Chapter Text
Red Hood’s knuckles collide with a goons jaw, the sound of a body thumping to the floor drowned by the groans of other idiots who found themselves thinking it would be a great idea to try and smuggle drugs to kids in his turf.
Honestly, were the eight, shoulderless heads not enough of a cautionary tale? Jason may have traded his metal bullets for rubber ones, but come on. How much broken bones does one have to repeatedly endure in order to get the message across? A bullet between the eyes would probably be a mercy at this point, but then Jason thinks about his family and the bull they would give him. And to be completely honest? He kinda liked being in their good graces.
Spending so much time away from home, something Jason found that he can stomach reclaiming lately– away from people who were his family, left a dull ache in his chest. (Or maybe it was his bruised ribs. He gets a lot of those)
And yeah, he may have only started making an effort for Alfred’s sake, the man could make a mean lasagna– but a guy who’s spent the last few years of his life training with deadly assassins in a post-Lazarus pit haze has needs, okay? Fuck it all if he has priorities.
Jason’s busy patting down Unlucky Fucker #4 when the small sound of a sneaker thumping against the pavement is the only warning he has before the deafening crack of a gun goes off.
Now. Training with Batman and the League of Assassins have pretty much given Jason some sort of immunity to flinching at the sound of a gun firing off. It was hard to break at first, coming from a neighborhood like Crime Alley, but getting shot at and eventually doing the shooting himself pretty much cemented the idea that the only reaction towards the sound is to dodge and maybe shoot back.
But can you really call it flinching away when the barrel of a gun is two fucking feet from your face?
Jason’s ears explode with pain, the sensation curling up in his ears and barricading itself inside with a little mild tinnitus as its defense. His world rocks on his center a bit, but he clamps his eyes shut and recovers enough footing to launch himself at the waist of now Unlucky Fuck #5, because frankly, he just shot the god damned hornets nest.
His fists may have come back a bit bloodier than Bruce would’ve preferred, but it wouldn’t be because he bashed the guys face in. Because really, Jason’s kinda having a hard time actually hitting his target below him and not the grimy asphalt. His vision eventually stops swaying around and he can effectively send his attacker back to the land of the inelegantly unconscious.
“Fuck,” Jason thinks he says, but he isn’t quite sure. His ears still feel like they were stuffed with cotton and occasionally being poked at with a pin needle. He grasps onto both sides of his head, and when he’s convinced that his brains aren’t going to spill out onto his lap, he gingerly removes the red helmet and tosses it aside.
The Lazarus Pit can do some pretty cool things to you when it’s done shredding up your mind and spitting it out in a green mush. It pretty much gives you the healing factor on par with gods, as far as cuts, burns, and other puncture wounds are concerned. But a bullet to the skull? Ha! Gonna have to suck it up to the Ra’s so your impromptu spa treatment keeps you alive for another day with less lead in your brain.
His fingers card through his black hair, shaking with the possibility that he may just be double dead and is experiencing some sort of post brain death hallucination. Though upon contact, the only pain is still only from his throbbing ear drums. No bumps, blood, or holes felt on the good ole noggin.
Jason barks out a laugh. “Fuck,” he shouts again, eloquently. A blank round, what are his fucking chances? His palms abandon his head, now finding suction on the concrete below him. He hangs his bullet-free head and tries to breathe through the worst of the ringing in his ears. His helmet was meant to take a good hit now and then, designed specifically to accommodate his usual weapon choice so he didn’t lose his hearing by thirty, but he was still in the business of getting shot at every other day so he needed to be able to hear the environment around him at least a little.
After a few moments, the shaking in his limbs slowly subsided along with the ringing in his ears. His ears still feel like they have all of his hopes and dreams stuffed in there, because when he tentatively puts the helmet back on he can only guess as to what is being said on comms.
“-Robin is on his way, okay? Hood, answer me damn it!”
Oops. Not the best time to go radio silent on Babs. Considering she was probably on comms when the gun went off and he yanked his helmet off (which monitored his vitals, per Bruce’s insistence) probably didn’t paint (another) very pretty picture for the Bats.
Jason grimaces at the headache that’s going to be forming soon, and maybe just a little bit at Barbara’s expense. His only response only cued more yelling that he couldn’t even begin to comprehend yet.
“O, I’m fine. Jus’ had to get some air,” he tried airily.
“Y— ine? —d! Jus—“
“Kay, hold on. Hearin’ is all shot to hell, but I’m fine, O. Tell the brat to go back home,” He breathes deep one more time, trying to recall what exactly a proper report means when it's being given to older sister. “Little scuffed up, but no more than usual. Had a close call, but all the damage was auditory. Guys down, same with his buddies, Gordon knows, standard drill,”
He cuts off the next onslaught of voices, and Jason has to internally groan because now it's plural.
“Okay! Well, I’m clearly coherent and telling you that I’m fine, thank you,”
He leans back against the cold alley wall, head cocked to the side as he waits for Barbara to realize that he still can’t understand her. In the meantime, he lets out a few promises about calling in for the night, compromised hearing and all that.
Jason is already mounting on his bike when he registers a presence at the edge of his awareness. Something chilly, it cuts through his jacket and leaves goosebumps in its wake despite the July humidity. It’s unnerving to say the least, Jason swears he can feel his skin trying to itch away from him– or whatever is currently in this alley with him.
His hands draw to his holster, and the longer he stands there rigidly, the more distinct the feeling makes itself known. He looks over the limp bodies on the ground, noting the lack of movement. He cranes his head as he scans the rooftops for someone he can shoot, or heckle at; if Robin really is about to show up.
Then again, he’s in Crime Alley and just got done with some of Black Mask’s boys, so he really doubts that he’s out of the woods yet.
His eyes spots a child peering around the edge of the building making up the alley, likely a kid from the area investigating the noise from earlier. Not a very smart kid, any street kid smart enough to survive in Crime Alley knew better than to be on the streets this late– but a kid nonetheless.
The short girl sports a thick white sweatshirt with black stripes down the arms, the end of each extending far past her wrists and dangling loosely off her arms. Despite how large the sweatshirt is, a bright green wrist band is worn comfortably over it on the right hand. And need it be reminded that its the hottest fucking month of the year? At least the acid-washed denim overalls she has are the shorts kind. Dark green Converse line her feet, with equally colored ties binding the pigtails in her brown hair.
He cautiously approaches the young girl, her green eyes tracking him as intensely as his are. He’s no stranger to escorting kids back home, if they even had one to go back to. Though those instances were few and far in between since his operation kicked up. People knew what happened to them if any child under Red Hood’s protection was preyed on.
The girl can’t be more than seven, and given her clean clothes, lack of any visible bruises, and the fullness to her cheeks, he deduced that she’s most likely not homeless and certainly not from Crime Alley either. Doesn’t deduce problems at home though, given she’s in the crime capital of America with no parental figure in sight.
Oh right. Multiple unconscious bodies behind him in the alley and a little girl being approached by the man responsible.
“Heya kid,” he says, crouching down and gun long since reholstered, vaguely motioning behind him. “Don’t you worry bout those guys. Just had to remind them that little kiddies like you aren’t meant to be out this late alone, right?”
The girl stares at him with wide eyes and furrowed brows for a long moment, hands still palming the brick wall and obscuring half her body from his view. Definitely not from Crime Alley then, if she doesn’t recognize the Red Hood.
The silence stretched for a while longer before Jason sighed. He doubted she would tell him her name if he asked. Kids usually have this weird instinct not to tell adults their names, and he can relate. Maybe those stranger danger programs in the 90’s finally hit it home with the newer generation.
“…Alright, well, none of my business I guess. You got your own style, I get it. I still wanna make sure your safe though. Want me to help you back home?”
He motions over his shoulder to the bike behind him, the girl's eyes widening just a bit before giving a curt nod. Jason takes her hand, still covered thickly by the long sleeves that hide her arms, and hoists her onto the bike.
“Alright kiddo, lead the way,”
They drive down a few blocks before the quiet girl points at a road to the right. Then a left, and another three streets before pointing right again. She doesn’t mutter a word the entire time, and Jason maybe assumes she’s just nervous. Then he deducts that she just wanted extra time on his bike, because he just realized they circled the neighborhood.
“Kid, do you know where ya going?” He asks levelly, despite the slight tint of exasperation in it. The girl nods her head furiously, the habit almost reminiscent of a tinier Tim whenever he giddily answered any questions pre-Ethiopia Jason had for him. Her head thumps lightly against his chest armor as she does so, and while the action clearly isn’t meant to be damaging to either of them, Jason still wraps an arm around the girl in case her movements get any more frantic.
After the same show of passing by run down streets and a few of the working girls, Jason draws out a very long sigh as he realizes that his night is going to be a lot longer than he thought. But hey, the ringing in his ears are completely gone and no longer demanding he sacrifice his cochlea– so he takes the small bone given to him and only sighs.
He redirects his bike to Gotham proper, the bike soundlessly gliding over the asphalt. “Alright kid, here what’s gonna happen. You’re lost, and I can’t take you home, so I’m gonna drop you off with a friend so he can help find you somewhere to sleep the rest of the night, kay?”
Typically, she doesn’t say anything. She does still a bit as the bike picks up speed across the city, but otherwise remains passive to the change of plans. Jason thanks whoever is listening that the kid is so… easy. Usually he has to pull teeth whenever kids in the Alley need any kind of help. Skepticism keeps you alive in Gotham, though he’s patient with the snarky children he hands off food to because he was in their shoes once. Shelters are dangerous, but the Red Hood just a little bit less.
After two minutes Jason pulls up to GCPD with Commissioner Gordon outside already waiting.
“Hey kiddo,” Gordon greets, and Jason will pretend that the older man didn’t look at him first as he said that, “Did you enjoy the ride? You’re real lucky, not too many people get a first class ride with Hood over here,” The girl lets herself be deposited off the bike by Jason, though she stays firmly by his side when Gordon offers a hand to her.
“Not much of a talker, Gordon. I tried,” Jason said, the distinct feeling of his pant leg being scrunched into a small fist registered. “Hoping you could figure out a placement for her until morning,”
The older man lets out a hmph, hand falling down to his side. “What, Batman didn’t feel like adopting another stray?”
“Obviously she’s from your side of town,” Jason said with an eyeroll. As if Tim and his whole familial fiasco didn’t exist but whatever– Bruce really did have an issue with wayward kids. “Don’t know how she ended up all the way out in the Alley, though.”
“She’s lucky you got to her first,” Gordon remarks, and Jason doesn’t need to remind him to send the girls files to him in the morning. He isn’t shy about reminding parents on how to do their job.
Gordon switched his attention to the girl, crouching so he’s more level with the stranger and hopefully not as intimidating. “But we’ll work on that later, alright hon? It’s late and I bet you're tired after being out all night. We got a few beds available, how’s that sound?”
Gordon doesn’t expect an answer, but he again stands back up with a hand outstretched. The girl looks up at him expectantly, brows furrowed and lips pursed. And good lord please don’t be an overly attached kid, he already has Tim to fill that spot in his weird family dynamic, Jason prays desperately.
“Go on, Jim’ll take good care of you, promise. And if he doesn’t,” he crouches to her height, puts a hand to hide his mouth despite the mask over it, and stage whispers conspiratorially, “I’ll break into his closet and dump glitter everywhere. Maybe take a bite out of every slice of cheese in his fridge. Waddya say kid? That verdict sound fair to you?”
Jason doesn’t include the actual threats behind his assurances. Not that he’s worried about Gordon ever, ever laying his hands on a child, but because little kids don’t need more paranoid thoughts swirling around their head when a stranger threatens violence on their behalf.
The little girl lips part to a loose smile, though it vanishes as soon as she makes eye contact with the Commissioners outstretched hand, but doesn’t hesitate to put her hand in his as they make their way to the station behind them. Jason watches as the pair disappears from view of the glass doors and rides off back home.
Supposedly.
But never expect the police to do their fucking job because as soon as the door to his rundown apartment of the week creaks open, the little girl is standing in his living room.
“Motherfu—“