same flower eyes, two graveside shots of whiskey

Posted originally on the Archive of Our Own at http://archiveofourown.org/works/44209939.

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Archive Warning: Major Character Death, No Archive Warnings Apply
Category: M/M
Fandom: Batman - All Media Types, Batman (Comics), Batman: Under the Red
Hood (2010), Teen Titans - All Media Types
Relationship: Roy Harper/Jason Todd, Dick Grayson/Wally West (minor)
Character: Roy Harper, Jason Todd, Dick Grayson, Bruce Wayne, Lian Harper,
Alfred Pennyworth
Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Canonical
Character Death, Temporary Character Death, the death is Jason's,
Hurt, Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Grief/Mourning, vague
timeline, cherry-picked canon, Implied/Referenced Drug Addiction,
Recovery, Angst with a Happy Ending, POV Roy Harper, Parent Roy
Harper, Good Friend Roy Harper, Roy Harper Needs a Hug, Jason
Todd Needs A Hug
Language: English
Stats: Published: 2023-01-12 Completed: 2023-01-31 Chapters: 2/2 Words:
10484

same flower eyes, two graveside shots of whiskey

by Writing_Desk_Raven

Summary

Roy Harper was eighteen when he met his soulmate for the first time, when he felt the
sparking warmth of colors blooming across his chest.

Roy Harper was eighteen, and his soulmate was thirteen. He promised he'd be there in
several years when the time came, that he'd wait for them both to be ready.

He didn't have to wait very long before it didn't matter anymore.

Roy Harper was twenty when his soulmate died, and the colors etched into his skin would
never move again.

Notes

Grief is not a linear thing, and it can hit you even when everything is great. I lost the last of
my childhood pets today, after thirteen and a half years of having her, and it’s brought up a
lot of older feelings I thought long dealt with after the losses of my other childhood pets,
three, four, and thirteen years ago.

This fic is based off of two songs. The first, Rotten by Missouri Surf Club, which always
makes me think of Roy and Jason. The lyrics are a bit dark, but the underlying beat of the
song gives Of Monsters and Men vibes, a band that's long held a special, positive, place for
me from association with friends I grew up with. The second, Everything’s An Illusion by
Mayday Parade, which I got the idea to write this from. I had had a normal day at work
yesterday, and was singing along to a random shuffle of music I used to listen to in high
school on my drive home, when Everything’s An Illusion came on and I got about three
words in before I suddenly entirely lost my voice and started crying.
 Chapter 1

Roy was eighteen when he met his soulmate for the first time. When the sparking warmth of colors
blooming across his chest startled him from his focus, and on autopilot, he swept his opponent's
legs out from under them, pinning the boy to the mats. They were both breathing heavily as they
stared at each other, eyes wide.

Earlier that day, Dick had introduced them to their new part-time teammate, the new Robin. The
boy had been shy and withdrawn at first, but had opened up throughout the day as his older brother
did his best to include him in their activities. A couple of them had been playing video games in
the living room of the Tower when the Gotham-based vigilantes had arrived, and as more of the
Titans trickled out to the main areas, they'd been introduced to the kid.

Sometime in the afternoon, someone's stomach had started rumbling, and they'd all migrated to the
kitchen, where they'd chatted and laughed as they pushed and jostled at each other as everyone
made themselves food. An hour of tv later, everyone had ended up in the gym.

Robin had delighted in sparring with the others, while Dick watched over them all with a smile.
Roy had strayed off to the side of the gym, with the archery targets, not as much one for hand to
hand combat, as a long distance support member of the team. It'd been awhile since he'd been able
to just shoot for the hell of it, without a task or a mission to complete, anyway.

The rest of the team had eventually gone off to do their own things after a bit, when they started to
notice the boy beginning to get overwhelmed with all of the new people and attention, as much as
he'd been enjoying sparring with them and watching them spar with each other. Roy figured he was
out of the way and unobtrusive enough to stay in the gym, so kept shooting while the brothers did
some stretches and Dick taught the boy a few new acrobatic tricks, before moving on to sparring
with each other.

Then Dick had gotten a call, and asked Robin if he'd be okay hanging out at the Tower for a couple
hours while he went back to Bludhaven to take care of a few things. He'd told him he'd be fine on
his own, and had moved closer to Roy to sit on some nearby crates and watch him shoot. He'd
asked a few questions about his bow, his arrows, the targets, and Roy had been happy to answer,
telling him about the technical aspects of archery and how to handle a bow. Then he'd asked why
Roy hadn't joined in the team's sparring earlier, and was aghast at the older teen's nonchalant
response about hand to hand combat not being where his strengths lie and that he preferred the
long range of a bow.

Robin had absolutely insisted they spar, telling him he needed to practice, especially because it
wasn't his strength, because what if something happened and he was without his bow and quiver?
"You need to be able to protect yourself in any situation," Robin had told him sagely, and Roy had
acquiesced to the worried bird, reminded of his friend when he was worried about them, and
moved over to the mats with him.

While Roy had more years of experience as a hero and a size advantage on Robin, the boy had
been trained by the Batman and had more speed. They were cautious and slow as they felt each
other out, but even once the fight got going, they both managed to hold their own fairly well
against each other. Roy won a couple more matches than Robin, but the young teen had been
happy to play dirty to eke out his own wins, and was sure to point out every one of his mistakes
and give him tips for strengthening certain moves, shoring up the defenses in others, as well as
advice on how to counter his own attacks.
At some point while they took a brief break for water, Roy had taken off his shirt to mop at the
sweat on his forehead, and Robin had chosen to take off his gloves and shoes, hands likely growing
sweaty, carefully lining up the pieces of his uniform under a bench to the side of the gym. They
moved back to the mats, and got ready for another match. They were both focusing on defense this
time, it seemed, because more attention was paid to dodging each other's strikes as the match sped
up and they danced out of each other's ways.

And then Robin landed a hit to his chest.

The two of them stared at each other for a long moment. Then, remembering where they were and
what was happening, Roy let go of the younger boy and moved back. Robin was slower to get to
his feet, but his gaze was intense.

"Robin-" Roy started, but cut himself off, at a loss for what to say.

"Jason." The younger teen said. They both remained quiet, staring at each other for what felt like
an eternity but could only have been a few seconds. "You're my soulmate." He moved to take a
step forward, but Roy took a step further back.

The hurt look that crossed the younger boy's face made his heart ache, but there wasn't much he
could do about it. "You're thirteen, Jason." He said, shaking his head and closing his eyes as he
tilted his face up to the ceiling. "God, I can't- I'm an adult, and you're thirteen. We don't have the
same life experiences, maturity, development- I won't take advantage of you."

"It's not taking advantage if I want to be with you." Jason challenged.

Roy looked at him, voice and gaze soft but firm. "It is." He said. "You need to live your life
without me for a few more years. You can make whatever decision you want when that time
comes, but it's not fair to either of us to pursue this now."

"Fine." Jason crossed his arms, but his cheeks were still a little flushed as he huffed. "But I'm not
leaving without a mark from you, first. You don't get to be the only one with one."

A soft smile slid onto Roy's face. He wouldn't begrudge the younger boy that. "Come here, then."
He told him, and Jason stepped forward a little hesitantly, before nodding decisively and tugging
the neckline of his uniform to the side to bare the back of a shoulder.

The reds that bloomed under Roy's fingertips were the same as the ones on his own chest, but
instead of the tan browns he'd gotten, there were shades of orange mixed into the red on Jason's
shoulder.

Roy pulled his shirt back on while Jason fixed his uniform and retrieved his gloves and shoes.
"C'mon, boy wonder the second," he said, nudging the younger boy with a shoulder, "let's go see
what everyone else is up to. Maybe we can convince them to do a pizza night."

Jason's smile was bright as he followed him out of the gym.

Roy only saw Jason a handful of times over the year that followed. He spent less time at the Tower
than before, choosing instead to spend more time in Star City, despite the growing issues between
himself and Oliver. It wasn't that he wanted to avoid Jason, but after talking it out, the younger boy
understood that spending time around each other would make things more difficult and that the
point of waiting was that Roy wanted him to be able to grow and develop as a person without his
influence.
Jason was actually the one to decide to keep their bond a secret, because he had been worried that
Batman might decide to keep him in Gotham full time if he knew, and he had enjoyed meeting
other younger, if older than him, heroes. The two of them had agreed that a casual friendliness in
passing was okay, which was something the younger boy also didn't want to lose, and both thought
Dick might seclude Jason when at the Tower if he knew.

So they only saw each other a couple times over the course of the next year, working on a mission
here, both of them hanging out with the Titans there. Once or twice they trained together in the
gym, and a couple times they sat together in the kitchen and Roy listened to Jason talk about the
things he was passionate about, only sharing broadly about his own interests. The younger boy
cared deeply for the people of Gotham, especially those who dealt with circumstances similar to
his own growing up. He had a soft spot for kids and a passion for literature, as well as an interest in
cooking, something he enjoyed doing with Alfred to relax and bond with the older man. He'd been
explaining the intricacies of Shakespeare when Roy had asked him what his favorite flower was,
startling him out of his passioned explanation, leaving him at a loss for words. Roy had laughed
and asked him a question about Ophelia to get him back onto his train of thought, and the daisies
picked from outside that were left on his pillow in the Tower that night had brought a smile to
Jason's lips and a blush to his face.

Not every time they ran into each other at the Tower was great, though. As Jason started to grow
apart from Bruce's strict ideals and command, he showed up at the Tower more and more, seeking
comfort and distraction from whoever was there.

The eighth time Roy saw Jason after the day they'd met, he was out on the balcony attached to his
room, cigarette smoke curling away from his lips. He wasn't surprised when Jason joined him,
pulling out his own pack of cigarettes and stealing the lighter from his back pocket to light one, as
Jason had told him a little about growing up in Crime Alley.

Roy didn't say anything as Jason stared out at the darkening sky beyond them, letting the younger
boy gather his thoughts. Even so, the silence wasn't awkward, but companionable.

After a couple minutes, Jason finished his cigarette, putting it out on the railing and tossing the
butt into the ashtray Roy kept on the small table on the balcony. His voice was quiet when he
spoke, perching on the edge of the table, gaze focused down on his hands. "B put three muggers in
the hospital last night."

Roy put out his own cigarette, sat in the chair beside the boy, offering silent comfort.

"We didn't stick around to see them get taken away in an ambulance, but I looked them up this
morning. One was in traction." His voice took on a bitter edge. "He put three muggers in the
hospital, but I was too aggressive with the rapist that wasn't actively committing a crime or part of
any current cases."

Roy reached out and took Jason's hands into his, smoothing out the fists he'd clenched them into,
nails digging into his skin. Reds and oranges trailed behind his fingertips as he swept them
soothingly across the backs of Jason's hands. "There was blood on his collar." Jason's voice broke
as he continued. "There was blood on his collar, and he was leaving Cherry's corner, and she'll do
almost anything for the right price, but there are certain things she won't do and her hurt her for it.

"I saw him when we passed by on the roofs, and I saw Cherry in the alley right after that. After I
helped her get sat up and covered and called her an ambulance, I turned around and went after him.
B didn't notice I wasn't with him until I got to the man. He might have needed a trip to the hospital,
but he wouldn't have died. But B didn't care. When we got back to the cave, he benched me. Said I
was too aggressive, too reckless, and I needed to follow orders when he gives them." His hands
were shaking. "I went to check on Cherry this morning. She always helped out the street kids when
she could, gave us spare food and warm things when she could get her hands on them."

"How was she?" Roy asked, voice soft but heavy in the quiet of the night around them.

At that, Jason's entire body began to shake. Tears streamed down his face silently. "She didn't
make it through the night."

Roy pulled the boy from the edge of the table and into his lap as he began to sob, wrapping his
arms gently around him. Jason clutched at his shirt desperately, burying his face in the crook of his
neck as a wail escaped.

After a while, the sobs lessened and stopped, but the shaking didn't fully go away. Roy frowned,
but quickly realized it was fairly chilly out by now. Better to move inside, then. Looking down at
the teen in his arms, Roy carefully rearranged him to keep from waking him from the sleep he'd
succumbed to after running out tears. He got him carefully inside to his room, then set him on the
bed, pulling a blanket over him.

Leaving the light off, Roy went out to the kitchen to get a glass of water. He set it on the nightstand
for Jason when he got back, then went over to his dresser to throw on some pajamas and pull
something out for Jason in case he wanted to change out of his Robin uniform when he woke.

"Roy?" Jason asked, voice slurred with sleep and the remnant of tears.

"Hey." He responded, moving to help the boy sit up and handing him the glass of water. "I grabbed
some comfier stuff if you wanted to change. I'll be over the desk if you need anything."

Jason nodded mutely, pushing the blanket off to start peeling off his gloves and the rest of his
uniform. Roy moved over to his desk and turned the lamp on the lowest setting, organizing the
mess of arrows he'd been working on earlier in the day. He heard Jason lay back down behind him,
the blankets rustling.

"Roy?" Jason asked again. He turned toward the boy. "Can... can you just sit with me for a while?"

"Scooch over for me." Roy responded. Once he was settled, leaning against the headboard, Jason
pulled himself up and curled into his lap. His cheek rested against Roy's chest, and the fingers of
one hand curled into his shirt, while the other rested curled against the older boy's stomach, under
the edge of his shirt where it rode up. Roy wrapped one arm around him, and his other hand ran
through Jaosn's hair gently, fingers running through tangles and curls, brushing hair away from the
back of his neck. Slowly, Jason relaxed once more as they held each other.

A month and half later, Roy had to pretend to be the picture of sympathetic support for his friend
when he got the call about Robin's death.
 Chapter 2
Chapter Notes

I've been busy with classes starting for the semester, but I finished writing and editing
what I had planned for the rest of this story.

The first chapter, while still from Roy's POV, was inspired by two songs that I connect
more to Jason and his and Roy's relationship - Rotten by Missouri Surf Club and
Everything's An Illusion by Mayday Parade. This chapter, however, was also inspired
by/vibed with two songs I connect much more heavily with Roy - both Zero and The
Party Song by Aviators. Also So Handsome Hello by Woodkid mixed in for some less
heavy subject matter in my writing playlist.

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Roy Harper was twenty one when he visited his soulmate’s grave for the first time.

He hadn’t been invited to the funeral. Why would he have been? They barely knew each other,
neither of them full time Titans.

He’d been there for his best friend when he needed it, all of the team had. Dick had been away on a
mission when it happened, out of reach in space, and coming home to what had happened had
strained his relationship with Bruce even further.

There were so many times with the Titans that Roy had wanted to break down, to yell and
commiserate his own loss, but no one knew, and he couldn’t stand the thought of what they might
think of him if they did know. Maybe it was irrational, maybe it was the alcohol he’d begun to
have problems with, but he didn’t want them to know. This secret was his and no one could take it
from him. Not when Jason had already been taken away. And what would they think of him , if they
found out he let this be the last push over the edge, the last thing in a sea of never ending issues
that drove him from smoking and alcohol to hard drugs and addiction?

He’d given it time, before visiting. When everything was too new, Dick went once a week, he
knew, and Alfred even more. Bruce didn’t seem to visit the plot on the manor’s grounds, though
Roy wouldn’t doubt it if it was because of his parents’ graves not far from his son’s. Even still, he
knew the man had security set up around the manor’s grounds. Lucky for him, Dick had taught
him to avoid the perimeter security and move across the grounds undetected years ago, two dumb
teens finding joy in sneaking around even when they didn’t need to.

The lawn around Jason’s grave was perfectly manicured, and the headstone gleamed. At first
glance, Roy thought Jason would have hated it. It wasn’t hard to tell that the boy preferred spaces
that were lived in, cluttered rooms well loved, signs of life and love. But then he got closer, and
took in the engravings on the headstone. On the left, a tree rose, branches and leaves curling across
the top of the stone, and a broken pillar framed the right side of the stone. A swallow dove from
the branches toward the inscription, He hath awakened from the dream of life, under it the name
Jason Peter Todd. Beneath that, a small engraving of a harp. Roy’s hand flew to his stomach, to the
mark left there that would never move across his skin again. No one knew, he told himself. They’d
have definitely mentioned if they did. But… Alfred always knows when I hide food in my room, but
he never tells, he just adds more to the grocery list. He only asks me to clean it out if anything
starts to go bad, but if you don’t want to talk about something or don’t want anyone to know, he
won’t say anything. It’s part of how he shows he cares.

Roy suddenly felt stupid, clutching a handful of half-wilted daisies. They were pretty worse for
wear, what with the car ride they’d endured after he stopped on the side of the highway on the way
here to pick them. Here he was, someone who wasn’t even supposed to know Jason, and he didn’t,
not really, because he wasn’t supposed to yet. Here he was, and there Jason’s grave was, the care
put into the upkeep and the headstone itself evident. Roy had no doubt that Alfred had designed it,
the Percy Bysshe Shelley quote the biggest indicator. Jason had loved poetry and literature, and
had enjoyed the work of both Percy and Mary Shelley. It was something he shared with the aging
butler, and their shared love of literature was a special thing between the two. Roy didn’t belong
there, intruding upon that.

But if Alfred had designed the headstone, and had made the decision to put that harp there… It
couldn’t really be an intrusion if it was aimed at him, could it? Making up his mind, Roy sat down
in the grass beside the headstone, carefully laying the daisies in front of it. “Hey.” He said quietly.
“I’m sorry it took me so long to get out here…” God, he needed a drink. But it could wait.

Roy didn’t go back for four months after that first visit. In that time, he’d gone back to Star, gotten
into more fights with Oliver, gotten more reckless as a vigilante, gotten kicked out by Oliver after
he found out about the drugs, gone to Bludhaven to crash with Dick for a few days, and then tried
to get himself killed by picking a fight with Killer Croc. It didn’t work, but he got himself a
sponsor, so it could have been worse.

He hadn’t told Waylon about his soulmate, at first. He had plenty of other issues all on his own
that had pushed him to where he was, and he didn’t want to blame his own issues on Jason. Not
when it had never been Jason’s fault. But then they’d been walking down the street, and he’d seen
a daisy growing out of some cracks in the sidewalk, and he’d started laughing and then crying.
Waylon had looked at him like he was insane, and he’d told him about his soulmate. He hadn’t
mentioned who it was, just that he’d been on a rant about Shakespeare, and had been speechless
when Roy had asked his favorite flower, and that the next morning the boy had run into him in the
kitchen and barrelled into him for a hug with a blush, thanking him for the daisies he’d left in his
room.

Waylon had encouraged him to visit Jason’s grave again, if that was something he thought he
could handle. Roy almost didn’t go back, but it made him feel like a coward, hiding from a dead
kid. So one morning he got up, grabbed a bottle of whiskey, and went to the manor.

Waylon would be upset at first when Roy told him later, but would also be proud of him for getting
through the day with only a bit of alcohol and nothing else.

It became a monthly thing, and then a mostly biweekly thing. Once or twice a month, when he was
able, Roy would sneak onto the grounds of the manor and visit Jason’s grave. He would bring
whatever flowers he could find, but on the days he was feeling worse, when the buzzing under his
skin wouldn’t give way, he found himself seeking out white petals. He never went when the
cravings were at their absolute worst, didn’t want to bring that part of himself around Jason, but
when he felt like he could function again, he would go and sit for a few hours, talking about
whatever was new. Even as he all but stopped drinking, too, he always brought a bottle of whiskey
with him.

A bottle of whiskey, and two shot glasses.

They had both been at the Tower one weekend, and everyone was celebrating a hard mission well
fought. Some of the older Titans had broken out the alcohol stash, and Donna had let Jason try a
sip of her Amazonian wine. He’d made a face after swallowing it, and Roy had laughed and called
out from the other side of the living room that he’d take him bar hopping when he turned twenty
one, find him something he liked. Dick had jokingly accused him of corrupting his baby brother,
but had let him have the rest of his bottle of beer, nonetheless, which Jason had seemed to like a bit
better.

Jason was never going to turn twenty one, now.

So Roy continued to bring whiskey with him when he visited, and before he left, he would toast the
headstone with a single shot of whiskey, then leave both glasses on the edge, one full, one empty.
They were always gone the next time he visited, but it wasn’t like shot glasses were expensive and
Alfred never asked him to stop leaving them.

When Roy eventually found out about Lian, and took over custody of her from Jade, he started
bringing her with him on his visits. She was a curious toddler, and an intelligent one at that, so he
would tell her stories about him while they were there, telling her about her angel daddy. Jason had
still been a kid himself when he died, but Roy had no doubts that he’d have made an amazing
father, what with his soft spot for kids and the care obvious in the way he interacted with them.
Lian started insisting on bringing her own flowers, too, and before long, instead of just leaving
them to wilt under the sun and Gotham air, Roy decided he wanted to leave something a little more
permanent, or at least longer-lasting.

He left Lian with her uncle Waylon, then went to the nearest hardware store. It was a little trickier
to sneak past the perimeter with his arms laden, but Roy was also pretty sure Alfred had coded him
into the security systems not long after he started visiting regularly. When he reached Jason’s
grave, Roy pulled on the gloves he’d purchased, and started digging. Shallow holes, which he then
carefully placed the rest of his purchases into - seeds and root balls, delicate leaves and petals.
Daisies, of course, because what else would he choose to plant here? Rosemary, too, because he
couldn’t not include the plant. He also planted some purple hyacinth, and when he was done,
making sure that the flowers had everything they needed to at least last the week, he poured two
shots of whiskey, knocked one back, and left both glasses on the headstone.

The flowers he’d planted thrived, always full and bright when he visited during their blooming
periods, and when Roy saw Alfred in passing, a gala Dick invited him to here, dropping Lian off to
be babysat by his friend there, they shared small smiles and Roy would occasionally ask about his
gardening. Anyone listening would assume he was asking after Alfred’s prized rose bushes, but
they would share a secretive smile and Alfred would tell him it was going well.

Months went by as Roy slowly put his life back together. It wasn’t perfect, far from it, but he was
getting there.

And then the Red Hood showed up in Gotham.

Roy didn’t mind the vigilante, honestly. His appearance actually did a lot for lowering the amount
of crime in the poorer parts of Gotham, as well as making the people living there feel safer. He
might have taken over a lot of the organized crime, but he also constantly checked in with the
prostitutes and made sure the street kids had food and warm clothes and shelter, when they’d
accept it.

It was also a little hard not to see that kind side of the guy when they both worked out of Crime
Alley. Red Hood had made it pretty clear to both the Bats and the other gangs he wasn’t in control
of that that was his territory, but he’d let Arsenal be. Roy had been fully prepared to tell the man he
wasn’t abandoning the alley or the bowery, duffel bag of heads be damned, but it had never been
an issue, Red Hood had never told him to leave or threatened him away. If anything, the first he’d
seen him out as Arsenal, Red Hood had simply… nodded at him, before continuing on his way
across the rooftops.

And hey, Roy wasn’t going to look a gift murderous vigilante in the barrel of his gun, okay?

It didn’t take long for them to start working together. When it became clear that they both cared
deeply about the people, and that they had similar morals and codes, it was natural to start sharing
leads and info when their paths and cases crossed. That led to actually working certain cases
together, where the other’s skills could come in handy, and then to occasionally patrolling together.
Hood was wary, at first, that Arsenal would try to bring him in to the Bats, but he caught on pretty
quick to Roy’s avoidance of Batman.

Bruce had never outright told him to leave Gotham, but it was clear that he didn’t approve of the
Star City vigilante moving into his city. Despite their strained relationship, though, Dick had gotten
the man to back off. Neither of them knew all the details about his addiction, but Dick had seen
what good meeting Waylon had done for him and was all for him staying, especially when he was
later named Lian’s godfather and Roy staying in Gotham meant he got to see her more. Bruce
hadn’t exactly approved of his friendship with Killer Croc, but the man hadn’t done much to
warrant the Bat’s ire in a long time, keeping mostly to himself, so Roy had figured he’d be okay
getting a place on the edge of Crime Alley and making his home there.

Eventually, working together occasionally turned into patrolling together most nights, and Roy
liked to think he could even consider Hood a friend. When it came to identifying information, they
only knew the basics about each other, because Hood kept his cards close to his chest, and Roy
might have enjoyed spending time with the other vigilante, but the safety of his daughter came first
and foremost. But just because they didn’t know each other’s names or the color of their eyes, or in
his case, the color of his crime-(mostly)-fighting partner’s hair, it didn’t mean they didn’t know
anything about each other. Roy knew Hood had originally grown up on the streets in Crime Alley,
the reason for his love of the area and the people there, and that part of why he kept the dealers
from selling to kids was because his mom had overdosed and he didn’t want to see kids in that
environment if he could help it. Roy knew he liked to read, and that when he was more tired than
he let on, he would quote poetry. Hood knew that Arsenal had grown up on a reservation before
moving to Star City, that he loved the color red, and that he’d struggled with addiction for a long
time. He knew that Arsenal had a love for stupid trucker hats, and that he was a genius engineer,
making all of his own arrows and gadgets.

Roy liked to think they were friends, good friends, and that Hood felt the same way. So when he
got an urgent comm from Oracle while out on patrol, asking him to find Hood because Batman had
disabled his own comms after running into and deciding to trail him, Roy went without a second
thought.

Arsenal arrived just in time to see the batarang leave Batman’s fingers. He missed whatever
confrontation had led to this, but it wasn’t hard to figure out the gist of it, Hood pressing a gun to
the side of the Joker’s head, another gun held loosely in one of the Bat’s hands.

But then Hood went down, clutching at his throat, and no one had noticed him yet, so he shot off a
smoke bomb arrow and rushed toward his friend, getting him out of there as quickly as he could.

He didn’t know where any of Hood’s safehouses were, but he had one not far away, so he took the
man there, laying him out on the bed carefully. He gathered the medkit he kept there, but cursed
when he didn't find any kind of antiseptic. He did, however, have a bottle of whiskey sitting on the
kitchen counter, leftover from his last visit to the manor, since he’d left Lian with Dinah for a day
while she was in town and had come back here to get out on an early patrol afterwards.

There was a lot of blood, but Roy’s hands were steady as he slid the needle and thread through
skin, carefully plastering a bandage over the wound when he was done. He remained at the man’s
side until he was sure he'd make it through the night, then put a glass of water and some painkillers
on the nightstand. He left a brief note letting the vigilante know where he went and what happened,
and that he’d be back soon, before cleaning the blood from his hands and uniform and leaving.

Roy commed Oracle to let her know what had happened, at least what he knew of it, and she
agreed to take care of Lian for a while so that he could make sure his friend survived. He packed a
bag for his daughter quickly, waking her from where he’d put her to bed before patrol, and brought
her to the Clocktower. Babs got her settled quickly, and Roy returned to his safehouse to find Hood
still unconscious. No longer focused on making sure the man stayed alive, he found himself
curious about the white streak in the man’s black hair. He’d never seen him without his helmet, but
apparently he wore a domino beneath it, the dramatic idiot.

In the morning, Roy woke to a little confused and a lot wary Red Hood, but he admitted to the man
that Oracle had asked him to find him when Batman had gone off comms, and he’d gotten there
just in time to get him out of there and take care of his injury. Hood confirmed again that Arsenal
didn’t know his identity, expression guarded, but after that day, he seemed to trust the archer a hell
of a lot more, sharing more and more than he had before in the late hours of patrol nights and
letting Roy have his back more in fights, leaving himself vulnerable to the man.

Of course, Batman never explained the encounter to anyone, and when Roy and Babs tried to get
answers from Dick with subtle questions, he didn’t know anything either, which frustrated Barbara
to no end. Roy didn’t really care what happened that night, he just knew that Bruce went too far,
choosing to hurt someone who had done a lot of good for Gotham over someone who had never
done anything but hurt people. Not that Roy really needed another reason to avoid the man.

It had barely been two months since Batman’s incident with Red Hood when he heard the whispers
on the street. (Red Hood called it a confrontation. Roy called it an attack.)

It had been quiet the past couple days, and in Gotham, that was never a good thing. And when
those whispers were even more guarded and fearful than the normal speculation about whatever
new plans the Rogues had brewing that kept them quiet, well. That was an even worse thing.

And then Arsenal overheard another hushed whisper as he passed an alley on patrol. Some random
goon, one of Penguin’s it looked like, commiserating with one of Black Mask’s men about the
interruption of one of their drops operations after the Joker took over the warehouse they were
running from, and how their boss was not happy with it.

Something didn’t sit right with him about that. The Joker wasn’t really one for the drugs scene, so
why would he take over an operation? Hood would be absolutely ecstatic to hear about the clown’s
newfound interest.

Come to think of it, where was Hood? Arsenal would usually have run into him on patrol by now,
but he had chalked up the other vigilante’s absence to the quiet and the underlying suspense and
fearful anticipation building.

Roy tapped over into the comm line he’d set up with Hood, and called his name. No answer. He
gave it a couple minutes, before trying again. Another few minutes, and there had been no answer.

Something was wrong. At first, after Hood had healed and gotten back out on the streets, Roy had
convinced him to set up their comm lines, instead of hacking into each other’s comms when they
needed to communicate, and Roy had been adamant that Hood ask for help when he needed it or if
he was facing any big players on his own. Hood had been stubborn about it for all of a week before
he witnessed Arsenal freaking out after losing him in a chase with Scarecrow, in which he’d gotten
the brunt of most of the goons while Hood had gone after Scarecrow himself and then didn’t
answer any of Arsenal’s frantic comms because he was too busy sorting through Scarecrow’s stuff.

Yeah, after that whole mess, in which a lot more goons left the scene in ambulances than usual,
Hood begrudgingly agreed that piggybacking off of each other’s random and frequently different
lines wasn’t very convenient. He’d also hesitantly admitted that Arsenal genuinely cared about his
well-being, if only to himself and not out loud, but Roy knew what it meant when Hood accepted
the emergency beacon. It was the same design as the one he taught Lian to never lose track of, and
knowing the other vigilante had a way to let him know if he was in trouble soothed some of his
fears and the what-ifs that had plagued his brain since the incident .

So when Red Hood didn’t answer his comms after the third try, Arsenal knew something was
wrong. There was always the chance that the man didn’t have his helmet on him, but even then, he
usually carried a comm, and it was prime patrol time. That was another thing - Hood never missed
a patrol, if he could help it, because he wanted to be there for the people he spent his nights
protecting and helping.

It felt a little bit like a breach of trust, but Roy figured that at this point there was real cause for
concern, and if he didn’t check and something happened? That felt like breaking his friend’s trust
even more after he swore he’d always be there for the man.

When Roy realized the tracker in the emergency beacon had gone offline in the Warehouse
District, he swore. Something was very, very wrong.

What those hushed whispers in that alley that he’d overheard had failed to mention was exactly
why the Joker took over a drops operation. He hadn’t wanted the drugs or the ring.

He’d wanted the warehouse.

Down on the floor beneath the broken skylight Arsenal was crouched in front of, the Joker paced
about, gesticulating wildly as he spoke. In the center of the space, all of the tables and equipment
from the operation having been pushed against the walls, Red Hood was tied to a chair, helmet
nowhere to be seen. His domino was cracked and resting not on his face, but the floor beside him,
and his head hung against his chest loosely. There was a huge purple bruise blooming against his
jaw. From the discoloration around his gloveless wrists, he was tied far too tight to try to wriggle
his hands free or even move much to use anything to cut through the rope. His ankles, similarly,
were tied together and to the chair.

There were several goons on the walkways ringing the upper portion of the warehouse, and even
more milling around the edges of the space on the bottom floor. If Roy wanted to get the other man
out of there, he’d have to take care of them. Joker was unpredictable and dangerous, but he was
only one man, and if he could get rid of his goons, then he would only need to focus his attention
on one target.

Joker stopped pacing in front of Hood and said something to him, but from here, Roy couldn’t tell
exactly what. Hood lifted his head for only a moment and spat at him. Joker’s smile slipped off his
face, and he barked something out, looking at his henchmen. One of them tossed something his
way, and the man caught it. The clown lifted the bar of metal and used one end of the crowbar to
force Hood’s chin up so that he was looking at him. Roy expected anger, or defiance, but all that
registered on his face was pure, unadulterated fear.

Roy stood. He had seen enough to make a vague sort of plan, but he couldn’t wait any longer.

He let off three arrows in quick succession, two regular, sharp tipped arrows to shear through the
ropes holding Red Hood in place, and a smoke bomb arrow to cover his entrance and take down of
the first few goons on the upper walkway.

The smoke disoriented the occupants of the warehouse nicely at first, but by the time Arsenal had
gotten through the men on the walkways and dropped down to the warehouse floor, the smoke was
quickly clearing. He tried to keep an eye on both his friend and the Joker, neither having moved
just yet from their places in the center of the warehouse, but the surge of goons surrounding him
got him turned around and he lost track of them. He was facing the only exit, though, so he would
know if Joker tried to escape with his captive.

The ensuing fight seemed to last hours, but when he finally dropped the last goon with an arrow to
the knee garnering him a scream and a faint, he heard a slow clapping. Arsenal whirled around to
see the Joker stood beside Hood, still slumped over in the chair, a crowbar tucked under one arm as
he slowly clapped.

“Impressive.” The clown grinned. He pointed at Arsenal with his crowbar. “But I don’t care about
you. No, I killed the hero of the alley once, and I shall do so again, regardless of your attempt at
interference.”

He turned and lifted Hood’s chin with the end of the metal once more. “Isn’t that right, Hoodie?
We’re going to have such fun, show the people of Gotham they must fear , not fill their heads with
silly little hopes about heroes.”

Hood’s eyes, which Arsenal could now see were a stormy steel gray-blue color, were wide, filled
with fear, pleading and what looked a little like resignation. There was a faint trace of something
familiar in the back of his mind, but with all of the adrenaline of the night and his attention on the
two men in front of him, the half-formed thought was easily swept away. He needed to focus.

Suddenly, Roy was tired. Deeply, bone-achingly tired. He couldn't lose another person he cared
about to the Joker.

“Now,” the clown started, “let’s-”

Red Hood stared blankly ahead, eyes wide, as blood splattered across his face. The clatter of the
crowbar was somehow quiet in the silence, the soft thud of a person hitting concrete overtaking
everything else. Arsenal lowered his bow slowly, watching the body like it might start moving,
even with an arrow lodged deep within its skull and blood already pooling quickly on the floor.

When nothing happened for a long moment, Roy rushed forward, content that the clown would not
be hurting his friend anymore. “What did he do to you, Hood?” He asked quietly, pulling away the
remains of the ropes the man hadn’t yet shaken off and pulling him up to a standing position. Hood
only gaped at him, lips parted as if to speak, but no sound came out as he glanced between Roy and
the Joker’s body. He attempted to take a step forward, but stumbled, and Roy caught him, pulling
him away from the scene and toward the warehouse doors. “C’mon, let’s get you out of here.”

“Bats won’t be happy.” Hood rasped. He still looked a little shocked, and he looked a little ready to
bolt, too.

“I don’t give a damn what the Bat will think.” Roy said firmly, pausing to look back. The arrow
sticking out of the clown’s skull was pretty telling. “But I also don’t want to give the chucklefuck
any chances to come back again, either.”

Lian was staying with her Uncle Waylon right now, the quiet in Gotham had gotten Roy worried
for her safety and he wanted her with someone he knew could protect her until it blew over. It
wouldn’t be out of the norm for him to visit the sewers (though Waylon’s home down there was
actually very nice and carefully upkept), and crocodiles were capable of digesting bones…

If this plan was going to work, though, he would have to bring Hood back to his house. He couldn’t
be seen picking up his daughter for the night and bringing her home, then immediately leaving and
going to a safehouse. And he couldn’t bring her to a safehouse, either, because that would look
suspicious, especially when she wasn’t home specifically because he was worried for her safety
and the safest of all his places was their actual home.

Well, Roy figured if Hood was unwittingly forced into sharing his face with him, something he
had not yet revealed about himself to the archer, he could return the favor with something of his
own. Hood knew he had a daughter - it was no secret among superhero and some villain gossip
that Arsenal and Cheshire had a daughter - but giving him access to his home and to her (and also
to his identity) was probably the biggest show of trust he could give the man. He still looked ready
to run, but Roy would be damned if he didn’t get his friend some medical care and make sure he
was okay.

Hood hadn’t spoken a word since Roy had gotten back, and it looked like he hadn’t moved from
his spot seated on the edge of the bed, either. Roy had brought him back to the house before
anything else, where he cleaned up and changed out of his uniform to go get his daughter. The
duffel bag he’d carried from the warehouse was noticeably absent when he returned with the little
girl, tucking her into bed in her room before retrieving medical supplies from the bathroom.

The first thing Roy did was help Hood out of his leather jacket and body armor, providing him with
some comfortable sweatpants and a tee of his own. Then he took a washcloth to the man’s face,
gentle as he wiped the blood from his face and cleaned his wounds. He had a nasty bruise covering
one side of his jaw, his lip was busted, and there was a shallow cut above one of his eyebrows. One
of his ribs was probably cracked, and his left ankle was definitely sprained. Roy did what he could
for the man, applying antiseptic and ointment and bandaging what needed it.

It was as he was organizing things back into the medkit that the other man seemed to break out of
his thoughts. “Batman won’t be happy.” His voice was still a little raspy, but the water Roy had
gotten him had helped some. “You don’t know how he’ll react, what he’ll do, you’re going to
regret this.”

Roy sighed. “I’ve fucked up a lot in my life, Hood, made a lot of mistakes and done a lot of things
that I regret, but I will never regret ending that psycho.”

The vigilante’s voice was small as he spoke. “Why?”

Roy looked him right in the eye as he answered. “Because you’re my friend, and I care a great deal
about you. I promised I’d be there if you ever needed me, and I don’t make a habit of letting
people I care about get hurt when there’s something I can do to stop it.”

Hood broke eye contact first, looking away. He was silent for a moment, before a soft gasp left his
lips. “Your arm-!” Roy followed his gaze to his left arm, where a long gash bled sluggishly.

“Huh.” He said. In all he’d been focused on that night, he hadn’t even noticed the wound. Lian
wouldn’t have seen it, he’d been wearing a sweatshirt when he went to get her, but he’d taken it off
before patching Hood up and had never noticed.

“You need stitches.” Hood decided. “Give me the medkit.” Roy passed it over quietly, but looked
away when he started on cleaning the wound.

“Are you going to want a drink for the pain?” Hood asked, pausing as he pulled out the needle.

“I don’t drink.” Roy responded. He could hear the confusion when Hood next spoke.

“I thought I saw a bottle of whiskey on the counter in the kitchen? And you have some in your
safehouse.”

“It’s not for me.” Roy said tightly. “It’s a tradition, for someone else.” Thankfully, Hood didn’t
question it further, just got to work on stitching Roy’s skin back together. The needle stung, and the
thread burned as it was pulled through, but Roy grit his teeth and ignored it, keeping his breath
deep as he focused on the desk across the room, a picture of him with the rest of the Titans resting
in a frame there. It was the only picture he had of both him and Jason.

Once Hood declared him patched up, Roy put away the medical supplies and very nearly collapsed
in his bed. First, though, he offered a place to stay for the night to his friend, but Hood said he
appreciated everything but just needed some time alone right now. Roy saw it in the clench of his
jaw, and in the droop of his shoulders, how he probably didn’t want to have any kind of breakdown
in front of someone else and just needed some time to process. He made sure Hood knew he was
there for him if he needed anything, and that all he had to do was drop a line on the comms, or text
him (Roy giving him his personal number, the man already having had his burner for Arsenal), and
he’d be there, before letting him go.

Roy woke the next morning to a little body worming under his covers. He hadn’t slept great, but at
least he’d slept. And luckily, he thought, glancing over at the alarm clock on the nightstand, Lian
had actually let him sleep in before waking him. She’d been half asleep when he’d retrieved her the
night before, but she’d picked up on the urgency and heaviness of the night.

As it was, the little girl seemed content to cuddle for the time being. At least she did until she stole
the covers and, in the morning light streaming through the window, asked where his colors went.

It took Roy a few moments to realize what she had said, still a bit exhausted from the previous
night and past couple days of little sleep, but he was quickly awake and alert when he realized
exactly what she meant. When Lian asked where his colors went, she was asking about the lack of
the mark that hadn’t strayed from his stomach in years.

He was dressed quickly, shooting a text off to Dick to ask if he could look after Lian for the day,
saying it was an emergency. He had her bag packed and her breakfast ready by the time he got a
response, and he helped Lian get dressed, avoiding her question and distracting her with the
promise of playing with her Uncle Dick today.

He dropped her off at the manor and then drove back home in silence, not in the mood to put on the
radio like he normally would. His computer yielded no results despite the two hours he spent
searching, because apparently marks don’t just disappear years after a soulmate dies, even though
his just did . Frustrated and upset, Roy went out on an early daytime patrol as Arsenal, taking out
his feelings on some criminals. When he finally managed to calm down and think a little more
rationally, he went back home and got showered and changed.

Roy threw himself down on his bed, staring contemplatively up at the ceiling, before almost
immediately shooting up again. Because if he could lose the remnants of one of the two most
important people in the world to him just like that, he was not taking any chances with his
daughter. He wasn’t going to let Lian out of his sight for the next ten years.

On the drive back to the manor for the second time that day, he thought about what he was going to
tell her. He didn’t know what he’d tell her, hell, he didn’t even know what was actually happening.
He hated that he lost Jason’s mark, and he felt a little desperate, the cravings worming their way
under his skin like fleas. But he ignored them, thinking instead of his daughter and how tightly he
was going to hug her the moment he saw her, of his friends, of Dick and Wally just there at the
manor when he dropped her off, of Jason, of how he would have felt about Roy ruining his
sobriety because of something stupid like this when he’d had plenty of time to get over the boy’s
death and a mark was nothing compared to the boy himself, who was already long gone.

Dick was uncharacteristically quiet when he let Roy into the manor, bringing him into the living
room where Lian was coloring. Roy immediately rushed to her, folding down to his knees and
pulling her into a crushing hug, which the little girl enthusiastically returned.

“We’re friends, right?” Dick asked. Roy looked up at him, brow furrowed.

“You’re one of my best friends, Dick, you always have been.” He responded tiredly.

“Then why didn’t you tell me you had a soulmate?”

Roy froze.

“When Wally left earlier, he kissed my hand goodbye and I brushed my fingers over his hand in
return. Lian saw our marks and said she was here today because her daddy’s colors from her angel
daddy went away.” Dick said carefully, clearly looking to Roy for answers but unsure of how he
would respond.

Roy looked down at his daughter, pulled her closer to his chest as he stood and settled her on his
hip. Without looking over at his friend, avoiding his gaze, Roy spoke. “Lian calls him her angel
daddy because he died a long time ago, before she was born.”

Dick’s voice was hurt. “But why did you keep it from all of us? No one even knew you had a
soulmate.”

Before Roy could formulate a response, staring at the top of his daughter’s head tucked against his
chest like her hair held all the answers, Alfred entered the room. In his hands were two shot glasses
and a bottle of whiskey. “You will be needing these, I presume, Master Roy?”

Dick’s gaze whipped back to his friend, and he opened his mouth to start questioning it, knowing
how long Roy had been sober, but before he could finish the sentence, Lian interrupted him.
“Daddy says I can join in the tradition too when I’m old enough.” She told him decidedly.

Roy sighed. “Would you mind carrying those out for me? I’ve got my hands a little full here.” He
nodded to his daughter.

“Of course, sir.” Alfred agreed easily, and let Roy take the lead as they wove a silent path through
the manor, Dick following in confusion and concern.

His friend wasn’t counted among some of the best detectives on the League for nothing, but he
didn’t really put two and two together until Roy settled into the grass beside the grave, letting Lian
move out of his lap and into the grass in front of him. Alfred, always perfectly poised and
dignified, taking a seat in the grass beside him was another huge clue, handing over the bottle and
shot glasses, which Roy settled into his lap for the time being.

“Looks like we’re here a little early this week, and with company, too. Things have been well, for
the most part, though I took a bit of a slice to the arm last night.” He paused for a long moment, and
when he spoke again, his voice was thick with emotion. “When I woke up this morning, your mark
was gone. I don’t really know what I’m supposed to do without it. Sometimes, I still don’t know
what I’m supposed to do without you.”

And that’s the last confirmation of what he’d begun to suspect that Dick needs, and he had a lot of
questions about Roy and his little brother having been soulmates, but it’s also very clearly affecting
Roy a lot right now, so he listened silently as Roy continued to tell the headstone about his week,
before pouring two shots, knocking one back, and leaving both glasses on the edge of the stone. He
then handed the bottle to Alfred and stood, picking up Lian as he went.

Roy answered a few of the basics for Dick, when they had found out, the decision to remain mostly
separate, the last time they interacted, etcetera, but then Alfred cut in and got Dick to let Roy be for
the moment so he could take his daughter home and process and cope with what had happened.

They stayed up late that night, watching Disney movies in his room, and he made pancakes for
Lian for dinner.

Two days later, Arsenal got dunked in the harbor, and then Hood bitched at him about not taking
care of his wounds because he’d, with everything going on, honestly forgotten about the bandages
on his arm and hadn’t bothered to change them before getting tossed in the polluted bay. Hood was
clearly worried about him, though, so he just promised to change it when he got home, make sure
the stitches were still good and nothing was infected.

It was while cleaning the wound carefully before rebandaging it that he found them. Shades of red
and tan brown, curling around the last few rows of stitches, where knuckles and fingertips would
have brushed his skin as they tied off the thread.

Heart beating faster, Roy’s mind whirled. Hood had stitched up his arm for him, and the next
morning, Jason’s mark on his stomach, the mark that hadn’t moved in years, was gone. The colors
adorning his arm now were as familiar to him as anything could be, the same as those Jason’s
touch had left against his stomach for so long. He didn’t remember feeling the sparking warmth
that accompanied the colors, but he very well could have missed it since he was trying not to focus
on the pain of having his skin stitched back together. And now that he looked, really looked, at
those colors on his skin, they reminded him an awful lot of a certain vigilante’s helmet and his
favorite leather jacket…

Roy dropped Lian off at the manor with Alfred the very next morning, but instead of getting back
in his car, he turned and walked across the grounds.

He’d just sat down in his usual place and put his bag down next to him when Hood showed up,
sans helmet and mask. He stood a few feet away, shifting awkwardly, not seeming to know how to
proceed, so Roy took the initiative and spoke, looking at the headstone. “You know how I lost
your mark? I found it again last night, and I can’t describe the sheer relief and happiness that that
gave me.”

Jason, nervously, finally met Roy’s gaze when he looked over. Roy smiled softly, encouragingly,
at him, and he sat down beside him, fiddling with a couple blades of grass with his hands. He
opened his mouth to say something, then closed it.

“You don’t need to explain anything if you can’t or don’t want to. I won’t push.” Roy promised
him. Jason just nodded, sitting quietly for a few moments before he could gather the courage to
speak.

“You’ve never broken a promise to me.”

“And I don’t plan to.” Roy said softly but firmly.

“You once told me, that when the time came, I could make my own decision about what I wanted
to do. About… us.” Jason said quietly.

“Anything you want to do, Jay. Anything you need, whatever is best for you, you’ll have it.” Roy
swore.

“You’re too good to me.” Jason whispered. He watched a blade of grass flutter to the ground,
cleared his throat. “I don’t really fully know how I fit into the world I came back to, or how to fit
into relationships that don’t account for how I and others have changed since my death, but I
want…

“I want to try to fit some way, somehow, into yours and Lian’s lives, because if there’s one truly
good thing I had before I died, one thing that had no expectations and no disappointments, it was
you.”

“I think that can be arranged.” Roy said, soft smile on his face. “I would be very happy to figure
out how you fit into our lives, and how we fit into yours.”

They were both silent for a moment, before Jason hesitantly moved a little closer and leaned
against Roy’s side. “Is this okay?” He asked. He was bigger now than used to be, so they fit
together a little differently, but Roy wrapped an arm around him and leaned his cheek against the
top of his head, where they basked in comfortable silence for a while.

At some point, Jason commented on the growth around his grave. “Alfred must be taking care of
the flowers, they seem to be thriving.”

“He’s taken care of them ever since I planted them a while back when I wanted to do something a
little more permanent after so many of the flowers I brought wilted so quickly.” Roy explained.

“Pray you, love, remember.” Jason said softly, leaning forward to run his fingers gently along the
needles of the rosemary.

“You were talking about Ophelia and what she said about the meanings of flowers that day, when I
left you the daisies.” Roy said. “I wanted you to know I was paying attention, that I remembered
more than just the daisies I picked but also what you were passionate about.” Touched, Jason
turned to press a shy, soft kiss to Roy’s cheek, prompting Roy to squeeze his arm gently from
where he had his own wrapped around him.

They sat for a couple more minutes, before Roy pulled a bottle of whiskey from his bag and poured
two shots. He offered one to Jason, whose eyes widened when he made the connection between the
 bottle he’d seen in his home and the tradition Roy had mentioned, but he took it nonetheless. They
clinked their glasses together before draining the whiskey.

Later, Roy brought the glasses in with him when he went to retrieve Lian. Jason didn’t join him in
the manor, but was at his house when they got back, a few minutes ahead of them. Jason was
clearly nervous about meeting Lian, but the little girl took to him like a duck to water, excited
about actually getting to meet her angel daddy.

Roy Harper was twenty four when he visited the grave of his soulmate for the last time.

He left behind a bottle of whiskey, and two empty shot glasses.

Chapter End Notes

This fic started off as an attempt at a coping process for dealing with the loss of the
last of my childhood pets, as at the age of 20, firmly no longer a teenager, it felt a lot
like the loss of the last of my childhood. It has, however, since turned into something
more, an emotional story, for sure, but one that I am proud of having written and hope
you enjoyed reading.

Please drop by the archive and comment to let the author know if you enjoyed their work!