Chapter Text
Jason felt the shift between them. He watched the way Dick leaned up onto his tiptoes, just barely hooking their fingers together, grinning like he didn’t know what it meant to be afraid. Panic started building in Jason’s chest, thick and fast.
What the fuck.
…
Nightwing and Red Hood were patrolling the Narrows, no missions, no stakeouts. It was supposed to be a quiet night with the way Duke was complaining about his hectic Sunday. Nightwing was even spotted at a shitty burger joint, buying a huge bag of fries and an ungodly amount of ketchup.
Red Hood was leaning against a swamp cooler on a rooftop only a few blocks away from Arkham Asylum. Dick landed with a flashy roll and bounced up on his feet with an even more flashy bow. A scoff was heard underneath the whirring of the Red Hood’s helmet before he hissed in anger as Nightwing threw the bag of fries at the glowing helmet with thwack.
“Gotcha Dinner!”
“Who told you to get dinner?” The meltaic voice of Red Hood spoke in a low tone.
Nightwing shrugged as he moved to stand beside Jason, sneakily trying to grab a few fries from the greasy bag, “You seemed hangry and I mean hangry little wing. Punched a goon so bad I think he turned to God.”
Red Hood scoffed as he held the bag away from the man before he could get a single one, “Says the one who sucker-punched a guy’s nuts just an hour ago.”
Nightwing’s mouth opened in faux shock as he crossed his arms with a loud scoff, “The man said Superman was mid at best. I did what I had too!”
Red Hood pushed off the cooler as he grabbed a handful of fries and shoved it against his helmet, “Superman is mid at best, Wonder Woman is so much cooler than that flying lump of muscle.”
Nightwing’s gaze followed the fries falling from Red Hood’s helmet as he gasped in a very loud faux gagged tone, “Woah! Pump the brakes little wing. What's with the Superman hate?”
Red Hood copied Dick and crossed his arms over his chest with a mocking voice, “WhAt’S wItH tHe SuPeRmAn HaTe. I know about him and the Joker.”
Nightwing uncrossed his arms with a disgusted face as he flicked his gaze back at the helmet, “First off, ewww . Second off, are they really boning?”
Red Hood gagged as he visibly shivered and threw the greasy bag at Dick’s head, “No Dickface, I know the truth about what happened with Joker after my death!”
“Hey! Dickface is my middle name!” Nightwing pointed a finger at Jason before he pursed his lips with a thoughtful expression, “Also, you know about Joker being an ambassador in Iran and his stupid political immunity.”
Red Hood froze mid-rant. “What? No. That Superman hel— wait.” He stared. “ HE WAS AN AMBASSADOR?! ”
Nightwing plucked a fry from his hair and shoved it in his mouth, still speaking through a dramatic pout. “Aw, come on, dude. Who doesn’t know Joker was an ambassador?”
Red Hood gestures both of his hands at himself with intensity, “Fucking me I guess!”
Nightwing rolled his eyes as he dropped his pout and leaned back, “We all know about your short-comings Hood.” Snorting, Nightwing lazily waved around a hand, “But I digress, what were you saying about Joker and my boy Superman.”
Red Hood scoffed as he looked down at the greasy bag spilling fries over the roof, “You owe my new fries Shitwing and really? Your boy ?.”
Nightwing gave an ‘are you serious face’ as he followed Red Hood’s gaze, “Woah Shitwing, real original. Also, I don’t owe you anything.” Nightwing pointed a blue finger at Red Hood, “You threw the bag at my beautiful head.”
Red Hood shook his head with a scoff as he slightly turned away from Dick to snort to himself, “Beautiful is the biggest lie I have ever heard. Troll fits your face better.”
Nightwing began to dramatically pout as Red Hood paused for a moment before continuing on, “No… I know about Superman stopping B.”
The pout slowly dropped from Nightwing’s lips as his eyes narrowed behind the domino mask, “Superman stopped B-man from doing a lot of things Hood. Gonna need to be more specific there bud.”
Red Hood turned his head toward him, the whir of the helmet low and steady. “You know what I’m talking about. Don’t lie, fucker.”
Nightwing sighed and held up both hands. “Whoa, whoa. Chill. Being honest here, my guy. What did Superman do?”
Silence settled between them.
Red Hood turned to look at Arkham in the distance. Nightwing waited for a few long moments, hands on his hips, watching the back of that red helmet.
“…Or you could not tell me,” Nightwing said finally, fake scoffing as he turned to leave. He was tired—tired of pulling teeth, of trying to get Jason to talk when all he did was shut down.
“You could give me a fucking moment.” The voice came out sharp, low, and raw .
Nightwing stopped. Slowly turned back around. One eyebrow arched. “Well?”
Red Hood talked with his back facing Nightwing, his shoulders slightly tense as he spat out with metallic venom, “I know Superman ain’t worth shit. He stopped B from killing that fucking clown.” There was a pause as the helmet turned away from both the asylum and Nightwing, “...B was going to do it you know … when you were still in disco space or whatever .”
With a sigh, Nightwing walked up beside Red Hood, resting his gloved hand onto that worn leather jacket Red Hood wore like a second skin. He did not say anything for a few beats before sighing, “I think my discowing suit is still my best yet.”
There was a tiny chuckle that Nightwing almost missed beneath the helmet’s whirring.
“You don’t have to try to make me feel fucking better, Dickface.” Another chuckle followed. “And for the record, that suit should be studied. Like, by mental health professionals.”
Nightwing rolled his eyes and patted Red Hood’s shoulder before dropping his hand.
“Come on, we both know it wasn’t even that bad. Now The Drake … that was the real crime.”
He relaxed a little when Red Hood snorted and looked over at him. “Brown is not that little shit’s color.”
A smile tugged at Nightwing’s lips. He nodded dramatically in agreement. “Everyone could use a little fun color in their lives.”
A comfortable silence settled between them. Then Nightwing slowly spoke, careful with his words. “...I think Superman had only the best intentions, Hood. He—” He hesitated, just for a second. “We all did. After everyone found out.”
Red Hood had nothing to say to that, instead just staring at the streets below. Sirens could be heard cutting into the air for the typical Gotham ambience. Tapping the toe of his boot, Red Hood mumbled, “I waited for it after I came back, you know? For him to do it. Thought I’d feel peace if Joker was finally gone.”
Nightwing was quiet beside him as he turned to look at the asylum with an odd purse to his lips.
With a shaky breath, Red Hood mumbled on, “I thought maybe if he saw me , knew I was alive, he would give a shit.” Red Hood threw up his hands with a shrug, “I don’t know…I think a part of me wanted to know B would do anything for his kids, but he has always been a good man, huh?”
Nightwing didn’t respond right away. His mouth opened, then closed. He exhaled through his nose, gaze fixed on Arkham’s looming silhouette. “ …Good ,” he echoed quietly. “Yeah. He always tries to be, doesn’t he?”
There was something in his tone. Soft. Bitter. Like the word left a taste behind he didn’t expect. Red Hood did not turn to look at him, but he felt the shift.
“I used to believe that,” Nightwing added, almost to himself. “That being good meant never crossing that line. Never killing. No matter what.”
Red Hood let out a dry, humorless laugh. “You still believe it?”
There was a pause.
Nightwing looked away from Arkham and stared holes into the back of the helmet, “…I don’t know.” Nightwing shrugged. “But I think… if someone hurt you that bad and kept on living… I’d want to be the one to end it too.”
Red Hood’s head twitched slightly toward him. Not a full look. But it was something.
“You would’ve done it?” His voice was quiet. An odd little crack. “ You would’ve killed Joker?”
Nightwing didn’t answer right away as he looked back at the expanse of the narrows. He walked about to the ledge and sat down, the wind tousling his hair in front of his eyes. Nightwing’s stomach churned as he stared down at his gloved hands and saw phantom red dripping into his lap.
“I did .”
“...What.”
Nightwing knew Red Hood was fully facing him now, but he kept staring at his hands and clenched them softly. A bitter laugh ripped past his lips, “B-man never told you?”
Thundering footsteps approached Nightwing as he dropped his hands in his lap. Red Hood kicked his back with his boot, careful to not put enough force to kick Nightwing off the ledge, “ What are you talking about Dick?”
When Nightwing did not answer, Red Hood kicked his back harder. “Say it again,” Red Hood snapped, voice rough now. “Tell me you’re not screwing with me.”
Nightwing didn’t flinch at the kick, didn’t move to defend himself. He just kept his eyes on the horizon, like if he looked at Jason, the truth would somehow hurt more.
“I’m not messing with you,” he said quietly, almost to himself. “I killed him with my own hands. A few years back.”
Red Hood stared, jaw clenched behind the helmet. “That’s impossible. He’s alive. I saw him—”
The sound of a gunshot interrupted Red Hood, sounding about only a mile away. Nightwing’s head snapped towards the sound and he groaned. He quickly sprung up and grabbed one of his escrima sticks.
“Of course,” Red Hood muttered. “Gotham never knows when to fucking sleep.”
Red Hood hadn’t moved. Not at first.
He was still staring at Nightwing. The way the older man so easily shifted back into mission mode, like he hadn’t just confessed to murdering the fucking Joker .
But this was the job, wasn’t it? Gotham first, yourselves last.
“You coming?” Nightwing asked over his shoulder, one foot already hanging off of the ledge.
Red Hood didn’t answer right away. The helmet’s red glow watched Dick's back. Then, without a word, he drew his grappling hook and followed, vaulting after him across the rooftops.
They moved in tandem, not perfect, not fluid, but practiced.
Halfway over the second building, Red Hood finally spat out through his helmet, “This isn’t over Dickface.”
Nightwing didn’t look back, but he sounded older than he was. “I know.”
…
Red Hood’s boots hit the asphalt of the alley behind a small convenience store. The back door was already kicked open thanks to Nightwing as Red Hood retracted his grappling hook. He clipped it on his utility belt and drew his pistol. Shaking his shoulders a bit, he ran in as shouting spilled out into the alleyway.
The inside of the convenience store had seen better days. Shelves were knocked over, causing boxes and broken glass to skitter across the floor. The doors to the freezer were torn off their hinges and thrown haphazardly about.
Red Hood clocked two teenage boys, no older than 15, ducking under a toppled over shelf. The sound of Nightwing fighting someone filled his ears, he would be fine on his own for right now. Red Hood re-holstered his gun, not wanting to frighten the boys further as he heard mumblings of a catholic prayer from one.
It took a bit longer than he wanted, but Red Hood was able to coax the boys out from beneath the shelf. He ushered them out of the backdoor and out of the alleyway. Red Hood was telling them to run to the police station, but he knew they wouldn’t. They were from the Narrows after all.
Red Hood was about to run in and help Nightwing when one of the boys grabbed his arm, “Please! Our friend is still there! His name is Dante! Please !”
Gently prying the boy’s hand off his arm, he just nodded, “Got it. Now go .”
Red Hood turned without another word, boots crunching over glass and splintered wood as he ducked back into the wreckage.
His eyes immediately scanned around for the boy, realizing he should have asked for a description. Gums packs and candy bars were crushed under his feet as Red Hood looked under every nook and cranny for the sign of the boy or anyone else. As he looked by the bathroom, he vaguely saw Nightwing fighting off three guys at once.
Red Hood knew the man would be fine. He needed to get that kid out first before they were hit with a poorly aimed bullet.
A quiet whimper gained Red Hood’s attention and his stomach dropped as he saw a scrawny boy wedged between two boxes behind Nightwing. Nightwing clearly did not notice the boy by the way he was slowly backing up closer to him.
Red Hood’s breath hitched.
“Shit.”
“Nightwing!” he barked.
The man pivoted instinctively, narrowly dodging a pipe to the ribs and shot to his shoulders.
Red Hood jerked his head toward the kid. “Behind you. There's a kid—get him out. Now. ”
For just a second, their eyes met across the room.
No hesitation.
Nightwing immediately disengaged, rolling out of range with practiced ease and sprinting toward the boy. He dropped to his knees beside him, voice low and sweet but urgent as he helped lift the kid up into his arms.
Red Hood huffed and turned back toward the fight.
“You guys really picked the wrong fucking night.”
One of the men laughed and swung with a rusty pipe. Red Hood met him with a hard elbow to the jaw. The man groaned and stumbled back.
Another swung wide with the hilt of their gun. Red Hood ducked under, grabbed the gun mid-swing, and yanked it forward, slamming the guy’s face into his knee. The man fell to the ground with a thump as Red Hood heard the crunching of glass.
A third tried to run.
Red Hood shot him in the leg with a rubber bullet that would be sure to welt in seconds. The man went down screaming.
The first guy rubbed at his jaw and steadied his pipe once more. He aimed at Red Hood’s ankles and reached for the second guy’s gun. Though before his hands could grab it, Red Hood stomped on his ankles and a sick crack filled the air. A scream tore from the man’s lip as he went to cradle it with trembling fingers.
Red Hood looked at the three on the ground and scoffed. It took him seconds to take them down, but he knew Nightwing was not trying to hurt them. He swallowed down the insults he wanted to throw over at his shoulder towards the man. There was still that kid there.
He went about dragging the three men together and tying them up with some rope he found under a shelf. After making sure it was painfully tight for them, he turned around with a snarky remark on his tongue and froze.
That Dante kid was still there, but he looked frozen in fear as he stared down in front of him. Red Hood’s eyes narrowed behind the helmet. “Hey, kid—”
Then he followed the boy’s gaze and his stomach flipped.
There was a small boy with black curls and warm, tan skin. He looked no older than 4 or maybe even 5 as his little head turned to face Red Hood with the bluest eyes he has ever seen. The boy did not move nor cry as he blinked up at Jason with a tilt to his head, curls falling over his eyes.
Red Hood took a cautious step forward, subconsciously lowering his voice. “Hey, buddy. You okay?”
Dante was mumbling out incoherent apologizing towards Red Hood causing the man to pause and look away from the small boy. Red Hood turned slightly to glance back at Dante, who was shaking like a leaf, arms curled tightly around himself. His words were tumbling out in panicked fragments— “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—he was just there—I didn’t—he wasn’t—”
Red Hood frowned, one hand briefly twitching toward his comm. “Kid, breathe. What are you—”
A soft voice cut through the space behind him.
“ Where’s Mami? Tati? .” Red Hood snapped his head back towards the boy as he spoke in Romani.
Red Hood could hear his heart give a hard thump in his chest. “…What did you just say?”
The boy pursed his lips in confusion, clearly not understanding what Red Hood was saying. A chill slithered up Red Hood’s spine as behind him, Dante gave a sob and bolted for the alleyway, nearly slipping in the glass. Red Hood didn’t stop him. He couldn’t look away.
The boy was still watching him, like he was trying to puzzle Red Hood out. One small hand reached up to rub his eye with a tired yawn, “ Mami? Tati? ” The Romani accent and dialect thick on his tongue.
Red Hood was starting to piece it together when he saw the Nightwing suit loosely hanging off of the boy’s frame and the blue domino mask resting in his lap. Holy shit. Holy fucking shit.
The weight of it crashed down like a punch to the gut. This kid… this kid is Nightwing.
Red Hood immediately pressed the on switch to the comm built in his helmet. His voice cracked through the comm static, tense and clipped, “Oracle, this is Red Hood. I’ve got a situation — an injured kid, four or five years old, matching Nightwing’s gear. Confirming identity now. Need immediate evac and backup at the Narrows, sending location now.”
…
Blue eyes watched the older man in front the whole time as the boy was still mumbling out for his parents in Romani. Tiny hands started picking at the very heavy blue and black fabric draped over him like a sheet. His parents would never let him wear something this heavy, especially when they were on the trapeze.
Dick watched with confusion as the man in front of him talked in a language he did not understand. Mr. Haley would sometimes speak like this when he was in the ring and under that hot spotlight. Though Mr. Haley always sounded chirper, not panicked and angry like the man was in front of him.
Tilting his head side to side, he tried to pick out a few words he somewhat knew. He pouted to himself when he recognized basically nothing. The man in front of him was quickly losing his interest as the boy started to look around.
It was clear this wasn’t Mami’s and Tati’s trailer and the big top as he looked around at the broken glass and pushed over shelves. He kept looking around in boredom till he saw a clear bag filled with orangish-pinkish peanut looking sweets. The sweets were tempting, but the cartoonish drawing of an elephant on the plastic bag caught his attention.
Moving to stand, causing a startled shout from the man, Dick walked a few feet to bend down and pick up the bag. His chubby finger traced the thick, black outline of the elephant with a found smile. It looked like Zitka, his best friend.
Dick was going to turn around and show the angry man with a red head, maybe it would make him feel better. Maybe his head would turn green. Giggling, Dick held out the bag and paused when he saw the man shouting to himself and quickly shrugging off his jacket.
The boy titled his head in confusion as the man scrambled towards him with the jacket in hand. He kind of looked like a monkey to Dick, causing him to giggle again.
As the man quickly neared, Dick held the bag out, eyes bright with the hope of sharing a moment, a connection. “ Look! Zitka ,” he said loudly, his voice carrying a confident pride.
The man did not answer, but instead wrapped the jacket around Dick with frantic movements. Dick titled his head as he watched the man zip it up with a sigh of relief, the kind Tati makes when Dick does a cartwheel just right.
The jacket practically swallowed him whole, the sleeves dragging past his hands and the hem brushing his ankles, but Dick didn’t mind. It was warm and smelled like something smokey and earthy. It smelled like that old lady who would read his palm before bed every night.
The packet of circus peanuts was still in his hands as he looked back down at it. He smiled to himself as he moved the packet side to side, imaging Zitka running around the ring as he heard the man stand up and the crunch of glass.
…
Red Hood groaned as he stood up, Oracle already had Batman and Robin on their way. He looked back at the now-abandoned Nightwing suit and mask and groaned as he went to pick them up. He paused when he heard soft crunching following behind him.
He looked over his shoulder to find the boy—Tiny Dick maybe—following behind with a curious smile, that stupid packet of sweets still in his hands.
Red Hood swallowed to himself, turning fully to face him. “Hey, careful,” he said, voice low but softer this time. “You’ll cut your feet up on all that glass.”
Tiny Dick just tilted his head in confusion. Right, he couldn’t understand English. Red Hood was really trying to rack his brain on the Romani he had learned years ago when Dick still wore that hideous Discowing suit.
With an unsure grunt, Red Hood tried his best, “ Careful. Glass stabs feet. ” It didn’t sound right to his own ears, but the way Dick lit up with a smile told him it was good enough.
To his credit, Dick actually listened and carefully looked down at his feet as he walked right beside Red Hood. The boy moved to stand on his tippy toes and curled one tiny hand around Red Hood’s gloved fingers with a smile. His other hand held up the packet of circus peanuts, the jacket sleeve moving down to his elbow, “ Zitka! ”
The packet crinkled as the boy gave it a little shake, clearly expecting some sort of shared celebration, some mutual joy. Red Hood offered a shaky exhale of a chuckle, and that seemed to be enough for the boy. He rocked on his feet, curls bouncing, face bright.
Oracle jolted Red Hood a bit as she spoke, “Batman’s en route. Robin too. They’re two minutes out.”
Red Hood hummed low in acknowledgment, but his gaze never left the kid beside him. Two minutes. Just two more minutes of this strange quiet and this tiny hand in his. Jason shifted the mask and suit in his other hand, his jaw tight. There were a thousand questions clawing at the back of his throat, but none that a four-year-old could answer.