It'll Never Leave You
By Speedy_Paul
The bust was nearly complete. The thugs were safely tied in a corner, and all of their poison had been found. That was when Roy Harper heard the Voice echo in his mind.
"C'mon. Let's celebrate"
Roy shook his head. It had been a long night. Besides, he couldn't have heard that voice. He had beaten it long ago.
The voice laughed at him, mocking him even as he felt a tremble in his hands that he had also beaten, and a force pulling toward the crooks' "merchandise," drums full of white powder.
Roy felt his resolve weaken as memories flooded through him. Memories of the warm rush as a good hit ran through him, the peaceful serenity that came after the rush. These were feelings he had long since tried to forget, friends who now would not stay gone. Unbidden, his feet began carrying him toward the barrels.
Roy tried desperately to pull up the other memories. The look on green Arrow's face when he found out that his adopted son was a junkie, the nights of withdrawal, curled up on the floor at Dinah's house. But those seemed to be drowned out by the pleasure. The feeling that the drug was his friend, that it was the only thing that would accept him for who he was.
Finally, in desperation, he pulled up a face that had almost been buried in the onslaught of memory. Lian. She was depending on him. He was her Daddy, and in her eyes, he could be nothing less than perfect. He had let down so many people, but not Lian. Never his daughter. Roy squeezed his eyes shut, grabbed at a compartment in his quiver, and threw.
The phosphorus flare landed dead center in the barrel, and a exploded in a gout of white-hot flame. Roy left before the smoke could get near him, taking to the rooftops even as the tied up thugs stared after him. They had lost all of their merchandise, but since that merchandise was now going up in flames, it couldn't be used as evidence. But Roy didn't care. As her sprinted away from the greasy smoke and the memories it carried with it, he managed to put a half-coherent call through to the boys in blue. Despite what the thugs thought, Roy knew that that much heroin would take hours to burn. There would be plenty left to convict them with when the police arrived.
"Plenty for you to party with, too, if you go back now" the Voice said with a seductiveness that Roy had prayed he would never hear again. He did his best to ignore it and kept running. He didn't know where he was going, he just went. "The destination isn't always important," the elders back among the Dinne` had told him. "Sometimes, the journey is an end in itself."
He ran on, not thinking ahead, simply taking the obstacles and alleyways as they came. He tried to outrun the voice, but knew it was no use. Even as he Scaled the edge of buildings, the Voice kept on him.
"See that guy? Yeah, that one there. He's a dealer, he's got what you need. You know it, too. You learned to recognize your friends. You didn't pick that up with the Teen Titans or the DEA, but you know him."
"Of *course* he won't sell to you. You're a card-carrying member of the spandex set. But how many punches do you think it would take for him to cough it up?"
"DO IT! What's he gonna do? Run to the cops and report you for beating him up and taking his drugs? And if you hit too hard or too many times, that's one less street dealer. Hell, think of it as doing your duty,"
That voice filled Roy with a loathing he knew all too well. And what made him hate the Voice all the more was the fact that he wanted to do what it said. He wanted to feel the power, the serenity. The sheer mindless bliss of being so baked that nothing else mattered. Instead, he ran. He ran for something even more important than his life. He ran for his soul.
An hour later, the new sunrise found Roy sitting on a rooftop on the edge of town. It made no sense, Roy thought. He had gone through the fire, and come out the other side. He had faced his addiction, and won. The part of him that he had felt calling him was dead. Dead and buried. But even now, when he knew what was right, and what he had to do, it was beckoning to him, seducing him.
"That's right" the Voice replied. "You didn't actually think we would let you go that easily, did you? We'll never be gone. You can live the rest of your life as the good, honest hero-boy that you like to pretend you are, but somewhere inside, we'll be there. Everything you do, everything you are, will have a piece of us in it."
Finally, Roy realized they were right. The scared little boy that had decided that drugs were the answer would never be gone. He would always be inside of him. But what was important was the fact that that little boy wasn't running the show anymore. He had grown past that point, and had learned from it.
Looking at his watch, Roy saw that he had less then two hours before he had to get his daughter up for school. As he stood up and headed back to Titans' Tower, Roy reflected that even though the little boy he used to be had caused some of the darkest points in his life, that child had led him to what he was now. A Titan, a hero, and a father. For better or worse, he owed the man he was to the child he had been.
Meta: Sorry if the quality in this story wasn't up to snuff. It was written in an hour-long catharsis. Any comments other than flames are welcomed at belderohn@fcmail.com.
By Speedy_Paul
The bust was nearly complete. The thugs were safely tied in a corner, and all of their poison had been found. That was when Roy Harper heard the Voice echo in his mind.
"C'mon. Let's celebrate"
Roy shook his head. It had been a long night. Besides, he couldn't have heard that voice. He had beaten it long ago.
The voice laughed at him, mocking him even as he felt a tremble in his hands that he had also beaten, and a force pulling toward the crooks' "merchandise," drums full of white powder.
Roy felt his resolve weaken as memories flooded through him. Memories of the warm rush as a good hit ran through him, the peaceful serenity that came after the rush. These were feelings he had long since tried to forget, friends who now would not stay gone. Unbidden, his feet began carrying him toward the barrels.
Roy tried desperately to pull up the other memories. The look on green Arrow's face when he found out that his adopted son was a junkie, the nights of withdrawal, curled up on the floor at Dinah's house. But those seemed to be drowned out by the pleasure. The feeling that the drug was his friend, that it was the only thing that would accept him for who he was.
Finally, in desperation, he pulled up a face that had almost been buried in the onslaught of memory. Lian. She was depending on him. He was her Daddy, and in her eyes, he could be nothing less than perfect. He had let down so many people, but not Lian. Never his daughter. Roy squeezed his eyes shut, grabbed at a compartment in his quiver, and threw.
The phosphorus flare landed dead center in the barrel, and a exploded in a gout of white-hot flame. Roy left before the smoke could get near him, taking to the rooftops even as the tied up thugs stared after him. They had lost all of their merchandise, but since that merchandise was now going up in flames, it couldn't be used as evidence. But Roy didn't care. As her sprinted away from the greasy smoke and the memories it carried with it, he managed to put a half-coherent call through to the boys in blue. Despite what the thugs thought, Roy knew that that much heroin would take hours to burn. There would be plenty left to convict them with when the police arrived.
"Plenty for you to party with, too, if you go back now" the Voice said with a seductiveness that Roy had prayed he would never hear again. He did his best to ignore it and kept running. He didn't know where he was going, he just went. "The destination isn't always important," the elders back among the Dinne` had told him. "Sometimes, the journey is an end in itself."
He ran on, not thinking ahead, simply taking the obstacles and alleyways as they came. He tried to outrun the voice, but knew it was no use. Even as he Scaled the edge of buildings, the Voice kept on him.
"See that guy? Yeah, that one there. He's a dealer, he's got what you need. You know it, too. You learned to recognize your friends. You didn't pick that up with the Teen Titans or the DEA, but you know him."
"Of *course* he won't sell to you. You're a card-carrying member of the spandex set. But how many punches do you think it would take for him to cough it up?"
"DO IT! What's he gonna do? Run to the cops and report you for beating him up and taking his drugs? And if you hit too hard or too many times, that's one less street dealer. Hell, think of it as doing your duty,"
That voice filled Roy with a loathing he knew all too well. And what made him hate the Voice all the more was the fact that he wanted to do what it said. He wanted to feel the power, the serenity. The sheer mindless bliss of being so baked that nothing else mattered. Instead, he ran. He ran for something even more important than his life. He ran for his soul.
An hour later, the new sunrise found Roy sitting on a rooftop on the edge of town. It made no sense, Roy thought. He had gone through the fire, and come out the other side. He had faced his addiction, and won. The part of him that he had felt calling him was dead. Dead and buried. But even now, when he knew what was right, and what he had to do, it was beckoning to him, seducing him.
"That's right" the Voice replied. "You didn't actually think we would let you go that easily, did you? We'll never be gone. You can live the rest of your life as the good, honest hero-boy that you like to pretend you are, but somewhere inside, we'll be there. Everything you do, everything you are, will have a piece of us in it."
Finally, Roy realized they were right. The scared little boy that had decided that drugs were the answer would never be gone. He would always be inside of him. But what was important was the fact that that little boy wasn't running the show anymore. He had grown past that point, and had learned from it.
Looking at his watch, Roy saw that he had less then two hours before he had to get his daughter up for school. As he stood up and headed back to Titans' Tower, Roy reflected that even though the little boy he used to be had caused some of the darkest points in his life, that child had led him to what he was now. A Titan, a hero, and a father. For better or worse, he owed the man he was to the child he had been.
Meta: Sorry if the quality in this story wasn't up to snuff. It was written in an hour-long catharsis. Any comments other than flames are welcomed at belderohn@fcmail.com.