WHEN EARTH FINDS STARS.

by orpheusaki

Summary:

"Let it be known that I completely detest the implications of what this situation is mirroring," Red Hood grumbles to himself and it's the longest string of words Duke has heard from any so-called Gotham vigilante, let alone the one who's known for shooting more than he is talking.

"The fuck?" Duke mutters, because if he's already going to die, he might as well try and make sense of it.

"I'm not going to care about whatever sob story you have," is what Red Hood replies with instead of explaining, "Where are your parents?"

"Gone," is all Duke says, because it's really none of this guy's business. It's also the truth.

Somehow, Red Hood sounds even more anguished about this information than Duke is, "Ah shit."

(Duke steals the tires off Red Hood's bike and somehow gains a family.)

Notes:

so i was rereading 'We Are Robin' (the duke thomas comic of all time) and remembered how at the beginning we are told duke continously ran away from his foster homes for months in search of his parents, therefore spending a lot of that time homeless. then i had the silliest idea on how he could join the family early.

i have also wanted to write a fic about jason becoming a guardian and protector for homeless children in gotham for SO LONG and finally. i had this idea. fair warning though, i make him work for it, since i think he owes it to the people in gotham to show he's changed from being a villain before they trust him completely. he gets there eventually though, but duke is a hard kid to convince!

so technically this takes place a year-ish before 'We Are Robin', but i won't be following canon events (obviously). so while reading the comic isn't necessary for this fic, check it out if you haven't already <3

enjoy!

Chapter 1: HAND LOTION.

On the list of all the stupid things Duke has ever done in his life, stealing Red Hood's tires doesn't even make it to the top five.

 

There was the time he ran away from his first foster house by jumping through the sixth floor window and into a tree, or the other time he ran away from his fourth foster house by paying the babysitter a fake hundred dollar bill from a boardgame to pretend she never saw him leave the house. A while ago, his family had sort of saved Bruce Wayne — though that was a confusing time for everyone. It was, coincidentally, the same week he was planning to challenge the Riddler in front of the whole city.

 

All things considered, this is definitely the most dangerous thing he's done, but just the other day he and a few other kids in Little Italy had jumped from roof to roof to escape the cops, so maybe not that dangerous. Technically speaking, Duke Thomas, fourteen year old runaway foster kid, is still on the run from the police. There's an active welfare search for him.

 

That's pretty dangerous.

 

Stealing Red Hood's tires is definitely dangerous though — and stupid.

 

But Red Hood is practically asking for it! The guy is so confident no one would ever dare to rob him, that he doesn't even bother hiding his bike or locking it up. Even the tires themselves don't have any intense measures to stop someone from hacking away persistently with a wrench.

 

So when Duke was casually strolling through the streets of Little Italy on a random Tuesday night, snacking on a breakfast bar he'd managed to swipe from the last house he'd been sent to before running off (this time by pretending he was having an allergic reaction and then escaping when they were transferring him to the ER), he found the bike in all its glory.

 

He steps towards it slowly, careful and ready to bolt if it suddenly starts to count down to a failsafe explosion, but when it's clear that it's just a carelessly parked bike, Duke relaxes. He brushes a hand over the tank, whistling in appreciation at the careful detailing and very obvious care polished into every piece. If he squints, certain components seem to be marked with a familiar Bat emblem, though someone seems to have tried their best to scratch most of it off.

 

"Idiot," Duke mumbles, poking at the leather seat, "Who leaves their bike in a place like this?"

 

It's definitely one of a kind, custom made — probably by Red Hood himself — which means expensive. The bike itself is too unique for anyone to risk buying or selling it, but the wheels... stupid expensive.

 

Not to mention that, well, Duke wouldn't mind the extra money.

 

He's going to run out of breakfast bars from group homes and canned food from the homeless shelter eventually. One of the boys he's been sharing a spot with under the abandoned bridge up in Coventry had even given him a spare tire wrench a few days ago when he'd heard Duke was running around with just a small pocket knife. It's like the universe is telling Duke that this is his chance to get some easy cash.

 

He could probably even get himself a room somewhere, where they don't ask for ID once they see a stack of notes. Depending on how much he could sell the tire for, he could probably convince the kids he's staying with to join him for a couple days, just so no one has to worry about getting through the night outside, cold and alone.

 

(It would make it easier to look for his parents too, if he had somewhere to call base. Somewhere he didn't have to worry about coming back to sleep if he didn't find them.)

 

It's this hope that gives him the confidence to try, and before he can talk himself out of it, Duke kicks the bike over. 

 

He flinches and cries, "Shit!" when it lands with a ridiculously loud crash that echoes through the empty alley, knocking over a nearby trash can as well.

 

Duke winces again and peers around, half expecting Red Hood to come sprinting round the corner with his guns held high and ready to waste the perpetrator. The mental imagery is somehow both hilarious and deeply terrifying, so he waits, holding his breath and facing the mouth of the alley.

 

When a few tense seconds pass and no gunshots ring through the street, Duke lets out a sigh of relief and gets to work. The quicker the better.

 

It's difficult, especially since all Duke has is a bottle of hand lotion and a too-big tire iron to try and undo the bolts, but after a few difficult minutes of twisting and kicking, there's a click and hiss of release. Duke grins to himself, rummaging through his backpack for his pocket knife to try and pry the frame open.

 

It's the clanging of cans and other things in his bag that distracts him from the scarily quiet footsteps coming up behind him. By the time he's finally found his pocket knife and pulls it out with a triumphant grin, it's far too late.

 

"What the fuck…" someone grumbles, sounding almost robotic and Duke jumps to his feet in an instant, nearly tripping over his things to turn and face the stranger.

 

Except it's not exactly a stranger.

 

"What the fuck?" Red Hood exclaims again, stomping up towards him and looking between Duke and the fallen bike in outrage (or he assumes it's outrage. It's hard to tell through the helmet).

 

Duke is absolutely speechless. Instinctively, he's got both his fists up and ready for a fight, one hand firmly wrapped around his pocket knife. When Red Hood doesn't so much as look over at the knife, Duke is both humbled and threatened. The vigilante is too busy looking down at the crime scene to care about the near-harmless threat of a shivering fourteen year old.

 

Finally, Duke finds his words that were stuck at the back of his throat, taking a step back with his hands still up, "I wasn't doing anything!" 

 

"Oh really?" Red Hood scoffs, crossing his arms over his chest and staring down at Duke (the guy is huge), "It looks like you were about to slash my tires."

 

Duke frowns in confusion, before he remembers the knife and the fallen bike, "No! I was just trying to open the frame!" Duke reasons, before his eyes widen. Oh shit.

 

"Oh lovely, you weren't vandalising me, only robbing me," Red Hood says in a tone that suggests he's rolling his eyes, but Duke really has no idea. Does Red Hood even have eyes?

 

"You can't prove anything," Duke says without thinking, because he is not about to go down without a fight. He's been through too much for too long to let this one mistake ruin it all. He still has a chocolate bar in his bag he's been saving for his birthday, and he'd promised Sarah he'd help find her sister and he — and Duke still hadn't found his own parents and —

 

"Hey kid, calm down," Red Hood suddenly says, walking towards him slowly, "I'm not going to hurt you, okay? Just drop the knife before you hurt yourself."

 

His voice is surprisingly soft, if a little too stern in an attempt to sound honest. Even through the modulated helmet, it's this tone that makes Duke blink out of the panic he hadn't even realised he'd fallen into. Duke's hands are shaking, both from his grip around the small blade and the tingling under his skin.

 

Slowly Duke lowers his hands. He doesn't drop the knife — because he might be stupid to be in this mess but he isn't an idiot to get stuck with Red Hood without a means of defence — but he does push it back into its case and tuck it into his front pocket. Red Hood watches his movements carefully and Duke notices the moment his shoulders relax once the knife is put away.

 

"Good thing I got here," Red Hood then says, kneeling down and inspecting his bike with a snort, "You almost got it out."

 

It might just be Duke's imagination, but the guy actually sounds impressed. While he's thoroughly distracted by Duke's work, the boy takes this chance to slowly collect his things. He manages to grab his bag, but his tire wrench is right next to Red Hood's foot and impossible to reach without getting closer and within the man's grabbing-reach.

 

For one second, Duke entertains the idea of kicking Red Hood in the head and swiping his things. The man's kneeling down to check the bolts and frame and in perfect position to dropkick.

 

Almost as quick as Duke thinks about it, the idea leaves him. Duke has started a lot of fights he knew he couldn't win, but he was going to try anyway. It takes a tremendous amount of his own pride to admit that no matter how much he tries he's not going to get out of this one with just a couple scratches and bruises.

 

Even if Duke did decide to risk his life for his things, there'd be no point, because Red Hood grabs Duke's tire iron and starts to fix his bike again, "So who were you going to sell these too?"

 

"Huh?" Duke blurts out, still too stunned by this entire situation to start running.

 

"Was it Donnie in Otisburg? That guy used to give a fair price for good wheels like these," Red Hood continues to question casually, like this was a regular occurrence.

 

"I don't — I don't know," Duke admits quietly, taking another step back, gripping his bag tightly, "I didn't think that far ahead."

 

Red Hood laughs, "I appreciate the honesty," he stands, apparently done with his work (fixing what took Duke over twenty minutes in a couple seconds), lifting the bike with ease.

 

After he lets it stand again and patting dust away from his hands, the vigilante looks over at Duke's slowly retreating form, "Where do you think you're going?"

 

Duke stills. Adrenaline rushes through his blood, but his feet feel rooted to the ground as Red Hood walks up to him. Duke's never been in a situation where his flight or fight had failed him and made him freeze — not in a long time, at least. The last time he'd stood still, he'd lost everyone and everything. There's no one left to lose but himself, now.

 

"Not like that, I won't hurt you," Red Hood says again, back to sounding impossibly kind, which is the biggest juxtaposition given he looks like he's a second away from squashing Duke's head with his bare hands, "I can help. You in any trouble? Someone put you up to this?"

 

Duke doesn't respond immediately, only because the questions of concern he's hearing don't seem to match the man in front of him. Blinking in surprise, Duke shakes his head.

 

Red Hood nods encouragingly, "Okay good. You're one brave kid. No one's ever tried to steal my —"

 

Suddenly the man stops, like he's been electrocuted. Duke jumps back in alarm at the abrupt stillness. Then, Red Hood smacks a hand over his… face? There's a sound as he slaps the helmet, looking down at the ground and shaking his head while muttering something that sounds like can't believe this and damn old man. When he looks back up, Duke is looking at him with more concern than fear.

 

"Let it be known that I completely detest the implications of what this situation is mirroring," Red Hood grumbles to himself, or the universe, and it's the longest string of words Duke has heard from any so-called Gotham vigilante, let alone the one who's known for shooting more than he is talking.

 

"The fuck?" Duke says, because if he's already going to die, he might as well try and make sense of it.

 

"I'm not going to care about whatever sob story you have," is what Red Hood replies with instead of explaining, which is even more confusing, because then he sighs and asks, "Where are your parents?"

 

Duke narrows his eyes in suspicion at the question. He's definitely not going to tell Red Hood about what happened to them, but he also doesn't want to risk lying and receiving the consequences of that. Adults tend to react worse to lies than they are to hard-truths. Unfortunately for him, Red Hood's attention is completely zeroed in on him, anxiously awaiting the answer, so Duke can't even avoid it.

 

"Gone," is all Duke says, because it's really none of this guy's business. It's also the truth.

 

Somehow, Red Hood sounds even more anguished about this information than Duke is, "Ah shit." He cries out, but quickly remedies it by clearing his throat and saying, "I mean, I'm sorry — where are you staying right now?"

 

Duke tries to take another step back, the questions becoming far too specific for comfort, but somewhere during the commotion, he'd begun walking backwards into the alleyway wall. The cold and slightly damp stone greets him and Duke's heart jumps. He's got nowhere to run now. The man in front of him looms over, shadow draped over Duke in a chill that has his legs shaking and knees buckling.

 

Red Hood notices the alarm, and he takes a step back, raising his hands in front of him with his palms up, "It's alright. Are you hungry?"

 

"Why do you care?" Duke asks in a rush, his chest tight. This whole idea was stupid and he just wants to go home.

 

"You're just a kid," Red Hood sighs, like it should be obvious, "Listen, I'm gonna be honest with you. Until I know you're back somewhere safe, I'm not gonna leave you alone."

 

Duke's throat is dry and he can feel his heart beating erratically, "I won't go back to —"

 

Red Hood shakes his head, "I know, kid. I'm not giving you in. No cops and no system. So tell me, you hungry?"

 

Suddenly, Duke remembers a story he heard a few weeks ago.

 

There was a girl, Clarisse, who was a couple years older than him and he had run into her while in line for a hot drink in front of the women's shelter. I got caught up in the wrong crowd, almost got myself taken, she had told him vaguely, because Duke was visibly fourteen (but not an idiot) Red Hood showed up and knocked the guys out cold. I thought he would call the cops and send me back to the girls home. Instead, gave me a couple hundred dollars and told me to find him if I was ever in trouble. The guy is so badass.

 

Duke had nodded along in awe, unsure if she was pulling his leg or not. He'd heard similar stories, of vigilantes giving kids medicine and food and bandages, but most of these stories involve Robin, or more expectantly, Batman. Red Hood isn't exactly who comes to mind when Duke thinks about Gotham and children.

 

But maybe, Clarisse wasn't just making it up.

 

Duke thinks about the small bits of food in his bag and both his dwindling confidence and funds, "I guess." 

 

Red Hood nods, "How about this, I get us some dinner and then safely drop you off at wherever it is you're staying, and you don't tell anyone about how easy it is to break my bike?"

 

Duke bites back excitement, "Drop me off on your bike?"

 

While he can't see his face, Duke thinks Red Hood is smiling when he says, "Why not? I have an extra helmet."

 

Duke half expected him to pull out an exact replica of his own red helmet, and is slightly disappointed when instead the vigilante opens the seat compartment to procure a miniature green and red standard motorbike helmet instead. On the side, Duke can see a familiar R symbol painted in yellow. It works it's desired effect, approved by Robin, so Duke wills his heart to stop trying to escape his chest.

 

Duke considers it, he really does, but before he can really come to a conclusion, Red Hood holds up a hand.

 

"But first;" he states, "Name, age and favourite colour."

 

Duke stares at Red Hood in surprise, before the corners of his mouth start to twitch in amusement. What a bizarre situation, "Duke," he doesn't give his last name, "Fifteen," lie, he's not fifteen for at least another four months, "Yellow," that one is true, even if it's his favourite because it was — is — his mother's favourite.

 

Red Hood barks a laugh like he can tell Duke is lying straight through his teeth, but he doesn't call him out on it, "Well Duke, fifteen, yellow — I'll be keeping an eye on you. Now come on, I'm starving."

 

With that, Red Hood passes the helmet over, and it's with a slight daze that Duke reaches out to grab it. Red Hood makes no move to get onto the bike until Duke starts to actually pull the helmet on. It's a bit of a tight squeeze, but Duke manages to clasp it under his chin after some wiggling and difficulty.

 

Satisfied, Red Hood gestures over to his bike and climbs, kicking the side stands and shuffling back. He leans back, undoing and tightening the straps on his gloves. The space in front of him is left vacant, where, presumably, he's expecting Duke to sit.

 

Duke doesn't move at all.

 

He's not sure how he feels, sitting in front of the vigilante, caged in and trapped as they drive to who knows where. Getting on the bike in any capacity is already nerve-wracking, but this especially, makes Duke's skin itchy and his palms sweaty. Now that Red Hood's sat down, Duke could probably make a run for it and get far enough before the man can follow. Hopefully Robin won't mind if Duke has to escape with the helmet still on, for the sake of efficency.

 

Before he can try and remove his feet that are glued down to the ground, Red Hood looks up at him expectantly. Then, he looks in front of him at the empty seat and hums understandingly.

 

"Sorry, the kid usually sits in front," Red Hood tells him, easily sliding forward on the seat so now the back is free, "Hop on. I'm thinking we stop for waffles, I know a place that's open all night."

 

There are multiple thoughts running through his head. Firstly, Duke really hopes Red Hood can't hear how loud his stomach is growling at just the word waffles, and secondly, kid? Red Hood has a kid? Or does he mean kid — like Duke — one that isn't his, but one he's not going to leave alone until they're safe.

 

Either way, Duke approaches the bike with slow and deliberate steps (stopping briefly to grab his tire iron and shove it into his bag).

 

"I'm not looking for a dad," Duke reasons carefully, because he knows how these stories go, scared little kids being rescued and taken in by the heroes who saved them. He's got his own family he needs to save before someone thinks about saving him.

 

He climbs onto the back of the bike and immediately grips the back of Red Hood's leather jacket. He tries not to hold on with too many fingers or too tightly, but Duke's seen how fast Red Hood rides through Gotham on his bike, practically a bright red blur, and he's not about to go flying off the back when they make a turn in the Browley.

 

Red Hood snorts, which sounds like static with the modulated voice, "Good, because I sure as hell don't wanna be a dad. I'm only a couple years older than you anyway."

 

"Really?" Duke asks, hiding his surprise poorly.

 

A silence befalls the two.

 

Slowly, Red Hood peers around to, what Duke imagines, stare at him in disbelief, "How old did you think I was?"

 

"I dunno," Duke shrugs, "Forty?"

 

"Forty —"

 

"Haven't you been around for like, twenty years?" Duke continues with an air of fake confusion, holding back a grin when Hood's hands tighten around the bike handles and he starts stumbling to defend himself.

 

"That wasn't me — you seriously — you're kidding," Hood laughs just borderline hysterically, before he stops laughing all together and just sounds horrified, "Please tell me you're kidding."

 

Duke finally breaks and actually smirks, ducking his head to hide it in the helmet, "Yeah man, I'm just messing with you. I remember when you showed up a couple years ago to rampage through the Alley. Same face, different guy — that's what my pops said."

 

This time, Duke watches with a bit more hesitance as Hood's hands tighten around the handle bars, the sound of his leather gloves loud in the empty alley. Bringing up someone's colourful past is never a good idea, but Duke would be lying if he admits he isn't nervous, and he's rambling. Filling the tense silence with banter and jabs like Red Hood is a new friend and not a masked vigilante.

 

Realistically, he knows Hood probably doesn't hurt kids, since he's never given them any reason to fear he might, but Duke's old enough to remember when no one knew that for certain. The weeks that followed his Gotham debut were spent walking to school in groups and never staying out later than when the lamp posts turned on, just in case he blew up a building on top of you. Even now, with anyone in the city who has the power to hurt people, with or without uniform — there's no telling how far the courtesy of an escape lies.

 

The guy is obviously… different now than he was a while ago. More approachable, if the few other stories from kids on the streets are true. Duke trusts him as far as he can throw him, which isn't very far (or not at all, since Hood is built like a tank), but at least it's something.

 

Hood's not Batman. In a way, that factor makes him more trustworthy, while also someone to stay away from at the same time. Hood probably won't call the cops on you, but Duke might have had more luck trying to rob Batman's tires, since he could have at least known for certain that he wouldn't end up dead in some random alleyway in the forgotten corners of Gotham.

 

"I'm not like that no more," Hood mumbles quietly, almost incomprehensible because of the helmet. Duke only hears him because of how close they're sitting.

 

"Like what?" Duke asks, loosening his grip just a bit, ready to make a run for it in case he's pissed the guy off.

 

"Rampaging," Hood echoes him directly, and Duke doesn't really believe him because of how upset he sounds to admit it, "Changed my ways. Reformed and pretty again. Now I politely ask people to stop committing crimes and offer to write poetry about them."

 

Duke doesn't laugh, because joking about not killing people from a guy who's notoriously known for killing people is like — the least funniest thing that could happen when you're alone with him in a dark secluded alleyway. But there has to be some truth, if Red Hood's trying this hard to convince him otherwise.

 

Duke's words have stuck with him more than he expected them too.

 

"You helped my friend once," calling Clarisse a friend seems generous and she'd probably disagree, but Hood didn't need to know that, "Saved her when she almost got trafficked. You didn't send her back to the system and gave her a hundred bucks."

 

Hood scoffs, still tense, but he starts the engine as Duke leans against him just a little as the motorbike begins to rumble, "And what, that makes me a good guy?"

 

"Nah," Duke answers honestly, holding on tight, "But you're not one of those bad guys either." Not anymore.

 

He feels Hood's back relax a little at that, before they slowly pull out of the alley and into Gotham's streets wordlessly.

 

Hours later, Duke's eaten enough tacos to last him until next week, two hundred dollars richer ("You would've gotten the same amount had you sold my tires," is what Red Hood had reasoned when Duke was hesitant to accept the money) and a number written on a receipt in his pocket ("If you need help, don't hesitate to find me.")

 

It's only when he's safely back under the bridge in Coventry, sharing a box of warm waffles with the kids around him and telling them about his unbelievable evening, does Duke remember that he left his hand lotion back in the alley.

 

Chapter 2: YELLOW BLANKET.

Summary:

Red Hood arrives with gifts and Duke theorises.

The following morning, Duke thinks he might have dreamt the whole encounter with Red Hood, if not for the way he wakes up with a full stomach for the first time in weeks.

 

Everyone seems to be in a better mood after last night, falling asleep after sharing encounters with Red Hood and Batman and all the other more colourful vigilantes while eating waffles. It's usually much less talkative, people huddling together not because they know each other well or particularly want to, but because it's warmer and safer. Duke sharing his insane amount of waffles amongst the group might have also helped.

 

If Duke pretends, he can almost imagine that this is just a camping trip between friends, staying out later than they should've against their parents wishes and sharing stories before bed.

 

But he wakes up the next morning, and while everyone seems more relaxed, an undercurrent of reality ripples through them all, weaving through the group like a stubborn gale of wind. Some of the spots that were occupied last night are already empty, nothing to suggest there were ever children sleeping there hours earlier.

 

Duke knows he should probably move along and find somewhere else to hunker for the next few days as well. It's not safe for kids to stay in the same place for too long, even if it is a big group like this one. Duke's already been here almost two weeks and he's not exactly stayed hidden either.

 

His parents don't seem to be anywhere here either.

 

But that's a problem for tonight. This morning, he has things to do. Around midday, he shares half of a leftover stale waffle with Sarah, washes up at the nearest gas station and buys the two of them an all-day bus ticket to Gotham Proper with the money from Red Hood. He buys them a sealed tuna sandwich and a can of pop to share as well.

 

Sarah's looking for her sister, who she got separated from when they were forced into two different foster homes. They'd both run away around the same time, but Sarah never found her sister despite their plan to meet up in front of Gotham Library. That was five months ago.

 

Duke's been looking for his parents for three months now. Once every two weeks, he goes down to the library and sits by the ginormous stairs leading up to the building, waiting. It's where he met Sarah, who comes here every single day without fail.

 

He's not sure what he's hoping to see exactly. The library is probably the true heart of the city, despite people claiming that it's the City Hall or Robinson Park. The library hosts events and fundraisers and opens their doors to everybody. It's a good place to spend a rainy and cold day inside without being afraid of getting kicked out, especially if the nice red haired librarian is around to give out free biscuits.

 

Since it's such a popular place, Duke hopes that maybe, his parents might find their way there. Wherever they've gone, maybe his mother will remember the afternoons spent here, helping him check out a stack of children's books for the holidays. Maybe his father would recall helping Duke balance on the steps outside and come here looking for him as well.

 

He's had no luck so far, but he's not about to give up yet.

 

Sarah and Duke don't talk to each other as they watch the day filter past them, but she's a comforting presence to spend the afternoon with, sitting side by side on the large steps leading up to the library. There's moments where she sees a flash of dark hair and stands to her feet, or Duke sees a couple who look so familiar at a quick glance and rushes forward —

 

But it's never them.

 

A few hours in, Sarah pulls out an old and tattered pack of cards that's missing all four kings, and they play slow games of snap, again and again, without really saying much else to each other. Once the afternoon rush starts and people start to head home after working all day, the streets fill up once more, and the two of them turn back to watch the streets.

 

Duke takes out one of the sandwiches, breaking it in half. He's got more money than he knows what to do with, which means he could probably buy himself and Sarah a warm meal inside somewhere, but neither of them want to leave their posts. Plus, Duke likes tuna.

 

"You think you'll call him?" Sarah says once the crowd starts to become a steady and infrequent stream of people, the sun slowly dipping down over the line of buildings and warming the sky into a pale but murky pink. 

 

Duke is fiddling with his pocket knife when he looks up in question, "Call who?"

 

She smiles conspiratorially at him, "Hood, duh. I don't know how you got those waffles last time, but maybe this time he'll get you a puppy if you ask nicely. "

 

Duke snorts. He'd kept his end of the bargain and not told anyone how he managed to get Red Hood to buy him dinner and waffles (he keeps the large amount of money in the bottom of his bag a secret, not willing to have that kind of information running through the streets), so his bike will remain unhurt by anymore street children. No one had really asked him exactly how he ended up riding around Gotham with the vigilante, definitely curious but not exactly willing to get involved with the Red Hood.

 

"He's not Santa," Duke laughs, a faint smile still on his face as recounts the easy banter from a surprisingly kind man, "It was just a one time thing. He's got better things to do than buy us dinner every day."

 

Sarah sighs wistfully, looking behind them to peer up at the large clock tower on top of the library, squinting at the time, "Yeah, he's probably busy blowing up buildings or something," She snorts.

 

Wordlessly, she starts to pack up their things, and that's how Duke knows it's almost eight o'clock. It's not a good idea to be walking around this close to the city centre at night and risk getting caught by a police cruiser and questioned about why you're out so late. The chances of getting mixed in with whatever the Rogues are planning for the city this week is also not an ideal way to spend the night.

 

Duke shoves his pocket knife back into his backpack, letting his eyes linger on the tire iron that's also in there for a moment.

 

Duke hums in agreement, a secret grin taking over his face as remembers a conversation about being reformed and writing poetry. Standing to his feet and skipping down the stairs, Sarah shoves him gently when they get to the bottom step, making him stumble and her laugh.

 

They're both giggling as they try to trip each other over on their walk away from the library, despite their failed attempts at finding their families. It doesn't get easier, looking for someone and coming up empty handed every time, but at least Duke's not forced to duck through the dark streets alone today. He'll have to leave Sarah tomorrow, find somewhere in the south of the city to continue looking, so he laughs and playfully pushes her back for now.

 

For a moment, he's almost swept away with the fun of running through an empty street on a relatively warm evening that he doesn't notice the eyes burning into the back of his head. But he feels it, the familiar prickling sensation on his neck, making him turn back around suspiciously.

 

Up the steps and by the library entrance, is the nice red haired librarian. Duke's run into her before, mostly to ask how to log into the computers so he can search up any recently reported news, or when he's hiding from a particularly stubborn cop out to catch him and send him back to his foster home. She's never asked any questions, except to ask if he wants a cup of water from the break room (Duke always declines).

 

She looks like she's about to head home too, approaching the ramp on the side with a messenger bag on her lap, but she's stopped in her wheelchair to watch Duke and Sarah run off. For a moment, when Duke makes eye contact, she seems a little surprised, but just as quickly, she smiles at them and waves.

 

A little confused, but still giddy, Duke politely smiles back and waves.

 

---

 

"The stop sign!"

 

Sarah grins, "Nope."

 

"Come on," Duke groans, rolling his eyes at the way this game of eye spy has stretched for almost their entire journey back to the bridge, "How many other red things could there be in Gotham?"

 

The girl is hopelessly amused, swinging her hands back and forth as she shrugs, "Come on Duke. The answer is obvious."

 

Duke's sure if he rolls his eyes again, they're going to get permanently stuck at the back of his head, so he just stares at her, hoping it conveys his disinterest. Sarah just laughs, because she knows that he knows the answer, but just doesn't want to admit it.

 

Too bad for her, Duke's stubborn too, so he's not going to give her the answer she wants today. 

 

Or, he wasn't, but then they turn towards the alley that leads right under the bridge, where Duke sees a surprisingly large group of kids given the area, and a very familiar bike.

 

"Hood?" He blinks in surprise, wondering if maybe, just maybe, this is all hopeful dreaming. Last night had been fun, full of surprises and given it could've easily all ended terribly, Duke doesn't want to get greedy and expect it all to go well the second time around.

 

"Woah," He hears Sarah mumbles beside him in awe, "I didn't think we'd actually see him again."

 

Red Hood isn't his friend. He's just a guy who was, for some reason, amused about the idea of Duke stealing his tires and ended up buying him some food. As well as compensating for the tires that Duke didn't actually steal.

 

So no, Red Hood isn't his friend, but then the man leaning against his bike, head tilted like he's listening intently to something, must hear the two new approaching footsteps and looks over. Even with his helmet shielding his entire face, Duke thinks the guy brightens at the sight of them.

 

"Hey kid!" Hood calls with startling familiarity, waving him over with one hand as the other rummages through the large black bag strapped to the back of his bike, "Great timing, I've got something for you."

 

Duke stops abruptly, almost making Sarah walk right into his back, but she easily sidesteps him and continues on towards Hood. She shoots him an odd look over her shoulder when she realises he's stopped moving all together.

 

Red Hood seems to have noticed Duke's frozen frame, but he doesn't say anything at all. Instead, he pulls out something wrapped in plastic, about half the size of Duke's arm, holding it out for Sarah. Now it's her turn to stop, looking down at it quizzically. The weight of the situation, being so close to a vigilante, so close to the Red Hood must dawn on her, and she moves to take a step back and towards Duke again.

 

Before she can, Hood holds it out further away from him, "It's a blanket. I brought enough for everyone."

 

Duke finally pulls his eyes away from Hood and looks around at the small community under the bridge, and now the suspiciously large crowd of kids makes sense. A few of them seem familiar, probably having run into them at a shelter or somewhere briefly on the streets, but some are completely new. Despite what seems to be free handouts, there aren't as many kids as Duke would have expected.

 

The fact that it's the Red Hood, who many didn't think existed outside of scary bedtime stories, handing out the blankets might explain it. A few of the kids look younger than Duke, which would make them too young to really remember what the Red Hood was known for, but for them to know enough to stay away.

 

Just then, someone calls for Sarah, waving their own dark blue blanket around excitedly. With one more long look aimed at Duke, and a slightly more suspicious one at Hood, Sarah grabs the blanket, which is a deep green colour, and whispers a quiet thank you.

 

She steps away, not too far, but close enough that Duke doesn't feel too outnumbered when Hood steps towards him. His hands are hiding something behind his back, but he takes slow and careful steps towards, leaving plenty of space between them when he finally does stop in front of him.

 

Duke has questions. But he waits.

 

"You'll be surprised how rare it is to find things in this colour," Hood explains vaguely, sounding almost nervous, though that could be Duke's imagination, "But hey, don't say I didn't try."

 

He reveals what he was hiding, and it turns out to be a similar blanket wrapped in plastic. Only this time, the material is brighter and a much warmer shade compared to the others. Instead, this one is a dark yellow, just shy of a warm green.

 

Hood holds it out expectantly, and when Duke doesn't move to grab it, he starts to ramble, something that seems both out of character and, with new found understanding, very in character for the young vigilante, "I noticed you didn't have one yesterday when I dropped you off. I saw some of the other kids didn't either… plus it's starting to get colder and..."

 

"Why are you doing this?" Duke asks once Hood's rambling becomes incomprehensible modulated murmurs and static.

 

"Because I can," he answers quickly, like he had expected this question. Hood's short response features a lot more genuine goodness and moral responsibility than Duke was expecting.

 

"But what do you want?" Duke questions, narrowing his eyes.

 

There's being nice; like the charity shops that let you take whatever you want from the box in front of their stores or the kind librarian who waves goodbye. Then there's being helpful; like people who turn a blind eye in the shops when Duke steals soap and toothpaste or the young volunteers at the homeless shelter that don't ask too many questions when they hand him an extra can of baked beans.

 

This doesn't fit any of those categories. Red Hood's supposed to be swinging through the city, fighting Batman or whatever it is he's enemies with, causing chaos and taking control of crime rings overnight. Duke isn't sure how buying kids desserts and dozens of blankets work with that.

 

"I don't want anything," Hood tells him genuinely.

 

Duke almost wants to believe him, "Everyone always wants something."

 

Red Hood looks like he's going to refute that, which would only make Duke distrust him more for lying. Everyone always wants something. Hood nods in thought, like he agrees with Duke's thoughts, helmet looking down straight at the dirty ground.

 

"I knew a kid once, who spent a long time on the streets before he got the help he needed," Hood surprises him by revealing, and Duke's eyes widen at such personal information that makes Red Hood even more of a person than he was yesterday, "I want to help you too."

 

There's not a question in that admittance, almost like Hood is going to help Duke whether he likes it or not, but at least he has the decency to admit it.

 

It's the oldest trick in the book, spinning a fake story to garner some sort of sympathy and trust. It's how kids get lured to places they think are safe, all because some nice guy smiled and said I know others like you. It's how cops and social workers convince you to go back home, it's how kids get taken, it's how people go missing —

 

Duke inhales sharply. He's not an idiot.

 

But;

 

"A couple months ago I got caught in Two-Face's bank heist. I got trampled when people tried to escape and my arm was fucked," a kid had said last night, nibbling on their small piece of waffle with a pensive expression, "Red Hood found me later. I wasn't — I couldn't go to no hospital, they'd send me back to my old man. But I sure as hell wasn't going to let Hood touch me either."

 

Duke had listened to the story with his heart in his throat, nervous and expectant all at once.

 

"He didn't try," the kid finished, "He dropped me some bandages and protein bars and left. Didn't even try to follow me."

 

Duke's not an idiot, but he likes to think he's a pretty good judge of character. It seems the other kids have started to realise the same too, since peering behind the man reveals a handful of children watching the exchange curiously, but not fearfully. Anticipation and interest for the vigilante is growing.

 

Not to mention that, because Duke is not an idiot, he starts to see the blurry writing hidden beneath truth. He's always liked puzzles and riddles, answers hidden in plain sight and waiting to be solved with some carefully thought out patterns, and while that's probably not the best way to understand people, Duke finds it's one of the same.

 

From yesterday's behaviour to today's grand actions of charitability, all presented with careful thought and respectful space, I knew a kid like you is starting to sound a lot more like I was once a kid like you.

 

Maybe that's why it's with a slightly less agonising tightness in his chest, does Duke finally take the outstretched blanket, "Thanks dude," holding it in his arms carefully, he jokes quietly, "But this ain't even yellow."

 

Hood laughs, "I did the best I could, okay? Who even likes the colour yellow?"

 

"You can't say much," Duke grins, feeling the warmth from earlier in the day reach the soles of his feet once more, a familiar situation of jokes and easy amusement in places you'd least expect to find it, "Red is such a basic choice."

 

Hood laughs, shifting his stance like he's going to say something to counter Duke's witty jab, but then his stills. He tilts his head to the side again, and Duke follows his line of vision curiously before he realises that Red Hood is listening to something inside his mask. There's a barely audible muffled conversation coming from the helmet.

 

Then, he brings a gloved hand to the side of his helmet, pressing down on a button Duke hadn't even noticed was there, "Red Hood responding. I'm currently in Coventry, so I'm the closest to Arkham. I'll go check it out first," there's a pause, before Hood groans in annoyance, "No, it's none of your damn business why I'm in Coventry. I don't owe you an explanation. Shut the fu— you know what, whatever, just meet me at St Peter's and don't think about starting without me."

 

He sighs tiredly, and maybe Duke should feel bad about eavesdropping, but he's more concerned that Red Hood's needed in Arkham tonight, which is less than two miles from the bridge that at least ten kids are sleeping under. As if he could sense Duke's faintly growing panic, Red Hood reaches out to rest a hand on his shoulder.

 

Duke is honestly surprised he doesn't flinch or instinctively smack the hand away from him. The discomfort from the warm weight on his shoulder doesn't set in until after Duke realises this.

 

"It's nothing I can't handle," Hood reassures him, which is unnecessary, because Duke wasn't worried, "You guys stay safe and hidden, alright? No wandering around tonight and trying to steal tires."

 

That manages to get a surprised laugh out of Duke, "Whatever man. Go blow up some buildings and punch the bad guys."

 

"I told you, I'm a law abiding citizen now," Hood jokes, finally removing his hand and jogging back to his bike, where he unstraps the still half-full sack of blankets and gently tosses it to the ground, "Feel free to hand these out. I'll check on you guys tomorrow night."

 

You really don't have to do that, is what Duke should've said, but what comes out is, "I'm moving along," he hurries to tell him once Red Hood revs up the engine. He's not sure why he felt like he needed to let the vigilante now, or if he'd even care about Duke's whereabouts specifically.

 

That makes Hood pause, looking back at him with one foot on the ground balancing the bike, "You out looking for something in particular?"

 

"Something like that," Duke answers easily, hoping it's enough to drop the subject. 

 

For a terrible moment, Hood looks like he's going to ask for more clarification, but he just rolls his shoulders and gets ready to leave, "Alright kid. You gonna tell me where you're headed next?"

 

Probably not a good idea to give him a trail to follow. Duke's already getting too attached, too dependent on things he might not have the access to later down the line, "Nah," he shrugs, hoping to convey indifference. It's for the best.

 

Hood isn't annoyed or surprised by the lack of answer, "Alright Duke, fifteen, yellow. I'll see you around."

 

Red Hood should've probably left minutes ago, which is why he doesn't wait around for Duke's response before he's pulling out of the alley and speeding down the road, the sound of his roaring engine fading further and further away. Duke looks down at the yellow blanket in his hands, tightening his grip and listening to the plastic packaging crackle.

 

I'll see you around, he'd said. Hood made it sound like it was a promise.

 

Chapter 3: ICE PACK.

Summary:

Duke gets hurt and makes a friend.

"You're stalking me," Duke grumbles in disbelief when he climbs the fence behind a supermarket, only to be met with an annoyingly familiar bike parked in the back alley.

 

Red Hood shrugs, leaning against the bike with his arms crossed, "It's a small city."

 

It certainly is not, but Duke's not going to argue with a guy who's got knives strapped to his legs. Instead, he side steps him and his bike and continues on his half-walk half-run, pulling his hood right over his head and covering as much of his face as he can. He's really not in the mood to talk to anyone today, let alone the Red Hood.

 

It's been a grand total of two days since he last saw him and received that slightly-yellow blanket. Duke hadn't stuck around for long, and as soon as the buses started running again the following morning, he'd bought himself a ticket to Old Gotham. He's able to get around quicker, since what was once a few hours of walking across the city has become less than an hour of travelling, thanks to the slowly dwindling funds from Hood.

 

It was getting colder now too, so Duke managed to find a jacket in a charity shop around his size. The boots he had to buy were brand new though, because he wanted them to last and it seemed like a worthy investment to get through the next winter in one piece. The jacket just happened to be maroon, practically red, for no reason other than the fact that it was the only one in his size.

 

Unfortunately for him, arriving in a new part of the city and immediately buying new shoes caught him some unwanted attention very quickly. His black eye is proof of that.

 

"I don't want to do this right now," Duke grumbles when he hears the scuffing of shoes following after him, not sure what this really is but confident that Red Hood is the last person he wants to see judging him.

 

Hood doesn't seem to understand the message though, since he takes a few long strides to end up beside him, keeping up with Duke's pace easily, "Where are you off to in such a hurry?"

 

"Nowhere," Duke grumbles.

 

"You okay?" Hood asks, sounding a little more serious.

 

"None of your business," Duke adds for good measure, truly ready to start sprinting away from the vigilante if it comes down to it, regardless of the throbbing pain coursing up and down his leg.

 

The man just hums, "Probably not. But you're limping, so I'm going to make it my business. What happened?"

 

Had this conversation been held earlier this week, Duke might have frozen at being caught injured. He would have felt guilty for being rude to someone who's trying to care, or more pressingly, worried about what sort of reaction Red Hood would give him now that Duke's at a disadvantage. It's hardly a fight if one of the two has a twisted ankle, and is about five times smaller than the other.

 

But over the last few days, Duke's come to realise that Red Hood is a lot of things, but a bad guy he is not. Which is a little funny, because Hood's still the Red Hood. Except the guy, for some reason, has taken pity or interest (Duke's not sure which is worse) on some kid he found jacking his tires and now he's trying to play the fairy godmother of Gotham.

 

Which ultimately means, he's not going to hurt Duke.

 

So, Duke starts running.

 

"Hey wait!" Hood calls after him, but as Duke expected, he doesn't run after him, "Duke!"

 

He'd be a fool to do so, breaking any sort of trust they've built between each other by chasing Duke through a dark alley. Hood knows this as much as Duke does, which is why the man lets him run off. 

 

Maybe it's wrong to use someone's kindness against them like this, but Duke has very little options left. He's hurt and tired and he doesn't need Hood to monopolise on that by swooping in to save the day. In fact, the last thing he wants right now is having to receive another handout.

 

So he runs down the alley, and once he makes it to the main road, he blends in with the small crowds of people out for the night. The one good thing about coming to the busiest part of the city is there's always people around, and for kids like Duke who need to hide fast, it's great.

 

There's a group of drunk girls tripping over themselves across the street that are just out of it enough to be amused by the kid hobbling along between them. Once they've crossed the road, Duke hides as close as he can behind a man with a large briefcase until they pass an alley between two restaurants.

 

It's the adrenaline from the run that has Duke not thinking twice before he slips between the buildings and slinks into the shadows, jumping over forgotten trash and thrown out food while he ignores the smell as best he can. He has a split moment to panic when he reaches the back of the alley and is met with the back of another building. A dead end.

 

When he doesn't hear the sound of footsteps behind him, he almost relaxes.

 

"You're good," A voice then says from the entrance of the alley, sounding amused and deeply impressed, "I almost lost you for a sec. Got some secret stealth training I don't know about?"

 

Duke doesn't bother turning around, just leans his head against the back wall of the alley tiredly, "You know how much of a stalker you sound like right now?"

 

Hood doesn't rise to the bait, evidently done humouring Duke's pathetic attempts at escape in order to save what fragile trust they've created, "What happened to you?"

 

"I got into a fight, okay?" Duke states in exasperation, suddenly weary down to the very bone, "No big deal. Some guy tried to take my shit so I defended myself."

 

It's really not worth all this fuss. Someone had got it into their head that Duke wasn't going to share what little he had and tried to take his bag when he was leaving a shelter. It was the third shelter of the day that he had checked, finding no sign or records of his parents in any of them.

 

The kid got a good hit or two in for having caught Duke off guard, but Duke fought back hard once he got his bearings back. They rolled around in the dirt for a bit, kicking at each other until someone shouted from their window for them to cut it out or they were going to call the cops. The kid had run off before Duke could get a good look at them after that.

 

Not that it mattered. Duke didn't care who this random kid looking to survive another day was. They're both tipping back and forth on the same boat and Duke's not one for revenge.

 

Hood however, didn't share the sentiment, "You got hurt good," he grumbles, now obviously unamused.

 

Duke reaches up to rub his face, feeling the way it's begun to swell, "You should see the other guy."

 

Hood's glare doesn't falter, and Duke curses the perfectly angled lamp post behind him that's no doubt illuminating his bruised and scratched up face. He cleaned it as best he could in the public bathroom, using the last of his plasters to try and close the split on his brow.

 

"Your leg?" Hood asks, not looking down at it.

 

Duke holds the stare, glaring back as best as he can with a swollen eye, "It's fine. Not broken. Just… hurts."

 

"Could be broken," Hood grumbles, turning around and cocking his head to the side for Duke to follow, "Let's go."

 

Duke's feet stay rooted to the spot, "Where?"

 

"To get your leg checked out," Hood tells him vaguely.

 

Panic surges through Duke all at once. Maybe it was too good to be true then, that Red Hood understood in some way that the other grown ups didn't, that he was one of them in all the ways that are important. Then comes anger, betrayal, because Duke's noticed the change Hood's been enforcing over the week, hearing more and more stories of kids reaching out to him for help, and him offering it first.

 

Maybe it's all misplaced belief then, because if — if Hood's going to report him just for a stupid sprained ankle then —

 

Duke's not sure what sort of expression he has on his face, but it must be telling enough to have Hood stiffen in surprise, turning around gently, like he's one action away from making Duke run. Which he is, but Hood's also blocking the only exit.

 

Duke is trapped.

 

"Leslie's Clinic," Hood tells him slowly and clearly, somehow cutting through the sound of the general street bustling behind him, a passing ambulance siren perfectly on cue.

 

"That's all the way on the other side of Gotham!" Duke counters, arms crossed and not budging from his spot. The fear is slowly fading into frustration, the stress of another failed day spent alone weighing him down. 

 

Hood shrugs, still blocking the exit with his huge frame, "Either that or I will drag you to St Luke's Hospital."

 

Duke's mouth drops open in disbelief, "You're threatening me!"

 

"You'll thank me later," Red Hood waves him off, cracking all his knuckles in one fell swoop (which, totally adds to the whole threatening development) before looking back at Duke over his shoulder, "So what'll it be?"

 

Fuck you is what is should be, and Duke really is tempted to say something along those lines, but now that Duke's been forced to confront the pain in his leg and face, its growing unbearable. Realistically, he knows his leg is probably going to hurt even more tomorrow if he ignores it, same with the black eye.

 

"Leslie will report me," Duke says quietly, since he's not got the spirit left to fight. He's hurt and it feels like he's always hurting. 

 

Hood doesn't disagree with him. Leslie's Clinic in the centre of Crime Alley is a beacon in all things dark and dangerous, having withstood gang war after gang war on the basis of being neutral and impartial. Duke's been there once before, the first time he got sick after running away from his foster house, when he had a fever so bad it was splitting his head into two.

 

Leslie had taken pity on him, turned her back after she had given him some medicine that tasted like bananas, letting him run out the clinic before she asked questions. How old are you? Where do you live? Is there a parent I can contact? Do you need help? Are you alone?

 

Are you alone?

 

"She won't report you," Hood consoles him, like it's the truth.

 

Duke feels his eyes sting, whether it's from the throbbing in his face or the cold and lonely blanket that's draped itself over him, "She will."

 

"Not if she doesn't see us," Hood's speaking very softly now, and maybe Duke should feel grossed out that he's being spoken to like he's a weak and emotional child.

 

"Come on kid," the man calls to him, never stepping towards him or away, "I've got your back."

 

For now, Duke thinks as he takes heavy steps forward, willing the tightness in his chest to leave and let him catch his breath.

---

"Nice jacket, by the way," Hood says a few minutes later once they've made it back to the alley Duke ran out from, sounding just flattered enough that Duke can tell he's not being made fun of. It still makes him roll his eyes.

 

They climb onto the bike in a painfully rehearsed fashion, like this is a casual, usual and normal action, like this will always be an option for them. Duke can't stop himself from reaching forward to grab onto the back of Hood's own jacket, hands shaking just a little at the vice grip.

 

Red Hood doesn't say anything about it. He tightens his gloves, cracks his knuckles again while checking over something on the bike. Nothing is out of the ordinary.

 

"I'm sorry," Duke mumbles when he feels Hood get ready to start the bike.

 

"You don't have anything to be sorry about," Hood replies immediately.

 

"I had a bad day and took it out on you," Duke continues just as quickly, not really looking for forgiveness (he knows Hood would give it to him anyway) but just wanting to get at least one of the crushing weights of guilt off his shoulder, "Sorry man."

 

There's a moment of silence. It's not foreboding, but Duke still finds himself growing restless, because Hood seems to be deep in thought. 

 

Finally, he moves to start the bike, revving the engine obnoxiously as he whispers a barely audible, "You're a good kid, Duke."

 

Duke holds on tight the whole drive.

---

"Do my eyes deceive me?" Duke hears a bright voice jeer the moment they step through the back entrance of the clinic.

 

Red Hood groans in annoyance, stopping so abruptly Duke walks straight into him, not that it makes him move at all. It feels like walking into a brick wall, except the brick wall has hands that reach out to steady him when Duke almost topples backwards.

 

"What are you doing here?"

 

"Probably the same reason you're here," the voice jokes dryly, and Duke peers over Red Hood's frame to catch a glance at whoever they're antagonising.

 

Someone in a dark purple and black suit waves around their arm, which is wrapped in a thick layer of bandages. Duke blinks in surprise at the black mask that covers their entire face, not showing a single slip of skin. Recognition filters through him a moment later.

 

Spoiler scoffs, "I got nicked by some asshole playing with a gun he doesn't know how to use."

 

Hood manages to sound both concerned and exasperated at that, "And you're here and not in the cave because…"

 

"Because technically I'm not supposed to be patrolling tonight," She shrugs, "Besides, if I didn't come here, I would have missed the Red Hood willingly reaching out for medical help. It's a Christmas miracle!"

 

Duke snorts, because it's September. The noise alerts Hood, who sighs tiredly. He mumbles something that sounds like Oh great, there's two of them, before walking further into the clinic and letting Duke follow him in, "I'm not here for me."

 

The humour of the strange situation disappears the moment the attention is on him, and Duke stiffens when a faceless gaze lands on him. His hands tighten around his bag straps as Spoiler tilts her head to the side, as if sizing him up and trying to figure him out with nothing but a once over.

 

"Damn," she mumbles, gaze finally landing on his black eye and adopting a very serious tone all of a sudden, not dissimilar to the one Hood had when he noticed the bruise too, "Who did that to you?"

 

"I got into a fight," he shrugs, really not wanting to talk about it again, looking away and opting to stare down at Red Hood's (surprisingly clean) boots. The man nudges Duke further into the small room, hands not really touching his shoulders as he's gently pushed towards the second vigilante.

 

Spoiler whistles, "Did you win?"

 

Hood laughs, "He did," he informs her before Duke can answer. There's pride in his voice when he tells her and for some reason, Duke's filled with warmth, despite his twisted ankle and bruised face.

 

"Good job kid," Spoiler chuckles, patting the space on the gurney next to her.

 

Duke's too taken aback by the idea that he's standing in a room with two masked vigilantes to be nervous, but he still limps over cautiously, making sure there's as much distance as he can make between him and Spoiler when he sits down. Spoiler watches him critically the whole time, or, he thinks she is, since it's hard to tell what she's looking at with her face covered.

 

With a little annoyance, Duke realises he's the most expressive person in the room.

 

"Must have been one hell of a fight if Red Hood got involved," Spoiler continues, kicking her legs back and forth as she turns to face Duke.

 

Duke glares at Red Hood's back as he shuffles around the small medical room in search of an ice pack, "He wasn't there. He's just stalking me."

 

Hood sighs, not bothering to look back when he repeats, "I am not stalking you. Don't you think I got better shit to do with my free time?"

 

"Not really," Duke grumbles loud enough for him to hear, but Hood ignores him anyway.

 

Spoiler startles him by laughing boisterously, looking between them hurriedly, "What makes you think he's stalking you? I wouldn't hold it against him to be honest, he's sort of known for being a weirdo."

 

"That's not true," Hood tries and fails to sound convincing, walking back to them with an ice pack wrapped in tissue paper for Duke.

 

For a moment, it looks like Hood was going to place the ice pack on Duke himself, but thinks better of it at the last second. Wordlessly, he holds it out for Duke, who grabs it carefully, slowly placing it against the swelling side of his face. He hisses at first, grimacing at the cold contact, but Hood's watching him expectantly, so Duke preserves.

 

When the cold becomes a little less unbearable, Duke turns to face Spoiler, shrugging, "He's been following me for days."

 

"I haven't seen you since Tuesday!" Hood exclaims. He sounds like he's smiling.

 

Spoiler laughs again, "What did you do to end up on Hood's radar?"

 

Duke's tempted to tell her the truth. It must be evident on his face, because Hood's head snaps over to him.

 

"No," Hood whispers sharply, "You promised."

 

Raising a brow — the one that isn't going numb from the ice pack — Duke does think about it. He had promised he wouldn't tell anyone about how he'd basically almost-stole Red Hood's tires. But surely that promise didn't branch over to other vigilantes and is only applicable to the other kids Duke might meet.

 

Besides, Spoiler won't do anything. Duke's seen her right bright purple minivan. She doesn't need Red Hood's tires.

 

This reasoning is why Duke doesn't feel the slightest bit bad when he grins at her, innocently saying, "I tried to steal his tires."

 

"Dammit," Hood mutters.

 

"No fucking way," Spoiler chortles, slapping her hand so aggressively on the gurney as she laughs that Duke becomes worried about her injured hand, "You're kidding! This is like —"

 

"I can't believe you'd betray me like this," Hood sighs, but Duke's too busy laughing at him.

 

Spoiler's moving the entire gurney with her laughter, and Duke can't help but laugh even harder as they both shake from the force of it. It's a miracle Leslie hasn't stormed to the back of her clinic in search of what's causing this earthquake.

 

Laughter is still on her lips as she turns to speak with him, "You need to tell me everything. In as much detail as possible. I've got at least three other people to relay this story to."

 

Duke's hopelessly amused. He laughs again, his side hurting (from both the bruise he knows is there and at how hard he's been laughing), almost letting the ice pack slip out of his hands. Before it can, Hood is there, grabbing it out of his grasp and holding it against Duke's swollen eye.

 

Duke's still grinning when he looks up at the vigilante, before eagerly turning back to Spoiler. He's on the high of giddiness, enthusiastically telling her exactly how easy it was to find the bike and break it apart, moving his hands around.

 

"My reputation is in shambles," Hood grumbles when Duke mentions the tacos.

 

Duke snorts, "As if it wasn't before."

 

"Oh I like this one," Spoiler chuckles, "What's your name kid?"

 

"Duke Thomas," Duke replies easily.

 

Spoiler moves along quickly, distracting him by asking him to explain the rest of the evening and how the drive-through worker reacted when Red Hood pulled up to the window with a kid on his back asking for ten waffles. Duke doesn't even realise he's given away his full name, too busy mocking Hood's modulated voice politely saying Please remove the peanut toppings.

 

Hood gives away no indication that he's noticed the slip up either, unaffected by the information Duke wasn't willing to share before but so easily offered now. Duke's moved on to talk about one of his favourite kebab shops in The Narrows, gasping in fake offence when Spoiler announces she's never been a fan of kebabs.

 

Red Hood stands there quietly, holding the ice pack against the kid's bruised face, listening intently as he laughs at his own jokes — which only makes Spoiler laugh harder.

 

Chapter 4: HELMET.

Summary:

Duke puts a face to the Red Hood.

Notes:

i did not realise how long it had been since i last updated this! as an apology, here is a long chapter!!

Duke ends up spending another day in Crime Alley.

 

The time spent in Leslie's Clinic gets away from him. Somewhere between him explaining all the good burger spots to Red Hood (who is, for some reason, incredibly outdated on the best places to eat) and Spoiler dramatically retelling the story of Red Hood failing to do a quadruple twirl grapple flip (whatever that is) and nosedived into a dumpster, Duke fell asleep on the gurney they were both sitting on.

 

He didn't realise just how tired he was until he woke up hours later. It makes sense now, looking back at the last few days, and how it was almost entirely spent walking around or getting bruised up. Duke's become pretty good at pushing the fatigue away, compensating for the tiredness by constantly having somewhere to go.

 

It's a good plan, always having something to do. Until his body can't quite keep up with his mind.

 

His mouth is thick and dry with heavy sleep, and he almost topples off the side of the gurney when he startles awake to figure out where he is, knocking a now warm ice pack off his foot and hearing it slap against the tile floor. He jumps at the sound, peering down in confusion.

 

It's well into the morning now, judging by the light pouring in from the windows. Duke looks up hurriedly, pushing the blanket someone had draped over him off and rubbing the sleep out of his eyes.

 

Blinking around shows he's still in the back of the clinic, the smell of antibacterial and general hospital equipment more identifiable than the night before, since he can actually see everything now. His bag is propped on a nearby table, and Duke jumps off the gurney to approach it slowly, still trying to push through the drowsiness that's holding onto him.

 

He's alone, unsurprisingly. After all, no one ever sees the infamous Gotham vigilantes when the sun's out, unless the world is truly ending. Duke pretends it doesn't sting a little, that Red Hood would have just left him here without a goodbye. Duke isn't exactly happy about being left here to spend the night somewhere he could have gotten caught either.

 

The sourness depletes a little when Duke catches a small note written on the back of an empty prescription paper next to his bag, and he holds it up to his face with a yawn. His eyes widen in pleasant surprise as he reads.

 

Duke,

Leslie's out of town on business, so the place is being looked after by her apprentice. Her name is Stephanie, and she won't come to check the back until after lunch, so take what you need and make sure you're gone by then!

See you around!

Spoiler.

 

Duke quickly looks around the room for a clock, breathing a sigh of relief when it shows just a little bit past nine in the morning. He folds up the note carefully, immediately tucking it safely into the front zipper pocket of his bag, finally feeling awake and eager to head out. He's cutting it pretty close for time, so it's best he makes himself scarce before this Stephanie comes to do inventory.

 

Despite the note's suggestion, Duke doesn't take anything. He'd already used the back room to sleep in, and that's definitely a step too far in what's acceptable. Not to mention that the clinic isn't exactly Gotham General, so  their supplies are limited and could be used for someone who actually needs them.

 

Duke ignores the dull ache across his face at that thought, or the slightly less but still evident throbbing of his foot. 

 

He tugs his jacket on properly, zips it up the whole way and hikes his bag over his shoulder, almost missing something hidden behind it. Duke doesn't need to look too hard to realise what it is, and the small smile on his face splits into a grin at the sight of it.

 

There's a silly looking smiley face drawn on the takeaway box with the same marker that Spoiler had written her note in, but Duke knows exactly who would have left waffles with no peanut toppings for him.

 

---

 

Duke probably needs to tell Hood that he can't keep feeding him waffles for breakfast, since it's probably not healthy and it'll definitely stunt his growth (his mother would have said that). But for now, Duke walks through the relatively empty streets, well rested and stomach full of cold but delicious waffles.

 

There's a slight chill over Gotham this morning, proof of the coming winter season as the autumn begins to pull away. There's very few trees in this part of the city, but even people's potted plants have started to lose their leaves and the air feels sharper with the growing cold.

 

Duke pulls the collar of his jacket up higher as he follows a familiar street past Leslie's Clinic. There's already a line curling around the specific building he was looking for, but it's not too long given the time, and Duke isn't too fussed when he joins the back easily. The man in front of him gives him a short nod in casual greeting, but otherwise, no one seems to notice the kid on his own.

 

A volunteer wrapped in a thick coat is walking up and down the line, greeting everyone with a bright and surprisingly genuine grin, “Morning everyone! We've got new sleeping bags if anyone needs one, along with some blankets and —”

 

“Oh, it's you,” Duke hears behind him, and turns hesitantly to see a somewhat familiar face.

 

“Clarisse,” the boy smiles, stepping to the side to let the older girl stand beside him in the slowly moving line, “Hey!”

 

“Hey yourself,” Clarisse grins back, knocking their shoulders together, “Haven't seen you in a while. Glad to see the cops haven't picked you up again for running away.”

 

He rolls his eyes as she laughs good naturedly, looking over him quickly. She seems happy at what she sees, since her dark eyes grow a little warmer, smiling softer. Duke's grateful she doesn't linger too long on his probably yellowing black eye, instead focusing her attention on what they're giving out for breakfast this morning.

 

He hasn't seen Clarisse in a while, but she looks a lot better than she did those few months ago, brown cheeks fuller and flushed a light pink as she smiles. As far as Duke knows, she sticks to Crime Alley, probably looking for something in its perpetually dark alleyways like everyone else, so it's not often they run into each other. Duke stays away from this place as best he can.

 

In fact, the last time he'd seen her, she told him about how Red Hood had saved her life from some kidnappers and thrown a couple hundred dollars into her hand.

 

What awe and slight disbelief he'd felt about that story before seems ridiculous now, since it sounds like something Hood definitely would have done. Red Hood's reputation may have not been too trustworthy before, but it definitely precedes him now.

 

“You staying in the Alley long?” Clarisse asks once they make it to the tables outside the shelter, keeping her head down as she accepts the styrofoam cup of warm tea.

 

Duke does the same, nodding slightly in thanks as he follows her to the trays of toast and bagels, “Probably not.”

 

“Did you find whoever it was you were looking for?” She asks a little softer.

 

Duke bites the inside of his cheek, suddenly not feeling as hungry and wordlessly declining a strawberry jam sandwich a volunteer tries to pass to him, “Nah. Not yet.”

 

Clarisse nods in understanding, taking it with stride and not letting the sudden heaviness of the conversation take over. She's snacking on a plain piece of toast and butter, standing off to the side and letting Duke catch up to her before moving along.

 

“So,” she continues, much more talkative than the first time they met under similar circumstances, now standing in the next line for necessities and camping equipment, “You staying at the shelter tonight?”

 

Duke considers her question, taking a short glance at the building in question, which seems to be bustling both inside and outside despite the early morning. As far as he knows, they always do breakfasts and tea outside in the mornings, just like the church up the road.

 

The Jason Todd-Wayne Homeless Shelter is a sore sight, in the sense that it's a warm toned and recently renovated building in comparison to the drab and crumbling state of the other buildings in the area. Duke can understand why, the name Jason Todd-Wayne not exactly an unfamiliar one, but it's a bit daunting to think about it in any serious capacity.

 

Duke was too young to really remember what it was like, when the boy was supposedly saved off the streets and placed into the care of Bruce Wayne. Duke's memory is near impeccable, but even then, it's a little difficult to try and imagine the man his family had saved all those years ago in such a position.

 

It was an oddly lucky fate for Jason, a one in a million Annie sort of lucky — though maybe it's a bit tasteless to make that comparison. The boy had died, after all, when he was around Duke's age. An accident, or something. He wonders what kind of dad Bruce Wayne was to Jason. What kind of dad he is now to his many other children Duke's heard of in the magazines.

 

He must not be too bad, if this building is any consolation. The Jason Todd Homeless Shelter is, obviously, very well funded and looked after. Which means it probably doesn't have anything too nefarious taking place in its walls, given its right under Bruce Wayne's charitable nose.

 

Unfortunately, that does mean they care a little too genuinely and ask hard to answer questions. 

 

“Nah,” Duke tells Clarisse after a few seconds of thinking it over, finally making it to the table where a staff member is digging into a large plastic box, surrounded by an assortment of other random boxes of necessities.

 

“Would you like a blanket?” The lady asks, picking a folded one out for Clarisse.

 

She shakes her head, grabbing a box of tampons instead and moving along briskly, “No thanks, I've got one.”

 

Duke follows along, right at her heel, snagging a new toothbrush from a nearby tub, “Same here.”

 

The lady looks pleased, “Well, we'll definitely have extras at the end if you want another! Seems like everyone's already got a new blanket.”

 

Duke can't help but smile at that, because yeah, they do. He catches Clarisse look equally as happy about the news, and as they walk away from the shelter in no direction in particular, she gives him a knowing glance.

 

“What colour did he give you?” She asks casually, not really specifying who she's talking about.

 

Duke grins, understanding her all the same, “Yellow. You?”

 

She smirks, “Red.”

 

“Of course,” Duke grumbles, unsurprised, but he's smiling fondly. He's been doing that a lot lately.

 

Clarisse laughs, patting him strongly on the back as she shoves the last of her toast into her mouth, almost making him spill his cup of tea, “Come on, I've got an extra mattress at my place with your name on it.”

 

---

 

A couple hours later, Duke's weaving through dimly lit alleys of Park Row once more, but for the first time in a long time, he thinks his odds of finding what he's looking for are good.

 

Clarisse had come with him for a bit, showing him some of her favourite spots (Where Duke keeps an eye out for anyone resembling his parents) and telling him how to stay clear of the vigilant but infrequent patrol car, before she split and had to head to her new night job. She's washing plates in one of the Penguins clubs, where they don't care for ID and pay in cash for any extra hands in the back.

 

She'd offered to take him with her, but Duke's not exactly looking to take the few dollars he doesn't need right now when someone else could earn it. Besides, he's got something to do first.

 

The thing in question is parked between two under construction buildings, hidden between crates and forgotten material. It's a great attempt at being covert, but Duke had a feeling he would find it in a place like this, and approaches it with a smirk.

 

He taps against the handles of the very familiar bike, giving a pointed look to the wheels. He kneels down to inspect them, and Duke takes a moment to weigh the annoyance he might cause with how funny it would be to try and break the frame and swipe a tire again. You know, now that the threat of bodily harm is thrown out the window.

 

Before he can really commit to it however, Duke hears the telltale stomping of heavy footsteps round the corner, before they come to an abrupt stop. There's half a second of panic, where Duke realises being caught in a dark alley by a stranger is the worst way to end the night, but then he hears a modulated grumble of exasperation. He wonders when that became a familiar sound.

 

“You're kidding, this is some serious deja vu,” Red Hood complains, shaking his head as he approaches Duke, who's now standing by his bike with a stupid grin, “Haven't you learnt your lesson after trying to steal my tires the first time?”

 

“Haven't you learnt to not leave it parked where someone else could try?” Duke counters, doing his best to raise a brow and look defensive, but he's too amused to carry the tone. He splutters into a fit of giggles when Hood laughs as well.

 

“Hey, you're in my turf now,” Hood points out, slapping the seat bike and leaning against the back, “You'd be a fool to try and rob me here!”

 

“Is that a challenge?” Duke asks, smirking.

 

Red Hood barks a laughter in surprise, reaching out to pat Duke's head in a surprisingly gentle and familiar gesture. They're both too lost in the banter to realise it, because Duke only laughs louder and shrugs him off, and Hood doesn't pull away like he's been burned.

 

The movement does bring attention to his face though, and Hood tilts his head to the side to get a good look at him, laughter fading, “Your face is healing well.”

 

Duke blinks, suddenly remembering why he was even out looking for the vigilante in the first place, “Oh, yeah, about that. I wanted to say thanks.”

 

“Nothing to thank me for, kid,” Hood tells him, a little quieter. It's hard to tell for sure what sort of tone the man has, since most of it is hidden between that robotic layer, but he almost sounds a little sad.

 

It doesn't deter Duke's good mood, “Yeah sure. But really, thanks for taking me to the clinic. I appreciate it.”

 

Hood nods stiffly, turning away for a moment before he looks back at Duke, clearing his throat, “You got somewhere safe for tonight?”

 

“I'm staying with a friend,” Duke offers vaguely, but judging by the silence that follows, it's not quite enough for the attentive Red Hood, “Clarisse. We're staying in that abandoned apartment building by Falcone's old bar."

 

“Clarisse, seventeen, red?” Hood immediately asks.

 

Duke blinks in surprise, struggling to make sense of the seemingly random sequence of words. That is, until he remembers the first time they met, and the series of questions Red Hood had asked him. Name, age, favourite colour?

 

“Yeah,” Duke scoffs in disbelief, “Is that how you remember all the kids you run into?”

 

“Only the ones who get into the most trouble,” Hood laughs, “So you two better stay out of it.”

 

Duke holds up his hands in surrender, “Hey, I don't go looking for trouble!”

 

“Sure,” the man replies in a tone that suggests he doesn't quite agree, before he's angling his head towards the bike in question, “You hungry? We can check out that noodle place you were telling me about yesterday.”

 

Duke steps back instinctively. He's not even entirely aware he's done it until he catches Hood peering at him curiously, and he quickly smiles to hide the sudden nervousness. It's nothing Red Hood's done, at least, not willingly.

 

It's just — well, it's dangerous to form a routine. Red Hood isn't his guardian angel to be driving him around every night to escape a couple nightmares.

 

“No man, it's alright,” Duke laughs, hoping he doesn't sounds as unconvincing as he feels about it all, “Just wanted to say thanks. You've probably got better things to do.”

 

Duke knows he's opened a new and dangerous can of worms when the vigilante doesn't reply or move, but continues to watch Duke stumble about anxiously. It doesn't feel right to just leave, but at the same time, he's not going to get anywhere by just waiting for a response.

 

“You don't ever got to do what you don't want to do,” Hood starts rather abruptly, slow and calm and pouring deliberate purpose into every word. It's the most genuine Duke has ever heard him sound.

 

It stuns him into silence. Duke's not sure how to respond, if that's what he's supposed to do.

 

“You know that, right?” Hood prompts.

 

Duke swallows, shrugging, “Yeah.”

 

“So you don't gotta come with me if you don't want to,” Hood continues, “Just like how I don't have to eat dinner with you if I don't want to.”

 

“I get that,” Duke mumbles, a little offput by the over explaining.

 

Hood crosses his arms over his chest, leaning against his bike and watching Duke like he has all the time in the world to spend waiting, “So, what do you want right now?”

 

It's a loaded question. Probably a heavier one than what Red Hood is trying to encourage him with. Duke's surprise at the words quickly sink into something a little more brittle, not yet formed and weak, and the wants he holds are once again an ever present itch against his skin.

 

I want my parents. I want to go home. I want things to be normal again. I want to sleep in a bed. I want a hug.

 

“I want noodles,” Duke says quietly. It's the simplest and easiest way he thinks he can verbalise anything he wants right now.

 

Red Hood nods easily, like any answer would have been the right one. In a way, Duke thinks that was probably the point.

 

“Come on then,” he says, “I'm starving.”

---

 

After they've ordered some food (and experienced a very awkward encounter at the counter, where the cashier was very unsubtly trying to ask if Duke had been kidnapped by Red Hood and needed help), the man drives them further out of Park Row, past Crest Hill and across the bridge into even more secluded roads to eat the food.

 

The drive was longer than Duke expected, clinging onto the vigilante's back the entire way and watching as the forest of tall buildings quickly became empty lands and hills. They've long passed the skyscrapers and bright city office buildings, and reached more greenery and secluded houses in the distance.

 

They're not too far past the bridge that they've entered Wayne-level rich, but Bristol was still Bristol, and Duke was hesitant when they finally parked and Hood told him to take a seat in the grass. Either because this would be the perfect place to get murdered without anyone knowing, but also for someone to call the cops on them for loitering.

 

That being said, once Duke had (rather reservedly) settled into the grass, a foot or so away from Red Hood's bike, the man had taken a seat a bit away from him and silently pointed up at the sky.

 

Duke stops his fidgeting to follow the hand upward, and once he does he can't help but gasp.

 

He's never seen so many stars before.

 

He knew they existed, realistically. Even Duke had not been immune to a brief obsession about space as a kid, and so he'd say he was more knowledgeable about the vast expanses of the sky than the average Gothamite.

 

But living in a city that was known for its smog and perpetual overcast didn't just mean every other person was asthmatic — it also made it incredibly hard to believe the stars you learn about were actually up in the sky. Now that they're far away enough from the city and it's light pollution, Duke sees hundreds of little lights in the dark sky.

 

He feels a breeze rush past his neck, making him shiver, but he can't look away. Red Hood laughs quietly at his apparent amazement.

 

"Yeah, cool as hell right?" He chuckles, unpacking their food meticulously and carefully passing one box over with a plastic fork poked into the lid, "I remember the first time I saw it I almost cried. The world is so big once you get a chance to step back and really look."

 

Duke feels oddly choked up hearing that and when he takes his offered takeaway box with faintly shaking hands, he pulls his eyes away from the sky to look at Hood. He blinks for a moment, when the stars follow his vision down to the ground, but once it settles, he sees Hood looking up at the sky with the same sort of reverence, "Thanks."

 

Hood seems to realise the weight behind the gratitude, thankful for more than just the food, "Don't mention it kid. Eat your food."

 

Duke nods, telling himself it's the cold that's making his eyes watery, opening his food carefully as he crosses his legs beneath him.

 

He hears Hood do the same, but then, the man places his box in the grass and begins to fiddle behind his head.

 

It makes sense that Hood would need to take off his helmet to actually eat the food he'd brought, Duke realises. All the other times they'd eaten, Hood hadn't actually, well, eaten. Duke didn't consider he'd do that with him still here, and wasn't given any warning either, before he hears the clicking of metal, and he sees the back of the helmet open in his peripheral vision.

 

Duke almost has a heart attack when Hood moves to unclasp his helmet completely with a mechanical hiss of joints, pulling it off to reveal a domino mask and a head full of curly hair, with a single white streak through the middle.

 

For some reason, Duke hadn't considered the possibility that there was actually a person beneath the helmet. He knew, conceptually, that there had to be someone — but assuming so and seeing so are two very different truths.

 

There were rumours his red helmet was his head for a long time (it wouldn't make him the strangest looking guy in Gotham). Not to mention that for people who operated best in secrecy, vigilantes taking their masks off unannounced can't be helping them stay very hidden. Duke never felt the need to know for certain anyway.

 

Immediately though, Duke turns away before he can catalogue anything else about Red Hood's face. He finds a bush in the distance to stare at, even when he hears the sound of something heavy being placed on the grass between them. Duke is still facing away and very intently anywhere but the man next to him, a bit confused and mostly unsure of how to act, when he hears a clear and distinct laugh.

 

For the first time, it's without the robotic and modulated voice that encompasses it. He hears the real and true Red Hood.

 

This is a big deal right? It feels like a big deal. It feels like a huge, massive deal and Duke is also massively unprepared for it. 

 

“Hey,” Hood laughs a little louder, “Duke.”

 

“Yeah?” Duke asks, shoving a mouthful of noodles and steamed vegetables into his mouth without anything better to do with his sweaty hands.

 

“You can turn around,” the man laughs again, softer. He's not making fun of Duke, but he sounds just as nervous about it as well.

 

It's this slight hesitancy in the man's tone that makes Duke consider the permission, “You sure?”

 

He hears Hood exhale slowly, “Yeah.”

 

Duke doesn't need more convincing, and slowly, he turns around until he's sat as he was before, but this time, he really looks.

 

Red Hood expects it and meets his eye, which is so weird, because it's more than just an expression now. Despite the fact the man's eyes are still covered by the white lenses of the domino mask, it's the principle of the matter; Duke can see Red Hood's eyes.

 

Duke can't help the smile that stretches across his face, which only grows when Hood does the same. It's a crooked sort of smile, mostly due to a scar on one corner of his mouth that pulls that side of his face down a little. Duke counts a couple more scars on his face, healed well and a long time ago by the smooth and light skin in comparison to the rest of his more tanned face.

 

But the most familiar, most human thing about Red Hood is his nose. It's as crooked as his smile.

 

Duke laughs, “How many times have you broken your nose?”

 

The question catches Hood off guard, and he blinks in surprise before laughing in bemusement, “What's it to you?”

 

“Is that why you wear a helmet?” Duke continues, grabbing his fork and digging around for his next bite, “Because you used to block every hit with your face?”

 

“You're one to talk,” Hood grumbles, but the twitch that pulls the corner of his mouth betrays his annoyed tone. The man mirrors Duke's lack of dramatic reaction, grabbing his own food.

 

Duke is practically vibrating on the inside, with a mixture of excitement and apprehension for the situation. But besides Red Hood's new revealed secret of never setting his nose correctly after getting it busted, Duke also realises that the man is much younger than he'd first assumed.

 

It's both daunting as it is comforting. Duke imagines the man's feeling just as nervous, if more, about revealing something so personal. So Duke's trying real hard to pretend it isn't a big deal.

 

That being said, he can't quite stop himself from asking, “Do you really trust me enough to show me your face?”

 

For some reason, Hood doesn't seem as surprised by this question as he was by the last. He hums around his fork, chewing his own mouthful of food in thought before answering, “Well, what's the worst you're gonna do now that you've seen it?”

 

Duke narrows his eyes at the underestimation, or naivety, “I could redraw it and run it through the criminal database and figure out your real identity.”

 

Red Hood raises his brows, morbidly impressed by the threat, “Is that something you know how to do?”

 

“I could figure it out!” Duke defends, pointing his fork at the man.

 

“I'm sure you could,” Hood laughs, and he doesn't sound like he disagrees, “You won't find anything though.”

 

“Because you're not a criminal?” Duke asks disbelievingly.

 

Red Hood grins with teeth, canines a little too sharp, and that might have truly terrified Duke if the guy's mouth wasn't also covered in teriyaki sauce, “Because my face isn't on any database.”

 

That does make it trickier. Duke contemplates it, taking another bite of his food in thought while Hood does the same. The man looks hopelessly amused by the situation, or Duke's best efforts in convincing him that showing his face is a bad idea.

 

“So, what, you like legally don't exist?” Duke ponders out loud, “Like a spy?”

 

“Something like that,” Hood hums.

 

“Nah, no offence man, but you're not cool enough to be a spy,” Duke scoffs, much to Red Hood's offended glare.

 

Before the man can try and convince the boy that he is definitely cool enough to be a spy, Duke comes to another thought. He's not really thinking about it seriously when he suggests another theory haphazardly, “You're not like, legally dead, are you?”

 

Duke is beginning to wonder if Red Hood's gone a little too soft, since the man starts to choke on his food in evident surprise, proving Duke's hit the right answer. The boy flounders around, wondering if he'll get away with slapping the man on the back to help him through his coughing fit, but before he can, Hood's breathing heavily and looking at him with wide eyes.

 

“New rule,” Red Hood quickly says, voice hoarse from all his hacking, “You can't tell anyone about how you almost stole my tires, and you definitely can't tell them about this conversation.”

 

“Not even Spoiler?” Duke grins.

 

“Definitely not Spoiler,” Red Hood groans, “She'll never let me live this down. You've already given her enough blackmail material.”

 

Duke's laughter is delighted and unforgivingly loud, as it gets carried through the tall grass of Bristol, under a clear and starry sky.

 

Later, Duke will realise that he laughs a lot, these days. It's... nice.

 

Notes:

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