Chapter Text
No one would expect Robin to be the Red Hood.
No one would expect a dead boy to come back to life.
And yet…
Jason is here. As the Red Hood.
But what did B expect him to do? Be Robin forever?
No. Even if he had never died, no. As the Red Hood, he’s actually making a difference.
He’s actually saving people.
Unlike Batman who refuses to put murderers and rapists in the ground. Like the Joker.
The only reason Hood hasn’t killed him yet is because he’s deep in Arkham, but as soon as he escapes again, he’s a dead man. Or rather, monster. A dead monster.
But that’s a problem for another day. Now, Hood is dropping in through the glass roof of the museum.
He lands on one of the thieves and twists his neck sideways until there is a satisfying crack.
“Crap! It’s the Red Hood.”
Someone has the audacity to open fire to Jason’s right, but just throws his kris dagger through the line of fire. Yeah, so maybe his jacket has a couple holes in it now, but at least he looked cool doing it!
In all fairness, did the guy really think the crime lord who goes toe to toe with the bats wouldn’t wear some kind of armor?
And—not that anyone would know, but—the little dip in the pool of magic Mountain Dew will keep him from dying easily.
Hood yanks his dagger out of the man’s chest before continuing his way further into the museum.
He could just rush in, guns blazing, but where’s the fun in that? When instead he could just pick them off, one by one, creating fear?
Jason sighs. That sounds a bit too much like Bruce… but he can’t help but enjoy it.
There’s a few more goons that Hood takes out as he makes his way to the entrance hall where there will undoubtedly be hostages.
And, bingo! When he peers around the corner, all of the guests of the museum have indeed seemed to have been rounded up.
There’s about five or six guys holding them at gunpoint and another demanding their wallets and jewelry.
Huh, this seems to be a big operation. About fourteen guys? Yeah, not crazy large, but more than double the size than usual. And who knows? Maybe there’s more in different areas of the museum.
Well, while Jason takes a page out of Batman’s book and perches high above the robbery, one of the guys starts getting closer to the kids.
“Hey, we can put ‘em up for ransom, right?”
Another yells from across the hall, “They’re Gotham Prep kids, right? Yeah… they’re probably quite the pretty penny.”
“Um! Mister Mean Guy!” One of the kids calls. The goon gets close to him. Almost… almost too close. “I need to use the restroom.”
Jason almost gives away his cover when the goon puts a hand on the kids’ shoulder and pulls him to his feet.
“Yeah, kid. Let’s go to the bathroom.”
“Actually, I need to go too.”
Hood freezes. He knows that voice. Damian al Ghul Wayne.
He scoffs quietly. He doesn’t want to save the brat, but he’s got to if he’s gonna save the other kids. Especially the one that goon’s got his hands on.
The brat follows the other kid and the goon to the bathroom and… Jason follows.
In fact he beats them there, sticking to the rafters.
Of course he’s gonna be dramatic and hide in the stall.
He lets them come in before he decides to play with the lights using a cool gadget he stole off of Tim Drake and modified.
The sound of the goon’s fear is unforgettable. As the lights flicker, he sneaks behind the three and draws a gun.
“Boo!” The guy has the audacity to fall to the ground, so obviously Jason takes the chance to bend down and press his gun to the goon’s forehead while subtly drawing a second.
“Y-you’re th-the—”
“Red Hood,” Damian says, his voice annoyed.
“Wayne,” Jason responds before firing his second gun in between the legs of the goon. The man howls in pain.
Jason gets up and herds the kids into another room. “Alright, kids, stay here. Don’t do anything stupid.” He glares at Damian.
“Tt.”
With that Jason leaves and makes his way back to the main hall.
“Hey, where’s Jerry? He was supposed to check in a few minutes ago.”
Was Jerry the guy Jason killed or the one who got a free vasectomy?
“Eh, you know Jerry. He probably found some cash and is rolling in it or something.”
The next few minutes are fun. Unfortunately, he can’t rush in, guns blazing without casualties of the hostages, but picking them off one by one is still exhilarating.
The sound of bone crunching and blood splattering? The satisfaction of bringing true justice to Gotham and protecting her people?
All of it… it’s the reason why he does this. Why he is what he is. Why he’s no longer “Robin.” That kid’s dead and buried.
Ricky Shaw does not deserve to share Richard’s name.
He has been bullying Damian relentlessly ever since he arrived in Gotham.
He always slanders Damian’s race, heritage, mother, father, and even wealth, though he is several classes below Damian.
Damian hates Ricky Shaw.
He… tried to tell Father, but perhaps he should have been more honest about the situation rather than saying he was simply in disagreement with a classmate.
Shaw is put into Damian’s group for the museum tour. And every second he can, he berates Damian. It’s almost relieving when the gun shots go off. Then they’re all herded like dogs to sheep into one room.
Robin—Damian al Ghul—could take all twenty of them, but Damian Wayne has his secret identity to protect.
At least he shouldn’t be a hostage for too long. The ransom will have Father—or even Batman—come in. Father would pay off the ransom, but Batman would imprison each man in a heartbeat.
Or perhaps Grayson or Drake?
But then stupid Ricky Shaw has a mischievous glint in his eye and announces that he needs to use the restroom.
Tt.
He probably plans to escape once he’s in the restroom. But then that one henchman puts a hand on his shoulder and that entire plan is out the window.
Damian hates Ricky Shaw with every fiber of his being.
But Robin needs to protect the citizens of Gotham.
“Actually, I need to go too.”
The man’s eyes seem to brighten and he grabs hold of Damian, dragging the two to the bathroom.
“Alright, boys, in and out.” The wide smile reminds Damian of another man.
The henchman locks the door behind them before reaching for Shaw.
Damian tenses. He will simply say he has taken self defense classes and not do any flashy or impressive moves.
But before Damian can act, the lights cut out. The glow from under the door shows that it’s not the power, just the lights for the bathroom.
The man mutters something and audibly searches for the switch. Then the lights turn back on and begin to flicker.
Perhaps Father is here?
It is strange when Damian feels the hair on the back of his neck raise. No. Not Father or Richard or Drake.
Then who?
“Boo!” The voice is low and mechanical. Damian whips around just in time to see bright red before the man is pinned down, gun to the forehead.
Shaw is trembling and is pressed against the wall. Damian thinks he might be hyperventilating.
“Y-you’re th-the—” the henchman stammers, but Damian interjects.
“Red Hood.”
“Wayne.” Hood doesn’t look up from the man. Damian knows Father is perhaps the most famous man in Gotham, but for Hood to recognize Damian with barely a glance?
Suddenly, a shot goes off and the henchman is screaming in pain. Hood gets up, revealing the blood spreading from the man’s groin.
Then Hood breaks open the door and shoves Damian and Shaw into another room.
“Alright, kids, stay here. Don’t do anything stupid.” Damian can feel the glare from behind those glowing white eyes. Perhaps Hood knows that Damian is Robin. It has always been a possibility.
Red Hood leaves and a few minutes later, gunshots sound from the entrance hall. People shout and scream. Damian sticks his head out of the door.
Stupid Ricky Shaw kicks him out and locks the door behind him. It doesn’t matter. Not when all of the henchmen are already dead.
But Damian is used to death. Father will not be happy, though. He will be disappointed when he finds out that Damian did nothing to stop the Red Hood from his killing spree.
But perhaps Father will wait for that lecture later, for when he picks Damian up from the museum around ten minutes later, he doesn’t even speak, just holds Damian tightly.
Perhaps it is good that Hood killed all those men. For if he had not, then this moment might not have ever happened.