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The Red Hood had been enjoying a relaxing evening, well, by his standards anyway. All the literal and metaphorical trash had been dumped outside ready for pickup and disposal and he had no other pressing issues his underlings couldn’t handle.
He was almost proud of himself for the level of management he had been able to push through. He ran a tight ship and he’d be damned before he let it crumble.
Take that Bruce, bet my replacement isn’t even half as competent.
His white mug took an a green hue.
“Fuck,” he huffed, clenching his fist, digging his nails in his palm to ground himself.
He consciously lowered his shoulders and took a few deep breaths. He smelled the cinnamon in his tea, felt the heat of his mug.
He slowly opened his eyes.
It had not happened in weeks that he was lucid enough to take time for himself, the pit spurring him on his quest for revenge with very little room for sleep, let alone time to relax.
He was going to take all the time he could get. He actually looked forward to retiring early (again, by his standards, keep up). A spa night, if you will, not that he’d ever admit to calling it as such.
Jason’s fingers dragged along the cracked spines of his stacked books. The bookstore he’d snagged the copies from had been a trafficking front so they wouldn’t miss them. There wasn’t anyone left to miss them anyway, so moot point.
He stood, having made his choice: Pride and Prejudice. Sue him, he was in the mood for a reread. The predictability calmed him.
Steaming mug in one hand, book in the other, the back of his thighs just grazed the couch cushions.
Thunk
Jason frowned, it sounded just like a bird hitting a window mid flight.
—
Tim had been having a rather shit night.
He smelled of coffee. Normally, that wouldn’t be an issue, however, in this case it absolutely was.
He grimaced, recalling the offence.
In his haste to make it to patrol on time he’d had a skirmish with a door (don’t ask who won). As a result of said battle, the coffee had spilt all over his legs. Unfortunately for him, he had already been wearing his Robin costume. The tights were now brown and in the laundry basket, ready for Alfred’s laundry run come morning.
Cold air chilled his legs, as he silently continued to curse himself and vowed not to come in contact with doors for the foreseeable future. He hadn’t even had the time to get his reserve tights. Should have left the cold case for what it was. It was, after all, cold. It couldn’t grow legs and walk away.
As Alfred had said, “The work will still be here when you come back, Master Tim.”
At least the shorts had been spared, not that there was much to ruin in the fist place.
The crinkling of paper drew his attention and a deep sigh left him. It was his English homework, hastily stuffed in his utility belt. Hopefully patrol would be quiet, maybe there’d be time to quickly finish some of the worksheets between his crime-fighting endeavours.
It was a daunting reminder of his ever growing pile of neglected homework. Not only his homework, but also his Robin duties were backlogged.
Sleep would be the next necessary sacrifice. He ignored his already growing eyebags, he’d slap on some concealer. The other rich kids at Gotham Academy wouldn’t bat an eye at make-up, too used to the dressing up required for the many gala’s.
Best to give Batman no excuse to fire him.
Could he fire him?
Tim huffed self-deprecatingly, he hadn’t given Batman much choice to hire him anyway.
Still, better not risk it.
He slapped his thighs to wake himself up and rose to his full hight, not that that was very high. He was not salty. He really wasn’t. It was useful, being small. He could blend into the shadows with ease, fit through small openings to infiltrate buildings for missions and get the 14 and under children’s meal-deal at batburger.
All very useful.
Slowly blinking, still severely missing his nightly, slightly ritualistic dose of caffeine, Tim got his grappling hook ready to start his first round of the night.
—
Jason was pissed.
His rare quiet evening had been disturbed. He slowly walked toward his balcony that looked out over the alleyway next to his apartment. The loud thunk had come from there. Considering the strength of the sound, it had to be a very, very big bird.
He had long since put down his tea and book in favour of a gun. The brief thought of getting his helmet had crossed his mind, but a Gotham civilian having a gun was not out of the ordinary, almost expected. He also didn’t want his house connected to the Red Hood. He needed to protect his identity a little longer for his plans to conclude.
Besides, it was dark near the windows, only the reading light by the couch was on and there were no working street lamps in the alley. His face would be hidden in the shadows, the only light in his back likely blinding anyone before they could take a good look at him.
He’d take them out before they could.
His faint footsteps were now the only sounds surrounding him.
No.
He tilted his head slightly.
Muffled groans reached his ears from behind the balcony door.
Jason tightened his grip on the gun and quickened his steps. Best get this over with, so he could get back to his relaxing night.
How dare someone interrupt.
The fucker.
—
Tim’s night had gotten even shittier.
He’d probably cursed himself hoping for a quiet patrol.
Rookie mistake.
He narrowly avoided a lamppost, his vision going blurry. The cold air had numbed his legs. Had the forecast said it would be this cold?
Or was that the blood loss?
He really, really hated guns.
And people with guns.
And people shooting with guns.
Especially when the bullets of said guns hit him. The blood trailing down his bare legs was no longer hot, having long since cooled.
Where was he going?
His teeth ground against the sand that had landed in his mouth when he’d fallen on a particular sandy roof. Why did people even have sand on their roof?
He fumbled with his grappling hook, his cold, stiff fingers limiting his mobility.
He’d been near the upper east side when he’d been hit. He needed to get back to the batcave as fast as possible. Even if he hit his panic button, there would be no backup; Bruce was on forced bedrest by Alfred, with the help of a sedative, Dick was in Blüdhaven, too far away to be of any help and Damian would probably only kill him faster.
The impact of a sharp upward tug had him cry out as he swung to the next roof. Grapple hooks were so not ideal when you’d been shot.
The fastest way to the cave was through Crime Alley.
Could it get any worse?
Nope, nope, nope, scratch that he had learned his lesson. No tempting fate with such thoughts.
He grit his teeth.
There was no other viable option.
His shoulders burned with the effort of keeping his arms connected to the rest of his body as he violently, repeatedly swung form roof to roof, setting a grim rhythm.
Tim’s vision was going blurry with tears, blood and pain. Another sharp turn had him avoiding the corner of a grimy building. Only this time, it set him straight on course to a balcony railing. A railing with sharp, pointy spikes.
Desperately, he shot his grapple hook upward to the top of the building.
He just grazed the metal spikes, avoiding impalement, only to body-slam the window. He crumpled at the base of the balcony door, his breath coming in short pants. So much for avoiding any more collisions with fucking doors.
A groan escaped him as the darkness set in, his body not responding to the frantic commands of his mind.
Get up
Get up.
GET UP
His eyes rolled back.
—
Jason’s hand made contact with the door handle. It was too dark to see through te windows what was outside. The only thing he could make out was a vague, large shape. It was about the size of a trash can, maybe a little bigger.
Probably not a bird then.
With a sudden speed and force he opened the door, aiming his weapon at the… blob?
Fuck
“Fuck!”
Jason really hated his life right now.
Before him, laying, in a growing pool of blood, was Robin. The fucking replacement. Green violently overtook his vision, his finger tightening around the trigger.
He could end it all now. All his pain, gone, in a second.
No
NO
Batman, Bruce, had to see him kill the baby Robin.
Shaking with restraint, Jason picked up the unconscious boy. He quickly looked down the railing to check if anyone had seen them and shut the balcony door. He’d deal with the blood tomorrow, it wasn’t an uncommon sight in Gotham.
He dumped the limp body on the floor and sat down on the couch. A small grunt sounded from Robin, clearly not agreeing with his treatment.
What the fuck was he supposed to do now?
The implications of his decision suddenly dawned on him. He would have to take care of the replacement’s wounds and bandage him up. He did need him alive to execute his plans.
“Oh for fuck sake!” he snarled, standing up and as he stomped towards his first aid kit in the bathroom.
His grand plan was on the backburner for now, he had to take care of the replacement. He couldn’t have the kid die on him now, it would throw all his plans in disarray.
Jason grinned, despite the holdback.
It was not like this turn of events wouldn’t induce panic; Batman would be missing his precious Robin for a while after all.
The Red Hood decided that his night was not completely ruined.