Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Somewhere in Gotham, in an empty warehouse, the Red Hood was screaming. Like any self respecting Gothamite, passersby who heard the muffled noise ignored it.

“I didn’t get lucky. Every other hero that came back. They got lucky. Maybe a mishap with the time stream, maybe they were an alien species who went into hibernation after a nearly fatal wound. But they didn’t really die. I did. I was dead-dead, at peace, beyond the reach of pain and suffering. However you want to say it.

“But then I was dragged back. Forced back into my coffin, abandoned to dig myself out of my own grave. Because Lady Gotham herself doesn’t trust Batman to do his job and had to make it my problem. 

“So here I am, a fucking affront to the natural order of things, denied my final respite because you couldn’t let my gods damned murderer stay dead!” Jason was snarling by the end, flecks of saliva landing on the mannequin he’d dressed up in one of Bruce’s old uniforms. 

The mannequin didn’t react, and after a moment, Jason unlatched his helmet to run a hand through his sweaty hair.

“You’re right,” he told the mannequin, “There’s nothing I can say that would make Bruce change his mind.”

“I’ll just have to change Gotham instead.”

Fortunately, Jason knew just where to start. The network of informant’s he’d set up as the Red Hood was starting to bear fruit and word was the local precinct had neglected to arrest their own man last week, even after it got out that he had a taste for little girls and was off duty during a spate of disappearances near Park Row Elementary.

“I don’t suppose you want to clue me in on why you’re not allowing any of us to patrol Gotham alone?” Dick asked, timing his landing so he could flip to a rest directly in front of Bruce.

“You insisted I tell you everything I’m investigating,” Batman growled. “So you will be investigating the latest set of rumors with me. I don’t want you to accuse me of withholding information.”

And I’m hoping the inconvenience of traveling from Bludhaven for every little rumor will make you change your mind , Dick finished in his head. He felt justified in sticking his tongue out at Batman’s back. He had his own problems to deal with, back in Bludhaven, and his team really needed his attention right now.

“What rumors?” He asked instead.

“There’s a new crime lord in Park Row, according to the locals,” Batman said. Which explained why they were headed towards Crime Alley, but nothing else.

“But Oracle hasn’t been able to find any evidence of him, and he hasn’t left any evidence behind at the crime scenes I’ve tentatively linked to him. Robin has found unusual financial activity linked to new businesses here, but if they are fronts they aren’t connected to any of the known players.”

“That doesn’t explain why you banned solo patrols,” Dick said, graciously ignoring the fact that Batman didn’t have the authority to ban him from anything.

Batman grunted, eyes sweeping across the rooftops before turning to meet Nightwing’s gaze. “Apparently, this new player goes by the Red Hood.”

Oh. Dick, Dick was going to ignore that for the moment. “That doesn’t give you the right to bench Robin,” he said instead. “You don’t even know if this guy is real, much less if he knows whose name he picked.” Because the Joker was in Arkham, Dick had checked before starting patrol.

“We will proceed as if the new player is fully aware of the name’s previous holder, and once he is apprehended Robin may resume his usual patrols,” Batman ordered.

Dick would have pushed back a bit, for Tim’s sake, but none of their patrols covered this area of Crime Alley, and he was a little distracted by trying to find a good place to fire his next grapple. The fire escapes here were more rust than metal and this far away from Diamond District, there were only a few tall buildings to swing from.

Batman must have reached the same conclusion, as his next jump took him directly to the street, in front of a dingy alley. Nightwing joined him a moment later, keeping one eye on the shadowed alley as he waited for Batman to decide where they were going next.

“Help me,” a frayed voice rasped, low and agonized from behind them. 

Batman barely hesitated, although part of Nightwing knew how much he hated going into Park Row alleys. A batarang in one hand and a corner of his bullet proof cape in the other, Bruce led the way into the alley, Dick close behind.

The copper tang of blood was immediately overpowering, the smell covering the reek of rotting trash and abandoned cigarette butts. But more arresting was the sight of a man, suspended midair, dangling in the dead center of the alley. He was held aloft by his own entrails, Dick realized, recognizing the spider-web pattern of white membrane across purple-pink flesh.

“What happened.” Batman demanded, while in their ear Oracle let them know an ambulance was on its way.

“Please,” the man said, “you got to arrest me—before he comes back.”

“Who is he?” Nightwing interrupted, locating a tallish trash bin on the wall behind the unfortunate man. “Arrest you for what?” Batman said at the same time.

“The Red Hood,” the man said, ignoring Batman’s question. There were droplets of blood atop the trash bin, probably left over from however the man had been tied up in the first place. That couldn’t have been easy to do, no matter how crazy Gotham’s rogues got they were still bound by gravity, and Dick wasn’t even sure how to start getting him down. Not to mention the skill it must have taken to keep the guy alive this whole time, while halfway disemboweling him and stringing him up. “Please, he said he’d kill me if he sees me here again.”

“Why?” Batman asked again. “What did the Red Hood want from you?”

“Wanted to know when the next auction was,” the man gasped, feet scraping across the lid as Nightwing finished wheeling the trash bin beneath him so he was no longer dangling. This close he could see black stitches crisscrossing the man’s skin, just enough to ensure he wouldn’t bleed out. “Said he’d let me live if I agreed to give Gotham my message.”

“What message?” Batman asked, glaring at the newly exposed trafficker. Behind them, the flashing lights of an ambulance rattled closer, a shockingly fast response time for Crime Alley.

“Crime Alley belongs to the Red Hood now,” the trafficker recited. “All business goes through him, no cutting the shit you sell, and no kids.”

“When did you tell him the next auction was?” Nightwing interrupted.

It took about four hours for the paramedics to figure out how to get the trafficker, a cop who’d been on paid leave while they investigated his involvement with a series of child murders, down and confirm that he would live. As soon as they did, Batman took off, directly towards the old bar the auction would be taking place in.

Nightwing barely caught him before he got there. “Stop, B, we can’t burn this lead.”

Bruce didn’t say anything, but he did stop trying to force his way past Nightwing, so Dick took it as a win. “I know you want to check, but this guy has been good enough to avoid you for at least the past three weeks. We know he’s going to be there in two days, we can’t afford to be seen early and scare him off before he shows up.”

“Hnng.” Batman was going to ignore him, Dick could tell. Was going to convince himself that he could just stop the auction before it started, and track down Red Hood and whatever victims would have been for sale on his own.

But mercifully, a goon, one of Black Mask’s by the looks of his uniforms, made the mistake of stepping out of a nearby building for a smoke break right then. Probably wasn’t expecting them to be in this part of town, Nightwing noted, as Batman swept down. Then the goon managed to call for backup, between punches, and Nightwing had to jump in beside Bruce.

At least this would distract Batman until he and Agent A could convince him to let Nightwing stakeout the auction instead.

Chapter Text

Dick woke up slowly, pushing his way through the blurry haze again, to find himself in the same dirty concrete room as the last four times he’d managed to force himself into the half-awake daze of the heavily drugged. 

A twitch of his nose confirmed that his domino hadn’t been ripped off, which was a bad sign. He couldn’t think of any pleasant reasons why the traffickers he’d been taking out wouldn’t try to take advantage of his identity if they could manage. The soggy mess of a rag in his mouth explained why his jaw hurt, but it was small enough not to inhibit his breathing, so Dick could ignore it until his hands were free.

More pressingly, his boots were missing, and with them his only tracker. His arms were tied wrist to elbow behind him while his knees and ankles were not only bound together but tied to the chair beneath him as well. His ass was numb in a way that suggested he’d been unconscious on the sturdy old chair beneath him for at least several hours now.

He could probably work his way free, but if his fragments of memory were to be trusted, the last few times he’d tried, someone had shown up to dose him with a new injection of whatever sedative they were using before he’d so much as managed to free a hand.

As if the thought had summoned them, Dick heard footsteps approaching the door in front of him, clumping down a set of stairs. That narrowed down the possibilities for where he was a bit. Between the constant risk of flood and the failing sewer system left over from back when Gotham was first established, only the industrial zones had basements nowadays.

“He’s awake,” one of the sets of footsteps grunted, audible through the door. So there was a camera watching him, whoever had managed to get the drop on him during the stakeout had planned ahead.

“Doesn’t matter,” the other man said, continuing the conversation as the two burly men made their way into the basement. “Boss would’ve had us wake him up sooner or later anyways.”

 One of them was carrying Nightwing’s escrima sticks, while the other had a moving dolly and a few coils of rope looped over one shoulder.  The one carrying his sticks hissed in annoyance. “You say that now, but we still have to get him to the auction floor. And I’d rather‘ve done that without the fucking bat being awake to worry about.”

“Want to be the one to tell Penguin his latest toy isn’t waking up because you were too pussy? Cause if so, go ahead and stick him again.” That goon was too smart to be happy working for Penguin, so Dick decided to just call him Dumb. Because only an idiot would chose to work for a Gotham Rogue in the first place.

“Just for that, you can cut him loose,” Dick’s least favorite goon said, newly dubbed Dumber. Grumbling, Dumber did that, flicking the escrima on and off a few times in a silent threat before he risked getting within Dick’s reach.

Whatever the sedative they had given him, it was one of the cheap ones so when they yanked him out of the chair, the sudden flair of a migraine had him too distracted to fight back. By the time he was able to pry his eyes open, they’d already bound him to the dolly like a discount Hannibal Lector and were wheeling him out the door. 

Dick would have liked to say that he fought them every step of the way after that, but between the lurching motion of being carried up the stairs, and the way Dumb’s hand kept making unnecessary contact with his ass, he was having trouble focusing. And the monotonous hallways, clearly intended as servant’s corridors back when the unfamiliar building was first built, didn’t provide any clear hints he could use to orient himself.

It had been at least six hours by his reckoning. Batman should have been here by now. Hell, Batman was the one who was supposed to be on comms with him during the stakeout. Figured he’d be too distracted by an Arkham prison break to follow up on the favor Nightwing had been doing him.

Dick knew he was distracting himself from the situation, but it was hard to stop. They had exited the back passages and from the velvet drapes across the walls to the polished marble floor, it was impossible to mistake this place for something the trafficking ring he’d been following could have managed. Which meant Penguin was backing them. As if Gotham needed to sink to new lows.

If there was remaining doubt about where he was, it was erased as he was wheeled directly onto a literal stage and deposited, still on the dolly, next to Penguin and a white gloved auctioneer. The audience seats before him were almost halfway filled. It seemed to be an even split between the more criminally minded of Gotham’s elite and the more streetwise gang members and rogues who hadn’t gotten on Penguin’s shitlist yet. 

None of them seemed happy to see Nightwing, although Dick was pretty sure he caught Calendarman smirking at the piles of rope ensnaring him. Somehow worse, Black Mask was settled in the front row, smirking at him like all his grievances with Penguin had vanished with the opportunity to.

“And last but certainly not least, we have Gotham’s own Nightwing!” The announcer yelled, over the spattering of people in the back of the audience foolish enough to jeer at one of the Penguin's events. “The Perells might be an up and coming group to keep an eye on, not anyone can capture a Bat within a few weeks of starting operations after all, but I’ll refrain from boring you with their accomplishments for now. Plenty of time to talk shop after we decide who gets to take home this little birdie.”

The start of the auction flicked past like a series of snapshots. An insultingly low starting bid, probably intended to let those with no interest in Nightwing demonstrate their investment in fucking Nightwing over without having to commit to risking Batman coming after them. Not that that was particularly likely, Dick carefully didn’t think, not so long as the prison break was distracting Bruce.

Another snapshot. Poison Ivy, flicking up her paddle slower and slower each price jump until she stalled out as they got down to the final dozen bidders. Dick tried not to hold it against her. At this point, she’d have to pay more  than it took to fund her entire operation for a year. And while Pamela might have a bit of a soft spot for the Birds, Jason was the only one she’d actively liked, before he died.

Three bidders left, and no level of sedative still present in his system could keep him from realizing how royally screwed he was. The Jokerz Boyz were present, to the visible distaste of everyone present, and were gleefully matching the bids with self made auction paddles featuring a cartoon Nightwing with x-ed out eyes. 

Against them, was the very man Dick had been supposed to be staking out. The Red Hood was eerily still, one hand playing with the hilt of a gun strapped to his leg while the other raised his paddle to match every bid of the final audience member. Clearly, Batman’s information had been bad, Dick realized, since nothing they had found would suggest that the brand new crime lord had the kind of funding he was showing, much less the pull to openly carry at one of Penguin’s exclusive events. 

The few times Dick had gone undercover at one of them, to get a crucial bit of information or just to prevent Green Lantern’s identity from being leaked yet again, he’d been patted down at the entrance. Once he’d seen Katana forced to hand over her namesake before being allowed entry. And here was this guy who was openly fiddling with his gun’s safety like he hadn’t muscled half the room’s occupants out of Crime Alley, personally.

But that probably didn’t matter at this point, since the final bidder was Black Mask, and he clearly hadn’t forgiven Nightwing for disrupting his weapon’s shipment last weekend. As Dick was examining him, praying for Batman to hurry up and notice something was wrong, Sionis seemed to have enough. With a disgusted look at the Red Hood, he held his paddle up, and called out. “Double it.”

The auctioneer didn’t stutter, but it was a near thing. Penguin seemed pleased though, and after a few calls to see if anyone could match the frankly outrageous price, he closed the bidding and Dick was wheeled off to a backroom to await pickup. The dolley was left in a storage room next to a garage door alongside miscellaneous items such as paintings, Bane’s old machine gun, and a sarcophagus Dick was pretty sure Catwoman had told him was cursed. The lone guard was careful to stay around the corner, hidden by some of the other auction items like he clearly expecting Batman to show up and rescue Nightwing at any minute.

Dick began to struggle in earnest the moment he was left alone. There was a crude saw built into his belt buckle, and if he twisted just right, he could use it to cut through the ropes pinning him to the metal dolley. It was slow work, and by the time he’d gotten everything but the ropes tying his arms and legs together, he could hear the rumble of Sionis’ specialty engine purring to a stop outside the garage door.

The door slides open too quickly, leaving him no time to scramble for cover, his arms still firmly bound behind his back as a pack of False Facers advance towards him and dogpile onto him, before he can break the first one’s nose.

“Well, well,” Black Mask said, his voice a lilting tease that made shivers crawl up Dick’s spine as he tried to turn to face the man circling him. “Look at this poor birdie, so far away from his flock. Don’t worry, I’ll take good care of you.”

Reaching into a pocket, Black Mask pulled out a slender leather case, revealing a syringe and a vial of something glowing faintly pink. Drawing up a dose, he adopted a more lecturing tone, crouching down to hold it in front of Dick’s face.

“Do you know what this is?” he asked, as if Dick could answer through the gag. Growling, Dick managed to snake his shoulder around and out of one of the goon’s hands, giving him just enough reach to try and headbutt the man. Sionis just chuckled, grabbing his hair with one hand and leaning in until Dick could feel the puff of breath on his ear. And little flecks of saliva. “This is the refined version of Ivy’s sex pollen. I just have to dose you with this, and in a few hours you’ll be begging me to fuck you, telling me whatever I want to know in exchange for letting you suck my dick. Wouldn’t that be delightfully ironic, Batman being defeated because his sugar baby is just a slut for whoever can buy him.”

Dick froze. Strictly speaking, Ivy’s pollen was cuddle pollen. If you didn’t get human contact after being dosed it was agonizing, but it didn’t have any effect on someone’s arousal. That didn’t stop criminals from using it to force compliance though. And it explained why exactly Black Mask was willing to pay so much, when merely taking part in the bidding would have reaffirmed his reputation.

Dick could feel phantom gravel beneath his back, and his suit felt damp, even though he knew it was dry. Black Mask flicked open a pocket knife with a snick , and cut out a square flap of his costume, right over one side of his ass. There were goons everywhere, pinning his shoulders and legs to the ground, sitting atop him to keep him down.

Squeezing the muscle there, Black Mask lined up the needle, his goons holding Dick to the ground like a beached fish as he depressed the syringe. When he finished he slapped the area revealed by the ripped costume, laughing when Dick flinched.

“Chain him down in the footwell, I don’t want him getting any contact until he’s screaming for it,” Black Mask ordered, ambling towards his car.

Dick lost a bit of time there. He knew that it took a bit for the injection to start affecting him, but he was already shivering as Black Mask’s driver pulled out of the back alley and smoothly accelerated to a cruising speed. Batman hadn’t come.

Twenty minutes later, Dick’s teeth were chattering around the gag, and he was starting to seriously consider the embarrassment of being caught trying to lean against one of the goon’s boots worth the relief.

The car jerked, nearly spinning out of control as a gunshot echoed off the towering buildings of downtown Gotham. A second later, another gunshot, and this time the car was lurching, one wheel scraping against the road with the tortured shriek of metal.

One of the goons almost slid into him from the car’s wild skidding, but even the rush of momentary warmth wasn’t enough to distract Dick from the peak of dread. Everyone knew Batman didn’t use guns.

Chapter Text

Dick had made it twenty feet away from the burning remains of Black Mask’s car by the time someone noticed his absence. It was awkward, with his elbows and ankles bound behind him, he was reduced to inchworming along, using the car to hide from whichever sniper was going after Sionis. And his wrist was bloody where he’d managed to slip the chains attaching him to the car.

But all of that was negligible compared to the burning cold that was shaking its way up his body. It hurt, and Dick knew the moment someone managed to touch him, he wouldn’t be able to fight the freezing sensation any longer. So he kept moving, ignoring the sounds of gunshots behind him, grimly making for the upturned trash cans several meters down the road. He’d figure out how to reach Batman, or more likely Alfred, for a pick up then.

The whole set up felt unusual, Dick considered, as he inched forward, ignoring how his back was to the dying shootout behind him. From what he’d seen most of the False Facers had been dropped, with non-lethal shots, within a minute of the car stopping. A coordinated attack, which wasn’t too unusual for Gotham gangs, until he caught sight of the attackers.There were about half a dozen of them, and all were dressed in red hoodies with no regard for stealth or body armor. 

Dick had seen that uniform before in the past few weeks, on men that were far too fearless in the face of Batman or Nightwing’s interrogations, refusing to name who they were working for. They’d always insisted that they weren’t doing anything illegal, and when pressed, they almost eagerly handed over their squad captain’s name and number to confirm they were supposed to be there. And, invariably, they had a legitimate reason to be there which was driving Dick up the wall.

The most recent one had even asked Nightwing for his signature on a punch card, revealing that “the boss” would give anyone who made it through five bat-interrogations a holiday bonus that year. 

There was no reason for them to be here, in the middle of Black Mask’s territory, carrying out a full frontal attack in the middle of the morning. Finally reaching the dubious cover of the trash cans, Dick turned to check on the battle again.

Battle might have been overstating it. Black Mask was gone, tire marks suggesting he’d taken off in one of False Facer’s other cars at the first opportunity. The rest of his men were scrambling back, while the Red Hoodies were eerily silent, moving in perfect synchrony as they dogpiled the last few False Facers, the rest turning as if taking orders from someone hidden behind the still burning car.

Flattening himself to the ground, all Dick could make of him was a pair of combat boots and what looked like some sort of grieves pacing back and forth behind the car, before abruptly turning on a heel and moving directly towards where Dick was hiding.

It was the Red Hood. Of course it was, who else would the Red Hoodies gang work for. Worse, he’d clearly spotted the tracks Dick’s escape had left in the crumbling asphalt of the road, a trail that led directly to him.

“You know,” Hood said, coming to a stop on the other side of the trash bin, “I would have expected Batman to be here by now.”

“And you’re sticking around?” Dick asked, forcing down the whine that threatened to leak out at the knowledge there was a warm body just out of reach. “After working so hard to hide from him.”

There was a squeal of feedback at that, Hood’s vocoder flattening what might have been a snort. “Hide from him? It’s not my fault he can’t see what’s right in front of his nose.”

Dick was going to assume that was typical rogue posturing. The thought that Hood was able to hide from them by accident wasn’t a warm one. “Why are you here then?” he asked, trying to delay them long enough for Batman to be notified of the fight. 

It looked like Hood was intent on winning the bidding after all. And Dick wasn’t blind, he knew exactly what people wanted from Nightwing, and while it was better than Sionis’ torture room, it was still pretty bad. 

Instead of answering, Hood stepped around the bin, crouching down to cut through the ropes around his arms. Weird, but Dick would take it, particularly as the warmth of his hands caused the pins and needles of the pollen to recede a bit. “I could say the same to you. What, Boy Wonder, not able to handle Black Mask without the big bat?”

Hood knew he had been Robin, Dick noted, not too surprising given how much respect the underworld was granting him, but still alarming that anyone that new to the scene had figured it out. Dick tried to swing at him, clumsy from the pollen and stiffened limbs. It was really starting to burn, now that he’d gotten the temporary relief of human contact.

Hood caught his fist with contemptuous ease, picking him up by the collar to deposit him atop the sagging fence beside them and pulling out his knife again. The moment Hood let go, Dick screamed, barely muffling it as he lurched forward to grab Hood’s jacket, pressing himself as close as humanly possible, snaking one hand under the chestplate just to be a little closer.

“The fuck,” Hood said, knife loosely pressed against Dick’s neck, relaxing as it slowly became clear that Dick wasn’t about to try anything else. “What’s wrong with you?”

Dick considered not telling him, but the symptoms for Ivy’s pollen were common knowledge and Hood had been surprisingly unthreatening so far. In for a penny, in for a pound. And in the worst case, Dick was pretty sure he could nab one of Hood’s knives before he noticed. “Got dosed with Ivy’s pollen,” he admitted.

For a moment, Hood looked ready to murder someone, the hand not holding a knife snaking down to play with his gun. “Penguin or Black Mask?” he finally asked.

“Sionis,” Dick answered, squirming closer, so his head was pressed against Hood’s shoulder. He’d be embarrassed by it later, but for now, Hood didn’t seem inclined to hurt him, and the longer they were standing around, the better his chances of someone finding him.

“Fucking Sionis,” Hood said, gesturing for one of the Red Hoodies to join them. “And here I thought the bat had learned his lesson from the last time Black Mask got ahold of a birdie. Then again, I guess he’s okay with robins dying, since he keeps on finding more.”

“Don’t say that,” Dick said, wrenching himself away from Hood, ignoring the burning cold that had his eyes tearing up to look Hood in the face as he growled the words. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.” 

“Oh, ‘Wing,” Hood said, no longer sounding as friendly as before, “I know more than you think.” His head jerked, and he took a shuddering breath, relaxing his grip on Nightwing’s leg until he could no longer feel fingernails. “But this isn’t the time for that. Where’s Batman.”

“Why do you want to know,” Dick bit back, viciously aware of his missing tracker.

“Because I have better things to do than babysit a bird hopped up on cuddle pollen, and I don’t trust you to get back to wherever you bats roost on your own,” Hood snapped. Which—which was not what Dick had been expecting. Hood had been prepared to buy him earlier, there was no way he was just going to let him go now. Unless, unless Hood actually followed his own rules, and anyone drugged was off limits.

“He’s dealing with an Arkham breakout,” Dick admitted. “If you just untie my legs, I’ll be out of your hair though, don’t worry.”

“He doesn’t know you got captured?” Hood demanded, his entire body tensed enough that Dick could feel it through the body armor.

“No?” Dick half-asked, wondering why it would matter to a crime lord. He didn’t have his phone, but if he could make it to a payphone, Tim could send the batmobile to pick him up.

Hood’s helmet lenses were glowing green, his voice modulator sputtering, and if Dick had thought he was angry earlier, he was murderous now. In one clean motion, the rogue ripped Dick off of him, paying no heed to his scream of protest, and dumped him in the arms of the goon he’d beckoned over earlier.

Dick tried to breathe through the sudden pain, instinctively wrapping himself around the goon as his training insisted he focus on what Hood was doing. 

Destroying what remained of Black Mask’s car as it turned out. There was something feral about it, even as Hood methodically unloaded his clips into the engine block, before using the handle to break the last unshattered window into miniscule pieces. Finally, he was reduced to fists, punching dents into whatever areas of the body hadn’t caught fire yet.

Dick was getting colder again. It made no sense, the goon he’d grabbed onto was wearing street clothes, he should have been even warmer than Hood’s armor. But it was like hugging a statue, and Dick could feel his fingers turning numb, even as he pressed them against the man’s neck.

Something was wrong with his eyes, Dick vaguly realized through the pain. The goon’s eyes were a sickly green, even the sclera were tinged with it. He wasn’t responding normally to holding Nightwing either, simply standing there, letting Dick squirm around as he tried to find any trace of heat to placate the pollen.

Nothing worked. Dick was aching with cold, despite being plastered against a body burly enough to rival Bruce. “Hood,” he finally keened, refusing to acknowledge the blurriness in his vision as he tried to escape the goon. “Please. Hood.”

Dick wasn’t sure how long it took for Hood to notice, it felt like an eternity. But suddenly, there was warmth, and his hand caught on to the same warm leather as before. Hood’s breathing was steady again, and he was no longer buzzing with energy beneath Dick’s hold.

“What?” Hood grumbled, but he allowed Dick to lean against him. Nightwing would have to figure out why later, but for now, he focused on breathing as the pain receded.

“This strain is acting weird,” he said, carefully avoiding any accusation in his voice. “He,” —he jerked his head at the unresponsive goon— “isn’t warm.”

Hood stopped trying to pry Dick off of him, instead pulling off a glove and pressing a bare hand against the goon’s exposed hand. “Huh,” he finally said, pulling the glove back on. “You’re right.”

“You’re not surprised,” Dick pressed, since Hood seemed to have recovered from his earlier snit.

“He’s one of my ghouls,” Hood shrugged. “He’s not quite alive, so it makes sense he can’t help you with the pollen.”

“You have ghouls?” Dick asked. He might as well take advantage of the opportunity to gather information directly.

“I’m not risking any of my men in a firefight,” Hood said, which kind of answered the question. Magic would explain the glowing eyes.

“How-” Dick started.

“Up-bup-bup,” Hood cut him off. “Speaking of risking people, I think I need to impress on dear old bats that he needs to take better care of his toy soldiers.”

“What are you going to do?” Dick asked, preparing to wrench himself free. It would hurt, like hell, but he could probably make himself do it. If all the ghouls were as unresponsive as he expected, he just had to outrun Hood. With his ankles tied.

“My rescues don’t come for free,” Hood said, hooking one hand under Dick and striding towards a van neatly hidden in a nearby alley. “Batman can have you back after he pays me back what I would have spent on you.”

“This is a rescue then?” Dick asked. Rogue’s were funny about honor. As long as Hood confirmed it, Dick would probably be safe. Also, Batman knew how to handle ransom demands. Tim and Oracle could trace the call and have him back before the pollen had time to wear off.

“Sure,” Hood said. “As long as you avoid picking fights, you’ll be free to go as soon as I get my money.” And then, in a grumble, “And it better cover the cost of burning a safe house for your dumb ass.”

Chapter Text

“If he doesn’t pay, you’re free to go once the pollen wears off,” the Red Hood said, apropos of nothing, as he carried Dick into what had to be the cleanest safehouse in Crime Alley. “I’ll have one of my men drive you back to Bludhaven.”

That was a relief, Dick decided. But not altogether surprising, if he thought about it. Aside from that terrible moment where Hood had lost control and ripped Dick off him, nothing he’d done could be taken as directly threatening him. And, while Dick wasn’t in the mood to be forgiving, between the glowing eyes and the literal ghouls he was willing to consider that a magically inflamed temper, particularly since he had shown enough self control to beat up a car rather than the vigilante trying to melt into him.

“Bludhaven?” he asked, trying to make himself comfortable against Hood’s heavy armor. The man had been shockingly tolerant of Nightwing’s attempts to climb inside his leather jacket for bodyheat, but a distraction might be a good idea as he tried to slip a leg under his armor.

“If that batfucker doesn’t take care of his birds, he doesn’t get to keep them,” Hood said. “And clearly losing the girl Robin too hasn’t taught him to show up on time.” Dick knew that Hood knew about Stephanie, but the casual mention still stung, particularly since he’d thought something similar when he agreed to help her hide her survival from Bruce. The hyperfocus on Batman’s responsibility to his Robins didn’t fit with what he’d expected from a man who’d eviscerate someone in an alley though. Dick sorely hoped that this was part of his “no kids” rule rather than the kind of supervillain hypermania that Gotham always seemed to bring out in her rogues.

Hood clearly considered the conversation over, shifting Dick to one hip, so he could fumble through a kitchen drawer. Dick tried not to relax into the new influx of bodyheat, instead keeping a wary eye on the ghoul following them. This one was a woman, older and with an unpleasant sneer that exposed her decaying teeth. Her eyes were the same blank grey as the other, and she was absolutely still, not even breathing as Hood gave her a pair of flip phones.

“Go to the Bowlery, and call me on one phone. Then call Batman on the other and press the receivers to the speakers. If he manages to trace one phone, hang up and break the phone you’re calling me on.” Hood ordered. Which explained why he thought Batman wouldn’t be able to track him, since the ghoul didn’t seem capable of giving away their location even when Bruce caught them.

“Hey,” Hood shifted his weight, nudging Nightwing in an eerily familiar gesture, “What number does the commish use?” Yet another connection that Hood shouldn’t know about. But it would be the fastest way to reach Bruce if he was still distracted by the Arkham breakout, so Dick rattled it off and the ghoul vanished.

“Sooo,” Dick said, once it became clear that while he was willing to let Dick cling to him, he wasn’t going to acknowledge that fact on his own. “Ghouls?”

“What,” Hood said, “Going to lecture me on the sanctity of the dead?” The helmet flattened his tone, but not enough to hide the sardonic bite.

“More just curious. All the guys in red hoodies I’ve run into so far are a bit more chatty, and you know, alive?” Dick said, because while this man seemed significantly more reasonable than Batman had speculated, Dick needed to know if it was because he didn’t leave dead bodies behind to be found.

“I pay them not to be chatty with the fucking bats,” Hood sighed, but sounded more resigned. “And sure, if it’ll keep you entertained and get you to stop scaring my men.” He nodded towards the ghoul guarding the front door. “See the black patches on the hoodie?” he asked. Dick tried to look, but he was having a hard time prying his face away from Hood’s warm shoulder.

Hood seemed to notice that, and with a gesture the ghoul was standing before them, as unresponsive as before when Dick risked asking him to turn around.

“Do what he wants,” Hood sighed, turning slightly so Dick could see better around the leather jacket.

“Can you turn around?” Dick asked, feeling like he was talking to a wall. But the ghoul turned around, revealing a black phoenix patch on the black of the hoodie, and several black strips at the cuffs and collar of the hoodie.

Hood waved him away as soon as Dick had gotten a clear look. “That means he’s a ghoul, so if a gangster shoots him, I’m not going to take it personally since I can just raise him again later. If it's a plain red hoodie, that means it's someone on my payroll, and you better leave them be. I try to reserve the ghouls for guard duty and illegal shit, so if you would stop arresting my men that’d be appreciated. You know, since the pigs can’t prosecute them for shit and they aren’t doing anything wrong.”

“Then what are they doing?” Dick asked, keeping his voice light as Hood settled them both on the couch, next to a veritable pile of boxes. The whole being carried around thing was starting to get really annoying, even if Dick appreciated the lack of pain his bodyheat warded off.

“None of your business,” Hood said. He was leaning away from Nightwing, as much as he could without shoving him off his lap.

“Fine,” Dick accepted with poor grace, before Hood could decide he was done answering anything. “How do you have ghouls in the first place?”

Hood gave what was probably a chuckle through his helmet at that. Whatever it was, it wasn’t a happy sound. “Did you know if a city is cursed enough it becomes sentient, kinda?” he started. Dick shook his head.

“Well, Gotham’s definitely cursed enough to qualify. Anyways, Lady Gotham took a shine to me, before I died. Then Bats did something to royally tick her off, and next thing I know I’m back again. Left town for a bit to recover with the League, and when I got back I found out that I had a dozen or so ghouls I could raise from anywhere inside the city limits.” Hood said, picking his words carefully. It was an innocuous enough explanation. Dick immediately distrusted it. Not the truth of his words, per say, but he was absolutely leaving out something big.

It was just out there enough it was plausible—by Gotham standards at least. But Hood didn’t seem to care what he thought, which limited the chances this was some form of manipulation. Batman was clearly a sore spot for the man, so this whole thing could be a dig at his methods by bringing Gotham into it. Or even if he wasn’t lying, Hood might blame Batman for the whole coming back to life thing. Something to look into after he got out of this mess.

Dick wanted to ask another question, but Hood seemed to have reached the end of his tolerance, and rather forcefully pulled one of the boxes by the couch onto his lap, incidentally pinning Dick’s arm to his chestplate. Wiggling it free, Dick caught sight of a pile of simple black lunchboxes, filling the box to the brim.

That was concerning, since Hood’s rules meant that he shouldn’t be using kids as carriers, and there weren’t many reasons one would need that many lunchboxes.

“Can you let go of me yet?” Hood’s helmet tilted to gaze at him. “Just an arm or two.”

Dick tried, wrenching his hand free only to immediately slap it back against Hood’s side when the sensation of pins and needles forced his fingers to contract into aching claws.

“Sionis used a concentrated formula.” Dick deferred. He needed to distract Hood from the pollen. “Why’d you ask?”

Predictably, Hood ignored his question. “If I take off a few layers, are you going to try and attack me?”

Dick didn’t let himself be distracted by the offer of more warmth. Hood had managed to evade them for weeks, he wouldn’t make the mistake of underestimating Dick. Which meant that either he was confident he could take him, or he was willing to risk it to help him, a vigilante, through the pollen. “Not unless backup shows up,” he finally offered. The ghoul trick would probably stop Tim from tracing the call, but now that Oracle knew he existed, she might be able to track down Hood.

Hood clearly found that more believable than a simple ‘no’ since he immediately shrugged out of his jacket and shoved a hand between them to start unlatching his breastplate. “It’ll be a bit longer until the call is set up” —he was interrupted by a whine as Dick was pushed away long enough for Hood to finish removing the armor and resettle with Dick half pinned between his back and the couch— “So once you’re feeling up for it, you can help me prep these.”

“What are ‘these?’” Dick asked, trying to ignore how the position relaxed him. Bruce used to hold him like this, where the couch could reflect the heat, back when Robin got dosed with pollen. He’d stopped once Dick became Nightwing, and no matter how much he loved Babs, nothing could quite replicate that sense of overwhelming warmth. Except for a certain crime lord who seemed rather cagey about what crime he actually controlled.

“Leftovers from stocking a few safehouses,” Hood said readily, happy to answer the question for once. “Once I finish packaging them up, I’ll have my men pass them out to the street kids in my block.”

“Why?” Dick asked, watching carefully as Hood loaded the first lunchbox with several granola bars, a waterbottle, a gas mask, a tiny first aid kit, and a ziplock bag with a few five dollar bills inside. He didn’t see anything that looked like it could be concealing drugs.

“Why not?” Hood countered. “It’s not like anyone else in this damn city is doing anything. You’re all too busy playing hide and seek with the crazies to actually fix anything.”

Dick tactfully did not point out that Hood was one of the so-called crazies. He wished he could get a hand around one of Hood’s pulse points to check if he was lying or not, but the man had kept the helmet and gloves on, which meant no chance of getting fingerprints or a hair sample after this mess either.

“Batman tries to fix things directly, you know,” he said instead, “It just doesn’t make the news as much because it’s boring.” Or because it was done as Brucie.

“Oh yeah,” Hood’s eyes were starting to flicker green behind the helmet. “I know how he tries to fix things. He starts out all fucking noble, promising that things will be better and he can help, waiting until you’re foolish enough to believe him. Then he decides that you’re not doing it right and he drops you like trash.” Hood was almost shaking underneath Dick, the vocoder cracking on his words.

“I bet you know all about that,” Hood continued, “After all, he didn’t hesitate to replace you once you stopped playing the dutiful Robin. Went right ahead and found a new boy to mess up, and then another boy after he got that one killed.”

The few rogues who dared to taunt Batman about it focused on the crowbar, not why there was even a costume available for Batman to dress Jason up in. If it weren’t for the fact that he couldn’t make his arms unlock from around Hood’s torso, Dick would have punched him for talking about Jason like that. Like it hadn’t destroyed them all when he died. 

“They’re not replacements.” 

“Is that what you want to believe? You were the golden boy after all. I bet-” A cellphone’s ringing cut him off. The glowing green was cut off in a blink, and Hood set down the lunch box he’d been working out with just a little more force than expected.

“Say anything and I’ll gag you,” Hood said, his muscles forcibly relaxed until it seemed like their conversation had never happened. Dick felt safe enough to relax back into his back. Batman or maybe Batman’s treatment of Robin was definitely a hot spot for the Red Hood, but he didn’t seem to hate Nightwing the same way. And as soon as Bruce knew where he was, he’d figure out how to find them. Then they could figure out why Hood seemed to know too much about them.

After staring at the ringing phone for a long silent moment, Hood started to hold the flip phone up to his ear, pausing when it thunked against the side of his helmet and switching to speakerphone mode.

“You really need to keep a better eye on your birdies,” Hood said, his modulator doing a poor job of flattening the acerbic bite of the words.

“Who is this,” Batman demanded. Dick could hear the faint undercurrent of stress in his voice and underneath that the rumble of the batmobile’s engine. He was still searching Gotham then. Dick was not surprised by that, he told himself.

“You’re really losing your touch,” Hood said, “If you don’t know who the only man in Gotham to use a vocoder is.”

“Red Hood.” Batman said. “Where is he?”

“Tell me,” Hood said. “Was it part of some plan for Nightwing to be captured at tonight’s auction? Because I know you’re a bastard, but I didn’t think you would leave him to Black Mask’s dubious mercy.” Dick wanted them to stop reminding him of that.

“I know you intercepted him. Tell me where he is or-”

“Or what,” Hood interrupted. “You’ll replace Nightwing with someone new. Or maybe the current Robin needs an upgrade? No, you don’t get to tell me to do shit .”

“What do you want then?”

“I want you to stop abandoning your birds every time you see a chance to go suck one of your rogue’s dicks.” Hood was tense beneath him, but his eyes weren’t glowing green, so Dick was going to assume it was safe to focus on Bruce’s stuttered breathing through the speakers. “I’d thought after the girl Robin you’d have learned better. Then again, I know you didn’t learn after the street rat Robin kicked the bucket. Are your birds’ lives really so cheap to you?”

“You have Nightwing,” Batman guessed. “What do you want?”

“I want to know how much you really value him,” Hood said. 

“How much do you want?” Batman didn’t even hesitate. 

Hood’s voice was audibly warmer when he answered. Chilly rather than freezing. “For rescuing him, you can just pay me back what I would have bid on him. I was looking for a way to piss Sionis off anyways.” 

“Just give me a number,” Batman said. Dick hoped he picked up on the way Hood had called it a rescue. He didn’t want Bruce left assuming the worst.

“And since I had to get on the Penguin’s bad side to rescue your bird you’re giving me Crime Alley. I don’t want to see one pointy ear in there. You can fuck around anywhere else in Gotham, but you’re going to stay out of my territory.”

“...Fine,” Batman agreed, far too easily, “But I want confirmation Nightwing is alright.”

Hood huffed, like he didn’t believe Batman either, but nodded for Dick to speak anyways.

“Hi B,” Dick said, “I’m alright. Black Mask injected me with Ivy’s pollen, but I’m otherwise uninjured. Green-zepher-one-three-foxtrot.” The system was a new one they’d started using, after Dick caught Alfred nearly crying from a passphrase Jason had invented, taken straight from one of his favorite poems. It meant that he was safe, the other party could be expected to keep their word, and that he wasn’t sure where he was.

“Send me the account details and where I can meet you,” Batman told Hood. Dick knew that Bruce trusted him to handle himself, but it would have been nice for him to acknowledge him at least.

“I’m not giving him back until he recovers from the pollen,” Hood cut him off. “Since your track record with taking care of your birdies when they need you is fucking tragic .” His eye slits were starting to tinge green again, and it was definitely personal. Dick just didn’t know why yet. But he could work around that for the moment.

“No,” Dick said. This had to be managed carefully, to convince Hood it was his own idea. “The alley kids need those care packages. I don’t want to make them wait a day or two, not when Batman is perfectly capable of assisting me with the pollen’s side effects.”

“Are you sure?” Hood’s helmet snapped to look at him. 

“Yes.”

“Black Mask and the Penguin are searching for you, it would be safer if you let him go now,” Batman interrupted, right as it seemed Hood was about to agree with Dick.

“Fuck you, I think it’s pretty clear I can keep N—Nightwing safer from them than you can manage.” Hood had rolled to his feet, pacing the apartment like he couldn’t stay still. Dick was still slung on his back, feeling like a particularly clingy kitten for all the notice Hood gave his attempts to squirm his way into a more comfortable position.

Resisting the urge to bang his head against leftover armor on Hood’s shoulder, Dick started to speak, only to catch the sound of a grappler whining through the air and heavy boots landing near the other phone’s microphone.

“Batman has arrived. Destroying phones now.” The ghoul’s voice came through the phone as flat and empty as any of the ghouls’ affects. There was a crunching sound and then the dial tone. 

“Asshole,” Hood muttered, flipping the phone shut and crushing it under his own boot.

That had gone significantly better than Dick had expected.