#clone roy

On a regular, stress filled Wednesday, Roy Harper found out he was a clone.

A government one, too. A backup plan for heroes they could use should they need to eliminate the current ones. But Clone Roy had been too much like Real Roy, and there had been no containing him for long. Then the Red Hood had come along and sprung him from that desert compound, his supposed birthplace, and they’d gone out into the world.

The real Roy had been under cover all along. Trying to track the clones. The only reason Clone Roy had really gotten by was that it worked to keep his cover. There was no way Red Arrow was taking down secret laboratories if he was blowing up kingpins with the Red Hood a continent away.

As far as shocking things went, he didn’t feel all that surprised. He wasn’t even the only clone out there, he could hardly be cut up about it.

Except he was. He was so cut up about it. Jason kept no liquor at home, and he’d given up smoking for three months at present. There was nothing in their apartment but comfort food and protein shakes. He drank through two before he tore through the cabinets. He chomped on whatever he got his hands on, just trying to chase the gnawing inside of himself he couldn’t place.

When he couldn’t stop the ringing in his ears, he grabbed his bow and left. Selfishly he wondered why, if Roy Harper had to give anything away, why did it have to be this goddamn need to chase the hot burn of liquid filth sliding into him. And when he’d smashed into a group of traffickers, barely holding back, he felt his stomach sink in shame. The real Roy had been through too much for some knock-off brand red-head to be ragging on him like that. He’d clawed himself up out of his fallen cradle and forged himself strong. Clone Roy didn’t feel like that. He felt like a smear that you couldn’t rub out. He let one of the assholes get one lucky hit in, just to feel his teeth grind, before he strung them up by their toes.

If he had energy to bitch, he had energy to fight. Jason wouldn’t be home for another twelve hours. It was plenty of time to sweep through the current city they were temporarily staying in. 

When Jason got home, Not-Roy sent him a salute. His nose felt crooked. He was sure he was bleeding over the chairs he’d made into a temporary bed at the table. 

“Welcome home, Jayby,” Not-Roy said, He coughed, maybe spitting a bit of blood. “Fuck.”

Jason squinted. Whatever comment he had about Roy trailing blood and mess along the floor had dried up. “Roy, what the hell? Are you good, man?”

“Yeah, babe, just fine. Busted a few gangs, strung up a rapist, found out I’m a clone. You know.”

Jason put his things down in time to barely miss sitting properly on the sofa.

“You what.”

-

“I don’t get why you’re overreacting, you know. You never stop jawing about how you crawled out of your grave. So, some of us are clones. Some of us don’t have belly buttons. Shit, do I - hey, take a look for me. Suddenly I can’t remember. Do I have one?”

Jason lifted Roy’s shirt up, taking the cue to pause tending to the cuts on his hands to look after the wound in his side. Jason hadn’t actually said anything, but the tense silence was getting to Roy.

(Not-Roy. God what was he supposed to call himself). 

He was crashing, he could tell. His heart still beat stubbornly fast in his chest despite how his body begged to dissolve into the cushions.

“It’s there,” Jason muttered. He hadn’t even sounded exasperated. “Shit, what tore into you?”

“Jackass got a good swing at me with a machete. Serrated. Hurt like a bitch.” Not-Roy hissed as Jason disinfected it. “Easy!”

Jason scowled. “You didn’t wear your kevlar.”

“Forgot to.”

“Roy,” Jason hissed.

“Not Roy,” Not-Roy replied back. “I’m not Roy.”

“Red,” Jason settled on instead. “You’re supposed to call me or Jones if you’re feeling like this. We would have come, one way or another.”

When Roy didn’t make another retort, Jason made a noise in the back of his throat. He worked quietly to clean and dress Roy’s wounds. Every so often his eyes flickered up to Roy’s. They’d linger like he expected Roy to turn into smoke and disappear. Roy dug his fingers into his palm. 

He was real, he told himself. 

He was real, he was real. He was sitting on the sofa with his partner leaning over him. If he could get his mouth to work, he could make a jab about Jason fixing him up just to get his shirt off. He could knock their knees together and make the furrow in Jason’s brow go away. He could do any number of things that weren't the ringing coming back into his ears, and making him want to bare his neck to the coldness creeping up from his toes.

Jason reached over and squeezed his fingers. “Stay awake, Red. I need you to keep me company.”

Roy grinned. His heartbeat eased a bit at that. “Need me, huh?”

Jason scoffed, and they both ignored how the tips of his ears went red. He bent his head as he worked on stitching Roy’s side.

“Yeah. RedArse still needs the Arse end to function.”

Roy groaned around an ill-timed laugh. When he was smarting as badly, he let himself ramble. Useless, stupid things that either drew a huff or a smile out of his partner. He just barely kept his eyes open before Jason was hauling him up towards the bedroom. 

Jason settled Roy down on the bed, turning him on his good side. He undressed quickly and slid in behind Roy. Usually Jason liked Roy to be the big spoon. Something about sleeping with his back unguarded that made him anxious. Jason nestled his hand over Not-Roy’s chest, where his heart thumped sleepily, in fitful exhaustion.