Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It really doesn’t help that your alarm hadn’t gone off this morning.

Your eyes blearily open as you grab at your phone, your brain a bit suspicious as to why it felt like you were sleeping too long. You got your answer as to why you thought such a thing when you look at the time to see that you were supposed to be at the Daily Planet an hour ago.

You hastily put on your clothes, buttoning a wrinkled blouse, almost tripping over your dress pants as you shimmy them on, gathering a sweat that you can already feel seeping into the polyester shirt. You began practicing an excuse underneath your breath as you got dressed—doctor’s appointment? No, they’d probably ask for a paper. A family death? No, because why the hell would you still show up? Also you had already used the excuse of your dog’s “death” a week ago so it wouldn’t work. Missed the bus? No, everyone knew you drove yourself.

You pop in some gum, wincing at the sugary taste this early in the morning but you really didn’t have time to brush your teeth, before tugging on your shoes. Pulling your bag over your shoulder, you bolt out the door.

And then promptly walk back in to grab your car keys.

You call Clark as soon as you push open the door leading to the stairwell. He answers on the first ring. “I was worried you had gotten sick and forgot to tell me,” He hums, a teasing lilt in his voice.

“I’m so sorry! My alarm didn’t go off and I almost ate it while getting dressed. I’m almost at my car so I’ll be at the building in like fifteen minutes? I don’t know. But please tell Chief that I’m so sorry and still want the—“

Clark says your name through a confused and concerned chuckle. “No need to get so scared, kid. I’ve been late plenty of times myself, Perry ain’t gonna get mad at you,” He says calmly and you take a breather, shoulders slumping.

You were so glad you got Clark as your mentor. Your other coworkers were great, don’t get it wrong! Especially Lois—you had a lot in common with her—but none of them had that southern charm to them that let you know everything was going to be alright.

You slam the car door behind you, gripping at the wheel before starting it. “Sorry. Sorry. …But I promise I’m on my way.”

“I hear ya. I’ll tell Perry. Drive safe, kid.”

Dodging and weaving through the crowded sidewalk in front of the Daily Planet is always a hassle. You narrowly avoid bumping into a couple people, shouting out breathless apologies. You regain your breath as soon as you walk into the revolving doors, the cool air conditioning a nice welcome after driving in your baked car and running through the hot streets of Metropolis City.

There’s a shout of your last name and Jimmy approaches you with an easy grin, draping an arm over your shoulders and leading you to the elevators. “I missed this morning’s fresh coffee from the coffee shop down the road. Had to use the office’s shared one instead,” He says.

You let out a rough sigh. Right. “Sorry Jimmy. I promise this was a one time thing.”

“That’s what you said last time.”

“…Well, I mean it this time.”

Jimmy gives your shoulder a light pat before slipping away from your side, walking to his desk. Perry walks over and you tense up, shoulders nearly reaching your earlobes as you shrink in.

“I’m very sorry, I—“

He holds up a hand. “No need. Clark already relaid the message. I’m glad you could make it. I think you would’ve been upset if you knew what you almost missed out on.”

That makes your brows furrow a little, your feet shifting slightly. “What do you have for me?”

He grins, “I want you to write a story.”

Your nervousness immediately seeps away, eyes widening. “No way,” You gasp under your breath. “Are you serious?!” You exclaim, gaining the attention of the other workers. “I get to write a story?!”

Perry laughs lightly. “Alright, alright, calm down, champ. I haven’t even told you what I got in mind.” You immediately calmed down, clasping your hands together in front of you, though your body still felt jittery. “There’s been sightings of a new vigilante in Gotham. Calls himself Red Hood. And that’s as far as anyone knows. Even Gotham Gazette. Nobody knows anything about the guy. The people in the area he usually protects are tight lipped about their hero.”

You feel a smile tug at your lips. “You want me to go to Gotham and gather reporting’s from them?”

“I want you to land an interview with him.”

“Absolutely not.”

You and Perry turned to see Clark standing up at his desk, brows furrowed as he glances between you two. “Perry, you can’t be serious. She’s a Metropolis kid, Gotham’s no place for a Metropolis kid.”

“Superboy?” You point out.

“Now don’t be a smart alec,” Clark huffs.

“She’ll be chaperoned. Wouldn’t just throw the poor kid to the Gothamite wolves.”

“I’d beg to differ that’s exactly what you’re doing.”

“Don’t I get a say?” You ask.

Perry answers with a “Yes” just as Clark answers with a harsh “No.” You huff at Clark.

Perry stars and Clark and Clark simply stares back. Your eyes flick between them as they have a silent conversation. “…Well, kid. He is your mentor. If he says no, he says no,” Perry shrugs, turning away, “I’ll find another story for you.” He pats your shoulder and goes to walk off.

Your mouth falls agape, glancing from Perry to Clark, Clark nods seeming pleased with himself before sitting back down at his desk. You storm up to him. “What the hell, man?”

“Language. And I’m looking out for you,” Clark says, not looking away from his screen.

You flap your arms at your side, roughly hitting your legs, looking around to see if anyone else disagreed.

Lois let out a soft hum from across Clark’s desk. “She’s gonna be a junior in college, Clark. And almost a grown woman. She can handle herself.”

“Thank you!” You gesture to her.

“She’s still a teenager.”

“I’m right here.”

“You’re still a teenager.”

You felt like ripping out your hair. “Clark this is a wonderful opportunity for me! I won’t have to write little snippets on your’s or Lois’ papers anymore! This could be my actual, first real story,” You beg.

“Gotham is a dangerous city,” He says firmly. “Even Batman needs help out there and he still has grounds he can’t cover in one night. It’d be better if someone like Jimmy went.”

“Ah, wha—Hey!”

“Ah, I mean, if-if—You’re a more seasoned journalist, Jimmy! You know what I mean. You’ve scooped out dangerous places before.” Clark turns to look at his friend with a sheepish smile, “I didn’t mean it like that.”

Jimmy huffs.

“Mr.White—“

“Perry.”

“Perry,” You correct yourself with a grumble, “knows what he’s doing asking me this. Please, Clark. This would be perfect to hone my skills! Interviewing, investigating, traveling—!”

“Nobody knows if that vigilante’s safe. What if he hurts you?”

Lois speaks up once again, “I don’t think Batman would let a vigilante that hurts people roam his streets.”

“…True. He wouldn’t.”

“Please.”

Clark lets out a deep sigh, running a hand down his face as you stare at him. His eyes flick to your puppy gaze and then they squeeze shut. “Fine—“ You squeal happily, “—on one condition!”

“Anything,” You agree.

“You will call me if anything bad happens. Anything. Even if it doesn’t involve the vigilante. And then you’re coming right back here, and I’ll tell Perry to give you another shot with something else. Something less dangerous.”

You open your mouth to argue but Clark pins you with his steely gaze that tells you he will not budge. You let a soft grumble. And then another that sounds mixed in with a whine.

“Okay. Okay, I’ll call you.”

“Promise?”

“I promise…”

Clark holds out a pinky finger. And you raise a brow. “You cannot be serious right now.”

“Dead serious.”

You drop your head to let out a deep sigh. You wrap your pinky around Clark’s and his curls in, flashing you a smile that almost makes you feel less insulted that he used such a childish action.

“…Go tell Perry I gave you the go ahead.”

“Thank you, thank you, thank you! You won’t regret this!”

Clark watches as you run off, nearly slipping on the still drying tiles as you bolted to Perry’s office.

“It’s Batman’s city, Clark. I’m sure as soon as he caught wind of a certain someone’s intern in his city, he’d make sure nothing bad would happen to said intern,” Lois says, walking over to lean a hip against his desk.

“That vigilante could be dangerous to her.”

Lois raises a brow, “You say that like you know who he is.”

Clark doesn’t respond to that.

Gotham’s air is damp and sticky, even well into the evening. And doesn’t mix well with the sun. But even then, seeing Gothamites wearing jeans and sweaters with their hoodies up is jarring. You shift in the parking lot, wondering if you stand out with your more appropriate summer attire.

You locked your car once. Then twice for safe measure before walking into the apartment complex.

Yesterday, Perry said that Ellen Yin was a rising Detective and someone he trusted a lot. He said being in the care of a detective meant that if you went missing, someone would immediately go looking for you. You think that was supposed to be a joke.

…You hoped it was a joke.

Dragging your suitcase behind you, you searched for an elevator. Only to not find one. You pursed your lips, looking up at the daunting flight of stairs. You shortened the long handle of your suitcase, leaning it against your hip as you picked it up.

When Perry said that the story had a deadline to the end of the month, you had packed nearly half of your closet with your toiletries. To say that your suitcase was as heavy as a bag of bricks was an understatement.

You huffed and puffed, resting the suitcase on the steps at some point to give your arms a break and take a breather. You weren’t even halfway up till someone cleared their throat.

Turning to look at your audience, you felt your face flush upon meeting the unimpressed gaze of a guy who looked about your age. He was tall even with his slightly hunched back, jaw chiseled, nose crooked, and green eyes mixed with a bit of gray. He wore a black sweater, the hood of it covering his hair, and obscuring some of his face with its shadow, loose cargo pants, and combat boots.

You wanted to be struck down by lightning as soon as you locked eyes. Just your luck that a cute guy catches you doing probably the only workout you’ve done this year! (Listen, writing those snippets on Lois and Clark’s papers takes up a lot of time! Or so you tell yourself…)

“Oh. Uh. Hi,” You greet pathetically, not moving an inch.

“Hi.”

He just stares. You glance down to find that you’re blocking the way upstairs.

“Oh!” You immediately back up, scooting your suitcase out of the way. “Sorry.”

He climbs up the steps. Slowly. And your nose strains itself trying to catch a whiff of his scent. Why were you trying to gauge the smell of a handsome boy, you ask? You really don’t know yourself but he gave off the vibe he smelled good. Or like lingering cigarette smoke. Definitely something you should stay away from, but when has a girl your age ever stayed away from a guy that screamed danger?

He holds out a hand, his palm covered with a fingerless leather glove. Your brows furrow at his outstretched hand.

“Your suitcase?”

You blinked. And then realized. “Right! Um, thank you…” You say hurriedly, almost shoving the suitcase into his hand.

He lets out a soft breath that if you strained your ears, it would’ve sounded a bit like amusement. He easily lifts your luggage, walking with it like it’s some grocery bag.

And he’s strong too!

Oh if there was a higher power, you begged that it would let you have another encounter with this mystery guy.

You quickly follow after him. The guy makes no move for small talk and you internally debate if you should break the silence or leave it be. You come to the conclusion that you should just introduce yourself, be friendly since you two were probably living in the same building now. You shared your name with him, telling him that you came from Metropolis.

A nice conversation stater! You almost pat yourself on the back. He gets to ask why you’re here, you get to talk about your internship and story, and maybe the guy will know a thing or two about this Red Hood! And, maybe, you could see if he was willing to go to some place to discuss Red Hood…

However the daydream comes crumbling down when he lets out a soft grunt to signal he acknowledged your words. He only grunts. He doesn’t give you a name.

You nearly deflate on the stairs.

If there was a higher power, you begged that your death would be swift and merciful.

“Oh! This is my floor. I can take the bag back now,” You tell him with a friendly smile.

He glances at you, gives you back your suitcase, and continues down the hall. Of the same floor.

Your brows furrow and you slowly walk behind him. Not to be a creep, you promise! You know when to take a hint and leave someone alone. Even though you really didn’t want to let the opportunity of a lifetime slip past your fingers. It was just then Ellen’s apartment was on the same floor!

He stops a door right next to the one that shared the same numbers on the address Perry gave you. The mystery guy unlocked it and stepped in, closing the door behind him a bit roughly.

Just your luck…

You lightly shake your head, trying to clear it of the awkward interaction earlier and quickly knock on Ellen’s door. The door opens fairly quickly and Ellen stands a bit away, like she was expecting a threat and not the person she agreed to house for a month.

You blinked at the quick door opening and offered her a small smile. “Hi, I’m the Daily Planet intern? Chief White spoke to you?”

Ellen stares at you for a second and then mutters your name in remembrance. “Right. I forgot that was today,” She says. “Sorry. When he said college kid I was expecting someone a bit…” She gestures vaguely.

“Younger looking?” You guess.

“Little bit. Sometimes I forget how diverse college students actually are,” She sighs. Ellen then opened her door a bit wider, stepping off to the side for you. “Come in.”

“Thank you for letting me stay here while I work on my story,” You say, glancing around her apartment. It looked nice. Chic almost.

She hums softly, walking over to her small kitchen. “Perry told me all about it. Though, I have to say, giving you your first story that involves you having to track down Gotham’s latest vigilante is… definitely something.”

“Well… how hard could it be? I mean, people see Batman all the time and he covers the whole city. Red Hood only does this area”

Ellen raises a brow, glancing over her shoulder to look at you. “You really don’t know a thing about him do you?”

“…Just his name,” You shuffle slightly.

She sighs softly, looking away from you. “I have reason to believe he’s a crime lord. Hence why I took you in and why I’m renting this place. If you can land an interview with him, which even the Gotham Gazette can’t do, and either prove he is or isn’t, that takes a load off the GCPD’s shoulders.”

“Oh… So. I’m… bait?”

“Not exactly,” She disagrees. “If I wanted to use you as bait, I would let you roam Gotham freely.”

“Am I not going to be able to roam Gotham freely?”

Ellen snorts, “Hell no. I’ll have guys from GCPD keep an eye on you.” You deflate at her swift answer. “You have a curfew too. Ten pm.”

“Ten pm?!” You gape. “That’s so early! And he fights during the night, no? It starts getting dark at nine!”

“In Gotham, it’s always dark. Ten pm, kid. Sharp too. A minute over and I’ll think you got killed in an alleyway. Crime Alley isn’t safe for girls your age. Especially tourists. Don’t make me worry,” She orders. “Also. You’re to steer clear of the iceberg lounge, no matter what. It isn’t safe for girls either.”

“Crime Alley?”

“…Did Perry not tell you anything?”

“No, he did! He did. I just— I thought that it was a nickname. Or a joke. Not like, the actual name of the place,” You sheepishly rub the back of your neck.

“…Okay. Let’s go over some ground rules real quick, kid.”

Chapter Text

The next morning you immediately walk out of Ellen’s apartment bidding her a quick goodbye and her yelling out a reminder of the curfew. You shut the door behind you.

And then walked back in to ask her for a spare key.

Walking the streets of “Crime Alley,” you kept your head down. You didn’t need to give off the vibes of an awestruck, or scared, tourist. If a mugger saw you like that, you’d be an easy target. Or so Ellen told you.

You listened for any conversations whispered in the alleyways or the open streets about Red Hood, but the only thing you could hear was blaring horns and yells.

Okay, so if you couldn’t eavesdrop outside. Your next best bet was eavesdropping inside.

You glanced around to look for a restaurant place or somewhere where people could possibly gather. But you didn’t really see much, some of the places were closed down or boarded up.

But you did see a corner shop that looked to still be booming!

You quickly crossed the street and walked inside, feeling a rotating fan blow air right in your face. You walked further inside glancing at the various snacks within and a deli menu. The ringing bell could barely be heard over the fan but it was enough for the older man behind the counter to lift his head.

His eyes flicked over you. “What’s a tourist doin’ in Crime Alley?” He asked.

“I’m visiting some… family. Extended.”

“A Metropolis tourist?” He snorted. “Whaddya know, maybe the pigs outside will finally turn a leaf to look nice. They wouldn’t wanna face the wrath of Supes.”

“I’m guessing I should steer clear of the police out here?” You ask as you approach the counter.

“You should steer clear of everyone in this area, sweetheart. Especially the police. Those guys take any bribes under the sun,” He says. “Bat’s don’t come here no more, so police turned they backs. But Red’s makin’ ‘em shake in their boots.”

“Red? As in Red Hood?”

He eyes you warily. “Yeah…”

You held up your hands in mock surrender. “Hey, I’m staying in the area too. If Red Hood looks out for you guys, I hope he doesn’t mind looking after an outsider too.”

The man lets out a soft hum. “Red Hood’ll look after anyone. Jus’ make sure you don’t get into any stupid stuff, kid. He ain’t the merciful type like the Bat’s.”

You furrowed your brows at that. “Isn’t the Batman against killing?”

He scoffs. “And look where it gets us. City gets overrun badly some days. And most of it is courtesy of escapees. That ”prison” can’t hold no one longer than a month.”

So Red Hood emerges from the ashes from Crime Alley. Eases the bitter and resentment from citizens. They trust him. …Being a crime lord wouldn’t be that far fetched if the people already trust him. Why worry about a crime lord that cares about your safety?

“I’ve heard about those breakouts. Even some people in Metropolis think it’s ridiculous,” You say, trying to build common ground. Shared complaining is the best way to build a bridge to someone.

“You tellin’ me,” he snorts. “Name’s John, kid.”

You share your name with him. “Where’d Red Hood even come from anyway? It feels like he just… showed up one day,” You try to carefully branch the topic.

John shrugs. “Feels that way for us too. Some think he’s a Robin that’s in his rebellious stage. Others think he a crime lord. But a lot of us think he a savior.”

“A savior… like Superman?” You ask. “He gives you guys hope?”

“Most hopeful I’ve been in years since he managed to chase out Black Mask.”

Goldmine!

“Really?”

“Here, how about I make you somethin’ real quick, kid. This gonna be a long story,” He offers.

You talked with John for hours, mentally storing away the information he gave you. It’s no interview, but once you do manage to land it, John’s words would amplify Red Hood’s.

Eventually, the sun began to set and you bid John a goodbye, thanking him for the bagels he had fed to you. It was probably the most money you spent at a corner store but, hey, you’d argue that John deserved a fat tip for not just making the best bagel you’ve had in your life, but also for supplying you with enough information to gauge the kind of person Red Hood is.

He used to be awfully violent. Guy would fight any criminals he could catch, and he’d leave them barely breathing. John said it was like he was an animal—moving on instinct alone. At that time, he was everywhere in Gotham. It wasn’t until he did a run in with the Bats and Joker that he began to mellow out a little, moving on from his rage.

After that, he got in a fight with Black Mask. And somehow, Black Mask pulled back his men from Crime Alley and left it in Red Hood’s hands. Now, Red Hood looks after Crime Alley, sweeping it up.

John says he thinks Red Hood wants to start finally fixing messes. Maybe to atone for his rage in his early career.

You wondered what Ellen thought.

While you were lost in thought, you didn’t happen to catch someone slinking out from the shadows of a nearby alleyway and eyeing you.

It all happened so quick.

One moment, you were walking down to the apartment complex. The next, you were roughly grabbed and dragged into a dark, smelly alleyway where you were shoved up against a brick wall.

Your eyes widened at the almost manic look in the man’s eyes in front of you and you couldn’t help but start screaming and thrashing about. But he wouldn’t budge. In fact, he looked annoyed at the fact that you were calling for help. Not worried. He wasn’t worried at all, and that terrified a part of you.

“Help! Help me, please!”

“Shut up! Ain’t nobody in their right mind gonna play hero out here!”

“Somebody, please!”

The man grabs your bicep, tightly, and you let out a cry at his grip. “Help!” You lift a hand to claw at him but he lifts a knife to your throat and your body goes still.

Your mouth immediately closes, a whimper leaving the back of your throat, chest jumping with suppressed hiccups as hot tears run down your face. A rat scurries down the alleyway, stepping over the man’s boot—he quickly shakes it off, launching it at the wall next to you, making you flinch. You hate rats.

“There we go, now you’re fucking quiet. Listen when someone tells you to shut up, you fucking moron,” He spits out and you wince when droplets of his saliva hits your cheek.

“Please,” You quietly beg him.

He tilts his head, mockingly, and lets out a cruel laugh. “Just you and me, baby. ‘Crow might let me off the experimenting if I had you over. Pretty voice - he’d love to hear you scream.”

A sob slips past your lips and that’s when someone’s arm hooks around the guys throat and quickly pulls him away from you.

Your legs immediately gave out underneath you, your body not used to that high level stress. You quickly scrambled back, afraid to get grabbed and dragged into the fight as leverage, trying to catch your breath. Deep, loud pants slip past your lips, nearly on the verge of hyperventilation as your brain sinks in what happened, blinking rapidly to soothe your watery eyes. You had a knife to your throat, a knife.

Your hand immediately surges up, grasping at your neck, fingertips hurriedly brushing over to feel for anything wet or rough on your neck. You calm down a little when you don’t feel anything.

Your assaulter hits the ground with a groan and your hero doesn’t stop at it, climbing over him and reeling back their fists having it collide in his face over and over and over again.

Your savior turns to look at you when they deem the beating good enough. You nearly wince at the sight of the blood caking his gloved knuckles, and the blood trickling down the guys nose. His eyes are loosely shut as well, but he’s still breathing, though with how shaky it is, you don’t know if he’ll be breathing for long. In your frightened mind you take notice of what your hero is wearing—a red hood. Along with a red helmet that seemed reminiscent of a motorcycle one.

He stares at you (or so you assume) and you can only find yourself staring back.

“…Breathe,” A heavily synthesized voice tells you. You realize the voice is come from him.

You try to calm your breathing. He stares from a small distance, until you’re no longer panting, then slowly approaches you and crouches down, tilting his head as if looking for injuries. His chin lowers as he stares at a bruise, a hand-print. He sighs lightly, “Go home. Ain’t safe out here.”

You watch as he stands up and picks the limp criminal by the neckline of his shirt when he walks over to his side. You push yourself back, raising on trembling legs, a hand resting on the brick wall next to you to keep yourself up.

Red Hood, noticing that you don’t immediately run off, shifts to start climbing up a fire escape, adjusting the guy over his shoulder. Whatever he was about to do, he didn’t want you to see.

“Wait,” You call out when he jumps, grasping onto the metal railing. He turns slightly over his shoulder. You swallow roughly before breathing out a simple and shaky, “thank you.”

You want to tell him more. Tell him that you didn’t think anyone would come. That you’ve failed your one task—your one shot at a story—and almost died over it. But you don’t.

The Red Hood faces forward. “Just doing my job.”

He finishes scaling up the fire escape and you begin the walk back to Ellen’s apartment complex, careful to put space between you and the alleyways you pass by. You nearly jump out of your skin when you heard your phone start ringing.

Your little ringtone practically carried off into the street and you hastily answered it, barely glancing at the name. “Hello?”

There’s a greeting of your name, cheerful with a hint of caution, and your shoulders slump at the sound of Clark’s voice. “Hey, kid. Just… calling to see how your first actual day in Gotham went.”

The promise you made to him rang in your mind and you nursed your bottom lips between your teeth, hesitant to tell him what happened moments prior. If you told Clark, he would immediately tell Perry that you were coming back and the story would be flushed—or given to someone else. But if you didn’t tell Clark, you would be betraying his trust. And Clark was all about trust.

“It—It was fine. A bit scary. …I ran into Red Hood.”

There’s a pause on the other line and you can hear wind harshly blowing. You wondered if Metropolis was finally getting a nice nightly breeze. “You ran into him?” Clark finally asks.

“Yes. He doesn’t seem as awful as everyone thinks.”

After all, an awful person wouldn’t have come running at your cries for help, wouldn’t have decked your attacker in the face and beaten him unconscious. And they certainly wouldn’t have moved your attacker to a place you can’t see if they were to do anything worse.

“How did you manage to run into him?” Clark’s voice was low.

“He… was helping someone. She almost got attacked. He saved her. I would’ve helped but not much I can do besides call police. And the police in this area kinda suck,” You say. You felt horrible for lying but this opportunity meant a lot. It would prove to Perry you’re capable of being a journalist, and that your coworkers didn’t need to baby you, and it would prove to future employers that you’re not one to turn down an opportunity.

“Huh. Well, at least he was there to help.”

“Yeah. Oh! Um, I’m already here at Ellen’s apartment. She put a curfew for me, so I’m gonna start drafting some questions to ask Red Hood for a bit. I’ll call you if I can’t think of any,” You say. “After all, you have your fair share in interviewing hero’s, Clark. Maybe you can give me tips later for when I run into him next time.”

“I’ll think about it. That’s like asking a grandma to give up her secret ingredient.”

You chuckled lightly, “goodnight, Clark.”

“Night, kid.”

When you step inside the building, you don’t notice the familiar flutter of a red cape blowing in the wind before a streak of red and blue carried itself in the same direction as Metropolis as soon as the door closed behind you.

You stared at your partially empty Word document, the cursor in the middle of the screen practically taunting you. You couldn’t think of any good questions. Like deep dive questions. All your questions seemed so surface level.

Seriously—”how did you get your name”? ”Why are you in Crime Alley”? ”Are you a crime lord”? Did your time under Clark mean nothing? Or your classes?

You sunk into your chair with a soft groan. Glancing over at your clock, you noted that it was creeping up to one in the morning. Ellen had scolded you when she got back from the police department and saw your bandaged bicep. Said something about how you weren’t even a couple days in and you already managed to run into trouble—just like other journalists.

You told her that Red Hood saved you and she paused at that. She asked if you managed to get in a question or talk to him but you had simply told her that he left as quick as he came to help, which wasn’t entirely untrue.

Looking back on your encounter with him, he was actually very caring. He approached you as if you were a scared animal, which you definitely were giving off such vibes, and spoke as gently as he could with his voice changer. Not to mention he assessed you for any lethal injuries and moved your attacker away from you.

He was agile when climbing up the fire exit but he didn’t show that same agility with the criminal. He was rough. Brutal.

Showed care to you but none towards the assailant. He acted almost like Batman. If Batman was brutal with his takedowns.

Which makes you think for a second.

You sit back up, opening up YouTube briefly and searching for ‘Batman fighting villains compilations’. You click on the first one and skim over the various clips. You noticed some similarities—like their arms being used to move criminals away and then slamming them down on the ground, the way their arms were angled, to knock someone out quick and easy, and then you see Nightwing fighting alongside Batman in one of the clips, the way Nightwing is able to lift himself into the air is the same agile technique Red Hood used to climb up the ladder.

They could just be coincidences. And your job as a journalist is to make sure you don’t do coincidences. You do clear cut answers.

So you start researching.

You watch boxing highlights, parkour shots, pause the videos, rewind them, and take note. The parkours move too bulky, throwing themselves—they don’t move with the same grace Nightwing or Red Hood does. And the boxers fight with the same brutality as Red Hood but they don’t have the same arm angle he had when throwing punches.

You move on to gymnasts highlights—Olympics, local, national. From West coast to East. To Northern and Southern. By the time it hits three in the morning, you realize that no one has perfected the agile grace in which Nightwing carries himself, or in this case throws himself, besides Red Hood.

You find yourself typing moving back to your word doc and add another question: Despite claiming that you have nothing to do with Batman, your moves are awfully similar to the sidekick that has stuck to his side the longest. Were you trained under Nightwing? If so, why split from him? Did Batman take you under his wing as well?

The connection makes your curiosity grow.

Was the split over a disagreement as to how to handle criminals? You fight them much more brutally than both Batman and Nightwing fight their enemies.

What led to this brutality?

If there is no true connection, then why does Batman leave you alone? Batman is known to recruit help to lessen the crime activity within Gotham. He has several vigilantes working for him—why not you?

Is it the connection of being a crime lord? But even then, Batman wouldn’t let a crime lord freely roam his city and help his people if he was even the tiniest bit skeptical. Which means Batman would have to have put his trust in you. But how can he trust you if there is no connection?

You pause, pulling your fingers away from your keyboard.

In a way, they felt almost accusatory.

Did Batman do something to you that made you distance yourself?

You sent one last glance to your clock and gently shut your laptop when you saw the clock was teetering on four in the morning.

You climbed into bed, turning off your lamp.

That night, you dreamt that your encounter with Red Hood happened a little bit differently. A bit more tenderly.

Chapter Text

You woke up the next day tired as hell.

Maybe you shouldn’t have stayed up till four in the morning writing question for Red Hood and surfing YouTube to check off a suspicion.

You rolled over to glance at your phone, whining as the time read 1:34pm.

Walking out of the spare room, you trudged over to the bathroom, getting ready to spend today staying inside. Yesterday was a bit too eventful for you. Not to mention, you should probably call Clark and ask for some question recommendations. You needed more neutral questions. Ones where you weren’t picking a side and would lead you to grab the most information as possible.

You padded over to Ellen’s kitchen picking off a banana and biting into it after peeling. Staring out the window you try to think of a plan to get Red Hood near you.

You had no way of tracking him, didn’t understand his patterns yet, didn’t know which streets he patrolled more frequently and - most importantly - you didn’t know when he starts his patrol. You knew he did them at night but the time frame of them was lost.

Maybe Ellen had some of those answers, but you felt a bit too prideful to go to her for help. For too long during your internship were you handheld and coddled—Perry kept going on and on about that you still had things to learn before writing a story and Clark never let you do expanded pieces, only be his beta reader and credit you for a sentence or two. Lois maybe gave you a paragraph but she gave you the information and told you how she wanted it to be structured, and to Jimmy you were his coffee delivery girl. No one at Daily Planet thought you were capable enough to be an actual journalist. All because you were still young and opinionated. Neutrality was everything in this field of work, and you couldn’t for the life of you be neutral.

Then again, so couldn’t Clark. (Maybe that’s why Perry had him mentor you.)

So, yeah, maybe you wanted to handle this Red Hood story all on your own. Find your own clues, connect your own theories. This went beyond just asking the guy some questions about his intentions and his life—this was about you showing your coworkers you can do this. Because if you can’t, what good is a writer who can’t even move her pen without someone hovering over her shoulder.

You chew on your bottom lip.

But if you’re trying to prove yourself, should you call Clark for help?

He is your mentor. But he also tried to prevent this.

You decide not to call. It’s still rather early. You give it till the end of the week, if by then you don’t have any good, journalistic standard questions, you’ll call Clark.

It’s late at night when Ellen comes back.

“Oh. You’re here. I figured you’d be roaming the streets again,” She hums, closing her front door behind her. “Or did last night freak you out?”

You can tell there’s more humor in her tone than concern. It makes your shoulders drop a little in relief to have someone older treat actually you like an adult who makes their own decisions. And if your decision led you to get grabbed in an alleyway, so be it.

“No, actually. I stayed to start game planning. I only have a couple hours when it’s night to go out there and find Red Hood,” You say. “You don’t think I could go through some documents at GCPD or question some criminals he’s turned in?”

Ellen raises a brow, leaning her lower back against her kitchen counter. “I could tell you that myself.”

“I want to do it by myself.”

Her lips pursed to a downward, amused smile. “I could see about lending you some documents. But I’m afraid I only have a handful of criminals for you to interview. Batman’s friend seems to kill all the guys he runs into.”

“Batman’s friend? I thought there was a rumor the two aren’t connected?”

“There’s also multiple rumors that they are. They’re just more hidden.” Her eyes catches yours. “You saw the guy up close and personal, you don’t think they are?”

You chew on the inside of your cheek. “I went over some videos that had Batman and Nightwing. He fights like them, moves like them. But certainly doesn’t behave like them.”

“So you think it is true they’re connected?”

“Truth means nothing without proof. You’d need either Batman, Nightwing, or Red Hood’s word.”

“My word?”

Ellen immediately spins around around, withdrawing a gun hidden within her coat, aiming it right at—

“Batman,” Ellen grits.

“Batman?” You perk up.

“Detective Yin,” Batman greets with the familiar gruff voice that makes the child in you almost squeal with excitement. The bat voice is real!

He turns his head and catches sight of you. “A ward?” He asks simply.

“No,” Ellen replies, slowly lowering her gun. She seems hesitant to tell her plan to Batman, but she eventually lets out a sigh and meets his gaze with a narrowed one. “Came from Metropolis. Daily Planet. She’s supposed to write a story on your new friend. I’m also using her for information on my case about him.”

Batman’s eyes flick over to Ellen and his poker face is damn near perfect. “Red Hood isn’t a threat. Robin and I have deduced such already.”

“Doesn’t explain Black Mask’s lankey’s whimpering about Red Hood whenever we manage to catch one alive. As much as I don’t like the guys, he’s killing too many. The system is the only one that should be determining these guys sentences. Not a rogue,” She says firmly. “…And GCPD doesn’t like not knowing anything about the guy. At least with you, they know they have the option to trust you.”

He lifts a hand to gesture to you. “So instead you’re sending in an inexperienced intern?”

Ellen’s brows furrow, “I didn’t—“

“I know everyone who steps into my city.”

The Batman knew you?!

“So why play dumb?” She crosses her arms over her chest.

“So you’d tell me your plan.”

Ellen growls lightly. “Your guy seems to know everyone in Gotham Gazette. Avoids them like the plague. And he saved her. Maybe a fresh face is all that’s needed to get information from him. And his dealings.”

You looked over at Ellen. “Wait, he hates reporters?”

“Despises them,” Batman answers.

Ooh. Okay. Glad you got that information now instead of later down the road.

“Which is why GCPD reached out to Daily Planet,” Ellen says. “We were hoping for a seasoned reporter. Like Lois Lane, or Jimmy Olsen, or even Steve Lombard.”

“I’m right here.”

“No offense, kid. But Red Hood isn’t someone you should be interacting with. Especially in this part of the city. Why Chief White assigned you is mind boggling. And worrying,” She says.

“She’s a fresh face. Recently hired, only an intern—Most people wouldn’t think twice about sending her down here for those precise reasons,” Batman notes. “A perfect candidate to send to someone who knows every worker in Gotham Gazette.”

Batman just called you perfect! Oh, Jimmy was never going to hear the end of this!

“Besides, Red Hood doesn’t hurt innocents.”

“He murders people.”

“Not innocents.”

“You never told me why you’re even here,” Ellen snaps, getting annoyed with the stretching topic. “You’re breaking and entering, Batman. I could have you arrested for that.”

“You could. Though, I think you’d rather like to know about a case Gordon gave me before you hand me in,” He says.

“And what is it?”

“It ties to Black Mask.”

Ellen shuffles her feet, clearly debating if she should go or not. She loses the debate. “Stay here, kid. Food is in the fridge. I don’t want you walking around Crime Alley if my hands are too full,” She warns. She then looks up at Batman. “Meet me outside. Don’t need the kid listening in.”

She walks out, closing the door behind her and locking it.

Batman goes to climb back out the window before you approach him. “Uh, Batman, sir—“ He turns to look at you and he’s so much more daunting up close. But now that Ellen’s gone, his eyes are soft, welcoming. Like he doesn’t want to scare you.

It feels like Clark.

“—I-I just wanted to ask a quick question. You spoke a lot about Red Hood. And on his behalf. I’m wondering if… if you knew him before he was Red Hood? If the rumors of him not being connected to you are fake?”

“Is this part of your interview, Ms?” He asks.

“A little. His moves are a lot like yours and Nightwings. I compared clips. Nobody else moves like Nightwing. Aside from Red Hood. And a lot of my questions involve you two. …If there truly is no connection, I shouldn’t ask him those questions.”

Batman stays silent for a moment. “I don’t think you should ask him those questions at all. Or at least remove my name from them. …He doesn’t like talking about me.”

“So you knew him?”

“I did.”

You let out a small breath, a bit of excitement blooming in your chest. Is this how your coworkers feel when their original hunch is proved right?

“Good investigation work. Clark would be proud.” He leaves you with that, climbing out from the window and gently sliding it down behind him.

When you walk back into the spare room you open your laptop and underneath the last question you had spoken into the void before falling asleep, you reply to it: Very possible.

After two full days, you finally bumped into Ellen’s neighbor.

You came up to the roof to clear your head and write down a couple more questions for Red Hood. The spare room was starting to get to you and even though Ellen said your curfew was 10 (and it was long past that) that was for when you were outside doing stuff - you were still within property line. When you pushed open the door, revealing the dark sky of Gotham lined with towering skyscrapers, you caught sight of a familiar black hood.

You internally debate whether you should walk back inside or say hello. The guy barely talked to you last time. You didn’t want to come off as a—Oh, too late he’s looking at you know.

You lift a hand to awkwardly wave. “Hi, again,” You greet meekly.

“Hi again.”

You walk towards the middle of the roof and his eyes follow you. You notice his foot shifts a little when you get just bit too close to the ledge and when you move to sit down he’s walking right up to you.

Oh gosh, the one above did hear you!

He takes a seat next to you on the ledge, but holds a bit of distance between you. He smells woodsy, with a hint of sweat. Your eyes flick up and you notice that his hair is damp and sticking to his wet forehead. You also notice that the hair sticking to his forehead is a striking white. It reminded you of a comic book character.

His eyes flick over to you and you quickly look away, staring at your open laptop.

“What brings you up here?” He asks.

Your heart nearly leaps at him starting a conversation. “Uh, couldn’t think in my room. So I came out here instead,” You tell him. You thought about telling him you had a curfew and that’s also what brought you up here but you didn’t want him to think you were lame. “…What about you?”

He hums like he doesn’t understand.

“Why are you up here?” You reiterate.

“Couldn’t think in my room,” He answers.

You smiled a little at his answer. And then clear your throat a little. “I never got your name,” You bring up.

He hesitates for a second. Or is maybe thinking about it. “Peter,” He says.

“Peter… Cool,” You nearly wince at your awkwardness. God was practically blessing you right now at another shot of making things right with your cute neighbor and you were ruining it! “Do you mind if I ask you a question?”

“Depends on the question,” He shrugs lazily.

“How long have you lived here? Like, Crime Alley,” You ask.

His brow twitches into a slight furrow, like he almost wasn’t expecting that. “About two years?”

“So… around the same time Red Hood started showing up,” You mutter absentmindedly. Okay, so this was good! Peter probably knew Red Hood information! Which means you could ask him to come with to John’s bodega and discuss Red Hood.

Peter turns to look at you at that, a hint of amusement in his eyes, and the corner of his mouth twitched up. “You interested in Red Hood?” He asks.

You flush at the question. “Well, he saved my life the other day. And I’m just now hearing about him, so… I’m just a bit curious is all,” You say sheepishly. “…He was actually, surprisingly sweet.”

He raised a brow. “Sweet?”

“He comforted me. And checked if I had any injuries. And he took the guy who attacked me up to the rooftops—I don’t think he wanted me to see a murder.”

He looks away. “You think he murdered the guy?”

“Maybe he did. Maybe not. I’m just glad he helped me.”

Peter nods his head loosely. “…I figured a Metropolis kid would’ve run straight for the hills after a run-in like that,” He hums.

“You—“ You’re surprised he remembers that. You kinda thought he hadn’t been listening back then. “—You’re right. We would. But that’s mainly because we don’t have a lot of petty criminals, or at least the ones you brandish knives at people.” Criminals either feared or loved Superman too much to go after the little guys. “But, I have a job to do out here and I won’t go back empty handed.”

“And what’s that?”

You remembered Perry’s words, that the citizens of Crime Alley were tight lipped around reporters but if you didn’t tell Peter, he would think you were using him for information, when in actuality you just want to pretend to be on a date with him. “Promise you won’t get mad?” You ask him.

He glances over at you, brows furrowed in confusion but also raised in curiosity. “What, are you secretly a villain or something?”

“No, no, nothing like that.” Well, it also depended on how one views journalists. “I’m an intern at the Daily Planet. They gave me the opportunity of a lifetime to write my first story on Red Hood. But, the guy doesn’t like reporters and neither do the people of Crime Alley,” You say and you can see Peter tense a little. “I’m supposed to land an interview with Red Hood, but I think after I tell him I’m a reporter, he’s gonna leave me in the dust.”

“Why would you tell him you’re a reporter? Could just stalk him. Or pester him,” Peter grumbles.

You shake your head. “My mentor told me that an interviewer and the interviewee should have mutual trust in each other. The interviewee should know that nothing that they are uncomfortable with would be asked and the interviewer should know that they’ll be getting the full truth. I need that foundation with Red Hood before asking him my questions. Which I barely have any,” You slump.

“…What’s your questions?”

“How did you get your name,” You whine.

Peter waits for you to say more and snorts loudly when you don’t continue. “Is that your only question?”

“I had to scrap my good ones.”

“Yeah I don’t think he’s gonna leave you in the dust, Metropolis,” He chuckles.

“Really?” You perk up.

“If your questions are similar to that, no.”

“…Sometimes it’s good to ask basic questions.”

“To a Gotham vigilante?”

“I don’t want to scare him off,” You say. “Well—Scare, isn’t a good word. The guy’s a tank. I don’t want him to avoid me. …I need this, Peter.”

He doesn’t tease you.

You sit there in silence, forgetting the whole reason why you came up here in the first place. Your eyes travel over the street below, glancing over stray trash scuttling down the sidewalks with the gentle breeze, listening to the distant, but also close, noises of gunfire, horns blaring, and yells. It’s chaotic and dangerous. Nothing like Metropolis.

You glance over at Peter who is looking up at the sky. He doesn’t jump or move like how you do when you hear a gun go off. Nor wince at the yells. He takes it all in, staring at the murky sky above where only the flashes of plane lights above and the moon can be seen through the amount of light pollution Gotham contributes to.

“Is it always like this?” You can’t help but ask.

“It used to be louder,” He confesses whispery.

You nod and look away.

It may not be like Metropolis, but you’re glad the people of Crime Alley are finally experiencing the same hope Metropolians have had for fourteen years now.

Chapter Text

Ellen did not let you accompany her to GCPD - which, fair enough - but she did bring you the documents you wanted.

You had went out earlier in the day and drove down to a Dollar General, buying a large paper whiteboard, some rolls of tape, markers, and a notebook. You had taped the whiteboard up onto a blank wall since you didn’t think Ellen would like thumbtack holes in her apartment—even if she was just using it to be closer to Red Hood.

Ellen had stared at you from your doorway as you built the amalgamation that was your “drawing board,” or, how you like to call it, your detective board. She simply snorted and placed the thin file on your bed which you quickly scrambled over to.

You had spent yesterday inside your room, today you would be finding Red Hood. Or trying to.

Opening the manila folder, you were surprised to see how little papers it held. Perry wasn’t wrong when he said very little was known about your vigilante.

Nonetheless, you pulled out the papers and began taking notes. Red Hood made various stops at warehouses, business - sometimes small, sometimes big, and the Iceberg Lounge. A “Penguin” guy used to own it, but when Red Hood came to the city, he took it over. Iceberg Lounge was probably your best bet, but Ellen didn’t want you going over there.

You, however, taped that information to your board. For the interview, of course.

There were streets labeled where Red Hood usually left the bodies of Black Mask’s men. Those streets didn’t really have neighborhoods or established buildings—those streets were usually abandoned or a hive for criminals.

Perhaps he used the bodies as a warning? You tucked that away as a future question as well.

Eventually, you found yourself staring at what looked to be a mad man’s creation but it was your creation. You felt half tempted to snap a picture and send it to Clark, you hadn’t talked to him since the night you met Red Hood. …You should probably call him soon, you didn’t want him to be worried. But something deep within you made you think he was upset, which was odd because what would Clark be upset over? For all he knew, you made contact with Red Hood and had an easy day in Gotham. He had nothing to be upset over.

You shake your head. Now was not the time to think about Clark.

You had a couple hot spots where you could do a stakeout, however, a lot of them were dangerous. Like, gang wars and goons hung around those parts and were incredibly trigger happy dangerous. The only places safe enough for you were the alleyways that Red Hood would cross over when traveling on rooftops. But the last time you were in an alleyway…

Before heading out you grabbed a Swiss Army knife buried within a junk drawer in Ellen’s kitchen. Thank god you were living with a detective who understood the dangers of the city outside.

You drove slowly down the streets of Crime Alley, keeping your eyes out for a figure on the rooftops. The streets were mostly empty, save for a van or two, or speeding cars that either wanted to get out of there as quickly as possible or were full of goons trying to find the location their boss sent them.

You drove around until it almost hit curfew. You were tempted to stay out a couple more minutes to continue looking but Ellen’s warning rang in your mind.

The next day you headed out again. Then the night after that and the night after that.

How could you not find one guy that patrolled the same city for three days?!

You looked over your writings, double checked the information written in the file Ellen gave you, and then looked at what you wrote down again. It matched up, so why weren’t you finding him?! Letting out a small growl, nails dragging from your nape to the sides of your neck as your head hung low, you stepped out to get fresh air from the rooftop.

Peter was there, sat on the ledge, and suddenly your frustration bubbling in your chest turned to butterflies.

He looked over at the sound of the door opening and waved. “Hey. Didn’t think you’d show,” He says.

Your brows furrowed at that. “Have you… been up here a lot?” You ask slowly, not wanting to outright ask if he had been coming up here to see you.

“Yeah. Thought you’d be taking more breathers.”

Prayers do get answered!

You took a seat beside him, a smile tugging at your lips. “Sorry, I’ve been a bit busy. I’ve been driving around Crime Alley trying to look for Red Hood the past couple of nights and have had no luck,” You sigh. “I didn’t think Crime Alley was all that big for me to not find him.”

“He doesn’t just stick to Crime Alley, you know that, right?” He asks.

You immediately turned to look at him. “What?”

“He sometimes goes to the harbors and stuff or scopes out some places. Crime Alley is the main city he looks after, yes, but he’s still a Gotham vigilante,” Peter breaks it down.

You held your head in your hands. “The files didn’t mention that…”

“Files?”

“I asked for some information on Red Hood’s frequent whereabouts. And I found some hot spots in the city but he wasn’t there,” You mumbled.

“Why not go to the Iceberg Lounge?”

“Because the woman I’m staying with would kill me if I stepped foot in there. She told me it’s not safe for girls my age to be there.”

Peter’s brow twitches. “How old are you?”

“Nineteen.”

He lets out a breath. “…Yeah probably not yet.”

“Not yet?” You ask.

“Red Hood’s been trying to make Crime Alley safer. Safe enough for escorts to walk the streets without having to worry about being mugged. Or raped. Or killed,” He explains, a look in his eyes hardening as he lists off the horrible things that used to happen to the escorts. “The Iceberg Lounge is a gentlemen’s club that used to belong to Penguin. Now Red Hood makes sure those women are safe.”

You couldn’t help but lean in and gently bump him with your shoulder. He seemed to flinch at the contact and your heart jumped to your throat, thinking you made him uncomfortable. You immediately put some space between you two and he relaxed at that. “…Sounds like you admire him.”

“Says you,” He snorts and your shoulders drop in relief at his tone.

“The guy saved me. You look like you can hold your own,” You point out and he smiles.

“I’m just glad someone’s at least cleaning up this place. Unlike Batman. He stopped coming here years ago.” Peter’s smile dropped as soon as he mentioned the renowned hero and you grew a little curious.

“You don’t like Batman?”

He scoffs. Harshly. “Don’t like is too nice. I hate the guy.” Though, something inside you feels like he doesn’t mean that. “He can’t even kill the worse of the worse. Just throws them in an asylum, hopes they can be reformed, and then acts surprised when they break out. Like expecting it to be as impenetrable as Alcatraz but it’s not,” He rants.

“A lot of the superhero’s don’t kill anyone,” You say carefully. “Like Superman. Or Green Lantern. Or Shazam.”

“That’s only three.”

“They’re the only three I know for certain,” You say sheepishly. “But still, my point is right! …Though, I understand the frustration. A guy I talked to on my first day here said the exact same thing. Said Red Hood’s finally giving him hope.”

“He said that?” Peter sounds almost breathless. Like part of him couldn’t believe someone said that and another part desperate to hear confirmation someone said that.

You nodded. “…I agree with him. About the hope part. People should have their own symbol of hope in their cities. And for Crime Alley, it’s Red Hood.”

He stares at you for a second and then swiftly turns away. For a second, you wondered if you said anything wrong.

“Have you been anywhere Red Hood hasn’t visited yet?” He asks, his voice a bit rough.

You’re confused as to why he’d switch the topic back to the conversation before, but you didn’t pry. Didn’t want to. Peter would tell you when he’s ready. “I’ve mostly been driving around in my car… maybe I’ll try walking down some of the alleyways around here. Maybe if I get into trouble again he’ll come to my rescue,” You joke.

Peter laughs lightly. “You’re gonna play damsel in distress?”

“If it gets me my story, yes.”

Ditching your car to walk by some alleyways wasn’t the smartest thing you’ve done this week. Honestly, you should’ve checked your weather app, maybe then you would’ve known that it was going to drop to a cool seventy degrees with a brisk breeze. Holding your arms close to your chest, hunched over slightly, you tried your best to keep warm in a summer attire that didn’t feel appropriate for the current weather.

Glancing down the alleyways and up the rooftops, you didn’t spot anything. You thought if it would be messed up to pretend to start being mugged to maybe draw Red Hood’s attention but who knew how far he was. Maybe he was at the harbors again.

You walked into a dark alley, up ahead there was a dried patch of blood. Your brows furrowed as you walked up to it, peering down at the dried puddle. Looking over your shoulder, you caught a glimpse at the street name and realized this was the same place where Red Hood saved you.

Huh.

Just then, a figure jumps down from the rooftops, a harsh thud of combat boots meeting solid concrete, echoed in the empty alley. You jumped back a little, relaxing when your recognized the attire.

Red Hood looks over his shoulder and now that you’re closer you realize just how massive the guy is. He towers over you, and you’re pretty sure his bicep is the size of your head. Speaking of his biceps his t-shirt is a bit small on him, it hugs his arms and his chest. It makes it looks like it’s protruding a little, almost like a pair of breasts.

Woah! You should not be having those kinds of thoughts about a vigilante! Especially one you’re supposed to interview. Creates a conflict of interest. Not to mention, Peter next door has the same physique and a pretty face to boot.

But the helmet is nice. It’s very nice.

“What’re you doing out here in an alley like this? Thought you learned your lesson the first time?”

You forgot about the sexy voice.

Wait—Sexy?! When did you think his voice changer was sexy!?

You felt your face warm up when you realize you haven’t said anything yet and have just been staring. “To find you!” You hurriedly say. “I-I’m from the Daily Planet. I’m supposed to do a story on you. But I promise I’m not a rude reporter!”

He tilts his head, turning to face you with his arms crossed over his chest. You try your hardest to focus on the white eyes of the helmet and not the way his biceps are practically begging to be freed from his shirt. “A story?” He muses. He raises his shoulders with a drawn out shrug, “I’m just one of the little guys out here. What’s Metropolis want from me?”

Focus! You have a cute neighbor waiting for you back at Ellen’s complex!

“Just… curious. Is all,” You offer simply. “It’s just, you’re working on your own. Usually the vigilantes in Gotham team up together, or so we’re used to,” You try to save your slip-up, remembering that Batman himself told you not to mention him around Red Hood (you still couldn’t believe Batman himself talked to you).

Red Hood huffs lightly, though it doesn’t sound offended so maybe it was a win? “I don’t work by myself.”

That causes you to look at him and furrow your brows lightly. “You… don’t? Wait! Wait—“ You quickly fumbled for the small notepad and pen in your back pocket. “You said you don’t work by yourself?”

He clicks his tongue. “Afraid I can’t answer that one.”

“Why—?” No. No, you can’t be pushy. You need to take what you can get first and then build up to the heavier questions. “Okay then. I just have a couple questions—“

“I can only entertain you for so long.”

That almost made you weak.

“Then I’ll just ask you one tonight and another tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow?”

“Same time. Same place. Though, I can’t be here after nine-thirty. …I kinda have a curfew,” You wince.

Red Hood stares at you. You feel like he wants to laugh.

“Just ask your question, Nancy Drew.”

“That’s not even… whatever,” You let the comment slide. “Your name. How did you get your name and why stick with it? Was it… the people of Crime Alley who named you it? And was it after your colored hood or the colored helmet?” You ask, eyes flicking up to the white eyes of the mask.

“You that curious about my name?”

“I’m on a short time limit, Mr.Red.”

“Please, Mr.Red was my father. Just call me Red,” He says and even though you can’t see his face, you feel as though he’s grinning. “Also, I’m not the first person to take on the name. It was more of a mantle. For criminals.”

“Does that mean you see yourself as a criminal?” You ask carefully.

“Means I’m not afraid to get my hands dirty,” He answers. “But, like I said, it was a mantle for them. Now it’s not. Now it’s me. Just me.”

You stared at him. He had walked a step or two closer, perhaps to intimidate you or make sure his words got through, but all you could focus on was his voice changer getting deeper—raspier. “…Cool.”

He then lifts a hand and gently pushes your shoulder, forcing you out of the alleyway and back onto the sidewalk. “Go home, Nancy Drew. You’re about to be late for curfew. Don’t want to get mommy and daddy all worried now, do ya?” Red Hood taunts. He then easily climbs atop the lid of a dumpster and hauls himself up a ladder.

You stand there and watch him leave. And then released a breath you didn’t know you were holding.

You wondered, briefly, about Ellen’s reaction if you told her that Red Hood was just too fine to try and incriminate.

Chapter Text

Sat on your bed, listening to soft drizzle of rain hit your window, you stared at the headlines that have come out just this week. Some guy named Black Mask has been sending his lackeys to Blackgate, trying to break in. You’ve heard mention of the criminals name from Ellen and Batman. But John had told you that criminals were always trying to break out of this supposed prison. Never in.

You wondered what the hell this Black Mask was trying to do. Nobody at Gotham Gazette really had an answer themselves—just speculation. Cops haven’t told them anything.

Maybe you should ask Ellen in the morning? Would she even tell you? She did mention that Red Hood had been killing Black Mask’s men. Maybe she would tell you if she thought it would get important information from Red Hood.

Dragging a hand down your face, fighting off sleep, you switched over to your previous tab and staring at the blinking cursor of doom. You had a pretty solid introductory paragraph—comments on Crime Alley’s crime rate (with rough statistics you calculated yourself based on the file Ellen gave to you), Red Hood’s appearances, his popularity, and how he handles crimes. The basic information is all there and perfectly laid out.

But you have no interview. Just his comment about his name and that’s it. You had two weeks left to properly get everything sorted and you have had one—count it—one interaction.

At this point, Perry will think you’re incapable of interviewing people.

Chewing on your nail, you glance over your questions to ask Red Hood next time you see him. You catch sight of your older questions.

They were really good. It would explain his relationship with Batman—frayed or not, and be a reasoning that the GCPD could trust him like how they trust Batman. But Batman said not to mention him and you didn’t want to upset Red Hood.

You groan softly, rubbing your eyes as your screen light began to strain your eyes.

It’s then you hear a scream.

You immediately lifted your head, your senses heightened and your body frozen. You listen for Ellen to start moving but she doesn’t—still asleep. The scream didn’t come from outside, it came from inside. The walls were thin but you didn’t know that they were that thin. Or maybe someone had screamed really loudly. It sounded like a man’s scream.

A couple minutes later you heard a door slam and it sounded close. Like it was right next door.

Your first thought is that someone had a really horrible nightmare.

Your second? What if that was Peter?

Your heart drops to your stomach. Hurriedly climbing out of bed, you pull a sweater over your shoulders, sliding into some slippers before booking it out the door. You hope he’s on the roof. That he isn’t walking about after a scream like that. You’ve never screamed yourself awake from a nightmare before, only ever breathing hard. For Peter to wake up from his scream? And such a loud one at that? You prayed that he was okay.

Slamming your side into the door’s push bar, you sigh in relief upon seeing Peter’s figure sitting on the roof. The rain is still coming down, albeit lightly, and Peter isn’t dressed for it.

“Peter,” You call out softly. “You’re gonna get sick.”

He doesn’t respond to his name but as you continue talking, you catch sight of his hands lifting to his face, wiping at it. Your heart clenches at the thought of him crying out here. Didn’t he have someone to call?

“What’re you doing up here?” He asks, voice thick and his tone low. Like he really doesn’t want to talk.

You step forward, letting the door gently fall shut. “…Heard a scream. Then a door slam. …I wanted to make sure you were up here,” You confess, hesitating to walk closer.

He lets out a heavy sigh.

“You don’t even know me.”

Your brow twitches at his words. It’s nothing like the conversations you’ve shared with him before. “You could tell me. Then I’d know.”

He lets out a weak snort. “Yeah, right. You don’t want to know me.”

You swallow softly, hands sliding into the pockets of your sweater as you stare at his back. “I do,” You say so Peter doesn’t think he’s got the last word. That he’s a lost cause. “I want to know… whatever you’re comfortable with telling me.”

“And if that’s nothing?”

Your shoulders slump. You really didn’t want to lose another friend. He was easy to talk to. Really easy. Easier than Clark and Clark is… well, Clark.

You can feel your hands trembling in your pockets. “Then that’s fine too.”

He shakes his head lightly, signaling that was the wrong answer. “Really? It’s fine if you know nothing about me? You don’t know the first thing about Gotham’s rules.”

“…Which are?”

“Don’t trust no one.”

You let out a sharp exhale, dragging a foot forward.

“You don’t have to tell me what’s wrong, Peter. I won’t ask. I won’t even pretend I know how you’re feeling. Just… I just need to make sure that you’re okay,” You practically beg. “That you’re— you— I don’t know,” You control your voice the best you can, but you can feel your breath and words hitch in your chest. The familiar harsh sting builds behind your eyes and your mouths builds up more saliva than it needs.

“You don’t need to be so worked up over me. I’m fine,” Peter says firmly.

Your feet shuffle closer again. And then you slowly move to sit near him. You make sure that you don’t sit too close, that he can see you out of the corner of his eyes. They’re bloodshot and his jaw is clenched tightly. You can see tear streaks on his face. You ache to know what his nightmare is but you don’t push. You know not to push.

“You don’t know anything about me,” He repeats shakily, his eyes narrowing at the distance ahead. “And yet you’re out here in the rain for me… why?” He asks. “Why do you care?”

You gave a weak shrug. “Because I got scared something happened to you.”

“Why would that scare you?”

“…My mom suffers from night terrors,” You say simply, hoping to leave it at that. You didn’t like talking about your mother’s situation.

“…I thought you lived on your own,” He admits softly.

“I do. It’s complicated.”

He finally turns to look at you and you feel like you’re actually seeing him for the first time. His eyes look hollow, almost faded, like the light in them disappeared. His skin is a pale olive, with a hint of a gray undertone, it doesn’t look healthy. But his cheeks are flushed by his tears and that along with his chest rising and falling are the only indicators that he’s alive.

“Is it… bad?”

Your stomach clenches at his question and you quickly shake your head. “No. No. My mom is a wonderful woman. She’s the best. She doesn’t—“ Your voice cracks and you try to regain your footing, “—She’s never hurt me. And she never would.” You can feel that familiar anger bubble up within your chest. The same one that landed you in fights in middle school and sent to the principals office. “She just… needs help. Medically. And I’m gonna afford it. I have to afford it. She’s my best friend.”

Something in Peter’s eyes flicker and his lips part to draw in a small, shaky breath. “My mom… my mom was a drug addict. She got into fights a lot. With my dad. But she was real sweet with me,” He says slowly and you let him speak. You were scared that if you asked about anything, he’d shut down. “She grew weak though. I did everything I could to… to help her. Keep her warm. At least for another day.”

You don’t ask what happened to her. By the way Peter spoke of her, you knew she was already gone. Long gone.

You moved a little closer to him. “…I know something about you now,” You point out with a whisper.

He looks away.

“Please don’t push me away. …I want to be your friend.”

His eyes soften, just a little bit.

“You shouldn’t want that. …I’m dangerous.”

He goes to stand up and you open your mouth. “You don’t know it now, but you will later,” He swiftly cuts in. “And I don’t want you getting hurt. I can’t handle that.”

Peter turns and walks back inside, leaving you in the rain just as it turns heavy.

Ellen stared at you over the rim of her coffee mug as you dragged your feet to the toaster, placing the toasted slices on a paper plate before picking one up and munching on it. “You look like shit,” She doesn’t bother sugar coating her words.

“I feel like it,” You grumble, sniffling a little.

She walks over and presses the back of her hand against your forehead, wincing at the warmth. “You should go back to bed, feels like you got a fever.”

“I got stuck in the rain last night,” You explain.

“What were you doing outside?”

“Went to check in on my friend. Well. Ex-friend. He doesn’t want anything to do with me now,” You whine.

Ellen’s brows pinch together. “Who was the friend?”

“Peter. Next door.”

“Huh,” She hums. “I never even spoke to him before. Let alone seen him a bunch. I thought he was around my age,” She mutters. “…Is he the reason why you go on the rooftop a lot?”

“How’d you know I’d go on the roof?”

“I got GCPD guys keeping an eye on you, remember?”

You look away. “He was. …I don’t know why he just started acting like that last night. I thought we were good! It was totally out of left field, there was no reason for it, and now— and now—“ Your chest hurt.

Ellen gave you a sympathetic look, moving a hand to rest it on your shoulder. You turned away from her. “Get some rest,” She urges gently. “I should have some things easy for your stomach in the pantry. I’ll bring some takeout for dinner.”

“Indian?” You suggest.

She lets out a light, amused huff, sliding her hand off your shoulder. “Chinese. Indians gonna be too much for ya.”

Ellen sets down her mug and grabs her bag. “Give your friend some space. Sounds like he got worked up over something. He’ll come to you when he’s ready,” She advises.

“What if he doesn’t?”

“…Then wait some more. You can’t rush him. Or else he won’t want to speak to you if you can’t even listen to his boundary.”

Ellen gently closes the door behind her and you stare at your phone.

You wanted your mom. She’d know what to say. But you can’t talk to her, not while she’s still being taken care of. The doctors would just rely the message to her.

So instead, you called up the next best person.

Clark picked up on the first ring. He says your name in relief. “Hey. I haven’t talked to you in a hot minute,” He says.

“Hey, Clark. …Are you free for some lunch?”

“For you? Any time. Got a nice place out in Gotham or you want something in Metropolis?”

“We can explore downtown Gotham together. I haven’t really left Crime Alley since I got here,” You admit.

“Alright then. I’ll be down there in an hour.”

You feel a bit awkward sat across from Clark. You hadn’t spoken to him in about a week and for two people that used to see each other every day, it felt like it had been forever.

“So,” Clark starts as he tears open four pink sugar packets and dumps them into the tea he ordered, “How’s Crime Alley?” He asks.

“It’s… eventful. I actually came face to face with Red Hood. …He’s not what I expected,” You say, holding onto your glass of water that you had yet to take a sip out of.

Clark raises an eyebrow. “And how is he?”

“…Not like Batman,” Is the best way you can describe him. “I also met Batman.”

Clark chokes on his sip. “I beg your pardon?”

“He came by Ellen’s house to tell her some information about a case? Anyways, he said he knew me and said sending me was a good cover. Batman’s pretty cool too. He was nice.”

“Nice? Must’ve caught him on a good day,” Clark smiles a little.

You gave a light shrug. “…And I met someone too.” Clark hums for you to continue. “His name’s Peter but… I think something spooked him. I don’t know. He doesn’t want to talk to me anymore,” You slump in the booth.

Clark’s brows furrow slightly. “Did he tell you why?”

“He said he was dangerous and didn’t want me to get hurt,” You fiddle with your fingers. “…I think he’s gotten himself wrapped up with dangerous people.”

“What makes you think that?”

“Ellen’s working on some stuff with Black Mask. And she knows Red Hood has been taking down his guys. Peter told me that Res Hood patrols around Arkham and the harbor. I read a couple articles that said Black Mask’s guys show up there sometimes,” You say quietly. “…If Peter’s wrapped up with them—“

“If he is, Red Hood will take care of it. You shouldn’t do anything.”

“Red Hood finishes the job, Clark,” You stress. “If Peter is there—“

“I think you’re reading too much into this, sport,” Clark says gently. “Breathe. Think about it. Do you really think your friend could possibly be involved with those guys?” He asks.

You don’t respond.

“…You promised me you would come back to Metropolis if something happened to you,” He reminds you.

“I’m not gonna go out there myself,” You say. “I… I know someone I can ask check in there. Tell him to go easy.”

Clark’s eyes widen, “you’re gonna ask—!”

“Yes!” You say before shushing him. “We have plans to meet up in the same place every night. If I tell Red my concerns, he won’t kill Peter.”

His eyes soften. “…Normally you wouldn’t care to do all this detective work on someone. Why this guy?” He asks.

You shift in your seat. “He had a night terror. It reminded me too much of mom. And then he starts acting in a way I’ve never seen him before just like her and—“

Clark reaches over to place a hand on your shoulder. You release a breath and look into his eyes, grounding yourself. “The condition your mother has is very rare,” He reminds you. “But I understand why you’ve drawn that conclusion. …Just promise me you won’t go out there. You’ve got two weeks till you come back home and your mother still needs you.”

You tighten your grip around your glass. “I know,” You whisper. “…I promise.”

You try not to think about how you’ve long broken the last one you made to him. But something within you feels like Clark already knew that.

Clark gives your shoulder a gentle squeeze. “Thank you.”

When he pulls his hand away, the waitress comes by and sets your respective meals in front of both of you. “How is your story with Red Hood going anyways?” He asks.

You shrug, not really wanting to talk about work. Not while you were stressing over Peter.

Clark stares at you. “…I’m sure this Peter guy is just going through his own personal things. You don’t have to worry about it. But, if it’ll help you sleep better, I have an interview with Superman later. Maybe I could ask him to rely the message to Red Hood first if you’re not able to reach him.”

Your shoulders drop a little in relief. “You would do that?” You ask. And you know that’s a dumb question because of course Clark would. “…Would Superman really do that?” Which is even dumber because you know the boy in blue would.

Clark merely smiles. “Superman would do anything to help the people of Earth sleep better at night. And that includes you.”

Chapter Text

If you told Jason two years ago that Superman himself would show up at Crime Alley, he’d have called you a delusional moron. But, perched up on the tallest building, that had been abandoned for years, he stared right at Earth’s Boy Scout, pushing down that childish giddiness that came with seeing Superman.

“Jason,” He greets gently, the same look in his eyes Dick has whenever Jason and him cross paths. He hates it. It makes his skin crawl and his heart squeeze. It makes him feel like maybe he can go back to being the boy he used to be before he died.

“To what do I owe the honor?” Jason asks, standing to his full height even though he knows it won’t intimidate Superman at all.

“I’ve heard that you’ve made a quick acquaintance with a Daily Planet worker,” He says.

Jason scoffs, though it’s moreso to hide his anxiety than be angry. “Don’t tell me she’s yours.”

“She is,” Superman confirms. He then lowers himself right next to Jason, standing a couple inches taller over him. “And she worries about you.”

“I’m fine—“

“Jason,” He says firmly and Jason closes his mouth. “She thinks her friend is in danger. That he’s wrapped up in a dangerous crowd. Black Mask’s crowd.”

Jason’s brows twitch underneath his mask. “Wha— How the hell did she jump to that conclusion?! I didn’t tell her anything so she wouldn’t worry about my sorry ass.”

“Language,” Superman reflexively says.

He stares at him.

“I’m fine,” Jason stresses. “You can tell her yourself.”

“You need to be the one to tell her, Jason.”

He turns away. “She doesn’t know me.”

Superman hovers around to meet Jason’s gaze. “If you do not tell her she will track you down herself. Whether as Red Hood or ‘Peter’, she’ll do it. I made her promise she won’t, but… she isn’t very keen on keeping her promises to me.” He stares into the whites of the helmet to the point where Jason knows he’s using his x-ray vision to look into his eyes. “Please.”

It’s one thing to have your childhood hero beg to you. It’s another for that beg to be connected to the most normal thing that has ever walked into your life.

Jason wasn’t even thinking when he offered help to a struggling non-local wrestling with her luggage as she tried to drag it up a couple steps. He had merely remembered his mother’s words to be a gentleman and always help a woman in need. And when he heard crying during patrol of course he had to scope it out and of course he got pissed when he saw an older guy practically crowding you against a brick wall, he had assumed the worst. He thought he scared you.

But you were grateful. You thought him sweet. You talked to him like he was a regular person around your age and not someone who was a Robin that was brutally tortured then murdered and then brought back to life, wrecking havoc on Gotham for a good handful of months before calming down and becoming a hero because Crime Alley needed protecting and he needed a purpose. Jason needed to be sated with the knowledge that he was brought back for a reason, given a second chance at life to continue doing what he did best under the Bat—fight against crime.

And somehow, someway, somewhere, he managed to warm up to you fairly quickly. To the point he was pushing off starting patrol to wait on top of the roof to talk to you. To see if you’d ever show. That’s when he knew he got a bit too attached to the idea of having something normal in his life. And when he saw you in the same alleyway and talked to you so easily, way easier than he’s ever talked to anyone in two years, he knew he needed to take a step back. He knew he needed to get away from you.

Jason wasn’t safe. He knew that. He’s known that since the day he threw himself out of Lazurus Pit and at the nearest person. Sometimes, late at night, he wonders if that rabid version of him was the real him. Was that the boy who stayed by his mother’s side till her eyes eventually closed? Was that the boy who stared up at Batman with stars in his eyes and ran across the rooftops of Gotham with a grin on his face? Or was it not him at all?

Either way, when he had the worst night terror of his life and you showed up and his chest felt lighter and the tears stopped and he wanted nothing more than to ask you something about your life to distract him from the horrible memories, Jason knew he couldn’t be around you anymore. You were a weakness. A quick one at that. And due to your insane normal-ness that Jason silently, selfishly, prayed to experience himself late at night, he knew you could easily be sniffed out.

So he brought back up his walls full force. Pushed you as far away as he could and you were so stubborn. Too stubborn. He nearly took it all back when you begged him not to push you away with tears in your eyes. He told you about his mother, something only Bruce knew. And Bruce left him. And you would too one day. He was saving himself from that inevitable heartbreak.

Or so he thought.

Jason lets out a rough sigh. “Fine,” He finally accepts. Not because he wants to see or anything, but only because Superman himself begged him to. “Fine. Just so she doesn’t try and walk into one of Black Mask’s dens.”

“Thank you, Jason,” Superman breaths out. He then starts to hover away and stops. “…I am sorry, Jason. For not coming to your aid all those years ago.”

Jason tenses.

“I won’t tell you a single excuse of mine. I know that won’t do you any good. But I am very sorry, Jason,” He whispers and then flies off, leaving a harsh gust of wind in his wake.

Jason doesn’t say anything to the air even though he knows Clark would still be able to hear him from the other side of the world.

Jason leans his elbows in the railing of a fire escape as he peers down into the alley you designated as your future meetup spots with Red Hood. He thought this was so dumb. He pushed you away as a civilian but still sees you as a vigilante. But all you were doing was reporting on the vigilante. As soon as you were done with your story, you’d leave—at least that’s what Jason assumed.

All he had to do was tell you information about himself and then you’d leave. You’d get the hell out of city just like he wanted. Of told himself he wanted. He was still grappling over the fact that he had to remind himself to not go on the rooftop and wait. He was to be Red Hood. Just Red Hood. Crime Alley couldn’t afford to have him be ‘Peter’ for the rest of his nights. Even if he really liked being just ‘Peter’ around you.

He watched you walk into the alleyway, his hands tightly gripping the railing. He should just climb back up, disappear from your sight.

But you said you needed this. You said you needed to afford help for your mother.

(He remembers telling himself those same words. He remembers being just eleven years old and trying to fix every wrong by saying it was for his mother.

Years later, tied up in an abandoned warehouse surrounded by the cold, he’d wondered if karma finally caught up to him. If this was his punishment for all the crimes he committed for his mother.)

He climbs down, slowly, as to not scare you and when he looks at you he nearly says you look like shit. He should abandoned that familiar manner of talking to you. But the way your tired eyes light up upon seeing him? It makes him want to go back to the apartment complex and apologize with the helmet off.

“Red,” You breathe out. “Did Superman talk to you?”

He furrows his brows even though he knows you can’t see. “You knew Superman was going to talk to me?” He asks.

“My mentor interviews him,” You say like it’s not at all important. Like you’re not one thought away from connecting those two together. “But he told you about my friend, right?”

You even thought he was your friend?

“The one that you think is connected to Black Mask?” He questions. “I don’t think you need to worry about him.”

You stare at Red Hood. “He knows where you patrol, knows that you’re going after Black Mask’s guys, and he said he was a danger to me.”

“Maybe he meant something else,” He tries to nudge you into another direction, the right direction.

“You’re not even gonna try to look?” You ask. “I’m just asking that-that next time to take down their group you don’t kill all of them. In case Peter’s one of them.”

Jason sighs, fighting the urge to pinch the bridge of his helmet. Why did you have to be so stubborn? Or have a bleeding heart? You’ve spent too much time around Clark obviously. “Even if this Peter was part of the group, it’s a criminal organization. It deserves to be cut off.” Maybe if he played to the more violent vigilante stuff, you’ll stop coming around Red Hood too.

“Even if he’s innocent?” You corner.

“You don’t know that.”

“He lives alone. He told me about his parents. Didn’t say anything about siblings. Maybe he feels forced into it,” You try to argue. “Some of the criminals here deserve to be rehabilitated. Like Peter.”

“You’re only saying that because you’re “friends” with him. If it were anyone else, you wouldn’t care.”

“I wouldn’t!” You agree. “I’m not like you. I don’t fight for justice. I’m just a civilian. But so is Peter. Please. Just don’t kill him. Is it really that hard?” You beg.

Jason’s jaw shifts, and he’s glad for the helmet because you can’t see him glance away from your stare. “I mean, why are you looking out for this guy so much? You’ve only been here for a week. You don’t know him that well,” He says, feeling himself growing more and more irritable the longer you go back and forth about himself.

“Because he’s my only friend!” You confess. “And there’s just… something about him that I-I don’t want to let go. It felt nice, talking to someone my age. Who didn’t know anything about me. Like a new slate. Finally, I didn’t have certain expectations or concerns. Just… just me and a stranger that I’ve felt more comfortable with than anyone else.”

He feels his chest squeeze at how familiar the feeling you describe is.

Your hands ball up into fists at your sides. “…If he doesn’t want to be my friend anymore, that’s fine. I can handle that. …I just want to know that he’s not in any danger. That he doesn’t work with Black Mask. Please.”

Jason stares at your watery eyes and he knows he’s fucked. He’s known it since the day you crossed paths on the roof.

He lets out a soft sigh, eyes closing underneath his mask as he debates being selfish. It was obvious you wouldn’t stop till you got your answers—it was what reporters were good at. But for Jason to allow such behavior? Bruce would’ve scolded him. Jason would’ve been frowned upon. Bruce would’ve told Jason he should have done a better job at making sure he didn’t become overtly attached, that Bruce had done a better job teaching him about these sorts of things.

But, as of lately, Jason hasn’t really been a stickler for Bruce’s rules. Even if they’re right sometimes.

“…I’ll keep an eye out.”

“Thank you, Red.”

You leave without asking him a question for your story and Jason stands in the alleyway, staring at the spot you had just been standing at.

It may have taken two years but now Jason knew for sure that his disappearance can affect someone. Even if that someone had only known him for a week.

Chapter Text

You don’t know why you came to the rooftop again, but you did.

There’s no way Red Hood was able to track down Peter and share your concerns, or at least give proof that it was just you panicking over nothing, that quickly, but you still found yourself on the roof. Arms wrapped underneath your thighs as you stared ahead.

In the distance there was a shadowed building—Wayne Manor. From here it looked small but you’ve seen the pictures, heard the stories, Wayne manor was huge. All too huge for one little boy and his butler.

And then there came another little boy, and another, and now a third.

You didn’t know much about Dick Grayson or Tim Drake outside of Dick’s appearances in newspapers or mentions of Tim caught walking into Wayne Manor despite still having two living parents and a mansion next door. But you knew more about them than Jason Todd—the boy that Bruce Wayne lost. The boy Bruce mourned. The boy Gotham mourned. And Metropolis mourned. Because how could Metropolis not mourn over the loss of the young of her sister city? And how could Gotham not mourn the loss of a boy who had been taken under the wing of the very man who poured his money into anything and everything to keep his city afloat. To make his city safer.

You shook your head lightly, looking away from the manor and back down at the street below.

You wonder how many people have died here in Crime Alley. How many were mourned just like Jason? How many weren’t? Would Peter be mourned if he continued working with Black Mask? Or would his death be another number shrugged off?

Your arms tightened around your thighs. You should go back inside. It was past curfew and if Ellen came back and didn’t see you, she’d get worried.

You don’t know why you keep coming back up here. You don’t know why whenever you meet up with Red Hood, you ask if he’s seen Peter. And you know that when Red Hood say’s no, he’s lying. He hesitates every time. Why Red Hood would lie on behalf of Peter when you were the one who asked him to refrain from killing Black Mask’s men just in case it was Peter was… frustrating to say the least.

It’s been four whole days and you haven’t even managed to catch a glimpse of Peter. It worries you. You know it shouldn’t but it does. Can’t Red Hood see your worry every time you ask about Peter? What did Peter even tell him that made him keep quiet?

You didn’t know friends would be so difficult to keep around. If you knew having friends would be so troublesome, you wouldn’t have talked to Peter in the first place.

The rooftop door opened and you immediately looked over your shoulder. “Pete—“

You quickly closed your mouth.

“So this is where you’ve been disappearing off to,” Ellen hums as she lets the door close behind her, joining her side. She stands next to you, peering down below for just a second before turning to look over her shoulder, staring at the buildings behind the complex, like she was waiting for something or someone to pop out. She looked tense, eyes scanning their surroundings. She didn’t seem to trust the area. “Waiting for your boyfriend?” She hums.

“He’s not my boyfriend,” You deny.

“Oh, my bad, he’s just a friend that you’re incredibly worked up about and have been for the past couple of days,” She sarcastically corrects.

You let out a soft groan. “…I keep asking Red if he’s seen Peter but he won’t tell me.”

“Red?”

“Red Hood.”

You hear Ellen let out a small tsk, her annoyance evident with the vigilante. “That’s because he doesn’t care about missing persons. He cares about getting his next deal in and killing people that cross into his territory,” She says. “You want your friend to be found? File a missing person report at a station.”

“Someone told me the cops out here are crooked.”

Her sigh is gentle this time, knowing. “Gordon’s trying his best to clean up this side too. Make it more… peaceful.”

“This is peaceful?” You ask. You can hear gunshots and faint yelling in the distance.

“It used to be louder.”

Your chest squeezes at the familiar words. It wasn’t spoken in the same tone Peter said but they were his words.

You felt something get draped over you and you looked down to see an open, black sweater hanging onto your shoulders. You glanced up to see Ellen still staring behind. “…One more hour. If you don’t see him, you’re coming back inside. I don’t need you catching another cold over some boy,” She says before heading back inside.

You stare at the closed door before slowly slipping your arms through the sleeves, tugging the soft cotton closer around you.

Ellen’s right. You shouldn’t be losing sleep like this. Or precious time. You were steadily approaching your deadline and you’re nowhere near halfway done. Your mother needed her hospital bills payed off and a new treatment. With Lex Luthor’s constant scheming and buying out less used hospitals, you were down to two nearby you. And neither one is able to help with your mother’s condition, always shrugging it off as “already taken cared of.”

Your mother is the one who truly needs you. Not Peter. He can take care of himself, your mother can’t.

Then again, maybe it’s because you’ve been your mother’s caretaker for so long, you feel the urge to take care of another.

You quickly shake your head and rise to your feet. You shouldn’t be psychoanalyzing yourself. You needed to eat. And sleep. You could drag your feet’s again tomorrow.

Out of the corner of your eye, you see a figure disappear onto the fire escape of your building. You know better than to try to look but the sound of a pained grunt made you pause.

You slowly walk over to the ledge and hesitantly peer down.

“Peter?”

He immediately looks up, letting you get a good look at the blood dripping down his nose and a bruised cheek. If it weren’t for his injuries, you probably would’ve started screaming at him. Or cried. Or both.

Your eyes widen immediately and you quickly climb down. You weren’t thinking when you lift your hands, cupping his cheeks—careful to avoid his bruises.

“Who did this to you?”

Peter stares at you for a moment and then slowly leans his head back, lifting his hand to catch the blood that was still dripping down. “Just… small fight,” He sputters out, droplets of blood flicking outward but you paid it no mind.

You shrug off your sweater, holding it up to his face for the cloth to absorb his blood. Peter lets out a noise of complaint but there was only so much room on the fire escape for him to back up. “Bullshit small fight, you look like shit,” You huff at him.

“You should see the other guy.”

You glare at him for such a corny comeback. He shifts his feet, like he knows he shouldn’t have said it either. “…What’re you doing on the roof?” He asks quietly, like he knows the answer but still wants to hear it be said.

“What’re you doing breaking into your own apartment?” You shot back.

“I asked you first.”

You shift your lower jaw, glancing away from him. “…I was waiting for you,” You answer.

He glances away too. “…I was avoiding you.”

You nurse your bottom lip between your teeth, eyes flicking back over to him. The bruise on his cheek was a dark mix of green and purple and you could see that one of his eyes was starting to swell, the skin around it purple. Your stomach drops at the thought that he was out there, being one of Black Mask’s pawns and getting beat up by Red Hood.

But at least he wasn’t dead.

“…Do you want any help?”

Please say yes. Please say yes. Please say yes.

His mouth opens and closes and for a second there your heart drops as you start to think he’ll reject your help. That he’ll be firm that he doesn’t want to be around you.

That he’ll put the final nail in the coffin of your barely bloomed friendship.

“Sure. Just—let me clean up a bit.” Peter climbs into his window nudging things with his foot underneath his bed and drawers. He steps outside his bedroom, perhaps to hide more things, and then returns shortly after, waving you inside.

You climb inside, sliding the window closed behind you, and stare at him.

“Stop looking at me like that,” He nearly snaps.

“Like what?”

“Like I’m some kicked dog. I’m fine. I’ve had worse.”

Your eyes soften and Peter must’ve noticed too because he glanced away with a hardened look in his eyes. You slowly walked up, lifting a hand to ghost your fingertips over his forming black eye and he flinches violently underneath. You don’t know if that was because of his bruise being touched or for a completely different reason. “I’m not gonna hurt you, Pete,” You whisper.

“…I know,” He says equally as quiet.

You drop your hand to your side. “You can tell me, y’know. If you don’t want me to touch you. I’ll listen. No questions asked,” You promise.

“I’m just not used to it,” He admits.

“To what?”

He doesn’t answer. You don’t pry for one.

“I’ll get you something frozen. Surely you have an ice pack or frozen peas somewhere,” You say, walking past to try and rummage through his fridge for something to ease his bruises.

Peter calls out your name and you immediately turn around, nearly giving yourself whiplash upon hearing his voice say your name in days. It never sounded sweeter. “…I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have made you worry like that. I’m not… I’ve got nothing to do with Black Mask. I swear.”

Your chest feels lighter knowing that your message got to him. “Why’d you call yourself a danger to me then?”

“Because I feel like one,” He says. “I’ve… done things in my past. Things I’m not proud of and regret. But what caused me to do those things… I still hold onto. Even though I like to tell myself I don’t. I-I’m like a… bomb that’s been diffused, but still capable of destruction at the simplest movement, and you’re… you’re not.

You’re from Metropolis. You have Superman. …And you’re scared of this city. And all that stands between this city and annihilation is… Red Hood. You don’t belong here and I do. And I guess… because of that I saw myself as dangerous. But why you don’t—“ He lets out a humorless chuckle, “—why you don’t, well, that’s a mystery to me.”

You look into Peter’s eyes and, just like on that rainy night so many nights ago, you feel like you’re seeing the actual him. “Because you’re my only friend. And I grew up with Superman always around to help so… I feel like I have a pretty good grasp on knowing who’s a good guy.”

You don’t mention it when Peter’s eyes start to water over and neither does he. When you return from his kitchen with a bag of frozen peas in hand to place against his face, you keep your spot in front of him, holding them up, and he doesn’t flinch away.

Chapter Text

You sit on Peter’s couch, watching as he tends to himself, massaging aloe vera gel onto the bruise on his cheek. His eyes flick every so often in your direction.

“You don’t have to stay,” He says.

“I know.”

He lets out a short sigh. “You’ve already made sure I’m okay.”

“I haven’t seen you in four days.”

Peter grimaces. “I already apologized.”

“And I forgave you.”

The two of you sink into silence once again. Your eyes leave Peter to drag your gaze over his living room. It’s nothing like Ellen’s. The only furniture is what the apartment came with: a beat-up couch, a small coffee table that looks like it can’t event fit more than two coffee mugs, a standing lamp that has a light that flickers every now and then, and a drawer pushed up against the wall. It’s practically empty. It’s… lonely.

“…I’m usually out a lot,” Peter hums.

“That obvious what I was thinking?”

“It was all over your face.”

You stand up when your eyes catch a rather old looking CD player. Your fingers find the switch on its lower side, turning it on to listen to the quiet chatter of radio hosts— two men and a woman, idly chatting to one another as a sort of repetitive jingle that you’d hear on old gossip channels on cable hums in the background, like the hosts didn’t want their listeners to experience a second of silence.

You recognized the station numbers.

“You listen to top 100’s?” You ask.

“Not really. I just like listening to them talk. …Make’s it feel less empty.”

Your fingers push the switch once, twice. And then a CD starts playing.

The winds being used are quiet so your fingers trail down to find the volume wheel. Rhythmic trumpets slowly fill the air, stopping now and then as soft symbols accompany them, there’s another wind instrument there but it’s not distinct enough to name.

“I-I-I’m, I’m so in love with you…”

Your brows twitch into furrow at the song. “Is this Al Green?” You glance over your shoulder to Peter. His foot is tapping softly, gaze distant as he stares at his coffee table.

He hums in confirmation. “I stole the thing from my— from… a guy I knew. When I was younger,” He says.

“Cause you make me feel so brand new…”

The song is slow yet upbeat, the singer’s voice is enchanting, yearning. It gives the vibes of a relationship not yet fully in bloom. The stead beats of the drum, the trumpets that make an occasional reappearance, and even the background choir that sometimes join the singer—it makes the air of Peter’s apartment feel lighter.

“Never heard an Al Green song before?” Peter asks.

“Can’t say I have.” One of your fingers tap along to the beat of the song. You find yourself to count the beats but get lost in the song. It’s just so… soft. You didn’t expect Peter to listen to this kind of music. “You a big fan of love songs?”

“A couple. The… guy I knew? He loved them. Big sap he was. He liked the 70’s love songs.”

There was a certain fondness that Peter spoke of the mystery man. Even though he tried to hide it behind a certain bitterness, the fondness couldn’t be entirely buried. It was almost like talking about someone you could no longer see behind rose tinted glasses, but what you saw with them on? It’d stay forever.

You didn’t ask about him.

“Ooh,
Loving you forever.
Is what I need.
Let me be the one you come running to…
I’ll never be, untrue…”

“He’s got good music taste,” You compliment.

“It’s my music taste now,” He huffs, like it’s a competition.

You chuckle lightly. “You’ve got good music taste then,” You correct.

Looking over your shoulder, your eyes meet his.

“Loving you whether, whether
Times are good or bad, happy or sad.”

Peter looks away first but your gaze lingers. The air is light and it feels wrong to continue worrying over him even though he’s fine but you just can’t ignore the fact that he was trying to get home covered in bruises. “Who did you get in a fight with?” You ask.

He shrugs. “Some guy. There’s a bunch of bad people in Crime Alley. You know this.”

You don’t look away. Peter’s eyes hesitantly meet yours, nervously wetting his cracked lips.

“I really am sorry. I shouldn’t have made you worry like that. …Red Hood gave me an earful of it,” He says, sheepishly rubbing the back of his neck.

“Yeah. I figured he saw you already. He wouldn’t tell me anything about you.”

“You asked about me?”

“Every time I saw him,” You admit easily.

Peter blinks. “Why?”

“Because you’re my friend,” You explain. “And I thought you were involved with some really bad people that Red doesn’t keep alive. …I got scared he’d accidentally end up killing you.”

“…What’d you do if he did?”

You let out a shudder. There wasn’t really much you could do against a guy built like a house. “…Tell Detective Ellen where I’ve been meeting him. Let him get sent to Arkham,” You whisper.

He stares at you like you admitted to committing a crime. “You’d sell out Red Hood?”

“For killing you? Yeah.”

“What about your big story?”

“I can always be given another story. …I can’t find another you.”

Peter shifts on the couch, looking away from you. He sniffles and purses his lips briefly to the side. “I’m sure there’s dozens of brooding guys out there, waiting to receive your kindness,” He mumbles

“You’re the only one I want to give it to.”

Peter shakes his head lightly. It feels like he wants to say more but he doesn’t, like he now knows it’s futile to argue. He also lifts a hand to wipe his eyes.

You don’t point it out. In fact, you don’t say anything more, just let the song continue playing.

Sometimes Jason just wants to rip off the bandage and confess he’s not who you think he is. Jason knows he has the urge to ruin everything good in his life—he pushed away Roy, avoids Dick like the plague, and refuses to go back to the manor. Solitude is what Jason thinks he deserves, after all, he can’t hurt anyone if he has no one to hurt.

No one to drag down.

But you? You’re persistent and stubborn and can’t take a hint.

You give him space like Roy does but you also take care of him like how Dick did. Why? He wants to ask all the time. Why are you so nice to him? What has he done to warrant your unlimited kindness?

It’s been long after you’ve left him, believing he has taken proper care of himself and bid him goodnight. You had turned off the radio before leaving his apartment.

Jason slowly rises to his feet and walks over to it, turning it back on, continuing the album from where you left it. A slow song fills the air, different from the last upbeat ones. A slow guitar strum, heavy hits on the drum followed by light taps on the symbols, an organ, and a gentle harmony of strings.

As soon as the melody hits Jason’s ears he knows it’s a sad song.

He retreats to his couch, lying down on it as the song plays.

“I could never see tomorrow.
I was never told about the sorrow…”

He closes his eyes and wonders how you’d react if you ever found out the truth. The whole truth.

Would you feel heartbroken upon realizing that ‘Peter’ and Red Hood are the same person? Would you feel betrayed knowing that ‘Peter’ never existed and all there was, was Jason?

…Would you even like Jason?

Would you give him the same kindness you’ve extended to Peter?

“Tell me how can you stop,
The sun from shining?”

Somehow, someway, somewhere, you’ve managed to work your way into his chest. He had to hold himself back from seeing you as ‘Peter’ and he had to force himself to leave your side as Red Hood.

Damn you.

Damn you for making him care about you. For showing him that maybe, maybe, someone in this godforsaken city could still care about him. Could still worry about him.

You’d go so far to sell out Red Hood if he died. Batman couldn’t even kill his greatest foe for Jason’s death.

(He has to remind himself that it wasn’t technically him, you’d sell out Red Hood for, it was ‘Peter.’ But still, it’s the thought that counts.)

Jason scrubs his face with his palms, feeling a headache start to form. He couldn’t push you away anymore. He knew he couldn’t. You wouldn’t let him—gods, you had looked so angry and heartbroken when you saw him on the fire escape.

He was so sure you were gonna yell at him, but you didn’t. You held him, asked who hurt him, stayed with him…

Jason couldn’t remember the last time someone stayed despite the work he had done to push them away.

“Somebody, please, help me mend,
My broken heart.
And let me live again.”

Damn you.

He turns to lay on his side, staring at his front door. And a single, selfish thought blossoms in his head:

He wishes you stayed with him.

Chapter Text

You started seeing Peter a lot more than usual after your reconciliation with him.

He still went on the rooftop to see you, but he was also starting to wait out in the hallways, on the ground floor, outside. Anywhere you’d be, he’d be there too—like some kind of guard dog. You found it endearing and much better than the silent treatment that almost went on for a week.

Today Peter was tagging along with you to John’s bodega.

“How ever you never been to John’s? It’s not that far from here. I even stumbled upon it my first day!”

Peter’s eyes flick to you but also to your surroundings, taking everything in. Making sure you guys wouldn’t be caught off guard. “Never really left the complex that much during the day. …I’m more active during the night,” He shrugs.

You nod in understanding. During midterms, you become a nocturnal animal yourself. Your roommate liked to call you “Batman-but-if-he-had-crippling-college-loans.” A mouthful of a nickname if one asked.

It’s then Peter grabs your bicep, pulling you away from the street-end of the sidewalk and swap places with you, keeping you between him and the buildings. You look at him with pinched brows, but find that he isn’t looking at you and is instead glaring at a cop. Two of them.

You remembered John and Ellen’s words about them.

One of them shines a smile that makes you feel queasy and Peter gently nudges your shoulder. “Don’t look at ‘em,” He warns carefully. “They’d spew any excuse under the sun to get us to split up.”

You don’t like the implication. Immediately, you look away from them.

“They do that out here?”

“Mostly to the escorts down by the lounge,” He mutters. “But, Red Hood’s been pissing ‘em off lately.”

“Because he owns it,” You murmur with soft realization. You didn’t know the lounge had escorts. Than again, it once belonged to Penguin and who knows what he was up to. “…And he doesn’t let anything happen to those girls?”

“Not on his life,” Peter states firmly.

You nod, relieved. You knew Red Hood’s wouldn’t leave his people vulnerable, no matter who they were, but having confirmation was nice. “Ellen said Gordon tries his best to weed out the corrupted cops. Put in his guys. But I don’t think any of his guys wanna come down here.”

“They don’t. That’s why scumbags like them are here and stay here. No matter what Ellen’s told you, don’t trust not one cop from here.”

Briefly, you wonder how many of those guys from the GCPD Ellen had looking after you were actually corrupt.

Pushing open the door, the soft jingle of a bell rings out, interrupting the soft melody of an upbeat Italian song and your thoughts.

John looks over his shoulder once, then twice when he sees you. “Ah, it’s so nice to see you again,” He greets with a smile when he says your name. “And you brought a friend.”

“John, this is Peter. He’s my neighbor,” You introduce. Peter gives an awkward nod to greet him.

John eyes him suspiciously. “I ain’t never seen you ‘round ‘ere,” He huffs.

Peter shuffles his feet. “I don’t go out during the day.”

“What’re ya? Some kinda vampire?”

“John be nice. He’s another customer,” You cut in.

“No, he’s right to be suspicious. Already told you before—Crime Alley isn’t safe,” Peter hums.

John leans against the counter where the register is. “Red keeps the streets safe as much he can, but, only so much crime a guy like him can prevent.”

“John’s a Red Hood fan,” You grin at Peter.

He scoffs at the title. “He’s the only guy doin’ something out here unlike the Bats. Not even Wayne funnels his money through here.”

Peter’s jaw clenches. “Actually, Bruce has tried his hand at finding multiple projects out here. It’s why there’s food shelters, homeless shelters, and why they don’t get hit,” He argues.

“You a fan of Brucie?” John narrows his eyes.

“He’s better than Lex Luther,” You shrug.

“And who do you think is actually keeping those shelters safe? Red,” He continues, completely ignoring your input.

“I’m not disagreeing about Red Hood. I’m just saying, Bruce does a lot more for Gotham than anyone else. And Batman tries his best too.”

That makes you furrow your brows and turn to Peter. You thought he hated Batman.

John looks away, waving his hand dismissively. “I could count on my fingers the amount of times Bats saved my ass. Now, Red Hood? He’s saved my ass plenty. Too much for me to count.” He shrugs half-heartedly, “He’s got a bit of melancholy in his air like Bats, but the reason why Red Hood’s saved my ass more is because he knows when he’s gotta put them dogs down. He don’t wait for them to croak at old age like Bats.”

You hadn’t noticed that “air” around Red Hood before.

Peter opens his mouth but you quickly step in, really not wanting to let this back and forth argument continue. “Could we have two of those sandwiches you made me last time to go please?” You ask politely, finishing with a smile.

The tone does enough for John to release his tension and send a smile back your way. Peter stands next to you, eyeing him down with his arms crossed over his chest.

You lower your voice to a whisper, “what the hell was that about? I thought you hated Batman.”

“I do. I just have a better reason than him to hate Batman,” Peter grumbles.

Later that night, you didn’t hear someone land on the roof, or walk up to you. When you lean back, your shoulder blades hit something firm and you quickly turn around to see who it was. Though, you had a solid guess.

“Finally—!”

Your eyes widen when met with Red Hood’s helmet. “Oh. It’s you.”

He tilts his head. “You sound disappointed.”

You shake your head, shifting to turn your body to him. “No, no, I’m not. I just… was expecting someone else. My friend,” You explain.

“Friend?”

“Peter,” You remind him.

He lets out a small, robotic hum. “I see you’ve found him?”

“No thanks to you,” You point out.

Red Hood stares at you, probably thinking about the jab. If it even was a jab. “Kid didn’t want me putting you in danger,” He replies.

You sigh softly. “Could’ve at least told me he was safe.”

“Sorry.”

You look down at your hands in your lap. For a second, you hear his boots scrape against the rooftop, shuffling like he didn’t know what to do. Eventually, Red Hood sits down beside you, hands in his jacket.

He leans his shoulder in a little. “Didn’t mean to make you worry.”

You don’t look up at him. “He wasn’t even with Black Mask. Could’ve told me that.”

“Yeah. I should’ve.”

Your hands clench into tight fists. Why was he being understanding now but not then? “…You know, if I didn’t find him when I did, I would’ve gone looking for him myself.”

Red Hood stares at you. “No you wouldn’t—“

“Yes. Yes, I would,” You say firmly. “I’ve done enough research on you through police files that I know where to go to run into his men. Not to mention Peter told me where you patrol out there too.”

“You got a death wish or something?” His voice is lower now—well, lower than usual with his voice changer.

“I thought my friend was in danger. I thought you were gonna kill him!” You jab a finger at his chest. Red Hood is quick to catch your wrist, he doesn’t squeeze, just holds it—loose enough for you to pull away. And you don’t.

“Next time you get a stupid thought like that, tell me,” He hisses. “I don’t need you being another name shrugged off in the morning newspaper.”

You swallow. With his words, you’d think it’s because he just doesn’t want to be saddled with the weight of, and responsibility for, your death, but his tone sounds more pleading. Desperation clings to him. Like he doesn’t know what he’d do if you were dead. Or killed.

“Promise me you’ll tell me. And don’t even think about lying to me like you do to Kent,” He orders.

You don’t think twice about his words, you just nod.

“Say it.”

“I promise.”

“In full.”

“I promise I’ll tell you the next time I think about doing something like that.”

Red Hood lets out a small sigh, it’s quiet, like he wanted it to be inaudible. He then slides his fingers away from your wrist, resting his hand in his lap. His leather lingers like a ghost on your skin. If you brush your fingers over your wrist when it rejoins your lap, Red Hood doesn’t say.

“…Sorry. Well. Not really. I just— When I saw Peter, he was… covered in bruises, trying to break into his place. …I was really scared when I saw him,” You admit. “I still am. I still think about what would’ve happened if I hadn’t stayed out here later than I planned. I’m just frustrated he avoided me so long for something small. I shouldn’t be directing my frustration at you.”

“You should. I can take it.”

You groan softly, dropping your head. Sometimes, his words remind you of Peter. “That still doesn’t give me the right too. I mean, you probably thought you were doing the right thing.”

“But I didn’t. Do the right thing, that is.”

“Red—“

“Why were you scared?” He presses.

You rub the back of your neck. “…I saw my mom’s medical history in him. I thought he was going through what she did and she couldn’t go anywhere without a caretaker. Couldn’t even function without one. But I think… I think I forced myself to see my mom in him. It’s been awhile since I’ve seen her,” You murmur. “…I got scared that I’d lose my first ever friend. And lose a connection to my mom.”

Red Hood stays quiet.

“It’s stupid, I know—“

“It’s not,” He says as softly as he can. His hand shifts in his lap, as if holding himself back from reaching out.

“…I protect this city. And you’re living here now which means I protect you too. …And I thought I had been doing so, but all I did was make you worry. And scared. A hero shouldn’t do that.”

You lift your eyes to look at him. He’s staring directly at you. Briefly, you wonder what his expression is underneath the helmet—is he scared too? Angry? Sad? A mix of all three? With the way his shoulders are slump, fingers curled in on his lap, you suspect the mixed answer. John was right, Red Hood does hold an air of melancholy.

“…Superman makes me worried. And scared.”

Red Hood scoffs. “How the hell does the resident boy scout make you feel worried and scared?”

“I worry about the people he saves, how long he takes to show up. And I get scared whenever he can’t take the fight outside of metropolis quickly. …Not even Superman can make me feel entirely calm and safe.”

He looks away, staring down at the street. You move in just a little bit closer. “You’re too good at this,” He whispers, fists clenched.

Your brows furrow. “At what?”

“This.”

“…Comforting?”

“…Haven’t had something like this in a while.”

You purse your lips to the side, trying to find the words you want to ask. To build up the courage to even ask it. “I’ve been meaning to ask… why do you keep doing this, Red?”

“Do what?”

“This,” You stress, gesturing between the two of you. “Why do you keep meeting up with me?”

“Do you not want me to?”

“No, I do.”

“Right, for your paper.”

“Not just that.”

He turns quite fast to look at you. “What… else would you want me around for?” He asks, his voice modulator turning a bit higher.

“Don’t turn this back on me, I asked you first.”

“You’re uh… you’re a citizen. I protect citizens. That’s why.”

“And that’s all?”

“…Do you want there to be more?”

“I’m just asking, Red.”

He shoves his hands back into his jackets pockets. “I don’t know. You… you look at me like I’m a person. Not a crime lord like the police. Or a savior like the people here. I wear the helmet but I don’t… It’s not Red Hood that you’re seeing.”

“…Who am I seeing then, Red?” You ask quietly, worried that he might snap back or leave at practically being prodded about his secret identity.

He doesn’t look at you when he speaks. “Someone I thought I haven’t been for the longest time.”

Chapter Text

Tim Drake knows everything that happens in Gotham.

He had to. He was a Robin. And a strategist. What good was he if he wasn’t able to give Batman information as soon as it came up? Or if he had no idea how to take down six armed criminals, stationed at opposite posts within a warehouse, guarding drugs that if they sunk into the sewage system, it would poison the poorer districts of Gotham?

What good is a sidekick who doesn’t know anything?

Tim feels like he needs to prove his worth, even after all these years. Even though Dick tells him he doesn’t need to. Bruce too. But Tim still has that inexplicable urge.

Dick would say it’s because of his negligent parents. Tim tells him to shut up.

He’s losing the point now. Point is, Bruce knows everything going on in his city because Tim knows everything going on in his city. So when Bruce touches base with Tim after talking with Gordon and asks why Red Hood is turning in criminals alive. Tim, for the first time ever, doesn’t have an answer.

Instead, for the first time, he has a question of his own.

“Jason isn’t killing them?”

Bruce hands Tim a file, a thin one. “No names,” He reminds Tim in that annoying deep voice.

Tim’s lips twitch to a small purse, grabbing the file to see its contents. There’s been an influx of Black Mask goon’s at Crime Alley, Tim knows it’s because Black Mask and Penguin had a deal to run their respective organizations together in that city. Crooked cops, poorer area, high crime rate, a place even Batman can’t control—it was the perfect place to put up shop.

Until Jason snapped out of whatever he was experiencing when he was brought back to life and switched his bloodlust towards Batman and Robin to the criminals there. He pushed out Black Mask, and Penguin hasn’t been heard of since Red Hood came to power. Because of that, it made sense that Jason would kill any of their men that dared to enter his territory.

Four men. All alive—fairly bruised and battered, but still breathing. The criminals called it a miracle. Tim didn’t know what to call it, but it certainly wasn’t God.

“Why isn’t he killing them?”

“I was hoping you’d know.”

Tim bites the inside of his cheek. He doesn’t. He doesn’t know why suddenly the guy whose whole schtick is about killing his criminals so they won’t come back to terrorize his people, a purposeful way to try and tell Bruce his ideology is stupid, is no longer killing.

“Ellen told me that her ward has nightly interviews with Red Hood,” Bruce says.

Tim scrunches up his nose. He doesn’t know how to feel about the slight humor in Bruce’s tone. Like a dad poking fun at his son’s love life. “Ja—Red isn’t the type to calm down because of a reporter,” He scoffs as he closes the file. Such a thought was stupid. Jason didn’t even accept his own family’s help. Why would he accept help from some girl?

“I’ll ask Detective Ellen for any reports she’s gathered,” Bruce says. “If Red Hood isn’t killing, maybe he’s finally had a change of heart.” Tim doesn’t have to strain his ears to hear the hopeful tone in Bruce’s voice.

“I can find that out just as easily without compromising Red. Or have you forgotten Detective Ellen is trying to put him behind bars?”

“I haven’t forgotten. But I can’t send you out there. If Red Hood sees you, he’ll confront you.”

“I’ve been itching for a round two.”

“Robin.”

“He caught me off guard last time!”

“Robin.” Ope, there was the Batman scolding voice. “Absolutely not. I know you have a talent for gathering your information in a quiet way—“

“You can call it stalking, it won’t offend me.”

“—However, this is Red Hood we’re talking about. The same one I had to put a chip in so he wouldn’t return to that pit-frenzy. He doesn’t trust us.”

“I’m not going there to get his trust, B,” Tim sighs. “Just a quick observation. See if it’s the chip acting up instead of your… soap opera idea,” He gestures wildly to him.

Bruce lets out a light huff. “You think I’m wrong?” He asks, utterly amused. Batman was called the Worlds Greatest Detective for a reason.

But there was a reason this Robin was called a Detective too. “I know you’re wrong. Not everyone is like you with your cat.”

“You sound like Nightwing.”

It was incredibly easy it was to find that intern’s location.

Tim was a bit worried honestly. Everything was just there in the open. He didn’t even need to stay up all night to guess a password. Maybe he’ll break his promise of lying low just to offer her a VPN subscription. Or a better one.

Anyways, he was perched on a nearby tower, hiding in the shadows to watch her sat on the ledge of a roof. His hand hovers over his grappling hook, ready to fire it and catch her if she even shuffles along the edge. There’s too many tall building’s in Gotham and even more with no safety railings. Bruce has tried his hardest to fund them everywhere but the corpo’s out here are greedy. Too greedy for even Bruce to satiate.

He watches her sit there, gently kicking out her legs, glancing over her shoulder every so often, and picking at her knuckles. He wonders if it’s worth it just sitting here and staring at her. It actually makes him feel more like a creepy pervert stalker than a “guy who just wants to know every bit of information he can get his grubby hands on” stalker. There’s a difference, he assures!

He watches the door finally open and she looks over her shoulder. Her shoulders slump and her cheeks puff up with a smile that he can see from here. He can see Jason’s face.

He slips further into the shadows out of instinct.

Jason, his “almost killer” and kind of brother in arms, is smiling at the intern. He’s walking up to her and taking a seat right beside her, hands stuffed in his pocket, but they’re nearly shoulder to shoulder. It’s gross. It’s questionable. It almost kind of hurts.

Tim had tried his best to tell Jason he wasn’t a replacement. That Bruce didn’t even want him in the first place, but Jason, in Bruce’s words, wasn’t himself. He saw no reason, didn’t even hear it. It’s why Bruce had to hold him down and put that chip in him, to prevent his son, who wanted nothing more than to protect the unfortunate when he was alive, from killing. It’s why Dick had to put his own hands on the brother he mourned.

Bruce and Dick tried to have him come home when they first received word of Red Hood, but Jason turned them away. But her? She didn’t get turned away and here she was. Talking and laughing with his brother.

No. No, not his brother. Jason wasn’t his brother. Dick was like the brother he never had, and Bruce acted more like his father than his actual one was, but Jason wasn’t his brother.

Tim didn’t know if he wanted Jason to be that. If Jason could even be that. Jason thought himself as dangerous, and for a while he actually was.

Did she know Jason was dangerous?

Did she even know that Jason was Red Hood?

Probably not.

Jason’s not careless. He’s paranoid, cautious, strategic. Jason doesn’t go about revealing his secret identity to the first person who is of the opposite sex who shows him kindness. He’s not some horn dog either.

But then again, if Jason was cautious, why would he be showing his face to her? Jason Todd was still legally dead. The only people who knew differently were the Wayne’s, Tim, and the graveyard night-guard that had come across Jason Todd’s dug out grave.

Did she know if Jason was even Jason?

That makes Tim drag his boot out just a little, little pieces of rubble tumbling down from where he stood. It’s not that Tim was against Jason having a friend, it was just that Tim didn’t think Jason should be going around and developing relationships with people who don’t even know who he really is. It’s a recipe for disaster that Tim knows it by heart.

He watches as the two continue talking. Watches as the intern slowly rises to her feet and Jason quickly follows suite. Tim nearly groans at the sight. Is this how people felt whenever they saw him with Stephanie?

The two walk back to the door on the rooftop, walking inside the complex.

The door goes to shut behind and Tim feels his hand close around his grappling gun. He shoots it out and lands quietly on the rooftop. He sprints to pull open the door, but finds that it hadn’t lock automatically.

His brows twitch in concern at that. Some of these landlords really need to up their security.

Tim creeps down the concrete stairs, keeping close to the wall, straining his ears to hear for voices or even footfalls. He can hear someone talking just a further bit down. “Perry is gonna have my head when he hears about my slacking.” It’s a voice Tim doesn’t recognize— maybe the intern’s?

“Could always say it was writers block.” Jason’s voice. It’s lighter than last he heard, free of a scratchy throat and anger. He sounds alive, not broken.

There’s a girls laugh, it’s light. “If I’m lucky maybe he’ll give me an extension. Red has been a little… difficult as of lately.”

“Difficult? As in…?” It’s not hard to hear the amusement in his voice. Which is scarier than hearing Batman actually tell a joke.

A hum. “I’ll tell you more when I find out his motives.”

“Uh-huh.”

No way. Was Jason— Were those two flirting?! Oh god, and the mention of Jason’s persona too! Those two were no better than Bruce and Selina! Shame on them both!

“Goodnight, Peter.”

That makes Tim furrow his brows. Peter? Why were you calling Jason by his middle name? Sure, it could’ve just been a nickname thing, but middle names aren’t usually someone’s first choice for nicknames. A lot of people hide their middle names or just don’t mention them, unless it’s a fun fact sort of ordeal. Either way, Jason isn’t exactly the type to tell people his middle name as a “fun fact” or the type to talk to people at all.

Tim takes it as proof of his earlier thought. She has no idea who Jason really was. Tim tilts his head back, letting it gently hit the brick wall, as he lets out a small sigh. Guess he and Jason were more alike than they thought.

“Goodnight.” Jason’s voice is a whisper and Tim hates how Bruce was right. Once again, Batman reigns as the world’s greatest detective.

Truthfully, Tim didn’t know how to feel. So Jason’s met someone. Good for him. Or condolences to her. But did that really mean he stopped killing because of some girl he met?

There’s nothing for a couple seconds and then, rapid footfalls. Heavy ones too.

Tim turns to run back up the stairs, practically throwing himself into the push bar of the roof door. He only got outside when a hand grabbed his arm.

Tim turned to throw a punch but Jason quickly caught his hand. His breathing was heavy—because of the running, not because Tim felt like he was back in the tower with his own team, fighting a boy around his age that should have been dead.

“What the hell are you doing here?” Jason demands, staring into the whites of Tim’s domino mask.

Tim wets his lips. He knows better than to pry right now, especially in this situation, but he can’t help the urge. “Who’s the girl?”

Jason glares at him.

“Too soon?”

“Were you spying on me?”

“I was in the area.”

Jason scoffs. “Bullshit, Drake.”

Tim glares at him behind his mask. “We don’t use names, Red.”

Jason’s nose flares. “Careful saying that out here.”

“What? She doesn’t know she’s reporting on her own friend?” Tim asks, jerking his chin over Jason’s shoulder.

“I don’t know why I’m even surprised.” Jason lets go of Tim, but not before shoving him, causing Tim to stumble back a bit.

“Four of Black Mask’s men were given to the police department. Alive. They said it was a miracle that Red Hood didn’t finish the job. Batman thinks it’s because of your friend.”

Jason scoffs again, this time out of mock amusement as he rolls his eyes, “I kill a few guys and it worries him, I don’t kill a few guys and it still worries him. I can’t do shit in Gotham.” The amusements gone from his face as soon as his gaze is locked back on Tim. “And how the hell was she found out?”

“I know everyone who comes into Gotham. And Superman wanted to make sure his intern stayed safe in our city.”

“Funny, I haven’t seen either one of you around here.”

“Red Hood’s been patrolling more often. Batman figured there was no need to try and fill in gaps that didn’t exist.”

“Still doesn’t explain why the hell you’re here,” Jason grits.

“I came for a bet.”

Jason stares at him. “A bet?”

“With Batman.”

He sighs roughly. “Stop fucking pausing and just tell me the whole story, Drake, or else I’ll do what I should’ve done back at the tower and finish your sorry ass,” He threatens.

“And risk your friend seeing?”

Jason went to lunge at Tim but Tim was quicker. He moved out the way and sends a kick to Jason’s left rib, creating distance between the two.

“From one guy to another, you shouldn’t hide things from her, Peter. At least, not things of this scale. It’s only gonna make her feel betrayed.”

Jason growls. “The hell you care? Gonna take this from me too?”

Tim’s brows ease at his words. “We’ve had this conversation before, Jason,” He says more softly this time.

“I don’t care.”

Tim swallows softly, one of his hands bawling up at his side as he stares at Jason. And there’s that ache in his chest again, the same one he got when Jason broke into the tower and fought with Tim. It feels like a type of loss. That Tim lost something that had never even gotten the chance to exist. He wonders if Jason feels it too sometimes.

“I care, because I saw the way you looked at her. Talked to her. …You seem alive. More alive than I’ve ever seen you. And if she’s changing you like this… I fear that moment the truth comes out, she’ll leave, and you’ll go back.”

Jason stares at him. He says her name so softly. So carefully, almost like he’s afraid he’d be struck down by simply uttering it. It feels sacred. And maybe to Jason it is. She is. “She wouldn’t leave.”

“You don’t sound convinced.”

“She wouldn’t.”

“Just because you say it in an angrier tone doesn’t mean you sound convinced.”

Jason walks over to the door, yanking it open as he stares down Tim. He’s already checked out of the conversation. “Give Bruce my thanks for the check-up,” He says sarcastically. “And next time you want to bet on the relationships I have, worry about your own first,” He says before letting the door slam shut behind.

“Low blow…” Tim sighs.

Chapter Text

You were slowly shoveling cereal into your mouth, wondering how the hell you were going to beg Perry for an extension when Ellen walks right up to you with furrowed brows. Your eyes flick up to meet her dark brown eyes before swallowing softly. “Morning?”

“What the hell have you and Red Hood been talking about?”

You blink. “Sorry?”

“Answer me first.”

“I’ve just… been asking him questions about his vigilantism?”

“And he’s said nothing about his plans to you? At all?”

“Ellen, what’s going on?”

She sighs deeply, running a hand down her face. “Four men were turned to the police station by Red Hood—“

“Isn’t that good?”

“Is it good that the vigilante who usually kills the men who cross into his territory suddenly stop doing that? …I don’t know,” She confesses. “But I don’t trust it. Red Hood’s never wanted to work with the police department back then. Why start now? Have you told him anything?” She questions.

“N-no! I haven’t—I don’t talk to him about that sort of thing. He just… tells me.”

“You haven’t brought up his killing at all?”

You stare at her. “Do you think Red stopped killing because of something I said?”

“You’re the only one who talks to him regularly. And you’ve been here for a week and a half and suddenly he’s not killing anymore.”

You look down at your cereal.

You did ask Red why he killed instead of turning criminals in. Or, at the very least, beating them unconscious. “It’s too dangerous to leave some of these guys alive,” He had told you. That was during the first week, however. Maybe things have changed?

“I could ask why,” You suggest.

Ellen stares at you and then lets out a soft sigh. “You know, sometimes I hate that you’re my only informant,” She confesses. “Sometimes I wish they did give us Jimmy Olsen. Or Lois Lane. I hate that I’m putting a teenager at risk.”

“Red wouldn’t hurt me.”

“That’s not the point,” Ellen says. “The point is, you’ve grown fond.”

Your eyes widen. “No, I haven’t.”

“Yes. You have,” She argues. “You know you have.”

“He’s not a bad guy, Ellen.”

“He’s a crime lord,” She says firmly. “He intercepts dealings and then takes the weaponry for himself and his own men. All the police department gets from Red Hood are corpses that would have been more useful to us alive.”

“Why are you telling me this?”

“Because!” She throws her hands up in the air. “You’ve been growing fond of a criminal! You’re no longer meeting up in an alleyway, he sees you here, now! How did he even know where you live? It’s incredibly dangerous.”

You didn’t think about that before. “He probably just saw me on patrol. And besides, meeting here is better than an alleyway.”

“Yeah, sure it is, until one of his enemies sees him interacting with you and now you have a target on your back,” Ellen points out. “My guys saw you on the roof with him. They make crude jokes about you two-timing your friend.”

You gape at her. “I’m not two-timing anyone!”

She drags a hand down her face. “That’s not the point—“

“Why would you tell me that if that’s not the point?”

“Point is! You can’t be meeting with Red out in the open where everyone can see you! That’s sloppy work. And it’s bound to get you into trouble,” She says. “Do me a favor and be more careful. And stop trying to be Red Hood’s friend. I don’t want to put you in the same morgue we’ve been putting in Red Hood’s pals.”

Ellen then places her mug by the sink and heads out for the day. You stare at the wooden door with furrowed brows. What the hell was that all about?

You look down at the soggy remains of your cereal. Has it almost already been two weeks? Sure the article has been coming along and it has needed information, but you had thought you’d be here longer. A month sounded longer.

You walk over to the sink to dump out the remains, rinsing out the bowl. And two-timing… you weren’t two-timing anyone! Peter was a friend, that you do have the smallest, slightest crush on, and Red Hood was an acquaintance. An acquaintance who, you will admit, is pretty attractive. But you’re not dating either of them, let alone in a talking stage with one with them.

You pull out your phone when you feel it buzz in your pocket. It’s a notification from twitter. Pop Base just put out an article that’s been going around detailing Red Hood’s first act of not murdering.

The replies are divided. Some are confused, others are happy, and others… aren’t. There’s arguments between Red Hood’s supporters and those that wished the guy took up the code of no killing. You shoved your phone back into the pocket of your shorts, the last thing you saw, someone was spreading a hashtag saying Red Hood’s a fraud.

You can’t help but grow a little curious yourself.

You glance over to the front door behind you. How was Peter reacting? He thought Red Hood’s killing was necessary. Has he seen what’s been going on?

You gently close the door behind you, lifting a hand to briefly scratch at any odd blemishes you can feel, tucking your bottom lip between your teeth as you stare at Peter’s door. You had only seen his place once and it was when he got beat up a couple nights ago. You can hear soft rock music playing from behind the door.

You lift your lightly closed fist once. Then twice. At the third one you knock a bit harsher than you wanted. You quickly try to remedy it with a rhythmic one. The door opens quicker than you expected from Peter.

He was glaring with a scowl on his face, both instantly easing when he sees your face. “Hey,” He breathes out.

“Hi.”

“What’s up?” He asks.

“Um, just… wanted to hang out,” You shrug loosely.

His brows twitch a little into an amused furrow, a smile pulling at his lips. He steps out of the way to let you inside and gently closes the door behind you.

Your gaze travels along his living room and kitchen. He’s added a bit more things. There’s two blankets hanging over the couch, a rug under his coffee table, a bookshelf lined with various paperbacks—some of them you can tell are used from this distance. How did he get all this stuff in here without you hearing him? “You cleaned up,” You hum.

“I didn’t want to risk being seen as a “pitiful boy” in your eyes,” He gently nudged your arm with his elbow before sliding past you, returning to his coffee table where he has a disassembled pistol. There’s a white rag with grease stains next to it, a spray-looking can with CLP on it, q-tips, a cooper cleaning rod, and a brush.

You blink at the sight of it. “You own a gun?”

“I own a fair amount,” He says, not looking up at you as he begins reassembling the pistol with the speed only a professional could have.

You shift your weight from foot to foot. You don’t like how your stomach tightens with curiosity as your eyes linger on his hands. “Oh,” You hum in acknowledgment, wanting to say something so you’re not just staring at him like a pervert.

Peter glances up, flashing you a smile. “Want me to teach you how to shoot?”

You glance away, fidgeting with your hands in front of you “Oh. Um. I don’t know. I don’t really know how… comfortable I’d be with a gun. Besides, I don’t really need one.” Metropolis’ crime rate wasn’t nearly as high enough as Gotham’s, it makes sense for Peter to carry but you? You lived in a city protected by Superman. If anything you owning a gun would do more danger to you than to a possible attacker.

“I’d feel more comfortable if you did. Gotham isn’t the safest place in the world,” Peter says.

Your brows furrow and you look back at him. “Gotham? Did I not…?”

His eyes flick between yours. “Did you not… what?”

You blink once more and then let out a soft sigh. “Pete… I’ll be leaving in a week,” You gently tell him.

That makes Peter lift his head fully, his eyes full of concern. “What? Why? Did something happen with your mom?” He lowers his gun onto the coffee table, walking over to you in quick strides.

“No. I just… my deadline’s coming up. I had a month to write the article. I’ll need to head back for editing and revising and then… it’ll be published.”

He stares at you in silence for a couple seconds. His tongue briefly comes out to wet his lips. “But that’s so soon.”

You take in a sharp inhale, clearing your throat a little as you glance away. This suddenly feels so much awkward than you thought it’d be originally. “Yeah, Perry thought this story would be… easier. Shorter. Guess he didn’t take into consideration that Red is really important out here,” You flash Peter a nervous smile.

He doesn’t smile back. Peter slowly brings his hands into the pockets of his jeans. “So, what, you just… you’re gonna go back? Just like that? …Won’t you be lonely?”

“I mean, when school starts up again, I’ll have my roommate.”

“That’s not what I meant. What about home? You won’t have anyone.”

“I-I guess.”

“It would be better to have someone.”

“I can look after myself.”

He takes a step closer. “I’ll worry about you.”

You look at Peter, feeling your heart speed up a little as your palms and face grow warm. You suck in one of your cheeks to prevent yourself from smiling like a giddy little girl. “Metropolis isn’t like Gotham. Let alone Crime Alley. The most I’ll have to worry about is Lex Luthor,” You try to lighten up. “…You don’t have to worry about me.”

“Yeah, but, isn’t safer to be around someone who’ll constantly be there?”

You snort lightly. “What, like you?” You joke.

“Yes,” He answers immediately.

“That’s…” Your arms quickly move to fold over your chest, your body needing something to distract yourself from the urge of just reaching out and squeezing him in a hug. “That’s really sweet of you, Pete, but…”

“But?” He looks like a sad dog.

“I can’t stay here,” You whisper.

“Why not?”

“Well. For one, school isn’t here—“

“Gotham has a great University.”

“My job isn’t here—“

“We have our own newspaper, the Gotham Gazette.”

“My place isn’t here—“

“You can live with me.”

You pause with naming off your list. “…What?”

Peter hesitantly slips a hand out from his jean pocket, resting his arm at his side. It seems like he wanted to reach out or something but he held himself back. “You can live with me,” He repeats

“No, I heard you. I just, what? You want me to live with you?”

“Yes,” He says with no hesitation.

“Peter—” You can’t help but let out a short laugh of disbelief. “Do you even hear yourself? You’re asking me to move in with you.”

“Yeah.”

Your smile dips the longer you stare at him. He’s being genuine. Finally, the hand at his side lifts up, grabbing the sleeve of your shirt between his index finger and his thumb. He leans in a little and you feel your heart shoot up to your throat.

“You’re my friend,” He whispers. “You said you wouldn’t hurt me.”

Your brows furrow slightly. “We can still keep in touch, Pete,” You say, eyes flicking between his. “I mean, text messages, for example.”

“I don’t have a phone,” Peter says.

You open and close your mouth. “I can write to you.”

“It could get lost.”

“I can visit. Whenever I get a chance.”

“And hurt me more by letting me see your face again?” He whispers.

“What’re you saying?” You breathe out, feeling your face turn increasingly warm.

God! This was all happening so quickly! Yeah, you might’ve wished on every 11:11 on your phone’s clock that maybe one day Peter could return your affection, but you didn’t expect it to be so soon!

“That I don’t want you to leave?” He says, though it comes out more in confusion. “If you were just gonna leave why be so stubborn?”

Oh.

Oh.

Fuck. Fuck.

Your heart drops but you should’ve expected that. “Peter,” You start. “When I said I wanted to be your friend, I meant it. I still do. I just… I don’t live here. It’s nothing against you. Believe me, if I could stay longer I would.”

He lets out a heavy breath. Peter lets go of you and takes a step back to give you space. You knew he was close but when he takes a step back he seems so far. “I don’t have any way to contact you,” He says.

“I still have the rest of next week. We can figure something out,” You suggest. “It’s not like I’m leaving tomorrow.”

“But you will. You will leave. And I’ll be here. I’ll be stuck here,” He grits.

Your eyes soften, suddenly realizing why he’s so desperate to keep you here. You close the distance between the two of you, wrapping your arms around his waist, nose digging into his body. His body is tense, chest unmoving with a lungful of air as his arms hover at his sides. Like he’s scared to hold onto you. Maybe he thinks you’ll break. Maybe he’ll never want to let go.

“I’m not leaving you behind. Promise,” You tell him. “You’re… You’re very dear to me. It’d be impossible for me to forget you, Pete.”

His chest falls with a deep exhale. You pull away before he can even get the chance to touch you. Your hands fall to your sides and his are still lifted slightly. “You’re… dear to me too,” He admits quietly, like he doesn’t want anyone else but you to hear. “Is this… why you came over?”

“Hm? Oh, no. No. I came here for a different thing, but now that I know you don’t have a phone, I kinda already know my answer,” You shrug.

“And that is?”

“You don’t know what the media’s saying about Red.”

Peter blinks. “What’s the media saying about Red Hood?”

You take in a small hiss, rubbing the back of your neck. “Eh. Well. Word spread… fairly quickly about how four men were turned in by him. All alive,” You say. “Media’s a bit torn.”

He stares at you, as if assessing your body language. “And what do you think?” He asks.

“I don’t know,” You respond truthfully. “…How do you feel?”

“…I don’t know,” He also says genuinely.

You let out a soft exhale of amusement, smiling softly. “…Ellen kind of interrogated me about it. Thought I had something to do with his change in morals.”

Peter’s lower jaw shifts subtly. Almost out of nervousness. “Do you think that?”

“No,” You answer. “Red’s a vigilante. Probably a grown man too. Why would he stop killing because of me?”

“You did tell him to stop killing when you thought I was working for Black Mask,” He points out.

“Yeah, but you’re not. I told him that.”

“So you want him to go back to killing criminals?”

You sigh roughly, walking over to his couch and plopping down. “Obviously not. What kind of person would I be wanting that?” Peter joins your side, staring at you, as if hanging onto your words. “…D’yo think I should ask him? I mean, if this is a permanent or one time thing, it’s good to put in his introduction to the world,” You look over at him.

Peter shrugs. “I’m sure he’d tell you.”

“Why? Because I’ve been meeting up with him for almost a month now? Besides, if Red tell’s me. I’d have to tell Ellen.”

“Why tell her anything?”

“Because. She wants to prove something as desperately as I needed this opportunity. I want to help her,” You admit.

“You want to help her reveal Red Hood as a crime lord?”

“I want to help reveal that he isn’t. She’s focused on Red Hood all alone because everyone else either chalks him up to being Batman’s friend or they’re too scared to. And, if she realizes that Red isn’t a crime lord and just wants to help the people of Crime Alley… maybe they can get the corrupted cops out of here together.”

Peter chuckles lowly. “Red Hood and a cop working together? Yeah right, and then you’ll tell me pigs can fly.”

“I’m serious, Pete!” You say. “Ellen isn’t a cop. And she’s a good person. She’s just stubborn about being right.”

“Reminds me of someone I know,” He looks to you.

You ignore his jab. “I’ll bring it up to Red tonight. He’s already turned in a couple guys to the police. Working with a detective doesn’t sound so far-fetched,” You point out.

”Just make sure to stay safe, Metropolis.”

“I will.”

Chapter Text

Crime Alley is never quiet. You’ve known this for a while now.

Walking quickly down the sidewalk, head down, hands stuffed in the pockets of an old sweater as the hem of your jeans practically drag on the floor, is basically your new nightly routine. Red told you once that it’s safer to dress in more baggy clothes, no matter how warm the night gets. With the more baggy clothing, you have a newfound respect for Red and other costumed hero’s nearby the east coast. If you had to fight crime in a leather jacket and a helmet in New Jersey’s humid heat, you’d probably just kill criminals too. Or be too pissed off to talk things out.

Clark’s sent a couple messages saying that he’d love to take a look at your article before you hand it over to an editor. He also has started to ask a lot about Peter. Sometimes, you think he’s being a little too curious. Like a father asking about a new friend that he didn’t know was a boy. He has this tone of suspicion and wariness whenever he brings up Peter.

It’s just like how Ellen talks about Red.

It’s led you to genuinely internally debate the logistics of either pursuing Peter or pursuing Red Hood.

They both had their pro’s and con’s! Peter’s pro’s? He was a civilian, you could see his face, and you could actually call him a friend. Con’s? He has something there that you know he hasn’t fully healed over and you’re not confident in your ability to fix him. Red Hood’s pro’s? Cares for his city, looks out for you, and the voice changer. Con’s? He’s a vigilante and not in the best graces with Batman nor Ellen. And he also has something going on with him. And you don’t know how old he is.

Also you doubt Clark would be happy if he you told him you were dating Red Hood. Peter would be slightly more acceptable in his eyes, but at this rate, maybe he’d hold the same opinion towards them both.

You groan softly as you stare down at your moving feet. You need more friends your age. If you called Lois, she’d laugh at you. If you called Jimmy, he’d laugh at you. Maybe you could shoot an email to your roommate, but that’d be weird.

’Hey girl, I know we’ve lived together consistently for two years now and have said very few words to each other, but guess who got sent to Gotham for an opportunity to write an article and is now falling for the new dangerous vigilante Red Hood and the pretty boy I have of a next door neighbor.’ Yeah, right. You’d sooner check yourself into Arkham than message her that.

…Jimmy it is.

You lift your phone to your ear, nervously chewing on your bottom lip as you listen to it ring.

He picks up on the third. “Kid?” He asks, voice groggy with sleep. “What’s wrong? Something happen?”

“What? No. Why would I call you if something happened?”

“Ouch,” He huffs. “You never call me. I got scared. Can you blame me? You’re like… in the most dangerous city ever.”

“Gee, thanks, Jim Halpert,” You roll your eyes.

He sniffles, clearing his throat lightly. He was probably snoring like an old man. “Speaking of Gotham, how’s it been? Clark’s been fretting like a mother hen. Perry nearly talks him down everyday to prevent him from heading out there.”

You can’t help but chuckle lightly. Even though it sucks Clark is acting like you aren’t a grown woman, it’s nice to know that an adult is still looking out for you. “That’s… kinda what I was calling to tell you about.”

“Oh no.”

“It’s nothing bad! It’s just… you can’t tell Clark. Or Lois.”

“Oh god, you didn’t kill someone did you?”

“What?! No!” You balk at your phone. “No. I… I’ve been… talking to someone,” You mutter.

Jimmy goes silent for a second. You call out his name in concern and then you hear him start to laugh. “Oh my god! You’re talking to a boy?! Oh! This is the best day of my life!” He cackles.

“Well. Technically. It’s two—“

“Two?! I’ve trained you so well.”

You scoff. “Okay, first of all, my situation is nothing like yours—you’re a player, I’ve never even touched the field. Second, one of the guys is Red Hood.”

Jimmy stops laughing. “That’s not funny.”

“I’m not kidding! He saved my life and nobody told me that he’d have this super hot voice changer or be built like an absolute unit! Jimmy—I’m pretty sure one of his biceps is the size of my head. Okay? My head.”

“How old is he?”

“…I don’t know.”

“You don’t know?! He could be like twenty-five!”

You wince at Jimmy’s raised voice. “He doesn’t give off the vibe of twenty-five,” you poorly defend.

“Not to mention, conflict of interest! Your paper could be seen as biased if word gets out you’re messing around with Red Hood.”

You feel your face flare up. “I’m not messing around with him! I haven’t even done anything with him! We just talk!” You argue. “And there’s another guy too!”

“And who pray tell is this other guy? Is it the fella Clark mentioned you were worried about?”

“…Maybe.”

“You know what I’m gonna do tonight for you? I am going to pray. I’m going to pray that you better your taste in men and find someone in college.”

“Jimmy! I have no one else to tell this too! Peter is my only friend out here and he’s only my friend because I want him so bad,” You whine.

“Okay then stick with Peter!”

“But Red Hood’s so nice.”

You can hear him lift his arms in exasperation. “Then have them both!”

“I can’t have both, also, neither of them seem like the sharing type.”

Jimmy groans. “I’m too old to be having this conversation with you.”

“You’re like six years older than me?”

“Still makes me too old. Also you’re asking advice from me here—“

“I did not come to you for advice, I came to tell you my situation because if I called anyone else, I’d be brought back to Metropolis.”

Someone calls out your name, but the voice isn’t familiar. You furrow your brows, glancing around to see if you were just hearing things. Your eyes land on a cop. It takes your brain a second but you recognize him. It’s the same guy who was staring you and Peter down the other day and he’s parked right next to the alley you’ve been meeting Red Hood. He starts to walk over and you swallow thickly, feeling your blood go ice cold. “Jimmy, I’ll call you back,” You hurriedly say, before abruptly ending the call. Your fingers tremble as your hurriedly switch over to your camera, clicking the record button before pocketing your phone.

The cop repeats your name with a smile that makes you feel uneasy. Your eyes flick down to his badge and he has his number taped over. His name badge also isn’t present. “That’s you right? I’m one of the guys Ellie put in charge to look after you. D’ya know it’s almost curfew for ya?” He asks. You realize how quiet it is now that you’re not on the phone with Jimmy, all you can hear is the faint squeaks of rats.

“Uh. No. Thanks for telling me, I’ll just… start heading back.” You go to take a step back but the cop holds up a hand.

“It’s bit of a far walk ain’t it? I can easily give you a ride back.”

“No thanks, Officer,” You try your best to politely decline, offering him a small smile. The last thing you want to do is anger a policeman.

His smile shrinks but doesn’t go away. “You’ve probably heard all kinds of stories about us from your little friend. I’ve never seen him around before, but I know a Crime Alley kid when I see one,” He huffs, trying to be amused but you can see the brewing anger in his eyes. “And lemme tell you, these Crime Alley kids? You shouldn’t be anywhere near ‘em. They make up a good percentage of our crime rates. In fact, I’m sure your friend as seen our cells more times than I can count,” He laughs lightly but it sounds so empty.

“But you just said you’ve never seen him before,” You chuckle awkwardly.

He doesn’t laugh again. “My buddies’ve probably seen him. Bet as soon as we run a background check on him, we’d find something. I don’t think you should be spending time with someone like that. You look like you’ve got too bright of a future ahead of you.”

“Thanks. But I should really get back to Detective Ellen.”

You try to walk away again but he blocks your path. You can feel your heart start to race.

“You know. Whenever I see you around, I can’t help but wonder something,” He muses. It seems like he wants you to ask.

“Which is?” You hesitantly take the bait.

“Can Superman really hear you all the way out here?” His voice drops and it sounds utterly terrifying.

Your breathing picks up a little, heart thumping too loudly in your ears that you can barely hear a faint click nearby. You can feel your chest shudder, a scream starting to brew in the back of your throat. The cop stares at you, as if waiting for you to. Either out of sick amusement to see how loud you can scream or if he’ll be able to shut you up before you can make a sound.

“Officer!” A voice calls out in a sing-song tone.

The officer looks up and you feel someone throw an arm over your shoulder. You jump a little, turning to look at your savior. A dark-skinned woman in heavily done makeup and a blonde wig with exaggerated 1950 curls stands by your side. Her dress is awfully short both for her legs and for her chest, a faux-fur scarf draping over her shoulders. It takes you a second to realize she’s a drag queen.

Another drag queen stands in front of the officer, she’s bigger than the other—muscles defining her pale arms and legs. She doesn’t talk with a higher pitch tone like the other. “Assembly bill number two-five-seven-four. All law enforcement officers are to present a department issued identification card, badge, tag, or label that identifies them by number while on duty,” the woman recites. “And I see neither on your person, officer. Are you not on duty or am I mistaken?” She sizes him up.

The officer shifts his lower jaw, eyes flicking over to you. “Make sure you get back home before curfew,” He grits out before walking back over to his patrol car.

You let out a deep breath and both queens turn to you as soon as the cop drives off. “Are you alright, honey?” The queen to your left asks quietly, rubbing your bicep gently.

You nod. “Thank you. I didn’t think he’d let me leave,” You smile awkwardly and relieved at them, pulling out your phone to stop the recording.

“Smart,” the queen who intimidated the cop praises.

“Are you girls from uh… the Iceberg Lounge?” You ask hesitantly.

“They are.”

You and the two queens turn to see Red hoping down, his boots landing harshly on the sidewalk. “You were there the whole time?” You ask shakily.

Red’s mask lets out a noise like he was ready to say something but the queen comforting you speaks first. “Honey, he had a gun out and everything. Lizzie and I had to step in before little red riding over here did something that’d land him in the slammer for years,” She says.

“You were gonna shoot him?!”

“I was going to injure his arm,” Red corrected. “You looked terrified.” You shuffle your feet slightly, great, now you wonder how much he heard. You hope he only heard the cop’s poor lecture and not your phone call with Jimmy. “Donna, Lizzie. Thanks for protecting her.”

“Anything for you, bambino,” Lizzie coo’s.

“Be safe, honey,” Donna smiles at you before the two walk down the street.

Your arms automatically come up to hold onto yourself. Maybe it was the way the drag queen spoke or the way she gently touched you, but now the usual warm air of Gotham felt cooler and you found yourself missing that casualness. It felt like your mother’s touches.

Red softly calls out your name, placing his hand on your bicep. You quickly turn to look at him. “Are you okay?” He asks.

Your gaze falls to the ground. “I’ll have to bring this up to Ellen later. He’s one of the guys she had looking out for me. …I wonder how long he’s been watching me,” You whisper. “He said awful things about Peter. And he made that disgusting comment—“

“I heard,” He says. Not wanting you to repeat what was said to you.

You swallow again and you find that your mouth has created more saliva and that the back of your eyes are stinging. “But he—“

“I would’ve shot him where he stood if he even moved an inch,” Red says firmly, his anger bleeding through the static of his voice changer. Gloved hands cup your face, forcing you to look into the white’s of his helmet. “I would’ve killed him for you.”

You don’t know how you feel about that. All you know is that your legs feel weak and your visions going blurry. One of Red’s hands moves to cup the back of your head, pulling you into an embrace, burying your face in his chest. You tremble against him. Somehow, the interaction with the cop felt ten times more scarier than the guy who had pulled you into the alleyway.

Red lets you cry softly into his jacket for a couple minutes, gently rubbing your back. “How about I take you to one of my safe houses? It’s closer than your apartment,” He suggests.

You shake your head. “Ellen will worry.”

“I’ll call her. Let her know what happened.”

“She doesn’t like you.”

“I think she’ll shrug off her agenda against me for just a night as soon as she hears what happened to you.”

You really didn’t feel like walking all the way back to the apartment. Especially now that you knew that cop knew where you lived. What if he was close with Ellen and gets inside? The bedroom door is easily to unlock…

“Okay,” You whisper.

“Okay,” He says just as softly.

When Ellen gets a call from you at exactly 10 o’clock, she’s ready to give you an earful of making her worry. She was ready to tell you to pick up your room when you got back, between the board and your clothes strewn about on the floor, it was a bit of a mess. Before she can even say your name, someone speaks from the other line.

“Before you start, she’s safe.”

Ellen’s stomach drops at the sound of Red Hood’s voice modulator. “Where the hell is she, Red Hood?”

“Safe,” He repeats making Ellen sneer softly. “You should worry more about the men you have looking after her.”

Even though Ellen is trying her damned best to prove to Gordon that Red Hood should be a threat taken more seriously despite Batman’s words, she knows you and him have created a sort of uncanny bond. She knows his words aren’t said lightly. “What happened?” She asks.

“Officer Bradley. Badge GCPD75. Tried to coerce her to get into the back of his car under the premise of taking her back home. Also proposed a question that sounded like a rape threat, asking if Superman would be able to hear her this far out.”

Ellen lets out a soft sigh, feeling her chest deflate. “…How is she?”

“Scared. She’ll be better tomorrow. But she doesn’t feel comfortable know he’s been watching her.”

“I understand,” She wets her lips, hand fidgeting on the table. “…I hate to sound like one of those asshole, but the most I can do is get him off my team. Unless he touched her or made a more explicit comment, I can’t get him removed completely.”

“Off your team sounds better than what I was going to do to him.”

Ellen closes her eyes tightly. “…Thanks. For telling me. But don’t expect me to lay off just because you protected her.”

“I didn’t expect you to.”

The line goes dead and Ellen stares at the darkened contact. She immediately goes to make another call.

“Commissioner Gordon? Hey. Sorry to call so late, but I have a favor to ask. Maybe two.”

Red Hood’s safe house is pretty small for the upstairs of an abandoned warehouse. But, the sheets are clean, there’s a fan blowing in cool air, and Red is at your side. You’ve calmed down since your breakdown in his arms and Red keeps looking at you like you’re seconds away from doing it again.

“I’m fine now, Red,” You try to reassure him. “You don’t need to keep looking at me like that.”

“You were scared.”

“I mean. Yeah,” You shrug. “Anyone would be.”

“…You look like you were about to scream. But you were too scared to.”

“…I thought he wanted me to.”

Red slowly walks over, standing right in front of you, practically towering over as you sat on the edge of the mattress. “I’ve seen so many women in that position before. …I never thought it’d happen to you,” He confesses. “No. I think it’s more accurate to say that I wished that wouldn’t ever happen to you.”

“Red…?”

His arms hang at his sides, but it’s obvious he wants to reach out. “I don’t know what’s worse. The fact that I didn’t shoot him or the fact that my finger was on the tigger.”

Your brows pinch upwards. “What stopped you?”

“The fact that you would’ve seen his body fall, and would’ve gotten his blood on you,” He clenches a hand into a fist. “I felt… sick at the thought of you witnessing that. And at the thought that you’d know it was me who did it. …I don’t want you to see me as murderer.”

“What do you want me to see you as, Red?”

“…As a hero.”

Your eyes sadden at how little his voice sounds. Even with his voice modulator, he sounds like a little kid.

“Is that why you didn’t kill those four guys?”

Red stays quiet. Oh god, Ellen was right. You don’t know how to feel about that conformation.

“You know,” You start softly, “sometimes, I wish I could see under your helmet. Sometimes, you talk like a grown man who’s seen everything. Other times, you talk like a scared kid.”

You watch as Red slowly bends down, his helmet at eye level with you. You stare in confusion and Red simply stares back. It takes a moment before you blink in realization. “Really?” You ask.

“I want you to see.”

You lift your hands to the back of his helmet. Pressing a button, the helmet lets out a small hiss as it opens slightly. You carefully slide it off his head. His eyes and nose bridge is covered by a domino mask. His mouth and hair is hidden with a balaclava. Your brow twitches at the sight of the mask. You’ve seen something just like it many times before—in fact, the poster of Nightwing in your room has the same one. All the Robin’s made matching ones.

“You were a Robin,” You whisper, slowly bringing his helmet down to your lap. Red doesn’t say anything. Suddenly, a lot of things start making sense “…Are you the Robin that went missing?”

“Is this part of the interview?” He asks, voice no longer staticky but it still is mechanically deeper.

You blink and then let a smile slowly spread on your lips. “You really don’t want anyone to know who you are, hm?” You ask. You feel your thumb brush over the cheek of the helmet, silently wishing it was something warmer, softer under your fingers instead. “…The question isn’t part of the interview. I kind of already figured that out a long time ago. I guess it’s just… conformation.”

“Well, it’s not my name anymore. …How did you know?” He asks.

You shrug lightly. “My first night here, when you saved me, you lifted yourself in the air with a technique only Nightwing is capable of. I looked at a lot Olympic and parkour clips—nobody else can do what he does,” You explain. “Your fighting style is also similar. But you’re definitely more of a boxer than him.”

“You got all that from a couple videos?”

“You can learn a lot from the internet.”

“If you found out, why not ask me? So many people are just dying to find out the connection between Red Hood and Batman,” He points out.

Your eyes flick down to the helmet. “Batman came to the apartment days back to talk to Ellen about a case. I brought it up to him first. He said not to ask anything regarding him to you.” Red lets out a small scoff. “He said you don’t like talking about him.”

“Understatement of the century.”

“…But, if you don’t like talking about him, why keep the mask?” You ask carefully.

Red stays silent. “I don’t know.”

You drag your tongue over the upper row of your teeth in thought. “So… Red, who am I looking at, if you’re no longer a Robin?”

“…I don’t know.”

Jason sits on a crate, elbow on his thigh and mouth pressed firmly on his knuckles as he stares at your unconscious form. It’s dangerous for him to be watching you like this, with his balaclava off that shows off the distinctive white tuft of hair, but part of Jason wants you to wake up and see. He wants you to see him like this. This inbetween state of him—of both Jason Todd and Red Hood. It’s when he feels more like himself than anything. And maybe, just maybe, if you saw him like this, everything will feel all right.

Slowly, he stands up from the crate, walking over to the bed to adjust the blanket over your shoulder. Your practically curled up around his helmet, holding it tightly to your chest, cheek pressed against the cool metal. Jason doesn’t know how to feel about it. His leather-clad hand lingers over your shoulder, wanting to brush his thumb over your cheekbone, to brush his fingers behind your ear and let his fingertips trace the vein down your neck.

He lifts a knee, ready to climb into the bed, but then quickly stops himself. His boots gently falls back to the ground and then he lowers himself to his knees. Jason drops his head onto the mattress and joins his hands together, clasped tightly.

Jason knows there’s no God. If there truly was an all knowing being, made of love and created every living creature with his love, then why was Jason forsaken? Why did Sheila give him to Joker? Why did he suffer at the hands of Joker? Why was it not the explosion that killed him, but instead it was suffocation?

If there is a God, maybe Jason just isn’t loved by him. That’s fine. Jason doesn’t care. He doesn’t need an omniscient creature to love him.

He just prays that you do.

Chapter Text

When you push open the door of Ellen’s apartment a body collides into you. Her arms wrap tightly around your your shoulders, her shampoo filling your nostrils as you stand there frozen in place. “Ellen…?” You ask confused, hesitantly lifting a hand to pat her back.

She pulls away from you, holding onto your arms as she stares at you. “You scared the absolute shit out of me last night,” She confesses. “I thought you got kidnapped or something.”

“Sorry...?” You grimace.

Ellen quickly shakes her head, eyes flicking around your face, as if making sure you weren’t injured. “Don’t apologize. You have nothing to apologize about. I should’ve been more careful in who to put my trust in.” She sighs deeply, hanging her head low for a second. “Can’t believe I’m saying this, but I’m glad Red Hood was there. I don’t know what I would’ve done if someone under my watch took advantage of you.”

You shift a bit uncomfortably at that reminder. “It’s… okay, Ellen. You didn’t know.”

“That’s not the point. I’ve been around these guys so long that I’ve kinda just learned to tune them out. Focus on myself, climb up the ranks,” She says. “But I shouldn’t be doing that. Some of the things these guys say… no one with their kind of power should be saying those kinds of stuff. And the only higher up who focuses on their bullshit is Commissioner Gordon.

It shouldn’t have take your run-in for me to realize that… that maybe, there’s just too many bad apples and not enough good ones out here. The whole damn tree is rotten. And I was too busy focused on the orchid,” She lets out a small, bitter breath, slowly shaking her head. “Gotham… needs Batman. Not to just look after the civilians, but to stop the corruption that’s been plaguing the police department for decades.”

Ellen drops her hands down to her side, turning away and you stare at her. You grab her wrist and she looks you in your eyes, her own flicking between yours. “I joined the force to take care of Gotham. To prove that a masked vigilante roaming our streets does more harm than good. I thought that… if we got every bad cop ever out of here, then there’s no need for Batman or his little sidekicks. But that’s never going to happen, if the cop’s are two faced. There’s always going to be another bribe, there’s always going to be another crime lord, and there’s always gonna be a weak-willed man hungry for power.”

“Ellen… where is this coming from?” You furrow your brows.

“You were saved by Red Hood—“

“Actually, I was saved by some very nice drag queens.”

“It doesn’t matter who you were saved by. It matters what you were saved from. How many other men in the force have gotten away with more than what that officer did and they’re still my co-worker? …Batman isn’t out here to protect the people of Crime Alley. Red Hood is. I still don’t agree with his methods and I still don’t like him trying to be your friend, but… someone needs to protect Crime Alley. And it isn’t gonna be the GCPD.”

You swallow softly. Ellen looks devastated but also so sure of herself. You’ve been aware of the brutality of government workers your whole life. Bills passed, funding cut, doctors fired, all because of Mayor Luthor. If Luthor hadn’t been voted in as Mayor, maybe your mom wouldn’t have had to be surrendered over to Arkham Asylum and she could’ve stayed in a psychiatric hospital that was actually in Metropolis. You couldn’t imagine rediscovering that dreadful feeling of nobody higher up is able to help me, especially in your late 20’s.

You chew on your bottom lip. “For what it’s worth, I really admire your dedication,” You tell her quietly. “…I can tell you want to help everyone.”

Ellen lets out a small sigh. She lifts a hand to ruffle your hair. “I’m the adult here. I should be comforting you, not the other way around.”

You smile at her and Ellen walks off to grab her coat. “Where’re you going?” You ask.

“I was waiting for you to get home first before I head out for work.”

Home?

“Oh. Thanks, Ellen.”

“Don’t mention it. Oh! And before I forget, I’m grabbing use takeout for dinner. Don’t spend too long on that roof with that Peter kid. Or Red Hood,” She points a finger at you.

You let out an awkward laugh, sheepishly rubbing the back of your neck. It’s then her words properly settle. “Wait, Ellen,” You call out and she stops in her tracks. Hesitantly, you wet your lips. You did promise Ellen you’d tell her information she needs about Red Hood, but you hadn’t warned Red you’d do such a thing. “You were right. About Batman and Red being connected.” Ellen stares at you with wide eyes. “Red’s an old Robin. The one that disappeared.”

Better off to start with the good news of your late night questioning than also telling Ellen you’re the reason why Red’s stopped killing.

Ellen doesn’t do anything. Just stands there. Frozen, like a statue. And then she’s quickly closing the distance between you two and pulling you into a bone crushing hug. “You absolute wonderful human being, oh I knew you’d prove why Perry chose you,” She praises before quickly pulling away, resting her hands on her shoulders. “Thank you. For trusting me with this. I promise, this information will never reach the Gotham Gazette.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

Ellen lets out a small breath and then lifts a hand to ruffle your hair. You shrink a little, trying to move away from her. She simply smiles. “Stay safe, kid,” She tells you before leaving you in her apartment.

You let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding. Since when did Ellen get so attached to you?

You’re sat on Peter’s couch, reading your nearly finished article. He seems invested, what with his nodding along and soft hums. His gaze is locked so intently on you that it makes you fumble over some words, causing you to mutter curses and whisper apologies. He always chuckles lightly and say’s something along the lines of “you’re good.”

You mourn the fact that after next week you won’t be able to see him anymore. Metropolis University doesn’t have pretty, buff, intelligent guys like Peter. What if you leave and you come back to find Peter talking with another girl? That thought makes you spiral a little, you’d be sick if you found out Peter also lets other girls sit on his couch and read their papers to him as he watches like it’s the most interesting part of his day.

It’s not like you were jealous of his past experiences. People start to date and love and different stages of their lives. Besides, it’d be hypocritical for you to seething over past lovers when you’ve had your fair share.

Your roommate, bless her soul, obviously pitied you very much. She probably heard all about your mother, or read it somewhere. She likes to invite you to come with her and her friends out to the student neighborhood to get drunk and “make connections.” Most, if not all, the connections you’ve made were equally drunk guys who you let take you to their rooms for a warm bed. They were never good—maybe it was the alcohol or maybe it was them. It’s started to feel more like self-harm than pleasure. At least you don’t have to worry about people fretting over self-inflicted scars. Lord knows what Clark would say if he ever found those on you.

Briefly, you wonder if Peter’s had his first time or if he’s still a virgin. There’s no way he is—pretty face, nice body— but then again he was very formal and practically stonefaced when you first met him. He could very well still be one. You’re too embarrassed to ask him such an invasive question.

When you manage to read the last sentence, Peter gives you a small applause, causing you to flush a little.

“I think you have a really solid paper on your hands, Metropolis,” He compliments.

“Thanks. I’m glad you liked it. Now I just have to hope Perry shares the same sentiment,” You let out a self-deprecating huff, leaning against the back rest of the couch.

“I’m sure he will,” Peter lightly nudges your shoulder with his knuckles, “have some more faith in yourself,” He smiles.

“Do you have any comments on it?” You ask.

He lets out a small sigh, glancing away to think about it. “Your voice sounds really technical. There’s a lot of bigger words in there that I guess you could use, but it’d probably keep readers around for longer if you broke them down. But other than that, I thought it was really good.”

You blink a little. You didn’t expect him to actually give you comments. You lean in a little. “What are you, some kind of writing consultant?” You joke.

“No. I just… that’s just what I gathered while listening.”

“Could’ve fooled me. You sound just like the writing consultants at my school.”

“Y’know, I thought about going to school… once. But, it’s not for me,” Peter shrugs lightly.

“Why not?”

“I kinda… dropped out of high school,” He admits.

Your brows furrow at that. “You did?” You ask and then remember the night you followed him to the rooftop. How he confided in you about his mother. “Right, because of… Sorry. I… That must’ve been a lot. Taking care of your mother to the point you couldn’t do school.”

Peter looks over at you. “Must’ve been a lot for you too. Being in school and taking care of your mother.”

You suck in a cheek, glancing away. “I, um… haven’t lived with her since my junior year,” You confess. Protective services didn’t give you much of an offer— Clark, who at the time was your neighbor, took upon the mantle of your guardian for a year until you turned eighteen, all so your mother could go to Arkham. You wish she could’ve at least stayed around to watch you graduate, but who knows what would’ve happened to her? The bleachers were too far from the football field, what if she had a seizure and you were too far to see? Wanting to desperately change the subject about your mom, you turn to Peter with a small smile.

But he’s already caught into your discomfort. “You know, even though I dropped out. I still have dreams of getting a degree. Having my full name on a certificate, showing I did something. Willingly,” He says wistfully.

You move a little closer to him. “…What would you study?”

Peter laughs lightly. It’s more airy than anything. Full of disbelief, like he can’t believe he’s entertaining something that could very well never happen. “Literature, maybe. I like the classics. Maybe a minor in mechanical engineering,” He shrugs.

Your eyes flick down and up him. You could imagine him being one of those students always participating and bringing in his own interpretations. Close to the stereotype of devil advocate kids, but not entirely one either. He’d probably just like engaging in a discussion more than talking only to the professor. “Too bad we won’t have any classes together when you do go.” When. Not if, when. You want to let Peter know that even though his dream is hard to get, it’s not impossible. “Maybe when fall semester starts up, I could tell you all about my classes. Y’know, start preparing you,” You offer.

Peter lets out a soft chuckle. “You just wanna use me for help with assignments,” He leans in, nudging your arm with an elbow.

“Like you could help me analyze Chekov.”

Peter raise a brow, challenging. “What like The Seagull?”

“Like The Lady with the Dog,” You counter.

Peter pauses at that, like he was shocked you knew the short story. “Gurov and Anna both loved each other, too afraid to say it in a time where infidelity was ridiculed and utterly taboo. He grew as a character for her.”

“He did. But what about Anna? Did she actually love him?”

“She went away with him.”

“Because she loved their relationship, the escape it gave her, not Gurov,” You argue.

Peter sits up a little at that, staring you down with a curious gaze. “What makes you say that?” He urges for you to continue. “I thought it was a bittersweet love story,” He confesses.

“You’re not wrong. It is both. But it’s only both for Gurov. Anna was looking for an emotional connection, that’s why she always initiated their talks. Gurov, however, sought physical pleasure, and that’s why he always initiated their kisses. Anna’s husband is distant and Gurov’s wife is insincere with her touch—“

“So that’s what they find in each other,” Peter cuts in, adding another layer to the dynamic.

“Yes, but Gurov doesn’t give her that emotional connection, at least, not at first. He’s intrigued by her because she’s different from his past affairs. She’s sincere, laughs with him, talks with him—there’s an air to her that draws Gurov in,” You shift a little towards Peter, finding yourself immersed in your explanation. He is too. “But, Anna shares her doubts too, calls herself a sinner and says that Gurov will no longer respect her when the first bed each other. And when Anna’s husband calls her back, she tells Gurov that they’re being split for a good reason.”

“But then he chases after her.”

“He does. And Anna isn’t happy to see him, remember? She tells him to go away. And he resorts to physical intimacy once again, because it’s all he’s ever known and cared about.”

“He doesn’t know how to build that bridge.”

“He could. And so could Anna. But she believes herself to have never been happy and she never will be. The relationship is complex. It’s supposed to be complex, I mean, Anna is a young woman and Gurov is about twice her age,” You remind him. “It’s taboo all around.”

Peter stares at you, eyes flicking between yours, before a small, almost boy-ish like grin takes over his face. It makes him look younger than he is. It makes your heart squeeze in your chest. “Maybe you can teach me some things. I’ll get my education from you instead,” He says.

You look away, clearing your throat lightly. “Yeah. Yeah, maybe I could.”

Peter nudges your arm again with his elbow, wanting you to look at him. You oblige and find that he’s sitting a little closer, his arm was a brush away from yours. You felt your breath hitch in your throat.

“Sometimes, I wonder what you’re like at your school,” He confesses softly. “Is this how you treat everyone?”

“I already told you, I don’t have friends. You’re the only one,” You shrug half-heartedly. You so badly want to look away from his hazel-like eyes, green with a hint of blue swirling around in his eyes. It’s almost hypnotizing. “…I’m quieter there. I stay in my room for a good amount of time. I only go out over the weekend but even that’s a sometimes thing too.”

“You sound like me,” Peter smiles.

“Huh. Then I guess I don’t act so bad, Pete.”

That makes the corner of his mouth twitch up and he briefly glances away. He certainly acts like a virgin, you find yourself musing.

“Jason.”

You blink, your expression turning confused at his correction. “What?”

He hesitates, like he hadn’t expected that from himself either. “My middle name. It’s Jason. A lot of people usually just… call me by it. I think you should too.”

He seems almost shy. His eyes glance to you and then away, his hand fidgeting in his lap. It makes your chest warm and you smile softly. “Jason,” You test the name softly on your tongue even though it’s a basic name. You watch as his eyes immediately look towards you. “…I like it.”

“I like it too,” He whispers.

Ellen stood atop the roof of Gotham’s Police Department, cigarette dangling between her lips, as she leaned against the giant ass light. The bat signal glowed high in the air, enough to be seen for miles and miles. Gordon had spent a good chunk of the department’s budget on having the damn thing built and set-up. Sometimes, she wonders why and how he was able to trust Batman so easily. Though, when those times happen, Ellen remembers being sat at a nearly empty bar with Gordon, listening to him have a near breakdown as he confesses the true story of what happened to Batman’s second Robin. She remembers Gordon saying he’s never driven home quicker to gather his only daughter in his arms from her wheelchair and thank God above that she survived that horrid encounter with Joker.

It’s not long before Ellen hears a cape flutter. She quickly turns around to lock eyes with the imposing Dark Knight in all his glory. “You’re not the usual messenger, Detective Yin,” Batman hums. If Ellen didn’t know any better, she’d say he was amused.

“Officer Bradley. Badge GCPD75. Think if I hand over a file you and your tech wiz of a Robin would be able to find any dirt on him?”

“Can I ask what’s the occasion?”

Ellen lifts a hand to pluck her cigarette from her mouth, blowing out a small cloud of smoke from her nostrils. “He cornered the Metropolis intern last night. Made a rape threat. But it’s his word against her’s and he knows where she lives. Only reason I can leave her on her own is because your kid’s grown an attachment to her.”

“My kid?”

“He told her. She told me. And Gordon told me the real thing years ago. Red Hood’s the Robin Joker got his hands on,” Ellen says. She’s careful to say that last part slowly, carefully. She may not like Batman, but she knew she couldn’t and didn’t want to understand the pain of losing a child under your own care. Last night, though, she came close. Too close. She doesn’t want to experience that again. “…But my efforts to put Red Hood behind bars is futile. So, your connection is the least of my worries.”

“If all Red Hood had to do to win your favor was not kill a couple men, I would’ve pushed for him to follow my code.”

Ellen snorts. “He didn’t win my favor. I still don’t like the kid. …He just protected her. And it caused me to realize how I can’t be everywhere at once. And it’s not possible to kick out every bad cop and start from scratch,” She admits. “Don’t think I’m giving you a gold star here, Bats.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it, Detective Yin.”

She huffs lightly before walking over and handing him a manila folder. “I know you have a lot on your plate. And how some intern from Metropolis isn’t exactly at the top of your priority list, but—“

Batman gently takes the file. “I’ll have Robin see if he’s able to find something incriminating enough on Officer Bradley. The girl is still living in Gotham. Which means she is a priority. …I won’t leave her wondering if he’ll always be lurking in the shadow’s of if every cop car that passes her has him in it,” He vows.

Ellen lets out a deep breath she didn’t know she was holding. “Thanks, Batman,” She says.

He nods and goes to turn away, cape fluttering.

“Wait,” She says suddenly and Batman pauses. “The file you gave me, on Black Mask, I did some research on the people who’re connected with him. …And I found a similar last name.”

“Robin and I ran a diagnostic as soon as we saw it.”

“And?”

“She surrendered her to Arkham. Long before she made contact with Black Mask,” Batman explains “I doubt she knows.”

Ellen nods even though Batman can’t see. “I know that. It’s just— We both know Arkham isn’t the most secure place on the planet.”

“You’re worried about her,” Batman muses.

“She’s an innocent. I protect innocents.”

“Then I’m sure she’s safer with you.”

“I hope you’re right.”

Chapter Text

Bruce doesn’t like Arkham. He knows it’s riddled with corruption, just like the police department is. But then he has no where to put his rogue’s if he stops trying to donate and it upgraded or remodeled. He believes in them— that they can be redeemed. Changed. Sometimes they make progress, good progress, sometimes they have bad days. Prison’s don’t help reform. Bruce doesn’t fault them for that, just takes them right back to Arkham with a promise to visit. Some would rather be put in Blackgate, like Waylon, saying it’d be safer for everyone.

Bruce always answers that he’s neither judge nor executioner. If anything, he’s more like their probation officer. That always makes Harley laugh.

His boots echo down the hallway, he can hear his familiar rogues call out his name—either hissed out or as a greeting. He doesn’t turn to look at them. To his rogue’s, who have known him for longer than anyone else in his life (aside from Alfred of course), it signals that Batman’s on a mission. Or he’s pissed. Or he’s both. He can hear Harley clapping excitedly.

He stops in front of a newer cell, narrowed eyes relaxing a little upon seeing a rodent on the foot of her thin mattress. The woman is sat up, knees pulled close to her chest—greasy, short hair covering the side of her face. Her index finger gently pets the rodents head.

“A friend?” Bruce asks gruffly.

She doesn’t respond. Bruce knew she wouldn’t, but it never hurt to try. Ever since she arrived she’s been quiet.

“I went to consult an officer about his habit of frequenting meetings with some of Penguin’s men, even taking bribes. Along with the sexual assault allegations from several Iceberg Lounge workers,” Bruce starts. “When I arrived at his apartment, I found his body. Cold and littered with rat bites.”

She stops her petting, slowly turning to Bruce.

“I haven’t left my room, you can check the camera’s,” She says, voice raspy and low from disuse.

“I know you didn’t. But your friend is able to come and go as he pleases,” He points out.

“You’re going to frame a rat for murder?” She remains monotonous.

“What I want to know is how you found out. And if you plan on escaping soon now that you know your daughter’s here.”

She tenses at the word daughter. She turns away back to her friend. The rat is now curled up on the mattress, squeaking quietly, almost sadly. “She does not want to see me,” She whispers. “And I don’t want to bother her. She’s spent so long taking caring of me. A child should not have to be their mother’s caretaker.”

“So, what you did… was that to right past wrongs?” He asks carefully.

“The rat’s have their own mind. I didn’t do anything,” She states. “Even if I did, I wouldn’t want her to know I did that at all. …It was for my own peace of mind. Comfort, knowing that he’ll never be able to terrorize her again.”

“Killing wasn’t the way to go about it.”

She stays silent for a moment. “Do you have kids?”

“Yes.”

“Do they mean the world to you?”

Bruce swallows lightly, already feeling where this conversation was heading. “…Of course.”

She lifts her eyes to look at him. “Wouldn’t you have done it too? If it was your kid?”

Bruce has spent years protecting Dick the most from unwanted comments from not just civilians on the internet but also celebrities—models and actors alike. They’ve all tried to sink their teeth into Dick, especially the year when he had just turned eighteen. Bruce felt sick seeing posts and hearing comments. He never heard those comments directed at him when he was Dick’s age, but to be fair, when he was eighteen, Bruce was training his ass off to be the Batman Gotham needed.

Dick always acted like the comments never got to him, but Bruce knows Dick better than he knows himself. They weren’t just father and son, they were best friends, brothers even. Bruce knew the comments affected Dick more than anything. It’s why Dick tried to behave like an adult, tried to become his own person so quick—he wanted to get rid of the “boyish” charm that clung to him and made people so much older than him attracted to him.

Bruce knows his silence says a lot, because then she turns away. “As long as she’s here, I will make sure nothing hurts her. I promise not to hurt others that have nothing to do with her. I don’t care about your other criminals. I’m just protecting my daughter,” She says.

“I find that a little hard to believe with your connection to Black Mask.”

She doesn’t look at him.

“The masked man she’s always with, he’s not a threat. I don’t know what Black Mask told you, but your rats have no need paying a visit to Red Hood.”

“The rats have their own mind,” She reminds him.

“He keeps her safe.”

“He does, does he?” She hums, clearly uninterested in Bruce’s words. “Is he not keeping her safe just so he can use her to make himself look better?”

Bruce’s brows furrow in confusion and then smooth out in realization. “Everyone in this damn city is using her. Even you,” She seethes, “just like I did.“ Her voice shakes, “She isn’t your son’s savior. She isn’t anyone’s. Not even mine.”

“I don’t think of her like that.”

“You do!” She accuses, climbing off her bed to pad over to the glass that kept the two separate. She points at him and Bruce remains in his spot. “You think she can change him - they heard! He thinks so too. But she can’t! She’s a little girl, just a little girl, she can’t do that. She can’t even change herself.”

“Forget about it,” She grits. “Forget about making her your son’s little therapist. She’ll leave soon. She’ll leave and he’ll never see her again. I’ll make sure of it. If it’s the last thing I do.”

Mrs.Kent(Lane)
There’s absolutely nothing neutral about your paper.

Leave it to Lois to point out what you were lacking in your writing. She’s a wonderful editor and writer—better than Clark even, but because of her greatness, she’s rather blunt. And doesn’t care if her bluntness hurts. Feelings get hurt in business.

You hang your head low as she continues texting.

Mrs.Kent(Lane)
What does this article say about not just Gotham, but the Daily Planet too, if we publish an article praising this guy who you state has a public kill count?
I know your deadline is coming up soon, but do you really not having something else to mention about him?

Well, he did mention he has guys who work for him

Mrs.Kent(Lane)
That’s kind of giving crime lord

There’s rumors he is

Mrs.Kent(Lane)
Rumors that you can shut down or rumors that you can prove?

I don’t know
He owns a club????
It used to be Penguin’s. Now it’s his.

Mrs.Kent(Lane)
Bingo

I can’t go! Detective Yin basically said I’m banned from there.

Mrs.Kent(Lane)
Reporters are banned from going to a lot of places. But we still go to them because people deserve to see all the information. Not just a piece of it.
Are you really going to listen to every future law enforcement person when they tell you, you can’t go to certain places or talk to certain people?

You stare at her last text. It’s part of your job to make sure the information you’re writing about is factual and neutral. Daily Planet is known for its neutrality on emerging figures. They were neutral about Superman, Batman, every Green Lantern, hell—even Wonder Woman. Sidekicks and vigilantes were no different. People wanted to know everything about the people who were stepping up to save them, both good and bad.

People don’t like having things hidden from them.

You run a hand through your hair, glancing up at the madman bullet board you created your first couple days here. Your eyes lock on the address of Iceberg Lounge, it’s between Crime Alley and Old Gotham.

Ellen would probably understand, wouldn’t she? Just a quick in and out that involves asking a couple questions. Not even Red would know you were there.

You’ve never been to a club before, let alone a bar. You’ve never only ever went to the neighborhood and frat’s. And frat’s were the furthest thing from club’s and bar’s.

You walk over to the closet, picking out and staring at a couple shirts to see which ones would work. You’d need something revealing and mature-looking, to sell the act of being older than nineteen. You pull out a plain tank top before immediately shoving that back in. You grab at a ruffled blouse tank next. You originally planned to wear this during an interview with Red back when you thought he was a regular vigilante and not, well… Red. Of course the blouse was going to be underneath a blazer to maintain the professional look, but it could double as a going out shirt.

Suddenly you’re thankful for all those times your roommate would have her friends change in your guys’ room. You knew what to pair certain clothing items with and what to avoid.

After practically destroying your closet and littering the carpet with your clothes, you stand in front of a mirror, turning this way and that, gauging the outfit. You lift your hands, unbuttoning the neckline of the blouse only to find it showed too much cleavage, but the neckline fully opened looked way too business. And the heels you were currently borrowing from Ellen were a bit much. Then again, so was the jewelry and the makeup. It was a nice look to go out in, but you’d definitely get a lot of unwanted attention…

You glanced at the time on your phone which read 10:23pm.

You hoped Ellen hadn’t told her guys your license plate number.

Sneaking out to your car was easy. Ellen wasn’t home yet and Jason didn’t seem to be around either. Part of you kinda hoped he’d be around, just so you could’ve seen his reaction. Would he be the kind of guy to get all protective? Hand over a jacket for you to wear? Or maybe the protective kind that won’t let you leave the house. Or he’d think the outfit is cute, give a compliment or two. Maybe he’d even try more? You quickly stop those wandering thoughts, Jason’s too sweet to do anything beyond offering his jacket for cover.

You drove down the streets of Crime Alley until you reached the Iceberg Lounge. You pulled your car into a parking spot a bit further down and walked towards the building. There didn’t seem to be line nor a bouncer, but you never know. Maybe there was some guy who asked for a password at the front door.

You fight the urge to start fidgeting as you near the building. You can hear muffled rap music coming from inside.

The sight of something small and orange in the alleyway next to the building catches your eyes. You turn to see the same two drag queens who helped you out a few days ago. What did Red call them again…?

“Lizzie. Donna.”

The two women look over to you. Donna smiles in recognition and Lizzie stares in curiosity at your outfit. “Hey! You’re red riding hood’s little friend,” Donna says.

Lizzie tells Donna your name and you’re surprised she knew it. Does Red talk about you a lot?

“What’re you doing out here, little missy? Does Red know you’re nearby?” Lizzie asks, tilting her head slightly as she blows out a plume of smoke.

You drag your palms down your sides and then clasp your hands behind your back, walking into the alleyway. “Ah. Well. What Red doesn’t know, won’t hurt him,” You give them your best convincing smile. “I’m here for some field research, that’s all.”

Donna raises a brow at that. “What’s the lounge got that Red can’t tell you himself?” She challenges.

“His men,” You tell them honestly.

Donna and Lizzie glance at each other before starting to snicker lightly at your choice of words. You quickly realize and try to salvage the wording. “I-I meant the people he hires for help. Not— I’m not here to… add Gotham men to a roster,” You explain.

“You mean any more Gotham men,” Donna teases.

“Red is an acquaintance.”

“Sure, kitten.”

“If you’re going in for field research, why ask us?” Lizzie asks.

“Because I kinda need to get inside. And I’m pretty sure there’s a bouncer inside waiting to get a password from me since there’s not one outside.”

The two queens look at each other. Donna snickers softly and Lizzie grins. “Smart girl. You wanna know the password? It’s: Fuck Joker.”

You didn’t consider yourself a puritan.

Hell, you had your fair share of hookups (and late night imaginations of two certain men), not to mention the internet opened the doorway for… a lot of things one could discover about themselves. So, yeah, being puritan was not something you’d use to describe yourself.

But good god was Ellen right about Iceberg Lounge.

The music is incredibly loud and the singer mixes a woman’s exaggerated moan along with the beat as he sings about how often he fucks this one woman. Women dressed in thin clothing—tits practically spilling out from their tops and ass cheeks peeking underneath skirts—dance with a couple guys in the middle of the room. It nearly mesmerizes you. The women dance and move like water, skin shaking and rippling in a dance of their own, some of them push and pull like a tide, grabbing at their partners clothes or shoving their partner away after the magic of the music is done.

There’s a bar, not that far from the center of the room, it’s fucking huge. From floor to mid-wall is a shelf of liquor, a sliding ladder connected to the shelf in order for the bartenders to reach what they need.

In the back there seems to be gambling tables, various small ones that each have their own person attending them.

You slowly climb down the metal stairs, eyeing the layout. There’s stairs leading up and down. There’s more to the lounge than just this. But what?

Another song starts up, making the girls let out scream-like cheers as the point up at the ceiling. Your eyes follow their fingers at you nearly gasp at the sight of the DJ literally held on a platform suspended in the air. Speakers on either side of them, aiming straight down at the people below.

That… has so violations of workers safety, and public safety, written all over it.

Red owns this?

You watch as the DJ grabs a microphone, or at least you think it’s a microphone, he’s so high up. “Who’s the baddest bitch in this club!” He shouts out in time with the cheer in the song.

“I’m the baddest bitch in the club!” The girls all shout back, also in time with the song.

You shuffle your way through the crowd, avoiding trying to squished or caught up in the sweaty audience. You’re here to ask questions, not actually partake in Gotham’s club culture.

Glancing around, you try to make a mental note of anyone who looks like or could be working for Red. You see a woman who has the physique of a body builder a bit higher up than anyone, she keeps her eyes on the crowd, as if making sure nobody causes a commotion. There’s another guy watching the crowd too, dressed in a plum and eggplant colored suit, a mask covering the upper half of his face and hair.

Other vigilantes.

Suddenly, you feel your hand be wrapped around leather and you’re free from the pool of bodies. You look up at your savior. A tall redhead with a lopsided smile. He even holds a mischievous glint in his eyes, like he was just told the best thing ever. “Woah, there! Didn’t nobody tell you to be careful of Gotham’s clubs?” He grins, his voice raised a little. His arm shifts back behind his back before letting it fall to his side.

You pull your hand away, staring at him curiously. “Thanks,” You shout back. And then, because you know the human mind will take whatever it chance it can to communicate with others, you point up at the DJ booth high above. “Isn’t that a worker’s violation?”

His smile widens. “Looks like it! But, hey, gives us better sound!”

Oh, god. You can physically feel the routine you had back in college come back to you. Easy conversations starter, laugh at his jokes, say some back, lean in, try to branch the conversation into flirting, lay the flirting on thick when reciprocated, and then finally—nearest bedroom. Okay, well obviously, you wouldn’t be doing the last one, but point still stands.

It’s easy to fake a laugh at his words. “And which owner’s choice was that?” You tilt your head.

“Definitely Penguin. Guy’s eccentric,” The redhead says. “I’m Roy, by the way,” He outstretches a hand for you to shake.

You’re nearly thrown off by the professionalism of a handshake. At a club. You take his hand and give it a shake as you share your name back.

“Sick name,” He says.

Okay, forget the flirting part, obviously he’s being a purposefully friendly guy. Should at the very least respect that. A good chunk of you is relieved that you won’t have to put on that mask at least for this guy. A smaller part is relieved that you wouldn’t be betraying Jason. Which is crazy because you two aren’t even together, let alone in a talking stage. Who cares if you flirt with strangers? Jason shouldn’t and neither should you.

“Not a dancer?” You ask him. He is on the outskirts of the crowd. If he was planning on getting laid or something, he is not at the right spot.

Roy shakes his head. “Not much of a drinker either,” He grins.

“Why come then?”

“Can’t I have fun listening to music?” He shoots back. Roy tilts his head, eyes flicking between yours. “What about you? Why’re you here? You look a bit young…”

You try not to look guilty. “Hm? I’m here to look for some guys.”

Roy whistles though it’s a bit low for you to hear over the music. “You’re a player?”

You flush at the accusation. Bad wording. “No! No. I… I’m here to just scope the place,” You glance around, trying to take note if there are any other vigilantes patrolling the club. When Red brought up not working alone that first interview, had he meant the two from earlier? Or did he have guys working for him like Black Mask and Penguin?

“That doesn’t exactly line up with what you said,” Roy calls you out as you glance around. “Besides, you look suspicious glancing around, sweetheart,” He tugs you to his side, eyeing at someone up above.

You follow his gaze to see the muscular woman staring down at you. “They might think you’re a cop,” He hums.

“But I’m not.”

“You’ve got the excuse of one and are glancing around like one,” He points out.

You narrow your eyes at him, taking a small step back. “Who are you?”

“I told you who I am.”

“Did you? Because you’re not exactly a normal club goer either,” You counter.

His grin turns sly as he raises his hands in mock surrender. “Relax. I’m just the distraction.”

Your eyes widen and before you can even ask what he means, a nearby voice breaks through the blasting music.

“Roy!”

You and Roy turn at the sound of a heavily distorted voice. You immediately step back from him even though you didn’t necessarily do anything wrong. But it felt like you were caught doing something bad.

Roy’s smile is teasing as he stares at Red. He even goes to further agitate him by throwing an arm over your shoulders. “Red! You didn’t tell me your friend was adorable,” He lifts a hand to pinch your cheeks like a grandma would. You lean your head away, nose scrunching up.

Red grabs your arm and pulls you away from Roy, nearly making you trip in the shoes you borrowed from Ellen. He grunts at Roy’s words before staring you down. “My office. Now,” He growls.

You feel embarrassed when your stomach flips at his tone.

Roy lets out a soft and drawn out ‘oh.’ “Someone’s in trouble,” He hums just as Red starts leading you away by your arm.

You look over your shoulder to glare at Roy’s stupid smug smile. He even tucks his hand back and then lifts it to reveal his phone, shaking it a little.

Mother. Fucker.

Chapter Text

Red doesn’t stop dragging you behind him until he pushes open a door. He practically tosses you inside and closes the door behind him. “Why’re you here? The Berg isn’t safe for you,” He demands.

You huff at his words, staring at him. Your eyes flick up and then down him. “Are you really gonna keep the helmet on? It’s just us.”

Red hesitates for a moment. “Just because I took off the helmet before doesn’t mean I’m going to do it always.”

“I want to see you without the helmet.”

He stares at you. Then he slowly brings his hands up, his helmet opens with a soft hiss and he lifts it off. The same domino mask and balaclava are underneath. “Enjoyed yourself?”

“Only for a bit. Your Roy guy is… infuriating,” You say.

“Why are you here?” He asks again, a bit more slowly. And firm.

Which makes you pause because Red had never been this kind of firm before. He’s been concerned but he sounds almost… angry. Or on edge.

You slowly walk over to his desk, spreading out a thin pile of papers. They’re from the Gotham Gazette. You try to catch sight of at least one of their titles. “Aren’t I allowed to explore?” You challenge.

Red grabs your chin, hard. It actually makes you glare at him as he pulls your gaze away from the papers. He uses his free hand to sweep the papers back up. His hand settles over yours.

You pull away with two steps back. “You’re hiding something.”

“I’m not.”

“You are, Red,” You say firmly. “There’s a reason why you’ve been rumored to be a crime lord. You haven’t told me anything about that.”

“You think I’m a crime lord? After everything?”

“My paper isn’t neutral. And I’ve gotten everything from you. Who’s to say you didn’t lie to me? Or fed me false information?”

He takes a step closer. “I never lied to you.”

“But you’ve withheld information,” You point a finger at him.

“Name one.”

“Your men,” You counter. “You mentioned that you work with people the first time we started this.”

“You already saw ‘em,” Red says. “Roy. And the two vigilantes up here.”

“So why wouldn’t you disclose that you worked with other vigilantes?”

“You were new. I didn’t want you trying to track em down like how you did with me.”

You open your mouth, and the close it. “I never tracked you down.”

“The board in your room says differently.”

Your eyes widen. “…You’ve seen my room?”

“Can you blame a guy for being paranoid? I thought you had ulterior motives.”

“…Have you been inside my room?!”

“I didn’t touch anything. Promise,” He gives a loose shrug. “Just looked. I’m not that kind of guy.”

“I know that.”

“But you think I’m a crime lord.”

You groan in frustration, running a hand down your face. “I don’t! I trust you, Red. Really, I do. I just… need something to make my paper more neutral. The Daily Planet won’t publish something that basically glorifies a vigilante that no one’s heard about and has admitted to killing people.”

“And you couldn’t’ve asked me this? With the safety of your rooftop?”

“Reporters find stuff on their own,” You argue. “And from what I’ve seen this place isn’t all that dangerous. It’s just a club.”

“A club full of touchy patrons,” He hisses. “You know how many times Susan has to pull some creep off our dancers?”

You furrow your brows. “I can deal with touchy guys.”

“The cop—“

“The cop was a guy in power threatening to use it and he knew where I lived. These guys don’t know me,” You say. You can feel yourself getting defensive. Did Red think you were some… untouched flower who needed his protection from other men? “Besides, even if one of your patrons did get too touchy, it’s because I let ‘em. I don’t need you looking out for me every time I interact with a guy. Sure, the cop thing was scary, but I’m not gonna react that way with every single guy.”

Red stumbles with his words for a second. “I didn’t say you would.”

“You implied it.”

“That’s not what I was implying.”

“Then what the hell were you implying?”

“That I don’t want someone touching you,” Red says.

Before you can even respond, Red sets down his helmet and takes three steps closer to you, only a couple inches separate your faces. It makes your breath hitch.

“I don’t care if you were with people in the past,” He whispers. You can hear his hands clench, his leather gloves creaking under the strain. “I truly don’t. Because I didn’t know you then. But I do now. And I don’t want anyone else having the privilege of touching you, not when I’m here.”

You wish he didn’t have that stupid domino mask on. You wanted to see his eyes, you could feel his gaze burning you. “Red…” You whisper, swallowing softly.

“I want to keep you safe,” He says. “I can keep you safe. Safer than you’d ever be, even with Superman. Because I’ve been here for you. Not Superman. Not Batman. Me.” His voice shook a little at that. His hand comes into view, fingers open and palm shown like he wanted to cup your cheek. But he doesn’t. Red says your name, whispers it like it means everything to him. “Let me keep you safe,” He begs.

Oh. My. God

He’s begging. He’s begging.

Your eyes flit between the whites of his mask and Red lifts the bottom of his balaclava up to his nose. Your eyes flick down, staring at them. You can see that they’re chapped, bitten to all hell, and there’s even a spot that has a bit of red.

Red leans in a little, just slightly, as if silently asking if it was okay. If what he was about to do was okay. You lean in as well, lips parting slightly.

You can see Red’s lips trembling slightly. You watch as he mimic’s your parted lips and you have to fight back a smile. Has he never been kissed before?

You gingerly cup his cheek, feeling the warmth of his skin. His nose bumps against yours lightly before you close the gap.

His lips are chapped yet still gentle. He hesitates when your tongue drags along his bottom lip but he ultimately opens up for you. He tastes like cream soda, faint cigarette smoke, and a hint of blood. The inside of his cheeks have jagged scars from constant chewing and your tongue can’t help but trace over them. His breathing is shaky and heavy, each exhale through his nose caressing your cheek. He doesn’t even know where to put his hands.

Your hand on his cheeks slides down to his nape. Briefly, you wish he didn’t have the balaclava, just so you could tug at his hair. He pulls away briefly for a gasp of air before reconnecting your lips. You couldn’t help but smile against his lips. His tongue moves clumsily against yours, tracing the muscle, trying to replicate your moves, but he’s still too shy. He behaves like he has no experience. Your brain thought of someone before you could even filter out the thought.

“Jason…” You moan into his mouth.

And then Red freezes. And so do you.

You quickly pull away with wide eyes, causing a soft smack to echo in your ears, as you stare at Red. He looks more shocked than you expected. You kinda thought the vigilante would’ve been more pissed off than anything at the fact that the girl he was making out with just called out someone else’s name.

“I-I’m… I’m so sorry,” You breathe out, feeling the weight of embarrassment crush your chest. God, you wanted the floor to open up and swallow you whole. “I’m so— I don’t know—I didn’t mean…”

This is what you get for crushing on two guys at the same time!

“I’m gonna go to the bathroom,” You hurriedly excuse yourself, rushing past Red to go somewhere else. Anywhere else.

Why did you do that? Why did you do that? Why did you do that?

He doesn’t even stop you, or call out. When you glance over your shoulder, just before the door swings shut on its own, Red is gripping the edge of the desk, head hung low. Fuuckkk. You probably definitely hurt his feelings. You wanted to rip out your hair and scream out your lungs. Part of you liked the kiss and another part of you hated it. The other part wanted the kiss to be with Jason.

The music felt louder than before.

Dead to me, rah
All the
time we
wasting
we could get away It’s a
Alter-
Ego
Wasting

You walk down the open hallway, glancing down at the crowd every so often as you tried to find a room where you could catch your breath in. Or escape. Or die a pitiful death. Any of those three sounded pretty appealing.

There’s a faint sound of little feet scurrying around. It makes you freeze. There’s a rat waiting next to a door. As soon as it catches your eyes, it slips between the open crack. There’s no screams, not even an utter of chatter.

Your brows furrow just as you approach the door, gently pushing it wider.

It looks… incredibly lavish. There’s sleek leather couches in the middle, glass windows that see another area connected to the Lounge but closed off to the club. You cast a glance over your shoulder before stepping inside, gently closing the door behind you as you scan the room.

Your eyes widen at the sight of a man behind a glass wall. It looks more like an aquarium, what with the blue glass and imitations of fishes and colorful coral reefs. It’s… insanely inhumane.

The man turns to look at you. He looks familiar. He has a crooked, long nose, his body short and stubby, and crooked teeth when he smiles. His hair is thin, practically not there, and there’s a scar on his cheek. “If you’re looking for the big boss, he ain’t here, doll,” The man says, his Italian accent thick.

Your eyes widen when you realize where exactly you know him from. “You’re Penguin,” You murmur.

The man loses his smile, staring at you. “You’re not here for the brat, are ya?” He asks.

Your feet slowly carry you towards him, eyes trained on him. “What— I thought you were imprisoned?” You silently gape. “What’re you doing here?”

“Y’know, doll, I ask myself that every day,” Penguin chuckles.

You stare openly at him. This is what Ref was hiding. This was what he didn’t want you to see. The embarrassment you felt earlier quickly washes away as you scramble to grab your phone and hit record. You crouch down, holding the butt end of your phone towards the glass. “Would you mind stating your name for me?”

Penguin raises a brow, eyes flicking from you down to your phone. The corner of his lip was upturned with a mix of disgust and concern. “Are ya seriously interviewing me?” He asks.

“Yes, sir, I am,” You flash a small smile. “It’s for my paper.”

“A school paper?”

“For the Dailey Planet. I’ll be using your account against Red Hood.”

Penguin looks surprised at that. And then he smiles. “Why didn’t you start off with that in the first place! Names Oswald Cobblepot, at your humble service.”

“Okay, Oswald, do you mind if I ask you some questions regarding Red Hood?” You ask.

“Not at all, sweetheart.”

Oh god, where to start?

“Was it true that the alliance you had with Black Mask was broken when Red Hood came into the picture?”

Penguin huffs. “Damn right it is. Brat chased off Black Mask and then took over both our empires.”

“Empires?” You wish you brought a notebook or something. “What do you mean by empires?”

Penguin eyes you. “My drug empire. Black Mask’s weaponry. Red Hood’s got it all under his belt now. He even tells me about the shipments he does sometimes. Down by the docks.”

“The docks…?” Jason told you once that Red sometimes patrols down by the docks. Was Red not actually patrolling at all and was instead looking after his newly obtained cargo? “But Red Hood has also been protecting his side of the city from crime.”

Penguin points at you with a sly smile. “Who is he always fighting down ‘ere?”

You blink. “Black Masks men…”

“Bingo, sweetheart.”

You were starting to not like this. “But Red Hood wouldn’t disperse those drugs. He doesn’t.”

“He don’t,” Penguin agrees. “But what do you think is better? Dropheads going cold turkey? Or dropheads getting satiated? Even some of Gotham’s elites partake in ‘em. And Metropolins.”

“I’m not to give an opinion on that,” You reply.

He waves his hand dismissively. “Bah, you’re no fun.”

You shake your head to rid the contemplative thought. “So, Red Hood took over your business and club and now you’re here. …Why’re you here?”

“Beats me. I’d rather be in Arkham than here. Kid broods too much,” Penguin grumbles.

You lift your head up at that, your heart dropping. “Arkham? Like… Arkham Asylum?”

“Duh? Ain’t no other Arkham, is there?”

You feel your chest squeeze. “Why would you be in Arkham?”

“It’s where all Bat’s not-so-sane rogues go,” Penguin supplies.

Everything feels like it’s crashing down.

Arkham? The same Arkham that the doctors in Metropolis told you to send your mother to? The same one that the doctors told you where your mother could be treated better while you worked hard enough to hopefully one day afford proper treatment? Your mother was being held where Batman’s insane villains were being held?

“What?”

Your thumb hovers over the record button, wanting to cut this all off. This was too personal now. Everyone told you it’d be good for her.

You hesitantly wet your lips, completely forgetting all about getting another side to Red Hood’s story. That wasn’t important right now. “Cleo Cazo.”

Penguin immediately turns to look at you, with furrowed brows. “Cazzo?” he questions.

“Cleo Cazo,” you repeat more firmly. “Do you know her? Did you see her?”

Penguin sighs, scratching at his neck. “Yeah. Yeah, I might’ve seen ‘er once ‘o twice. Cookie lady. She talks to rats like they people. Sure, Ivy talks to plants but that’s understandable. She’s the plant lady. But rats? No thank you,” He rambles on.

You feel the air collapse out of your lungs.

“Why? You know her?” He says slowly.

Your eyes flick up to meet his. His gaze travels, taking you in. “I knew you looked familiar,” He whispers. “You’re the kid she kept muttering about.”

“What?” You voice comes out more sad than you wanted it to. “What’d she say? Does she hate me?”

Penguins smile drops into that of exaggerated sympathy. “Oh. Ohh, I’m so sorry,” He says. “…Y’know. I got a kid of my own. Victor. I’m sure he’s about as sick with worry about me as you are your mother.”

You chew on the inside of your lip. “I-I don’t—“

“C’mon. If you promise to tell Victor where I am and that I’m safe, I promise to tell you about your mother,” Penguin tries to compromise. “And about what those awful people at Arkham are doing to her just because she knows Black Mask.”

Awful people? Did he mean the doctors? And your mom knew Black Mask? Has she talked to him? Has she seen Red?

Before you can even respond the door is kicked open.

You immediately jump up, turning to see Robin standing in the doorway with a medkit. Your eyes meet the whites of his mask and his shoulders drop a little. And then he turns to see Penguin behind glass and his shoulders raise again. “Oh, Red…” He whispers under his breath.

“Aye! Boy wonder! Took you fucking long enough to find me,” Penguin shouts.

He lifts a finger, pressing down on something. “Found her. She’s fine. I also found Penguin. He’s fine too.”

Robin walks inside. He then says your name and asks if that’s correct.

You slide a foot back. “What’s going on? Why is me being fine noted?”

He stares at you. “Because Detective Yin rung you in as missing. And Red Hood’s chip went off.”

“His—? Wait, Ellen did that?” You then remember that you had snuck out. After curfew. You quickly look at the time on your phone. It was close to one in the morning. “Fuck.”

When you look back up, Robin is stood closer, assessing you. “Yep, no bruise—” He cuts himself off. You watch as he thins his lips, cheeks puffing out slightly, as if he was holding back laughter. He grabs your elbow, quickly turning away from you, “C’mon, I’m taking you outside to Detective Yin.”

“Wait, hold on!” You try to dig your feet into the ground but Robin is way stronger. He continues to drag you away with ease. You look over your shoulder. “I promise! I promise!” You quickly tell Penguin. The last thing you see before the door shuts is his grin.

“What the hell were you thinking?!”

You stood in the middle of Ellen’s living room as she paced back and forth. You were glad she didn’t start chewing you out in front of the club. Instead, she basically shoved you into the back of a cop car. (At least the Iceberg patrons thought it was because you did something and not the fact that Ellen’s your living situation.)

“I explicitly told you not to go to the Iceberg Lounge! And I gave you a strict curfew! And I told you to stop being friendly with Red Hood!”

She’s been yelling ever since you got to the building.

“Why were you even there? To go drinking? To see Red Hood?” She guesses. “You want to drink? You can drink here! Where I can see you! You wanna see Red? You see him on the rooftop nearly every damn day!”

Your jaw clenches. Why was she scolding you like this? She’s not your mom. You’re just some adult living with her. You’re more her new, younger roommate if anything.

“Look at me, kid!”

You look.

She seems frazzled—her hair’s a mess like she ran her hands through it a million times and her button-up is all wrinkled like she had been lying in it. She smells like cigarette smoke.

“Why didn’t you tell me about my mother?” You whisper.

Ellen blinks. “What?” She finally stops yelling.

“My mother,” You repeat. “Penguin, of all people, told me that she has connections to Black Mask. Batman gave you a file regarding him because you’re working in a case that involves him. There’s no way you didn’t know.”

Ellen sighs lightly, glancing away. She debates lying but ultimately tells the truth. “I thought… it’d be for the best you didn’t know.”

You clench your jaw so hard, your teeth start to hurt. “The whole reason why I’m down here is for her!”

“Oh, come on, did you really want to know that she has connections to one of the biggest crime lords in Gotham?!”

“She’s my mother!”

Ellen rubs her eyes, realizing just now that she’s yelling at some teenager regarding her mother. “Kid. I know you’re upset—“

“No! No, you don’t know!” You take a step back. “They—The doctors told me to send her here! I didn’t know anything about Arkham. I trusted them! I thought they were gonna treat her there, not put her in with your villains!”

Ellen’s eyes soften. She takes a step forward, hand open to cup your cheek. “Kid…”

“Don’t,” You snap at her. You want to say more. You want to tell her that she’s not your family and to quit acting like she is. But she knows that already. And you know she knows that because she drops her hand and lets you walk right past her into your room.

Your eyes catch sight of the board you made regarding Red and suddenly you remember oh yeah, you had kissed Red, and you moaned Jason’s name that wasn’t some dream.

You flopped face first onto your bed. God, you hope you don’t see either of them soon…