Chapter Text
The Red Hood had loose, curly black hair. Besides the distinct streak of pure white you couldn’t get with any type of dye, it reminded Dick of-
Focus. Wires under Hood’s mask were spitting sparks where a massive hole had splintered through and weren’t there supposed to be bombs in the mask? Dick needed to get it off him, now. Crime lord or not, he couldn’t leave him to have his head blown off his shoulders, and he needed to see how badly he’d hit his head.
Hood groaned, twisting weakly under him. “It’s okay,” Dick said, trying to calm him down so he didn’t get them both blown up. Again. “How do I get this off of you, Hood? I need to make sure you’re not dying, okay?”
You weren’t supposed to take the helmet off, usually- sometimes, if there were spinal injuries, it was the only thing keeping the person alive. But if the helmet blew, they’d both die, and Dick was pretty sure Hood didn’t have a spinal injury. In fact, in the few reports they ever got from Crime Alley, he seemed to heal far quicker than a normal human when he did take injuries, which was apparently pretty rare, in itself.
Dammit. Was Tim on comms tonight? If B lost another son in an explosion, Dick had the feeling he wouldn’t recover, this time-
The helmet made a fizzling, crackling noise, which Dick took to be an immensely bad sign, but then there was a sharp hiss, and it unlatched. Dick pulled it off him as gently as possible, setting it down, checking where the blood tracking its way down Hood’s face was coming from. A cut, right at the hairline, where his head had hit the wall.
Hood twisted again, bringing his hands up with a groan of pain. “Sorry,” Dick said, and meant it. He pulled away, leaving the smaller domino mask untouched.
Swallowing the bitter memory of an autopsy report, Dick… considered calling for the Batmobile. They were in some dank alley just outside of Park Row, which was probably why Hood hadn’t shot him immediately, and he couldn’t just ditch him here, no more than he could leave him with that cracked helmet on.
He needed to get Hood to Leslie’s. It was a miracle he wasn’t out cold, but he was almost definitely concussed, and he knew that several people in the area around the clinic had seen Hood, carting small, skinny children behind him, so he at least trusted her enough to care of Alley kids. Dick hauled him up- fuck he was heavy- and started to walk to the clinic.
Hood groaned, stumbling as the ground became a lot further away than it had been. Dick winced- he’d been there- but he doubted Hood would appreciate being shoved into the backseat of the Batmobile. So he braced Hood’s arm around his shoulders, and they wobbled down the street together.
Oracle had called him out to a warehouse on the edge of Park Row, he’d explained to Leslie. It was the center of a trafficking ring the Bats had been tracking for a while, and while B was busy recovering from last week’s broken arm courtesy of some civilian on fear toxin, the rest of them had come to the conclusion that they didn’t want to wait around for more people to get hurt. It was a small group, but considering Tim was still a kid and B would have flipped-
Well, Nightwing thought it would be better to go on his own. He'd scope it out and pull back if he thought he couldn't handle it.
They didn’t know Hood was there until Nightwing had snuck through one of the windows and saw him having a tense conversation with the traffickers who ran operations there, and then one of them- the leader, probably- had taken a threatening step forward.
Hood had remedied that by shooting him in the face, and from there all hell had broken loose. Nightwing dropped down- enemy of my enemy, and also maybe Hood would kill less of them if a Bat was there (he did not) and assisted, but one of the traffickers, by the end, had managed to set up a bomb with non-insubstantial amounts of C4. So then the warehouse had been a smoking wreck. Hood had taken the brunt of it, slamming hard into a wall, mask letting out a sharp crack! and slumping, unconscious, dazed- it didn’t matter. Out for the count, and-
And Nightwing couldn’t just leave him. By the time he’d dragged him into the nearest alleyway, he was semiconscious and trying to keep Dick away from his face.
Even with the little fires in the wreckage of the warehouse, they’d been in a dark, dirty alleyway. It wasn’t until he’d shouldered the doors of Leslie’s clinic open, and she’d come over to help lay Hood down, that he got a good look at him.
The scars had leapt out first. Jagged, from cheek to mouth- Dick knew what kind of injury healed into that, and it wasn’t pretty. But under that-
Under that, Hood was young. An older teenager, tall and broad, but still a teenager. Dick sucked in a sharp breath that Hood definitely heard, because he turned away under Leslie’s hands.
That hurt, of course- Dick knew he’d been outrageously lucky that B stumbled upon him in time to keep him from becoming someone like this. He’d been so angry, for a long time. (Jason had never been like that. He’d been such a bright kid, so smart, so happy. What would Hood have been like, if he’d been given a chance?)
Dick shook himself. Jason was gone, but Hood was still here. Despite the murders, he had a moral code- and the people of Crime Alley had embraced him as their protector. He couldn’t imagine they’d be easy to win over.
So. So Dick waited for Leslie to finish checking him over, biting his lip, keeping his eyes on the ground. Hood didn’t want him seeing his face. That- as a Bat, Dick should probably be pinning him down and taking a blood sample right now.
(The parts of Hood's face not covered by the domino were freckled, little constellations spanning over his cheeks.)
Dick looked away.
Fucking Dickface definitely knew who he was. Fuck. Jason had heard that sharp breath and why else would he be looming over Leslie’s shoulder like the moment she let him go he’d be hauled off to Arkham?
The doc pulled away, clicking off her penlight. “Concussion,” she said. “No surprise. And one of your ribs is likely fractured. I’ll wrap it- go easy on yourself for a few weeks.”
They both knew that meant a week. Maybe a week and a half, if nothing was going on in the Alley. Leslie checked the supplies in the room, cursed under her breath, and ducked out to fetch something to wrap his ribs with. Dick watched her go, and then his eyes fell back on Jason.
“So?” Jason asked, harsh. “Disappointed, Dickwing?”
Nightwing looked a little uncomfortable. “Uh… no? Sad, I guess, but no. I’m sorry I, uh-” he made a vague gesture to his face. “I wasn’t trying to get both of us blown up again.”
Of course. He’d probably thought the whole time that the Crime Alley kid would end up going rogue. (No, he hadn’t. They’d had a decent relationship when Dick had come by the Manor, and they’d hung out whenever Dick wasn’t arguing with Bruce. But- he hadn’t come to the funeral. He probably thought Jason was an idiot, that it had been his fault, because what had Bruce told him? What had Bruce been teaching his shiny new Robin?)
“‘Course not,” Jason hissed, and turned over. Dick had left his domino mask. That was good, at least- he wouldn’t notice the Lazarus eyes.
Dick looked even more awkward. “Listen, I, uh, I won’t tell anyone, if that’s what you’re worried about.”
Small mercies. This was still a big old wrench in Jason’s plans.
“It’ll stay between us. Is that... okay?”
(Hood was so young, Dick thought. Only a few years older than Tim, it looked like. Jason’s age, if he were still alive, if he’d maybe, maybe just answered his fucking phone-)
“Not even fuckin’ Batman?” He asked incredulously, and watched Nightwing's face make an odd expression under his own mask.
“It’s… not really his business, right?”
Damn right it wasn’t, but he wasn’t going to say that it didn't sting coming from someone who used to be his brother. “...yeah,” Jason said, and then, like it physically hurt him to do so: “Thanks, I guess.”
“Yeah,” Dick repeated. “No problem.”
They lapsed into an uncomfortable silence until Dick cleared his throat.
“Listen, uh, it’d- make me feel better to know if you get home safe. Leslie said you’re good, so.”
“So you wanna follow me home?” Jason asked flatly. “Like I’m just gonna bring you to one of my safehouses?”
“You don’t have to,” Dick said, and then proceeded to say absolutely nothing.
“Um,” Jason said, because he was terrible with awkward silences and Dick knew that, dammit, “You can walk me back to Crime Alley, if you. Uh. If you want.”
Stupid Dickwing’s stupid face brightened immediately. “Okay,” he said, obviously trying not to sound too excited.
“Okay,” Jason muttered, and swung his legs over the side of the bed. He had some bumps and bruises, a concussion, and a fractured rib, but damn him if he was going to lean on Dick.
Leslie came back with a roll of bandages and glared at him. He sat back down.
Dick did not try to get Jason to lean on him. He walked him back to the mouth of the Alley, and swept an arm out. “Pleasure working with you.”
Jason looked down the Alley. Back at Dick. “That’s it?”
“That’s it,” Dick agreed, rocking back on the balls of his feet. “Unless you want me to walk you-”
“No.” Jason hesitated, then said, “You’re not going to… arrest me? Try an’ bring me back?” He couldn’t make himself say the Manor. He couldn’t make himself say home.
Dick raised an eyebrow. “I don’t think you belong in Arkham.”
Jason would be lying if some of the tension didn’t dissipate from his shoulders.
“Listen, if you want- if you ever want to maybe ditch the crime lord gig-” Jason bristled, and Dick hurried on- “or, you know, if you’re hurt or something- I can give you my number?”
Jason already had Dick’s number. He knew it, that is, he’d never used it.
“Sure,” he said anyway, and when Dick rattled it off he listened with half an ear.
Dick- privately, completely separate from being Nightwing- started looking into viable safehouses in Crime Alley.
It was purely in case Hood needed help, he told himself. He had a gang, but Hood- really, he worked alone most of the time. And Dick couldn’t stop thinking about dragging Hood into that alleyway- him bringing up his hands to protect himself, trying to push Dick away. The youth on his face even in the harsh lights of one of Leslie’s clinic rooms. This didn’t have to be Hood’s life.
Damn him. For all they weren’t related by blood, Dick had definitely inherited Bruce’s “hurt child help now” instincts. For god’s sake, he’d given him his phone number.
(Hood spoke like Jason used to, the Park Row accent thickening his words, especially when he was stressed or angry.)
Dick sighed, closing his laptop. He didn’t want to risk using the Batcomputer for this- he’d said he wouldn’t tell, and he wanted to keep that promise. There was no quicker way to fumble a delicate affair like this than to not only go behind Hood’s back, but to drag B’s emotionally-unavailable ass into things. And Hood didn’t seem to like Batman much, he knew that for sure. There was a reason they didn’t venture into the Alley anymore.
He’d let Nightwing walk him home- part of the way, at least. That was probably all he could do, for now- keep an eye on the Alley. And see if, eventually, he could inch close enough to see if he could help with all that anger, and whatever there was hidden underneath.
Jason wasn’t sure why he added Dick’s number as a contact. Just in case, he told himself. He’d never actually need Dickface’s help- he’d rather die again- but he put it in anyway. It would help him antagonise Bruce when he finished putting his plan in motion. Most of the Alley was his, now, he just needed to flush out a few residual hanger-ons, kill a few gangsters, the likes.
So he put the contact in and saved it as N, because “Dick” seemed too formal and any sort of nickname was too personal. They weren’t brothers anymore. That’s why it hadn’t been B’s business. Jason was Catherine’s son or nobody’s. He tossed the phone onto his nightstand and flopped facefirst into bed, regretting it when his ribs twinged.
Dick wasn’t expecting a call, per se. Or a text. But that night as he watched over the roofs of Bludhaven, he felt a little bit anxious not having his phone on him.
From below, someone started screaming. Dick peeked over the edge of the building, tapped his comms to say, “Mugging on Seventh, dropping in now,” and grappled down, wondering if he could convince Oracle it was worth a private comm line. Just in case.
The issue was that Dick, by and large, was almost always in Bludhaven, an hour’s drive at least into Gotham, an extra thirty minutes to Park Row. In a moment of concentrated stress last week, he’d come clean to Oracle about Hood, with a sworn promise she wouldn’t get Bruce involved. She’d agreed to keep an eye on the cameras, and she’d be able to get into his helmet comms if she needed to. She’d probably have had to, eventually, with the way Hood was rising through the criminal underworld.
It was still a bit of surprise when- after taking a twisted ankle when, embarrassingly, a bank robber had managed to trip him (Tim and Steph had joined forces to mock him about it- they should be sending the both of them out together more, they were terrifying together)- his phone buzzed.
Unknown Number: heard you’re down for a few nights. how bad is it?
Dick stared down at his phone. Was that worry? Hood didn’t operate in Bludhaven- he didn’t even leave Park Row and the Bowery, though apparently he’d recently taken the Narrows into his territory, too.
Was a fairly basic act of kindness really all it took? (Damn Bruce’s infectious protect children genes.)
Twisted ankle, Dick texted back. I won’t be gone long. He typed don’t worry and then deleted it before sending the message.
Unknown number: damn. thought i would get to shoot someone for it
Wow, Hood was loyal. Dick had done, like, one nice thing for him. He must’ve been really desperate for any sort of friendship.
Me: Please don’t :)
Unknown number: fine.
Dick celebrated quietly before adding him to his contact list, hesitating over the name. Red Hood would probably not look good to anyone else. He elected for RH.
Me: Nice of you to check in! :D
(Across the city, Jason swallowed the lump in his throat. Dick still typed with those stupid smiley faces.)
RH: least i could do.
Dick smiled at his phone. This, he thought, was going pretty well. Now he just had to keep it going that way.