Title: Detox

Author: Simon

Characters: Roy/Dick

Rating: PG-13

Summary: Just what it says in the title

Warnings: language

Disclaimers: These guys aren't mine, they don't belong to me, worst luck, so don't bother me.

Archive: Fine, but if you want it, please ask first.

Feedback: Hell, yes.

Please note: Yes, I know this isn't canon. It's fanon. In the actual comics, Roy was taken through detox by Dinah and (I believe) Hal Jordon. As always, medical advice is courtesy of Gabe. Okay, that all said, let's get on with it.

Detox

It wasn't anything anyone noticed at first, or even at second, when you came down to it. And it wasn't that they didn't care. It was just that they were all busy in their own lives; they weren't always around since they all lived here and there and—maybe this was the main reason, they were so young when it happened.

In fact the signs were there if they'd looked. God knows it wasn't like any of them were so innocent about this sort of thing. They simply never put the hints and symptoms together, never added up two and two to make four.

In fact, they did care; that's important. They cared very much and even if they had noticed, it was so out of the realm of possibilities that they dismissed the things which they did see.

None of this is an excuse, of course, it's just the truth.

Finally someone did figure it out, though, and that's the story.

Dick Grayson was sitting cross-legged on his bed in Titans Tower. His new laptop was opened, balanced on his knees and he was almost half way through that frigging English essay he was supposed to turn in yesterday. Bruce would kill him if the reduced late grade pulled his GPA down to a mere 3.9 and he knew it. It would mean no Robin, no flying, no Titans, no nothing that even resembled fun. He had to get this thing done and it had to be good.

Dammit.

And there was that banging coming through the walls again. "Roy—shut up."

It continued; he banged on the wall with his fist. "Roy, knock it off."

No change and the banging got louder for a few minutes and then, thank God, stopped—what the hell was that, anyway? Annoyed, he got up and walked next door, knocking on the door as a courtesy but knowing the music was too loud for him to be heard. Pushing the door opened, he looked in.

There was a stench of too much incense, dirty clothes, old food and Christ knew what all. The room was almost in darkness except for a sliver of light coming from the bathroom door; it was barely ajar. Roy was on the bed, nude, seemingly asleep or passed out.

Jesus.

Dick looked around for the empty bottles but didn't see any in the gloom.

Fine. Good. Screw it. Let him sleep it off. At least he was finally quiet.

Dick went back to his own room to finish his homework.

A few weeks later the Titan meeting was over, the members mostly gone with the exception of Robin and Aqualad who was down at the dock readying his small boat for his return to Poseidonis. Robin was checking in with GCPD to see if there was anything new on that bank robbery when Speedy—who'd missed the meeting without explanation, wandered in and leaned his hip against the couch.

Robin didn't bother to look up. "Good of you to join us and where the fuck were you?"

"Nice to see you, too, Boy Wonder."

"Where were you?"

"I had to see a man about a car—what the hell do you care? I'm here now; what did I miss?"

"Check the minutes." Rob gave him a hard look, cut the connection to Gordon and stood up. "You look like shit; I hope she was worth it."

"More than you know, junior."

Attitude much? "You miss another meeting without a decent reason I'm going to have to…"

"You're gonna hafta do what, Batboy? Ground me? Tell my parents? Call the principal?" Roy pushed past Robin; "I'm shakin' now." The door closed behind him.

Robin shook his head—what the hell was the matter with him lately?

Another two months went by without any incidents worth mentioning, though Roy was busy most of the time and seemed caught up in a case or something. He was probably just working with Ollie or Dinah and things would resolve themselves son enough. That was the usual pattern, anyway.

But then a month later Roy started an argument with Garth which ended up with Roy being held underwater until he passed out and was way too close to drowning for it to be ignored. Garth held him under? Garth? Garth who was too shy to deal with the press? Garth who preferred to spend every meeting off to the side and almost never ventured an opinion? Garth who knew his tremendous strength could kill and so almost never used it? Garth, the peacemaker in the group, was pushed far enough to not only lose his temper but come close to killing one of his few friends?

No one thought Roy was blameless. No one believed that Garth just snapped or was having a bad day.

What the hell had Roy done this time?

Garth just shook his head and apologized. Roy just shrugged and muttered something unintelligible about "Stupid Gillhead…" and retreated to his room.

"Garth, c'mon, what happened? This isn't like you."

Garth gestured with his shoulder, an almost shrug which carried a denial of anything happening and coupled with a mumbled "Nothing…"

"Garth, I need to know. This isn't like either of you. Did he say something?"

Garth hesitated, shaking his head, clearly uncomfortable and embarrassed. "He said…" He stopped, blushing.

"What did he say?"

"He asked me if…" He cleared his throat and started again. "He made some comments about Tula and me, about our…physical relationship. I took offense."

Those must have been some cracks to get Garth to flip out. Cripes. "I'll talk to him."

"No, don't. Please. Besides…" He trailed off again.

"Besides, what? Talk to me."

Garth just shook his head, refusing to really answer. "I overreacted, the problem isn't between me and Roy—it's more than that but I can't…it's not my place to discuss this. You'll have to ask him." He ended the conversation by diving in the river and disappearing, dammit.

Frustrated, Robin went down to Roy's room, only to find that he'd left for the day and gone God knew where. Shit. Maybe Bruce had a good idea to attach GPS devices to their cars and clothing.

Frustrated, he pushed the door open and walked in, knowing he was invading Roy's privacy and not caring. The room was a mess; bed unmade, clothes everywhere, plates of uneaten and moldy food, towels on the floor, CD's and DVD's scattered around. There was a path from the door to the bed; the rest of the floor was covered with all kinds of crap.

The place smelled rank.

Seeing nothing obvious as first, he started a more methodical search and, within minutes, found what he suspected; 'works'.

Syringes, none too clean, a burned spoon, a small rubber hose to use as a tourniquet around the arm, matches and several small baggies with powder inside one, crack rocks in another and pills in a third. There were also several blank prescription pads from Leslie's clinic—obviously stolen. He sniffed the spoon: heroin, no question.

How long had this been going on? Who else knew or suspected?

And why?

Roy had problems, sure he did—everyone had problems but he also had resources most people didn't. He had Ollie, nominal as that may be. He had the Titans. He had the frigging Justice League to fall back on. He had friends almost everywhere he'd ever been in his life. He still had people he considered family back at the Reservation.

How did he pay for all this dope? Looking around the room, Robin finally noticed the blank spot where the mega stereo used to be, the empty shelf which used to hold the big screen TV and the lack of Roy's computer. And, come to think of it, he'd said his car was in the shop a few weeks ago—did he sell that, too?

Jesus.

Sitting on the bed stand, along with a pile of mostly unopened mail, was Roy's report card, dated last month. He had incompletes in every class he wasn't actually failing.

Did Ollie know? Christ, they shared an apartment, they'd known each other for ten years or more—was Ollie really this oblivious or was he using, too?

And that brought him to the sixty-four dollar question: what was he going to do about it?

Roy needed help, major help. He also knew Roy would never accept help from most of the people qualified to give it to him. Ollie either didn't know or wasn't involved enough in Roy's life to deal with it, the JLA would probably just send him to some rehab place which Roy would walk out of before dinner. The Titans clearly weren't prepared to cope with this. Leslie wasn't a specialist and would send him to wherever she sent addicts and Roy wouldn't accept that—ever. His friend out west? Yeah, right—the home of peyote and magic mushrooms and some of the best pot farms in the country? No go.

And if Roy didn't get help? He'd die. Easy question, easier answer.

Did he want help?

Who knew? And if he didn't, nothing and no one would work. Period. Simple.

Two hours later Dick had a trace on Roy, using everything at his disposal to find the boy and having no success. The obvious places produced nothing; the docks, the pushers in the park, Ollie's apartment, the bathroom in the bus station. He wasn't in any of them. Next he called Oracle; she drew a blank as well but promised to let him know if she heard anything; he didn't tell her why he was looking for Speedy.

Another hour and he carefully asked the other Titans if they had any idea if Roy was seeing anyone new. No one had any idea and Dinah was visiting her sister in New York. Dick declined to call Diana's place; she's tear a strip off him for bothering her and if she found out why he was calling, she's shred him.

Neither did he call Bruce, knowing how much he hated Roy and considered him a bad influence, a loser, a pain in the ass and a general waste of space. Bruce's probable reaction would be to tell Dick to cut his loses, kick the kid out of the Titans and forget he was ever born.

Not gonna happen.

He thought of one more place to check. Getting on his bike, he went over to the NYPD Evidence Locker storage warehouse down near the Village, showed his ID and was given access to the sign in book. There: this afternoon, a week ago and a week before that, making regular visits was Speedy, Teen Titan ID number 5.

Speedy was stealing the damn evidence from drug busts.

"Could I see the film from the security cameras? These dates." Robin gave the guard a list, the tapes were pulled and he watched them in the privacy of a back office.

Roy was caught red-handed. He was busted and he was seriously screwed when this got out, as it would sooner or later. So far Roy was simply flat out lucky the evidence guard was more into on-line poker than doing his job.

Later that night Robin went back to the Tower. He knew Roy had been crashing there—probably to avoid Ollie—and he wanted to see what was going on, talk to him and God knew what all. If the Gods were really smiling, maybe Roy would agree that he had a problem and would sign himself into rehab willingly.

Stranger things have happened, right?

The place was quiet when he got here about ten o'clock. No one seemed to be around, most of the lights were off and no music or TV's were going that he could hear; though Speedy was logged in on the main monitor board. He stopped in front of Roy's closed door. There was a sliver of light coming underneath but no sounds.

"Roy?" Nothing.

"Hey, Roy, you in there?" Nothing.

"C'mon, open up." Nothing.

Fine. Dick knew he was in there, one well-aimed kick broke the door open. There was a rank stink which permeated the entire suite.

No one in the front room.

No one in the bed room.

The bathroom door was ajar with light spilling out. Jesus.

Roy was sitting on the closed toilet, needle in his arm and passed out against the wall. Dick slapped his face, "Roy, Roy, c'mon—wake up." Nothing.

He checked the pulse and, with some surprise, found one. Speedy wasn't dead, not yet. Taking a tiny taste of the baggie's residue onto the tip of his finger and touching it to his tongue, Dick was surprised Roy was still alive—it was almost pure and a death sentence for anyone used to his stuff being cut with the usual crap and fillers.

Carefully taking the needle from his arm, Dick managed to maneuver the limp body into a position where he could get a grip and carry Roy over to the unmade and dirty bed, dried drops and smears of blood on the sheets and pillowcases added to the squalor. Unable and unwilling to stand it longer, Dick opened what windows he could, grateful for the fresh air replacing the fetid stench.

Bruce would be pissed, tell him not to get involved with a 'damn junkie' and Ollie—Ollie wouldn't believe it and then throw Roy out of his life. The rest of the Titans? They'd care--of course they'd care but they wouldn't know what to do, either and the rest of the JLA? They had things to do; they were probably off saving the universe again. Dr. Leslie? She'd know what to do, of course she'd know what to do and she'd be great at it but she'd also report Roy to either the cops or insist that he get real, honest to God professional help, the kind you get in Hazleton or someplace like that. Roy would put up with that for about five minutes and then walk out and probably die of a damn OD.

So, unwilling to leave Roy alone and not knowing who to call who would take care of him beyond calling a detox center or hospital psych ward, he simply waited for Roy to sleep off the heroin.

It took several hours and by the time Roy pried his eyes slightly opened Dick had found all of his various stashes of his various kinds of drugs and flushed them. The works, the needles, spoons, matches, pipes and the rest were thrown out after being smashed beyond use. Amazing how cliché the hiding places were, really—under the mattress, in his shoes in the closet. Some were stashed in the tank of the toilet; more were under a loose tile in the floor, others in a ceiling tile in the main room. Two throw pillows on the couch were stuffed with crap, too. It was all predictable. Dick had gone down to the first aid room and locked up everything Roy might conceivably want to steal down there, as well.

"You with me?" Dick was sitting in an easy chair by the bed, pretending to read a worn paperback copy of Stranger in a Strange Land he'd found on the floor.

Roy grunted.

"I found you passed out in the bathroom, you almost OD'd." Roy almost focused on him. "You have any thoughts about that?"

Nothing. No answer.

"Nothing to say?"

"Thanks?" It was half question, half insult.

"Fuck yourself, Roy. You want to commit suicide, you're gonna have get past me to do it."

"Spare me the Boy Scout crap, Dick. 'S none of your bizness. My life, my choice."

"Bullshit. You want to die, then pick someplace you won't be found—your room in the Tower is a little obvious, asshole."

"'Wasn't tryin' to kill myself—it was stronger than I thought. 'Jus made a lil mistake, won't happen again. 'Where the others?"

"Not here."

"Good." Roy sat up, waking up—or coming to—faster than Dick expected. He swung his legs over the side of the bed, leaning his elbows on his knees and rubbing his face. He looked like hell—or rather, he looked like what he was: a junkie coming down.

"Roy…"

"Dick, jus' shut the fuck, up, okay? You wanna yell at me, tell me I'm a loser asshole, go ahead but I get that from Ollie everyday and I don' wanna hear it from you, too."

There was something in his tone which caught his attention and made Dick ask, "You want to stop, don't you?"

Roy shrugged and managed a small smirk. "'Shit feels good; you have no idea, Dickie-boy, believe me on this one."

"What's it feel like?"

"Better 'n sex. Like the best sex you ever had times like ten, times a hundred. No shit."

He stopped, looking at the dried vomit on the rug by his feet. "Yeah, I wanna get clean."

"I'll help you. If you mean it, I'll help you."

"How?" Roy was almost interested, afraid to be interested.

"We'll go somewhere, you and me. You kick it and I'll do whatever I can, whatever you need to beat this." Dick was thinking as he spoke. "Bruce has a cabin up in the Berkshires, away from everything, miles from any town or anything. It doesn't even have a phone and no one knows about it except us—he never even told the JLA about it. It's like his secret place."

"The fuckin' Bat will be there? Pass."

"No, no one, just you and me. I promise. No one will know except us."

Roy almost looked hopeful. "Yeah?"

"Yeah."

He looked around the wreck of a room, at the stained carpet, the burn marks on the bedstand, the ruined sheets, the piles of filthy clothes and moldy plates of food. "Okay."

TBC