Chapter Text
Friday nights sucked.
“Fuck--- I knew it!!!”
Marcus heaved himself up from his frozen perch, groaning. Normally they got Friday nights off. Not that he was honest-to-God complaining, never mind that he had a three-month-old at home; Hood was grinding just as hard as the rest of them, and now it was the deepest, darkest days of winter. After only a year working in Hood’s Top Ten, Marcus knew by now how things tended to run around here. Winter was slim pickings, funnily enough, because the best of men tended trying to work from home closer to their families or find above board jobs when it was cold enough to get ice in your beard. Not to mention the seasonly flu.
This meant two things for Marcus. One, he was gonna be short staffed; Hood let everyone go who wanted to pursue anything better, especially anything in Wayne Enterprises or the public services, and he refused to hire anyone dirty who wasn’t making an effort to be better. Two--- and this was the kick in the caboose--- Marcus was usually the one who had to cover his own ass in times of scarcity like these.
Like being his own lookout, for instance. Or sitting through cold-as-balls all-nighters on a stakeout that literally anyone else could have done if anyone else had been available.
To repeat a well worn point, Marcus wasn’t complaining. They were doing the best they could with what they had, and he knew for a fact that Hood wasn’t getting enough sleep. That was why Marcus had volunteered for this stupid job in the first place--- Hood really needed it checked off of his miles’ high to-do list, but he couldn’t be spared; they needed him down at the docks for that arms deal tonight or their client wouldn’t show. If they could catch the middleman in the process, well--- Marcus maybe might have considered that worth it. If he could get the kid to go at least six hours passed out on his couch afterward under Cathy’s watchful eye? Even more so.
He wouldn’t have abandoned this post come hell or high water, because staying curled up in the fetal position was marginally better than pacing or doing endless pushups to stay warm, but. Well, he heard a muffled scream. A scream, judging by the sound, of pain. He had heard that scream before, a reluctant noise that was doing its best not to exist, and his spine contracted with the memory. Hood wasn’t around to go all green on the little creep this time--- and he was doing much better these days, anyway, what with being too exhausted for luxuries like emotions--- Which meant someone else was hurting Red Robin instead.
And they were really fuckin’ close.
Marcus peered over the edge of the roof, squinting. There--- Across the street, half a block down. A fight in an alleyway that did not look made up of simple things like left hooks and uppercuts. Bat-Brand shit, then. Wayyyyy out of Marcus’ pay range.
He swung over the ledge onto a fire escape with a CLANG, stumbling down as fast as his frozen, work boot clad feet could go. No grapple meant slow descents. (Also, no fucking thank you.)
“Hey!!!” he yelled when he was close enough. At least two of the assailants turned around, which gave Red Robin the upper hand. A few very complex spins later, they were on the ground, groaning. He hopped between them, injecting unknown substances that made them go still. A sick feeling rose in Marcus’ gut. He ignored it.
“Are you an IDIOT?” Red snapped ten seconds later when the breathless, muted fight was over. He stood up, clutching his limp arm. His white lenses narrowed accusingly. “You could have gotten yourself KILLED.”
Marcus raised a very judging eyebrow, nudging one of the bodies with his boot. He wasn’t the tallest guy, but it was obvious this close up that the kid really was a kid. His jawline was young, clean, and his voice snapped with an immature impatience Marcus had come to associate with teens that wanted to be in a gang but didn’t really know what they were in for.
What was not his age caught Marcus’ instincts a little bit off guard. A deep weariness. The kind of tone that, when Hood heard it in his Merrys’ voices, made him send them home or down to the nearest bar with a buddy for safe driving.
“I would’a shot ‘em,” he finally answered, aware that his internal thought process would get him negative points if he spoke any of it out loud. “Are they dead?”
The kid uttered a very Batman-like grunt. “No.”
“What are they?”
“Ninjas.”
Marcus had suspected as much, but it still would have been nice to hear “Wasps” or “Wilds”. Y’know, something he was familiar with. “Obviously. Your arm’s bleeding, by the way.”
Red let go of his limp limb, letting the wound seep unchecked. “Obviously. I’m compromised. Tell Hood I’m turning in for the night if he worries.”
“Wait, wait, compromised how?” Marcus hesitated when the kid’s hand moved to his belt. He softened his voice like second nature. He’d dealt with grumpy Bats before. (Don’t tell his boss that that was the category everyone had unanimously assigned him to in the gc.) “Was it poisoned, the knife?”
Red glanced down at his arm, appearing to consider. “I don’t know. Sleep deprivation presents as at least fifteen different toxins. I’ll run tests when I’m home.”
“At least let me drive you there.” Marcus jerked his thumb over his shoulder, keeping his movements slow. “My bike’s right around the corner.”
Red’s lenses were weirdly wide. “You mean your group ride. The hoe bike.”
Marcus made a face at him. Brat. “How’d you know about that?”
Red’s shoulder twitched. “Winter’s slim pickings an’ I’ve seen at least five of you ridin’ that thing around town. I’m guessing you have to share.”
“Her name’s Nelly, an’ needs must in times of starvation, kid. You coming or not?”
“And show you the location of my safehouse? Yeah, no thanks.”
“I can take you to one of Hood’s.”
That actually made the kid pause. His tone dipped more heavily into sarcasm. “With all the necessary medical equipment.”
Marcus nodded dramatically. He wasn’t sure exactly what equipment was in Hood’s seventh favorite safehouse, but he knew it was more chock-full of medical shit than any other place that wasn’t a hospital in Gotham’s city limits. Surely it would have what the ruffled bird needed. “Yup, food too.”
Red cocked his head a little. The cowl would have aged him ten years if not for the distinct lack of frown lines on his face. He was young, young enough to make Marcus flash back against his will to that fiery rescue that felt like years ago. This wasn’t nearly so dire, and Batman wasn’t swooping in on the wings of desperation like he had for Hood, but the slower realization was much the same. You’re just a fuckin’ kid.
The eventual sigh was entirely too reluctant. “Fine.”
Marcus took the win as quietly as possible, leading the way back to his bike. After the fourth glance over his shoulder, he ascertained that the kid was following… He just tended to disappear when you weren’t looking directly at him. Marcus swung on, holding out his helmet to the shadows.
“You’re kidding,” the kid’s voice said flatly.
Marcus gave him the most exhausted stare he could muster. “The faster I get rid of you, the faster we can both be inside. Where it’s warm.”
Red took the helmet with a distinct downturn to his mouth, shoving it on. “I’m not a child.”
Just saying it bespoke more childishness than Marcus wanted to be punched for calling out, so he said nothing, hitting his com as he kicked off into light traffic. “Boss.”
Red’s arms tightened around Marcus’ middle.
“Yeah.”
“I had to drop the lookout to help a bird’a yours, but it’s three; the estimated meeting time was two hours ago.”
“Yeah… dammit. I knew he wouldn’t show. We’ll try again tomorrow night; you might as well go home. Which bird?”
Marcus raised an eyebrow as the fucking Arctic wind whipped at his face. His ears were already numb. “I wasn’t aware you had more than one.”
“I don’t HAVE any. How injured is he?”
“Not too injured to give me snark.”
“That’s a really low bar for th ese people; you’ll have to be more specific . Is it Red? Red could snark in his sleep.”
“He’ll be fine. I’m takin’ him back to one of your places. Anything you want me to pick up on my way back?”
“Mmmmmmm… tacos?”
“Only if you stay.”
A hoarse grunt.
Marcus stopped at a red light, because he liked his license, actually, and waited at an empty intersection. He lowered his voice now that the wind had stopped assaulting his face. “C’mon, Pete, you’re exhausted.”
“Is Red listening?”
“No,” Red immediately muttered for only Marcus to hear. Clearly the kid had patched into their line without alerting Hood to his presence. He lifted his head enough to gesture incredulously at the lack of traffic. “GO.”
Marcus gave the kid’s knee a couple of sympathetic pats. “Nope, he’s hallucinating off his ass. Keeps calling me Dad.”
“Fuck you.”
“Yeah?” Hood sounded amused. “I wish I could see it. I can’t stop coughing. I don’t wanna bring anything near your kid.”
“Camp out on the couch; Cath is glued to the bedroom this week, anyway, and you’re not on the way to the kitchen. You know she’d argue the same.”
“….. So tacos, yeah?”
The weight in Marcus’ chest finally lifted. He wasn’t used to dealing with two of these idiots at once. How did Batman do it? At least Marcus had a bit of emotional sway over Hood; Red would probably just as soon stab him in the kidney if he suggested going to an actual hospital. “See you there.”
Red propped his chin on Marcus’ shoulder as they finally got going again. “So… he’s kindof your Robin.”
Marcus slowly winced. Labels in this line of work made things… complicated. “I wouldn’t go that far. We care about ‘im. Sure you’ve noticed.”
“Yeah, I have, I just… I didn’t know it was this far. He knows your KID.”
“We trust him with everything we got. He’s earned that.” Marcus sniffed stoically. “He’s a good boss.”
Red fell silent for a few minutes. Then, almost to himself, “Must be nice.”
Marcus didn’t know whether Red was referring to his lack of trust in Batman--- bad--- or his lack of trust in Hood, which considering their unspoken alliance, was almost worse. He tried for the second time not to remember the moment he’d physically dragged Hood off of the kid too viscerally, shaking his head to get rid of phantom gunshots. So he had nightmares sometimes about Hood losing himself to his own shit. He’d had the same about his past self at some point. And about Cathy. What else was fuckin’ new?
He almost missed their turn. “Here we are.”
Red swung off, hurriedly ridding himself of the helmet to give the dilapidated apartment building a deeply unimpressed scowl. “This?”
“It’s bigger on the inside,” Marcus confided before resisting three dad jokes an’ two teenager ones in favor of a more mature silence. He lead them around to the side door, plugged the right combo into the pad after two tries, and traveled up the stairs. If not for the whisper-soft sound of heavy Kevlar against armored heels, he might have doubted again that the kid was still behind him.
God--- What was his LIFE?
“Here ya go.” Marcus opened the door first, gesturing widely to the array of medical machines crowding out a small TV an’ a bloodstained futon next to a cot. “Home sweet home.”
Red passed a feathery touch over the doorframe as he stepped inside. “You just disarmed six of his traps with fingerprints. You sure you’re not related?”
“He’s Batman’s son,” Marcus snapped against his better sleep-deprived judgment. “Does Batman have authorized fingerprints?”
That got him to shut up. Red shucked his gloves on the way to the machines, kicking the futon. “This his blood?”
“Yup, and it’s only a week old; he bought it new.”
The kid’s lenses narrowed back on Marcus’ face. Marcus was too tired to read the silence--- Was Red taking note of the fact that Hood had experienced a wound bad enough to gush only a week ago, or was he maybe clocking the way Marcus had snapped at the mention of a close tie he wasn’t sure he an’ his crime lord boss actually had? It was one thing to rescue the guy from a burning building. It was another entirely to assume responsibility that wasn’t his.
As badly as he wanted to…
“Hood owns the complex,” the kid finally said aloud, giving Marcus’ messy train of thought absolutely no answers.
“Yeah.” Marcus yawned on his way to the tiny kitchenette, rooting around in the cabinets for ramen or cups o’ noodles. “Easier to put people up who aren’t steady on their feet but haven’t earned trust in the group yet.”
Red suddenly stiffened, pausing in the middle of gathering a blood sample. “He keeps PEOPLE here?”
“Not right now, relax.” Marcus squinted at the contents of the ramen bowl, checking for spare sauce or dried veggie packets. “We’re too shorthanded to have any greenies. I thought you were the smartass one, keep up.”
Red’s silence was refreshingly sullen this time as he shuffled around. Marcus contented himself with ramen prep. At least the stovetop worked. Was there tea? Bags of chai, that would work. Score, some honey, too. Maybe there wasn’t a proper bed in this joint, but Hood liked his creature comforts.
“What’re you doing?” Red grunted as he stabbed a needle into his arm.
Marcus brought over a steaming bowl an’ a drink, wincing. Probably an antidote? Which meant Bad Things. “Poison?”
“Nothin’ my body isn’t used to.” The kid’s lenses narrowed wearily on the food. “You, on the other hand, I don’t trust.”
Marcus pulled back, scoffing. “Fine, take the other set; it’s by the microwave.”
Red… hesitated. Marcus could feel his gaze darting back and forth between him and the kitchen.
“I know it may be a long shot to believe, but I don’t want you hurt or dead,” Marcus offered gruffly, setting the healthy nourishment on the cot. He trudged back for his own, rooting around for ibuprofen. You would think, y’know, somewhere among all the thousands of dollars’ worth of medical equipment… “Don’t eat if you don’t wanna. I’m just bein’ hospitable over here.”
“You’d be the first in six months,” the kid might have muttered. Marcus leaned against the counter to eat, purposefully not watching when he heard the sounds of a fork picking at noodles. Thank God for hungry teenagers. It was probably going against every vigilante instinct in existence to accept food from a stranger.
Not for the first time, Marcus wondered why he so often spotted the kid alone. Batman had disappeared for a few months a little while back. Or… maybe longer? It was hard to remember the details of shit that wasn’t his business.
“What’re you doing?” the kid asked, quieter this time, as Marcus flopped down onto the less bloody side of the futon.
“Resting.” Marcus patted his coat to check on his sidearm, sighing, and thumped his head back. A hot bowl of stale noodles an’ some lukewarm tea. Life was abundant. “You can rest, too.”
A heavy scoff. “Like I’m gonna fall asleep next to a criminal.”
Marcus squinted at the ceiling, mildly affronted. “I’m pretty sure I’m closer to a law abiding citizen than you are, so first of all, fuck you---”
“Shit, you’re serious. You think just because I think you’re too stupid to poison my food that I’m gonna---”
“Don’t sleep if you don’t wanna sleep.” Marcus closed his eyes as a sigh pushed out of him. He was exhausted. “You probably don’t trust a guy until you get his social security number.”
The kid made a slightly annoyed sound. “I know your social security number.”
“Great, can you tell me? I’ve lost it.”
Silence fell quite suddenly between them. For a few blessed seconds, Marcus thought he finally had an excuse to sink into a nap. Then… much quieter this time… “Don’t you have somewhere to be?”
Marcus only paused long enough to register the faint… longing? Jealousy?… coloring the kid’s soft voice. Interesting. “Hood’s not done until six an’ our favorite taco joint doesn’t open until seven. I’ve got a couple hours to kill.”
The silence felt final this time. Marcus spared a thought to wondering if the kid was giving him the slip. Not his problem, honestly… He’d done his level best an’ he wasn’t gonna chase down a Bat to enforce rest when that same Bat could probably kill him with one pinky. Sleep was calling his name. He would just… check back… in a few hours…
Right before he drifted off, though, he thought he heard a faint snore.