A/N: Hey guys! Sorry this took so long. I've been really busy with work and my personal life, but I finally got this done, I hope you enjoy it! Thanks for the feedback and all the love, I appreciate it. I'm currently working on an original story so I'll keep you updated on that :) The last part of this chapter is kind of an add on and I hope you guys find it worth the effort I put into it. Love you all, happy spring :)
With Love -Ophelia.
Chapter 13
From the Bottom of the Mountain
"Thank you for the memory, the lasting first impression
Thank you for the steel, that cuts, to the bone." -The Mission
The light was dim in the hotel room, a sallow man trying nervously to watch whatever dribble he could find on basic cable. However, he looked on at the grainy picture and found little comfort in the old I Love Lucy rerun. He took a deep breath and gathered the remote in his hand, changing the channel bitterly. He flipped through a few channels, passing by news stations and low budget talk shows that spoke of baseless politics and blasphemy.
"Oh my God," he mumbled in a ragged breath, his irritability getting the better of him. But he made a promise, and he intended to keep it. "Come on, Roy. You can't—you meant it this time," he muttered to himself once more.
He'd begun to feel sick, his stomach beginning to writhe in pain. In the back of his mind, Roy knew this promise too well—a promise he knew he couldn't keep. A promise that laughed at him from that pit of despair, that pit that could never be filled.
He sat up and began thinking of the possible ways he could score. All he'd have to do was put on his coat and go to a bar, but would he make it that far? He'd also have to find an open ATM as he didn't have any cash on him.
"Fuck," Roy scoffed, becoming desperate, wondering why he didn't bring anything with him.
He lifted himself off the bed and opened his duffle bag, hoping to find anything that could get him through the night. And at this point, he'd take anything. With some luck, he found an old syringe, one he must have forgotten about, resting in the side pocket of his bag.
Roy looked at it with hatred, but it wasn't enough to stop the rush of relief he felt over the small prize—he'd just won half the battle. But what good was the syringe without product? He'd finished looking through the duffle as it was dry of anything that could ease his distress. His head began to ache and thinking was becoming something foreign to him. He looked over and saw the packet Dick had given him—it was the contingency plan. Everything had been placed in a thick manila envelope which he was to deliver to Bruce if anything were to happen to the former Titan.
Roy took the item in his hands and examined the envelope. It had only been sealed with its bronze clasp; he opened it and removed the contents. Everything was neat and in prefect order, just what he would expect from his old friend. At the very beginning there was a letter, written by hand in what appeared to be Dick's hand writing.
Dear Bruce,
If you are reading this, then as you already know, I'm dead… sorry. You're probably asking yourself how something like this could have happened and well… the answer is, I didn't listen. I know you ordered me not to go after Slade, and I understand your reasons for instructing me not to do so. But now, it's time for you to understand my reasons.
I can't just turn my back on this missions, especially if Slade's involved. I know all to well what it means if he is. Slade is to me what Joker is to you—and we both know that the Joker will always be the Devil in the Batman's belfry.
I know you see this, and that's why you ordered that I stay away. But you also taught me to stand up for what I believe in, and to never turn away from those who need me. And, well, there are people out there that need me right now, and if I die trying to help them, then I'm okay with that. (Even if you're not.) But I'm not okay living my life knowing that I could have done something, but instead, kept my head down, because it was in my best interest to do so. You should understand that. better an anyone.
Again Bruce, I'm sorry. I know you're probably cursing my name about now, screaming about how foolish I am, and blaming yourself to no end, but you shouldn't. Maybe I failed, but maybe I was supposed to?
This is everything I've found, there isn't a lot to go on, but it's better than nothing. I've also written down a few theories; you can take from them what you want. You were always the better detective, I learned a lot from you. I know you won't fail.
Tell Alfred I'm sorry too. I just want you both to know that after losing my family, I couldn't have asked for a better one. I know you'll hate this, but well—I love you guys.
Please take care of yourself, Bruce, and hopefully you can find it within yourself to accept that my death was of my own doing—you never pushed me toward it.
Sincerely, Your son —Dick
Roy placed down the letter, feeling a hint of jealously towards it as it reminded him of his relationship with his own adoptive father—Oliver Queen. He remembered a time when he and Oliver were close, when Oliver could rely on Roy's trust and loyalty. But now, all Oliver saw when he looked at Roy was a failure, and he made no secret of it.
His sickness began to take hold of him again and he clutched his stomach in agony. In doing so, he saw the envelope fall to the floor, but he thought little of it. Suddenly, he heard his phone ring, the sound of a digital chime singing poorly from the nightstand. He pulled himself up and crawled toward it, taking it in his grasp.
"Roy, you there?" he heard Dick say over the poor reception.
"Yeah, how'd it go?"
"Um, we're alive. So I guess everything is fine. You okay?" Dick asked, hearing the distress in the archer's voice.
"I'm fine, Dick. I'm just tired, is all." He was lying, but he didn't want the hero to know he was withdrawing. He didn't want him to know that he'd probably break his promise.
Dick furrowed his brow with worry, but there was little he could do. "When will you be back in Gotham?"
Roy took a deep breath, trying to bury the pain. "Tomorrow night, I think. If not, the next morning."
"Okay, Dick replied, "I'll met up with you then."
"Alright man. I'll talk to you soon…"
"And Roy," the archer heard before he could hang up, "hang in there."
"I'll try."
Roy closed the phone and fell down on the bed, the static voices from the television nearly deafening to him. He stared at the wall with listless eyes, worn and tired from the life he'd been living. In his hand still lay his cell phone, a sudden urge aching at his fingertips. He rolled onto his back and flipped the phone open, thinking of a kinder time from his past, when things meant something. His eyes fixated on the screen and he lifted his hands toward the lit buttons. He didn't have her number in his contacts anymore, but that didn't matter, he knew her number by heart.
He took a deep breath, wondering if she'd answer, or if those digits even still belonged to her.
"Hello?" a tired voice said from the other end, dripping of sleep and memories—such a soft sound.
Roy smiled nostalgically, as if for a moment he felt human again. "Hey Donna."
"Roy?" Donna queried, trying to shake off her sleepy daze. "It's late, is everything alright?"
He bit his lip, feeling the genuine worry in her voice, a hint of guilt pulling at his heart strings. "I just miss you."
Donna didn't say anything for a minute, but he could tell by the rise and fall of her breath that she ached. "Roy, you're scaring me. Are you sure you're okay?"
His brow creased at her distressed tone, pulling him back into a darker—inhuman place. "I'm sorry Donna, I shouldn't have called you."
"Roy, wait. Just talk to me," Donna pleaded to no avail.
"Night Donna—I'm sorry," the archer concluded and hung up the phone.
He quickly turned it off, knowing that the Amazon would most certainly attempt to call back. This didn't help his guilt, however, and if anything, it only made him feel worse.
"What the fuck was I thinking?" he scoffed, bringing his hand to his forehead.
Roy finally managed to get up, and gathered all the files and notes Dick had given him. He noticed the envelope on the floor again, just sitting absentmindedly by the bed. He reached down for it and picked it up by the bottom corner, when something fell out.
He paused, peering down at the very small bag that now lay on the floor below him. The contents were familiar to is eye and if he didn't know any better, he would have taken it as a sign from God himself. He picked up the krokodil hesitantly, afraid of the temptation that burned at his fingertips. He grazed his thumb over it questionably. It was ironic in a way; this was what he wanted—a quick fix—but was he really willing to sink that low? How much did he really have to lose? What else could he possibly give away?
He put the drug down on the nightstand and placed the papers back in the envelope with every intention of adding the krokodil.
"Shit," he huffed, picking it up once more.
As much as he wanted to put it back, he'd know it was there, and in his fevered mind, that was reason enough. Roy quickly went into the bathroom and stood over the toilet, ready to drop the bag and flush it for good. That was the only way, the only way to ensure he didn't shoot it up his arm, the only way to keep his promise. Dick would understand. Yes! Flushing it was the only way, but what about the sick feeling?
He let out a painful sigh, he could feel the nausea coming and the cold, itchy feeling that would soon follow. He slowly closed his hand in defeat, enclosing the substance with bitterness. He hated himself once more. Just another broken promise he knew he couldn't keep, and once again—he'd be the one to pay for it.
8888
Dick sat down on the unmade bed behind her, her image just ahead in the smoky mirror as she carefully applied her mascara. He watched for a moment in fascination, each stroke careful and precise. He took a moment to wonder why she even bothered as she didn't look much different without it. But he had to admit, when her eyes were made up and her lashes were painted, they looked even more mysterious and alluring.
"You done staring, Boy Blunder," Raven finally said, absent of any emotion.
She hardly looked back at him, her focus still placed on her mundane task.
Dick felt a little embarrassed that she caught him gawking, he of all people should be above that. Or at least that's what he told himself. However, he was—at the end of the day—a man.
"Sorry Rae," he muttered awkwardly and glanced down, "I thought you'd just wanna talk about everything that went down last night?"
She peered back at him and paused, her memories flooding with pieces of chaos and her actions, of which she was not fond. However, she quickly pushed them aside, as though she were in her own mind, taking the high road.
"There's nothing to talk about," she said dismissively, "last night was an emotional time for the both of us, what happened is understandable."
Dick gave her a crude look, unsure how she could be so cold about it—how she could just pick up and move on? It was something she'd always done, she never dwelled in the emotional mire of anything. She just pulled herself up, and kept on going. It was a trait that indeed had its benefits, but he also felt that it was, in all fairness, her greatest weakness. She spent so much time trying to keep her emotions from getting the better of her that she never really thought about how things affected her. He knew she'd come a long way—she really had—but now, more than ever, he felt she'd turn to that. That ability to shut off Raven, and become that unmovable thing, just like his mother.
"Raven, you don't have to do this with me, you don't have to be brave."
Her eyes fell down just slightly, Dick hardly noticing. "I'm not being brave, Dick. I'm moving forward, you should too."
"How can you say that, Rae?" Dick snapped. "I saw the look on your face last night. I could see it in your eyes, you were so close to breaking."
"Yeah well, I put myself back together—it's what I do," she spat, glaring though the mirror. "It's all I can do."
She could see her ex-leader's distaste for her tone and the resentment for her stance.
"Really, Rea?" Dick questioned. "We tell each other everything, and after one night you're just gonna talk to me like I don't know anything about you? That's not fair, and that's not how this works."
She finally turned to him, placing her forearm across the back of the chair. "Okay, you wanna talk, let's talk about you becoming Jason's Enforcer. What the hell is that?"
"It's what I had to do, Rae. You should get that."
"I do, but what is it that an Enforcer does again? Cause uh… I forget," the sorceress said mockingly.
Dick scowled at her difficult nature. "Why won't you just talk to me? Why does this have to be a fight?"
"Because Richard, talking is not what I do best, you know that."
His lip curled at her irony, and his eyes smoldered at her point of view. "That's not true Raven, you talk to me. You tell me everything."
"Not everything." She meant for it to come out spiteful, but it didn't. The sound was thin and brittle as it left her full lips—it was shameful.
She finally got up as Dick looked back at her a little off put, but his worry is what kept him paused.
"I've told you before, there are just some things you're better off not knowing about me, Grayson. And everything—and I mean, everything—that happened last night is the same kinda shit you shouldn't know… the same kind of shit that's a part of that."
"I get that Rae, I do, but… I don't want you to think that you can't tell me those things," he said taking a few steps closer to her, "because you can, Raven."
He took her hand in his and brought it up to his chest, like he had nearly a decade ago. That memory played a moment in Raven's head as she recalled how afraid she was. Not even so much of her father, but of herself. She also feared what her friends would think of her—what Dick would think of her. In full honestly, that's what Raven feared the most—herself—and how the people she loved perceived her. She could care less about everything else, but for people she genuinely loved, their opinions were everything, especially Richard Grayson's.
"I have no right to judge you, Raven," Dick said softly, "especially after last night."
"You did what you had to," Raven said, giving him a weak smile, not quite ready to submit, but accepting the offer. "But I'm still trying to process everything and I'm not quite ready to spill my guts over this yet, okay?"
He nodded and let her hand go as Raven turned to finish packing her things, carefully placing them into her dark leather bag. She went about it with much more care than Cyndi had, Raven's life having more value and even more of a personal attachment. Raven cared about who she let into her life, it was a privilege to be a part of it, but for Cyndi, life wasn't like that. In her world, privilege was a word of empty promises and forgotten happiness; in her world, she was torn down to nothing, just so she could be built up to nothing.
"Does any of this bother you?" Raven asked, cinching her bag closed and glancing up through the mirror again.
Dick looked back at her, unsure of what to say, "Are you asking me if I feel guilty about Joker and that psycho?"
"No," Raven said, turning to face him, "I'm talking about what Jason told you, about this turf war he's dragged you into."
Her face fell from him at the thought, her view of the conflict still blurry and lost in the smoke of the night before.
"It's simple, Rae. I help Jason rebuild his team and expand his territory, he helps me get to Slade."
"I get that," Raven replied wearily, "but I'm worried that you're gonna get caught in the crossfire, Dick. I mean, you said at least three of Jason's crew died last month. So there's a good chance something like that could happen again, especially on this side of Hell."
Dick knew she was right, there was a good chance he too could end up six feet deep by day's end, especially in Jason's world. But this was also Slade's world, and if he was gonna hunt a giant man, than he'd have to live in the world of giant men.
"Sometimes you gotta go to Hell to find a Devil, Rae."
"Don't give me that the philosophical bullshit, Grayson," she said with a cynical eye roll, "and don't you go trying to tell me about devils and Hell while you're at it, either."
She walked passed him and placed her bag on the opposite bed, which remained neat and untouched. She felt foolish for the fact that she and Dick blindly went along with Jason's request, all in an attempt to earn his trust, but never once did they think about making him earn theirs.
Dick could see she was troubled, it was written all over her face. She knew she couldn't change his mind and she didn't expect to. But she wanted him to consider, among everything and nothing, that there was something to be lost, and if he lost it, who would he be?
A knock suddenly wrapped at the door, breaking the silent conversation between them. Raven turned, checking the peephole before answering and opened the door to reveal an unmasked Red X.
"Morn'n Sunshine," he cooed as he walk through the door, "Chuckles," he added before taking a seat on the torn arm chair. He could feel the tension between them and noticed the state of the room as he said chipperly, "Am I… interrupting something?"
The two birds looked at each other, but said nothing and shrugged.
The thief leaned forward with a friendly look on his face and colorfully added, "I don't know what happened between you two and frankly, I really don't care. But keep it between you two. People's lives are at stake, and I don't wanna see you or anyone get clipped because of some stupid little lovers' quarrel."
There was a slight pause as the end of his rant, but it was short-lived.
"Fuck you," Raven spat, taking her bags and abruptly storming out of the motel room.
Both Dick and X watched her go, the two young men not really sure what to say or do.
"What's her problem; I was being sarcastic," the thief defended.
"You're an asshole," Dick replied, gathering the last of his things.
X scoffed and rose from his chair, "What the fuck did I do?"
"You didn't do anything. She's pissed, and you're not helping by being a cynical prick."
The young hero then walked by the Outlaw, leaving him to the empty room. X stood there a moment, a little humor cast on his boyish face. He shrugged at the irony before him and turned to exit, leaving behind the untold story.
Once he caught up to Raven and Dick, he found them both loading up the back of the old Chevy Trailblazer as the Explorer was being repaired.
"Raven, I'm sorry," the thief said causally, "I wasn't trying to be a dick, I was just trying to make a point."
Raven looked over at him as did her ex-leader and said, "Well congratulations, you made it."
She slammed the hatch closed and got into the car. X looked over at Dick, who found her frustration with the charming blond very amusing, and did little to ease the tension.
"Take my advice X; quit while you're ahead."
Red X tilted his head and cracked a sarcastic grin then turned for the driver's seat.
"Don't say I didn't worn ya."
8888
They arrived at the bar in less than an hour; this time, Dick less overzealous to charge in head first. X informed the two that Jason was going to put them up in an apartment, but for the time being they would stay at the Wolf's Head. Mentioning something about there being a few smaller apartments on the upper floors.
X also mentioned that there was going to be another meeting, but this one was going to be a "family meeting" which meant that every member in every tier need to be involved. He added that these meetings hardly ever took place and only did when something really big, or really bad, was about to go down. X also said that Raven was invited to sit in, though she herself was not a full or even a partial member, then went into the details of the pecking order.
"So at the very top we have an Alfa (Red Hood) and below that we have Beta—yours truly. Jason calls the shots, I just back him up and lead in his absence. After that we have a Lieutenant which is now being held by Jinx. She's the third highest rank and in charge of the field missions, below her is Sergeant or Sergeants. Sergeants are mostly in charge of training and keeping the second tier in line. After that we have Enforcers, that's you, Duala, Eddie, and Enigma. Your job is keeping the foot soldiers in line and making sure that those who don't pay, do."
"And how is that done?" Raven asked, interrupting X's little monologue.
The thief glanced back at her through the rear view mirror, the sun reflecting off his black sunglasses. "How do you think it's done, Sunshine?" he replied darkly. "But, if you do your job right, you won't have to do much—everyone'll pay."
"So with violence," Raven concluded, her voice holding no shock.
"It's the only method that works, especially with people who'd sell their mother's pussy for a hit or profit." And he had a point.
"That's disgusting," Raven grunted, arms crossed, brow furrowed.
"That's the truth," X retorted without a second thought. "People like that are only out for themselves. And junkies, they're only part of the problem. The other half are scum, peddling whatever vice or service they can sell, and trust me, they don't give a shit who gets hurt. All that matters is that their pockets are full by the end of the day. The dealers—drug lords—they know that junkies have nothing left to lose—nothing left to preserve, and they know they'll borrow, steal, and cheat till the high finally kills them… and they make sure they bleed them dry before that happens."
Dick could see Raven scowling form the back seat, her bitterness from earlier biting at her moral code. He too, felt himself conflicted, but it had more to do with Roy and how he fit into the equations X painted.
X could see the look on Dick's face. He knew the hero was well aware of these details and didn't need them spelled out for him. He also knew that Dick had no problem punishing people who genuinely deserved a harsh reminder that they were not above humanity. But he also knew that at heart, Dick may not have had the stomach—or more importantly, the heart—to be as heartless as his new job description required.
"But that's basically the pecking order of the Top Tier. The Second Tier basically consists of Foot Soldiers and Straight Earners. Foot Soldiers do mostly the leg work like making collections and acting as extra muscle on runs—the low level stuff. Straight Earners work within the organization and the businesses we own, like Clancy and Trilby. They take care of the bar and launder the money in its sales which is overseen by Hogan, who takes care of the finances and the books. No financial move is made without his two cents."
"What about Mutt and Schizo?" Dick asked, recalling the two young men.
"They're just Foot Soldiers, and you don't take any shit from them—ever. Those two are Second Tier because they belong there. They may be loyal and hardworking, but they don't have the brains or the brawn to make it up to the Top."
"Not to sound like an ass, but are any of them?"
Dick looked over at X, who paused a moment before answering.
"No. The only one that had a shot was Scarlet, but well… she's not here anymore," X replied ruefully.
"Who was she?" Dick asked, recalling Jason bringing up her name.
"She was kinda what Jason was to Talia," X recalled with a little dilution. "He trained her, gave her a place to stay—he took care of her when she didn't know how. He gave her a chance because no one else would, and she was really grateful for that."
X paused, looking back in the mirror as if it held some familiar memory.
"What happened to her?"
"All she ever wanted was for Jason to be proud of her. She was always trying to prove herself to him. She wanted him to see she was ready… But at the end of the day, she just wasn't."
"That sounds really familiar," Dick said, recalling his days as Robin.
They finally pulled up to the bar and turned down the alley beside the building, leading them to a reasonably sized lot. Toward the back of the building was a line of different vehicles, about 6 in total. The area was kept pretty neat and seemed to serve as a place of both business and recreation. Red X parked the old Chevy beside a black shipping van and silenced the engine.
"You two ready?"
Dick only nodded as he exited the SUV, while Raven didn't say much of anything. They followed X as he took them through the back entrance which led to a small, dark hallway and a storage area. They followed him down the hall, its old wood moaning as each footstep fell upon it. They walked passed the cellar door and X opened the curtain to reveal the whole bar filled with faces from the night before.
"Well look who finally showed up," Clancy said in her rich accent. "Can I get'y anything, Bourbon, scotch, whisky—"
"Cool it Clanc, it's not even noon yet," Jason laughed, cutting her off.
Clancy was very hospitable and really took to making others feel welcome in her presence, which was why she fit her role of barmaid so well.
"Ah Jason, an early day calls for an early start."
"Said the Irish girl to the Outlaw King," X added, taking a seat at the bar, "I'll take a beer Clanc."
"Com'n right up, X," she replied cheerfully and went off to pull him a bottle.
"Lush asshole," Jason drawled and looked over at everyone. "Well, since everyone's here, we might as well get this shit show started," Jason added and motioned Raven and Dick to take a seat at a small table.
They both looked around as daggered eyes stared back at them. They didn't belong, yet there they were, sitting among the wolves and hoods, those exiled from the inner workings of society, now banished to its fringe. Jason looked back at Dick, the Outlaw King noticing the ex-Titan's apprehension, and began to speak.
"Alright, so as of last night, we have gained at least one new member. Now I know his membership is a little… well… unorthodox, but given the recent playing field, I think my decision is warranted. I know some of you don't see it that way. So for those of you who take issue with this recent decision the floor is open. Feel free to voice your concerns."
Jason looked on at the room with inquisitive eyes, waiting to see who would be the first to speak up. A long moment went by, Jason's question only met with silence.
"Seriously," he huffed, "None of you have the balls to say how you really feel?"
Awkward glances were exchanged, and finally the young skinhead named Schizo stood up. For a moment he looked down at his heavy boots, his old jeans hanging over them with torn cuffs, his hands slipping into his worn pockets.
"I know he's your brother, but still… I don't understand why this—why he gets bumped up to Top Tier? Me and Mutt've been here for over a year and a half—we're still only Second Tier. I know we're not ready—I get that—maybe we never will be. But I'm find'n it real disrespectful that I had to work my way up from the bottom and have dedicated my life to this crew, but this asshole… he just gets to jump the line?"
Jason looked down a moment as he could feel the betrayal in the man's sentiment, and he didn't disagree. He watched as Schizo sat down, his jaw tight and his eye gleaming with bitterness.
The sight was a little hard on Jason as he took a rough breath and spoke, "How many of you agree with Schizo—at least he had the guts to be honest. This is a place of truth, we have no secrets. Now how many of you think this arrangement is unfair?"
Raven and Dick looked around as every single hand in the room raised itself, including X's. Jason too, lifted his hand, leaving Raven and Dick confused about what to think.
"You're all right, it's not fair," Jason finally said. "You have all given me your time and loyalty to be here, and you have all made numerous sacrifices for this family. But this life—this life of guns and bullets—it isn't fair. If it was—every person that we've lost would be here right now. And if they were here, then Dick wouldn't need to be. In the last month and a half alone, we have lost Brick, Natasha, and Scarlet, and honestly… I can't stand to lose any more of you. And that's not business, that's me putting your lives first. So if being unfair and bringing in someone from outside the organization keeps even one of you alive—then I'm willing to be unfair. But, I'm gonna leave it up to you all; let's bring it to a vote. All opposed to Dick becoming an Outlaw… raise your hand."
Jason watched as Mutt and Schizo reluctantly raised their hands, even after Jason's very heartfelt speech. A few other people raised theirs's as well, but not nearly as many, and not one Top Tier member lifted theirs.
Jason counted five hands in total then asked for all in favor. The remaining hands all rose, most of which belonging to Top Tier members.
"Then the decision stands," Jason ruled. However there didn't seem to be much excitement as Dick's acceptance came from a place of desperation, not approval.
"Now, as for the Joker," Jason continued. "Last night we hit the Clown where it hurts. He's down a man and he has a whole new set of set problems to deal with, specifically the Lords. They not be Joker's greatest threat, but they'll keep him busy and bloody, and that works for me… for the time being."
"What if he figures out who hit him?" Duala asked from her end of the bar, where she sat beside Enigma.
"That's why I sent Dick," Jason replied. "Joker doesn't know he's with us, and knowing Dick, he probably kept his identity a better kept secret than what Bruce Wayne does in his spare time."
There was a light giggle among a very few, both Dick and Raven looking at one another warily.
"I know he can never truly pay for everything he's done," Jason continued, "at least not in this life. But, in the meantime, I'll take it."
A look of grim satisfaction took over the Outlaw's face, his expression stony and cold.
"Now for our next order of business," Jason said gravely in his commanding tone, "we need to expand our territory."
For a moment no one said anything, eyes only wandering from their leader to catch the gaze of another.
"Gotham's only going to get us so far, we need to make a power play. We need everyone to know we're more than just another gang in Gotham."
"What'd you have in mind?" Enigma asked, letting her fingers trace the rim of a half empty glass.
Jason glanced over at X and Jinx, then stared right at Dick as he said, "Jump City."
Dick's face fell gravely, his eyes lit with a dim fire of inquiry. Raven could feel the harsh sting of turmoil as the blade delved deep into his heart, her distress tangling with his.
"The playing field in Jump has made a huge shift. With Rancid and Snowflame out, Slade's gonna have to make a play to keep Jump under his hand, but I want it under mine."
"Do you really think that's a good idea?" Raven interrupted, not even a little fear in her voice. "Do you really think you can take on Slade?"
Jason looked back at her, a raised a brow at her boldness. "Well, sitting around and doing shit won't get us anywhere."
Raven crossed her arms and straightened her back. "Yeah, but going up against Slade might get you dead and buried."
Jason laughed at Raven's brash tone, almost amused with how blunt she was willing to be with him.
"I'm glad you think death is funny, Jason," Raven said, rolling her eyes. "I thought if anyone would understand the actual depth of permanence, it would be you."
Jason stopped laughing for a moment as Dick's head shot in Raven's direction. A mix of dirty and amused looks followed. However, others didn't possess the wit necessary to understand that insult.
"Someone should teach shithead over here how't keep his bitch's mouth shut," Schizo scoffed in Dick's direction.
"Excuse me?" Raven interjected before Dick could even give a reply of his own.
"Oh shit," Dick muttered.
"I'm just say'n there are far better things you could do with that pretty mouth'a yours," Schizo replied, rudely.
Raven's jaw dropped as her eyes narrowed in on his crude ignorance. "Okay, douchebag."
"Here we go," Dick drawled, knowing exactly the kind of lashing Schizo's comments had earned him.
"First off," Raven began lividly, "I'm no one's bitch. Secondly, I'm twice the man you are, so you may wanna rethink that little fantasy about me blowing you."
The sound of shock and laughter snickered uncomfortably through the bar, the giggle leaving Schizo on the defense.
"Well I guess this little honey has dick now, dontcha, baby?"
"And it's bigger than yours," Raven retorted to his disgusting remark, "but I'm guessing that's not much of a feat, considering you lack formability… A word which, by the way, is bigger than your whole vocabulary."
"Well she's a keeper," Jason said with amazement.
"She's relentless," Dick replied, wearily.
The Outlaw shrugged. "Hey that's not a bad thing, I like a woman who's not afraid to cross swords."
Dick sighed, "More like cut it clean off."
X chuckled as he placed down his beer, watching as Raven single handedly dismantled the vulgar boy. "Sunshine's gonna fit in real well around here."
"Yeah Grayson, your girl's really skilled in the art of verbal castration—it's very amusing."
"Yeah, she's got a sharp tongue on her," Dick drawled sarcastically as Raven had clearly marginalized the skinhead's manhood.
Some giggles still fluttered as Schizo had nothing witty to comeback with and Jason finally decided to move on.
"So to address your concerns, Rae." Jason began, getting back on topic. "I'm know Slade is a force to be reckoned with, but I plan on playing my cards right. Plus, there's nothing to gain if you're not willing to accept a little risk."
"And what cards would those be?" Dick asked, his words flat and stable.
A smug smile grew on the Outlaw's face as he leaned against the bar. "Well, to start, I have a source." He crossed his arms, holding his stance firm and continued, "I also have X and Jinx, they know Jump just as well as you two. So I think that makes for a good strategic move. Plus, Jump isn't under the watchful eye of Nightwing anymore, so it's free for the taking.
Dick frowned at the mention of his heroic namesake, Jason actually using his absence to his advantage. "The Titans are still there."
"I'm not worried about the Titans," Jason replied gravely, lighting his cigarette. They're down two members, and something tells me, they're gonna be easy to deal with."
Dick could tell Raven was only an inch away from showing Jason how easy she was to deal with, but Dick quickly intervened.
"I'm just saying, maybe you shouldn't underestimate them… or Slade for that matter. People may surprise you."
"People are people," Jason said with little feeling, "no one surprises me."
For a minute, nothing was said, as Jason's jaded words hung in the atmosphere with the thick scent off bad blood.
"So, we all clear on everything?" The Outlaw asked before dismissing the room.
Everyone nodded and shrugged, accepting the information given to them. Some seemed a little weary as others didn't seem fazed by any of it. Dick looked over at Jason as he began to approach him, followed by Red X, who held a strange look of doubt on his boyish face.
"So Grayson, we're going on a run tonight," Jason said in a low voice so he wouldn't be heard, "I want you to come along,"
"What kind of run?" Dick replied, glancing over at Raven.
"Protection," Jason shrugged, "a shipment needs to make it to Blüdhaven—intact."
Dick nodded in understanding as Raven gave him and an approving glance. "Who we providing protection for?"
Dick noticed the thief's eyes fall to the floor as his Outlaw leader replied, "The reason you even came here—Slade."
Both Dick and Raven looked at each other, Dick's face falling to a grim place, Raven's not much different.
"Will he be there?" Dick asked urgently.
"No," Jason said unfazed, "but I could use the man power, plus it pays well. You'll also get some insight on how Slade operates. You in?"
Dick glanced down in thought, his mind wandering to the place where caution didn't lie. "Okay, I'm in."
8888
He'd awoken that morning cold and foggy. He was hungry, but he didn't really care. He took what little he had and put on his coat, then checked out of the motel. At this point it was just easier to feel nothing, and just let the numbness fill his veins and black out his heart. He just let that chill cut him straight to the bone.
He'd been driving for a few hours on a northbound highway, part of him tempted to keep driving and just go as far as Raven's old Jeep would take him. However, in the end, he wouldn't; he had to see it through to the end—wherever that may take him.
He looked on at the long stretch of road ahead of him, each mile going on like a year. His mind wandered, sauntering down the past road that he traveled to get there. There were so many things that had brought him to that present moment. So many things he'd change if he could, so many things he wanted back, things he'd lost long before he'd ever stuck a needle in his arm. But still, as he rolled on, watching the pavement pass by, he thought of one day, one day he always looked back on. The day he finally gave up, the day everything changed…
2014
The young archer stood there, grave and stony looks peering back at him, the coldest coming from the man who'd trained him—the man who taught him how to be a hero.
"Are you sure you are up for this, Roy?" asked the Bat, his stoic expression clear, even through his cowl.
"I am—yes," Roy replied, the older archer's face growing more displeased.
"Then I guess we proceed with the mission," said Bruce, "Diana and I will brief you, then we'll begin making arrangements."
It was at that moment Oliver got up, saying nothing as he left the room. He could hardly look at Roy, passing him with a cold, unforgiving air. Bruce, of course, took notice, though he was certain everyone had, but said nothing—for the time.
It was shortly after this that Bruce sat down with Roy, who was, by this time, going by the title of Red Arrow. Bruce went over nearly every detail, most of which, Roy was already aware of. He explained that he would be infiltrating an arms dealing syndicate that worked closely with the Mexican Drug Cartel. The mission didn't have a set extraction date and would progress for as long as needed to collect the necessary information. Roy was to report to Martian Manhunter, who would use his shape shifting abilities to disguise himself with as many identities as needed. They would have a code phrase, something only the two of them would know. Manhunter would then take the information back to the Watchtower for further investigation, and to be cataloged in the League's database. The mission, as a whole, would be overseen by Batman, who'd be keeping tabs on communications; not a move would be made without his order.
This mission was big, and the League had a lot riding on it and its success, which left Bruce with one very important question.
"Do you understand everything I have just told you, Roy?"
He nodded, his face unmoved. "Yes, I do."
"Then you understand that it isn't too late to say no?"
Roy glanced down, relieving the Bat from any eye contact and nodded again, his words finding no voice.
Bruce tightened his lower lip a moment, something Dick would have read as recoil. "I know you feel as though you have something to prove—that this is the only way you can gain the respect of your peers, but it isn't." Bruce paused as he noticed Roy glance up at him.
"I'm not doing this for respect, Bruce. I'm doing it because there's no other way. I'm the only one who's willing to go—the only one with nothing to lose."
Bruce placed the folder down and crossed his arms. "You say that, but I'm sure your friends would say differently."
"They probably would," Roy shrugged, "but all that matters right now is what I have to say, and I say, I'm going through with the mission."
Bruce exhaled, and for a moment, might have shown just a hint of regret, but breathed not a word of it. "Alright then."
Later that day, Roy had finished a psych evaluation with Martian Manhunter. Normally, this evaluation would have been conducted by Black Canary, but given her current status as Oliver Queen's live-in girlfriend, the League felt her opinion would be biased. And to Oliver's greatest discontent, Roy was deemed mentally fit for duty.
Roy was then to report to Bruce again and would go over the details of his new identity, which he'd later be schooled on. Roy was informed that the Bat was running a bit late, and had hit a snag while hacking into a record database. This gave Oliver just enough time to show up.
Roy immediately felt uneasy when he noticed him walk through the door, and pondered whether or not he should speak. Oliver looked over at him, his eyes reeking of contempt. Roy thought about getting up and leaving, but he knew he'd have to hear the archer out eventually, and this time, he was tired of running.
"So you passed your psych eval."
Roy nodded, but kept mum, hoping maybe Oliver would keep his lament simple.
"I'm not gonna lie, I was hoping you wouldn't."
Roy finally looked over him—the man who'd raised him since he was 10 years old, the man he nearly hated now. "Really Ollie?" Roy snapped in embitterment. "I'm trying to do something good, to help the League, to help those who can't help themselves. I'm doing everything you taught me, yet you sit here and belittle me like a child."
"I'm not belittling you, Roy," Oliver asserted, "I'm telling you I don't think you're ready."
"Well the rest of the League thinks I am."
"The rest of the League doesn't wanna see their own protégé's go—they don't care that you're doing this for wrong reasons," Oliver insisted, pointing his index finger toward the table. A gesture Roy had become all too familiar with.
"And what reasons might those be?"
"You're running away, Roy!" Oliver exclaimed. "You're running from Donna—you're running from the Titans—you're running away from all of your problems! And most of all—you are running away from me."
"You call it running, I call it moving forward," Roy droned coldly. "I don't have a team anymore, and I don't have anyone who's gonna miss me at night. I don't even have a family—not anymore."
"You have me, Roy"
"Only when it's convenient for you, Ollie."
Just then Bruce entered the room, or at least Roy and Oliver noticed he'd entered. The two both looked over at him as he stood there silently, not saying a word. He glanced back at them individually, making it clear that he'd heard at least part of their argument.
"Roy," Bruce finally said, "why don't you give Oliver and me a minute to talk?"
Roy looked at Bruce, then over at his fellow archer, a grave expression written in every line of his face. "Gladly," he scoffed.
Both men watched as the young man stormed out of the room, Bruce waiting until he was far out of earshot. Once he was convinced Roy could no longer hear them, he finally spoke.
"You're having a hard time with this."
Oliver crossed his arms and looked away. "How much did you hear?"
"Enough."
"So what," Oliver asked in a sour tone, "you gonna tell me I need to get over it?"
"No," Bruce replied and sat down across from him, "I'm going to suggest that you stop telling Roy how to live his life."
"That's rich coming from you, Bruce," Oliver laughed cynically.
Bruce scowled at the chuckle, its texture quite venomous. "What I do is different."
"You're seriously not gonna tell me how to parent?"
"Someone should."
Oliver frowned. "You act high and mighty all you want, Bruce, but don't pretend that we all don't know the truth.
"Truth about what?" Bruce asked daringly, in a tone most men would have shied from.
"That Dick ran away from you."
"He didn't run, he needed space—I let him have it."
Oliver grimaced smugly. "Because you wouldn't let him live his own life! Hell—he lives on the other side of the fucking country and you're still smothering him with your two cents! He still can't get away from you."
"It's called guidance, Ollie," Bruce growled. "Why don't you try taking it sometime?"
"Like you ever take any!"
Bruce scowled, but then flashed a condescending grin. "Why don't you spend less time worrying about me and my ward, and worry about yourself and yours?" His grin dissolved, and his tone grew more earnest. "I know I made mistakes with Dick, and I probably still will, but everything I say and do is for his best interest."
"What do you think I'm doing, Bruce!" the archer hissed, but was quickly cut off.
"I see what you're doing, Oliver—I really do! But you also have to understand that you can't just decide to be Roy's father one day, then tell him he needs to figure it out for himself in the same breath."
"What's that's supposed to mean, Bruce?"
"It means if you want Roy to listen to you, then you have to give up the fair-weather parenting, Ollie."
"Fuck you, Bruce," Oliver snapped wildly. "You're a fucking hypocrite, you know that?"
"I'm only telling you the truth."
The archer's face took on a furious look. "Well you can take your truth and shove it up your ass!"
"Will do, Ollie," Bruce drawled without missing a beat, "but next time you try and criticize Roy for running away, you may wanna ask yourself who he picked that up from?"
Oliver fumed, but was left speechless. The only words he could find were meekly built of four letters, leading him to look foolish, and he angrily took his leave.
Bruce composed himself a moment before retrieving Roy, feeling a little wounded by everything the archer had said. Deep down, Bruce knew what he said was true—everything he did was for the best. But he also knew Oliver wasn't wrong—Dick did run away—as far as he could, and that still wasn't far enough.
Still, Bruce buried his hurt, buried it deep with the rue and the thistle of days long past. With a deep breath he rose from the chair he was seated in, and gathered the folder back in his weathered hands. He couldn't be burdened with what he could not change—he already had too many burdens to bear.
Within a week's time, he sent Roy off on his mission, and Roy would never comeback… at least not the same.