A/N: And always, I hope you enjoy!

Roy clutched at his hair, not enough to rip it out, but just enough to ground himself in the moment. Jason was giving him time, he could feel his friends' eyes watching and waiting. Roy took a long breath, and tried to release some tension from his body. "Fuck it." Roy muttered, "Fuck it all." He stood with enough force to knock his chair to the floor with a crash. He left, storming into his kitchen to dig out the almost full bottle of whiskey stashed away. Typically kept as an alternative to meds when fixing up an injury - better than nothing but not as disorienting.

He started chugging the alcohol, it burned his insides and pooled in his stomach like lava. Then Jason was there in the doorway. Roy blinked and Jason was in his face. The younger man took the bottle and held it out of reach, "Roy, what the fu-"

"I can't do this." he interrupted, making half-hearted attempts to take back the bottle. "I can't - This is way more complicated than I was expecting."

"Roy, what are you talking about?" Jason pressed, trying to grab him by the wrist, while still keeping the whisky out of reach.

"If Bruce is really beating Dick again, We're going to have to kill him. Shit, I'm going to have to kill Batman." Roy rambled.

Jason froze, fighting the green on the edges of his vision. Roy fell away as background noise, his voice echoing, "Beating Dick again." The neck of the whisky bottle shattered in his hand, crashing to the floor in a mess of glass and liquor.

The soft call of "Jason" pulled him back to reality. Roy was watching him with concern. Pit raged licked at his insides, demanding he punch the look off his friends face. "We should wrap that," Roy nodded to Jason's cut hand.

Blood dripped from his fingers, he could feel the cuts, shallow but still bloody. He shook his head, flexing his hand. Jason used the pain to keep himself grounded. "Explain," he demanded, breathing hearsh and ragged.

Roy started to point to the doorway, but Jason shook his head with a growl. Roy turned to the cabinet again, careful this time for the fallen glass. He grabbed another bottle, this time pouring himself a few fingers into a cup.. He kept ut out of range from Jason, hoisting himself on to the counter next to the sink.

"Just remember, don't shoot the messenger." Roy started, waiting long enough for Jason to nod in agreement. "There was always a fine line, you know? Between training and abuse. Ollie wasn't the best parent, we clashed a lot when I was a kid, still do sometimes. But he was never physical. Garth and Donna were from different worlds, they grew up training to be soldiers. But they knew there was a line between in training and out of it. Wally..." Roy trailed off, taking another drink. "It's not my story to tell, but If it were up to us, his father would be dead."

Jason flinched, understanding what his friend wasn't saying.

Roy continued, "There was never a way to figure out the line with Dick though. He was cagey about injuries regardless of the source. You could watch him take a bullet to the shoulder and he would still try to pretend it didn't happen."

Jason snorted, because yeah, he's expressed that one. The green had faded slightly, just enough for him to grab the bottle of Whiskey from Roy and take a swiggs. He held off Roy's grabbing hands, hoisting himself onto the adjacent counter. He waved a hand for Roy to continue.

"It was like six weeks after you died. We - the Titans - had just gotten back from an offworld mission." Roy was studying him carefully, swaying slightly from the alcohol in his system. "We were gone for like three months."

Jason felt the air leave his lungs, and he couldn't breath.

Roy scrubbed his face, eyes locked on the glass covered floor, but gaze was far away. "We had barely landed, like an hour I think, when Dick got the message. He didn't explain anything to us at the time, just took off in the Zeta. He's never explicitly talked about what happened, at least not that I know of. He had gone to the manor, went to see Bruce. Two hours later, he came back, his face swollen to hell and two ribs broken. He just kept muttering 'Jason dead' over and over."

Jason's world was blurring. The bottle was abandoned on the counter, he could hear his heart pounding in his ears, just under Roy's steady voice.

Roy kept talking, lost in his own mind and memories. "He was probably in shock, but admitted it was Bruce, when Donna asked. We were ready to murder Bruce then and there, but Garth was the voice of reason. Dick needed us. We stayed, and by the time Dick was emotionally stable enough to be alone, he made us promise to leave it. But if he ever did something like this again, Bruce would be a dead man."

Jason's hands were shaking, vision a blurry, foggy green. He couldn't breath, lungs tight in his chest.

Roy finally shook himself out of the memory, glancing up at the other man. He startled, realizing Jason was curled in a tight ball, gasping for wheezy breath. The red head jumped from the counter, ignoring the stinging of glass under his feet. He knew Jason was having a panic attack, but didn't know how to help. He helped Dick and Wally with them when they were younger, but they had very different methods. Wally couldn't be touched. Dick wanted to feel sheltered, and was happy to be tucked under your arm. Roy went the Wally route, dragging Jason by the arm off the counter and out of the kitchen. They made it far enough to be away from the glass. He dragged them both down, forcing Jason to sit on the couch and shoving his head between his knees. Roy backed off, pausing once to make sure no glass was stuck in the other's feet, glad to find no glass or cutts. Roy muttered about grabbing some water, heading back to the kitchen, giving Jason a moment to pull himself together.

Jason was still reeling, but he could breathe a little easier. Nothing made sense. A small part of Jason always blamed Dick for not saving him from the Joker. He was under the impression that Dick chose to not save him, to not come to Gotham. But Dick was off-world. Dick was apparently gone long before Jason was even taken.

Dick didn't come to his funeral. Jason saw the footage, because Bruce had it on file and Jason couldn't not watch it. Dick didn't make an appearance and Jason has thrown it in Dick's face more than once. It wasn't that Dick didn't show, it was that he couldn't. With a sinking feeling he realized Bruce witnessed Jason's rant, and said nothing.

Jason can imagine Dick finding out, returning to the cave to talk to Bruce. He can imagine them breaking out in a typical fight, one he can vaguely remember from his childhood. Bruce, with his limited range of emotions, lashing out. Dick, tired from space travel and in shock, was no match for the full rage of a grieving Batman.

Jason didn't know how long he waited, mind racing and life reorganizing for a second time in as many days. Roy dropped down at this side, holding out a bottle of water. He let Roy take his injured hand, poking scabbed over cuts.

"I cleaned up the kitchen," Roy muttered, using some rubbing alcohol to clean the cuts, ignoring Jason's soft hiss of pain. They sat in silence, until Roy was done and flopped back onto the couch again. "So now what?" he asked.

"I need to find that footage, Roy." Jason whispered. "I need to know."

Roy sighed, but nodded. "But how?"

Jason's gaze slid to the wall behind the TV. "Start with alternative sources: Bat-mobile and any suit cams. We can recon the cave."

"When?"

"Tomorrow, during the day. Everyone should be out, we just have to work around Alfred. Say we're following up on a case." Jason suggested.

Roy hummed in agreement. Silence fell across the room. "Wanna binge watch something on Netflix and eat our weight in pizza for the rest of the day?"

"Fuck yes."

A/N Please review, it gives me motive to continue! I'm thinking of removing the crossover listing for the story, as I'm wondering away from the Titan focus I was originally planning.