Chapter Text
A thud sounds from your little balcony, causing you to jump in your seat. Peering over the backrest of your couch, you spy a hulking figure slowly rising to its feet and you grip the thick, hardback book you were reading in your hands.
"What do you want?" You shout, fingernails digging into the book's cover. "I'll have you know I'm armed and dangerous!"
That is a complete lie. A hardback book definitely doesn't count as a weapon, and you barely know how to fight. The only danger you are is to yourself, being the clumsy airhead that you are. You take a small shaky step towards your balcony, feeling your heart pounding in your chest and nearly scream when the figure turns to face you.
Instead, you bite your tongue and hiss in pain, nearly dropping the book which causes the figure to move towards you and you panic. Your foot hits the leg of the couch as you stumble backwards, causing more pain to shoot through you and you yelp.
"You alright?" The figure grunts, catching you before you fall onto your couch. In the light from your living room, you see who the figure is.
Red Hood.
You let out a squeak of terror, staring into his cracked red helmet. You see a glowing green eye peeking beneath it, blood splattered on his face and then you realise something.
He's dripping blood all over your floor.
"Good thing it's tiled huh." You offer a grin. "Otherwise the bloodstains would be a pain to wash out."
Confusion flashes in the visible green eye as he gently places you on your couch. His gaze flicks to the book you're still clutching to your chest and raises an eyebrow.
"Austen?" He rasps out, gesturing towards the book.
"No, Blyton. Of course it's Austen, can't you see the author's name right here?" You scowl, feeling irritation rising to the surface as you gesture furiously towards the cover. Then you realise you've just sassed the Red Hood. You're doomed. Your smart mouth has doomed you. At least you can say you've read Pride and Prejudice before you died.
You brace yourself for a gun to your head, but instead you're met with laughter. You blink, confused.
"Got a first aid kit around here?" Red Hood asks, wincing as he removes his helmet to reveal a bloodied and bruised face. Black hair falls over his eyes, a striking white streak at the center of his bangs.
Oh dear, he's hot.
"Yeah. Although no guarantee of nothing being expired. I don't think I've touched it since…forever ago." You laugh awkwardly. "It's in that drawer."
He nods, setting his helmet on your coffee table before heading to the drawer to retrieve the first aid kit. You nervously sit on your couch, still unable to process what's just happened in the past few minutes and clutching your book to your chest.
A couple of grunts later, Red Hood turns to look at you.
"Good thing nothing's expired."
He brings the kit to the coffee table and begins to treat his injuries. You continue sitting there, observing the way he deftly removes the bullet in his side, cleans the wound and then stitches the skin back together. You try to note how he does it, for future reference of course, and freeze when he glances up at you.
"What are you looking at?" He growls.
"Nothing! Just…watching how you treat your injuries."
"That's not nothing." He grunts, turning back to his wounds. "Know how to stitch these up?"
"Nope. Not at all. Never first aided before. Never needed to."
"Hmm."
He falls silent as he continues tending to his injuries. He lets you watch, even softly explaining the process at times. The both of you slip into a comfortable rhythm, your grip on your book loosening as you begin to relax and time flies. Red Hood stands up once he's bandaged the last injury, swaying slightly and you quickly lunge forward to stabilise him.
"Don't get a concussion, I won't be able to help."
"Didn't plan on doing that." Amusement flashes in his eyes. "Was planning to leave, actually."
"I'd, uh, suggest resting rather than going back out." You gesture towards the couch. "The couch is a sofa bed, you can use it since you hopefully won't be bleeding all over it."
"Oh I'm not allowed to bleed anymore?" The corners of his lips quirk upwards.
"Well, I mean I hope you're not bleeding anymore because I won't be able to save you from dying of blood loss."
Red Hood laughs again. "Don't worry, I won't bleed all over your couch."
He pauses, turning back to face you. "…thank you for the offer. If you don't mind, I'll take it."
"Wouldn't have offered if I didn't mind."
"How nice of you." There's sarcasm dripping from his voice, but he's smiling softly.
"Thanks. See you tomorrow morning…or not. I don't know. Vigilantes in Gotham all seem to have this special ability to disappear into thin air."
"It's called stealth."
Rolling your eyes, you make sure he lies down on your couch before disappearing into your room to have a good night's rest, thoughts full of how the Red Hood isn't quite the menacing figure he seems to be. There's a sort of…charm to him, the small moments of softness that runs contrary to the stories you've heard of him. Maybe he wasn't as scary as the stories made him out to be, that there was a gentler side to him that made him seem more human.
When you wake up the next morning, the Red Hood has vanished. Your couch remains free of blood, as promised, and a note rests on the cushions.
Thank you for the first aid kit and couch. I'll repay you next time.
~ Red Hood