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Chapter Text

The next she hears about Hood -properly hears, not the awkward almost lack of rumours that's what comes out of Crime Alley, because she can't keep cameras there for longer than a week; and isn't that awful night that Dick stumbled in pale and shaking and covered in blood- it's Hood stumbling in pale and shaking and covered in blood. 

How the hell did he know to come here; how did he even get in here; why did he come here?- and then she focuses on the pertinent information. 

Hood says raspily, “Help.”

Dick had said he knew Jason, and seemed protective of him - and she agrees, having seen the footage. That means he's an ally of Jason, and therefore he's an ally of her as well. And he looks as if he's come here for help. All of that says ally. 

And-. She doesn't know how he got in here -she'll need to fix whatever hole in her very thorough security he used- but-. He's injured, and shaking. If she gets him with a taser, or even with just one good hit, she's pretty sure he'll go down. But he's asked for help. She can deal with all of that other stuff later.

So she snaps her fingers, and points at the med table she keeps low down and accessible. He staggers over to it, and pulls off his chest armour before she even asks. That's surprising, that level of trust, especially to someone he doesn't know.

There's red spreading from below his right pectoral muscle, and when he twists, below the scapula as well. A through and through. That's easier. It's possibly missed the lungs, if he's lucky - he's got enough muscle to pad his figure out. And considering he's here instead of collapsed on the floor of wherever he got shot, she'll assume he's lucky. 

The blood has soaked through his clothes though, even down to his legs. He's getting blood everywhere. She holds up an IV, and before she can say anything, he shakes his head. Stupid fucking paranoia, she'd bet, but whatever. She grabs a bottle of Gatorade and snaps “Drink it,” shoving it into his chest. The uninjured side of his chest, she's not cruel. 

He obeys.

Then she pulls out a needle and thread, disinfecting it automatically, and when he doesn't object, starts sewing his skin closed again. 

Once that's done, and he's finished with the bottle, and the iron supplements she handed him with a glare, and even leant back on the table so he's mostly prone -she’s far too used to the vigilantes she works with being much too reticent if she's letting this one get away without saying anything this entire time, and she still doesn't know why he's here- so she asks harshly, “ Hood, how did you know to come here for help?”

She wants to ask how he got in, really, but he doesn't look quite up to that - and she can work it out later anyway. This question, she needs him to answer.

“Well. Batgirl stops going out in a mask, but there's no way she's stopped wearing one. So-. Tracked your civilian identity. And that led here. Ta-da.”

Tonelessly, she murmurs “You know who I am.” Fuck. Fuck. He might be a friendly, but they don't know him. How the hell did he find out? They're not careless. She's not careless. And- Batgirl? That was years ago-.

“I've known who you are for years. I've known who all of you are for years. I haven't told anyone. It doesn't matter to me who you are under the masks.”

That really doesn't make her feel better.

She slides her fingers along the electrified escrima sticks under her chair, just to reassure herself that they're there, that she can defend herself.

He rolls his head to look at her, then asks quietly -she’d say tentatively, but he's a crime lord- “Tell me, would you work with me? Me, the Red Hood, with everything that means?”

Why is that his first question? Also, why is he asking it now, after he came to her, injured. Surely asking it before would have been a better choice.

She says, “Why are you asking?”

“Dickiebird told you what I told him, right?”

Dickiebird. That's fond. And-. And familiar. She does not think that Dick is anywhere near that friendly with the Red Hood. 

This whole thing is unsettling, somehow.

She tells him, “Yes, he did.”

She won't ever forget Dick stumbling into the Clocktower, bone-white, telling her that Jason was alive, and had chosen not to come home. Because Dick had been a terrible brother. Because Jason felt that he'd been replaced, because Bruce had spoken poorly of Jason after his death, and because- because the Joker was still alive. 

He'd been in shock, blood on his hands, and she still doesn't know from what, but she hadn't cared about anything except getting him clean and warm. 

Hood murmurs, “Well. Like I said. You would have to accept him as he is, not as he used to be. A pretty decent measure of that is this: if you will work with me.”

Dick had told her that too. That Hood had told him that-. That Jason had done things that they'd hate. But it's Jason. 

Back when- before-. They'd been worried about his growing anger and recklessness, and he'd been benched, and then he'd run away, and then he'd been dead. She hadn't been someone he could run to, and the shame of it still eats at her sometimes. 

(And this too: she'd seen Dick tear himself apart over the loss. How he'd thrown himself into being a good brother to the new kids because he hadn't been a good one to Jason. She'd watched Bruce self-destruct over it. And- and she'd struggled with it herself. She'd had enough taken from her by the Joker, that he'd taken Jason too-. She can't get her legs back, but if she can get Jason back-. Oh, it's petty, and it's not everything that Jason means to her, not even close: but it would be a sweet victory over the Joker, getting him back, and she'll take what few of those she can get.)

But more importantly: if she can make up for not being there for Jason then? If she can be here for him now - if working with Hood will get Jason even one step closer to home? 

She tells him, “Then yes. I would work with you. I wouldn't accept you killing unless it was absolutely necessary on the cases we worked together. But yes, I would.” 

His voice is rough and harsh, even though it's quiet, “Then yes. Do not work with me just because it'll give you Jason.”

She flinches a little at the casual display of his knowledge of their identities. And the clear insight into how she's thinking - she's not used to being so easily seen by people she doesn't know.

But she draws herself up and snaps “I've worked with killers before. Don't delude yourself into thinking you're special.”

“Christ, I've never thought that from you, Batgirl. You've always made that very clear.”

What? What is he talking about? She hasn't been Batgirl in years, and the way he said that, it was as if they knew each other. (Not just the known-of-her that he'd intimated earlier). And he says her callsign the same way that he'd said Dickiebird earlier, with a quiet echo of fondness. It's jarring, from someone she doesn't know.

But then he interrupts her thoughts and asks “Tell me, would you welcome Jason home, knowing he is a killer, and unrepentant about it.”

Well, she and Dick conspired to kill the Joker, and they're unrepentant about that; and she can't imagine that Jason has gone around killing innocent people, so she says, “Yes, I would.” 

“Then you'll see him again.”

Oh god, Jason. Jason, Jason.

She's asked how he knew to come here for help, and she's found out that he's testing them, at least a little, on Jason's behalf. But that's not enough. It doesn't explain why, because the reasons he's given, they aren’t enough, not with the stakes as high as she thinks they might be.

So she asks, “Why did you come here for help?” because Dick had said Hood had answered his questions, and he's been answering hers, and she needs to know. Hood just wanting to find out if they want Jason home- that doesn't cut it as an explanation. Not for a crime lord getting into her well-defended base, and asking for help. There's got to be a bigger reason.

He says quietly, “Because I think I can trust you.”

That's-. Huh. She would not have expected that from the Red Hood, not before tonight anyway.

And then he says, even quieter, almost rasping, “You know, I went looking for some video footage a little while ago, and I didn't find it. Oh, you did a good job - a very good job. But I know where Nightwing was that night, and it was not what the camera footage showed. Which means someone helped cover it up, and I think it was you.”

White-faced, she asks “What was me?”

In a seeming non-sequitur -but only if you didn't know what he was talking about, and she does, she does- he says, almost whispering now, “You know, I went and asked Deathstroke why the fuck he did that-. 

"You know what he said?

"He said someone asked him to-.

"To kill the Joker. 

"Make sure it was him. Kill him very very thoroughly. Make sure he was identifiable, but categorically unrevivable, even with magic, or a Lazarus pit. And if he ever did come back, to kill him again. And-. To make it known that he would do it again, if anyone ever brought him back to life.”

Oh god. Hood knows. Hood knows what she and Dick have done. He could- he could destroy them with that information. That Nightwing and Oracle had hired a mercenary to kill someone in a mental asylum. Worse: that the ward of Gotham's most famous philanthropist, and the daughter of the Commissioner of Police had hired a mercenary to kill someone-, to kill someone brutally, and then covered it up. 

(She and Dick had argued over it, screaming at each other until they were red in the face, but it had come down to this: no, they didn't have the right to decide who lived and who died, and they shouldn't, because everyone deserves a second chance; but the Joker wasn't ever going to take that chance and do anything except hurt people; and Jason needed the Joker dead to feel safe; and so did she. So even though as vigilantes, as Nightwing and Oracle, they couldn't kill- well, Deathstroke owed Dick a favour.)

She reaches for her panic button, not even her escrima sticks. She'd thought she could deal with Hood, but if he knows this much, who knows what he'd do with it-.

And then she stops. He hasn't done anything with it. He got hurt, and he came to her for help. And the way he's talking about it, he's not using it as blackmail, and doesn't seem to intend to do so in the future either. 

He came here, hurt, to test them: to see if he could trust them, to see if Jason could trust them. And if he needs blackmail on them to do that, and, and if Jason needs to know that they'd react violently on his behalf, if he needs that-.

She takes a leap of faith, “I was the one who asked Deathstroke to make it hurt.”

She can feel his attention focus in on her, as he rolls onto his side, getting a good look at her.

It's like being looked at by a tiger, which is impressive considering he's lying on a table about five minutes away from passing out from blood loss. 

He says, in a quiet, almost awed tone, “Oh, Oracle.”  

She says, as if telling him a secret, “He hurt me. He's why I'm in a wheelchair. Deathstroke paralysed him before he died, because I asked him to. And that was for me. But-. I asked him to make it hurt because he beat Jason to death with a crowbar. It must have hurt so much. So I asked Deathstroke to pay the Joker back in kind. I could have asked him to make it quick, and I didn't.” 

He says, almost silent, and filled with emotion she can't name, “Barbara.”

Then he reaches up, takes off his mask, -she has just enough time to recognise him, to think ‘Jason’-  and then he vomits blood all over the table. 

Chapter Text

The red alert siren for the Clocktower goes off, shrieking across all their comm lines.

There's a screech of feedback before it resolves into Oracle saying frantically, “Someone get here fucking now!”

Nightwing says, startled, “Oracle?”

Bruce is startled too. It's rare, very rare, for Oracle to sound anything less than professional over the comms. And her tone was…very far from professional. Much closer to distraught. Panicked.

He doesn't know what would make her sound like that. He abandons his patrol route and starts heading towards the Clocktower.

“I can't fucking lift him, and I don't know what's wrong, and I need some fucking assistance!”

Nightwing says immediately, “On my way, O.”

“Get here fast, N. And N? It's him. He's home.” Her voice wobbles on the last word.

“Fuck, Babs. Really?” The hope in his voice is almost painful. Bruce hasn't heard his eldest sound so hopeful in…a very long time. Not knowing what exactly has put that tone in his voice…he doesn't like not knowing.

“I think so.”

“Christ. O. Gimme a sec, I'll be there soon. Oh my god.”

“I know, N. Believe me, I know. But you've got to keep it together.”

She breathes in shakily.

“Because he's hurt, N, and I can't fix it by myself.”

Anyone that evokes such a strong emotional response from both Oracle and Nightwing is surely an ally. Except, Bruce thinks, they're not naming whoever it is, and that's deliberate. He should identify this person, and clarify their intentions.

And those things can be achieved -both providing medical aid, and identifying the unknown person- at the Batcave.

And if necessary, should the person prove to be a threat, the Batcave has facilities suitable for keeping threats secured.

He starts moving faster, towards the Batmobile, so that he can get to the Clocktower with speed, and with a vehicle that can be used for transportation.

He says “I’m inbound. Agent A, start preparing the Cave. Who is injured, Oracle?”

There's a muffled drawn out noise of distress before Oracle talks over it, “Do not start preparing the Cave. He's not going there.”

“Oracle.”

“No. If he wanted to come to you for help, he would. But he came to me. And I'm not telling you who he is. I'm pretty sure he doesn't want you to know jack shit, Batman.

"Hey hey hey, eyes on me, you with me? I'm not telling him anything, not without your okay, alright?”

She hisses down the comms, “ Understand this: this is a overjoyed-that-the-Joker-is-dead party only, and that means you're not fucking invited, Batman.”

That's not-. He-. He is-. He can't-. He's not allowed-.

He stays silent, grief choking anything he'd say.

Oracle snaps, “I need a fucking X-ray, and I don't goddamn have one here.”

Robin says tentatively, “Supers have X-ray vision.”

“Fine.

"Hey, hey, look at me? Can I get Clark over here to look at you?

"Fuck. Shit shit shit. Not Clark.”

That she's using Superman's civilian name is…worrying. He doesn't know who she's looking after right now, and he wants to vet this unknown person, and check that there's nothing to be concerned about.

Someone with that information, that he doesn't know? That's not- acceptable.

He speeds up, getting closer to Oracle's base.

Robin says, “Kon is on-planet.”

“Hey, look at me? Can Superboy come instead?

"I need to know what's going on inside you, please.

"Fine. Kon can come.

"What? Do I have to- Christ fine! I got it, I got it, please don't-. Thank you.

"I need something to cover his face. I don't have anything lead-lined here.”

Robin offers, “Um, Batman’s cape is fitted with the anti-identity fabric on the inside.”

“Great. Get it to me.”

Bruce states “No. Give me a reason, Oracle.”

He has no idea who this unknown person is. He's not giving up his cape so that their identity can be preserved.

“How about if you don't I'll burn the Batcomputer to the ground. Give it to me.”

That was an unwarranted and vicious response. She's clearly compromised.

“I'll get it, O.”

“Thank you, Nightwing.

"Goddamn fuck. I still need someone with medical training, and Leslie is out of town.”

“I have medical training, Oracle. And I do believe that I fit the requirements of, ah, overjoyed that the Joker is dead, was it?”

“Pennyone. Thank you.

"Yeah, what is it? Okay, yeah, I got it, just stay with me, stay awake, understand?

"You're not allowed to look at his face either.”

“Rest assured, I am perfectly capable of respecting someone's boundaries.”

“Pennyone, you're a gem.”

“I can come help lift?”

“Spoiler.

"Hey, can Spoiler come? I trust her. …She's from the Bowery, does that help? Okay.

"What weight can you deadlift now?”

“Um, about 200kg.”

“Great, you're invited. No peeking.”

He doesn't like this constant reinforcement that no one is allowed to know who this person is. It reeks of something rotten.

“Got it, O.”

“You're closer to Pennyone. Go help him pack. Bring as much as you can.”

Stephanie says briskly, “Symptoms?”

There's a startled pause.

Alfred says “Spoiler and I both have medical training. Symptoms would be helpful.”

“Yeah, fine.”

There's a pause in the flurry of communication, and Bruce demands “Who is he, Oracle.”

He hears a quiet, “Hey, I won't, okay, I won't. Look at me? Stay awake. I promise I won't.

"He's a Bird, Batman. Now stay out of it!”

That doesn't explain why Nightwing is so …attached. He doesn't have that relationship with any of the Birds of Prey - and they're all women, besides, not men. At least, the members of the Birds that he's aware of. He frowns. He doesn't like being caught unaware. This is someone who both Nightwing and Oracle care for, and he doesn't know who it is.

And he's apparently another vigilante in Gotham who he's unaware of - especially one who's been around long enough to know who Clark is, too. He doesn't like that either.

He repeats, “Who is he.”

Oracle snaps, “Batman, I'm kicking you off, you're stressing him out.”

The line goes dead.

Who is he, is what Bruce wants to know- needs to know. But he's near enough to the Clocktower to not bother arguing with her. He'll find out soon enough, in person.

He keeps moving.

Then the comm line blips on again for just a moment, just long enough to Nightwing to say furiously, “If you fuck this up for us by stalking us to the Clocktower, I swear to god I'll never talk to you again.” before going silent once more.

That's-. He can't- but he needs to-.

Fortunately, he has an override.

“Nightwing, you're compromised.”

“Only emotionally. Now, you can trust that Oracle and I have it in hand, that Pennyone, Superboy, Spoiler, and probably Robin too, all have it in hand. You can cut the chatter. And you can go do something helpful that isn't bothering us about something that's none of your business. Go stalk Amusement Mile, if you can think of nothing else to do.”

The comm cuts off. He tries the override again. Nothing.

Nightwing had said Amusement Mile. Clear on the other side of the city, about as far away from the Clocktower as it was possible to get.

And-. With the Joker dead, there was not much use patrolling it.

The dismissal stings.

Then Nightwing drops in from the next roof over.

“Give me your cape.”

He's pale, shock-pale, but his jaw is firm.

Bruce growls, “Nightwing.”

Dick says nothing in response, just springs forward, and vaults smoothly over Batman's shoulders before he can even dodge, detaching and taking his cape as he goes.

Bruce hadn't taught him that.

He growls again, “Nightwing. You're compromised.”

“And I told you, only emotionally. Now you can keep wasting my time, preventing me from helping someone who needs it, or you can be helpful, and stay out of the way.”

He-. He needs to know what's going on, and who the person is. And if Nightwing takes that cape, he won't be able to find out as soon as is necessary. He says, “I need a cape.”

“Then I'll ask Pennyone to send the Batmobile to you, and you can go back to the ‘Cave and get a new one.

"I don't have time for this.

"I need you to do what I'm telling you.

"Don't-. Just. Don't.”

He shakes his head, and turns away.

Bruce can't get through to him, not right now. He needs to-.

The tone of Dick's voice-.

He can't-. He lost one son already. He almost lost this one too, and he can't-. He can't lose him.

He tries, almost a hoarse croak, “Nightwing.”

Dick turns back, and his tense jaw loosens, just marginally. “Not the time, Batman.”

And that's-. Enough. It will have to be enough.

He's seen Nightwing look like this before, and he tried then, to fix it, and it hadn't worked, and after, Dick had informed him at volume that what he'd needed was for Bruce to leave him alone, to listen to him when he said to go away, and if B tried to pull anything like that again, he would never talk to him again, and he had sworn to god he meant it. The only reason Dick had started talking to him again after that particular argument was for Tim's sake, Dick had made that clear. Bruce doesn't think he'll be as lucky a second time.

He can't risk that. He wants to make sure that everything is under control, he needs to, but-. But Dick has told him no. And if he tries to do anything, Dick will leave, really and truly. So-. He wrestles his panic under control, just barely.

And he watches, deliberately and absolutely motionless, as Nightwing grapples away.

Chapter Text

Dick had been exiled from the room early on - he'd been there when they arrived, but he'd been hovering so frantically that Alfred had snapped at him. Barbara had pulled him away, and he'd circled the Clocktower while she and Alfred had worked on the stranger, with Superboy's help.

They'd had to reinflate his partially collapsed lung, after draining the blood from it (she's never seen a hemothorax before, though apparently Alfred has, which she did not know), and patch up a nasty wound on the back of his head. He's got a nasty concussion too, she's pretty sure - as sure as she can be without an actual CT scan for it, and they don't have that equipment here. Superboy had tried to help, but it wasn't like he had medical training.

But the amount of blood coming from the stranger's head, even though head wounds bleed a lot and it just looked (very very) dramatic, explains why Barbara had been so frantic about keeping him awake and his concentration on her. 

Steph had been the one to check his pupil dilation, not Alfred. She's reasonably certain that it had been a deliberate choice, to not let Alfred see the stranger's face.

But then, Alfred had been busy checking over his patched gunshot wound - it had nicked his lung, and probably caused the collapse, but he'd been careful not to blame Barbara. 

So…hard to tell.

But that theory is backed up by the way that Alfred gets ushered out quickly - with a task to get to, but still sent away. And she hasn't been told to go yet, not even politely, like Alfred.

Superboy is gone too though. He'd left awkwardly as soon as he wasn't needed as an X-ray anymore. And she'd seen on Oracle's set up that Dick's comm had turned on, along with the one label ‘Superboy, temporary’, before the trackers labelled ‘Superboy, temporary’ and ‘Robin’ had both left Gotham completely. She's pretty sure if she went and tracked them, they'd be halfway to Titans Tower by now. 

But she watches silently as Barbara tugs the stranger's hand closer and presses it to her mouth, murmuring quietly, privately, “You're here, okay? That's what matters to me, to us. You're here- there is a place for you here, and anything else, we'll fix it. I promise.”

And the stranger, lying there still bleeding a little, just holds her gaze unwaveringly. He murmurs, just as quietly, “I believe you.” and Barbara bends herself over his hand, hiding her face from the rest of them.

Steph has the uncomfortable feeling that she's crying.

She turns away. Whatever they’re saying to each other, it’s private. She wants to know, of course she does, but-. 

She'd heard her, over the comms. She'd seen Dick. And in person, they'd both been-. She doesn't know, exactly, but whatever it was, they'd been feeling it a lot. She just couldn't tell if it was joy or grief. Both, maybe. Almost definitely uncontrolled panic, though, at the thought of this guy being hurt.

Which- she wants to know. She's never heard of this guy before, and both Dick and Babs are clearly deeply deeply attached.

And maybe they’ll tell her - whoever the stranger was, he'd seemed like he might be okay with her knowing. But if they don't tell her, that would be fine too. God knows that there are things Steph wouldn't tell anyone, ever. She gets it. Some shit is private. 

(Some shit, if anyone had pushed her on it, had tried to make her tell them about it, she'd break bones about it. She's getting the vibe here that this situation might be on that level.)

Dick is let in again a few minutes before she leaves. He goes immediately to the stranger, and folds himself over him, pressing his ear to his chest. His arm is outstretched too, his hand wrapping around the stranger's forearm. 

She leans backwards slightly, just to get a better look, and his fingers are pressed against the inside of his wrist. After a moment, she realises that they're pressed against his pulse point, and Dick's ear is pressed against his chest, right above his heart. He's reassuring himself that the stranger is alive. He's shaking, and mumbling something very quietly into the stranger's ribs, but she can't hear what it is.

And anyway, this isn't-. She doesn't think she's supposed to be seeing this. 

Dick's never been anything except highly competent, at least in her presence, but this evening, he's been falling apart. She's pretty sure he wouldn't want her to see this. 

She leaves the room, then takes a moment to send a message to Oracle's computer that she's going to be patrolling around the Clocktower. 

Whoever this person is, he's clearly very important to Dick and Babs, and they're not in a position to keep an eye out. So she will.