Chapter Text
Night had settled heavy and dark over Gotham's sprawling buildings. Many places were alive with nightlife, but further downtown and into the older, smaller, and falling apart section it became progressively quieter. People retiring to their homes that they kept that way through pure determination against Crime Alley and its monsters. Outside of a building that once used to be a small grocery store, a group of two dozen men stood around. They stared into the darkness, blank-faced, waiting for something. Or nothing at all. No real task seeming to exist to give them a reason to be out this late.
They were not the only ones doing late shift tonight. from a roof across the street from them, a lone man stood watching them. a heavy black boot was propped on the edge for the man to rest against. A black armored suit covered him with the only color being that of a red bat across his chest. even that was mostly hidden by the thick brown jacket he wore unzipped. guns in their holsters were strapped low to his thighs as a black utility belt circled his hips. One thing stood out most of the man, his red helmet that completely encased his head to let no features out.
Red Hood watched the gathering below, if passively or with death brewing in his mind could not be known to any outsider. He cataloged their weapons, their stances, their tells. For himself, he was considering everything he knew about them. This had started for him two weeks ago when he had found two men shaking down a family. A young couple with three children that seemed to have just moved into an abandoned apartment in the ghettos of Gotham. The apartment had almost nothing and except a few things they had scavenged out of someone else's trash to try and make a home. They barely had the clothes on their backs and no food in their stomachs with how skeletal they all were.
There had been no doubt in Gotham's underworld crime lord's mind as he noticed all this and that the sharks were doing pretty well for themselves before he silently stalked over to them. The only thing that made him pause was the conversation he had picked up on before he revealed himself. "You know me Jose," the father was begging the men with an accent to his sincere words that pointed to Spanish being his native language. "I work hard. I find job and work long hours. I will have money soon."
One of the men nodded in seeming understanding. "You will, my friend, you will. But the boss wants to know that you are going to pay your debt."
"I will. I will. I promised. We just got here. Give me time to start." The young father reassured with fear in his dark eyes.
"Your debt is very high. do you know what it cost us to get you and your family here?" one of the men demanded.
"Much. I thank you for bringing us to America, but I only ask for time to get you what I owe," the father requested.
"How much time will that take you?" a nicer clothed man demanded as he stepped forward and slapped the Hispanic man across the face. The wife shrunk back with her small children to hide.
A rachet of a shell being slid into a chamber sounded before the muzzle was pressed to the base of one of the well doing men's skull. "How about we all discuss that," Red Hood crooned as his helmet modified his voice to make it deeper and more menacing.
They all froze. "R-Red Hoo-d," the other shaker that did not have a gun to his head stuttered as knowing of death filled his before confident eyes.
The crime lord stepped back to lazily wave his gun, "How about you gentlemen come out here to talk with me? There's no reason to let the Mrs. and the kids see anything if you're not cooperative."
"We haven't done anything," the one who recognized him said quickly.
Hood hummed to himself almost as if he didn't believe them. "We'll see. I think there are a few interesting things that you know. I would like to hear them. Let's make a deal. Anyone who cooperates doesn't get one of my eight shiny friends through their eye. If not, my friends would love to meet your kneecaps. Sound good?"
"Me too?" the father questioned with a glance at his family.
"Yes. You too. But don't worry. I think you are going to be unharmed by the end of this," Red Hood said.
A light chime sounded through Red Hood's helmet to bring him back to the present. In his view screen, a tint of glowing words came up identifying the caller as Oracle. He tapped at the side of his helmet to accept. "Yes, Oracle?"
"Hey," a woman's voice came through. "Are you going to make it to dinner tonight?"
The blue eyes behind the helmet narrowed to a glare. "Wingnut had you call me."
"Yep," a man came through the other end cheerfully, "You will never ignore, Babs' calls because they save your life and you don't want to be cut off from her information."
Hood snarled to himself at the trick as he reached up to end the call, "I'm done with this."
"Wait! Are you coming to dinner?" Nightwing asked with hope in his voice.
"No. I am never going to come to your family dinners and stop calling me. I'm busy," Hood snapped at the older vigilante.
"You're always welcome to come. There's free food and you don't have to cook," Nightwing tried.
"I don't need you or anyone else to survive," the crime lord grit out.
"Do you need any help?" Oracle questioned in concern.
"No. I have this under control, now leave me alone unless it's important," Hood snapped.
"We'll still be on standby, even if you don't need us. Love you, baby bird. Have fun," Nightwing promised.
Hood killed the call to breathe out hard. That idiot never took a hint. Every week he would call to try and get him to join some stupid family get together. Games, dinner, even patrols. He didn't understand what 'no' meant. Not even when Red Hood pressed a gun to his temple. The Bloodhaven vigilante would only smile and let the gun stay as he talked. The helmeted man shook his head hard as he huffed to force the tightness in his chest at the final words away. They always were there and ready to help him, and his pseudo-older brother loved him despite all that he was. The only one that had ever made a difference in Gotham's underworld and the one that couldn't decide to listen to the 'no kill' rule or shove it down Batman's throat.
He shoved all of that to the side as he forced the situation back into focus. That night he had found out that a group of smugglers had begun to ship people desperate to escape the hell of their South American countries to bring them to the land of freedom and opportunity. The normal states to the south that were flooded with refugees trying to save their lives were on the lookout for such smugglers, and so these ones had decided to travel more north before dropping off their cargo. And what better place to drop off unwanted things and not be noticed than in Gotham. The smugglers then required huge fees for doing this and essentially turned the illegal immigrants into lifelong slaves.
It had taken him the last two weeks to tear through all the leads and the chains of command to get more information and be to here. Watching a group of the traffickers with hopes for more that might get him to the head of management working here in Gotham. Then, further.
Someone running up the street with the streetlights catching him once in a while had the once vigilante focusing on the present. It was a boy that looked to be about twelve years-old that was sprinting towards the men. His limbs were long and much too thin like all the other refugees Hood had found that had been starving to death back in their old countries. Skin that was a nice, caramelized tone with brown hair made him seem healthier than he probably was. Hood leaned forward as he characterized the boy to find later. It was not uncommon in this system for the children to take up roles as drug carriers and information runners to try and help pay their family's debts in any way they could. This boy could have information to help him give him true freedom. A size too large t-shirt and sweatpants that were in somewhat good condition marked this child. His parents were apparently doing well enough to at least try and give their children something to live off of as well as pay their rediculous interest rates.
The boy ran to the group and stopped in front of a Hispanic man that had many shared characteristics with him. "Padre, el barco viene esta noche!"
Hood reached back into his high school classes and relentless training with Batman to translate that to 'Father, the boat is coming tonight.' That was news to be excited about. Just tell the location, kid.
"Cuándo?" the apparent father that had gotten a job in the gang itself demanded. (When?)
"Después de que pase la patrulla del puerto en aproximadamente dos horas. Luego ellos entrarán," the boy shared in excitement as he breathed slightly from the run. (After the harbor patrol passes in about two hours. Then they will come in.)
"We have time then," one of the men muttered as he sat back unbothered.
Hood's muscles began to tense as some of the men in the gang that had paused to listen to the boy did not look away. Their gazes shifting to something malicious. "Mientras esperamos," (While we wait) one of them spoke up for the father to hear. "¿Por qué no nos divertimos un poco?" (Why don't we have some fun?)
Others leaned forward in expecting excitement as most of the group just watched inanimately. "Ven, Luis. Restaremos tu deuda como siempre." (Come, Luis. We'll subtract your debt as always.)
Luis smiled, resting a hand on his son’s shoulder, thin, trembling, unwilling. "Por supuesto. Puedes tenerlo cuando quieras." (Of course. You may have him whenever you wish.)
The boy did not walk easily as he hung back in his father's hold as he was brought into the gang. "Por favor, padre. No otra vez," he begged so softly the Red Hood barely heard him through his audio. The words had all the conversations and watching meaning so much more than before. The lone watcher could only pray similar words that what he was thinking was not what was happening. (Please, father. Not again.)
"Silencio! Estás pagando tu deuda," Luis ordered as he shoved the boy forward. (Quiet! You're paying your debt.)
The men that were leering pounced before the boy could regain his balance. Strong hands grasping and pulling at thin limbs. As the oversized t-shirt flopped against the faded and cracked asphalt, a shot cracked out. A man screamed in pain as he pulled his hand from the boy's sweatpants waistband to grasp the blood spilling down his arm. More shots went off to slam the gang members back by their arms and shoulders before the boy was left sprawled in the sudden clearing.
Men scrambled to their feet as a figure dropped from the opposite rooftop. The distinct helmet and jacket came into the light then as the magazine was ejected from the gun in one hand for a full fresh one to slam into place. "Red Hood," one of the men whispered in recognition.
"The boss wants him dead. He's been causing problems," another called as he charged.
The slide of the gun went back to snap into place with a sound that had become final as the barrel came up on them. "How about I give you some?" The report of the bullet leaving the chamber came before the charger collapsed as his ankle went out.
Black combat boots thudded against the oil-stained concrete as he came, boots cracking against faded lines and broken glass. His red helmet caught the flicker of a dying streetlamp. The gang scattered, some reached for weapons, others froze mid-step.
The boy’s oversized shirt lay crumpled near a rusted parking bumper. The boy stared at him with wide terrified eyes before he dove behind a public trash can.
CRACK. A shot rang out. One man dropped, clutching his shoulder. Another lunged, Red Hood fired low. A kneecap shattered. Screams echoed off the concrete walls.
He moved like a machine built for vengeance. Precise, brutal, silent between shots. A rusted and broken pipe swung toward him. He ducked, countered with an elbow to the throat. The pipe clattered to the ground.
Two men tried to flank him. Red Hood spun, kicked one in the ribs, then grabbed the other by the collar and slammed him face-first into a parking meter. The metal bent with the impact.
Another charged with a crowbar. Red Hood sidestepped, grabbed the man’s wrist, and twisted until bone cracked. The crowbar dropped. Red Hood caught it mid-fall and drove it into the attacker’s stomach, sending him sprawling. "Where do all you creeps keep getting those? What do you use them for to be carrying around to these get togethers?"
A fourth man fired wildly from behind a dumpster. Red Hood dropped to one knee, aimed, and shot the gun clean out of his hand. The man screamed, clutching his fingers as blood sprayed across the pavement.
The parking lot echoed with chaos. Gunfire, groans, the scrape of boots on concrete. Red Hood kept moving, kept firing. Every shot was deliberate. Every strike had purpose.
The boy scrambled farther back, ducking around the corner of the building to peek back around. He watched the fight with eyes wide and heart pounding. His deep blue eyes flicking about to take in everything before focusing on one place.
Red Hood reloaded mid-motion, ejecting the magazine with a flick and slamming a fresh one into place. He pivoted, fired again, another man dropped.
Only a few remained now. They hesitated, unsure whether to flee or fight.
Hood paused as a gun centered on his chest too many feet away for him to redirect the shot. Luis held the firearm with no tremble as an emotionless expression of a man that knew what he was doing and had done it before was in place. Bang! The Gothamite threw himself to the side to roll low and back to his knees to avoid the shot to freeze as the Hispanic man collapsed to the ground with blood flooding around his head. The gun in his hand skittering away with the safety not yet pressed off. The death was not surprising. The crime lord had taken more than his share of lives, but it wasn't him that had taken this one. He raised his helmet for the view screen inside to shift towards where the shot had to be fired from. The shirtless boy with dark bruises covering his hollow ribs stood with his feet planted firmly apart and the gun in his clasped hands being held steady.
A few seconds later, the dark eyes widened as it sunk in what he had done, and the gun lowered.
Red Hood scanned the parking lot at the action as he got to his feet. Three men still standing, bloodied but determined. No fancy gear. Just fists, desperation, and whatever they could grab. One yanked a tire iron from the back of a pickup. Another pulled a switchblade from his boot. The third gripped a broken bottle, jagged edges catching the light. They didn’t wait.
The man with the tire iron charged first, swinging wide. Red Hood ducked, caught the man’s wrist, and drove a punch into his ribs. The tire iron clanged to the pavement, but the man didn’t drop. He tackled Red Hood into the side of a car. Metal dented. Red Hood twisted, elbowed him off, but the others were already closing in.
The one with the bottle slashed at his helmet. Glass scraped across the visor. Red Hood kicked him back, but the blade-wielder was already behind him. A sharp sting, steel slicing across his thigh. Red Hood grunted, spun, and fired a shot into the man’s shoulder. He dropped the knife, screaming. The boy flinched where he stood watching the chaos explode. Red Hood was surrounded, bleeding, distracted.
Red Hood slammed the bottle-wielder into the hood of a car, then turned to finish the last man still standing. Red Hood fired once more. The last man dropped. Silence.
He turned, scanning the space of scattered and wounded bodies about. Only one of them was truly dead, and it had not been him to put that bullet where it rightfully belonged. His helmet turned as he shifted to search the entire space, but the boy was gone. The view screen inside the dreaded mask picked out an abandoned item on the filthy asphalt. He walked over to it in deliberate calm strides with the cut on his leg stinging. He knelt down to pick up the small shirt that had been too large for its wearer. The boy's face and eyes right beside it in his mind. The pride and excitement to be helping his father. The terror but accepting as he was thrown to the wolves. Decision in grasping the abandoned gun and ending the one that was trying to destroy him. That near glaze of death at realizing he had taken a life.
Red Hood stood as he scanned for which way would be the most likely one for the boy to take. He had to find him. Help him before for the guilt ate him alive and destroyed him for the rest of his life. He ran a few steps down the street before pausing to look back at the suffering men. There was going to be a boat of illegal immigrants being brought in soon. There wasn't time to help the boy and stop the smugglers. For a moment he forced his breathing to even as frustration and anger built in him. His gloved hand reached up to tap at the side of his helmet.
A few seconds later Nightwing's voice came through. "Jaybird? What's going on?"
The worry in that voice at just calling the acrobat made the guilt and weight inside of the lone man's chest worse. "I need some help," Hood mumbled as if he could back out of this.
"What's wrong? I'm on my way," Nightwing said as the mumble of conversation on his side ended, and a chair was pushed back fast.
"Nothing bad. I just have some garbage that I can't clean up at the moment and a boat I need to intercept but can't," Hood said as he turned to run down the street.
"Guys! Come on! Damian, Steph, you go check on the declared 'garbage'. Send Babs the coordinates, baby bird," Nightwing ordered.
Jason clenched his jaw at the unquestioned assistance forming in mass despite himself being the black sheep of the Batfamily. "Thanks," he mumbled after a few seconds.
"Always. What are we going into? Cause there's more than a few holes in this net of a plan," the Bloodhaven vigilante said cheerfully.
"I'll explain later. I'll even come to the Batcave, just arrest all men in charge and don't let the people get hurt." Red Hood ordered as he paused at an interception to gaze in all directions, lost to where the boy could have decided to go before he took to the roof top to continue to try. "And maybe get some fingerprints and what not from the body so we can ID him."
"I'm not going to tell B about that right now, but you better be ready for the storm when he does. Do you want me to pick you up when you're done?" Nightwing questioned.
Gotham's crime lord grappled off of his roof into the darkness. "I might take you up on that."