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If you asked about The Red Hood, you got a different opinion depending on who and where you asked.
Ask anyone outside of Gotham and they’d list him among the numerous ethically dubious vigilantes that seemed to be popping up these days. Not a hero but not exactly a villain either. For most people it was easy to chalk him up to the general weirdness of Gotham itself, forgetting him in the pantheon of much more newsworthy names. Especially considering that The Red Hood didn't venture outside of Gotham much. Not publicly anyway.
Ask the Bats and they’d give you side-eye and non-committal answers. The Red Hood wore the bat-insignia and for those in the know, he was the son come back from the grave with the wrath of a man wronged many lifetimes over. He was the little brother who was denied guidance from his older sibling, the son who was so atrociously failed by one parent after another, and now, the big brother whose story was a damning swirl of what-if's and oh-no's. But he also regularly and purposefully disobeyed the pre-eminent rule in the House of Bat: Thou shall not kill. For that, he straddled the line between ally and foe, the entire brood watching as Father & Son went tit-for-tat in their Sisyphean task to move the other's viewpoints.
Ask the elite citizens of Gotham and they’d call him a lunatic. A murderous psychopath that belonged on the list of Rogues that Batman needed to put in Arkham before he decided to move his horrible methods into their part of the town. In a great twist of irony, the emergence of the Red Hood turned these people, previously the loudest voices insisting the Dark Knight should be put behind bars, into those who held up Batman as the model vigilante. They knew where their interests lay: Batman would bring them to a justice system that was built by their forefathers and that they could manipulate to some degree.
But what good was getting a favorable plea deal for letting your company knowingly use human subjects for unethical experiments if The Red Hood made you undergo some of those same experiments before turning you in? Or delivered you to the police station castrated and with the tapes of what you did to those children glued to your bloody suit? Or if he decided he didn't have time to get the right evidence for you to go down for laundering cartel money, and it would just be easier to let your employers know you were skimming off the top?
No, The Red Hood was much too dangerous for their blood. He's a savage they'd say, as if his mere name offended their delicate sensibilities.
Ask the Arkham Rogues and for the most part they’d tell you the same thing: Stay the hell away. The rumors of a Robin returned from the grave spread among them, never quite proven, but certainly reinforced by the the possessive wrath that both Batman & The Joker seemed to have on him. It was a combination no Rogue really wanted to face. The only exceptions were Poison Ivy & Catwoman, who seemed to not only be tolerated but welcomed by the otherwise mercurial vigilante. Some could even say they acted motherly to him. Could, but didn't.
Beyond the Joker's morbid interest and the Bat's on again/off again partnership with him, there was the small matter of The Red Hood being a highly trained combatant who'd shown a consistent willingness to use lethal force – even if less so in recent years – and extreme protectiveness of those under his protection. Early on, when the Rogues still considered him more of a gangster than someone truly in their weight class, Professor Pyg made the mistake of trying to set up an experimental laboratory in Crime Alley. Worse, he decided that the street kids would be his latest subject, sneering to fellow Rogues that what's the worst that can happen? Batman doesn't let his Rogues die.
For that, The Red Hood sent him to Arkham with two destroyed kneecaps, his fingers crushed beyond any ability to operate in the medical field ever again, and enough fear gas in his system to put him in a hellish coma for a month. When he woke up, he was dosed again while still in his medical cot under protective custody and spent another month in a waking fear toxin dream.
It was a message to all the Rogues: Killing you might give me more problems with Batman than you’re worth, but I can find things worse than death for you.
Ask the organized gangs in Gotham and they’d curse him out. The Red Hood didn’t tolerate gangs that hired kids, or sold to them, or let their members rough them up. He didn’t tolerate beating up working girls, or extortion schemes on the struggling mom & pops businesses. He didn't tolerate running criminal activity through community shelters or orphanages or any of the other easily corruptible public services that were often targeted. And he really, really didn't tolerate child traffickers.
Anyone wondering what happened if you tried to challenge those rules didn’t have to look further than Black Mask. Sionis not only didn’t follow The Red Hood’s rules, but he openly mocked them to anyone that would listen. What proceeded to follow was a stunning master class in how to quickly and brutally take down a sophisticated criminal enterprise within a matter of weeks. In the end, Sionis did the math and decided that turning himself in to Batman was a better outcome than getting a bullet to the head from either the Red Hood or one of the circling vultures. At least in Blackgate he could still run what was left of his organization.
Even the Bats had been surprised with how quickly it occurred.
(If Jason was working with some of Talia’s resources, given with a knowing smile and demands to call more often, no one needed to know that. Especially not Bruce.)
It was simple really: You wanted to make money? Follow the rules and accept the smaller profit margins, or better yet, do your work outside of Hood’s turf because the other Bats were less violent and far more likely to be tied up frying bigger fish.
Ask the actual occupants of Crime Alley, The Narrows, & all the other residents of Gotham’s worst areas and they’d call him The Truth. Not a capital "H" Hero but the closest thing they would get to a savior, because they knew better than to believe in saviors. He was a foul-mouthed, bloody, no-holds barred vigilante who didn’t put himself on a pillar of righteousness and morality while he operated. He seemed to understand the desperation that took over almost every aspect of their day to day life, and where his methods were brutal, he also showed them more kindness and respect than anyone else did.
He’d stop a mugging, but seemed to differentiate between the cruel parasites that deserved a broken rib and the person desperate to put food on the table. The former got what they deserved, while the latter usually got a conversation with the bloodiest Bat. One that often ended with money, a job application for a position that was guaranteed theirs, and strict instructions to submit it in the morning or else. He'd repay a pimp blow for blow for everything he did to his working girls, and then not only tip the girls for letting him know, but make a point to get to know them and their stories. They became integrated into his network, not as CIs to be paid for information whenever necessary, but as trusted eyes and ears, letting him know when there was something that he should look into.
All of it was an incomplete science. Not everyone trusted him at first. Not everyone took the opportunities he provided. Hell, sometimes he just didn't have any easy solutions to their problems. But it was more than anyone else tried, and that meant a lot.
If you peered a layer deeper, and asked the street children about The Red Hood, they wouldn't tell you a damn thing. But they'd talk to each other about fresh food on hungry days and warm shelter in cold winters. They'd whisper to each other about "Hood-approved" orphanages and police officers you could trust. They'd raise the alarm if someone went missing and send word until someone who knew someone who knew Hood would get the message that hey, Joanna is missing and the creepy dude in the blue van was looking at her right before it happened.
Because it was with these kids where The Red Hood's kindness came out the brightest. Where the hard exterior that he built up peeled off the most, and Jason could come the closet possible to just being Jason.
(Because there was never going to be a point where he could completely go back to being Jason. Not after everything).
He was acting in the service of the kids who grew up like him, braving the horrors of life alone. Knowing that a seemingly helpful adult was probably far more dangerous than the ones who ignored them. Finding out through trial and error or word of mouth that adults in positions of authority either wouldn’t or couldn’t look after them properly. But he was amazed at how even the most hardened of them were able to put so much trust into him.
They figured out pretty quickly that Hood, as they called him, because "saying The Red Hood every damn time is way too much fucking work", would bend over backwards to help them. Even if it was for little things like checking in on them every once in a while for nothing more than "I won't sleep well if I don't know you're ok."
Like he was doing right now.
“Tommy’s doing a lot better now. The nice lady at the clinic you sent us to gave him some good medication and she says he’ll be back to normal in a few weeks,” the little girl said, curled up into the large hulking mass that was Jason Todd. He was decked out in his typical Red Hood gear, sans the helmet, and she was in fluffy animal print pajamas.
The two were enjoying the cool nighttime summer breeze, sitting on the rooftop of the Catherine Todd orphanage. The one that Bruce had opened at Jason’s request a literal lifetime ago.
“Penny, Dr. Thompkins is the best there is. I told you she’d take care of your big bro, just like she used to take care of me back when I was on the streets. Still does sometimes too," Jason responded.
“Yea, I know. I'm just happy you were right. When he can finally come back from the hospital he's going to be soooo happy here! It’s awesome. It’s not like the last orphanage. They’re nice to us here!" Penny babbled, starting to list off all the various improvements in her new living situation. "The food is good, our rooms are clean. They don’t yell or hit us. And the other kids aren’t always sad.”
Jason smile as she ticked them off, even as he felt the Lazarus rage bubble inside of him. The last orphanage was something he'd uncovered by accident while beating down one of Black Mask's goons. Something about an orphanage that was about to get into the child organ market and Black Mask sneaking it right under his nose, squealed in between cries of please don't hurt me and I swear I don't know anything else. The orphanage in question got shut down after a well timed investigative report by Vicki Vale exposed the nefarious scheme to the general public. The kids had been redistributed to other orphanages that Jason trusted, thanks to the sudden very public and very pointed outrage from a one Bruce Wayne.
Jason may have hated working with his estranged father, but for the kids he’d always stomach asking Bruce a favor. Even if it meant dealing with the vomit-inducing “I’m proud of you son” conversations that ended up getting tossed his way.
It was all worth it for moments like these.
“And what's it like going to school now? For real, not that fake sh-shtuff they did at the last place," Jason asked, correcting his foul language out of Alfred-induced habit more so than genuine concern for the girls vocabulary. By now she'd probably heard enough colorful language to make a sailor blush.
“Blah,” the little girl blew a raspberry at him. “School is still boring.”
“But?” he asked in a sing song voice.
“But school is important,” she admitted with a pout. “Even second grade.”
“That’s right. And you know what else is important? Sleep. It’s getting late.”
“No it’s nooottt!” she protested, even as a yawn escaped her lips and she curled up tighter against his side.
“Uh huh. If I don’t drop you back off you’re going to fall asleep on me.”
“And then you can drop me off after I’m asleep,” she said, shamelessly positioning herself into a more comfortable sleeping position.
“And what if I fall asleep up here with you?” he teased.
“Nuh uh. You can’t do that,” she answered, sounding honestly annoyed at the idea.
“But I might. Then," he gasped theatrically, "Someone could rob us.”
“Hmph. No one robs The Red Hood,” she declared, her voice starting to succumb to sleepiness.
“Yet.”
“I’ll bite them if they try,” she said defiantly.
Jason let out a laugh at that. Not the fake laugh he used to give at the Wayne galas in his last life or the cruel laugh he used to taunt his enemies. Certainly not the cracked, broken laughs that he let rip whenever the cruel irony of life got to him and he found himself dialing Talia's number through teary eyes, desperate for someone he knew he could rely on for comfort. No, this was a genuine, happy laugh that reverberated in his own eardrums.
“Sometimes on the news, they say you’re a bad person. That you’re scary. But they’re wrong. You’re the nicest person I ever met,” Penny said, solemnly.
“You’re going to meet nicer people, I promise,” he said, and not for the first time he was reminding himself to stop making promises he couldn’t guarantee to this little girl.
“Love you Hood,” Penny murmured into his leather jacket, and Jason tried to pretend that the reason his heart was suddenly clenching was because of residual fear toxin in the Gotham air, not because this little girl was so willing to devote a portion of her heart to him. She didn’t know his name or what he looked like underneath the domino mask. Neither did her big brother Tommy. Or Jack, Mary, Devontae, Emily, Maria, Paul, Mustafa, Peng, Jeremy, Hafsa…The list went on. But he knew theirs. And they knew that they could trust him to protect them no matter what.
If someone asked Jason about The Red Hood, he'd talk about about "doing what needs to be done" and throw in a pointed reference to Batman or even The Joker.
“Love you too kiddo,” he whispered, almost more to himself than to her.
If someone asked Jason about The Red Hood and he gave an honest answer, it would look something like Penny tucked into bed, knowing that she was safe.
That someone cared.