Chapter Text
A reporter at Gotham Gazette was able to see her story on page 3 of the newspaper. The story was never going to beat the Birds and Bats of Gotham, nor was anything to outshine Bruce Wayne and the most recent donations to the Martha Wayne Foundation, but the writer was still proud of what she had written. It was just too bad that it was a story that Gotham has had over and over, but in a different font.
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Our Streets; Safe or Not?
-Written By Vicki Vale
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The article described a new figure on Gotham's scene, someone who was neither Bird nor Bat, and how there was very little information on the figure themselves. It talks about how all those who come in contact with the new guy are not available for interviews or comments, for reasons ranging from pure fear, to being in comas after being poisoned by an unknown chemical. There was a small note saying that the rogue Ivy has confirmed that it's nothing that she had created, and that she's working with scientists to find the chemical breakdown in exchange for an earlier release from Arkham Asylum- which has had some of the general public in unrest. As of release, the compound has not been made public. The article also talks about homeless centres being busier than ever with nobody wanting to be on the streets, and they're being aided by Bruce Wayne's larger than ever donations to the Martha Wayne Foundation (and if they wanted more information on that, go to page 1).
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O: Red Hood, are you patrolling?
BM: Benched
RH: u cant bench me b, crime alley is my turf
RH: but not out O, not yet
O: Crime Alley has a fight going on. Looks like our mystery guy.
BM: ETA 8 minutes
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The sound of a heavy cloak can be heard on top of a building as he lands, Batman looking down over the ledge to see the location that was pinged. There was a fight, that much was obvious, with 3 men laid unconscious but propped up against the wall. It almost looked like they had been positioned there just for him. Nobody else was there, outside of the men- with plastic bags placed in a pile in front of each of them showing what they had been doing before then, selling or buying drugs- but Batman still felt a prickle on his neck, like he was being watched. A scan around the buildings and alley showed nothing out of the ordinary, so he was forced to deal with the feeling. He drops down to street level and sends a few quick messages to Detective Gordon, and then to the local hospital for pickup. The men didn't look too badly injured, but the poison that was hurting others took a couple of days to show up and he'd rather be safe than sorry. Before long, the sound of a motorcycle could be heard and a tension started stiffening Batman's shoulders, preparing for the hostility that was likely going to happen.
"B, y'know this is my place. Said I'd work with'cha whilst this bastard is out, but on my terms." Red Hood, in his metal helmet and thick leather jacket of the same deep red walked up to Batman. From experience, he knew that the scanners in the helmet was taking the scene apart and uploading it to the BatComputer, so Red Hood didn't need to pay too much attention to it so far. Batman also knew that the younger man would be looking anyway, mainly at the unconcious men. "Ah, fuck. Told 'em not to fuck w'fate," and he slightly nudges the foot of one of the men with his boot to get no response.
"Low-tier dealers, kinda new." Red Hood said, by way of explanation, "And fuck'n idiots." Red Hood kneels down next to one of the men and gives him a quick check over. "Out cold, maybe concussed. Lotsa needle marks, so coulda been poisoned. Poor fucks."
Batman holds in his quiet protests of the chosen language, but this has been a fight between the pair of them for a long time, and it just turns in circles. Batman doesn't want to seem too unprofessional - why the fuck does a vigilante care about being professional Jason had asked once - and Red Hood doesn't want to be controlled. In any way. After all, he's not always in control. (Jason had mentioned once, just once, how the green takes over everything, how it can drive him past his own limits). So now Batman holds his tongue and he listens. Oracle is listening in and passes on any and all relevant medical information to the ambulances that were on their way.
Now that they could both feel secure that the men were not actively dying at this point in time, they moved in tandem to carefully look over the scene. It's the closest they've ever gotten to seeing the stranger who currently held Gotham's fear, and they didn't make it in time. Whoever it is, moves fast. Definitely meta, Batman thinks, speed and strength. Trained too, not easy to take down multiple people at the same time.
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Hidden in the shadow of a ledge, a boy watches the two masked men study the scene he left behind. The green that tinges everything is trying to push him out to fight them too, to finally get a confirmed kill out of the many months of being barely held back, but for the first time, it did not win. There was orange that fought against the green, holding it back and whispering things in the boy's ear. He can't hear what is being said, his mind too scrambled to process anything other than the need to StayHideWait. Lights flash, and police cars followed by ambulances arrive. The masked give a report to the civilians and the unconscious bad guys are taken away.
The boy watches and waits.
It takes a long time for the space to clear, but when it does, he skitters out of his hiding place and merges with the natural shadows that Gotham has, regardless of how much or little light there is. He keeps out of sight of every poor stranger who found themselves on the street that night, but he knows they don't even have to count themselves lucky because they had nothing to fear from him. There is no smell of the powder that bites his nose, nor any liquid that burns the back of his throat, and so he walks. And walks.
The green is quiet, or quiet enough, and the orange is able to hold a shadow of a memory of who he used to be close by, and Peter feels more like Peter the longer the night drags on. Which is mostly good news, however Peter needs to sleep. But the shelters are full and the weather is getting cold. He barely survived the last one, and that was only through the rage that he lived to the warming of the seasons. But now he's feeling the chill in the air, so he follows the tugs of his senses to a large gothic building that had words that he couldn't quite read emblazoned on the front of it. The lights were out, but that was fine. Near the door was a little space that he could curl himself into to protect himself from the wind. He'd warm up once the doors opened.
Peter curls up and wraps his arms around his legs, and puts up the hood of the too-big hoodie- that he has no idea where he got it from, but the orange soothes so he guesses it doesn't matter right now.
He falls asleep to Gotham's held breath.