Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Jason thumped inelegantly through the window of his third-least-favorite safehouse. Why did he use the window and not the front door, since it’s his safehouse? Fuck you, it’s his safehouse, he can come in however he freakin’ wants, how’s that for a reason.

(The real reason was that he hated making small talk – or worse, doing the weird polite nod thing – with other tenants in the stairwell. Sure, he could take off his helmet and basically be anonymous and go inside without scaling the fire escape or disarming the seven booby traps around his windows, but that would mean running the risk of having to speak to Whatshisname on the fifth floor about his cats or Whosherface with the three kids. Nope.)

Bernard was on the couch, bent over a shirtless Roy. It was 2am, but they all kept weird hours. “Hi Red Hood,” he greeted. “How was work?”

Jason rearmed the window sensors and took off his helmet.

“Makin’ house calls now?” he asked Bernard, dropping his helmet on the floor and heading to the kitchen. “Harper, you better not be bleeding on my couch.”

“Excuse you, I’ll bleed where I want,” replied Roy, not moving from his supine position on the couch. His left arm was raised and Bernard was frowning at his torso.

“You can bleed where you want when you start paying rent,” called Jason from the kitchen. He re-entered the room eating cold leftovers straight from the container. “The hell are you two doing?”

Roy lowered his arm. “It’s Father’s Day on Sunday,” he announced.

Jason briefly wondered if this was some queer holiday code he’d never heard of. “Okay…?”

“I’m gonna get one of Lian’s drawings tattooed on my ribs,” Roy explained. “Bernard’s gonna do it.”

“Bernard’s not gonna do it,” countered Bernard. “Bernard’s helping choose the placement and that’s it.”

“Bernard’s gonna do it,” Roy told Jason. “He’s a natural, he did a great job on the orange.”

Roy threw a heavily-tattooed orange at Jason, who caught it one-handed and turned it over.

It was like a jump scare. The orange had certainly been tattooed. Jason thought it was maybe meant to be a smiley face. But he’d seen less alarming rictus grins in the death grimaces of corpses after overdosing on Joker toxin.

“See?” said Roy, punching Bernard on the shoulder proudly. “He’s a natural. He’s already good with needles so he’s not squeamish, it’s perfect.”

“Why can’t you just go to an actual professional and pay them to give you hepatitis like a normal person?” asked Jason through a mouthful of food, throwing the orange into the hallway so he wouldn’t have to look at it anymore.

Roy waved a hand dismissively. “Those are so overpriced. Anyone can do this. I’ve done a bunch of my tatts myself, it’s not that hard.”

Jason lowered his gaze pointedly to Roy’s arms, which were covered in tattoos of varying skill. “I wouldn’t brag about that,” he said. “You look like Post Malone.”

Bernard raised an eyebrow. “I’m surprised you know who Post Malone is, honestly.”

Jason scoffed but made no rebuttal. He’d never reveal that he only knew who Post Malone was because he was featured on Taylor Swift’s latest album.

Roy said, “He only knows him because of Taylor Swift.”

“Fuck off, Roy.”

“Tell me I’m lying, Mr Tortured Poet.”

Jason threw his fork at him. Roy caught it and shoved it in between the couch cushions. “That’s what you get for reacting impulsively,” he told Jason. “Now you can’t eat your dinner. What did we learn?”

Bernard was watching the whole thing with his hands covering his mouth. “It’s so criminal that I can’t start a TikTok channel with you guys,” he bemoaned. “You’re all children and no one would ever believe me.”

“I’m down,” said Roy. “Any publicity’s good publicity, right?”

“Wrong,” countered Jason flatly. “I’m not bringing up Rent-A-Bat because I’m pretending we live in the timeline where that never existed, but just know that you’re wrong.”

Bernard made a weird aborted grabbing gesture with his hands. “I’m sorry, RENT-A-BAT?”

Roy winced slightly. “It was a dark time. We don’t need to get into it.”

“Why are you getting the tattoo on your ribs, anyway?” asked Jason, abandoning his dinner and shucking off his jacket. “Isn’t that like the most painful place to get tattooed?” He crossed the room to the crooked wire clothesline and started feeling the clothes to find something dry.

Roy gave a truly awful leering grin. “Oh, I don’t mind a little pain.”

Jason rolled his eyes. “Gross.”

“You should have seen me when I got my nipples pierced.”

“Nope.”

“Nearly asked the piercer to marry me.”

“Fuckin- who raised you?” Jason kicked off his boots and unbuckled his pants.

“Who raised you?” retorted Roy accusingly. “Someone in a BARN? Where they leave dirty clothes and food all over the FLOOR of the BARN?”

Jason tossed aside his dirty Red Hood cargo pants and pulled a clean t-shirt off the line, uncaring that he was just in his boxers. He wasn’t self-conscious about his scars, they were what they were. Whatever. Frowning, he realised something.

“Fucking dammit, Harper. The fuck did you do with all my shirts?”

“I have no idea what you mean.”

Jason held up a shirt from the line. “Really? Why is this my only clean shirt?”

It was a lovely white shirt with “I [HEART] MEN WHO WHIMPER” emblazoned boldly across the chest.

“That’s not yours?” asked Roy innocently as Bernard lost his mind. “I’m sure there are other shirts around.”

Jason grabbed another one off the line and held it up.

“PICKLE SLUT!” it proudly proclaimed.

“Looks clean to me,” said Roy.

The third shirt (“Don’t bully me, I’ll cum”) was thrown at Roy’s head.

(Bernard ended up doing the tattoo, once Roy provided a stencil and assurances that Bernard wouldn’t be blamed if the tattoo turned out janky and weird. It turned out fine. Lian loved it and wanted one of her own. Roy realised he may have miscalculated.

Jason never found his lovely plain nondescript cotton shirts. That week, Jason had to wear a tee with “Die Once, Live Forever” and a drawing of the grim reaper riding a unicorn underneath his Red Hood costume and he’d never been more worried about being shot on patrol and having to take off his body armour.

Two days later, he rediscovered the orange behind a door and nearly had a heart attack.)

Chapter Text

The video was uploaded to a random TikTok account with no followers, following no one, at 3:17am on a Tuesday.

The name of the account was Sup, user @supsupsupsuper123.

The video was taken at night, outside next to a brick wall lit only by streetlights, and was less than fifteen seconds long.

Wearing a trucker hat and a domino mask, a fully-costumed Arsenal was caught mid-laugh as the person filming said, “Go.”

Still laughing, Arsenal whipped an arrow from his quiver and spun it around his fingers like a baton. He twirled it around his head and flipped it from hand to hand with ease before throwing it into the air and spinning in a circle to catch it neatly in his quiver.

“Ta da!” he said with a mock bow that nearly sent all of his arrows spilling over his head and onto the ground. “Oh sh-“

The video ended.

By 9am Gotham time, the account had 648 followers, mostly employees of local news stations bookmarking the account in case it turned out to be legit and ever posted anything newsworthy. It was a minor C-story in the news and trended mildly on Le(x) in Star City, where Arsenal was most known, but didn’t really make a splash.

Most people assumed that some civilian had come across the hero and asked him to do a trick. There were heaps of those videos online. Nightwing videos were the most prolific, after Superman. Superman was always happy to pose for selfies with fans and be filmed saying, “Don’t do drugs, Emmett!” or “Listen to your dad, Hazel!” for parents approaching him in the street. Nightwing was usually asked to perform. “Do a flip!” was a frequently-heard request called out across Gotham and Bludhaven rooftops from passersby. Nightwing was never too busy. Nightwing always did a flip. Nightwing videos had their own hashtag.

So this Arsenal video was a close-up and cute, but it wasn’t unique or groundbreaking. Vigilante does trick for a fan. Orphaned baby owl reacts adorably to being hand-fed by puppet. Now, here’s the weather.

The second video was a little different.

The second video was posted at 3:17am two days later.

It featured a hand holding a very sad looking old orange with what appeared to be a frowny face(??? It might have originally been a happy face but the orange was mouldy and deflated) drawn on. The camera appeared to be held by the person’s other hand, as the video followed the orange’s slow progression down a dark hallway.

On a couch in a blurry room lay a large figure wearing a brown leather jacket. The orange approached him, slowly moving up his combat-boot-clad feet, legs, and jacketed torso before the camera stopped. The hint of a jawline with dark stubble could be seen but the angle and darkness of the room made it hard to discern details.

The orange hovered over him. The jacket moved slightly, the sound of soft snores barely audible.

Suddenly, the fruit was launched full force at the man’s unseen head.

“ORANGE!” yelled the person behind the camera.

There were three seconds of blurred chaos and swearing before it abruptly cut to:

A shaky closeup of a grotesque purple-black bruise on a muscular tattooed bicep, filmed somewhere outside in daylight.

Offscreen, a male voice asks, “What did we learn?”

The reply: “Don’t ambush sleeping vigilantes.”

The two men laugh as the bruise is zoomed in on. Right before the camera cuts, there’s a faintly muttered, “Worth it.”

This clip got a little more attention, at least in Gotham.

“Is that the Red HOOD??”

“That’s a fake, ive seen him in person and the pocets on his jacket are different. Good cosplay tho!”

“Im dying, red hood sleeps in his boots”

“ORANGE!!! Lol whyyy”

“This is fake but it’s a good fake.”

“Those arms tho”

“Is this real?”

“Has anyone verified this?”

“That bruise is def real, not makeup.”

“lmao at red hood snoring like a kitten”

“if the real RH sees this, y’all are dead”

“’Worth it’ lmao”

“Loooolllll”

“Me @ all my friends when they fall asleep around me.”

The consensus was mixed. If it was fake, which it probably was, it was a good one. It was also a lot of work to get such an accurate and expensive cosplay together for such a random video.

Either way, it was a bit of fun.

The videos didn’t stop.

The next was a closeup of two pairs of hands, both clad in expensive-looking leather.

On the right, a black pair emerging from a brown leather jacket. On the left, black gloves with blue stripes on the fingers.

They were clenched into fists.

“One two three SHOOT,” counted a man’s voice in an easy tenor.

“Wait, what the fuck?” rebutted a deep smoker’s voice as the hands stilled. “The fuck is shoot?”

“Ironic question coming from you.”

“Ha ha. It goes Rock Paper Scissors - what the fuck was that?”

“That was Shoot, it goes Rock Paper Scissors and then Shoot, and you shoot.”

The hands were emphatically gesticulating now.

“You fucking made that up. Bullshit.”

“What are you talking about, it’s always been like that. [Beep], back me up.”

“[Beep], don’t say a word, I know this asshole’s lying.”

The two men continued to bicker, their hand gestures getting more and more sharp and abortive, as the camera view flipped around to reveal an extreme close-up of Arsenal. Only his mask and the bridge of his nose were visible. Wisps of red hair fell into frame.

“They do this EVERY TIME they ride in the Batmobile,” Arsenal says quietly to the camera. “Fully grown men fighting over the front seat EVERY TIME. It’s a ten minute trip.”

The internet absolutely adored it.

“fucking DYING, rock paper scissors over the front seat?!”

“peak brother behavior”

“Red Hood not knowing the rules to Rock Paper Scissors is sending me”

“All of Crime Alley bout to be overtaken by gangsters winning terriroty with rock paper scissors”

“Not to side with Red Hood but whtat the fuck is Shoot?? Nightwing made that up.”

“GUYS THEY REALLY CALL IT THE BATMOBILE IN REAL LIFE, SOMEBODY HALP IM DYING”

“’They do this every time… it’s a 10 min trip’ Such resigned sibling energy, like ahhh here we go again”

“Arsenal looks so done”

“Not nightwing sassing Red Hood for shooting people”

“They can’t just do all that and NOT show the batmobile???”

And the next:

A shot of Nightwing tying someone’s hands behind their back in a dark alley. The person behind the camera asks, “Nightwing, quick, what’s your best impersonation of Red Hood?”

Nightwing, still tying up the perp, fixes the camera with a petulant glare. “It’s not a phase, dad.”

Cut to a shot of Red Robin.

“Red, quick! Impersonation of Arsenal, go.”

Red Robin mimes pulling back a bowstring then shakes his head. “Does anyone have a hair tie?”

Cut to Arsenal being asked, by a much deeper voice, “What’s your impersonation of Red Robin?”

Arsenal, in a posh voice: “Her methodology was flawed, but that supervillain had some good points.”

Cut to: “Hood, quick, what’s your best impersonation of Nightwing?”

Red Hood turns his back to the camera and arches his butt. “Off to fight some crime in this totally normal outfit.”

Cut to a purple clad girl in a hood. “Spoiler, do your impression of Batman.”

Deep growly voice. “I’m not mad, I’m disappointed. And mad.”

Cut to Robin. “What’s your impersonation of Spoiler?”

Robin sighs wearily, then perks into character with peppy jazz hands. “Slay, queen! Girlboss your way to the top! Poison Ivy is a feminist icon, I don’t care what anyone says,” he chirps in a high-pitched Crime Alley accent.

The next video was posted 16 hours later and was just nine seconds long.

Spoiler appeared with a diner green-screened into the background as a twangy country-coded song played. She lip-synced along as captions ran. “How the hell you spell ‘showfer?”

The shot switched to Red Robin. “Chauffeur.”

Back to Spoiler. “Ooooh fancy pants Rich McGee over here. Fucc you-“

Cut.

By the next morning, the account had nearly 3 million followers. People were losing their minds. The clips were being shared almost too fast for the site’s servers to handle, which was unprecedented. Some news outlets and online sleuths were analysing the videos frame-by-frame for clues about superhero identities, but mostly the videos were shared by people who wanted to feel more of a connection to Gotham’s notoriously-private vigilantes.

Superman and Wonder Woman regularly made comments in the press and appeared at ribbon-cuttings. The heroes of Gotham were, literally, shadier – sticking to the shadows and generally remaining out of the public eye. Some Gothamites affectionately referred to them as cryptids, because stories of encounters were common but video evidence was blurry and rare (Nightwing flips aside).

Not anymore.

And not just that, but the heroes were being… silly? Red Hood made fun of Nightwing’s ass? Robin said “slay”? It was all very unexpected and a total rebrand from the Bats’ previously stoic and menacing aura.

Some people speculated that the videos were leaked by an associate close to the heroes without their consent. Others suspected a hacker. A dwindling few clung stubbornly to the “very committed cosplayers” theory despite mounting evidence to the contrary.

Any theories that the heroes didn’t intend for the videos to be posted online were blown out of the water the following week.

This video had slightly better editing (that is to say, an attempt had been made).

It opened on a shot of a masked Arsenal and Red Hood, sporting a domino and lower face shield, sitting side by side at a table, the contents of which had been blurred out with a huge sticker reading “water pistols 😊 😊 😊”. Hood appeared to be dismantling something.

Arsenal passed his phone to Red Hood. “Hey, can you read that out loud for me?” he asked far too casually.

Hood took the phone. “’I want to become a supervillain just so Red Hood will choke me with his thighs.’” The voice distorter in his mask somehow made it more obscene. Red Hood himself only seemed mildly exasperated and confused. “The fuck is this?”

A title card appeared: ‘Red Hood Reads Thirst Tweets’

Cut back to the table. Red Hood had abandoned the “water pistols” on the table and was sitting, arms crossed, as Arsenal held his phone in front of Hood’s face.

The camera shook slightly as Hood sighed, clearly so done.

“’I want to sit on Red Hood’s face and I don’t even know what it looks like,’” he read in monotone. Arsenal and the cameraman cackled.

“’If Red Hood ordered me to do anything, I would simply cum.’ Do I have to read more of these?”

“Yes,” said Arsenal happily, scrolling his phone. Hood looked up to the ceiling briefly as if asking for strength, but kept going.

“This is why I stay off the fuckin’ internet,” he drawled. “’I want Red Hood to tell me I’ve been a bad boy,’ what the fuck?”

“Don’t kink shame,” chided Arsenal mildly, scrolling some more.

“It’s not- there’s nothing sexy about what I do,” said Hood gruffly. “There’s nothing sexy about this.” He gestured to himself with a jerky up-and-down movement.

The person holding the camera said something inaudible as Arsenal burst out laughing. “You mean that, don’t you,” said the redhead, throwing an arm over Hood, who looked pained but longsuffering. Arsenal gripped Hood’s masked chin like an overbearing aunt at a bar mitzvah. “You’re so goddam earnest. You don’t even know.” He kissed Hood’s cheek with a theatrical smack before releasing him. “You’re a precious, oblivious, sexy, scary man.”

“With thighs,” supplied the cameraman helpfully.

“Smother me,” agreed Arsenal, flicking through his phone. “Okay, last ones, I promise.”

‘”Nightwing’s fingerstripes were my sexual awakening,’ what the fuck,” Hood read, sounding outraged. “’Do you think Nightwing would shock my nipples if I asked nicely?’” His voice grew louder and the camera shook more. “’I want Nightwing to bend me over and rail me with his batons’, they’re not even batons, why the fuck are you making me read this?”

Hood was so angry. Arsenal had lost control and was giggling with his head on the table, his face now hidden behind the censorship blur.

Red Hood stood up. “I’m out. Nah. Fuck this. Fuck you guys. Fuck the internet. I’m done.”

Cut.

The comments on that video had to be locked after less than half an hour.

The next video was a little different. It showed Arsenal on a couch, wearing his mask but otherwise clad in civvies. He fiddled with the many bands on his wrists as he talked, eyes flitting around the room and only occasionally meeting the camera. It was clearly filmed by hand and not on a tripod, but the person filming remained silent.

“Uh, so this one’s a little different. I just wanted to post this to say I’m one year clean and sober today, which isn’t a lot for a lot of people but it’s a big deal for me. Uh.”

Arsenal coughed. “I just feel like it’s important to put this out there, because a lot of people see what we do, as ‘heroes’ or whatever, and look up to us or want to be like us, and I feel like it’s important that they know we’re real people and we’re not perfect. I mean, most of us aren’t.”

He flicked at one of his bracelets. “Anyway, a couple of years ago, I didn’t think I’d ever get clean. I was… It was pretty rough. I didn’t have anyone in my corner, or I felt like I didn’t. I didn’t give a shit if I died. It was pretty dark.”

He scratched his arm, silent for a few beats. “Anyway, turns out I did have people in my corner, and they helped me pull my head out of my ass. I was lucky. It’s fucking hard and it’s a lot of work, and I was lucky.

“I get that not everyone has the supports and resources to get help, but the first step is to at least try. So, if you’re watching this and it resonates with you, or you’re looking for a sign or something, here is is. Go, do it, pour the drink down the sink, flush the stash, call someone. We’ll post links and numbers for the legit services in as many areas as we can find, because I know half of them are corrupt as fuck and it’s a minefield trying to find the right supports.

“Anyway, I’ve talked for too fucking long. Just wanted to say, one year down, if I can do it, anyone can. Peace.”

The video ended with a note to check the link in bio, which opened a page full of links to drug and alcohol support services nation-wide. There was a note that they were planning to update the site with details for international agencies as well, once everything had been thoroughly vetted.

That video resonated differently. It reverberated through sections of the population that had never paid any attention to hero news. It didn’t just trend on Gotham socials, it hit headlines across the US and was front page news in multiple countries.

It was the first known instance of a superhero/vigilante making an official statement of any kind about their civilian life, and certainly the first time such a statement had been made in a context like this. Superman and Wonder Woman would speak formally about The Justice League’s stance about various local, national, and international incidents, but they didn’t speak off the cuff or candidly.

This was a far cry from the PR-smiles and prepared statements of the Justice League. It was also a radical tonal shift from the TikTok account’s overall vibe to date.

The next video was a similarly jarring switch, back to business as usual three days later like nothing had happened.

The camera zoomed in on Red Hood, who was fixing his bike in a non-descript garage. His domino was on but he’d removed the face shield and leather jacket.

Nightwing popped into frame. “Hi Hood! What do you have to say about the rumours that you run like an anime girl?”

Hood looked up, seeming baffled but reflexively angry. “What the fu-“

Cut.

Chapter Text

(click)

“Spoiler and the criss-cross guy doing the showfur meme is peak Gen Z. Absolute icons”

“Spoiler leaning into her Crime Alley rep like”

“CRISSCROSS GUY Im dead”

“Spoiler’s really from Crime Alley tho, you can pick the accent a mile off”

“WTFF is that guy’s name? It’s not criss corss”

“crIsS CoRSs”

“That’s Robin, you ignorant swine”

“That’s not fucking Robin, Robin’s got a sword now and he’s way younger”

“It’s the same guy just diff costumes”

“No way, the hairstyle’s changed and I feel like Little Robin is meaner”

“They’re called bandoleers according to google”

“Youre going to be so embarrassed when you remember that wigs exist”

“Bandoleer guy sounds like a terrible superhero name”

“I’m just gonna call him Chris”

“Lol”

“LOL”

“Lollll”

(swipe, click)

“TO be fair, we all want Red Hood to smother us with his thighs”

“do we?”

“Yes. There was a poll. You were sick that day”

“Wait they’re not batons? TF are they then?”

“Batons aren’t electric, I think they’re tasers or shock sticks or something”

“I just think of them as spicy dildos”

“SPICY DILDOS”

“No idea what they’re called but I’d let him rail me”

“Arsenal is so little-brother coded”

“That’s not the vibe I was getting…”

“Little brother’s friend who has a crush, more like”

“Hood just sitting there sighing like Euuugh guess this is life now”

“Red Hood if you’re reading this, please spit in my mouth.”

“I want hood to wear me like a mask”

“Please lord, let me die sandwiched between Red Hod’s thighs and Arsenal’s biceps”

“Can you imagine the archer’s calluses on those fingers? Hood’s a lucky man”

“Mr Hood, if I ask nicely will you step on me?”

“Red Hood I want to lick your pec sweat”

“RED HOOD, PUNISH ME”

[further comments on this video have been blocked]

(swipe, click)

“Made an account just to say, thanks for posting this video. I showed it to my cousin who’s been having a rough time with her addiction lately. She’s a huge superhero fan (Green Lantern’s her favourite, no offense) and I think this video was the first thing that’s finally gotten through to her. She’s agreed to go to one of the treatment facilities linked on your page and she never would have considered that before. You’ll probably never read this but thank you for sharing your story. It’s really brave and it makes a difference.”

“Thank you for sharing your story.”

“Eight years clean myself. Stay strong. It’s not easy”

“Thank you for this.”

“Thanks for posting this.”

“My brother cried when he watched this. He’s been clean for three months and hes having a really shit time. Thank you.”

“This was a huge wakeup call for me, fuck. Thank you.”

“Lol fucking junkie”
- “Fuck off. Reported”
- “Everybody report this”
- “Must be good to be perfect”
- “Gross. Blocked”
- “Shut up”
- “Report this account”
- “Don’t feed the trolls”
- “Fuck off”

“You don’t remember me but you saved my daughter from an apartment fire a few months ago and got injured. I was really glad to see you posting on here because I was worried you were badly hurt. Thank you so much for what you did for her, and for our family. I hope people are being kind on here because you’re a hero.”

“Thank you for posting this.”

“Thank you.”

(click)

Chapter Text

Video caption: ”Rate our flips!"

The first shot is lit mainly with the flashing red and blue lights of a police car. It’s night on a non-descript street and Nightwing is speaking to one of the officers.

“Hey Nightwing!” says the man holding the camera, who regular visitors to the Sup TikTok account now recognise as Arsenal. “Do a flip!”

Nightwing immediately cuts himself off to do a double spinning backflip, sticking the landing with a bow. The policeman, a little taken aback, claps automatically.

(cut)

Red Robin, shot from behind, appears to be making himself a sandwich. A different man’s voice says: “Hey Red, do a flip!”

The hero does a front flip over the kitchen island but knocks a potted plant over in the process.

“Whoopsie!” says the hero as he lands.

“That wasn’t my fault,” says the mysterious cameraman, zooming in on the broken pot. “Poison Ivy, if you’re watching, that wasn’t my fault. Don’t at me. Don’t come for me please.”

(cut)

“Spoiler, do a flip!”

She swings herself around a lightpole and launches into a double somersault. “Ta da!”

(cut)

“Hood, do a flip!”

Red Hood, clad in armour and full helmet, kicks his combat boots off the warehouse wall and flips back into a graceful handspring. He lands in a thudding crouch that appears to shake the floor.

(cut)

“Batman, do a flip!”

Batman’s face can barely be seen under the cowl, in shadow, but his lack of movement screams judgement and disapproval.

“Batman! Do a flip.”

The superhero turns away and moves to leave the rooftop.

“Aw no! Batman please, do a flip!” Arsenal’s voice is pleading like a child.

Batman ignores him and vaults off the rooftop towards the fire escape on the next building. As he does, just before he leaves the frame-

He does a triple somersault.

“Aaaaahhhh he did it!”

The camera shakes wildly as the video cuts.

Comments

“Batman did a flip!!!”

“HOws batman doing a flip across rooftops, his poor knees.”

“I’m 33 and my back hurts just watching this.”

“Nightwing’s standing double what the fuck, tell me he’s not meta”

"10/10 flips"

“Nightwing’s either meta or, like. Really good.”

“NIghtwing really good, confirmed here folks”

“Spoiler is an understated queen”

"10/10"

"10/10"

"10000/10"

“How TF Red Hood flipping with his body type?? He shouldn’t be that flyable?”

“Bitch you mean aerodymanic?”

“Areodymanic”

“Aerodymanic”

“Areodymanic”

-_-

The next video is taken in daylight. Arsenal stands on a sidewalk next to a park. He speaks to the cameraman. “Hey, what day is it?”

The mysterious cameraman replies, “I don’t know. What day is it?”

“Hey Flash!” Arsenal calls instead of answering.

There’s the faint sound of a sonic boom and suddenly Flash is there. A couple of bystanders in the background flinch in alarm.

“What’s up?” asks Flash genially.

Arsenal takes him by the shoulders. “Just checking that I can see you.”

“Okay.”

“Can you see me?”

“Uh, yep.”

“Awesome!”

Arsenal does a thumbs up to the camera, which freeze-frames. A caption pops up:

“Happy Bisexual Visibility Day!”

The caption disappears as the video restarts. Red Robin wanders through frame, seemingly engrossed in his phone.

“Hey, Red,” says Flash.

“Hey Flash,” replies Red Robin, not looking up. Before he leaves the shot, the camera freezes again.

“Happy Bisexual Visibility Day!”

COMMENTS

“Three superheroes coming out on TikTok was not on my 20XX Bingo Card”

“SFASFSDASDFSDFKJHSDFJ GFDGKJSHFJSDHFKJDHFKJ!!!!!!”

“Bi pride let’s goooooooooooooooooo!”

“Happy Bi Visibillity Day!”

“OMG this makes me so happy!”

“This is fake, probably a PR move”

“Did they just out Robin?”

“So Chris’s name is Red? Like red hood? Isn’t that confusing?”

“Finally I have something in common with superheroes!”

“The guy in the background just trying to eat his sandwich is killing me”

“So you’re telling me there’s a chance?”

“ICONIC.”

“Te amo te amo te amo!”

“Where the bi girlie superheroes at?”

“Yesssss!”

“Crossing my fingers for a trans super one day.”

“Happy Bi Pride!”

-_-

Arsenal and Red Hood are sitting next to each other at a table. Both have mini-whiteboards in front of them.

Red Hood sighs. “This is stupid.”

Arsenal beams cheerfully. “You’re stupid.”

Cut to Flash and Nightwing sitting on a sofa, end-to-end with their feet in each other’s laps. They both look giddy.

Nightwing: “This is gonna be fun.”

Flash: “So much fun.”

The caption reads: “How Well Do We Know Each Other? [love heart love heart] Best Friends Edition[love heart love heart]”

The shot goes back to Red Hood and Arsenal.

The cameraman says, “Question one. Who is your best friend?”

Arsenal starts writing immediately. “Well this is an easy one.”

Red Hood just starts writing and doesn’t acknowledge him.

Meanwhile, Flash and Nightwing are both covering their whiteboards even though there’s no chance that the other person could see what they’re writing.

“Don’t cheat!” says Flash.

“I’m not cheating. YOU don’t cheat,” is the response.

It cuts back to Hood and Arsenal.

“Okay,” says cameraman. “Arsenal, how do you feel about your answer?”

“I feel good. It was an easy one to start with, so I’m feeling confident.”

“Hood, what about you?”

“I don’t understand the internet,” is the longsuffering reply.

“Okay, let’s reveal the answers. Arsenal, who did you say is Red Hood’s best friend?”

Arsenal has written “ME!” surrounded by happy faces.

“And who did you say is your best friend?”

Arsenal has written “Red Hood” inside a huge heart.

“Okay, Hood, what did you say?”

Red Hood reveals his answer slowly. “Arrrrrtemis.”

Arsenal is appalled. “LIAR! That doesn’t count. I’m totally your best friend, what the fuck.”

Red Hood ignores him. “And for his best friend, I put [beep].” The rest of Hood’s whiteboard is blurred out.

Arsenal momentarily forgets his outrage. “I didn’t even think of that,” he says, mood totally changing. “Huh. Actually you’re kinda right. She’s my bestie. My lil sidekick. Actually, [beep], can I change my answer? I agree with Hood. He’s not my best friend.”

The cameraman doesn’t seem sure how to proceed. “I guess…? So, you got your own answer wrong?”

“Yeah.”

Cut to Flash and Nightwing.

Nightwing says, “Okay, for my best friend I just put-“ He reveals his whiteboard to show an arrow pointing left and the words “That Guy”. “And for his best friend, I put, ‘Me, but he has a big heart so he’s got lots of best friends’.”

“Awww,” says the cameraman.

Flash is similarly charmed. “Aww! For mine I just put:” He reveals his whiteboard to show two arrows, one pointing right towards Nightwing and one pointing to himself.

He and Nightwing cheer and do a foot high-five.

Back to Arsenal and Red Hood.

Cameraman: “What’s your favorite book?”

Arsenal: “Ooh.”

(shots of everyone writing)

Cameraman: “Okay Nightwing, what did you put?”

Nightwing has written Hitchhiker’s Guide To The Galaxy for himself and What I Talk About When I Talk About Running for Flash. They both get both answers right.

Red Hood has written, “This is a stupid question, it’s impossible to choose one book” and “He can’t read”.

Arsenal’s answers are, “He’s a book snob so he probably couldn’t pick just one,” and “Wordslut: A Feminist’s Guide To Taking Back The English Language”.

[cut]

Cameraman: “What’s your favorite food?”

[cut]

Flash: “That’s not fair, nobody outside of Gotham would have been able to get that!”

Nightwing: “Then you should come to Gotham more often.”

Flash: “You can’t have a whole food truck as your favourite food.”

[cut]

Red Hood: “I can so. It’s everything on the menu.”

Arsenal: “Bullshit, there’s no such thing as a food truck with no bad options.”

Red Hood: “Go to Mama Rosa’s and say that to her face.”

[cut]

Flash: “Does rainbow count as one color?”

Nightwing: (revealing his whiteboard) “I totally put rainbow!”

(they cheer and do another foot-five)

[cut]

Red Hood: “Are you serious? How do you not know when my birthday is?”

Arsenal: “You have so many fake IDs, man-“ (caption: “For acting in amateur plays! 😊”) “-how am I supposed to remember the real one?”

Red Hood: “Unfuckingbelievable. I made you a layered torte for your birthday last year.”

Arsenal: “I know, and I said thank you!”

Red Hood: “You know how much time it takes to make all those layers? I put in effort.”

Arsenal: “Okay!”

Red Hood: “Fuckin’, not getting one this year.”

Arsenal: “Fine! Jesus!”

[cut]

Flash: “I think it’s Condiment King.”

Nightwing: (flipping his board) “Yep. Least favourite, definitely Condiment King. Sorry if you’re watching.”

Flash: (to the camera) “Sorry if you’re watching, Condiment King. Be less gross.”

Nightwing: “Spray less ketchup. That stuff stains, and it stinks.”

[cut]

Arsenal: “You’ve never seen Schitt’s Creek??”

Red Hood: “I don’t really watch TV.”

Arsenal: “That’s not true, I’ve watched movies with you.”

Red Hood: “Okay yeah, movies. But not, like, whole series. That’s an investment. I can’t commit to a whole series.”

[cut]

Flash: “You’re so basic.”

Nightwing: “I know. Everybody’s celebrity crush is Pedro Pascal. But I can’t help it.”

Flash: “No, I’m not criticising, he’s a wonderful man.”

[cut]

Arsenal: “Oh that’s a good one!”

Red Hood, holding a white board that says ‘Holly Holm’: “Right? She’s amazing.”

Arsenal: “A woman that can pin you with one hand… Mmm.”

Red Hood: “Mmm.”

[cut]

Cameraman: “Okay so the final scores are in. Nightwing and Flash are the clear winners, with only two answers wrong between them. Red Hood and Arsenal have apparently never met. Good games, everyone.”

Chapter Text

Shot of Arsenal bending over to rummage through a toolbox, with his back to the camera.

“Hey [beep],” asks the mysterious cameraman.

“Yeah?”

“Is it laundry day?”

Arsenal turns around and stands up, causing the camera to quickly pan down to avoid getting his face in shot. “No, why?”

The shot reveals that his shirt boldly proclaims: “You can’t pick your father, but you can choose your daddy”.

Both men crack up. Cut to:

The camera is angled down, capturing part of someone’s jeans. It appears someone is trying to film while being sneaky.

“Fucking [beep] goddam sunofabitch [beep]! Fucker!”

There’s a bit of a scuffle and then Arsenal’s voice. “You rang?”

The camera is discretely jostled, angling up to show Arsenal and presumably Red Hood from the knees up, heads out of frame, shot skewed diagonally. Arsenal is wearing sweats and Hood(?) is in black pants with no shirt. He’s waving something around angrily.

“Where the FUCK are all of my shirts, [beep]?” snaps Hood.

“Oh, I got you new ones. Do you like ‘em?”

“No I don’t fucking like ‘em!”

The cameraman interjects innocently before Hood can continue his tirade. “What do they say?”

Hood seems to realise he’s being filmed and lets out a loud, frustrated sigh. A t-shirt is thrown at the camera.

The cameraman catches it and reads the shirt aloud.

“WATCH OUT! This shirt belongs to a red-blooded Gothamite. We don’t take shit from anyone. We’re AMAZING in bed. Don’t talk to us before we’ve had our coffee. We’re loyal until you fuck with us! Metropolis sucks. Our water tastes FINE. If it doesn’t come from a food truck, we’re not eating it. We’re the perfect mix of angel and warrior. KNIGHTS RULE! Batman owns this booty.”

Red Hood’s head is still out of frame, but his arms are crossed over his bare chest. “I fuckin hate you both.”

“Does it not fit?” asks Arsenal guilelessly. “I got a three-XL, for your pecs, y’know, but if it doesn’t fit I can order a different size. They come in packs of twelve.”

Red Hood has already stormed out of the room, swearing to himself.

Arsenal calls after him. “You’re welcome!”

-_-

Arsenal and Flash are playing pool in what looks like a private gym.

“If you make this shot,” says Arsenal. “I’ll give you a foot massage.”

“Deal,” agrees Flash.

Flash lines up and takes the shot, but the ball’s barely been hit before Arsenal stops it with his hand. Making deliberate eye-contact, he moves the ball across the table and into the pocket.

“Oh no,” he deadpans. “Guess you have to bring those tootsies over here.”

Flash cracks up as the video cuts.

-_-

Arsenal is going through some yoga stretches in what looks like another corner of the same gym. The mysterious cameraman is interviewing him.

“Who’s the dumbest supervillain you’ve ever fought?”

“Hmm, probably Polka Dot Man.”

“That’s not real.”

“It’s real.”

“There’s no way.”

“Google it. Polka Dot Man. It was embarrassing for everyone.”

“I am going to google it.”

(Caption: “I googled it and it’s real!!! WTF Gotham villians, get it together”)

“What’s something you wish more people knew about being a superhero?”

“Most of us are human, so we have to work insane training regimes to get to the level of fitness and fighting ability where we can do this shit. You can’t just put on a costume and go fight crime. This is a fulltime gig and honestly, it sucks a lot of the time. I’m covered in bruises and blisters and most of us have chronic pain. Don’t be a hero, kids. Stay in school.”

“Who’s your favorite superhero?”

“To work with? Probably Hood and Kori, Starfire. Just in general? Nightwing’s probably the best superhero, but don’t tell him I said that. Tell him I said his butt’s looking really flat lately.”

“What’s your favourite comfort food?”

“Butter noodles. We were poor growing up, like we never went hungry but spaghetti came from a can and vegetables were little frozen cubes, you know? So sometimes we’d get proper wholewheat pasta and real butter, maybe some parmesan, and it was so fucking good. Felt like luxury.”

“Real parmesan?”

“Sometimes, but honestly I like the cheap fake powder shit more. Something about the texture – probably reminds me of being a kid.”

“What’s the coolest trick shot you’ve ever made?”

“Had my arm pinned one time and had to kick off my boots and use my toes to pull the bowstring. Shot out the detonator for a bomb that was rigged to blow up a school. Lost two toenails but I’m still pretty proud of that shot.”

“Wait why did you lose two toenails?”

“The recoil snap from the bowstring was off because, y’know, I was using my feet. String whacked my toes, nails went black and fell off like a week later.”

“Euuugh.”

“Yeah man. Never look at a superhero’s feet. They’re not pretty.”

“…”

“Have you ever looked at [beep]’s feet properly?”

“As you’re saying this, I’m realising I haven’t and I’m horrified.”

“Don’t do it.”

“God, I have to now don’t I?”

“Probably, yeah. Sorry.”

“Okay. Putting a pin in that. Oh, this actually leads me to: What’s the worst injury you’ve had as a superhero?”

“Nearly lost my arm one time, that wasn’t fun.”

“Was this when it was pinned, when you shot the arrow with your feet?”

“No, this was a different time, fighting a guy called Prometheus. My arm was nearly severed – it was pretty gruesome. They managed to reattach it and get a pulse but it was pretty touch and go there for a couple of days.”

“Oh wow, that’s a good scar.”

“Yeah they did a good stitch job. You can barely see it with the tattoo. Could have been way worse all around.”

“Why do you have such visible tattoos? It’s that a big no-no for someone with a secret identity?”

“Eh, my civilian identity’s pretty loosey-goosey. I don’t really maintain it much beyond the essentials. And it’s easy to wear sleeves.”

“Oh, I didn’t know you knew what sleeves were.”

“Oh ha ha.”

“Hahaha!”

Chapter Text

The next video opens on a shot of a giant rat creeping predatorially towards a pigeon. The cameraman, voice deep and distorted, zooms in and mutters, “Get him, Ricardo.”

Title card: “Red Hood Takes Over TikTok”

The next shot is a mid-closeup of a deeply tanned older woman, taken outside in daylight. She has long grey hair hanging loose and blowing softly around her shoulders. Her light blue shirt is overstretched and thin. When she smiles, it’s a wide beam that takes up her whole face and displays her missing teeth. She has a thick Crime Alley accent but enunciates her words clearly and deliberately.

Offscreen, Red Hood says, “This is Lucia. Tell them about yourself, Lucia.”

“My name is Lucia Alvarez, I’m fifty-eight years old, I’ve got four children and seven grandkids, and I’ve lived in Gotham City all my life.”

“Where do you live?”

“Oh, here, there, and everywhere,” she laughs.

“What do you do for a living, Lucia?”

“Well for twenty-seven years, I worked at the factory on Mill Street. I was the Chief Line Manager and I ran the assembly line and was in charge of quality control.”

“What did you make?”

“Mostly spigots for pool fences, but over the years we made lots of things. Home guttering, wall fasteners, bolts and screws, stuff like that. We had to shut down eight years ago after Riddler took over the building to make his booby traps.”

“What happened then?”

“Well, we closed down and everybody lost their jobs. I couldn’t afford rent so now I live everywhere.”

“What do you do for money?”

“I collect bottles and cans and take them to the recycling plant for change. Some days I can make twenty, twenty-five dollars.”

“In one day?”

“If it’s a good day, yes sir.”

Something jostles the camera and suddenly a wet canine nose takes up most of the screen. Hood pulls the camera back to reveal a skinny yellow dog with dirty fur.

“Who’s this?” he asks.

“Oh that’s Miles, he used to belong to Trevor, you know Trevor from over at [beep] Park, but then Trevor got locked up so now I take care of him.”

“I thought he looked familiar,” says Hood, holding out a massive gloved hand for the dog to sniff. “Hey buddy. Hi Miles.”

“He’s a good dog,” affirms Lucia. “We keep each other warm, and he’s a good barker. Lets me know if someone’s trying to steal my cans. That don’t happen much though. This is a good area. We look out for each other around here. You know that.” She laughs a raspy smoker’s laugh that sounds like tin cans rattling down a gravel road.

“I know that,” Hood agrees, still filming Miles as the dog allows him to scratch his ears. “Thanks, Lucia."

She nods her head at him, still beaming. “You’re most welcome.”

The next shot is of a young woman/girl, looking barely eighteen. She’s got thick makeup and despite the fact that her breath can be seen billowing out in clouds, she’s wearing a thin lowcut crop top with her skinny stomach and ribs exposed.

“You wanna introduce yourself?” asks Hood from behind the camera.

Unlike Lucia, she looks directly at the camera and addresses her answers there. “I’m Mandy, I’ve lived in Gotham my whole life and I work the corners of [beep] and [beep].”

“What brings you to the corner, Mandy?” Hood’s voice is matter-of-fact through the filter.

She scratches her nose. “I grew up around here, and I got a four-year-old son, [beep]. I used to send him to the preschool on Church Street, but they had three lockdowns for gas attacks in six months last year.”

“What kinda gas?”

She counts off. “First one was Scarecrow gas, second was Joker venom, and third was a neurotoxin from Poison Ivy.”

“Was everyone okay?”

“Yeah, mostly everyone was fine. Two kids and one of the daycare workers had to be checked out after the Joker attack but I don’t think anyone was hospitalised. They’ve got gas masks and they have regular drills and everything. It’s just fucked. I don’t wanna send my kid to preschool with a gas mask in his bag, you know? So I work here so I can afford to send him to a daycare over in New York where this kind of shit doesn’t happen.”

“Do you still live in Gotham?”

“Yeah, it’s a rough commute and the gas prices are fucking me in the ass, but it’s worth it. Three of us corner girls all did the same thing, enrolled our kids in the same place, so we switch off who drops ‘em off, who works and who watches them overnight.”

“When do you sleep?”

She barks a surprised laugh. It’s rough, and when she tips her head back, the streetlight illuminates the deep bags under her eyes and some fading bruises on her neck. “Fuck, I dunno, when do you sleep?” Her gaze slides off the camera to look offscreen, presumably at him. “You know how it is. There’ll be time for sleep later.”

“This account’s got over four million followers,” Hood tells her. “Is there anything you wanna say to them?”

Mandy flicks her steady gaze back down the lens again. “Fix this shit,” she says. “What happened to the election promises to install gas sensors in all public buildings and schools? What happened to more jobs? What happened to fixing the streetlights on First and Oak Tree? I’m not out here on this corner because I love it, I’m out here because it’s the only fucking job I can get that’ll pay the bills and allow me to keep my kid safe. We shouldn’t have to send our children out of the city to keep them safe. Fucking fix it.”

The shot lingers on her face for a few beats, until it’s clear she’s said her piece. “Thanks, Mandy.”

“No problem. Now fuck off, you’re bad for business.”

The next shot is taken at dusk or daybreak, in an alley. A teenager in an overstretched tee and faded jeans sits on a crate. This exchange takes place entirely in Spanish, with captions below.

The teen asks, “What should I say?”

“Say whatever you want,” is Hood’s reply. “Gotham’s listening. What do you want to say to them?”

The child takes a small breath. “Hello, my name’s Max. My pronouns are he him. I’m 15 years old. My parents kicked me out last year when I told them I was transgender.”

“Where do you live now, Max?”

“I live mostly at the youth shelter down by [beep] Street, but that’s not open to minors on weekends so I either stay at the parks, or I see if I can get a bed at the local LGBTQ+ centre.”

“Why don’t you stay at the centre fulltime? ”

“There aren’t enough beds. I’ve been out of home for a while now, so I know the good places to sleep. I’ll be okay. There are kids who are younger, or who just got kicked out, and they don’t know the area or they don’t know the tricks, so I let them have the beds.”

“What are the tricks?”

Max smiles shyly, looking a little proud. “You know, like stuffing newspaper in your shoes so your feet don’t get cold and wet, not staying in the same place for too many nights so the cops can’t get you, stuff like that.”

“What do you want the people of Gotham to know, Max?”

“I wish people would come to the centre and meet us, so they could see that we’re just people like them. I feel like they don’t realise that we’re just people, and we think and feel and we’re not bad guys, you know? Like, some of the kids at the shelter, they’re really just kids, like eleven or twelve. I wish more people would understand that when they vote against funding more LGBT centres, they’re voting to put people like me and my friends on the streets.”

“What do you want to be when you grow up, Max?”

“I want to be a teacher. I want to go to school to learn, and then I want to go back to school as the teacher.”

“You wanna be the boss,” says Hood in a teasing tone.

Max grins. “Maybe. Maybe I could be the boss.”

The video fades out on Max’s smile, and a caption appears with links directing the viewer to write to their local government officials and donate to various projects designed to inject funds into Crime Alley and the surrounding suburbs (links in bio).

The last caption thanks Lucia, Mandy, and Max for being willing to share their stories.

Chapter Text

[click] [scroll]

“Sometimes I forget that these heroes are just a bunch of 20-somethings running around with superpowers.”

“Which of the Bats have superpowers?”

“I feel like Nightwing has to have something.”

“The little Robin is a shapeshifter”

“Disproved, it’s two people”

“Yeah Crisscross is a different guy, he’s older and came out/was outed?? On one of the vids”

“Heroes wouldn’t out someone, it was staged”

“It was staged”

“Clearly fake”

“Staged”

“Nihgtwing doesn’t have powers, Black Bat is a cryptid tho”

“I still say Chriscross and Robin are the same person in a wig”

“Sorry Red Hod BAKES CAKES for his friends bdays omg”

“Mama Rosa’s represent!”

“So cute that Nightwing ad red hood have the same fave food truck”

“Are they brothers?”

“Coworkers”

“Clones lollll”

“Did Nightwing just come out??”

“Nah Pedra Pascal is everyone’s freebee, it doesn’t count as gay, it just counts as alive”

“Yeh I’m ace and I’d let him wear me like a hat”

“A HAT”

“Agree, Condiment King is the worst, everything stinks after he’s been around esp in the summer”

“’A woman that can pin you with one hand’ BRB joining a gym”

“Why is Hood so mean to Arsenal? ‘He can’t read’ bro why”

“RH hates all of this so much, it’s so funny”

“Arsenal saying ‘she’s my lil sidekick’ is so little sister or puppy coded.”

“Saving Hood and Arsenal going ‘Mmmm’ as my message notification tone forever”

“How tf they got secret identities when they can’t stop themselves from using each others names in videos they know are gonna be posted online”

“Does Red Hood know this is being posted online? Man doesn’t give a shit about his street cred”

“Man’s got street cred in the bank”

“They could post Red Hood dressed like a tulip singing Good Ship Lollypop and I still wouldln’t fuck with him”

“You gon say that to his face?”

“Jajajajajaja”

“I lost my shit at Arsenal not knowing Red Hoods birthday”

“Flash and Nightwing are bestie goals”

[click]

“Tell me those Im From Gotham shirts really exist. I need one or I’ll die.”

“They’re real”

“OMG link???”

[link]

“Thank you thank you thank you!”

“It’s not working for me”

“I think we’ve crashed the site ahah.”

“RIP. The kiss of death”

“Your water doesn’t taste fine”
“We know it doesn’t but it’s all we’ve got, dammit”

“Why did I never think of heroes as having scars?”

[click]

“Wait, whose feet is mystery cameraman usually seeing??”

“Who is mystery cameraman?”

“I’m just gonna call him Cam. Cammy McCameraman.”

“Well Cammy’s dicking someone in the superhero community. Must be nice.”

“How’d you get from sometimes seeing their feet to dicking?”

“Guys be nice, if it can happen for him then it can happen for us. Put good vibes out there”

[click]

“Lucia! I know her! She hung out behind the restaurant where I work for a while. We gave her leftovers sometimes. She’s so cool.”

“Ohhh what a cute little doggy!”

“Love Hood giving people a platform. This is what social media should be used for”

“He said there’s 4 million followers but I just checked and there’s 6.5 mil now, holy moly”

“Is Max talking about the Queer Youth Centre on Birch Street? It odesn’t say it in the video but it used to be really rundown and shitty, and sometimes they’d have protesters out the front with signs about how they were corrupting kids and all that bullshit.

“So I dunno how Red Hood found out about it but one day there were heaps of really muscly looking dudes just standing around outside the centre and everyone was like uhhhh ok? And it turned out that the muscly guys were part of Hood’s crew, and they were there to make sure anyone feeling scared to go into the centre or intimidated by the protesters or whatever would have protection. I don’t know if many people outside Crime alley know about that.”

“Is that real? That’s so awesome!”

“Yeah there’s a clip of someone being escorted in, and they form a guard around them and make sure they get inside okay. [link]”

“That’s so fucking cool”

“I’m actually tearing up, that’s so incredible”

“What a cool bunch of dudes. Is Red Hood hiring? I’m not as buff as those guys but I’d be happy to yell at some bigots.”

“I think Red Hood has business cards that he gives out. If you’re serious, it’s worth asking around to see if anyone can get in touch. Otherwise just show up at the place, can’t hurt?”

“Maybe we hsouldn’t be encouraging people to go to the centre and stand around, that could be scary for some young kids who are feeling vulnerable already.”

“Good point, maybe I’ll leave this to the pros for now. It’s such a good initiative though.”

“The centre’s website is listed in their bio links if you want to see if they need volunteers.”

“Ignorant question because I’m not from Gotham, but I thought that Bruce Wayne was fixing up all the infrastructure and putting money into jobs and housing and homeless shelters and everything? Just from what I’ve seen on the news, it looked like he was fixing it all.”

“It’s WAY bigger than one person, even a billionaire.”

“Bruce Wayne doesn’t know what poor people need. He means well but he’s never been poor and he’s making decisions in a boardroom with other rich guys.”

“Yeah, it doesn’t always funnel down to the little guy.”

“My Red Hood Story: My cousin had to go to the police station to give a statement after some family shit got ugly. Restraining orders were filed, it’s all good now, but she was seven and had to go in to tell the police what she saw.

“She was so scared obviously and didn’t want to go into the station, so her mom was pleading with her outside to just go in and get it over with, trying to bribe her with ice cream or toys or whatever. I don’t know why but Red Hood was there and he sees what’s going on and he comes over and takes off his helmet, and just squats down next to my cousin who’s basically having a panic tantrum.

“My aunt’s shellshocked so she doesn’t really do anything because this is RED FUCKING HOOD, what the fuck. And he just asks my cousin questions about what grade she’s in and he sees that she’s got a Minecraft t-shirt, so he talks to her about that for a bit. And my aunt’s just sitting there with her brain exploding because Red Hood’s talking about Minecraft. He was wearing an eye mask apparently but my aunt was still not sure if she was allowed to look because it was daytime and he never realy takes off the mask.

“He ended up carrying my cousin into the station (he asked my aunt if it was okay first obviously) and he waited with my aunt the whole time my cousin was giving her statement.

“I feel like every Red Hood story online is like, “And then he shot all the bad guys!” or “And then he punched them so hard they exploded!” so maybe this is really boring by comparison. But my family thinks it’s really cool. :P”

[click]

Chapter Text

Video Caption: “Red Hood Terrorising His Goons For 5 Straight Minutes”

The video starts abruptly, with Red Hood standing in a warehouse pointing angrily at a goon holding a clipboard. Several other members of the Red Hood gang mill about, ostensibly loading various blurred items into crates and performing other menial tasks, eavesdropping with varying degrees of subtlety.

Hood is mid-rant, wearing a domino and lower face shield. The parts of his face that are visible are flushed with anger.

“Shut the FUCK UP,” he barks at Clipboard Goon. His voice is distorted and deep. “Whatdya mean you guys have never had dental cover?”

Hood runs a hand through his hair. Two of his fingers are taped together with dirty surgical tape stained with old blood.

“This is fucking bullshit,” he spits. “Get me the paperwork right now. Jesus Christ.” He points to Clipboard Goon. “You got three kids, right? Make sure they go on your fucking plan.”

Hood raises his voice. “Y’all hear that? Bones is gonna give out forms and I know we all hate paperwork, but you’re gonna fill ‘em out and you’re gonna do it properly. Dental care is no joke. We gotta get this sorted.”

[cut]

The same warehouse, with sunlight streaming through a skylight. Hood is wearing only a domino, staring aghast at of four goons who shift nervously under his scrutiny. One of them is Bones, this time fiddling with a ratty notebook and pen.

Hood exhales in frustration. “You guys want fucking cake on your birthday? Are you shitting me right now?”

Two of the four goons flinch, but to their credit, no one actually steps back.

Hood leans in closer, staring the men down one by one. “Are you fucking looking me in the eye and asking for cake on your birthdays?”

His voice raises to the point of echo. “You’re not fucking working on your birthdays, dumbshits.” A startled pigeon flurries by overhead. “That’s a paid day off.”

Hood spits on the floor in disgust. “Buy your own damn cake and eat it with your families, Jesus Christ. You guys make me puke.”

[cut]

Red Hood is barely in shot this time, crouched on the floor surrounded by several goons who are crowded around to watch, blocking the camera’s view.

“Is this a dog?” asks Hood rhetorically. We can see his arms moving in a repetitive motion, and the blur of a happy black tail.

“Did you bring a fucking dog in here? What the everloving pissfuck.”

The cameraman squeezes around the goons and we see that Red Hood is kneeling down, enthusiastically patting a beaming Pitbull mix.

Hood is wearing his full helmet so we can’t see his face, but he smushes the dog’s enormous cheeks pointedly. “Who decided to have a Bring Your Pet To Work Day and not tell me so I could have treats ready for the very good boy, yes you are, you’re a very good boy.”

His gaze turns back to his henchpeople, his tone sharp. “See, now I feel like an asshole in front of the good boy, because I don’t have any treats for him, and he’s such a beautiful doggy yes you are, yes you are.” He scratches the dog’s sides roughly. The dog pants in doggy ecstasy.

He glowers at his men. “I’m only gonna say this once: EVERY day is now Bring Your Pet To Work Day. EVERY DAMN DAY.”

[cut]

Chapter Text

The video opens with a shot of a TV screen in someone’s living room. The caption reads “Stitch Incoming”

On the TV, a breaking news bulletin shows helicopter footage of Nightwing battling seven of Penguin’s henchmen (distinguishable by their penguin-themed matching t-shirts) on top of a roof.

It’s nighttime, presumably live footage, and Nightwing holds his own for several seconds before appearing momentarily overwhelmed, taking two blows to the back and ribs with baseball bats and staggering to his knees.

“Oh no!” the person filming their TV exclaims. “Ow!”

The video cuts to Nightwing lying on a cot under a white sheet, still fully masked, sucking on a painkiller whistle.

“How are you doing, Wing?” asks a voice from behind the camera.

Nightwing flashes a thumbs up before pulling the whistle away from his mouth. “Peachy,” he wheezes, holding his breath before slowly exhaling with a wince.

“Who won the fight?” The voice is now discernible as Red Robin.

“I did.”

“You did?” Red Robin’s hand enters the shot and tugs the white sheet to the side. He lifts the other man’s hand, which is holding an ice pack to his ribs, so we can see the injury.

Nightwing’s right side is a mess of mottling red and purple bruises. He shifts with a huffed laugh, revealing that the bruising goes around his ribs to his back.

“You won?” clarifies Red Robin again, deadpan.

Nightwing nods. “They’re all in jail, and where am I?”

“In the med bay.”

Nightwing laugh-groans, pressing the ice pack to his side once more. “In the med bay,” he agrees. “But not in jail. So that’s a win for the good guys.”

-_-

The next video opens with another “Stitch Incoming” banner.

The stitched video is a closeup of a young woman with large sunglasses on, filming in her car.

“I’m just saying,” she says, gesticulating with a huge trendy water bottle, “and I’m probably gonna get shit for this, but I’m just saying, if you’re two hundred pounds, you shouldn’t be in a Pilates class.”

The video cuts to a closeup of Red Hood, wearing a black tank top and domino mask.

“Hi, I’m Red Hood,” he says sternly. “I’m two-twenty pounds, and I’m gonna do Pilates.”

The camera jostles as Arsenal, also in a tank top and mask, shoves himself into frame. “And I’m coming too! Welcome to Jackass!”

He grabs the phone and cuts the video before Red Hood can respond.

The next shot is of Arsenal standing over a Pilates reformer. In the background, women of various ages and sizes get themselves situated on their own machines. Some of them glance at the heroes, but most ignore them.

“I’m excited,” Arsenal says. “This is gonna be fun.”

The rest of the video is a series of quick shots of Red Hood and Arsenal being deeply humbled.

[cut]

The instructor’s hand pushes Hood’s shaking leg into a slightly different position. “There,” she says. “See, that’s where you feel the burn.”

“Oh good,” pants Hood, struggling to remain upright. “I was waiting for the burn.”

[cut]

Arsenal nearly slips off the machine. “This is rigged,” he laments. “I’m strong, it’s just all in my upper body. This doesn’t count.”

[cut]

Hood grunts as he kicks his leg out towards the ceiling. Arsenal’s voice comes from behind the camera. “What’s harder, this or fighting Mr Freeze?”

Hood strains, practically bent backwards in half. “Mr Freeze. Just.”

“What’s harder,” Arsenal continues. “This, or Batman’s disappointed face?”

Hood chokes out a laugh and nearly loses his balance.

[cut]

It’s Red Hood’s voice behind the camera this time. “Look at Sally,” he says, zooming in on a woman in her fifties expertly kicking her leg to the side. “Sally’s still going. Why can’t you be more like Sally?”

The shot pans down to show Arsenal collapsed on the reformer, covered in sweat. He raises a middle finger to the camera and groans.

[cut]

“Hold it!” says the instructor’s voice, as Red Hood’s leg shakes uncontrollably. “This is it, everyone. Ten second hold.”

“It’s been ten seconds,” Hood replies breathlessly. “It’s been three hundred seconds. Oh my god.”

[cut]

Red Hood and Arsenal, incredibly sweaty, stand on either side of a tiny, plump woman in bike shorts and a gym-branded polo shirt.

Arsenal turns to Hood. “So what do you think? Can people over two hundred pounds do Pilates?”

Hood shakes out his legs. “Absolutely,” he nods. “Even if you’re a beginner and have no idea what you’re doing.”

“That wasn’t a beginners’ class, was it?” Arsenal asks the gym woman. “That was, like, the super pro, triple advanced expert class.”

“That was one of our intermediate classes,” she replies, mostly looking at the camera a little self-consciously. “We also have beginner and advanced classes, as well as special women- and non-binary-only classes on Tuesdays.”

“Do you have superhero classes?” asks Arsenal.

“No, we only have the beginners class.”

Hood laughs at her answer, wiping sweat off his upper lip with a towel. He also speaks to the camera. “Jodie’s Gym also has free self defence classes on Mondays and Sundays, so check those out, we’ll put the link in the video description or however that works.”

“Jodie’s Gym on Eighth and Maple!” chirps Arsenal. “Give it a try – you can’t be worse than Red Hood!” He cackles and dances away from Hood as the video cuts.

-_-

”Stitch Incoming”

Two podcast hosts, both males in their late twenties, sit in a small office across from each other. They speak into microphones.

One host is visibly frustrated, while the other laughs.

“No!” says the frustrated host. “It’s the same person. He’s wearing a wig, and different costumes. I don’t understand how hard this is to comprehend.”

“They’re different people, Derrick,” says his co-host smoothly, seeming delight to be causing such outrage.

“Stop it!” Derrick’s red-faced cry prompts his cohost to dissolve into laughter. “It is a WIG! It is the same person. It’s different battle armour and weaponry for different situations. It’s tactical. Why is this so hard for you to understand?!”

[cut]

Red Robin and Robin, fully geared up, stand facing the camera. They appear to be in a training room of some kind.

“We’re sorry, Derrick,” says Red Robin. “We actually are two people.”

Robin scoffs, crossing his arms. “I can’t believe that was ever in question. Clearly my skills are superior.”

Red Robin’s lip twitches. “Well, not clearly, because there’s been a huge debate about it.”

“People are imbeciles.”

“People are watching this. Don’t insult them.”

“Our head shape and profiles are vastly different! Our skin tones are different!”

“To be fair, we mostly patrol at night.”

“I’m repulsed and offended. Our skillsets are incomparable.”

“I will agree on that.”

“I’m glad we could put this matter to rest.”

“Yeah, sorry to spoil the fun, guys. I liked reading the theories. Some of them were really detailed and fleshed out.”

“Your pandering sickens me.”

-_-

Chapter Text

Caption: Who’s More Likely? With the Bat Brothers

The video opens with a shot of Nightwing, Red Robin, Robin, and Red Hood seated together in what appears to be a rec room of sorts. Red Robin, Robin, and Red Hood are next to each other on the couch. Nightwing perches on the armrest next to Hood, who wears a domino and lower face shield rather than his helmet. They’re all in full costume.

“I object to the term ‘brothers’,” says Red Hood, comfortably sprawled so his shoulder rests against Nightwing’s hip.

Red Robin and Robin groan and respond in unison.

“Your objection has been noted,” drawls Robin boredly.

“We know, Hood, we know,” says Red Robin.

“I think of all of you as my brothers, and I’m happy to go on record with that,” says Nightwing, beaming at the other three and throwing a thumbs up to the camera.

“Tone it down,” advises Red Robin. Nightwing obediently lowers his thumb.

Title card: “Who’s more likely to be calm in a crisis?”

“Nightwing, of course.” Robin’s answer is immediate. Hood scoffs but doesn’t refute it.

“We’re all pretty good in a crisis,” elaborates Red Robin. “We have to be, it’s part of the training. But yeah, I think ‘Wing would be the one most likely to stay calm. I tend to get in my own head about contingency plans which isn’t really calm.”

“I just get mad and blow shit up,” drawls Hood in a way that makes it unclear if he’s joking.

“I can stay calm in a crisis,” agrees Nightwing. “But I get stressed over other stuff.”

“Like what?” asks the cameraman.

“Like people not responding to his texts right away,” answers Red Robin for him.

Nightwing protests. “We lead dangerous lives!” he tells his brothers and the camera. “If I send a text, I’m checking in to make sure everyone’s okay. It’s reasonable to get concerned if someone doesn’t reply. It's about context!”

“So it’s reasonable for you to burst through the window to my safehouse because I didn’t use correct spelling?” retorts Red Hood.

Nightwing points down at him from his perch on the armrest. “That was not the situation and you know it. I asked how you were and you just said “Fin”. Fin! The End!”

“I was tired! Obviously I meant “fine”!”

“Not obviously! You’re so dramatic, I thought you were saying your final goodbyes, like ‘Fin, Nightwing, I do not go gentle into that good night…’” Nightwing trails off with an exaggerated gurgling croak.

“Okay, that is terrible misquoting.”

“That is something you would do though,” counters Red Robin.

“It’s not inaccurate,” Robin concurs as well.

Nightwing is vindicated. “You want credibility, stop texting us when you’re actively bleeding out.”

Hood pokes Nightwing hard in the side. “I’ll text when I want. Stop breaking into my place.”

Title card: ”Who’s more likely to complain?”

“Tie between these two, honestly.” Red Robin points to Hood and Robin.

“I don’t complain,” complains Robin. “I draw much-needed attention to weak points in logic and shine light on areas that need improvement.”

“I’ll stop complaining when things stop being so shitty,” says Red Hood.

Nightwing seems determined to remain neutral and says nothing.

Title card: ”Who’s more likely to lend you money?”

Hood mutters something about, “Who’s more likely to have money?” Everyone ignores him.

Robin sniffs. “I do not seek handouts.”

“But if you did,” prompts the cameraman. “Like if you were stranded and had nothing, and needed money fast. Who would you call?”

Robin ponders this. “If I needed immediate access to food, shelter, or travel, I would contact Red Robin as he would ensure they were procured swiftly. If I needed discrete funds with no other persons involved, I would go to Hood.”

He pauses, before continuing reluctantly. “If I needed money for a street food vendor, I might contact Nightwing, but there’s no guarantee that he would have enough change on him at the time.”

Red Robin and Hood find that hilarious. Nightwing nods ruefully. “I’m not great at saving money,” he admits. “I always pay back my IOUs but, yeah.”

Title card: “Who’s more likely to have a messy room?”

Everyone points to Red Robin, even himself.

“I’m really bad,” he admits. “I just don’t notice.”

“Weaponised incompetence,” Hood counters, kicking Red Robin’s foot lightly.

“I genuinely don’t notice,” Red Robin repeats. “I get in a zone and I just lock in on whatever I’m working on, usually a case, and I don’t notice anything else.”

“I believe that,” says Nightwing, once again addressing his brothers and the camera. “He doesn’t remember to feed himself when he’s like that. We have to leave him little plates of food and remind him that they’re there.”

“We throw food into his cage like a rat,” says Hood. “He has a big upside-down water bottle on the wall that we make him lick at every six hours so he doesn’t die.”

“Okay I don’t have that,” says Red Robin, “But I do have one of those walking pads for my standing desk. That’s basically like a human hamster wheel.”

“He lives in sawdust and filth,” Red Hood tells the camera. “It’s disgusting. Everyone, stop being a fan of Red Robin. You don’t know what he smells like.”

Title card: “Who’s more likely to have food in their bag?”

Red Hood immediately bristles as all heads turn to him. “What?”

“How many protein bars do you have on you, right now?” asks Nightwing. “We’re not judging.”

Hood crosses his arms. “None of your business.”

“Come on,” Nightwing cajoles, poking Red Hood in the shoulder. “Ballpark. Is it less than six?”

Silence.

“Eight? Is it eight?”

“I’ve seen Hood pass out candy and fruit to children on multiple occasions,” pipes up Robin. “He always has something tucked away.”

“He’s given me granola bars before,” adds Red Robin. “He produces them like magic.”

“Oh my god, I’m not a fuckin’ food truck,” bursts Red Hood. “Stop acting like I’m running around dropping food everywhere like a demented Hansel and Gretel.” He exhales a slow breath. “I like knowing I got food if I need it. Or if anyone else needs it. Okay? Drop it.”

Title card: “Who’s more likely to be a nerd?

“Nightwing.” Red Hood’s response is immediate.

“Me? Why me?” asks Nightwing, seeming baffled but not defensive.

“One word. Mathlete.”

Nightwing laughs. “Oh wow, yeah, I guess that is kind of nerdy. Nothing wrong with math!” he assures the camera. “Nothing nerdy about school in general.”

“Spoken like a true nerd,” proclaims Red Hood.

“Didn’t you love school?” Red Robin asks him.

“’Course I did,” is the unashamed reply. “You kidding? School’s a privilege. Doesn’t mean I was a dork about it like Nerdwing over here.”

“Okay but how are we defining ‘nerd’?” asks Red Robin. “Because we all have things that we’re passionate about and a little obsessive over. Is it about the way the obsession presents itself, or the obsession itself? What are the parameters for nerd?”

Hood turns to the camera. “Can I change my answer?”

Title card: ”Who’s more likely to be a rebellious teen?”

Everyone turns to look at Nightwing. He holds up a hand. “Guilty.”

“No way,” says the cameraman, adjusting the shot to zoom in on Nightwing. “You?”

The three oldest Bats nod emphatically.

“It was intense,” stresses Red Hood. “Full on angry teen meltdowns.”

“I was the worst,” says Nightwing. “I was every stereotype. ‘It’s not a phase, dad!’”

Red Robin addresses the camera. “This was around the era of Nightwing’s first suit.”

Robin looks mortified and Hood laughs. “Yes! Show a picture of the suit,” he tells the cameraman. “I’ll send you one.” He pulls out his phone.

“We do not need to see the suit,” says Robin quickly.

[insert photo: caption: “The First Nightwing Suit (AKA Discowing)”]

Nightwing looks sheepish but unrepentant. “That was a very ‘teen rebellion’ outfit wasn’t it. ‘Screw you, it’s my body, I can wear what I want!’”

“How old were you when you wore that?” asks Red Robin.

“I was over eighteen,” Nightwing is quick to assert. “I was definitely of age.”

“So there’s no excuse,” says Red Hood.

“The adult male brain isn’t fully developed until at least twenty-six,” defends Robin.

“What would you say if I wanted to go patrol in an outfit like that?” asks Red Robin. “I’m older than you were. What if I redesigned my suit-“

“No,” interrupts Nightwing firmly.

“-and came out with wings and no shirt-“

“No.”

“-some tasteful bandoleers covering the nipples-“

“No! Stop!” Nightwing lunges across the couch to cover Red Robin’s mouth with his hand. Red Robin scootches backwards, cackling. Red Hood winces as Nightwing’s legs sprawl across him. “I would lock you in a tower! Stop it. You’re my pure little baby brother! No talking about nipples on TikTok!” He swivels and points to the camera. “Cut this part out!”

Title card: “Who’s more likely to win a hotdog eating contest?

Robin sniffs. “I’m a vegan, so I would never participate.”

“This is hypothetical,” says Red Robin, rolling his eyes. “Pretend they’re vegan hotdogs.”

“Those are disgusting.”

“My vote’s on Hood,” offers Nightwing.

“Damn straight.” Red Hood takes the compliment.

“I don’t know, I feel like Nightwing might win out of pure stubbornness,” says Red Robin. “He’d be the guy who’d throw up and just keep going.”

“I’m not disgusting,” protests Nightwing. “I am stubborn though, I’ll grant you that. And I do love hotdogs.”

“Now I want chilli dogs,” laments Red Hood.

“You don’t have one in your pocket somewhere?” asks Robin. Red Hood flips him off.

Title card: ”Who’s more likely to get arrested?

“Robin,” answer Nightwing and Red Hood in unison.

They look at each other in surprise.

“I resent this,” pouts Robin.

“I’m on board,” says Red Robin.

“It’s a good thing, Robin, I promise,” assures Nightwing. “I just immediately had a vision of you releasing poorly-treated zoo animals and taking them to a sanctuary, or something.”

“I was thinking you’d stab someone,” offers Hood.

“Both are plausible,” allows Robin.

“He’s joking. We can cut that out, right?” Nightwing asks the cameraman.

“Technically, we’re all breaking the law because vigilantism is a crime,” muses Red Robin.

“Boo,” says Red Hood. “All cops are bastards.”

Nightwing sighs at the camera. “Please cut this out.”

Red Hood points to the cameraman. “Don’t cut this out. All cops are basta-“

[cut]