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Setting foot back in Gotham felt like taking a deep breath of toxic rage. Traveling had been mind-numbing focus; the emotional weight only crashed back down just inside the city’s boarder.
Jason stopped walking in order to lean against the sign that stated “Gotham City Limits”. It was raining, of course, not to mention the extremely early hour of five AM, but he could still see it--- the faint gray skyline of varying buildings, and to the distance, Wayne Enterprises.
The Joker was still alive, and Batman would pay, but first things first. Food.
Jason kept walking.
Crime Alley, for better or worse, was exactly how Jason remembered it. A few businesses had changed, not to mention the new gangs cycling through, but the foundation, the people, the vibe? All the same.
Did you really expect Batman to change anything just because you died? a green-tinged thought niggled.
Jason dug into his pocket, forking over the change. He’d culled through the back aisles of the convenience store for as many ramen packets and soup cans he could, but he was starving, so a couple suspicious-looking breakfast sandwiches would have to cover it. His metabolism would burn through anything unhealthy before he could get sick, anyway.
The woman at the register eyed the money he offered like a disgruntled hen. “It’s thirty-three oh nine, pal, not thirty-one.”
Jason plastered a fake smile onto his face, shoved his hand into his pocket, and pulled out a wad of cash to find some ones. Hundreds, fifties, a couple twenties--- ah. Here.
The woman paled as he handed over a five, but Jason just muttered “Keep the change”, picked up his bags, and was gone.
Pausing to savor was cliché, perhaps, but Jason couldn’t help it. One shitty apartment, a few deals for gear, and a month later, he’d finally finished preparing. Now he stepped to the edge of his complex’s roof in worn combat boots, watched the mist drifting around his gloved fingers, and breathed.
It was time.
Taking over the drug trade was par for the course when you were competing as Gotham’s newest crime lord. Leaving eight severed heads at the door of the GCPD was not.
Hey, they’d had it coming. (The heads had. The police were just doing their best, and for all his green vitriol, Jason couldn’t bring himself to hate Jim Gordon. It hadn’t been too long ago that he’d darted from the shadow of Batman’s cape to pick the commissioner’s pockets. Gordon had learned to keep less valuable things on his person, like Jason’s favorite candy or a confiscated gang weapon that didn’t go bang.)
Jason watched the scurrying around the police HQ from a distance, swaying gently on his feet from side to side. The weight of the guns on his thighs was comforting, like a security blanket. The thought should have made him cringe at himself, but it didn’t. Nothing really did. All that existed was the singular focus that ate up his anger and sadness and insecurity until there was really nothing left but a numb cold rage.
The streets had started to call him the Red Hood. Jason hoped it would catch on.
Jason’s main problem--- Okay, Jason had a lot of problems, but one of the most dangerous was gonna have to be his inability to turn away the street kids. He tried not to let them see him, but occasionally, they’d catch the gleam of his red helmet despite his best efforts to hide. They would ask for food or protection in low voices that barely echoed in the empty alleyways, and whenever he stopped to talk, they’d huddle behind his shadow like he was the one thing standing between them and the rest of the cruel world.
Maybe, in a way, he was.
Still, Hood was going broke. Taking over the drug trade was sucking up most of his “funds”, and he kept running out of change to hand to small grasping fingers. He needed to be smarter. He’d been Robin for crying out loud, and while none of Robin’s training exactly covered “How to Become a Successful Criminal 101”, it did cover all the basic skills required to start up--- any free enterprise, really.
That was one thing in Batman’s favor, at least. Robin had died with Jason Todd. (What was the alternative, another one? Yeah. Right.)
Batman had been… a little more brutal than living memory served, though. He was probably angry about the Red Hood. Nothin’ breaking some bones couldn’t fix.
Jason glanced up just before entering his apartment. He was going in the normal-person way as Jay Peters--- with a bag of milk an’ everything--- but he couldn’t shake the sneaking suspicion that he was being watched.
No one jumped him, so he silently wished whoever was watching his back a good-fucking-luck as he climbed the stairs, locked his door, and armed the security. He had no patience to worry over wannabe assassins right now. He was hungry, and tonight was his night off, which meant time to cook.
It was around the start of Month Four that things started to go wrong. They were only tiny things at first--- His mail was delivered to the wrong address, Batman got wind of a smuggling ring before Hood did, the com unit in his helmet sometimes gave off static. Then everything started to feel--- a little edgier. A little sharper. There was something about turning his back on an empty street that Jason did not like, and the feeling only grew stronger the closer he was to the heart of the city. He had to go all the way out to the Narrows just to think.
Tonight was one of those nights, and Jason was getting sick of glancing over his shoulder. He took a right on his way back from the store, ducked into a tiny side-alley, climbed halfway up a fire escape with one hand, and waited.
A small shadow snuck quietly past three minutes later, and Jason dropped down, landing in front of it with the heavy threat of boots against gravel.
The shadow squeaked.
Jason shot his free hand out--- the other was occupied by groceries--- and yanked a fucking child into the air. The kid was tiny, maybe a ten-year-old at most, and he was dressed in clean street clothes that bespoke skater. His 21 Pilots beanie was too big; it covered most of his shaggy hair before falling into his wide eyes. He clutched a shiny camera case to his chest.
“Shit.” Jason dropped the handful of jacket, sighing. “Sorry, thought you were someone else.”
The kid backed up a few steps, hugging his camera closer. “It’s okay, mister.”
Jason checked on his groceries before giving the boy a suspicious once-over. He was shrinking into his shoulders, melting into the background even as Jason stared him down. Most street kids were good like that--- They knew how to disappear in plain sight--- but Jason had a sneaking suspicion that this wasn’t a regular street kid. “What’s the camera for, shortie?”
Said camera was in a white-knuckled grip now, as if the kid predicted theft. “I like taking pictures of the nightlife.”
“Yeah?” Jason sniffed casually, keeping his tone light. “Then why are you following me?”
The kid looked stuck for a split second before his expression shifted to--- embarrassment? “I was kinda hoping to ride your coattails to Fifth. I don’t normally stay out this late.”
“It’s dangerous,” Jason agreed gruffly, lowering his guard again as he stepped out into the street. “Fine. Where do you live, kid?”
“Bri--- Brighton.”
“Shit, that’s pretty close to the docks.”
“I can take care of myself.”
“Can’t we all? I’ll walk you there.”
“Oh, you don’t have to, I don’t wanna---”
Jason waved him off, grunting. “It’s the least I can do.”
Fortunately, the kid really was quiet. So quiet that by the time Jason turned his hypervigilance from the shadowy rooftops back to the sidewalk behind him--- the kid was gone.
And so was his wallet.
Jason moved the location of his main safehouse. Not because he’d been found, obviously. He was just getting tired of glaring over his shoulder at shadows that weren’t there.
The very moment he stepped into his new apartment, his skin prickled. He shook his shoulders to get rid of it, locking the door before picking up the small box that sat on the barren countertop. It was addressed to an “RH”. There was no return stamp.
Jason held the package to his ear, then split it open with his pocketknife, cautious. Inside was his missing wallet--- fake ID, couple of hundreds, library card, everything was still there. Beneath the wallet was a picture of himself--- of Hood. He was staring down at a street lamp below, one foot planted on the edge of the roof. His body language was somber, brooding, even.
The picture was taken from a horizontal angle. From the same height.
Jason flipped it over, swearing in Arabic. The note on the back said “I’m sorry for taking your wallet. I didn’t mean to. Here’s a nice picture to make up for it.”
Jason moved apartments that very same day.
The table had not been this empty five minutes ago.
Jason looked under it, over it, and on the few chairs. He retraced his steps into the kitchen. He glanced into the tiny bathroom. He even checked the living room, but besides the window he’d opened for some fresh air, the book he had yet to put away on its shelf, and the uneven volume on the TV, nothing was out of place.
He scrubbed a hand through his white bangs, frustrated. He’d been working on that helmet for hours. Had he lost time? Was he just going insane?
Grumbling, he closed the window, then stalked to the hallway for his jacket. Fine. He’d just run to his secondary safehouse to grab another one. He’d have to start all over, but that’s what happened when he wandered too far into the green--- he literally lost his shit.
Hood leaned over to peer beyond the edge of the roof, grinning beneath his helmet. Nightwing was back in town, which meant it was time to cause some trouble. Not much trouble. Just… enough.
He’d start by leading him to an empty warehouse. Not for any real purpose or plan--- just to screw with him.
Hood cleared his throat before flicking off his voice modulator, pitching his voice up, and calling tremulously, “Dick?”
Nightwing stumbled to a halt mid-freerun, whipping his head around. Hood was already hidden, but he stayed very still, watching. When Nightwing slowly began to move once more, Hood opened his mouth to repeat---
“Hi.”
Hood spun around the air-conditioning unit he’d hidden at, pinning his back to the metal with a hiss. “Who is this?”
“Your conscience,” the voice answered flatly. It was emitting from his com. “We don’t talk that often.”
Hood flicked his modulator back on, glancing out to be sure Nightwing was swinging away before returning to the frightening task at hand. Namely--- “What the fuck.”
“Language,” the voice muttered. It was tiny. It was young.
“You’re a kid,” Hood said numbly.
The faint clacking in the background--- a keyboard--- paused. “And?”
Hood’s thoughts reeled. He’d lost the ability to follow the trail of reality, apparently. Even the green wasn’t rushing forward to save him. “What… the fuck.”
“I heard you the first time.” The clacking resumed. “Why are you bullying Nightwing?”
“I--- what?”
“Nightwing. You’re taunting him. Why?”
Hood stood up, disgruntled, and tapped a few hidden buttons on his helmet. He couldn’t trace the call. The number wouldn’t even show up. “How the fudge are you doing that?”
“What? Talking?”
“You hacked my system.”
“Oh, well yeah.” A faint breathy laugh. “You should really stop leaving your things around.”
“What do you---” Hood’s lip curled as a realization dawned. “My helmet.”
“Sorry.”
“For stealing my helmet or for hacking my com?”
“Stealing. I didn’t mean to.”
Hood shot his grapple in the opposite direction that Nightwing had headed, growling. “That phrase is getting old, kid. What are you, an evil genius or something? Who are you working for?”
“Nobody.”
“That won’t cut it.”
“I can return the helmet if you want.”
“After you’ve tampered with it? No fudging thanks.” Hood released his grapple, picking up pace between swings. “What’s your game?”
“What’s YOUR game? Also, does that mean I can keep the helmet?”
Hood grunted as he swung out of a particularly vicious arc. His shoulders would be sore tomorrow. “You’re out of your mind.”
“Yeah, I’ve been told.” A thoughtful pause. “Leave Nightwing alone.”
Before Hood could answer, the line went dead.
Everything started getting real fucking annoying after that. Batman got constant wind of Hood’s jobs before they went down; traffic lights acted up ONLY when Jason was in a hurry, and more things went missing. Like… a lot of things. It didn’t matter where he was or how much security was put into place; as soon as Jason turned around for more than two seconds, he lost something. His best belt went missing one week, his knife the next, then his jacket. Even his socks started to disappear, though that was probably because of Jason losing his mind than petty thief.
None of the items seemed to be stolen with monetary value in mind, and most of them showed up at his doorstep again in three to five business days. The jacket never did show up, though. Neither did the first stolen helmet.
The camel’s back broke when a glove went missing. A singular glove. Jason spent so long tearing apart his safehouse in his search that he missed a really important bust. Batman--- AND Nightwing--- got to it instead.
Hood took to the roof, growling, and hit the button to turn on his com channel. He’d kept it off ever since being unable to trace or boot his hacker. (It wasn’t like he really used it anyway.) “Kid.”
The line was quiet for a very long time before a subdued--- “Yeah?”
“You,” Hood spat out, flexing his fists as he paced the rooftop. “are a fucking menace.”
“Guilty.”
“What do you want?”
“I want you to leave your family alone.”
“I’ll do whatever the hell I---” Hood’s blood ran cold. “Family?”
“You’re Jason Todd, right? Or, like, Jason Wayne. I could swear I…”
Hood’s ears rang. How--- How? He hadn’t heard that name since he’d left the League. Since… before. He--- He couldn’t---
“---ood,” a small voice filtered through the green, sounding distant. “Jason, can you hear me? You’re not breathing. I need you to breathe, okay? Follow the clicks.”
Hood blinked at the rooftop. It was very close--- He was on his knees. There was an annoying clicking going on in the ears of his helmet, but they drummed a steady tempo, and even unconsciously, his breath was beginning to match.
Was he in the middle of a panic attack? On a roof? By himself? With a KID listening in?
“Are you okay?” the voice asked, sounding much less bold all of a sudden.
Hood coughed a few times, sitting back on his heels. How much time had he lost? Five… seven minutes? Damn. “Are… are you?”
“I can take care of myself.”
The words jostled Hood’s green-tinged memory, and he slapped his hand on his knee. “Holy SHIT, you’re the stalker!!!”
“I… What?”
“The mini stalker with the--- with the camera!!!” Hood struggled to his feet, elated at first. That triumph slowly grew to alarm. “You WERE following me.”
The com went dead.
Jason used deductive reasoning to come to three conclusions. One, the kid was most definitely working alone. So alone that his parents probably didn’t know what he was up to. Two, he was definitely not homeless, and probably not even poor; the technology know-how alone was not something you just picked up in the Narrows, not to mention the level of equipment required to track Jason’s whereabouts so… thoroughly. This kid was some kind of genius if he really didn’t have backup; he knew where Jason was no matter what League tactics Hood used to slip into non-existence.
The third thing, obviously, was that this kid seemed to steal things just to be annoying.
Hood started spending his later nights scribbling in a notebook. Notes, theories, known factors. The fact that he was being so thoroughly outsmarted by a kid--- a pipsqueak--- bothered him. The kid had shown signs of parental neglect, but he’d been fed well enough, so middle-lower-class was where Hood started to look. Anything richer than that was just ridiculous, but anything poorer wouldn’t be able to afford the equipment.
Not that he was stalking unknown kids. That would’ve been creepy. No, Hood had to look for patterns, suspicious faces, even hidden IP addresses or suspicious lack of WiFi. Quietly.
The good thing was that he got more sleep, ate more food, and started to see colors that weren’t green. The bad thing? He was getting so distracted that his smaller side hobbies, like seeking revenge, were falling to the wayside. He only had the wherewithal to keep driving his claim into Crime Alley, moving in on other crime lords and busting deals and tracking down human trafficking operations. Suspiciously, these jobs, the ones based in Crime Alley, the Narrows, even the docks--- They remained largely unbothered by Batman’s interfering shadow.
This is what he wants, Jason realized numbly, drawing some lines on his already-lined paper to connect some of the most recent clues. He WANTS me to be distracted. He’s probably even feeding Batman those tips to head me off. He’s herded me into Crime Alley, cornered me.
He jumped as his phone started to ring. It was an unknown number. Of fucking course.
Jason slid his finger on the answer button, waited, and tried to trace the call. Nothing. “Hello?”
“What’re you doin’?”
“What are YOU doing?”
“Homework.”
Jason glanced out his window, raising an eyebrow. “This doesn’t sound like homework, kid.”
“I got bored.”
“You called me… because you’re bored?”
“Yeah? What, you don’t get bored?”
Jason blinked rapidly. “You--- I’m your hobby.”
“What?”
“I’m your hobby. God, why didn’t I see it before?” He ran a hand through his wild hair, groaning. “Because it’s fucking WEIRD, that’s why. Look, can’t you just… leave me alone? I’m working.” The plea sounded more whiny than it should have, but sue him. He was getting irritated.
“No,” the voice said stubbornly. “I’m saving you from your lesser self.”
Jason couldn’t suppress the bark of laughter. “Kid, everything I am is my lesser self.”
“That’s not true.” The kid sounded… upset. “You’ve changed like… a lot… but you’re still good; you’ll ALWAYS be good.”
“Yeah?” Jason tipped his chair back, amused. “Then why are you putting so much effort into keeping me good?”
“Cause you don’t know how good you are. I’m helping.”
This fucking kid. “You’re annoyingly endearing. Sorry, gremlin, but I’ve got a job to do.”
“What job is that? Saving your home, or getting revenge against the guy who didn’t even kill you?”
Jason’s chair thunked back down. The question was pinging around mercilessly in his brain, so he shot back instead, “How do you know who I am?”
Silence. Then, a little hesitant, “Robin’s my hero.”
Jason rubbed his forehead, fiercely squashing the flare of guilt. This is a KID. Stop letting him… “So you’re some sort of fanboy? Sorry to burst your bubble, kid, but Robin’s dead.”
“Whatever you say.”
The silence stretched, and Jason came to the sudden realization that he was about to be hung up on. “Wait.”
“… Yes?”
He scrambled for words. What could be asked that wouldn’t look like blatant information-gathering? “What do I call you?”
The kid’s tone turned suspicious. “Yeah, nice try.”
“I’m serious.” Jason stood up, pacing to his windows as if he could peer out at the kid from here. “I’m gonna need a name if we’re gonna keep bumping into each other like this.”
“Why would I give you my name? I’m not THAT stupid.”
“What about fluff-stuff? Or… baby bird?”
“I--- What? Why?”
“Cause that’s what you remind me of. A little birdie fluffed up with irritation.” Jason grinned mischievously. “A puffball who can’t fly.”
“You---”
“Yes, baby bird? Something you wanna say?”
“… Goodnight Jason.”
No doubt about it, the kid was wicked smart. Hood’s busts went a lot smoother when he “behaved”--- AKA stopped antagonizing his family by teasing his identity--- and Batman’s interference was bare to none. Traffic lights worked in Jason’s favor, street lamps malfunctioned exactly when he needed stealth, and tips on some of his harder cases started to drop mysteriously into his lap.
The only problem, besides the fact that a child was listening in on Jason’s gruesome work and couldn’t be stopped, was the continually disappearing stuff. Jason was getting real tired of always wearing one left-hand glove. He went on Amazon to order a new pair--- and a twenty-pound box showed up at his doorstep the next day. Full of gloves. All of them left-handed.
Amazon wouldn’t even give him a refund. “A glitch in the system”, they’d said.
“Fucker,” Hood muttered grumpily, crouching lower. He’d been on this stakeout for hours, and his right hand was freezing off.
He could have sworn he heard a snicker over his com, but who knew. The kid almost never spoke when he listened in. Hood sometimes forgot to stop talking to himself when in uniform.
“I have a question,” he muttered when the quiet was getting too muffled for comfort.
No one answered, of course, but the silence sounded expectant. It gave “listening” vibes.
Hood shifted a little, settling further into the shadows as he watched for his guy. “How do you, a tiny little eight-year-old, have access to the entire power grid?”
“I’m nine.”
“Holy fuckin’ shit.” Hood lowered his voice to an indignant hiss. “I was joking.”
“How old did you---”
“Eleven or some shit.”
The voice snickered before falling silent. It didn’t answer Hood’s question, of course.
He tapped his fingers against his knee, absent. “You like chili dogs?”
“I’m allergic to strangers.”
“I wasn’t gonna buy you any. Geez, are all stalkers this polite?”
“Just the autistic ones.”
Hood frowned at the empty alley below. “Are you really---”
“No.”
“Y’know, nothing you say is either normal or the truth. You’re a fuckin’ brat.”
“Yup. He’s running four minutes behind.”
Hood’s braincells scrambled for purchase. “Who?”
“The guy you’re planning to stab for information.”
Hood’s hand brushed the knife strapped to the back of his belt. He shifted again, disgruntled. “Is there anything you don’t know?”
“I don’t know how you came back to life.” Soft clacking filled the background. “I’m still working on it.”
Hood’s blood curdled. “Don’t.”
“I know---” An uncomfortable pause. “I kind of pieced together HOW, but not like… how. Did death just… boot you back out? Like a bouncer?”
“… Yes.” Hood swallowed past a thick throat. His tongue felt dry. “How did you…?”
“I’m a genius, remember?”
“… Right.”
“He’s turning into your alley now.”
Hood cursed in his head before coiling to drop down. Good. It had been getting too emotional around here, anyway.
“Kid.”
“…”
“I know you’re listening, you fuckin’ gremlin. Where are my boots?”
“Uh…”
“My favorite steel-toed beauties, the ones with a bloody stain on the left heel, ring a bell? Where are they?”
“Your security isn’t very good.”
“Why are you doing this to me?”
“Why not?”
“Because I could break your neck, that’s why.”
“I dunno. You’d have to actually CATCH me first, y’know? Seems like you don’t have much of a leg to stand on in this scenario.”
“… What do you want?”
“To barter. I could sell them for a really good price on Ebay, but you have something I want.”
“Hang on a fucking minute, are you selling my stuff on EBAY?”
“Just the crowbars an’ gloves. You have a lot of crowbars, by the way. Maybe try therapy.”
“You little shit. What about my old jacket?”
“I’m making a shrine.”
“You’re not serious.”
“I don’t know how to joke.”
“Your sarcasm is top-notch. What do you want that you’re so desperate to barter for, fanboy?”
“… one of Batman’s batarangs.”
“… Are you serious?”
“I don’t know how to---”
“Okay, yeah, but I have batarangs. You can just--- steal one of those instead of my clothes.”
“That’s not very challenging. It has to be one of BATMAN’S batarangs. Think you can get one without fighting?”
“Kid, the only way I’m gonna get one is if we’re fighting.”
“You could stalk him. You’re good at that.”
“He’s the one who taught me to stalk, pipsqueak. He’s gonna notice.”
“Don’t lie to me, Jason; you covered your tracks from Europe to America VERY poorly. I know ninja training when I see it.”
“How do you---”
“Movies. Who did you train with, the Russians or something?”
“Fine, I’ll get you a stupid batarang.”
“I’ll know if it’s not legit.”
“I figured. Where do I find you?”
“The circus is in town; it’s partnered with the annual fair. Meet me on the ferris-wheel.”
“What will you be wearing?”
“I’m sure the only kid riding by himself will be noticeable enough. I’ll bring your boots.”
“… Deal.”
Jason hadn’t been to a place this crowded in--- years. Before his first death, probably. It made him pretty nervous to bump shoulders with such a loud group of people, but hey--- No one seemed particularly eager to bump shoulders with him, either. He was a big guy with no kid or girl trailing after him; even in civvies he stuck out like a sore thumb.
He resisted the urge to flip the collar of his (new) jacket up. That would look even more suspicious. Luckily, the ferris-wheel was one of the easiest rides to spot. He headed straight towards it--- It didn’t matter if he was being followed or spied on by other stalkers, unlikely as that probably was. He just wanted his boots back.
Where--- ah, halfway up, but coming down. Every other car was full of people. The line stretched about a mile long, though, and Jason had already spotted a familiar head of black hair bouncing in the queue in front of him. Shit.
“Here.” He moved to the front of the crowd, slapping a hundred in the operator’s hand.
The dude blinked stupidly at the money. “You’re skipping the line.”
“Yeah, I’m joining my brother.” Jason vaulted the gate, took a running leap, and landed in the kid’s car right as it passed, ignoring the angry shouts of the people at the front of the line.
The kid clutched the side of the car as it swayed, glaring. “What’s the rush?”
“I’m avoiding the attention of a very clingy circus brat who doesn’t know I’m alive.” Jason settled into his seat, propping his arms on the back with a deep sigh. “Hello, baby bird.”
The kid straightened as the car stabilized itself, sniffing casually. He was dressed in clothes that made him look a little older--- a red button-up t-shirt over a gray longsleeve, jeans, and worn Chucks. His hair was a little shaggy around his ears, but he looked less… thin… since Jason had seen him last. A little muscly-er. Probably from climbing into my apartment so many times when I wasn’t looking.
“Hi,” baby bird finally answered, staring at Jason with just as much curiosity as Jason was him. He tore his baby-blues away from the older boy’s face, hugging a paper bag to his side. “You got the goods?”
Jason suppressed a smile, because he was grumpy at this situation, dammit, and pulled a batarang from his inner jacket pocket. “Collected without fighting or being noticed, thank you. Boots?”
The kid held his hand out, impatient, and Jason forked over the weapon with a huff. You’d think it was made of diamond the way the little gremlin examined it.
“C’mon,” Jason finally snapped. “I’m getting sick of wearing tennis shoes.”
The baby bird finally glanced down to cast a judging glance at Jason’s black shoes. “Yeah, those don’t suit you.”
“Thanks.” Jason scoffed to mask the self-consciousness. “Are we done here?”
The kid finally shrugged, handing over the bag. “Here ya go.”
Jason took a minute to swap out the shoes before standing up to hop back out. They were getting close to the bottom again, and he couldn’t afford to wait for Dick to spot him from the line. “Stay in school, kid.”
“Wait.” The baby bird snagged the sleeve of his jacket, suddenly determined. “Let me help you.”
“You’d better not be asking what I think you’re asking.”
“You work by yourself.”
“Yeah, on purpose.”
“You could use a guy-in-the-chair!!!”
“No.”
“But---”
“NO.” Jason vaulted out on the opposite side of the line, grunting. “Go on home, kid. I’ll see you around.”
The baby bird glared after him--- and held up a flashdrive disguised as a lighter. “Yeah, you will.”
Jason patted his pockets, swearing. “You little shit!!!”
The kid smirked, but he was already going back up, and people were starting to stare. Jason shoved his hands in his now-empty pockets, furious, and stalked back through the crowds to head home. He’d just have to do the job without the info on the drive.
Piece of cake.
The bust was not a piece of cake. It was a floury rotten-eggy no-vanilla-added MESS, but it was not cake. It wasn’t even passable mush.
Hood groaned as he pressed himself into the shadows. He’d gotten ambushed--- Because of course he had; it was a Thursday--- and now he was being hunted by at least thirty highly trained bounty hunters in a huge labyrinth of a warehouse with only two bullets to spare. He’d already gotten stabbed in the side, the leg, and the shoulder; it was a miracle that they hadn’t tracked him down by the blood trail. Yet.
I’m probably going to die, he realized numbly. Still, it hadn’t stuck the first time--- Maybe it wouldn’t stick the second.
Right.
“Hood?” a tiny voice whispered, crackling a little in his beat-up helmet.
Hood glanced around before limping down another hallway, apprehensive. “Kid?”
“Are you in trouble?”
“I’m a little busy, that’s all.”
“I heard you… screaming.” The kid’s voice sounded very small. “I was at the store, so I couldn’t do anything but keep an ear out until I got home.”
Hood suppressed a noise of frustration. “I’ll be fine.”
“Take a left.”
He turned left without thinking, trying to limp faster. “Shouldn’t you be in bed by now?”
“Down to the right.”
“Do your parents know about this little hobby of yours?”
“Up those stairs, then to the right again. You’ll see a door; I’m looping the footage down that hallway for thirty seconds.”
“How’d you find me?”
“It’s my fault!!!” the kid finally snapped. The com fell silent.
Hood made it past the designated hallways before leaning against the wall, panting. “It’s not your fault.”
“I took some information you really needed.”
“You couldn’t help it, though, could you?” Hood grunted as he pushed himself back to standing. “Left or right?”
“Left. Take the third door down on your right, then the second on your left. Should be a fire escape.”
“Bingo.” Hood climbed down, wincing with every step. He did his best not to make noise. Now was not the time for one of his dramatic exits. “I don’t suppose you’ve got a spare car anywhere nearby.”
“Can you make it to your bike? It’s three blocks to the east.”
“Are you tracking my bike, too?”
“You don’t remember where you park, right? Most adults don’t.”
Hood pressed a hand over his bleeding ribs as he hobbled into the shadows. No one was shooting at him yet; the situation had gone from near-death to precariously-safe pretty quickly. “Listen… thanks.”
“It’s the least I could do. Are you okay?”
Hood swung a leg over his bike, heaving a relieved sigh. Everything really hurt, but he was still bleeding. Blood meant life. “Y’know, baby bird… I think I’ll be just fine.
“Hood?”
Hood pressed the comlink in his ear, puffing a breath into the chill Gotham air. He wasn’t wearing a helmet tonight--- There was something so thrilling about grappling with the wind in your domino-clad face. “Yup?”
“You got the flashdrive back, right?”
“I’m not sure how you managed to return it to my pocket without me noticing, but yeah. I appreciate it.”
“You left something for me. You knew I’d take it if it was there.”
“Yup.”
“… I can keep it?”
“Were you planning to continue using my old helmet to communicate? That must look pretty nerdy, a little nine-year-old sitting in his dark room with a red helmet on.”
“I’m ten, now.”
“Well I’ll be darned. I missed your birthday?”
“So I can keep it?”
“It’s just a com, kid. I made it look like an earbud for convenience’s sake. You want it or not?”
“I… I want it.”
Hood ignored the emotion in the kid’s voice on principle. The audio was already a lot clearer. “Good. Gimme a second.” He raised his voice. “Gordon.”
The police commissioner jumped back, one hand flying to his heart, the other to his gun. He sighed when Hood stepped from the shadows of the Bat signal. “For someone who avoids the Bat, son, you sure do act like one.”
Jason smiled under the helmet, holding out his hand. “You got it?”
“All fifty names.” Gordon handed over the file, turning his collar up against the wind. “Looks like a pretty big bust--- You want help with that?”
“I think I’ve got it handled.” Hood clasped the old man’s hand, grateful. “I owe you one.”
“Yeah, you owe me more than that. One for each head you left on my doorstep.” Gordon shook his hand, chuckling. “And no telling the Bat, is that right?”
“I wouldn’t want this getting… personal.” Hood pulled away, holding up the candy bar he’d picked from the man’s pocket just seconds before. “I wonder who this is for?”
Gordon blew on his hands, shrugging far too casually. “Couldn’t tell you. Kid I knew used to really like ‘em. Why don’t you hang onto it for me?”
Hood’s throat felt thick, so he cleared it before speaking. “Thanks.”
“Don’t mention it.” Gordon glanced up at the beginnings of a snowfall. “Better get a move on; it’s freezing out here. Say, how’d you know what information to ask for, anyway? This case is brand new.”
Hood strode to the edge of the roof, pulling his grapple out, and tapped the side of his helmet. “A little birdie told me.”
Gordon scoffed disbelievingly, but the birdie snickered in Hood’s ear as he swung off into the night.