy wakes up covered in sweat, and he hears the nurse outside the door telling the shrink that he was asking for his father in his sleep. His dead father. Roy laughs quietly. He might as well be dead, he thinks bitterly, I'm never going to see him again.
Therapy is relieving. Roy walks in, sits down, and starts their hour with, "I want to change." He is rewarded with a smile.
He leaves the office feeling determined, even though he knows that Ollie won't come to see him in the hospital. He's sure the Titans won't either, or Black Canary or Green Lantern. He doesn't want them to—they wouldn't come to see him, they would come to see Speedy. But this isn't Speedy, this is Roy. This is the damaged, needy teenager who made a terrible mistake, not the cocky, fun superhero who saves lives.
Roy is right. Black Canary calls him, and he knows she's sincere when she tells him that she wants to come see him but can't. "I have work to do for the Justice League. So do the rest of us—Lantern, Superman, Bats and Arrow."
He tells her, "Thanks, Dinah. Really. But I know Ollie won't be coming to see me. You don't have to pretend." She doesn't say anything back, so he tells her goodbye and hangs up. He doesn't feel better, but he also doesn't feel worse.
Starfire sends flowers and Raven sends him a blank journal. The first page is already written, both by her and Robin. She wrote: "Use this. Writing can help you get better." Underneath that, in handwriting significantly worse, Robin put: "Call us up when you're okay again. We'll talk about what to do with you." Beast Boy sent him a stuffed green koala. But none of his own team mates on the Titans East sent him anything. He tries not to let it get him down and fills up the journal with thoughts that make his shrink want to hug him.
After three weeks of being in the hospital alone, going through therapy, they tell him he can leave. They give him his clothes and he gives the cheerful nurse a smile and a wave as he walks out the front door. He thinks he might be okay.
And then he sees Ollie's car sitting in one of the parking spaces out front. His guardian is sitting in the driver's seat, and when they make eye contact, he climbs out and walks towards him. Roy is perfectly still. Ollie stops a foot away from him.
"Are you better now?" he asks gruffly. Roy shrugs and forces a lopsided smile.
"I'm getting there," the teen answers.
"That's... good," Ollie says, nodding absently. "I'm still angry."
"I know," says Roy. "I wouldn't expect anything else." He wants to reach out and hug the man, tell him why he did it and that he's sorry. He wants to call him Dad and be called son. He wants to know that everything will be okay again. He stands there and waits.
Ollie says, "I was worried. When you were... when you were... overdosing." Roy knows he wanted to say "dying." "Don't scare me again, punk." Roy laughs and tries to wish away the tears in his eyes. He doesn't know if he's happy or sad. He thinks happy.
"I'll try," he says, voice rough from the lump that suddenly formed in his throat. Ollie looks at him strangely and Roy almost doesn't want to know what the man will say next, but he doesn't say anything at all. Instead, he reaches forward and pulls the young man into a hug. It's awkward and Ollie is crushing Roy's ribs, but neither cares. It's something they both need.
"Come on," Ollie says in his ear. "Let's go home. I'll kick your ass later."
As he follows his guardian—no, father—to the car, Roy knows that things won't be like they used to, but it'll eventually be okay.
A/N part 2: I hate the ending. It's awkward, but I wanted to do something fluffy with Ollie after torturing Roy by making him go through rehab alone. Shrug