Chapter Text
On Saturday, Spoiler found herself crouched on a fire escape, sucking in a pained breath as she tried unsuccessfully to break into an apartment one-handed.
The thing with trying to break into a building through the window was that they tended to be locked from the inside. Lockpicking a door was simple—drilling a miniscule hole so she could access the latch from the outside without triggering the motion sensors around the frame while her brain was fogging up with blood loss was an entirely different story.
She had considered going through the door, but the elevator in the building was broken and the apartment was on the fifth floor and she was already dripping blood everywhere and she really, really needed to get herself patched up.
After three minutes of trying to hold her hand steady enough to operate the miniature power drill, she saw the curtains shift. She nearly jumped, only to wince when the movement pulled on her side the wrong way.
Jason Todd peered back at her with a single blue eye before he vanished from view, curtains falling back into place in his wake.
She knew she should leave. She knew she should run far, far away as fast as possible, but she had been stabbed and the wound was bleeding through the gauze despite the steady-ish pressure she'd been keeping on it. Hood had been ally-adjacent for quite a bit longer than he'd been antagonizing Batman at this point—and Steph hadn't been around for those days anyway—but decapitated heads in a duffel bag was a hard first impression to forget, even when heard about thirdhand.
She was about to make a break for it anyway when the curtain moved to the side and the window opened.
Hood had put on the helmet, and the cool white eyes set into it visibly gave her a once over, before he stepped back and pushed the window up further. "I'll get the med-kit," he said, flat, and turned away.
She gingerly navigated her way through the window. It would probably be fine if she tripped the sensors now that he knew she was here, but she'd rather not trial by fire the kind of precautions Hood might have put in place.
The apartment was small, the couch and coffee table's space overlapping with the kitchenette. Hood emerged from behind a divider a moment later, first aid kit in one hand. He was wearing a black t-shirt and gray sweats, something that made the helmet on his head look comically out of place.
"Hi," Steph said. "Sorry. For breaking in."
Hood shrugged with one shoulder, reaching around her to turn on the lamp. Had he been sitting here in the dark? "Sit down on the couch. Any injuries besides the obvious?"
"Bruises and I might have overexerted my shoulder, but nothing serious. Besides getting stabbed." Steph settled down on the couch.
Hood set the kit down on the coffee table, pulling on a pair of sterilized gloves. "You okay if I patch you up?"
She blinked. The helmet made everything he said the same tone, a flat buzzy voice that her brain kept interpreting as deadpan and sarcastic. It took her a moment to parse the actual request. "Uh, yeah. I was gonna do it myself, so. You doing it would be better, probably."
He nodded, and started helping her peel back the gauze and too look at the wound. It was about three inches wide, half an inch deep, and still bleeding sluggishly.
He worked in silence for a while, hands gentle and steady. She almost thought she'd get away with the attempted break-in, when, after the local anesthetic set in and he had started suturing, he asked, "How did you know about this safehouse?"
Steph mentally winced. "Oracle gave me instructions."
"Does she know about all of them?"
"I, uh, don't know. You'll have to ask her about that."
"Why did you come here?"
"Oracle said—"
"No," Hood said, then huffed. He readjusted his grip on the needle. "I mean, why did you come here to stitch yourself up? Don't you have backup?"
"Attempted Blackgate breakout, pulled everyone away. I was going to head that way too, when, yanno, got stabbed." Steph glanced around the apartment again. It was neat, impersonal as safehouses tended to be, but free of dust. Hood had been here long enough to clean, all without Oracle knowing. "Why are you hanging around Coventry?"
He was quiet for long enough that she thought he'd just ignore the question, but then he said, "Investigating suspicious activity down by the docks. Is breaking into my safehouses something you all regularly do?"
"I don't think so? Didn't know you had one in this area at all. Aren't you supposed to tell Oracle when you do stuff outside Crime Alley?"
"I don't need to alert her every time I do basic surveillance. If I decide there's a threat that needs to be handled, she'll be the first to know." Hood pressed a gauze dressing over Steph's side. "You should be good to go."
Steph tracked him with her eyes as he started cleaning up, feeling oddly out of sync with what was happening. "Thanks."
That got her a shrug. "Let Oracle know that if any of you ransack my safehouses going forward, I expect you to replace what you stole."
"You're okay with us doing that?"
"No."
Steph waited for him to elaborate. He didn't. She was left awkwardly watching him as he put the kit away and stripped off the latex gloves, trying to interpret what the silence meant. It could be full of tension, or she might just be thinking that because he was wearing a helmet that eliminated just about every helpful cue for social interaction.
"Is wearing the helmet really necessary?"
"What do you mean?"
She shrugged, gingerly, starting to stand. "I mean, I know who you are. You don't need to hide your secret identity from me or anything."
"Your mask is still on."
"Sure, but I'd be willing to take it off. You know I'm Stephanie Brown." Unless he didn't? Oh, that would be awkward. She was pretty sure he knew, though. Everyone knew he was Jason Todd, formerly deceased second Robin. It wouldn't be fair if that information didn't go both ways.
"Fair enough. The helmet stays on, though. It's in the contract," Hood said.
Steph stared at him. She had heard about how much negotiating went into where Hood stood with the Bats, but an actual contract seemed a little… excessive. "I literally can't tell if you're joking."
A shrug. He was probably laughing at her behind the mask. "You should get back to base. I don't know how much blood you lost. Do they still need help with the breakout?"
Steph raised her hand to her comm. "Spoiler to Oracle. Got patched up. Hood wants to know if you need any help with Blackgate."
"Hood's with you?" Oracle asked.
"Yep."
"In Coventry?"
"Yeah, he says he's keeping an eye on stuff by the docks," Steph said. "Do you need backup for Blackgate?"
"Situation's been contained, they're just handling the cleanup now. You should go back to the Batcave and have your injuries double checked."
"Sounds good. Spoiler out." Towards Hood, she said, "They don't need anything. Thanks for the patch job."
He nodded. He had his phone out, tapping something out on it. "You should go, Spoiler. You can take the door this time, if you want. It's up to you."
The stairs sounded about as appealing as they did when she entered, so she headed towards the window. This was the most time she'd spent with Hood alone, ever. She felt like she didn't know him any better for it.
As she slid the window closed behind her, she heard Hood's monotone voice say, "Hey, Barb. There's a couple things I want to talk about."
On Monday, Red Robin stared through the skylight, checked the time one last time, and gave up on waiting. He said, "I think Red Hood ditched me. Is anyone able to help out with this arms deal? It's happening in the warehouse on the corner of Burlow."
"I can," Cassandra said. "ETA five minutes."
"Thanks Batgirl," Tim said. He waited for a beat. The silence on comms felt a little too pointed. "Spoiler. I know you're laughing at me. Stop that."
It took her a second to reply, but he could still hear the cut-off wheeze when she unmuted herself. "What'd you do to make him hate you this time?"
"I didn't do anything to make him hate me in the first place!" That wasn't quite true. Hood had only started aligning himself with the Bats after Tim went off to prove Bruce wasn't dead, so their few interactions hadn't been on the greatest terms.
Hood could hate Tim because he replaced him as Robin, which would honestly be unfair because Hood had been dead dead. He could hate Tim for fishing his Red Robin outfit out of the trash. He could hate Tim for proving that Bruce was alive all along and getting him back. The hatred could be for any number of reasons. Maybe Hood didn't even hate Tim at all and he was just prickly and rude to everyone, and the fact that it was Tim he ghosted every time was irrelevant. Whatever. Tim did not care what was going on in that stupid helmeted head. "Anyway, if he was pissed at anyone it'd be you and Oracle."
"Please keep the comms clear," Babs said, the filter on her voice doing very little to hide her exasperation. "You know I've already cleared that up with him, Red Robin."
Sure. As Tim hadn't visited the Clocktower yesterday just to hear an hour long rant about how completely unreasonable Hood was being. It seemed like everything had settled by the time Tim left. However.
"He agreed to help me on this a week ago," Tim grumbled. "So clearly he's mad about something if he isn't here."
It sucked because Hood was fun to work with, in a way that Tim would never in a million years admit out loud. He could be surprisingly funny. Besides, that was Jason Todd. Tim had built up a bit of a parasocial relationship with his memorial case over the years.
Yet another thing Tim could never afford to confess.
"Oh, that reminds me," Steph said. "Oracle. Is keeping the helmet on actually part of the contract?"
A beat of silence. "Yes."
"Wow. That's weird. You know, it's pretty possible that Hood isn't even Hood," Steph paused. "Like, I saw half his face two days ago and that's the most I've seen of him in at least a year. And I don't think I've ever heard his voice without the helmet on. He could be a pod person."
Tim's mouth dried suddenly. "Spoiler," he started, then faltered, unsure how to put the sudden, visceral discomfort into words.
Thankfully, Bruce came to his rescue with a grunted, "Keep the comms clear."
His gut was still curdling after everyone fell silent. Red Hood was Jason Todd, no matter what. They all needed to remember that. It was important, not to slip into thinking of him as some sort of twisted mirror or evil replacement, because—
He didn't know where the visceral discomfort came from.
He thought of the memorial in the Batcave, still up even after Red Hood had revealed his identity. How it was still there, even now.
Someone tapped on his shoulder and he yelped, whirling around only to see Cassandra's blank mask. "Jeez, Batgirl, don't scare me like that."
"Are you okay?" she replied.
He hated how she could do that. He refocused on the milling people and crates of guns underneath them. "I'm fine. Let's deal with these guys."
On Tuesday, Red Hood failed to help track down a few Blackgate escapees. Administrative issues meant that their disappearance from their cells had originally been missed. Someone had clearly been paid off, but that was an issue for a separate time.
Batgirl had entered Crime Alley to catch someone, and reported that she hadn't seen Hood at all. By Wednesday evening, Oracle confirmed that Hood hadn't seen or contacted anyone in the past three days.
Two hours later, Hood was spotted doing his typical patrol loop through Park Row. That was the story at least, from the snatches of him that appear on the camera.
It was not Hood in the outfit, that much was obvious. The height and stature were close enough, but the impostor was not nearly as comfortable with grappling and tended to stand with their hands on their hips.
Batman watched them saunter past a stray cat, only to pivot on their heels, raise their hand in a quick wave, and let out a greeting meow that distorts into something ugly through the helmet. The modulator in this one was different from the usual one, too. It carried tone and inflection better, which brought up the question of why Hood would choose to use the one he did.
Batman was perched on the roof, Red Robin easing his way down the fire escape into the alley the cat lingered in. On the impostor's approach, accompanied by another awful meow, the cat scampered away. It was early evening, but with the promised cold of coming the winter months has left the street relatively empty.
It was a good opportunity to find out what was happening.
The impostor startled, badly, when Batman dropped heavily into the alley before them. Poor situational awareness. They jerked back, turning to run, only to find that Red Robin had landed behind them, boxing them in.
The impostor's hands drifted towards their hostlers, before they visibly reconsidered and carefully raised them in surrender.
Batman loomed closer, and they ended up pressed against the alley wall, visibly swallowing and steeling themself. "Batman. Red Robin. To what do I owe the pleasure?"
"You are not Red Hood," Batman said.
The impostor winced, but their voice steadied through the helmet's modulation. "No, I am not."
"You're wearing his uniform," Red Robin said.
"Ever heard of cosplaying?" Batman shifted and they immediately stilled, fumbling over themself. "I mean, yes. Yes I am. I'm not him, I'm just…covering for him, making sure he's seen on the street so everyone keeps behaving while he's unavailable."
"Unavailable," Batman repeated. The gear the impostor was wearing seemed legitimate, though out of date for what Hood tended to use these days. The story was plausible, but that wasn't enough to answer the question of where Hood was.
"Yes," the impostor said, relaxing marginally. "I don't actually shoot people or anything, if that's something you're concerned about? I just walk around looking like him."
"Is this something you do regularly?" Red Robin asked.
"Yes? No? It's whenever he disappears, without telling us ahead of time. If we don't hear from him for three days, I get to wear his outfit. Standard protocol, at this point."
Red Robin nodded. "When's the last time this happened?"
"It's… been a while, honestly," they said. "Whenever he's gone we cover anyway, but the last time it was without notice was… at least two years ago, I think. Hm, uh, I don't know if I should be telling you this—"
Batman took a step closer.
"Okay, okay, I mean, it was just something really silly for how much stress he put us through. It turned out he was taking a two week vacation out of state with one of the guys and just… forgot to tell us, I guess? I don't know what that was even about. I don't know what you all want but—"
They were cut of by a cheery ringtone. They dug out a phone—the case covered with bright pink flowers—and hung up.
It started ringing again not a moment later.
They hung up again. "Anyway, uh—"
The phone started ringing again.
They sighed. "It's Mike, which means I should, uh, take this."
"Put it on speaker," Batman said.
The helmet snapped up to stare at him, but it only took another step forward for the impostor to do as they were told.
"Charlie," the phone said. It was a woman's voice, crackly through cheap speakers. "I need you to get back to base asap, it's a Code Cerulean, there's a video—."
"Mike," Charlie had started repeating the word like a prayer, growing in volume until Mike finally cut herself off. "Uh. You're on speaker phone."
Silence. Then, "what?"
"Yeah, Batman's here. And Red Robin." Charlie looked up again. They were gripping the phone tight enough that the plastic squeaked against their gloves.
"Can you get them to leave?"
"Can I get the Batman to—what do you think?"
"This isn't a conversation we can have in front of them."
"Mike," Charlie was close to yelling, breathing hard and gesticulating wildly. Batman tensed a little, but the flailing arms weren't trying to sneak a weapon. "Do not abandon me to the Bats, please. You know protocol better than me. What do I do?"
"It's a Code Cerulean. Hood's made it very, very clear we can't involve them right now."
"But they're here, now, in front of me, so—"
"We all have health insurance benefits."
"Yeah, 'cause that really helped Lima when—wait. Wait wait wait, wait. Code Cerulean?"
Charlie, Mike, Lima. The NATO phonetic alphabet, Batman recognized. None of these people were using their real names. Code Cerulean was likely an arbitrary name Hood had chosen. Deducing the meaning wouldn't be easy, but from the context…
"Yes. Charlie, we don't have time—"
Batman's comm buzzed. Oracle's voice was clearly strained even through the vocoder. "Batman. About Hood… there's… a video."
Charlie had a hand clutching at the surface of the helmet, their voice rising hysterically, hitching on laughter. "You're telling me that he's dead? How the hell are you so calm? He's dead and you're just—"
Batman backed up, nearly stumbling. He was a detective—he'd already put it together, but—Oracle's voice was in his ear and Red Robin was talking to him and Charlie screamed into the phone, and Bruce couldn't hear any of it because—it couldn't be true—not again—
The lights were bright. Jason's head was swimming, his vision blurred, his body hurting in an all too familiar way that was growing steadily more distant. The blood streaming from his nose had stopped, at least—left dried and crusted on his skin.
"The Red Hood. All this time, just a kid sticking his nose where it doesn't belong," A voice seeped into his awareness. "Almost makes me feel bad for doing this."
Jason didn't respond—he wouldn't be able to, even if his breaths weren't wheezing in the telltale way of a punctured lung. He was pretty sure the lack of screaming frustrated them more than anything else. Hah. Their fault for taking his helmet. He'd need to figure out how to sneak a bomb back into it under Oracle's watch one of these days.
"Still with the silent treatment? I'm hurt." Cold metal—a gun's muzzle—knocked against his temple, and his head lolled with it. "Come on, Red, cough up some last words. The whole world's watching."
He forced himself to look up, neck straining under the weight. The light reflected off a camera lens too close to his face, sending starbursts of pain through his skull.
Jason bared his teeth in a bloody smile. He didn't feel it when the gun fired.