Title: In Which Jason Is A Huge Dick

Author: Foxy

Rating: PG-15

Character(s): Roy Harper, Jason Todd, mentions of Koriand'r

Warning(s): Language, physical violence, reference to past drug abuse

A/N: Characters belong to DC Comics

"Where is it?"

The mere sound of his voice sets Roy on edge, teeth gritted and body tensing for the fight he knows is about to occur. He turns, his bow already half raised and one arrow loosely knocked on the string. Jason's approaching on on near silent feet, boots only barely crunching the gravel on the rooftop – Roy still can't figure out how he manages it.

"Where's what?" Roy hisses. Below a car alarm begins to blare, the obnoxious noise cutting above the typical bustle of city sound.

Jason stops some yards away, a perfectly calculated distance that will give him enough time to dodge Roy's arrow. "You know exactly what I'm talking about Harper," he all but spits. "I saw you take out the dealer, where's the fucking drugs?"

The anger burns ice cold in Roy's veins, flooding his body with steely rage. He grips his bow tight, knuckles turned white with the force, and fights with himself from shooting an arrow off and right through the center of the bastard's forehead. "Dumped in the sewers."

Roy sees red when Jason scoffs, eyes rolling beneath his red domino; his hood is no where to be found. "Let's try again," Jason says, speaking in a condescendingly slow manner as if conversing with a child. If Roy grits his teeth any harder he's going to jar them loose. "Where did you put the fucking heroin, you god damn junkie?"

His bow clatters to the ground before Roy even realizes he's let them go, the arrow along with it, and he's charging at Jason. The other man doesn't have the time to get out of the way – frozen with shock – before Roy slams in to him, knocking him to the ground. "I'M NOT A FUCKING JUNKIE!"

Jason's always been better at hand-to-hand; It was his only real form of attacking when he sported the cape and underoos, unlike Roy who relied first on his bow before close combat. But Jason's grown too used to using his guns, and Roy's arms are stronger and it's not difficult for him to pin Jason to the roof, ankles hooked over Jason's calves to keep them down while he sets his forearm against Jason's neck.

Jason grunts and bucks under Roy, twisting his body and thrashing hard enough that Roy's nearly unseated. But Roy lowers his center of gravity, keeps the bastard down. "Say it you asshole!" he demands. "Say I'm not a junkie or I swear I will drive an arrow straight through your eye!"

He's not a junkie. He's not. That's all in the past, a dark past that Roy is putting behind him. How dare Jason think to bring it up, to constantly accuse him of injecting the poison willingly in to his body again? Just because the resurrected fucker can't let go of what's torn him apart doesn't mean he can bring others down in to his shit hole too. He refuses to let Jason do that to him.

"What's the matter Harper?" Jason says, his voice raspy and disjointed because of Roy's arm on his windpipe. "All this talk making you crave that shit again? Heh, once a junkie always a junkie."

Maybe he yells, Roy doesn't know. His world is red and he's hauling Jason to his feet, fist pulled back and driving in to the smug grin that's turned up his Jason's mouth. His hand isn't angled right and a shock of pain travels up Roy's arm but he doesn't care, does it again, knuckles colliding with Jason's cheekbone. Jason makes a noise, something like an annoyed grunt

He should have been paying attention, should have been watching out for Jason who's a sneaky bastard and willing to take every opportunity to get a hit in. He doesn't see the fist flying towards him, just feels it drill in to his sternum, knocking the air from his lungs. He heaves for air, doubling over because Jason put a shit ton of force behind the blow. His hands lose their grip on Jason and the other man is free to hold his head in place and brutally bring his knee up and in to Roy's nose. He hears the crack, feels the rush of blood flow out his nostrils, and then feels the pain.

The taste of copper trickles in to his mouth, sickly sweet and heavy. The flare of pain is enough to bring him back to his senses and he straightens in time to block Jason's next punch, grabbing his arm and throwing him forward. Jason hardly stumbles, catching himself with that almost feline grave all of the Robins seem to have. He's nearer to the edge now, left foot nearly stepping on Roy's bow. He glares at Roy with a split lip that's leaking blood and a reddened cheek – Roy knows a brilliant bruise will be there by tomorrow morning.

Rage thuds heavy through Roy's body still, killing the part of his brain that tells them they need to stop. It's a pointless fight; Roy is fueled only by his anger, both at himself and at Jason for his taunts, and Jason is only in this for the thrill, for the mocking. It's just who Jason is. It's like two feral dogs fighting for dominance but they're equally starved, equally desperate. Neither can win.

Jason swipes the back of his hand over his lip, smearing the blood away and grins at Roy, beckoning him forward. "That the best you got, junkie?" he taunts, bared teeth stained with blood.

Roy doesn't think; he forgets about the loose rock underfoot that makes for easy slipping, he forgets that Jason is only three feet away from the edge of the roof. He forgets about everything but pounding the asshole's face in and making him eat every taunt he's ever thrown at Roy. Roy runs at him again, powerful arm pulled back and fingers curled in to a ball. As Roy throws his arm forward Jason tries to lean his body out of the way but he's too late. Instead of his nose being cracked like Roy hoped for his fist caught Jason in the eye, just above his already abused cheek.

The hit brings a smile of satisfaction to Roy's face, smug that he managed to catch the always elusive man for once.

A smile that vanishes in nearly an instant as Jason stumbles back, face tight with pain and he reaches for Roy's shirt. He falls back, grace all but abandoned as he goes tumbling over the side of the roof, the grip he has on Roy's shirt making certain that Roy goes with him.

The fall is short, the building they'd been on only a short three stories. But the seconds feel infinitely longer, Jason's hand still tight in his shirt as sea green eyes stare with miles of loathing that could match the looks shot at the Joker. Then their trip downwards is over, both of them landing on their sides on the lid of a dumpster. The plastic lid gives a little, cushioning their fall if only slightly.

Small distance or not Roy's body tells him in the forming of screaming pain that he just fell off the roof of a building and landed on a dumpster. Every bone in his body hurts, his joints are on fire and his head pounds like a sledgehammer. He groans softly and pushes himself upright, seeing Jason do the same but quicker.

The other man shakes off the pain almost like it's nothing, sliding himself down off the dumpster like a child on a slide. The only give that he's in pain is the stiffness when he straightens his clothing. "You fucking come near me again, Harper," Jason says, his voice pitched low and animalistic, "I will put a bullet through your fucking brain." Jason doesn't turn back, doesn't spare a moments hesitation before he storms off, hand delving in to his jacket to retrieve his gun.

Roy watches him go, feeling the boil of anger fall to a simmer, still hot in his blood but his mind clear. He hurts all over. Nothing is broken but he's going to ache for days and he imagines his entire right side is going to be a mass of black and blue by morning.

Gingerly he climbs down from the dumpster and it's only when he's on his feet again – albeit leaning rather heavily on the side of the dumpster that smells – that he realizes that his quiver's gone, and his bow is still on the roof. His eyes stray to a rusted out fire escape that looks like it can barely hold the weight of a child and nearly groans pitifully. He knows he has to climb all the way to the roof, and that it's going to hurt like a bitch and take much longer than the fall. He has to retrieve his bow and his quiver that was lost sometime during the fight.

Limping to the mangled but still serviceable ladder, Roy reminds himself that they aren't a team; he, Jason, and Kory they just came together. They aren't a team, and they certainly aren't friends. As he climbs the fire escape, metal groaning beneath his weight and body protesting as painfully as possible, he tells himself again and again that he won't miss Jason's sharp and bone dry wit, or Kory's naivety and emotional strength.

He won't miss them at all, because they're nothing but a band of outlaws that accidentally found their way to each other.