Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Frank bit his lip, gun gripped tight in his hands and eyes steadfastly fixed on the alleyway below, where one of his crew members was fake beating up a newbie in the beginnings of their trap.

They were going to catch a Robin.

Of course, Frank had never seen the famed second half of the dynamic duo- few had- but he knew what he was expecting. A huge hulking man, perhaps young twenties or late, late teens- they had told Frank he was young- just as terrifying as the Bat himself. The other boys- the few that had seen him, anyways- had described the figure as quite acrobatic, although Joe was never really one to trust, being a sadistic bastard.

Frank sighed, rolled his shoulders: just one more gig and he was done.

His family had fallen into a rut, gotten on bad terms with the local gangsters for living on their land and then into debt when they were unable to pay the ‘security money.’ Not knowing what else he could do, and unable to support himself and his family with his meager day job at McDonalds, he did the only thing he could think of.

He joined the gang.

It was just… minor crimes, and sometimes not even that. Frank wasn’t a big man, but he knew how to do paperwork and how to clean and how to stand around with a gun, and that was all that was really necessary. It got him a good pay, and he kept out of trouble, and so he thought he could make it.

But… but it wasn’t enough. His family was still in debt, they were still on gangsterland and their house about to be demolished, and they had too little money to go somewhere else and support themselves.

He was stuck in a rut, one where the price of losing was his family’s life.

And then this job popped up.

This job… was an actual crime. It was kidnapping. It was illegal…. But at least it was some insane vigilante who knew what he was signing up for instead of some local innocent who just wanted to get home safe to their families.

That was what Frank told himself, as he crouched low on the roof and tried to ignore his sweating palms and guilty conscience, over and over again.

The ‘victim’ gave out another dramatic cry, and then, finally, something happened.

Just… not what Frank was expecting.

“Hey, what do you think you’re doing!?”

He tensed, ready for action, ready for the terror of the night to fall down from the heavens and crush their ranks, but then he paused.

That…. That was a child’s voice .

Was some over righteous kid butting in and getting in the way of their plan?

But no, the people besides him were prepping themselves and one of the men muttered, “That’s him,” and Frank suddenly felt slightly sick because that was a kid, a kid they were nabbing….

“Let’s go.”

On autopilot, Frank dropped to the ground with the rest of the crew, raising his gun and pointing it directly at the kid in unison with the others. On the inside, however, he was panicking and feeling sick to his stomach because now he could actually see the boy and geez, what was Batman thinking!?

Because this child couldn’t be any older than eight, at the very least, and he was even smaller than his little girl, dressed in ridiculously bright colours and sporting soft downy black hair that only comes from youth. He was tiny , and now Frank was in charge of capturing him.

The kid whirled around, bright yellow cape flashing, and was in a standard defensive position between them and the supposed victim, his eyes widening at their sudden appearance and startling numbers, before settling into a determined look.

Something in Frank’s chest clenched .

The others seemed to not be held back by his issues, charging the kid in a mass of weapons and fists. The kid just started- well, flying, leaping from one guy to the next in a series of complicated twists and twirls and flips, and Frank would be impressed- was impressed, actually- but the kid still stuck his tongue out when he was concentrating, just like Carla did when she was colouring, and he was laughing as if everything was a game as he knocked thugs out and this kid was far too young to be doing this .

The kid finally touched ground again, eyes turning to check on the supposed ‘victim’, and Frank felt sick again as Charlie- the man they had playing damsel- swung his club and smashed it against Robin’s skull, instantly knocking the brightly clad hero out.

Robin crumpled to the ground like a torn piece of paper, and for some reason Frank was by his side and swooping him up into his arms before he could bang his head on the harsh cement as well and worsen his probable concussion.

No one noticed him, too busy congratulating each other on nabbing the hostage, and Frank wondered how he ended up in this mess, amidst heartless men with an unconscious kid in his arms.

The men were all laughing, slapping each other on the back and whooping as if they had mastered some big conquest. Then one of them was heading over to him, needle prepped and sharp in hand.

Frank tugged the boy a little closer to him.

“What are you doing! ?”

It came out as a hiss, and he was mad , because this was a kid, just a kid, and now this guy was drugging him after already knocking him unconscious . Was this man insane !?

His fellow thug shrugged, gesturing to the boy casually, as if addressing a lump of meat.

“Just a little somethin’ ta keep th’ kiddie quiet, cool it.”

Frank wanted to yell at him, wanted to throw up, wanted to spirit the kid away and put him somewhere safe, but he didn’t, cause he was a coward and didn’t have the guts, instead simply watching as the large figure inserted the needle tip into the boy’s neck.

Then they were loading up into the van and for some reason Frank was placed as the dedicated ‘Robin holder,’ even though he was one of the scrawniest thugs of the group.

But, looking down on the tiny kid who had already been knocked out and drugged- who was so much like his little Carly, who was so young - he couldn’t bring himself to complain. He knew that if any of the others were holding him, the boy would probably be black and blue before five minutes was up.

So Frank didn’t argue, he just got into the van and sat in silence as the rest of the men and women messed around. It wasn’t all too different from normal, really; Frank was often the quiet one, unwilling to truly buddy up to murderers and thieves.

Except this time there was a kid on his lap, and Frank was more like the rest of them than he had ever been.

It didn’t feel good. It didn’t sit right in his stomach. He just kept thinking and thinking and thinking, because what if this had been his daughter? What if it had been his little angel? What if it had been his wife ?

The thought made him feel sick, and he quickly shoved it away.

They eventually arrived at the base, and old abandoned factory with some ancient dorm rooms to boot, and unloaded from the truck, Frank still dealing with his conflicted emotions and the other thugs still dealing with the high of their success.

“Oi, Frankie! Give me the brat’s belt, would ya?”

Resisting the urge to sigh, Frank unlatched the small yellow utility belt from the kids waist and tossed it at Joe, hoping the larger man wouldn’t see how reluctant he was about doing it.

“Boots too, bub.”

The boots came off and were tossed as well.

“Excellent. Shove ‘em in the back room, Frank. Make sure he’s not bugged or anythin’ first. He drugged up enough that he shouldn’ offer ya no trouble.”

Frank could only nod and trudge off to the closet of a room that he and the men had ‘Robin-proofed’ earlier. At the time, he had been confused, thinking the area a tad on the small side for a grown man. Now that he knew better, something in his heart clenched.

The room had no windows and several industrial locks and two deadbolts that could only unlocked from the outside. There was no heating, no furniture, no nothing. Just plain grey cement and a door heavily secured to keep a highly trained prisoner in.

A highly trained prisoner who was just a kid.

A highly trained prisoner who was letting loose a small murmur of some unintelligible words, shifting ever so slightly to find a more comfortable position in his arms, small face screwed up in some subconscious displeasure- or maybe from pain, Frank didn’t know- just like Carly sometimes did when she was having a night terror.

The kid was young. So terribly, terribly young.

His heart a dead weight in his stomach, Frank wrapped the cape around the small slumped figure’s form as tightly as he could, hoping to at least try and block off some of the worst of the cold. Then he stood up and prepared himself to leave, to head back into the throng…

And stopped.

And leaned against the inside wall and closed his eyes, tipping his head back to view some more grey cement.

He needed a shave. And a shower. And possibly a life check up, because he had imagined many different possible futures for himself when he was growing up, but this wasn’t one of them.

What was Batman thinking?

(What was he thinking? This was wrong. This was bad. Frank was kidnapping an innocent from the streets. He was a bad guy. What if it had been Carly? What if? )

He didn’t know how long had passed- maybe couple of hours, maybe four- when he heard a small moan come from inside the room, and then the sound of retching.

Frank stood for several seconds, stock still. He should go and tell the guys that the bird was waking up, get his next load of instructions, pick up his paycheck, go home , but at the same time, at the same time-

Another retch from inside the room.

Frank made his decision.

Hastily, he pried open the deadbolts and used his jittering fingers to use his key and open the locks.

And then he swung open the door.

He didn’t know what he was suspecting, maybe for the kid to attack to him, but what he got was the young hero on all fours in the corner, breathing heavily through his nose as he vomited once more, his body repelling the strong drugs in its system. There was a thin sheet of sweat on his forehead and two high splotches of colour on his cheeks, which stood out clearly because the boy’s face was unusually pale for it’s tanned skin tone.

Slowly, shakily, the boy sat up on his knees and scooched away from the pile of vomit until he reached the opposite corner of the small room, bare feet scrambling across the cold dirty ground. Only then did the kid turn his seemingly weary eyes- he couldn’t tell completely through the whites of the mask- on him.

Frank stared. Robin stared back.

And then-

“Who’re you? Wher’s Batman?”

Robin’s voice was slurring slightly the words coming out half formed and instinctive, no thought placed behind them. Frank noticed distantly, through the confused, miserable haze in his mind, that there was blood clotting some of the kid’s black locks, red trickling down the side of his small forehead.

It was obvious that the drugs were still very much in play. And very possibly a concussion as well.

And so the older man took it slow, sitting himself down wearily in front of the door.

“ I- uh, I’m Frank, and Batman’s… not here right now.”

Robin frowned.

“Why’s not? He.. he’s s’posed to be here, we’re partners, ‘nd h-he p- promised -”

Mentally, he began to swear in his head. The kid was going to start crying. He was going to blow. Carly sometimes got like this when she went to bed too late; overly emotional and highly prone to long, long, sob fests of every little horrible thing that had ever gone wrong, when in reality she had simply stubbed her toe.

Except, of course, in this scenario there was every reason for a tantrum. The kid was kidnapped, hurt, drugged, and taken from his father. ( Father? Was Batman Robin’s father? ) It would be a surprise if the kid wasn’t upset.

“H-He pr-p-promised, he said he’d n-never l-leave me ‘nd th-that we’d be partners f-forever -”

Frank scooched himself forward, hands wanting to pull the small figure into a hug but unsure as to how the action could be perceived. In the end, he settled on placing a hopefully soothing palm on the kid’s knee.

“Hey ki- hey, uh, Robin. Hey. It’s- don’t you worry, okay? Don’t you worry. I’m sure… Batman will be here soon.”

The kid, who had wrapped himself up in his cape and had buried his head into his knees, looked up, masked eyes wide.

“Y-you think so?”

Frank thought about if the roles were reversed, if it was his daughter taken and locked up somewhere far away and dangerous. He imagined what he would do in that situation, who he would have turned to. He knew that he would never have just sat idly by.

And so he said, “I know so,” and prayed that the kid didn’t ask how.

They sat for a long while, Robin just staring at him and Frank staring right back, until finally he can’t help the question spilling from his mouth.

“How’d you get into this stuff, kid? This isn’t the place for young people.”

He meant it in both the literal and figurative sense. Robin did not belong in the narrowly crammed, too cold room, and nor did he belong in the business of fighting crime.

The boy blinked, heavy and slow, tired. Then he shrugged, small shoulders rising and falling underneath the wrapped around cape.

“Batman really hated it, but I kept runnin’ out and fightin’ on my own and he was scared I’d get hurt so he made sure he was with me instead and that I could do it properly.”

Frank blinked. He wasn’t quite sure what he was expecting, but it wasn’t that.

“Do you think Batman’ll be here soon?”

The voice was small.

Frank opened his mouth to answer when there was a heavy vibration shaking through the door, a loud pounding sound ringing in his ears to accompany it.

“Frankie! Stop playin’ with the brat, boss wants us!”

He froze, because sitting in the empty too cold room talking with the small too young Robin had made him forget just why he was there in the first place. That he was one of the thugs. That he was one of the bad guys.

That he had a family to feed and money to earn so that he could move them, so that he could protect them.

That if he didn’t cooperate, having his little girl in such a horrible position might happen for real, and would no longer be simply a ‘what if.’

So he gave a small, sad smile to Robin, who sat still and young in the corner, and hoped that it would be enough to explain all his everlasting regret and sorrow, because it wasn’t supposed to be like this. It never should have been like this.

And then he left, shoulders low, and the deadbolts slid into place and the locks clicked shut, leaving their very young prisoner very much alone.

Because Frank was a bad guy. And he had too much too loose to do anything differently.

Frank's eyes were wide.

Frank's eyes were wide because he was sitting on a plastic chair and listening as the boss went on and on about how they were going to broadcast live to the world on their keeping of Robin, and how they planned on beating the kid up a little on screen to add a little more ‘accreditation’ on the fact that they meant business.

They were planning on beating up an eight or something year old kid.

And it was in those few moments that he reevaluated his situation. He thought of his wife, how disappointed and disgusted she would be in him if he went through with it. He thought of their situation, of how they could work around it, go out and live out of their car for a while or something. He thought of himself, of whether or not he would be able to live with himself if he condoned to beating up someone who could have been his own kid, in another life, and found himself thinking no, he wouldn’t be able to.

He thought of Carly, of his daughter, of his little angel, of sitting down in front of her and staring into her big brown eyes, telling her that he beat up a little kid so that she could be safe, that he did it for her, and how she would react. About how her big trusting brown eyes would fall.

And he knew he couldn’t do it.

He had to get the kid out. He had to get Robin out.

But he couldn’t just release Robin from his prison and direct him to the outside world through the warehouse. He couldn’t; his family could be in serious danger if he did, and he didn’t dare risk it.

So he had to find another way. And the only other way he could think of would be….

Would be getting Batman to Robin first.

Except he had no way of contacting the man. No way of communicating with him. There was a reason the thugs were just broadcasting everything live instead of making direct contact; no one knew how to do so.

But Batman was a detective, right? So maybe if Frank went back to the scene of the crime, he’d find him there.

And so, as soon as he unsuspiciously could, Frank did just that, and be it by some mysterious coincidence or down right luck, or maybe even fate smiling down upon him, the man was there, crouching low in the shadows of the corner where Charlie had knocked the kid down the first time.

The Batman was not smiling. The Batman was scowling. And he was terrifying.

One step. That was all it took. Frank took one, single, meager step, and the Batman was upon him.

He was slammed against the dirty brick wall, the intimidating man’s larger frame pressing him by the neck and the shoulders, and the white eyes of the cowl staring at him unblinkingly.

“ Who the hell are you? ”

Frank couldn’t breathe- even though the pressure on his neck wasn’t too tight- for the sheer fear that swept over him. His mind cast out far and wide, searching for a reason for the Batman not to kill him, searching for anything to prove his relative innocence.

The words that come out of his throat were desperate and breathy, and far too full of fear.

“I know where Robin is!”

Batman did not let go. Batman did not suddenly become friendly. No, instead, Batman simply growled, pressing him even tighter against the wall.

And now Frank really couldn’t breathe, because the man in black was pressing his forearm against his windpipe and there simply wasn’t any air .

“ Please - Trying- to ‘elp -”

The pressure was released and Frank collapsed to the ground, coughing.

“Who are you?”

The voice was deep. Gravelly. Terrifying . Frank just kept breathing, hoping his voice wasn’t too shaky when it finally did leave his mouth.

“Frank Kristens, sir. Um- I was one of the guys who nabbed your kid.”

The Batman didn’t say anything. Just stared. As cold and as judgemental as death.

He finally managed to gather his courage to stand up and look the vigilante in the eye, or, well cowl.

“Look- I know it was wrong. I know it. That’s why I’m here now. To help and try to- fix my mistakes. I just- you can take me to prison, or whatever it is you do. Just take care of my family- please. You’re a hero, right? They ain't got no part in this. Protect them. Please. That’s all I ask.”

Frank bit his lip, waiting for the gavel to fall, waiting for his judgement, but there was none. There was only Batman. Staring.

And then-

“ Where’s Robin? ”

The question came out more of a demand, one that had Frank spilling his guts about the gang he had worked at and their current base at the old factory, about the small closet of a room with the deadbolts and the locks that Robin was being kept in, about the idea of the live broadcasting at 12:05 PM sharp, about where the belt and the boots were probably being kept, and even about the drugs, even though it made the Batman clench his fists and grow slightly under his breath.

And when at last there were no more word to speak, and Frank had fallen silent, the Batman turned to go, only to freeze at the cusps of the shadows.

“Thank you.”

And then he was gone.

Frank, on jittery legs and with shaking lungs, made his way back to the base.

Showing up, his movements were stiff and his eyes flickered nervously about, expecting every moment for someone to point at him and charge, yelling of betrayal and death and revenge. Or perhaps for an avenging Bat to crash through the skylight, raining his wrath upon them all.

But nothing happened.

So he went about his business as usual, taking out his cleaning supplies and quickly and quietly cleaning up the meeting place before filling out some paperwork and warrants. Then, soon after, Frank nervously made his way to where Robin was being held, a plate of food in hand.

To his surprise, there was four guards standing outside of the door.

“What’s going on?”

One of the larger thugs- Frank noted that she had a heavy bruise on her temple- shrugged, shifting a cigarette around in her mouth and standing casually with a heavy assault rifle in hand.

“Birdie escaped ‘n hour ago so we figured we’d just drug ’em up again. We’re just a bit’a extra security, thas’ all.”

Frank blinked, trying to ignore the anger welling up in his soul on the fact that the kid had been put under the influence again, and nodded.

“Right, well… um, I have food for him.”

The intimidating woman stared at him for several moments suspiciously, and he almost just dropped the plate and ran, but then she was stepping to the side and unlatching the locks, so he took a deep breath and made his way through.

Robin was curled up in the corner again, this time on his side, looking thoroughly miserable and small.

Loudly, as to not startle the bird, Frank placed the platter of food on the floor and nudged it towards the kid.

“Um- Robin? I have food for ya, if you want it.”

The boy stirred, shifting slightly, but then settled again, mumbling nonsense.

“Robin?”

His voice was slightly louder this time, but there was still no reaction, and so Frank reached out and gently placed a hand on the boy’s caped shoulder.

The kid shot up as if he had blown a foghorn in his ear, his back slamming against the corner wall within microseconds. Frank hastily scooched back, raising his arms to show as a sign of peace, and held his breath, remembering all too well how Batman had slammed him against the wall.

There were fresh bruises on the kid’s neck and cheek, and on one small wrist was a shackle that had not been there before, the skin beneath it raw and bleeding. On the opposite arm was a mass of bulging red and purple, presumably where a needle was hastily jabbed. The boy’s breaths were strangely heavy as well, rattling in his throat, and he wavered ever so slightly from where he sat, as if on the verge of collapse.

For several moments, there was silence, and then-

“...rank?”

Frank tried for a smile.

“That’s me. You doin’ okay over there, kiddo?”

Robin blinked at him dully from behind his mask.

“Don’s feel s’ good… dizzy.”

Robin’s words were slurring heavily, his head listing side to side as he curled ever so slightly into himself.

Frank frowned.

“I’m sorry to hear that... I brought some food for ya, if you’re up for it.”

The kid's face blanched and he ever so slightly shook his head, looking as if he was about to be sick.

Frank bit his lip, shoving the food behind him to keep it out of sight. So much for that idea.

“Mr. Frank? Y’know ‘ere Batm’n is?”

Frank wished he could draw the kid into his arm and tell him that Batman was coming soon to get him, that everything was going to be okay, that his father would be there soon to swoop him away and keep him safe again. But, but he couldn’t. Not only because Robin would probably freak at the movement, but because Frank just didn’t know if anyone was listening, or watching, or something. He couldn’t risk it.

Instead, he just pinched the bridge of his nose, sighing.

“It’ll all be over soon, kiddo. I promise. It’s all gonna be over soon.”

And of course, in those few moments, the alarms began to blare.

Frank stood up and resisted the urge to curse, glancing at the door and then at the kid, who had his hands clasped over his ears and his face screwed up in pain. The loud wail of the systems was probably making his drug induced headache a thousand times worse, and Frank winced in sympathy for him.

But then the guards- along with a few other members of the gang- slammed the door open, and the sirens got even louder, accompanied by the sound of distant fighting and explosions and gunshots.

“What’s going on!?”

Frank demanded the answer with a shouted voice, even though he knew perfectly well what was happening. He just had to buy a little more time for Batman to swoop in and save the day. Just a little bit more time…

The female guard from before grunted, shoving Frank lightly out of the way as she crouched down in front of Robin and started to unlock his shackled wrist.

“The Bat’s here. Gotta move the kid.”

The guards behind the woman were sweating, eyes flickering in nervous fear. After having met the man, Frank couldn’t help but feel that it was an apt reaction.

The lock clicked, the shackle fell loose, and Robin cried out as the woman roughly grabbed his bruised arm, breaths wheezing through his mouth. Frank wondered if there was something wrong with the kid’s ribs.

But the thug was going to storm off, Robin in tow, and Frank couldn’t have that.

“Uh- I- um, wait! Wait. I- uh, I’ll take him.”

Again, the woman gave him a suspicious look, but then he had an armful of Robin in his grasp and the moment passed.

And then they were filing out of the room and storming through the chaotic corridors, red lights still flashing and alarm blazing, and Frank was still holding Robin and was still wondering Where the hell was Batman and then-

And then the lights flickered out and the alarms silenced, and Frank was left thinking, Oh, There he is .

Robin giggled against his collarbone, obviously out of it and sounding profoundly creepy in the sudden silence.

“ Batman’s gonna get you! ”

The only sound that filled the silence was harsh breathing and Robin’s continuous quiet giggles, and after several moments the woman was grunting, calling for everyone to move forwards, and Frank was despairing, because they needed to stay still-

And then the woman’s voice suddenly cut off with a shout, and Frank caught a glimpse of a swirling cape and bright white lenses in the inky darkness.

The other thugs were yelling, firing randomly out into the blackness, and Frank shifted Robin in his arms and slammed himself against the wall, out of the way.

He could hardly see the Bat or his ex-comrades, just smidgets of people fighting and swinging out wildly in the hopes of hitting someone. Mostly, he heard people grunting and the sound of flesh on flesh.

“Frank?”

The word was muffled and distant, slurred and far too quiet.

Frank looked down at the mop of black hair resting on his shoulder.

“Yes?”

“Think ‘m just gonna pass out now…”

His eyes widened, and he jostled the kid a bit.

“Hey, hey, don’t do that, bud. Batman’s here-”

“Tha’s why ‘sokay…”

“- and he’s going to wanna talk to you. C’mon, Robin, stay awake-”

Robin finally looked up at him, the whites of his mask blown wide.

“‘m tired …”

The words came out almost as a sob, cracking on the last word, and Frank was once again reminded about how young and small Robin seemed in his arms.

And then suddenly someone was trying to tug the kid out of his grip, and Frank reacted on instinct when he just held on tighter, but looking up revealed that the person on the other side of the Robin tug-a-war was Batman and he hastily let go.

Batman didn’t even bother glaring at him, murmuring softly to the kid in his arms in some language that he couldn’t understand and then listening intently as the kid responded.

Frank cleared his throat.

“They gave him a second round of drugs and a bit of a beat up while I was out, I’d have him checked for overdose and injuries and stuff.”

The Batman didn’t say anything. Frank shifted his feet. Robin mumbled something unintelligible.

The whole complex was quiet, and Frank wondered if the man had taken out the entire mob.

Finally, there was a sigh.

“Police will be arriving in five minutes. I suggest you clear out before they get here.”

Before Frank could even blink, the dynamic duo had vanished into thin air, and something inside of him finally loosened.

He had done something right. He had finally done something right, and it felt good. It felt amazing . It felt a little bit like… like being a hero.

That night, Frank pulled his daughter close and held her for several moments, tight and strong, and then repeated the motion with his wife. Frank was going to fix this. He was going to fix all of this. And this time, he was going to fix it right.

He gets himself a new job, and there was less money but it was still enough, and with the mob gone he didn’t need to pay for protection, which helped. It was still a struggle, however, and their meals were small and their school funding minimal. But Frank was going to fix it. It would just take time.

Later, he would revel in the fact that the time had been so much shorter than he had expected, because a week later he opened his door in response to a quiet knock, only to be faced with an envelope filled with references, set dates and times for job interviews, one even for Wayne Industries.

Frank could hardly breathe in shock, and when he looked out into the night, trying to find his benefactors, he spotted nothing.

However, as he turned to enter the house and tell his wife the good news, he thought he saw the image of a large intimidating figure in black and a smaller, brightly coloured, kid standing right besides him out of the corner of his eye, hiding in the darkness between the dimly lit spotlights.

He didn’t turn to check, but an echo of a giggle filled his ears, and he smiled.

It was going to be okay.

Chapter Text

Alex was damn good at her job.

She knew it. The Bosses knew it. The underlings knew it. 

And she liked her job. Her work paid well and included the added benefit of knowing how to kill someone in fifteen different ways. 

Besides, there was a certain sort of sadistic pleasure in making a grown man cry.

Now. Alex was fair. She knew being a thug wasn’t everyone’s thing. She knew some of them were just in it out of desperation, or for some quick cash. She led her underlings with an iron grip, and was not afraid to throw someone around if they were stepping out of line. But she also made sure that everyone was fed and watered, had somewhere to stay the night, even if it was some crummy warehouse district. She looked after her own, and in turn her people looked after her, and they ran much more smoothly because of it.

It was why she was so good at her job: she knew a little loyalty went a long frickin way.

And so they were hired. By local mob bosses, by Two Face, by Penguin, by Poison Ivy once or twice. She steered away from Joker’s clowns, because he was just that unpredictable and working with him meant your chances of survival were slim to none.

And Alex was a head henchman, not an idiot.

She’d been doing this for almost seven years, and sure, it could get a bit bloody sometimes, and she lost a good follower once or twice, and if she got caught she’d be in jail for the rest of her life. 

But it was good. She was content, leading her little group, bashing skulls, counting bills. Taking names and kicking ass. She got hired, she did the job - drug shipments, robberies, traps for Batman, the likes- and then she and her merry unethical gang retreated back into the limelight.

And then-

And then-

And then Batman got himself a Robin. 

A Robin that was just some snot nosed kid. A Robin who was very bubbly and loud and cheery. A Robin who somehow made a split a knockout blow. 

A Robin of whom the Batman was very, very protective. 

The first time Alex saw the outcome of a Robin kidnapping, with half the hired help in body casts, she decided then and there that any job involving putting the kid in danger wasn’t worth it.

Also, despite her protests otherwise, she did, in fact, have a conscience. And she wasn’t about to kill a fucking kid.

So she avoided those jobs. Anything involving kidnapping, torturing, trapping, or killing the Boy Wonder and she and her team were out. If they were heading a deal and the dynamic duo just so happens to show up, she commanded her group to avoid shooting at the boy, ignored their incredulous looks, and threw herself into the fight.

The first time she ran into the child in tights, it went a little like this:

“You should be in school.”

“Well you should be in jail!”

“Touche, you Cotton-Headed Ninny Muggins…”

“Was that a quote from Elf?”

“Maybe.”

Then the kid laughed, then and there in the middle of a battle. And then the Batman had knocked her lights out.

It was not her brightest moment.

But the kid, as kids do, grew up. From tiny chatterbox to affectionate pre-teen powerhouse, to full blown almost adult. He called her Jovie whenever he saw her, even years later. Because he was a punk. 

And then he disappeared from Gotham. 

Alex didn't worry about it: she knew he was in some other city with a  group of fellow teen heroes. She knew he was capable. She knew she didn’t need to worry about the vigilante life swallowing him whole anymore.

Which is why, of course, she was so shocked to hear her current boss- who went by by Jakal- gloating about capturing Robin.

“I didn’t sign up for any hostage situations,” she hissed, because she didn’t appreciate people backing up on their end of the bargain. If her group didn’t need the money, she’d have shot the man already.

But Jakal just laughed, white teeth gleaming, and leaned in close in a way of expressing dominance.

(Alex was not impressed.)

“Well, you best get on board, or otherwise things are gonna get... messy .”

Alex glared. Cold. Hard. Closed off. 

She didn’t take threats to her team lightly.

But…

But they needed the money. And she figured that Robin was old enough, now, to handle the situation. That he had his grace period and what’s done was done. That backing out of the deal was going to do more harm than good.

“Fine,” she snarled, and left the crummy office to find the captured bird. Possibly to make fun of him for getting captured in the first place, because really. This was a low level crime boss at best and the teen should know better.

Except-

Except-

Except when she neared the chamber holding their bird hostage, the voice echoing from within wasn’t the almost grown timbre of a young man. And it wasn’t any of her people, either.

She slammed the door open and burst into the room.

“-uck you! Effing scullions- fustilarians! When I get outta here I’m gonna knife you, I swear I will! Batman’s gonna knock all you lights out, just you wait-”

The tirade went on. And on. And on. 

Was that Shakespeare? Alex didn’t even know half of the words spewing from this kids mouth.

And she definitely didn’t know the kid himself.

Because it was. A kid. And clearly not the almost grown version she was used to. That one never had such language, or such a violent manner in throwing himself around, tied to a chair in the middle of a room, positively screeching.

Her eyes narrowed. The kid focused on her and spit at her feet, voice hoarse and face red from all the yelling.

“What’re ya gonna do? Hit me? I can take it. I’m not tellin’ you nothin.”

This wasn’t supposed to happen. This was never supposed to happen.

Damn it.

She narrowed her eyes at him even further.

“Who the fuck are you?”

The kid raised an eyebrow at her. Even behind the mask, it was obvious he’s judging her mental facilities.

“Robin. Duh.”

“What about the other one? The older one? Where’s he at?”

The kid’s shoulders hunched up and his mocking tone curled into a rugged snarl. It was clear she struck a sensitive cord.

“None of your fuckin’ business.”

She looked at him. He glared back. He was all ruffled feathers and angry words, but Alex could just tell that he was out of his mind with fear. This was no accomplished sidekick. This kid had the tough act down to an art style and a chip in his shoulder dug deep by an unfair life, but he was green around the gills and by no means in control of the situation.

He sounded like her. Thick street accent sliding along all his consonants, Gotham breathing on his tongue, rough and alive and full of anger. It was a certain kind of aura that stuck with you, growing up in Crime Alley, alone and desperate and surviving through the grit of your teeth. 

She wondered if he was a street kid like her before Batman picked him up. She was nearly positive of it.

He looked fed, now. A bit of muscle and fat starting to cling to his bones. Dressed up in his fancy high-value costume and swinging around with his high tech gadgets. Someone to look after him, too, if Batman treats him with even a fraction of the care he did the old Robin.

Good, she thought, viciously, because she liked her job, but it wasn’t for everyone, and if you could escape the lifestyle you should.

And now the kid was here. At her mercy. At Jakal’s mercy. And his escape from this hell hole existence might not have meant anything at all.

And god damnit, there was a reason she’d been avoiding this precise situation.  

All of this flickered through her in a moment of emotion and thought, and then she was turning and marching right out of the room. Robin started yelling again behind her, lashing against his bonds to no avail. She kept right on walking, because she couldn’t do anything for the kid. Not without risking her life. Not without risking the life of her people.

At least. Not yet.

She’d be back. Of course she’d be back: she had made up her mind the minute she had heard that too-young voice. Alex would murder. She would steal. She would beat folks up until they were black and bloody blue, but literal children were off the fucking table.

Besides, anyone who thought they could back out of a deal and pull a fast one on her needed to be put into their place. Alex hadn’t survived this long because she’s rolled over every time someone made a threat. She survived because she knew precisely when to push back.

And Jackal? Jackal was a small fry if she had ever seen it. Rich, with lots of connections, but small fry nonetheless.

That night, she went back to the holding cell where they’ve been keeping Robin. Two of her men- as planned- are guarding the door. And with a brisk jerk of her head they leave, shooting her confused looks over their shoulders.

But they didn’t ask questions. They didn’t hesitate in following her orders. They didn’t even think to bring up the fact that Jackal commanded nobody be left alone with their miniature hostage, that she was acting in direct violation with their hired boss.

The cameras were off. When she creeped inside, the room was dark.

The kid’s head snaps up when she approaches, and she catches the hopeful expression on his face before it shrinks into a glower. There’s a bruise on his temple that wasn’t there before, rope burn from all the struggling. There were teartracks, too, but she was big enough not to mention it.

“What do you want?” he snarled, voice wrecked and cracking. Still trying to be brave.

“Nothin’, just for you to hold still.”

“Wha-!?”

The kid lets out a tiny shriek when she whipped out her knife, rearing back. She ignored this, focused, leaning forward and cutting the rope.

He looked at her incredulously. 

She shrugged. Yanked him to his feet. Swung around the worn pack around her back and shoved it into his grip. Inside was his belt and his boots, along with his gauntlets. There was also some money, a water bottle, and a sandwich she nicked off some of Jakal’s recruits.

Revenge was sweet. And Alex was petty.

Still staring, Robin sputtered, glancing inside the bag and then hiking it up close to his chest protectively. He made no moves to attack her, which is good, all things considering, but his eyes were still wary when he looked at her.

Which was also good. If he had trusted her immediately, he probably wouldn’t survive out there all too long.

“What are you doing?” he asked, voice harsh. Whites of his mask oddly pierced in the dark. Like they were looking into her soul, measuring her faults with a silver scale.There was something distinctive there that wasn’t quite normal. 

It was her turn to raise an eyebrow, to judge his mental facilities. The turn of the tables was surprisingly enjoyable.

“Helping you escape…” and then, because she really was petty- “Duh.”

But the kid was ignoring her cleverly thought out callback.

“Yeah, okay, but why? Why would you help me?”

She sighed. Shifted on her heels. They didn’t have time for this, but something told her that until this boy had an answer he wouldn’t be moving one inch.

“Cause you’re a kid. And I’m not a monster.”

And here, she grinned- crooked and as honest as she could get, considering her livelihood.

“Besides, us street rats have to stick together, don’t we?”

(A little bit of loyalty went a long long way.)

The Boy Wonder jerked, staring at her wide eyed. Alex shrugged, stood up, and hauled the young hero to his feet, too.

“Now,” she said, “let’s get the fuck out of dodge.”

She leads him down the hallway to another small room, punching open a sealed window and keeping watch while he quickly shimmied his way into full costume. The communicators and trackers had all been destroyed, and they were well out of their way from central Gotham,  but she gave him brisk directions to the nearest train station, which- of he hopped onto the upcoming train at 2:45AM- would in turn lead him to the nearest telephone booth.

Where he could call Batman, go home, and be safe. 

Alex had very few scruples left to her, but this was one of them. You left kids out of it. Growing up in Gotham was hard enough without becoming a target for some vicious madman. Alex wasn’t about to become some child’s worst nightmare, even if it was some mini superhero.

She wasn’t.

The boy cleared his throat. Alex pretended to pay him no mind,  idly staring up at the ceiling. Casual. Careful. Ready for anything.

But Robin shifted, awkward, stomped his now booted feet against cold cement- his toes must have been freezing- and said, quietly, “Thank you. For, um. Helping.”

She turned, words like Get going, kid, on the tip of her tongue, but he was already gone, a flash of colour and a whoosh of wind, and the child hero vanished into the night. 

Maybe she should feel guilty about that. Sending a practical baby out into the dangerous world with nothing but some directions and a utility belt to his name. But she didn’t: she was no saint, and she had the distinct feeling that Robin was used to the creeping shadows either way.

For a moment, Alex stared. Two seconds. Three. 

Then she creaked the window shut, resealed it, and faded into the black of the corridor.

The next morning, there was hell to pay.

Jackal was pissed, practically frothing at the mouth, pacing back and forth in front of his lined up recruits with something cruel and terrible in his eyes.

“Who did it?” he kept asking, over and over again, “Who the hell did it? Fess up, fess up or I’m gonna bloody kill all of you-”

  Alex watched with emotionless eyes. Besides her, her group said nothing. Not the guards who left her alone with their captive and came back to a suspiciously silent room. Not the surveillance folks who she demanded to turn off the cameras. Not anyone who saw her furious rage the moment Jackal started bragging about catching a Robin.

A  little loyalty went a long fricken’ way.

The man came to a stop in front of her, sweating and pale and out of control. Alex raised a brow and kept dead still and unaffected to the spittle flying into her face.

“You,” he hissed, “You did this! Let him go, did ya? Thought you could get away with it?”

Alex let a little bit of the brittleness inside of her show, something sharp and thin and dangerous.

“I’ve not a clue of what you’re talkin’ about.”

He snarled. Alex kept her hand on her knife, ready for anything.

Except-

Except Jackal lunged, his own blade in hand, and she retreated, ready to drag her weapon out, and -

And something came flying out of the shadows and clunks the man right in the head. He faltered, swayed, and plopped to the ground like a sack of flour.

A batarang lay on the floor at her feet. 

If Batman responded in any way similar to the way he responded to his first Robin…. Well, Alex didn’t want every bone in her bone broken today.

“IT’S THE BAT!” she roared, “SCATTER!”

And her followers listened, retreating, running, disappearing into the night while Jackal’s folk decided to take a swing at the legend of Gotham’s streets. She winced as one man’s nose cracked under the onslaught of a black gloved fist. 

And then took a moment, just one moment, to look for a flash of green, of red, of yellow- traffic light colours to reassure her the kid made it home safe.

She took a moment too long.

Because suddenly he was there, the big Bat himself, towering over her like a statement, like a proclamation of justice. And she snarled and slipped into a defensive position because damn it if she was going to go down, she’d go down swinging.

Batman was no small fry.

But the man did not land a hit. He came to an abrupt stop before her, cape swinging, blank white eyes piercing just like Robin’s had been some few hours earlier, and it was like a second stretched out for eternity.

He knows, she thought. He knows what I did. That I got his kid out. He knows .

She wanted to tell him- Take good care of that punk. Keep him close. Keep him safe.

She wanted to tell him- You’ve got a real spitfire for a kid. He’s got guts.

She wanted to tell him- Why? Why is this literal child out here fighting crime? W H Y ?

But she couldn’t. Wouldn’t. There was a lifetime beneath her chest and she was caught in the silence, suspended out of time.

And then the moment shattered into nothing. He turned on her, sweeping someone’s legs out from under them. Sending them sprawling against rough concrete.

Alex breathed. Alex breathed. 

And then she turned tail and ran for all her worth. She wasn’t about to try and go up against a man hell bent on vengeance: she survived this long because she knew precisely when to push back, but also precisely when it was time to retreat like hell itself was chasing you down on devil’s wings.

Escaping out of the warehouse and into the gloomy Gotham sun felt like an undeserved gift. But she wasn’t about to complain, wasn’t about to waste her second chance.

Somewhere out there, there was a Robin, and she hoped he wasn’t wasting his second chance, either.

Some ten years later, Alex had been in the business longer than she had been out of it. 

There was a man in front of her, red mask gleaming in the dingy bar they’re sitting at, voice modulated and manner wild, but presence almost familiar.

She sat straight spined and unruffled, willing to see where this deal goes. He sipped at his drink, staring her down. 

“Do we have a deal?”

His voice was rough like gravel, like he’s been smoking a pack a day for forty years. Without his face for clues, it was hard to tell his age, but she would bet her favourite blade that he was young. Younger than her, at least.

Alex cocked a shoulder, scars rippling across her face as she smirked, knives a familiar weight at her belt and gun heavy across her back.

“I don’t do kids,” she said, upfront. It’s gotten more pertinent over the years, what with Batman’s continuous spree of Robins. “But leave them out of it, and I’d say we do.”

The man reached out his hand. She clasped it firmly, giving a quick shake.

“We can get the contracts signed in under an hour.”

He head tilted at her proclamation, just ever so slightly.

“Professional,” he commented.

She shrugged, a self satisfied smile creeping onto her features.

“What can I say? I am damn good at my job.”

The Red Hood didn't say anything, but she got the feeling he had a smile to match under his mask.