Chapter Text
Jason was used to pain.
Pain was familiar. Predictable, even.
Tonight, though, it was getting harder to ignore.
He was running out of blood.
That was the first thing he noticed.
The second was that his legs were barely keeping him upright.
He stumbled through the dark streets of Crime Alley, one hand pressed tightly against his side. Blood seeped between his fingers, warm against his glove, and every step sent another wave of pain through his body.
He'd had worse.
Probably.
His vision blurred at the edges.
Not good.
He needed somewhere to sit down. Somewhere quiet. He needed to get somewhere safe.
Somewhere he could patch himself up without anyone finding him.
He made it another few steps before his knees nearly gave out.
"Hey!"
A voice came from somewhere behind him.
Jason ignored it.
"Hey! Are you okay? Red Hood?"
Footsteps approached.
Jason reached for his gun on instinct, but his arm felt too heavy to lift.
"Don't—"
His voice came out barely above a whisper.
A figure appeared in front of him.
Jason tried to focus.
A man.
Young, maybe around his mid-twenties. Dark brown hair, pale skin, and concerned brown eyes that looked strangely warm even under the dim streetlights.
"You're bleeding pretty badly," the stranger said.
Jason almost laughed.
No shit.
"I can help you."
"No hospital."
The stranger blinked.
"What?"
"No hospital," Jason repeated, forcing the words out.
The stranger looked at him for a moment.
Then his eyes dropped to the blood soaking through Jason's clothes.
"Okay."
Jason frowned beneath his helmet.
Okay?
That was it?
"Yeah." The stranger stepped closer. "No hospital."
Jason's body swayed.
The stranger immediately reached out to steady him.
"Whoa, easy."
Jason tried to push him away.
Didn't work.
His strength was disappearing fast.
"Where do you live?" the stranger asked.
Jason didn't answer.
The stranger sighed.
"Okay. Bad question. Of cause you wouldn't tell stupid me"
Before Jason could react, the man crouched down and slipped one arm behind his back and another underneath his knees.
Jason's eyes widened.
"What are you—"
He was lifted off the ground.
Jason Todd was not a small man. He was tall, heavily built, and wearing several pounds of tactical gear.
Yet this stranger carried him.
Somehow.
Jason's head fell against the man's shoulder.
"Put. me. down"
"You're welcome to walk."
Jason wanted to respond.
He really did.
But the exhaustion was swallowing him whole.
The last thing he remembered was the steady sound of footsteps beneath him and that strange voice murmuring,
"Just hang in there."
Then everything went black.
Jason woke up confused.
For several seconds, he didn't move.
He stared at the unfamiliar ceiling above him.
Where the hell—
His hand immediately went to his face.
His helmet.
Still there.
Relief washed through him.
Good.
At least one thing hadn't gone horribly wrong.
He slowly sat up.
Pain shot through his side, but it was nowhere near as bad as before.
Jason looked down.
His injuries had been cleaned and treated.
The bleeding had stopped. The wounds were carefully bandaged, the stitches neat and precise where they were needed.
Whoever had treated him knew what they were doing.
This wasn't some amateur job.
Jason carefully swung his legs over the edge of the bed.
His clothes had been folded neatly beside him.
He dressed slowly, checking himself for anything missing.
Gun.
Still there.
Helmet.
Still there.
Everything else seemed untouched.
That was... unusual.
Most people would have taken one look at Red Hood and called the police or worse.
This guy had carried him home, treated his injuries, put him in a bed, and apparently hadn't even tried to remove his helmet.
Jason had questions.
A lot of them.
He stood carefully and made his way out of the bedroom.
The apartment was small.
There wasn't much furniture, and almost everything looked old but well maintained.
Then Jason noticed someone standing at the kitchen counter.
A lean figure, maybe around 5’9”, with pale skin and messy brunette hair.
Jason immediately raised his gun.
"Who are you?"
The man turned around.
And Jason froze.
Brown eyes.
Big, round brown eyes.
Like a startled deer.
Bambi eyes.
Jason's grip on the gun loosened for half a second.
The man didn't even flinch at the weapon pointed directly at him.
Instead, his expression brightened.
"Oh, you're awake."
Jason stared.
The stranger glanced at the gun, then back at him.
"Do you want breakfast?"
Jason blinked.
"...What?"
"Breakfast." The man gestured toward the counter. "If you want some, you should probably hurry. I have to go to work soon."
Jason lowered his gun slightly.
What the fuck?
He should have been asking questions.
Who was this guy?
Why did he help him?
Why wasn't he afraid?
Why hadn't he taken off his mask?
Instead, Jason found himself walking toward the kitchen.
Maybe it was exhaustion.
Or maybe it was those ridiculous brown eyes.
He pulled out a chair and sat down.
He looked at the stranger again.
"Who are you?"
The man smiled.
"Oh. My name is Peter Parker."
Peter turned back toward the counter as if this were the most normal morning in the world.
"And, just so we're clear, I saw you injured in the alley. You kept insisting you didn't want to go to the hospital, so..." He shrugged. "I brought you here."
Jason stared at him.
And for some reason, Jason found himself staring at him for far longer than he should have.
Peter Parker.
He looked around the apartment again.
Then back at Peter.
"You carried me here?"
Peter glanced over his shoulder.
"Yeah."
Jason's eyes narrowed.
Peter simply smiled.
Jason still couldn't figure out how Peter had managed to carry him up three flights of stairs.
The thought bothered him more than it should have.
Peter was small compared to him. 5'9", maybe. Lean rather than muscular, with a frame that looked completely unsuited for carrying a six-foot-two man wearing body armor and enough equipment to make him considerably heavier.
Yet he'd done it.
Jason had no idea how.
He also had no idea why he hadn't asked.
Then again, he'd been half-conscious at the time.
And Peter's stupid brown eyes had probably distracted him.
That was the only explanation Jason was willing to accept.
He glanced toward the kitchen.
Peter was still standing by the counter, looking completely unbothered by the fact that Red Hood had just pointed a gun at him.
Jason should have asked more questions.
He should have found out who Peter Parker was, why he lived in Crime Alley, and why he knew how to treat wounds that well.
Instead, he said nothing.
He wasn't taking off his helmet.
He wasn't eating breakfast in front of a stranger.
And he definitely wasn't going to sit around and interrogate the guy while Peter was looking at him with those ridiculous eyes.
So Jason simply stood.
"Thanks."
Peter blinked.
Then smiled.
"You're welcome."
That was it.
Jason left.
He didn't ask another question.
He blamed the Bambi eyes.
By the time Jason made it back to his own apartment, his side was screaming again.
He locked the door behind him, dropped his helmet onto the table, and collapsed onto his bed.
His phone had been vibrating almost nonstop.
Jason picked it up.
Twenty-three missed calls.
Several messages from Dick.
A few from Barbara.
And enough notifications from the Bat-Family group chat to make him reconsider ever opening it again.
He scrolled through them.
Dick: Where are you?
Dick: littewing, answer your phone.
Dick: Seriously, Jay.
Tim: Did anyone actually see him leave the scene?
Damian: Todd is probably being reckless again.
Dick: That's not helpful, Damian.
Cass: @Jason, where?
Jason stared at the messages for a moment.
He should probably tell them he was okay.
Instead, he locked his phone and tossed it onto the other side of the bed.
He'd deal with them later.
Right now, he needed sleep.
The next few days were supposed to be simple.
Recover.
Stay off patrol. (Alfred and Batman ban him from patrol)
Let his ribs heal.
The problem was that every time he closed his eyes, he remembered soft brown hair, a pair of brown eyes staring back at him with no fear.
Peter Parker.
Jason tried not to think about him.
It didn't work.
He tried telling himself he was simply curious.
That made more sense.
Peter had appeared out of nowhere, lived alone in Crime Alley, knew how to treat serious injuries, and had somehow carried Jason three flights of stairs without dropping him.
That was suspicious.
So Jason investigated.
At least, that's what he called it.
It started on a Tuesday morning.
Jason spotted Peter leaving his apartment just after sunrise.
He wore a simple dark shirt, jeans, and a jacket, carrying a worn backpack over one shoulder.
Jason followed him from a distance.
Peter stopped at a small coffee shop a few blocks away.
He walked behind the counter, tied an apron around his waist, and started working.
Barista.
Jason raised an eyebrow.
For the next several hours, Peter made coffee, took orders, joked with customers, and somehow remembered everyone's usual drink.
He seemed... normal.
Jason watched from outside for a while before moving on.
He saw Peter was late afternoon.
Jason had expected him to go home.
Instead, Peter walked into a small mechanic shop.
Jason stopped across the street.
Seriously?
He watched through the window as Peter changed clothes, pulled on work gloves, and got to work on a motorcycle.
He was good.
Really good.
Peter moved around the garage with confidence, fixing things quickly and explaining something to the owner while pointing at the engine.
Jason stayed longer than necessary.
He told himself it was because he was gathering information.
Nothing more.
Then evening came.
Peter left the garage and headed toward a bar.
Jason followed.
He watched Peter walk inside, put on another apron, and start working behind the counter.
Bartender.
Jason stared through the window.
"Three jobs?"
He looked at his watch.
Morning: barista.
Evening: mechanic.
Night: bartender.
What the hell?
Jason had expected to find something suspicious.
Instead, he'd found a guy who apparently worked himself to death just to pay his rent.
And somehow, that was even more suspicious.
Over the next several days, Jason started noticing Peter's routine.
He woke early.
He worked at the coffee shop.
He went straight to the mechanic shop afterward.
Then he worked at the bar until midnight.
And somehow, in between all of that, Peter still found time to help people.
He'd stop to help someone carry groceries.
Fix a broken bicycle.
Give directions to a lost kid.
Stop some small thief and mugging before Signal.
Once, Jason watched him kneel beside an old woman's car and spend nearly twenty minutes fixing something under the hood.
The woman tried to pay him.
Peter refused.
Jason didn't know why that bothered him.
Or why he kept watching.
He wasn't stalking Peter.
He was observing him.
There was a difference.
At least, that's what Jason kept telling himself.
But then Peter started looking familiar.
Not just as the stranger who had saved his life.
Jason began recognizing the little things.
The way Peter pushed his hair back whenever he was concentrating.
The way those big brown eyes softened whenever he talked to someone who needed help.
And Jason found himself wondering what Peter looked like when he wasn't working.
What he did on his days off.
Why he lived alone.
Why he had chosen Crime Alley.
And, most importantly—
Why the hell Jason cared.
He didn't have an answer.
So he decided to keep investigating.
For now.
Jason's investigation didn't stop there.
If anything, the more he watched Peter, the less sense he made.
There was something off about him.
Jason just couldn't figure out what.
So he did what any reasonable vigilante with an unhealthy amount of curiosity would do.
He went to the library and annoyed Barbara.
"Hey, Babs."
"Jason."
There was a pause.
"You sound suspiciously cheerful."
"I'm always cheerful."
"That's a lie."
Jason ignored that.
"I need you to look someone up for me."
Another pause.
"Who?"
"Peter Parker."
Barbara started typing.
"Who is Peter Parker?"
"That's what I want you to find out."
"You want me to run a background check on a civilian?"
"He's not exactly a civilian."
"Jason."
"Fine. He is. Probably."
Barbara sighed.
"What did he do?"
"Nothing."
"Then why are you asking me to investigate him?"
Jason leaned to the counter.
"He saved me."
Silence.
Then—
"...Excuse me?"
"Long story."
"I have time."
"I don't."
"You literally come all the way to library."
Jason frowned.
"Just look him up."
Barbara muttered something under her breath but continued typing.
A few minutes passed.
Then she spoke.
"Peter Parker. Twenty-three years old."
Jason straightened.
"Born and raised in New York."
"Okay."
"Orphan."
Jason's expression changed slightly.
"No known relatives."
He stared at the screen.
Barbara continued.
"Normal school records. Nothing particularly interesting. Good grades, actually. Then he dropped out of college."
"Why?"
"Doesn't say."
"That's it?"
"He moved to Gotham shortly afterward."
Jason frowned.
"That's all?"
"That's all I can find."
"You're Oracle."
"I know."
"You can find out the identity of a government agent in six minutes. And you can't find out why some random twenty-three-year-old dropped out of college?"
"Apparently, some random twenty-three-year-old knows how to keep his personal records private."
Jason stared at the information on the screen.
Peter Parker.
Twenty-three.
Born in New York.
Orphan.
No relatives.
College dropout.
Moved to Gotham.
Three jobs.
Lives alone.
Nothing.
It was almost painfully ordinary.
Too ordinary.
And yet, that was the problem.
Jason had seen Peter treat wounds.
Not basic first aid.
Real wounds.
He had cleaned them properly, stitched them carefully, and somehow known exactly what he was doing.
Peter hadn't panicked when Jason pointed a gun at him.
He hadn't even been afraid.
And he had carried Jason—a six-foot-two man in full gear—up three flights of stairs.
None of that fit with the file in front of him.
"Thanks, Babs."
"Jason."
"Hm?"
"Why are you investigating this guy?"
"Curiosity."
Barbara was silent for a moment.
Then—
"Uh-huh."
Jason narrowed his eyes.
"What?"
"Nothing."
"I know that tone."
Jason rolled his eyes.
After that, Jason started looking for Peter during patrol.
Not intentionally.
At least, that's what he told himself.
Crime Alley was his territory. He knew its streets, its buildings, its people.
If Peter happened to be there, Jason would notice.
That was all.
Except lately, Jason found himself taking certain routes because they happened to pass the bar Peter work at.
He'd slow down when he passed the mechanic shop.
Sometimes he'd stop on a rooftop overlooking the street and check if the lights were on in Peter's apartment.
Just to make sure.
Nothing else.
He didn't even realize how much he'd started looking forward to seeing him.
Until one night, he spotted Peter walking alone.
Jason was halfway through patrol, perched on the edge of a rooftop, when he saw the familiar brunette below.
Peter was walking home.
Alone.
At night.
In Crime Alley.
Jason immediately frowned.
Then he noticed the man following him.
A mugger.
The man stepped out from between two buildings and pulled a knife.
"Wallet. Phone. Now."
Jason's hand moved toward his gun.
He stayed where he was.
Peter stopped.
Jason expected him to panic.
Instead, Peter looked at the knife.
Then at the mugger.
Then back at the knife.
"...Seriously?"
The mugger frowned.
"What?"
"Nothing."
Peter sighed.
"Look, I don't have much money."
"Give me whatever you've got."
Peter glanced at his watch.
"I'm actually kind of late."
Jason raised an eyebrow.
Was this idiot seriously checking the time?
The mugger stepped closer.
"Give me your wallet."
Peter smiled.
Jason watched him carefully.
There was something strange about that smile.
Peter didn't look scared.
Not even a little.
He looked...
Amused.
Jason moved closer to the edge of the roof.
He wanted to see what Peter would do.
But he stayed close enough to intervene the moment things turned dangerous.
Peter looked straight toward Jason's rooftop.
Jason froze.
No way.
Peter smiled.
"Mr. Hood?"
Jason's stomach dropped.
Peter tilted his head.
"I think this is probably the part where you come save me. Or do you want me to scream for help."
Jason stared at him.
Did he know?
Had he known Jason was following him this entire time?
The mugger looked around in confusion.
"What? Red Hood, where?"
Jason closed his eyes for half a second.
Of course.
He had no choice now.
He jumped.
The next few seconds were easy.
The mugger barely had time to react before Jason knocked the knife from his hand and sent him running.
When Jason turned around, Peter was standing there with the same amused smile.
"Thank you, Mr. Hood."
Jason crossed his arms.
"How did you know I was here?"
Peter blinked innocently.
"Know what?"
"You knew I was following you."
"I did?"
Jason stared.
Peter smiled.
That smile again.
"You were being very quiet."
"That's your answer?"
"Pretty much."
Jason narrowed his eyes.
Peter only shrugged.
Then he looked at Jason's armor.
"You should probably be careful too, you know."
"I'm Red Hood."
"I know."
"I can take care of myself."
"Sure."
Peter looked him up and down.
"Still."
Jason didn't know why that simple word made something warm twist in his chest.
Peter glanced down the empty street.
"And you shouldn't be walking around this late either."
Jason stared at him.
"I'm not the one walking around Crime Alley alone at midnight."
Peter smiled.
"Well, I have a vigilante stalker. I'm sure I'm safe."
Jason froze.
Then Peter winked.
Jason felt heat rush to his face.
Thankfully, the helmet hid it.
Peter turned and started walking away.
Jason watched him go.
He stood there for several seconds.
Then muttered under his breath,
"...Stalker?"
Instead, he was smiling beneath his helmet.
And that was becoming a problem.