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María hadn't expected to see the Red Hood that night. Crime Alley had been quiet lately and usually that meant the Hood was camped out on a roof, watching but not engaging. Hell, he should probably have turned in by now. But, around 4am, when María and Stella were the last ones out, and even they were getting ready to go home, he dropped heavily into the alley behind them. María knew he could move silently, if he wanted to.
“Whatcha want, Hood?” She called over her shoulder.
“Nothin’,” he called back. As usual, the voice modulator on his helmet was off. He’d used it all the time, in the beginning. Now, he seemed to only switch it on around the bad guys.
“Mentiroso,” María laughed. Hood made a wounded sound, placing a hand over his heart. He had exited the alley and circled around the women, placing himself between them and the street. María didn’t love the way he looked down the empty street. Like he was waiting for something.
“What is it?” Stella asked. She was new and very young, barely eighteen. The other working girls had taken it upon themselves to look out for her, practically working in shifts. Tonight was María’s turn.
It wasn’t that the girl needed looking after, she had great instincts and the kind of situational awareness bred in the Alley, it was just that she was so fresh. Just a kid. María knew Hood felt the same way — he looked after kids and sex workers and Stella was, effectively, both.
“When are you heading in for the night?” He asked, instead of answering Stella.
“Was gonna give it until 4:30.”
She could tell by his body language that he was going to respond, but squealing tires had all of their attention on a car twisting around the corner. The windows were down. María had just enough time to register the flash of guns before Hood dragged her and Stella to the ground.
He hovered over them, back to the street, as gunshots echoed off the buildings. María pulled Stella close, crushing them both to the ground and waited for it to end.
Hood jerked when bullets slammed into his armor and María felt tears prick at the corner of her eyes. It was over as quickly as it began and María had a split second to be relieved before she realized Hood was falling. He pitched forward and they caught him clumsily, laying him back on the sidewalk.
“Are you okay?” Stella whispered, tear tracks on her face, scared eyes scanning the street.
“Oh yeah,” he said, but María could see where a bullet had pinged off his helmet, leaving a dent that didn’t bode well for the skull underneath. He tried to brush her off, tried to sit up, but he didn’t make it far before his head dropped back onto the concrete.
“Fuck,” he said breathlessly.
“¿Qué?” María murmured, sliding her fingers around the back of the helmet like she’d seen him do a hundred times before. She found the latch and pulled it off. He was pale, too pale, hazel eyes glassy and pained. There was blood on his head, but not enough to warrant the way he looked. Then she saw the way he weakly pressed a hand to his side. She could see now, that there was so much more blood.
“We need to get out of here,” Stella squeaked. “Grab an arm.”
María watched, incredulous, as the girl tried to drag Hood to his feet. He was big, the only person she’d ever seen carry him was Batman. Whether by miracle or sheer power of will, the two women dragged him all the way to María’s apartment.
…
Hood started to wake up as they settled him onto the floor of María’s kitchen. Stella set about finding an old first aid kit and an armful of towels while María, who had quickly pulled on a pair of sweatpants and a hoodie, settled onto the floor and rested Hood’s head in her lap. They had pulled off his leather jacket and armor when they’d arrived, dropping it all into a pile topped with his helmet by the door.
“Why did you do that?” María scolded, running her fingers through his dark hair.
“Are you made out of Kevlar?”
“Didn’t seem to help that much.”
He hummed noncommittally. “Armor piercing rounds, which is rude.”
Stella stumbled back into the kitchen and dumped the supplies next to him. She pressed a towel to his side and Hood squeezed his eyes shut.
“Sorry,” she whispered. She hadn’t stopped crying.
“’S okay,” he slurred and María became aware of warm blood soaking into her sweatpants and gently lowered Hood’s head to the floor. She grabbed the kitchen scissors and started to cut off the shirt.
“Oh, fuck,” she said to the wound in his side and the one through his shoulder and the blood in his hair and the way his eyes had fluttered shut. “I don’t have the skill or supplies to deal with this. Hood.”
He didn’t respond.
María grabbed his face with both hands and tapped his cheek. “Hood, wake up, I need you to wake up and tell us how to help you. Do you have any help? Is there anyone we can call?”
His eyes fluttered open for a moment, and he raised a hand to his ear, pulling out a small device like the communicators they used in spy movies. He handed it to María.
“You want me to — okay.” Maria slid the device into her ear. “I don’t hear anything, how do I, how—“
She was panicking, fuck, she was panicking there was so much blood, even though Stella had a towel pressed to each wound, even though she’d put towels underneath him to staunch the entry wounds on his back. Hood couldn’t die in her kitchen, she wouldn’t let him.
“Tap,” he said, eyes closed, “twice.”
María tapped twice. Voices echoed from the device immediately. A constant chatter that she could barely understand.
She cleared her throat. “Hello?” The voices went silent and she winced. “I need help, we’re with Red Hood and —“
“Who is this, why do you have Red Hood’s comm?” A modulated female voice asked sharply.
“My name is María, Hood gave me his, his comm, we’re in my fucking kitchen and he’s bleeding all over the place and we need help, please, we need help. He saved our lives, there was a drive by and the fucking idiot shielded us but there were armor piercing rounds because he’s got two fucking bullet wounds and we need help, please.”
María didn’t know when she’d started crying but she was sobbing by the end and after a moment of silence there was an explosion of voices that were immediately cut off.
“It’s okay, I have Nightwing in route, just hold on.” the woman’s voice was much softer now. “My name is Oracle.”
“Hi, Oracle,” María breathed. She settled back down behind Hood, pulling his head into her lap again.
“María, can you tell me where he’s been shot?”
“Right shoulder, straight through. Lower left side, straight through. One bounced off his helmet, there’s a gash on his head where it dented the helmet.”
“Is he awake?”
“Hey,” María poked his face. “Are you awake.”
He squeezed his eyes shut tighter and groaned.
“¿Es un sí?”
“No entiendo,” Hood mumbled. Apparently forgetting that, if he was going to pretend he didn’t understand Spanish it would be best to not be actively speaking Spanish.
“Abre tus ojos,” María said sternly.
“No quiero.”
“No me importa, Rojito.”
Hood made a face at the nickname. “No soy pequeño, soy… tough.”
María laughed. “Duro,” she supplied and Hood nodded.
“Soy duro.”
“Difícil, tal vez.” María returned her fingers to his hair, carefully avoiding the head wound.
…
Dick slid through a window and into the apartment. He could see them, three figures on the kitchen floor. The biggest had to be Jason, laying on his back, chest rising and falling but far too shallow for Dick’s liking.
Then one of the smaller figures, one of the girls, was standing and levelling a gun at his head.
“Hi,” Dick said softly, raising his hands. “I’m Nightwing, Oracle sent me for Hood.”
“Stella,” the other woman — this must be María — said gently. “It’s okay, I’ve seen him before with Hood. It’s okay.”
Dick took slow, deliberate steps forward. The closer he got the more impressed he was that the girl’s hands weren’t shaking. She was crying, sobbing, really. Mascara tracks running down from bloodshot eyes.
“How do we know its really you,” she asked, voice cold as ice. “I’ve seen a lot of bullshit around here. How do we know you aren’t just someone else in Nightwing’s suit? How do we know you aren’t here to finish the job?”
“Because the guys who shot him weren’t after him,” Dick said softly. “He was there because we had reports of drive by shootings targeting sex workers. He’d gone home for the night but he came back out to make sure you guys were all home and safe. No one is coming after him.”
A devastated sound escaped her lips and her eyes darted to Jason on the floor.
“It’s not your fault,” Dick said, darting forward and pulling the gun from her hands to little resistance.
“The safety's on,” Stella murmured, eyes still on Jason. Dick disassembled the gun anyway, before dropping to his knees next to Jason.
“Hey buddy,” he whispered and Jason’s eyes fluttered open before dropping closed again.
“Dickhead,” he said.
Dick took in the bloody towels and the palor of his skin and sucked in an anxious breath.
“Jay,” Dick murmured, brushing a hand through his little brother’s hair and Jason smiled weakly.
“I knew it,” María hissed, flicking playfully at Jason’s nose. Dick froze and eyed the woman suspiciously.
Jason huffed a laugh.
“You are such a liar,” she said. “I fucking knew it Jason fucking Todd. You don’t try to hide it at all, not from the Alley.”
“Oops,” Jason said, more to Dick than María, it seemed.
"You were our Robin," María said fiercely. "We all knew you belonged to the Alley, and we knew when it wasn't you anymore. And anyone who loved you then knew it was you again. Same fucking attitude. Same Boricua."
“Something tells me they’re not going to give you up,” Dick whispered. Still, he leveled a threatening look at the two women. Well, one looked like she was still a teenager and María couldn’t be out of her early-twenties. Still. He gave them a look that he hoped conveyed his willingness to do anything for his brother.
To Dick’s mild surprise, they both returned the look with ones of equal ferocity. Jason didn’t hide from the Alley, and the Alley would do anything for him.
“Let’s get to work,” Dick said, pulling an extensive medical kit from his backpack. “Gotta stitch it up before we move him.”
…
"Keep him awake," Nightwing urged. "Please. Talk to him like you were before I got here."
"'M fine," Jason murmured, eyes closed. María rolled her eyes and nodded at Nightwing, still running her fingers through Jason's hair. “Duro.”
"Oh please, everyone knows you're a softie." Jason made a disbelieving sound and Stella laughed. "It's true!" María insisted, "but I knew it first. Back when you first got here, before you claimed the Alley, before we got to know you, back when people were afraid, I knew you were good."
Nightwing pulled out a suture kit and disinfectant.
Jason huffed laugh, "Bullshit."
"I did! It was right after Scarecrow broke out and dosed the Alley with his new bullshit. I was running home when I passed this alley. At first, I only heard the kid crying so I stopped — but you were already there." María poked his nose. "And you didn't even have your full suit on, but I knew it was you."
Jason barely reacted when Nightwing cleaned out the wounds and María tried not to think about all of his scars and how he got them. How many times he’d done this song and dance.
María frowned at Jason's closed eyes and poked between his eyebrows. "Open your eyes or I won't finish the story." His eyes fluttered open, drooped shut, opened again.
"Gracias," she murmured. "Anyway, I knew it was you and I was about to march over there and kick your ass if you hurt that kid. But I didn't need to, I didn't even get close because you just crouched down and held out a rebreather. I couldn't hear what you said to that little baby, but she let you put that mask on her face."
Nightwing pinched the skin shut and began stitching it closed. Jason’s mouth formed a hard line.
María traced the pale scar from the corner of Jason's mouth to his hairline and back to his mouth. "You carried that kid home — I followed you. Just in case I was wrong. But I wasn't. You carried her home, singing little lullabies, keeping her safe, and I knew you weren't what people thought. All that bravado, all the tough guy shit, but I always knew you were a softie. That's why we love you so much."
Jason hummed something that sounded like disagreement but his heart clearly wasn't in it. She continued to drag her fingers through his hair and his eyes fluttered shut but in the content way, not the passing out from blood loss way. Fondness swelled in her chest, so strong it hurt. It hurt, how much she cared about the stupid vigilante in his stupid red helmet. The boy who couldn't be older than 22 and his stupid, noble quest to care for Crime Alley, a place so broken no one even called it by its real name. It hurt, how much she wanted to take away his pain, how much she wanted to make everything better.
It hurt, how much she'd come to look at him as her stupid, protective little brother.
"You look out for us, but we look out for you, too. Rojito," María whispered and pressed a kiss to his forehead.