Archive of Our Own ^beta

There's something special in the air tonight. Even a quiet patrol in the warehouse district feels alive in a way it hasn't for months, maybe years. It feels like the first time Tim ever held a grapple, the first time he threw a batarang, the first time he ever patrolled solo.

Of course, it is the first time that he's patrolled solo, at least in his new identity. Jason insisted that he train with his new weapons before being allowed out at all, and then he spent two weeks shadowing Jason, only there as emergency back-up. But tonight, they're finally out separately – two parallel routes, a few blocks apart.

Tonight belongs to Tim. Tonight belongs to –

“Hey, Little Red.”

“Not my name!” Tim shoots back, although even Jason's teasing can't dampen his mood.

“Then how did you know I was talking to you?”

“We're the only two on the – look, Hood, what do you want?”

“So, I was just reviewing my route maps for the rest of the week…”

Tim had been reluctantly allowed to “Oracle-proof” Jason's computer systems – not that they would actually keep Babs out, but they would give her a headache for several hours and with a bit of luck she might trip one of the data-scrubbing viruses Tim had hidden in the system and wipe the servers.

In order to do so, Tim had been given access to about half of Jason's files. He could definitely have cracked the remaining half, but Jason was putting a lot of trust in him, and he wanted to repay that. And also he was pretty sure that Jason was paranoid enough to keep the most damning information on hard copy only, which got burnt the moment he was done with it. (It wasn't like Red Hood was going to be filing a tax return.)

The route maps, however, are fully in Tim's purview as Jason's new vigilante partner, and he may have taken advantage of that power to make a few tweaks.

“Why am I apparently stopping by twenty-seventh and Brewer on Wednesday? That's three blocks further east than the old route.”

“There's a brothel there that I think you should keep an eye on.”

Jason's end of the line goes quiet, and when he next speaks his voice is low and dark: “Is it kids?”

There is nothing the Red Hood hates more than someone hurting children.

“No! No, no, nothing bad,” Tim clarifies. “The opposite, actually. They're worker-owned, pay fairly, even make the clients get tested. But they've been shaken down for protection money by at least three different gangs this month and they can't afford to stay independent much longer without help.”

“And that's my problem because…?”

Tim waits a couple of seconds.

“It's gonna take some time to consolidate the new territory,” Jason says gruffly.

“Then you'd better start working on it, hadn't you?”

“Hey kid, has anyone ever told you you're a nosy, interfering little –”

“Shh!”

Jason splutters for a second, but Tim ignores him. All his attention is focussed on the van driving up the narrow alley between two warehouses.

“I've got an unmarked white van with an external lock on the back,” he reports, and Hood immediately goes quiet. “It might be nothing, but I'm going to track it to make sure.”

“You want back-up?” Hood asks.

“Not yet,” Tim says, “but don't go anywhere.”

He trails the van for a couple of streets, running almost silently over the flat tin rooftops. As he expected, the van pulls up outside one of the warehouses, and he positions himself across the street to watch.

The engine turns off, and Tim can make out a faint, muffled voice. Then the van suddenly bounces on its suspension, as though someone inside has kicked at the door.

The driver is a bulky man with graying hair. He gets out, locks the driver door, and walks around to the back. He steps inside the van, says something Tim can't make out, and there's the unmistakable ring of a slap from inside.

Then the man emerges, his hand gripping the shoulder of a skinny figure – a girl, perhaps thirteen, gagged and with her hands bound in front of her. She's coated with a level of grime that suggests she's either living on the streets, or she's been held captive for a while. Maybe both.

The man drags her into the warehouse without speaking, easily overpowering her token struggles.

“Kidnapping,” Tim reports, as soon as the door closes. “Victim is a girl, about thirteen, I'd guess homeless. I've seen one heavy so far, but I'm guessing there's more inside.”

Hood is quiet for a moment.

“On my way,” he says roughly. “At your location in five.”

“I want to go in, get the lay of the land.”

Tim waits for that idea to be shot down, to be told to stand back and wait for back-up to arrive.

Jason grunts.

“Try not to get caught,” he says. “And don't do anything stupid.”

“That's what I've got you for,” Tim quips.

He jumps across the road between the two roofs, landing in a tight roll to absorb most of the energy and muffle the sound. He secures a line and rappels down to the first unlit window – an office, from the looks of things. It only takes him about twenty seconds to pick the lock and slip inside, carefully closing the window behind him.

It's clear from the thick layer of dust that this room hasn't been used in a while. Weapon ready in his hand, he slowly eases the door open and slips through, finding himself on a mezzanine level overlooking the warehouse floor. The only light comes from the main floor below, so there are plenty of shadows to fade into.

He checks the level below first. Three heavies are sat around a table, playing cards. Neither is the driver he saw a minute ago, and there's no sign of the girl.

There's a still-wet blood trail leading up the staircase – only a few splashes, nothing fatal, but the sight is still chilling. It passes down the platform Tim is stood upon, down a corridor towards –

“Quit that whining,” a man's voice snaps. “Or I'll really give you something to cry about.”

A doorway opens, spilling light into the corridor, and the driver emerges. He's still gripping the girl from the van by the shoulder, dragging her out of a bathroom of some kind. She's holding something to her face – a wad of toilet paper, trying to staunch a bleeding nose.

Tim swings the weighted end of the kyoketsu-shoge, wrapping the chain around the man's wrist and yanking him away from the girl. The goon spins from the momentum, and Tim catches him with an upward blow to the chin that knocks him out cold. Tim catches him as he falls and lowers him to the ground so there's no thud to alert his friends downstairs, then zip-ties his hands together.

He looks up, and meets the eyes of the girl. Quickly, he puts a finger to his lips, gesturing “keep quiet”. She eyes him warily, taking a couple of steps back.

“Are you the Red Hood?” she murmurs, clearly suspicious.

“I work with him,” Tim replies. “I'm here to help you. You can call me Red Shadow.”

It's the first time he's ever announced himself out loud.

The girl gives him a curt nod and doesn't try to flee, which is as close to a glowing seal of approval as he's likely to get from a teenager from Crime Alley. He gestures her back into the grime-coated bathroom, and she reluctantly allows him to pull the door closed behind them.

“Are you hurt anywhere?”

“'s almost stopped bleeding,” she shrugs. “His buddies downstairs weren't happy he hit me. Said the merchandise was supposed to be delivered in good condition.”

Tim's stomach turns, hearing a child refer to herself as “merchandise.”

“Hood, I've got the girl but there are probably more kids locked away somewhere.” he reports over the comms. “Three guards by the main entrance, one out cold upstairs, probably at least one more posted up somewhere watching the front.”

“I'll be with you in thirty seconds,” Hood replies.

“Want them stunned?” Tim offers, fingering the pocket of his bandolier which contains flash grenades.

“No,” Hood says in a dangerous voice. “I want them to know what's coming for them.”

Tim turns back to the girl.

“Stay in this room,” he tells her. “Lock the door after me, and don't open it no matter what you hear.”

His instinct tells him that the other kids are nearby. There are several doors off this corridor, and they wouldn't have dragged the girl up the stairs if the plan was just to drag her back down again after. He positions himself near the top of the staircase, watchful for any sign of motion along the corridor.

And that's when Red Hood kicks in the doors.

“I guess you guys are lost,” he snarls through the voice modulator. “This is my territory now.”

One of the goons raises his hands above his head, babbling: “We didn't mean no offence, we'll just be heading out –”

“I know about the kids upstairs.”

The babbler falls silent, going very pale. One of the other henchmen reaches for his gun, and Jason blows a hole in his hand without even glancing sideways. The man screams, knees crumpling underneath him as he cradles his hand to his chest.

“Start talking,” Hood demands, in the fierce tones of an avenging angel, “and if you tell me what I want to hear, this can be over quickly. Otherwise…”

Tim doesn't hear the rest of the threat, because he catches a flicker of movement in his peripheral vision. A guard is creeping down the corridor from the far end – he must have been posted up in one of the rooms. Tim is guessing he's just hoping to escape without attracting Hood's notice, but if he's particularly scared of his boss he might be aiming to destroy evidence on his way out.

Or he might be going after the kids.

Before Tim can make a move, the guy notices his colleague passed out on the floor. He starts looking around, immediately on guard for an attack. There's going to be no element of surprise this time.

Tim launches himself at the man. The guard notices him and draws his gun, but a slash with the kyoketsu-shoge blade makes him fumble it and it skitters across the floor. He reaches for a knife, this time gripping it more firmly, while Tim spins the weight, forcing him to keep at a distance.

The goon slashes at him a couple of times, but Tim deflects the blows easily. He slashes back, catching the man on the forearm, but really he's waiting for an opening.

When the man attempts to grapple him, Tim sees his chance. He dodges to the side and swings the chain around the guy's waist, using his own momentum against him to flip him to the floor.

The guy crashes onto his back with a loud thud. Tim is about to follow up when there's a sudden shaft of light across the floor.

“Shadow? What's…”

Tim turns to see the girl stepping out of the bathroom. His moment of distraction gives the goon time to recover, and he scrambles towards his gun.

Tim makes a split-second decision, and steps in front of the girl, shielding her with his body. Getting shot at close-range is going to suck, but he's armoured – he can deal with bruises or cracked ribs to keep a child safe.

Tim braces himself, waiting for the impact.

And then the guard drops flat on the floor, a bloodstain spreading across his back.

Tim looks up slowly. Red Hood is stood at the top of the staircase, his gun still trained on the guard's body.

“We clear?” Hood asks.

“Need to check the other rooms.”

Hood nods, and starts kicking down doors to check for any more guards lurking. Tim turns and kneels to talk to the girl, still trying to keep himself between her and the body.

“Are you alright?” he asks. “Did you get hit by anything?”

“I'm fine,” the girl huffs, pushing past him. She walks up to the unconscious driver and launches a vicious kick at his ribs.

“Hey,” Tim protests lightly. “Keep away from him, he could wake up.”

“You trying out to be one of my interrogators, kid?” Jason asks.

The girl perks up immediately to hear his voice. Jason's Crime Alley drawl is unmissable even though the distortion of his voice modulator, and Tim wonders if it's a conscious choice or just reflex at this point.

“Hood!” She lights up. “I knew you'd come get these assholes. They shouldn't'a gone after me on your turf.”

“Damn straight,” Hood replies, ruffling her hair. “Any idea which of these rooms they were gonna take you to?”

The girl rolls her eyes at him.

“Hey!” she yells down the corridor. “The Red Hood's here! Yell at the door so he can let you out!”

There's immediately yelling from the end of the corridor.

“Good thinking, kid.”

Tim can imagine Jason's grin behind the helmet, and he's fighting back a smile himself as he grabs the keys off of the captured guard. While Jason quickly clears the remaining rooms, Tim opens up the door to find a dozen more anxious-looking kids, ranging in age from about eight to fourteen. To his relief, there's no sign that any of them have been here for more than a few hours.

Not all of the kids are quite so relaxed around the vigilantes. A couple are watching them warily, even as Hood signals Tim the all-clear.

“Don't worry,” he tells the kids. “We're going to get you out of here.”

“Where to?” one of the boys asks suspiciously. “I ain't talking to no police.”

Tim glances at Jason.

“There's a shelter on thirty-sixth I gotta deal with,” Jason drawls. “They won't report you to no-one, or they answer to me. Red Shadow here will take you there now if you want. But if you'd rather head out on your own, we ain't gonna stop you.” He jerks a thumb behind him. “There's a fire escape back here. Take that way out, I've still got some finishing up to do downstairs.”

The girl Tim first found nods firmly.

“Thanks for your help, Hood. I'm good from here.”

She turns to leave.

“Hey kid?” Jason calls to her. “It's an open offer, okay? You know anyone who needs help, tell them to try thirty-sixth street.”

She nods sharply at him, then disappears out the fire door. A couple more of the teenagers go after her. Tim aches to stop them, but…

“Okay, is everyone else coming?” He turns to the other children, forcing a reassuring smile. “Follow me.”

#

Tim has just finished dropping the kids off at the shelter when Jason reports in that he's done at the warehouse and heading back to base. So it's no surprise to walk into the disused boxing gym they've been using to train and store their gear and find Jason already sat at the desk, leafing through some paperwork.

It's a bit of a surprise that he hasn't taken off his body armour yet. The red helmet is on the desk next to him, but he's still wearing the rest of his gear, weapons and all. On a second look, Tim can see the tension coiled beneath the skin – jaw clenched, eyes narrowed, one hand clutching the papers tight enough to crease them and the other resting loosely on the grip of his gun.

“Nice work tonight, kid,” he greets Tim, but his smile is too quick, too worn. “You should head home, you must be tired.”

Tim is, his muscles aching from the fight and the adrenaline comedown. But his instincts are screaming at him to stay and get to the bottom of this, so he fights down the fatigue and leans against the wall next to the desk.

“Anything I can help with?” he asks, gesturing the paperwork.

“This has Black Mask written all over it. I don't want you anywhere near that shit.” Jason shakes his head. “Scram, kid.”

“That an order?” Tim shoots back, letting a little acid into his voice.

All the muscles in Jason's neck flex, but he doesn't speak, so Tim counts that as a point to him.

“That girl had heard of you,” he continues. “She trusted you to come save her.”

“But not enough to go to the shelter,” Jason says. “She's no safer now than she was this morning.”

Tim shrugs. “But a hell of a lot safer than she was two hours ago. You can't force someone to accept help, even if you might want to. She knows where to go if she needs it, and the rest of those kids have a real chance at getting help.”

Jason snorts.

“Foster care in Gotham isn't much of a step up,” he said.

“It's better than it was.”

“You mean it's gone from certain death to Russian Roulette?”

“Perhaps. But every night like this one takes one more bullet out the gun.”

“Would you stop –” Jason cuts himself off, taking a breath. “You know, this shit didn't work on me back when it was Dickhead trying to annoy me into talking, and you aren't as good at it as he is.”

“Then maybe you should stop deflecting and tell me what the actual problem is,” Tim says flatly.

“You shouldn't even want to talk to me right now!” Jason snaps. “I killed a guy right in front of you.”

Tim sighs. This again?

“I already told you I'm fine with that,” he says. “I'm not sad that you killed a child trafficker, Jason. Do you want me to say that you should have turned him in? That those kids would have been better off dealing with trials and testifying – if the goons didn't strike a plea deal? There's a reason why that girl's hero was Red Hood, not Batman, and it's the exact same reason I'm here.”

Jason spins his chair to face Tim, rolling his eyes.

“Nice speech, kid, but this isn't about me feeling guilty about killing scumbags. Killing scumbags is awesome. But I didn't mean to kill them in front of you.”

“I've seen people die before…” No, that wasn't it. So why was Hood pushing him away…?

Ah.

“You lost control.”

Jason huffs in a way that clearly means “yes”.

“You wouldn't have hurt me,” Tim says, although some uncertainty is starting to creep in. He fights it back: “If I ever break any of your rules, I want you to shoot me.”

Jason shakes his head.

“You have more faith than I do in me following my own rules, Little Red.”

Tim finally makes the connection in his mind, and then kicks himself for not seeing it quicker.

“Oh! This is about the Lazarus Pit.”

Jason stares at him.

“You know?”

“You're back from the dead and your eyes glow green when you're angry,” Tim says. “I hypothesised.”

“Kid, has anyone ever told you that you're too smart for your own good?”

“You. Three times this week. And I think it was on my third grade report card…”

Jason scowls.

“So you hypothesised that I have uncontrollable outbursts of supernatural rage and you still decided that the best way to approach this was pissing me off while I'm armed?”

Jason gets to his feet, looming over Tim with all his extra eight inches of height. Tim rolls his eyes.

“You're not going to hurt me.”

“I've thought about shooting you before,” Jason says, a cruel edge in his voice.

Tim raises an eyebrow. “When you first met me?”

“Earlier,” Jason says. “When I heard there was a new Robin. Thought I'd teach B a lesson about letting little birds out the nest.”

Tim generously doesn't point out that being mad at a concept is pretty different to shooting an actual person.

“Trying to scare me isn't going to fix this.”

Jason shakes his head.

“There's no fixing this, Little Red,” he says. “This is who I am now.”

Tim huffs. “You're not listening to me.”

Jason has dropped into a fighting stance, and Tim mirrors him. If this is the way Jason wants to do it? Fine.

“I'm not the hero you think I am, kid.”

Jason aims a jab at Tim's ribs. It's wild, uncontrolled, and Tim blocks it easily.

“I know you think I'm naive.” Tim dodges another blow. “But I've seen what you do in this city. You're still trying to help people.”

“And if that changes?” Jason asks. “You gonna follow me blindly, no matter who I kill?”

“No,” Tim snaps. “I'm here because I believe in what you're doing. But if you betray that, I will stop you.”

Jason pointedly looks him up and down. “Really, kid?”

Tim stands his ground.

“Tonight you were that little girl's hero. You're Crime Alley's hero. And –”

Jason's body telegraphs his intentions. He over-commits to a shove, aiming to slam Tim against a wall. Tim dodges, and uses the moment of surprise to force Jason into a pin.

Jason could throw him off – should throw him off, without breaking a sweat. But he doesn't, just like Tim knew he wouldn't.

“If you become a villain,” Tim continues, panting, “I will take you down. Because some part of you? Is going to let me.”

Jason goes very still.

“… you promise?” he asks, softly.

Tim steps back, releasing him, but Jason stays against the concrete, not turning around.

“Swear it on Robin,” Tim says.

Jason's head snaps around. He eyes Tim slowly, carefully, like he's seeing something for the first time.

Then he runs a hand through his hair, and cracks a grin, and all trace of what just passed is locked away. Without a word, Tim knows they won't talk about this conversation again.

“Okay, Timbo,” Jason says. “Patrol's over. Unless you want to crash on the floor, I'm kicking you out.”

“And you're going to go to sleep too?” Tim prods.

“I'm not the baby bird out past his bedtime.”

Tim scoffs at him. “Smartass.”

“Me? Never.” Jason grins. “That's what I've got you for.”