Chapter Text
The first time was an actual accident.
Roy had been working a smuggling case for the past month, a slippery network of small-time gangs knitted together by one Ricky Assman. (Yep. Assman was his real, genuine name. Roy had checked.) At first, Roy thought they’d been trafficking guns. Then he’d thought they’d been trafficking drugs, and he’d nearly ducked out of the case at that before realising drugs didn’t glow. Now?
“Juice,” Roy said.
“Not juice juice,” the goon gasped. Roy had him up against a wall, his forearm pressed to the man’s trachea. “Like, magic chemicals mixed with metahuman stuff. Boss calls it juice.”
“Right,” Roy said, and knocked the man out. That explained the glow.
After weeks of dismantling safehouses and individual cells, Roy had managed to flush Assman out. He’d flushed a little too well, though, because the bastard had hopped, skipped and jumped straight over to Gotham. This wasn’t a problem. Jason was in Gotham, and Oliver and Dinah had Lian for the weekend. Even though Jason was ‘busy’ tonight, the two of them were meeting up for breakfast tomorrow. All Roy had to do was catch one criminal.
He rolled his shoulders and stalked forwards. Assman and his goons had been hiding out in the back rooms of an old pizzeria, a place so badly laid out it had been child’s play to sneak in. Fluorescent strips lined the ceiling and shadows flickered down the corridor, tattered posters pasted along the walls. Roy tried the last door: bolted shut.
He didn’t even have to use a trick arrow. A hefty kick was all it took to break the bolts and Assman squealed, scrambling backwards as Roy entered.
“I’ll do it!” Assman yelled, a syringe clenched in his fist. The liquid inside pulsed a neon orange. “Don’t try me. You know I’ll do it!”
“Hey, now.” Roy sheathed his bow and held his hands up. “Let’s talk this out, yeah? No need to do anything drastic.”
For all his investigation, Roy still had no idea what this so-called juice actually did, and he wanted to take Assman in alive. Assman’s eyes were wide and twitchy, his face splotched red with panic, and sweat matted his ratty hair.
“You destroyed my life,” he spat.
“You were doing a pretty good job of that yourself.”
The noise Assman made in response was halfway between a growl and a screech, and the veins in his forehead throbbed. Light glinted off the tip of the syringe’s needle. Best case scenario: the only person Assman hurt was himself. Worst case?
Roy risked a glance behind him. Assman’s goons were still unconscious down the corridor, and when Roy had scoped out the pizzeria earlier he’d made note of a bustling bar around the block. If the floorplan was correct, that bar should be just the other side of this room. Sweat trickled down his spine.
A grin split Assman’s face. “You’re scared.”
“Yeah, man.” Roy tried for a laugh. “You’re threatening to inject yourself with some weird meta serum.”
“It’s not some serum!” Assman protested. “Juice is the pinnacle of xenobiological genetic research. It’s a scientific breakthrough.”
“Dude.” Roy frowned.
Assman faltered. “You don’t believe me.”
Roy kept his voice light as he reached behind his back, towards his bow. “I mean, you’re calling it ‘juice’. That doesn’t scream breakthrough to me.”
Assman’s brow twitched. Roy’s fingers brushed metal.
Assman plunged the syringe into his neck moments before Roy shot him. The taser arrow hit his chest and he cried out in pain, flinging the syringe across the floor as his arms convulsed. Roy scrambled to secure it—mostly full. Only a few drops must have gotten into Assman’s veins.
Safe?
Something cracked. Assman’s whole body doubled over and he roared as his right arm swelled, staggering under the bulbous weight. He stooped forwards. The floor shook.
“Pinnacle of genetic research, my ass,” was all Roy managed before Assman pummelled him through the wall.
Roy whited out for a moment. He blinked back to a cloud of dust and a shooting pain through his shoulder, the whole world lurching. Shit. Where was he? A bare brick ceiling stretched above him, naked light fixtures wrapped in coils of rough rope, and someone screamed. Spanish guitar through the speakers. Candles on the tables. Modern art on the walls. Ah—a hipster bar. And like all good hipsters, the bar’s patrons had pulled out their phone cameras instead of running.
Drywall crunched as Assman clambered through the hole, drool frothing at his mouth. His eyes locked onto Roy’s.
Assman lunged. No time to think. Roy scrambled back across the floor, notched the strongest tranquiliser arrow he had, and fired.
Bullseye.
Assman fell flat on his face, his bloated muscles already shrinking, and Roy stumbled to his feet. Blood dripped down his left arm. Black spots danced in his vision.
“Arsenal?” a familiar voice said.
Jason stared at Roy from the edge of the crowd, his eyes wide. Thick muscles stretched under tight jeans and a red button-down, the top two buttons artfully undone, and plaster dust was settling on carefully styled hair. Odd. Jason didn’t usually style his hair. Was this what he’d meant by ‘busy’?
“Jaybird.” Roy hit him with finger guns. “You look fancy.”
Jason frowned. “He threw you through a wall.”
Roy waved a hand. “It was drywall.”
“You’re bleeding.”
“Only a little bit.”
And he probably had a concussion, but he’d had plenty of those before. Jason was clearly occupied; he didn’t need to worry.
“Arsenal—” Jason said.
“Do you two know each other?” A man hovered by Jason’s side, tan and with fantastically curly hair. He glanced between the two of them in confusion, and—right. Yep. Jason was in his civvies.
“Uh…” Roy started.
“Arsenal saved me once in Star City,” Jason filled in, rubbing the back of his neck. A touch of red brushed his cheeks.
No way.
The man nodded. “That’s cool.”
Roy squinted. “Are you embarrassed?”
“Fuck off.” Jason scowled. “The police will be here any minute.”
“You’re totally embarrassed.” Roy grinned and stepped forward.
It’s cute, he tried to say. Instead, he blacked out.
#
Roy groaned as he woke up. His head throbbed and his throat scratched against itself, more plaster dust than saliva by this point, and his left arm hurt like a bitch. He covered his eyes. Lian was going to be so upset.
A low chuckle. “You’ll be fine. It looks worse than it is.”
That was Jason, which meant the edgy lighting and slight draught made this the Batcave. Goddammit. Roy had not planned on ending up here tonight.
“Lay it on me,” he said with a sigh.
“A minor concussion, two bruised ribs, and a dislocated shoulder,” Jason said.
“From fucking drywall?”
Jason helped Roy up with a smirk. “It happens to the best of us.”
“Assman was arrested, in case you were wondering,” said a female voice.
Roy craned his neck. Barbara Gordon sat at the Batcomputer, red hair tumbling over her shoulders, and her glasses glinted in the light. The text on the screens was moving too fast for Roy to follow.
“Babs?” Roy said.
“Alfie is on holiday,” she explained. “It was Jason who fixed you up.”
Roy’s shoulders slumped. He just had to be unconscious for Jason’s hands on his skin, didn’t he? As if this day couldn’t get any worse. Roy was well aware he was down bad, and he hoped to whatever god was listening that he hadn’t given anything away while unconscious. Last time he’d had a concussion, he’d accidentally told Dick he’d slept with his ex-girlfriend.
“Thanks, man.” Roy exhaled shakily. “Sorry for ruining your night, yours and your friend’s.”
Jason shifted at that, a slight tension in his shoulders, and he cleared his throat. Was it Roy’s imagination or was the blush back?
“Let me get you some water.”
Jason disappeared deeper into the cave, a retreat so unlike him that even Barbara glanced over her shoulder with a frown. “Friend?”
Roy swung his legs round the side of the cot. “Yeah, there was this guy—”
“Oh, you mean his date?”
Roy gaped.
“His what now?”
“His date,” Barabara repeated.
Shit.