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“Jay,” Peter hissed, still getting used to calling Neal that in private conversations, ‘What in the world are you doing?” He tries to swipe the mediocrely important paper his CI was folding into a little origami bird, but Jason easily holds it out of his reach. “You know the violent crimes unit is coming by today to discuss the Red Hood case, and I seriously need you on your best behavior.
Shrugging, Jason replies, “Come on, we both know he’s suspicious! Maybe they’re right and the BI shouldn’t be interacting with him as much as they do, if at all at that.”
“You know he saved my life-” Peter started, but was cut off by Jason saying, “I know, and I’m grateful for that. But you know how I feel about the man. He’s nothing more than another violent, bloodthirsty criminal running rampant through the streets.”
Peter sighs and rubs his eyes frustratedly. He and Jason have had similar conversations on multiple occasions, and no matter what Peter said, he could never sway his best friend’s opinion. But that wasn’t important right now, he had a meeting to get to, a relatively hostile and competitive FBI unit to keep the peace with, and a vigilante to vouch for.
“Jay, I’m begging you, at least pretend to work while they’re here.” Jason immediately brightens up at essentially being given permission to do nothing so long as he appears as if he was doing something, so he happily straightens up in his chair and begins doodling religiously on some slightly more important documents than the one he was folding up.
Suppressing a chuckle, Peter groans dramatically before dragging himself toward the arriving elevator.
_______
Peter dropped heavily onto his couch after a very, very long day of debating on whether or not to continue somewhat cooperating with the Red Hood and the evidence and tied up baddies he’s been delivering. He thinks he managed to convince the others that Hood was someone who deserves at least a modicum of their trust, but some individuals were less than enthused with the bodies he’s been dropping. Which Peter understands one hundred percent, but those bodies also come along with a hundred pieces of evidence that likely would’ve gotten them the death penalty anyway.
Whatever, he was off the clock which meant he could relax and stop thinking about the crimson colored vigilante. Or at least that was the plan right up until he heard a heavy thump in his backyard. The sounds surprised him so badly he damn near dropped the beer he’d just pulled from the fridge.
Satchmo started barking at the door, and Peter quickly grabbed his gun, fearing the people who’d tried to murder him before were back. Tearing open the back door, he was shocked to see the man he had just been thinking about.
Red Hood was sprawled a few yards away on the damp grass trying to tear off his visibly glitching helmet. After a few seconds, the guy managed to get the thing unclasped and tore it off his head, revealing jet black hair with an odd white streak and another mask. Guess this guy liked to be extra prepared.
What Peter noticed next was that Hood’s right arm was shaking horrifically and blood was pouring from a massive gash in his shoulder. Peter was frozen right up until the moment Satchmo raced into the yard and started nuzzling Red Hood while whining in concern. That was odd. Satchmo was a friendly little guy, but it took him a minute to warm up to strangers.
The vigilante jolted in surprise before gently scratching Satchmo behind the ears. The blood loss must’ve been getting to him, because it took Hood a bit longer to notice Peter standing frozen in the doorway to his home. When Hood finally did see him, he sheepishly waved a hand and said, “Hey, Agent Burke! Sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt your night.”
Sighing, Peter approached the vigilante and said, “It’s fine; let me help you with your shoulder.”
Hood tried to protest, saying that he didn’t want to be a bother, but Peter merely helped Hood to his feet and dragged him inside. “Seriously, let me help. It looks like you’ve lost a lot of blood, and I owe you one anyway.”
“Nah, you owe me at least two,” the gun-toting hero joked as Peter made him sit on the couch. By god was he glad El was running late tonight. He didn’t know how he’d explain the half-dead vigilante on their couch.
Snorting as he pulls out a first aid kit, he asks, “And how did you determine that?”
“Well, there was the bomb, then a few dozen guys with guns, and I also took a couple bullets for you, so yeah! At least two.” The guy was much more upbeat and chatty than last time despite having lost a concerning amount of blood. Despite being a bit pale and shaky, he otherwise seemed unaffected by the injury and was content to pet Satchmo while Peter treated him.
As Peter gets to work on the rather gorey wound, he replies, “Fair enough. I guess I’d be open to patching you up a few more times if need be.”
“Aw, thanks! However, I’d prefer not to make a habit of this. Getting your arm slashed open isn’t all it’s cracked up to be!” Peter grimaced at that as he stitched the wound shut. He didn’t have any anesthetics, but the man didn’t flinch and there wasn’t even any strain in his tone as he spoke. His pain tolerance must be through the roof, and Peter didn’t want to know what caused the threshold to be so high.
Several minutes later where Peter casually asked Hood what got him in this situation and the other man expertly avoiding giving specific details, Peter finished tying off the gauze he wrapped around Hood’s arm to protect the stitches.
“Alright, all done. Anywhere else that needs first aid?” he asked.
Shaking his head as he stands, Hood said, “Nope, I think I’m all good! Besides, I don’t want your wife to walk in the door and get a heart attack at the sight of me. Not the most relaxing end to her evening!”
“Fair enough, but feel free to swing by again if you need help,” Peter offers genuinely, to which he gets a bright, crooked smile from the vigilante.
“Thanks,” Red Hood says as he walks out the back door and disappears into the night, much to Satchmo’s chagrin. Poor guy really wanted to play with Hood for some reason. After giving the dog a sympathetic scratch behind the ears, he put away all the first aid kit. And just in time too, because El walked in the door a few minutes later.
“Hey, how was the event?” Peter asked while taking El’s bag and giving her a kiss on the cheek.”
Smiling at her husband, El happily replied, “There were a few complications with the caterer, but I got it all ironed- is that blood?!” Her face had morphed to one of horror and fear at the little red spots on the tile by the back door.
…Damnit, how did he miss that? He was in for a looooong night now while he explained everything to her. He just wished it could’ve waited for tomorrow.