Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Stephanie was screaming, clawing at the confines of her own mind. The walls trembled under the rhythmic banging of her fists. Slamming again and again only to be met with an immovable boulder, which now seemed to be… moving? It was definitely moving towards her now, pushing back against her bleeding knuckles and forcing her backwards, step by shaking step. A low, grinding sound escaped from the walls. Stephanie whipped around and saw that she was being closed in on from all sides.

There was nothing she could do, but uselessly, she dropped to her knees and tried to claw under the walls, her nails snapping and breaking away from their beds. What was she doing? The walls were getting closer, and the air around Stephanie’s head was compressing, particles compacting next to each other and becoming solid, so solid she couldn’t breathe anymore.

They were only about five feet away from each other now. She jumped up and slammed her feet against one wall, and braced her back against the other, and tried to push, force the walls apart. But they kept moving, and her knees were buckling, crumpling the bones in her legs like paper, and folding her in half. Two feet. She stared in terror at the sky as the walls pushed against her sides and then slammed together.

She woke up with a gasp.

It was 2.17 am. The moon filtered through her curtains, gently swaying with the light night breeze. With trembling hands, she pushed herself upright and slumped against the headboard.

The cold seeped into her skin and settled deep in her bones.

She got up, and pulled on a thick, soft purple sweater, brushing her hair out of her eyes and into a ponytail. As her fingers tugged at the hairband, they shook, and her whole body shook. It felt as though she had a million fire ants crawling under her skin and setting her alight, nerves thrumming so quickly, they were almost taut. She needed to get out.

Keys, knife, phone. One last look at her shitty apartment, and then she was out of the door, walking out into the Gotham night.

There was a certain peace to be found in the night. The world rolled under her feet as she walked through the city, the moonlight glinting off shut windows and casting long shadows on the ground. It was completely silent, except for the occasional hum of a car slipping by, or the sound of footsteps from people rushing from the clubs to their homes. And of course, the sounds of gunshots and screams. But those who operated in the night did so for the anonymity it gave, and masked their business in the silence of the night. So Gotham was quiet at night, like the calm before a storm.

Stephanie needed the quiet, needed the solitude it gave as she tried to wash away her anger, her bitterness, her impatience.

That was the reason she couldn’t sleep at night, and when she did, fitfully. Angry because her life was going off the rails and the cart had been falling for much too long. Bitter because no one seemed to think she could control the cart, if just given the chance. Impatient, because she knew there wasn’t long before she blew her top and did something she’d regret.

Go home, Spoiler.

You’re a liability in the field, Spoiler.

I’m not entertaining this right now, Spoiler.

Stephanie’s fists clenched in her pockets.

If she was being completely honest with herself, she knew she wasn’t great. Becoming Spoiler wasn’t a spur of the moment thing, and she had signed herself up to self defence classes and tried her hardest to improve. And she had improved. But when up against any of the bats, the difference between her and them seemed to grow every minute. Tim improved in leaps and bounds, whilst she was dragging her feet. Dick had tried to teach her, and she, ravenous to hone her skill, had gotten her ass handed to her enough times that she was beginning to get better, and then he got bored. Lazy? No.

Maybe he realised what she’d come to understand years ago. She would never amount to anything great. Not like Tim, not like Dick or Barbara.

But nothing stung more than Bruce, who’d picked her up as his nice, shiny new Robin, and she, bright-eyed and naive, let him build her up and then let him pull her apart. He was always frustrated with her, she noticed. He never waited for her to get better like Tim, always fed up with her slow progress. And then Tim came back, and just like that, she was gone.

For once in her life, it felt like she belonged, that she had a purpose, that she had a way to prove herself. And they’d taken that away from her without a second thought.

The cold was starting to really bother her, weighing down her shoulders. She tugged at the collar of her sweater, shivering. Stephanie glanced across the street and sighed. What was she doing here, really? What was the point of feeling bad for herself, licking her wounds and getting wound up internally only to do nothing. That’s all she was; all bark, no bite.

Fuck.

She was about to turn around, head back home and into her warm sheets, when she heard a scream.

No matter how sorry she was feeling, Stephanie got into the game to help people. She tugged her hood up and sped towards the sound.

Just around the corner- there. A crummy alleyway, with three people blocking the entrance. And she’d not taken any of her kit, any weapons except a knife, and was virtually defenceless.

Maybe they were right about her, she groaned, as she crouched down and tried to assess the situation within the alleyway.

There was a woman with flashing red hair, and a young man, babbling at her, lying on the ground. From between their legs, Stephanie watched as red heels clicked towards the man, and the glint of a blade under the light of the moon.

As she watched, a plan began to form in her head. As silently as she could in her beat-up air forces, she crept around the alleyway, and behind the building. At its feet sat a massive dumpster, and just above it, metal fire escape ladders. She clambered onto the dumpster’s hood and then swung herself up onto the ladder. It creaked unsteadily under her. Some fire escape, she thought, as she ran up towards the roof. Across from her was the alleyway.

Slowly, painfully quietly, she moved towards the opposite ledge, and watched as the red head kicked the man in the gut with her heel. He rolled over and threw up. Stephanie pulled out her blade.

“Alright boys, take out the trash,” the woman drawled with a heavy Boston accent. There was her chance.

Stephanie dropped from the roof straight onto the woman’s shoulders. 130 pounds slammed the woman into the concrete under her feet. Stephanie clung to the woman’s neck and flashed her blade by her throat. The three goons made an aborted move to stop her, but it was too late.

“Listen real close,” she said, ignoring the pain in her legs. “You three are going to get the fuck out of here, or your boss is gonna lose her ability to speak.”

The woman locked in her grip tried to claw at Stephanie’s hands, long manicured nails scratching and breaking the skin of her knuckles. Stephanie kicked the red-head’s knees out from under her. One of the men growled. “How are we supposed to trust that you won’t kill her as soon as we leave?”

Stephanie grinned. “Scout’s honour. Now, scram.”

They stared at their boss, who had apparently given up writhing. Slowly, they nodded, and backed out of the alleyway. Stephanie’s shoulders slumped, and she breathed a low sigh of release.

And then three gunshots rang out. Stephanie raised her elbow and slammed it into the woman’s neck, and dumped her unconscious body. She sped out of the alleyway, and stared in horror at three corpses. Blood poured sluggishly from between their eyes.

Bullseye, each one.

“Hey blondie!” Stephanie snapped her head upwards, and narrowed her eyes. Red Hood watched her, completely still.

She groaned. Of-fucking-course. She should have never left her house.

He dropped to the ground, and leaned against the wall, not even sparing a glance at his victims. “Normally, I’d tell you off for getting involved in a very dangerous situation. But,” he craned his neck and watched as the young man scrambled out of the alleyway, eyes wide and scared. He stopped to nod at Stephanie. Their eyes locked, and his look told her everything he wanted to say but couldn’t. And then he sped off into the night.

“...But. You handled yourself pretty well out there. I loved the threats. Very effective.”

Stephanie tore her eyes away from the corpses, and the slowly spreading pool of blood inching towards her converse. Her stomach churned, and the sudden urge to get as far away from the slowly cooling bodies at her feet began to build in her lungs. It was a reminder that the person in front of her was much more dangerous than all of the goons combined. “You killed them. You didn’t have to.”

“No, I didn’t have to. But if I didn’t, they would have killed many more, and eventually that man you just saved. Wanna know who that woman was?”

Did it matter though? Hood seemed impatient to prove himself right, and spoke.

“That charming piece of work is the daughter of crime boss Valdoni, chasing after those who owe her mother debts they can’t pay back. Wanted in 18 different states for first degree murder. That reminds me,” Hood said. He stalked into the alleyway. Stephanie knew she should’ve stopped him, but she just watched as he leveled his gun and shot her in the temple. “There. I ‘took the trash out’ lady.”

Stephanie stared. Her hands began trembling. Her mouth felt dry, her tongue stuck to its roof. He took notice. She could almost hear him frowning under his helmet. “You should really go home. This must have been pretty traumatic. Sorry.”

She just kept staring. Was that worry? Or pity? Her fists clenched.

“Okay, officially creeped out. Do you have a place I can drop you off at? Family, friends?” She shook her head out. “Alright…” he said slowly.

Stephanie opened her mouth, and cleared her throat. “Uhm. Thank you for your help. I can make it home fine.” She barely avoided stuttering. “Thanks,” she repeated, dumbly.

And she fled, back into the street and back home.

About six minutes later, she was dragging herself up the staircase of her apartment block, legs like jelly. Breaths coming quick and shallow, she fumbled with her keys. They shook so violently that she couldn’t slot in the key. Frustrated, tired, and chest tightening like a vice, she slammed the door hard, and then forced the key in, turning it and falling onto the carpet of her apartment.

As she lay on the floor, face wet with tears, she thought back to Hood. She thought about how she watched him kill four people without so much as a ‘stop’. She let it happen.

What happened to helping people? What happened to allowing the system to judge?

Why didn’t she move? Why didn’t she stop him?

What the hell was wrong with her?

She could barely breathe now. Her fingers ran over the softness of her carpet. Her nails dug into it, clinging onto the material like it was like her last thread.

It took a few minutes, but she managed to slow down her breathing enough to get up and drag herself into bed.

She didn’t get a single minute of sleep.

 

It was late again, or arguably very early, and Spoiler was on the prowl. It had been two days since she’d met Hood, and she was currently repeating the same mistake. She was spying on him.

The stupidity of it all was not lost on Stephanie, who, after jumping between two buildings about 20 seconds after Hood did, was mourning the loss of her critical thinking skills.

But something about Hood bothered her. He was a cold blooded killer, extremely well trained and dangerous, and a complete enigma. But, it almost seemed like he cared, and call her optimistic, but a crime boss that offered to escort someone on the brink of a panic attack home was definitely someone she would be intrigued by.

Then she thought of the bodies, remembered the way Hood’s boots splashed through the blood to get closer to her, and guilt and shame crashed over her, a tsunami of mixed emotions she couldn’t name. But she needed to know more, needed to understand this man. Maybe understanding him better, seeing just how lethal she was - it would comfort her in the sense that perhaps even if she had attempted to stop him, she too would have ended up dead.

Though, as she watched him go about his business, she couldn’t help but feel as though the Bats had misunderstood him. He was helping people - pretty brutally - giving them security and handing out food and blankets. He tracked down the worst of humanity: rapists, serial killers, you name it.

Stephanie tried to ignore the twisting in her gut as she just let him empty magazine after magazine into people’s heads.

She shadowed him for a few more hours, but as more time went by, the more she was asking herself: What am I doing here?

Logically, Stephanie had gotten what she wanted. She learned more about him, understood that she wasn’t in any real danger from him, and settled her conscience about the people who’d been killed on her watch because there was literally no way she could’ve stopped this behemoth of a man even if she tried.

But, an equally bad idea was beginning to take shape in her head, as she watched him fight like a demon, blending so many styles of martial arts that she was getting seriously envious.

So she kept following him, but made no real effort to mask herself any longer.

At around 1.24 am, she followed Hood across the rooftops of the bowery, until he suddenly disappeared from sight. She stopped moving and scanned the skyline, only to jerk violently when something triangle shaped sailed towards her. She snatched it out of the sky.

It was a paper airplane. Stephanie almost choked a laugh as she unfolded the page and found the words: Stop following me please!!! scrawled in black marker.

She pulled out her own pen and wrote: No <3, folded the paper back up and chucked it over to the next rooftop. Behind a chimney, a dark figure darted up and caught it mid-flight. A few seconds later, she heard him groan.

This is so stupid, she thought to herself, as she jumped into the night and slammed her boots on the roof of the next building. She inched slowly to the chimney and craned her neck around it. Hood was sitting cross legged on the floor, staring back at her.

“Blondie,” he drawled. Stephanie stiffened. “I thought I told you to go home.”

She scowled. “How did you-”

“How do I know who you are? Because, contrary to what you lot seem to think, a mask absolutely sucks ass at concealing secret identities.” Hood sighed, and stood up. He towered over her. “What do you want?”

Stephanie smiled tightly. “I want you to train me.”

Hood scoffed and pushed past her. “Dream on.”

“Come on, Hood. Just a few moves, I could really use the help.”

Hood rounded on her and grabbed her arm. She shrunk away from him. “Doesn’t Daddy Bats teach you kids how to survive?”

Stephanie’s nostrils flared. “He’s not my dad-”

“You run with him, you’re with him. And I thought I made it crystal clear,” his voice dropped dangerously low. “I want no Bats in my territory.”

“I used to run with him. But he wants nothing to do with me, and I want nothing to do with him. And I still wanna help people, but I can’t. I know I’m weak, I know I’m not good enough-”

“You handled yourself just fine the other night.”

“But if you just gave me a few pointers, I could help people-”

“It’s not gonna happen!” Hood exploded. “So drop it!”

Stephanie trembled with anger. “Why the fuck are you getting mad at me? I just wanted your help, but I can see now that it’s not gonna happen.” Frustrated tears sprung up in the corners of her eyes, and she blinked fiercely. She refused to give Hood the satisfaction of knowing he got a reaction out of her.

Hood looked at her, shoulders square. “I’m not in the business of training child soldiers.” Then, his shoulders slumped, and his voice softened. “Sorry kid.” And then he walked away.

Stephanie watched him leave, her resolve set. She was going to make him teach her, one way or another.

 

Tim once told her that her best weapon in the field was being the most annoying individual anyone had ever had the misfortune of meeting. He was right, of course, but she still decked him for that.

But now she was using it to her advantage.

And definitely Hood’s advantage, because if it wasn’t for her yelling, “Behind you!” he would have absolutely been shivved in the back.

But she did yell, and now he was quite annoyed at her. “Get the hell outta here!” He yelled back, as he locked the man’s arms and punched their knife out of their hands. Stephanie did not get the hell outta there, but stayed to watch as Hood grabbed the man by his hair and lifted him off the ground. “Where’s Mask’s shipment?”

The man spat onto Hood’s shiny red helmet. Stephanie cringed. Gross.

“Alright,” Hood said, brightly, and slugged him across the face. “Let’s try this again. Where’s the shipment?”

The man grinned with a bloody smile.

Stephanie dropped from her vantage point and slunk behind Hood, who waved her away with a distracted hand. She pushed past him, unbothered. “Hey little man!” She smiled. From her belt, she pulled out a wickedly sharp blade and tapped his cheek with it. “Wanna tell me and the big bad Hoodie where the shipment is, and we'll let you go on your merry way.”

The man shook his head and laughed sharply. “What a fuckin’ joke. If I talk, my boss murders me. If I don’t talk, he’ll kill me, and if I do, he’ll kill me anyway,” he spat, jerking his chin towards Hood. To his credit, Hood just nodded. Stephanie could’ve sworn she heard him say, ‘He’s got a point.’

“He won’t, I promise.” Stephanie looked at him pointedly. She heard him sigh, and then agree. “See? So, where’s the shipment?”

“East Bowery.”

“Time, day?”

The man scowled. “Midnight, two days from now.”

“Thank you,” Stephanie smiled. She put her knife away. “Now scram.” Hurriedly, he darted past them and back into the night.

Hood rounded on her. “What the fuck are you doing here,” he said, flatly. It wasn’t a question, really.

“Helping you, duh. You’re welcome, by the way. If it wasn’t for me, you’d be bleeding out.”

“I really appreciate your help,” he drawled. “But I thought I told you to leave me alone.”

Stephanie scowled. “You can’t control what I do and don’t do.”

“I think you’ll find that this is my turf, and that I can very well shoot you for it. I think I’ve made it crystal clear: No Bats in Crime Alley.”

“I’m not a Bat.”

“Oh right, you don’t have that obnoxious emblem plastered across your chest. But all those moves, that paranoia, that disregard for boundaries? That’s all learned- though, I’m beginning to sense a theme. For someone trained by the bats-” She tensed. “-You really don’t behave like one.”

He stalked around her, craning his head at her as he did. “You act like there’s no line you won’t cross, like you almost want them to try and defy you. You’re hungry to prove yourself, aren’t you?”

Stephanie scoffed. “I get the job done.”

“So do I. But something about you is wrong, twisted. I wonder, what must have happened to you to get this off the rails? Why you not flying with the bats, Blondie? Why’d you get left behind?”

Off the rails. Off the rails. Anger boiled in her gut.

“Must have been something really crappy to end up like this. Vicious, not at all the paragon of goodness that the Bat loves to be. Where did they go wrong?”

Stephanie’s nails dug into her palms, little half-moons breaking skin and cutting deep, deep.

“Always following around the most ruthless crime boss in the city. Begging to be taught to fight, to hurt. Little Miss Rebel, huh?”

“Don’t act like you know me.”

Hood looked at her. “You don’t even know yourself.”

“I’m not like you, I’m not-”

“What? Violent? Crazy, off the rails, ruthless?”

“I’m not a criminal!” she exploded.

Hood nodded, sarcastically. “Right, a criminal. Newsflash Blondie! Vigilantism is a crime. At least I’ve got my shit together, at least I don’t beg a known murderer to ‘pretty please train me, please, just one chance.’”

Stephanie stepped forward and shoved him, hard. “You want to talk, big guy? About being such an evil, cruel crime boss? It’s a joke. You’re not some hot shot mastermind, you’re just a purposeless asshole who wants to help but only knows how to lash out at the world. Giving out blankets one minute and then shooting the next man who looks at you wrong doesn’t make you complicated, it makes you psychotic.” She poked his chest. “Don’t presume you know me so well. Because you're not looking so hot either, fucker.”

“If you hate me so much,” he hissed. “Then why don’t you just fuck off and stop bothering me. I don’t want your help, I don’t need your help. All you do is put yourself in danger, talk a big game, and amount to nothing.”

Did she amount to nothing? She glared at him, frustration building up in her blurring her vision. “I’m just trying to help.”

“Well, you’re doing an absolutely fantastic job of it right now, so don’t let me stop you.”

And then it was there again, a hundred fire ants moving alive under her skin, pinching her nerves and setting her whole body on fire, forcing the air around her head into a solid block, choking her lungs. Her breathing was coming quick and shallow now.

“But don’t let me catch you anywhere near me again,” he spat, and stalked out of the alley.

Stephanie couldn’t breathe, and couldn’t stop breathing. A loud, high, painfully high note played in her airs, piercing her eardrums and increasing in pitch every second, ringing and ringing and ringing, and then she was falling, completely detached and yet suffocated by the exhaustive nature of all her senses, clambering for attention.

She keeled over.

Footsteps rang in the alleyway, and suddenly warm hands were on her face, pulling her gaze up to theirs. A light flashed and blinded her eyes, and a steady grip guided her to a sitting position. She shook violently.

“-Blondie, Blondie! Hey, hey, you’re alright. Come on now, stay with me.”

The walls were closing in now. Terror coursed through her, white hot pain digging into her brain, but the walls were getting closer and closer and she was about to be crushed again, oh God not again-

“Five things you can see, Blondie. Come on, what can you see.”

Blindly, Stephanie threw out an arm. Dull surprise and relief flooded her as a warm grip held onto her hand. “Your hand,” she croaked.

“What else,” they coaxed.

“The ground… glass bottle, wall, my boots.”

“What can you touch?”

“Concrete,” she whispered, casting her hands over the harsh floor. “And my arms.” She was cold, she realised.

“Nearly there. What can you hear?”

Stephanie breathed deeply. “Me breathing. Your ugly ass voice.”

“And smell?”

“Smoke.”

“And taste?”

She’d bitten her tongue. “Blood.” Stephanie slumped, and her fingers itched to claw onto something and drag herself back.

Hood sat back. “There you go.” He sounded uncomfortable. “Are you alright?” Stephanie shrugged. She didn’t feel like speaking. “For what it’s worth, I’m sorry. You didn’t deserve me giving you shit. None of it was true.”

But it was true, otherwise he wouldn’t have said it. And deep down, she knew it was true, too. She was getting uglier, meaner, more violent. Stephanie struggled to look at herself in the mirror now, because she didn’t like what she saw.

Bruce was right about her. She couldn’t be a good Robin. She couldn’t be a good hero. She could barely be a decent person.

Stephanie dragged her gaze to his. “It’s okay.” She got up, unsteadily. Hood’s arms shot out to balance her, but she waved them away. “I’m fine. Really, not gonna shatter. I’m going home.” She stared at him, critically. “Don’t follow me.”

“Alright,” he sighed. “Just don’t die on the way home. I can’t have that on my conscience.”

“Well, you know I can’t do that to your poor conscience,” she smirked, though she didn’t feel in the mood to sass anyone. But it made Hood feel better, she noticed, as his stance relaxed a bit. “Well, bye then.”

It was either really late or way too early, but Stephanie always managed to drag herself home, ignoring the pounding in her chest.

 

Momma definitely raised a dumbass, but she didn’t raise no quitter. Stephanie really wished she did, though.

She didn’t quit the classes she hated, because she needed the credit. She didn’t quit her crappy part-time job, because she was broke and really needed the money.

And she didn’t quit following around Hood because…

Well, she hadn’t figured that part out yet, but as soon as she did, she would convince her mind that it wasn’t all bullshit.

But today she had a reason. The shipment was coming in today, and she was curious to see what Hood was going to do with it. So at 11.30, she pulled on her suit and dragged herself out into the cold night, headed for the Bowery.

It became evident to her very quickly that there was really only one place the drop could happen: the enormous auspicious warehouse that looked far too active for midnight.

Sure enough, about four heavily armoured trucks pulled up outside the building, and workers swarmed them, pulling out crates and carrying them inside. A tall, extremely buff bald man stalked out of one of the trucks and began yelling at the workers. After a few seconds, they started to move a lot quicker, and the bald man slapped one of the empty trucks, and then watched it drive off again. The cycle repeated three more times, until all the crates were moved indoors. But, curiously, there was still no sign of Hood.

Stephanie set down her binoculars for a moment, and breathed into her hands, and then rubbed them together fiercely. Her thermos sat next to her, steaming in the extreme cold of the night. She really needed Hood to get here. She was sick of waiting. And then, in the corner of her eye, she noticed something glinting red under the moonlight. Bingo.

Taking one last swig of her boiling coffee, Stephanie snatched up her binoculars, tucked them into her belt, and swung off the building, grappling hook in hand. She was only a few hundred yards away from the warehouse when the sound of gunfire rang through the night. Silently, she crept into the building through an open window, and dropped soundlessly onto the floor, crouched in the shadows.

Hood was standing in the centre, gun pointed to the ceiling. Glass crashed to his feet noisily as he shot up the ceiling. Then, when the magazine was empty, he projected his voice to the workers who were all clinging to each other, terrified.

“I have a bomb,” he yelled. “And unless you wanna get blown up with this merch, I suggest you get out of here.”

The bald man from before stepped forward and aimed for Hood, who simply stepped away. It wasn’t hard to avoid the gunfire; the man had a horrible aim. Instead, Hood levelled his own gun and shot the man point blank: a bullet to both knees, to the head and the heart. The man gurgled, and then slumped to the floor.

Silence settled in the warehouse as the workers looked at the corpse in disbelief. A few moments later, someone screamed, and they all forced their way to the doors.

Stephanie stepped out of the shadows and waved.

“Oh, blondie!” His voice was a little rough. “Somehow, I expected you to be here.”

“Couldn’t let you have all the excitement,” she grinned, a little wobbly. She prayed her voice wasn’t trembling like the imagined it was. If Hood noticed, he said nothing.

“Wanna blow up some shit with me?”

Cautiously, she moved closer. “What is it?”

“A new hallucinogenic. Extremely addictive, of course, and also very damaging. Take it too often in too small a timeframe, and you’re dead within a few days.” Hood leaned his head forward. “So?”

Stephanie grinned sharply. “Hell yes.”

“Alright, just gimme a hand with this.” He held out a mess of wires with a tiny digital timer. “Don’t worry, it’s not armed. Well, not yet.”

She took it. Her fingers stuck to the adhesive on the underside. “Where d’ya want it?”

Hood pointed at a pile of crates on the opposite side of the warehouse. She approached it and stuck down the bomb firmly on the wood of one of the boxes. “What now?” she yelled.

“Get over here!” She jogged over, and laughed appreciatively at the big ugly sign Hood had stuck to the floor. It wrote, With my infinite love, Your most loathed rival. Red Hood! <3

“Do you know how crazy I sound when I try to find someone who supplies fire-proof paper?” Hood stood back. “Worth it though. I don’t even know if Mask’ll find it, but on the off chance that he does…” He looked at her. “The bombs won’t arm unless I press this very handy red button. Each bomb has a thirty second timer. So we gotta get to a safe enough distance before.”

Feeling more alive than she had in the past week, Stephanie smirked. “Race you,” and she took off.

Running through the Bowery was freeing, and picking the most obnoxiously tall building to scale was a fun challenge. Hood was hot on her heels, and his footsteps rang through the flight of stairs as they raced up the high-rise.

A few minutes later, Stephanie slammed open the door at the top of the stairs and stumbled out onto the roof. The biting cold of the night clung to her red cheeks and nose. Hood followed her soon after, gasping. “Man, I really gotta hit the treadmill again,” he groaned. He sat on the floor and waved the remote at Stephanie, who snatched it out of his hands. She pressed the button and ran towards the roof ledge, bracing her elbows against the brick wall.

“Hey, Hood! You can’t miss it now, old man. Get your ass off the floor.”

He crawled over dramatically and hauled himself upright, standing close by her as they watched the warehouse from afar. A few seconds later, a loud boom exploded the silence and a flashing light of hot white, bright red, orange and yellow bled through the darkness. Rubble caught fire and floated through the air. The heat seemed to reach them, even here, even so far away from their explosion. “That was so worth it,” Stephanie breathed.

“Nothing quite like reckless property damage to build back up the spirit,” Hood deadpanned.

Stephanie turned towards him. “Thanks,” she said, genuinely. “Really.”

Hood looked surprised, and tilted his head sideways. “No problem… Blondie?”

She stuck out her hand. “Spoiler.” She hesitated. “Stephanie.”

“Hood. Honoured to make your acquaintance, Spoiler-Stephanie.” She grinned back, and tried to push down her disappointment. He wasn’t like her. He mattered. His identity was worth something in these streets.

It was okay. It had to be.

Chapter Text

“Your form is awful.”

Stephanie ignored him, and kicked out furiously. The man avoided this easily, and swung with his left arm. She dodged, barely.

“Are you even trying?”

Resolute, she kept ignoring him, and kept getting her ass handed to her. She almost took an elbow to the nose, and did not avoid a knee to the gut.

He sighed from above. “This is getting sad.”

Stephanie growled, and grabbed the man, twisted her hip into him and flipped him over, shoving him to the floor. She slammed her knee against his neck and pinned his arms down with her feet. A swift elbow to the back of the neck, and he was out for the count. She got up, a bit sore and a bit more bruised.

Clapping. “There we go.”

Hood sat on a low ledge, swinging his legs idiotically. Stephanie wanted to deck him. “You fight like a slugger, but you seem to have forgotten that you weigh about 110 pounds soaking wet.”

He watched as she tugged zip ties around the man’s wrists, and texted an anonymous tip to the cops. “You can’t fight brute force with brute force when your arms are noodles. One of these days, you’re gonna meet someone who’ll throw you around like a ragdoll.”

“Comforting,” she snarked.

“I’m just saying,” he shrugged. “You gotta use their force against them. You're small and fast and your reflexes are sharp. So stop fighting like someone three weight classes above you.”

“I wasn’t taught any other way.”

“Well, that’s because Batman is a suck up asshole who thinks that he’s the chief opinion on everything-” She let him ramble about the Bat for a few moments, before arching an eyebrow. Because really, she got that he was a crime lord and everything, but this was just petty, just personal.

“You know, if it bothers you so much, you could just teach me.”

Hood rolled his shoulders. “Nah, I’ve got better things to do than teach squirts how to stay alive.”

“But enough time to watch them fail miserably?”

“One must find joys wherever one can- Ow!” The metal can she’d chucked at him could not have hurt at all, considering he was wearing a helmet, but Hood had a serious flair for the dramatics.

“You deserved that. Anyways, I gotta get home. I literally cannot bomb another exam or my GPA will find a way to crash even harder than it already has.”

Hood hummed sympathetically. “That bad?”

“Mrs Springethorpe called my Hamlet essay, quote: A disgrace to the study of literature.”

“Ouch.”

Stephanie checked all her pockets to make sure she wasn’t missing anything. What with her current estrangement, supplies were thin on the ground. She couldn’t risk losing anything. “Ouch indeed, my friend. I gotta get going, but don’t kill the guy when I leave.”

Hood thumped his fist against his chest. “I swear, ma’am.” He laughed as he dodged another can. Then, his voice softened. “How are you doing, Steph?”

About as subtle as a brick, she thought, but a shiver ran up her spine, and suddenly she didn’t feel so steady on her feet. “Great, I feel great.”

“You sure? Cause you don’t look so good-”

“I’m fine,” she said, firmly. “Really.”

“Alright then,” he said. He sounded unsure from behind the helmet.

“Don’t worry about me, Hoodie. Ciao!” And she made her way home.

After blowing up the warehouse together, a tentative sort of bond had been forged between the two. They’d move from complete hostility to begrudging friends, and Stephanie was slowly but surely gunning for his direction. If she stuck around long enough, she was pretty much certain that she could annoy him into training her.

But she was going out later and later each night, and it was starting to become very difficult to balance both lives. She didn’t have the luxury of waking up at midday. At 7am, her alarm went off. By 7.50, she had to have showered, eaten, packed and been out the door for classes at 8.30.

Every day, until mid afternoon. She would then get home, crash out for an hour, and then get up, get her schoolwork done, clean, cook, eat and then get ready to go out again.

And that was without the… newest development in her life.

School was difficult for Stephanie. She was smart, she knew it, but she was also slightly ADHD, and it was hard to focus in class and even harder to maintain that focus through exams.

English was whooping her ass consistently, and her teacher had suddenly decided to up the amount of papers she made them sit. Stephanie was running out of breathing time, and the cracks were starting to show.

Today wasn’t any better: she’d forgotten her revision notes at home and had to scroll ferociously through her phone for any digital notes she might have made the previous year. And then the exam paper dropped on her desk, and her mind began to cloud, and the words were lifting off the page and running from her eyes. She read every sentence thrice just to take in the meaning, and time was ticking.

She glanced up at the clock on the wall, hand slowly inching further and further away from her. Okay, this was fine, she just needed to ground herself. She took a deep breath, and then another, and then stared at her paper again. Frustrated tears started brimming in her eyes, making her vision worse, and setting her off again.

She was gonna throw up.

Stephanie raised a hand and jerked her head towards the door. Her teacher must have seen her desperation, because she waved a vague hand, and then Stephanie was out the door.

Under her feet, the green lino floors seemed to get steeper and narrower, trapping her in a too-small corridor. She braced her hand against the wall to her right and stumbled into the bathrooms, and then into a cubicle, slamming the door shut behind her.

Sitting on the plastic of the toilet lid, curled up with her knees just under her chin, Stephanie tried to ignore how much she felt like rock-bottom. She squeezed her eyes shut.

“Hey, you’re alright. Come on, stay with me now.”

Of course he was in her head.

Five things she could see, four things she could touch, three things she could hear, two things she could smell and something she could taste.

One limb at a time, she dragged herself out of her cocoon and stood up again. She unlocked the cubicle door and splashed her face with water. With heaving breaths, she looked up at the mirror in front of her.

Her skin was paler than normal, white as a sheet. Her hair was stringy and damp with water. Dark bags hung under her unfocused and bloodshot eyes.

You’re really not taking care of yourself, huh Steph?

She wanted to see him.

Grabbing a few paper towels, she walked back to class, yanked her bag from her chair, and stalked out of class. She’d resit the paper later.

After ‘accidently’ bumping into him during the night, Stephanie had narrowed down his base of operations to the area around Crime Alley. But it was daytime, and early in the morning. She had no idea if he’d even be awake right now, but she had to try.

Crime Alley felt a lot more dangerous during the day. Logically, she knew that night time was when all the shady business happened, but the light of day let her see the impact it left on the area. Men with long pasts but little futures leered at her, homeless kids scurried around playing games with friends and hiding their emaciated forms. Women smoked cigarettes and counted the money discreetly, before filtering into the buildings around them. Smog hung thick in the air, along with desperation, hopelessness and misery.

Stephanie fit right in. She shoved her hands in her pockets as she shivered, glancing around every block before walking through to make sure she wouldn’t get jumped. About twenty minutes later, she was about to give up when she collided with Hood, smacking her head into his chest and then into his helmet as he looked down in worry.

“Steph?”

Relief flooded through her. “Oh my God, Hood.”

He looked at her properly, and then waved a hand. “Alright, come with me.”

Growing up in the early 2000s put a big emphasis on not following bad men into their homes. Stephanie must have been in the kindergarten eating dirt on the field or something.

She followed him through the sketchiest of alleyways, and through the sketchiest flight of stairs ever, repeating a mantra of ‘this is a bad idea, this is a bad idea,’ but did not make a move to turn back.

Hood reached the top of the stairs, unlocked the door, and swung it open. “Home sweet home,” he bowed. Stephanie walked in.

She gave a low whistle. “You’ve been holding out on me, man.” His apartment was warm and cosy and tastefully decorated, nothing like the den of horrors she imagined. As long as she ignored the far wall that had so many firearms it would’ve put a retired white Texan to shame.

“Make yourself at home,” he said. “I’m gonna go grab some files.”

She wandered about his home, peeking at the spines of the books on a suffering shelf. He must have had about a hundred books on three separate shelves. “What a nerd,” she chuckled.

In the corner of the living room, she spied a well-loved guitar, and smiled a little to herself.

The sofa was calling her name, and she collapsed on it, dumping her school bag at her feet and letting out a long groan. Hood walked back in, helmet still on. “So, what’s up?”

She ignored the question. “You know, you really shouldn’t bring the enemy to your super secret lair.”

“You’re the enemy?”

“I mean, rule number one of super villain-ing is to maintain complete secrecy. Which you’re failing at completely, by the way.”

“Okay, but consider this: what if I brought you here to kill you?”

Stephanie pulled out her phone and waved it at him. “In that case, I’m calling a trusted adult.”

“Brat,” he huffed, and dumped an armful of files on the ground.

She leaned forward on the sofa. “What are you up to?”

Hood sat on the floor, cross legged. She joined him, running her fingers on his fluffy carpet. “Remember that new drug we blew up? Well, I was wondering how Black Mask was able to move so much of it all at once. Obviously, Gotham’s corrupt, but that many vehicles carrying that much product would’ve been flagged down by someone. Unless,” he sifted through his files. “Someone gave them the green light.”

“So you think they’ve got someone on the inside?”

Hood nodded. “I’ve gathered together information on all of Mask’s dealings in the past month. I don’t know what I’m looking for, but I know the answer’s here.”

Well, Stephanie could use a break. “Okay, well, where should I start?”

“You wanna help?” He asked, almost unsure.

“If it stops more drugs sweeping my neighbourhoods, then fuck yeah.”

“Well, go through the files one by one and drop them in a pile so we know what we’ve covered.”

It was almost peaceful, going back to detective work. Ever since she’d been… cut off, she hadn’t had the resources to do any actual investigative work. It was more breaking up fights and stopping muggings.

Mask had some pretty dirty dealings, and as she read more and more of the files, she shivered at just how far his reach stretched across Gotham City. She tried not to gag when looking at some crime scene photos, and reading the affiliated police report. Stephanie didn’t even want to know how Hood got a hold of these.

“Hey, look at this,” she said, shifting five separate cases in her hands. “A string of B&Es, all highrises in the financial district. Three of the victims were killed, but two were left alone, badly shaken up.”

“So?” Hood prompted.

“Well,” Stephanie paused. “Nothing was taken from their apartments. These people are filthy rich, but nothing was touched. All of them were politicians.”

Hood pulled out a tablet and typed in their names. “Look. All from the same party. The reds.”

“But why? Why kill only them?” An idea struck her. “When’s the next election cycle?”

“In… the next three weeks.”

 

“And what are the polls looking like?”

“Like the reds are gonna win.”

Hood and Stephanie stared at each other, and then began writing things down furiously.

“Hey, Hood, look. This is the speech the Red Rep gave at City Hall two weeks ago. A promise to crack down on drugs moving into the city.”

“And if the Reds win the next election cycle, Mask’s drug operations suddenly look a whole lot more precarious.”

Stephanie’s eyes glanced over the crime scene photos, and then showed them to Hood. “Killing off their candidates puts the party in a mess, and gives the Blues the leg up they need to win.”

They were getting somewhere. “So, that means Mask controls one or more of the Blue Reps. But who?”

After about ten minutes, they had suspect sheets written up for four different politicians. Hood leaned back and flexed his hands. “This is pretty good detective work, Miss Spoiler.”

“What can I say, I’m just effortlessly good at everything.”

“I’ll contact my informants, see if I can’t get some information.”

Stephanie wiggled back onto his couch and stretched out, kicking her feet in front of her. She ignored his heavy gaze on her.

“How come you’re not in college?” He asked, tentatively.

“Didn’t feel like failing another test.”

Hood was silent for a moment. “You know, there’s medication to deal with your symptoms.”

“I don’t need medication. I’m fine,” she smiled, tightly.

“I know I’m pushing, but you don’t-”

“You are pushing,” she said firmly. Then, her shoulders sagged. “Sorry.”

“No, I’m sorry.” Uncomfortable silence settled between them. “Look, if you need someone to talk to or want help from, you know where I live now.”

Stephanie glanced at his bookcase, and then looked at him. “Well, actually. How well do you know the play Hamlet?”

Hood laughed. “Well, I can definitely help you with that. You got any of your essays on hand? Any questions you don’t know how to respond to?”

And for the next hour, he gently guided her through her homework, the essay she should have been writing that morning, and general tips on how to hit all the objectives for the essay.

“You know, you would’ve made a pretty good English professor,” she teased.

Hood fell silent. “Well, can’t always have what we want,” he said, voice flat.

“I mean, no one knows who you are, you could still become-”

“No.” Hood turned away from her. “Drop it.”

“Well,” she said, softly. “Thanks for your help, really.” She picked up her bag and walked to the door. “Let me know when you find more intel. Maybe I could help?”

“Sure,” he said. But he didn’t watch her leave, and she couldn’t ignore the ringing in her ears, or the shame drowning her lungs.

 

The next night, Hood came to find her. “Hey blondie! Guess what I found?”

She ran across to him. “No way, you found our guy already?”

“You bet I did. His name is Frank Rinkstein, 58 years old, and suspiciously buddy-buddy with our friend Black Mask.”

Stephanie put her hands on her hips. “What’s the game plan?”

“Well, I know where he lives. And I know that this is much bigger than just him, so I say we pay him a visit and get to know more about their little arrangement.”

“We?”

Hood shrugged. “You helped me find this guy. Come on, I need to go fetch a couple things from my place and then we’ll go.” He looked at her critically. “And you could probably use a gun.”

Stephanie spluttered.

A little while later, Hood was checking his rifle and slotting in new magazines. He swung it over his shoulder, and his pockets with rounds for his shotgun.

Slightly in awe at all his weapons, she trailed her fingers over his extensive blade collection. Hood turned towards her. “Take anything you want, but don’t lose your fingers on them.”

“Anything?”

Hood laughed. “Don’t sound too excited, you maniac. I’d suggest you take a gun.”

She was about to say reflexively, “I don’t use guns.” Instead, she just muttered, “I’ll pass. Only shot BBs before.”

“Well, it’s pretty much the same thing.”

“I mean, all we’re doing is questioning the guy, right? Getting a signed confession?”

“Yeah,” he said, distractedly. “I don’t expect any trouble. Rich people like him are too arrogant for proper security detail.”

“If you say so…” she trailed off. She pocketed a knife and a set of cuffs, and moved by the door. “Where does he live?”

“In the diamond district.”

She lurched. “That’s quite the trek, isn’t it?”

“That’s why I have my bike.”

“You have a bike?”

 

And then they were speeding south, Stephanie clinging to the sides of the bike, laughing wildly. “I cannot believe you’ve got a bike, I’m so jealous.”

“I hate walking,” he yelled back. “Do you want one?”

“No fuckin’ way, Hood, I can’t afford a bike. I’m broke.” But she had to admit, the wind whipping her hair and forcing her backwards as they sped through the city felt amazing.

“Typical college student,” he laughed.

They pulled up outside a few highrises, and Stephanie slid off the bike a little unsteadily. Hood laughed at her. “14th floor,” he said. “But we’re going through the back window.” He pointed up to the top ledge. Stephanie groaned.

She pulled out her grappling hook and aimed for the metal fire escape ladders. Her boots landed heavily on the steps, and she looked over at the ground where Hood was standing, a bit annoyed. She threw up her hands in a, ‘what-can-you-do?’ gesture, and started climbing.

It took a while, but they made it to the 14th floor. Hood peered into one of the windows and craned his head, and then pulled back. He nodded, and then pulled out a crowbar and eased the window open. She caught the underside of it and pulled it up as quietly as possible, and held it like that as Hood slipped inside. He caught it from her and helped her through.

They stood on plush carpeted floors. A voice bellowed from a far room.

“Don’t give me that shit, Sionis. You promised I’d make it to the top spot. Have you looked at the rankings these days? I’m fourth- No, of course it isn’t good enough.” Rinkstein spluttered. “You kidding me? My campaign is fine, no thanks to you. What if Vale sticks her nose in my business and starts printing stuff we won’t like?”

He fell silent for a moment. “Yeah, well… Tell one of your men to come drop off the cash at Joey’s Emporium. Business expenditure. Yeah. Okay, talk to you later.”

Stephanie mouthed, ‘money laundering front?’ Hood shrugged, and then motioned with two fingers forward. They advanced into the apartment, and towards the far door, where light was spilling from the bottom.

Hood pulled on the handle gently, and pushed the door open slowly.

Rinkstein had his back to them, staring out of his full-length windows, watching over Gotham City like he owned it. Stephanie hated this guy on principle. She turned to look at Hood, who had trained his gun on Rinkstein’s legs. He thumbed the hammer and pulled the trigger. With a shout, the man fell to his knees, and Stephanie ran forward and slammed a hand over his mouth. He writhed under her grip, but she held tight, watching as Hood grabbed a chair and settled it into the middle of the room. She dragged him, kicking and screaming, onto the chair, and shoved a gag into his mouth as Hood cuffed him to the arm rests.

They stood back and watched Rinkstein look at them with a mix of fear and anger. Hood tilted his head towards Stephanie, who moved forward and pulled the gag from his mouth. The man opened his mouth, but Hood shushed him.

“Buh-buh-buh.” He crouched down and looked at Rinkstein. “My name is Red Hood, and that back there is the Spoiler!”

“Sup.”

“And we have a few questions for you. In fact, answer them honestly and that bullet wound in your leg will be the only thing you have to deal with tonight. Capiche?”

Rinkstein sneered. “No I don’t ‘Capiche’. You can’t threaten me. Do you know who I have backing me?”

 

“I’m pretty certain.”

“It’s the Black Mask, so how about you let me go before he busts in here and kills you and the kid.”

Stephanie stepped forward. “Well, thanks for admitting your dirty dealings. I wonder what the front page will look like tomorrow when Vicki Vale gets her hands on this?” She gripped him by the shoulder and forced him back. “Make no mistake. This isn’t a friendly conversation. We know that you’re helping Black Mask funnel drugs in exchange for money and political leverage. We also know you're an accessory to murder. Along with suspected money laundering, you’re looking at a nice life sentence in Blackgate, no?”

Rinkstein’s shoulders slumped. “What do you want?”

“Who else is working with Black Mask?”

“Just me.”

Hood craned his neck. “Loyalty? Didn’t expect such a virtue in someone like you. Or maybe,” Hood whispered. “You’re scared. Selling out your friends is a difficult thing to do but rest assured.”

Rinkstein’s eyes widened as Hood brought his face dangerously close. “I can do much, much worse.”

The man opened his mouth and began to yell. Stephanie, a split second too late, shoved the gag back in his mouth. From under their feet, they heard shouts. Hood swore, and shot Rinkstein in the head.

Stephanie watched as the chair toppled over and Rinkstein stared at her, eyes unseeing, blood flooding his face and the plush carpet. “Hood,” she said horrified. “What have you done?”

“Really don’t have time to do this right now,” Hood growled, picking up a heavy ornament. He threw it at the large windows and pulled out his grappling hook. “Spoiler, we gotta go, now!”

“We could’ve gotten something from him, or at least called the police. We got a confession from him!”

“Our word means fuck-all in court and you know that. His guys are coming, Spoiler, so get a move on!”

Then, the door burst open, and about 7 men started shouting in the apartment. Stephanie ran for the window, and then stared down at the drop just in front of her feet.

“Go,” he shouted, and grabbed her waist. He fumbled with his grappling hook but it wasn’t working properly. Stephanie pulled away from him and unhooked her own, missing one of the men rushing into the room and pointing a gun at her.

Hood yelled and pushed her out of the way, and the bullet found its mark in his gut. He crumpled to the floor. “Oh my God,” she cried, and dragged Hood over to her. He looped an arm around her as she pulled them off the ledge.

Then they were falling, plummeting to the earth. Hood grabbed her gun and pulled the trigger, and the wire shot out and caught onto one of the lower ledges. The line went taut, and then jerked mid air, hanging about 20 feet from the ground. Slowly, they dropped to the ground.

Hood lay on the floor, gasping, hands dabbling at his wound. “Come on, Hood,” she pleaded, grabbing his arm and dragging it over her shoulder. She took his weight and forced him upwards, back onto their feet, staggering to his bike.

Blood splattered to the floor under them. Hood was weakening, barely able to move his legs. “Almost there,” she whispered. They got to the bike and she hoisted him on. But Hood was in no condition to drive.

She had driven a bike only once before, under the watchful eye of… Robin, who laughed at her fear when the bike lurched forward far too quickly.

But she had no choice. She swung her leg over the seat, grabbed Hood’s arms and wrapped them around her middle, and turned the key. The motor roared to life. Just before leaving, she forced one of Hood’s guns into his hands. “Listen to me. If anyone tries to come after us, shoot the hell outta them, okay?”

And then they sped off.

Where the bike ride had been invigorating and freeing, it now felt like the most stressful situation she’d ever been in. Hood’s grip on her kept weakening, and she was struggling to control the strength of the motor, with way too many close calls with lamp posts and drivers.

To make matters worse, now she had four bikes tailing her. “Hood,” she screamed, over the sound of the motor. Her words felt like they were being ripped away with the wind. “We got company!”

Even with a bullet to the gut, Hood had scary aim. He shot at one of the men, and their bikes swerved dangerously and collided with a lamp post, exploding into a ball of fire. The three other bikes suddenly weren’t catching up with her as quickly as they were before.

But they were going to reach them eventually. With a bit of added distance, Stephanie turned sharply into an alleyway and turned off the motor. Hood lifted his head to her, blearily, and watched as she tore her shirt and wrapped it tightly around his middle. “Apply pressure,” she said, and got back onto the bike. A few seconds later, three bikes zipped past. She waited a minute more, and then got back onto the road, safe in the knowledge that she wasn’t being tailed anymore.

She pulled up in front of Hood’s apartment block and helped him off the bike, stooping low so she could carry his weight on her shoulders. His crappy flat had no elevator, and he lived on the fifth floor. “I’m so sorry,” she whispered, and began carrying him up the flight of stairs. To his credit, Hood really tried to help her, dragging his feet up the steps, but he was getting heavier and weaker.

Stephanie cried out as she fell under his weight, slamming her chin into the floor. She grit her teeth and struggled back to her feet, pulling him back onto her and marching up the steps. “If you die on me after I did all this,” she winced. “I’ll kill you myself.”

Then, for the first time, she registered - He had jumped in front of the bullet for her. She almost sobbed.

Dipping her fingers into his jacket pocket, she fished out his keys and shoved the door open, pulling a near unconscious Hood with her. Gently, she laid him down on his sofa. “Where’s your med kit?” she asked.

He didn’t answer. The helmet wouldn’t let her see if he was even awake anymore. Stephanie got up and pushed open a door, entering into his kitchen. She dove under the sink and shoved cleaning products out of the way, but no med kit. Opening the next door to her right revealed his bedroom. It felt wrong to be there, like she was intruding on something private, but he could get mad at her for trespassing when he was conscious and alive. Another door gave way to the bathroom, where she found a fully stocked cupboard. She grabbed a bottle of disinfectant, a sterilised needle and some thread, some antibiotics, and a few rags.

She rushed back to his side, and stared at his helmet.

When she’d introduced herself to him, he didn’t offer up his name. She knew his identity was important to him, but then, so was his life. She couldn’t assess his state with a big ugly helmet covering his face.

Hesitantly, her hands went to the back of his head and clicked the first button she felt with her fingers. The helmet made an odd sound, like it was powering down, and then gave way. She tugged it off his head, and stared.

Hood was young, alarmingly so. He couldn't have been any more than three years older than her, with tanned skin and sweaty black hair. Ignoring his face, she thumbed his eyelids and opened them slightly. They were extremely unfocused. He was conscious, yes, but barely.

He groaned, and she snapped out of it, tearing at her makeshift bandages and then pulling off his jacket. The leather was lined with a thick, almost kevlar like material, and moving away his undershirt revealed the wound: the kevlar was pierced, yes, but it slowed down the bullet’s momentum significantly. Stephanie took a deep breath, and with tweezers, dipped into the wound and slowly pulled out the bullet. Hood gasped, hand darting out and grabbing her arm.

“It’s okay, Hood, it’s out,” she said, dropping the bullet onto his coffee table. She set the tweezers down and opened the bottle of disinfectant, pouring some onto a rag and wiping away the blood on his wound.

Almost done, she whispered to herself, trying to steady her hands. Stephanie picked up the needle and threaded it, and then punctured the skin by his wound. Slowly, painfully slowly, she stitched him up, fighting to keep herself present within her body when all her mind wanted to do was dissociate completely. It took seven stitches to close the wound, and they were by no means neat nor all the same size. She prayed that they held. With a clean rag, she wiped down the wound. Hood needed to take the antibiotics, but not on an empty stomach.

His fridge was well stocked, and a bowl of soup was covered with saran wrap. She took it out, shoved it in the microwave, and drummed her fingers impatiently as the microwave gave a low, steady hum. It pinged, and she took it out, along with a spoon, and returned to the living room.

“Hood,” she said, shaking him slightly. “You need to wake up, eat something. Take some antibiotics.”

Like a child, he shook his head, and his eyes squeezed shut. “Come on,” she begged. “Don’t make me fight you. Please.”

Groaning, he opened his eyes, focusing on her. “Steph?” He croaked.

She almost cried with relief. “There you go, sit up,” and she helped him get up. The bowl of steaming soup sat in her lap and she gave him spoonful after spoonful, until he couldn’t anymore. Then, she handed him a glass of water and two antibiotics, and watched as he swallowed them down with a grimace. He looked at her, miserable. “You gotta sleep now, okay?”

He closed his eyes, and Stephanie settled by him for a long, long night.

Chapter Text

The early afternoon brought a bright sun and a slight breeze, rustling the curtains and sending a current of air around the living room. Stephanie was waking up, eyes adjusting slowly to the light, when her vision was slowly blocked by someone’s face. They looked annoyed.

“Not today, satan,” she moaned, and turned over in her sleep.

“Nuh-uh,” the face said, and dragged her back. Reluctantly, she opened her eyes and froze. It was Hood… without the Hood, who was probably very livid that she’d taken it off without his consent. She scrambled upwards and backed away from the sofa.

“I’m sorry,” she rambled. “I didn’t want to take off your helmet but I wasn’t even sure you were alive and I’m so so sorry you got shot because of me and I’m sorry I questioned your judgement and I’m sorry you almost died and I’m sorry that I scratched up your bike-”

“Hey, hey! Steph! Look at me. It’s alright. I swear.” He paused. “Wait, you trashed my bike?”

Stephanie threw up her hands. “No?”

“Oh, you little shit,” he swore, and then tried to grab her, but let out a sharp hiss of pain, clutching his side. “Fuck, that hurts.”

“That reminds me, I need to check your stitches. Lie back,” she ordered. He undid the bandages and let her peer at his abdomen.

“What’s the diagnosis, doc?”

“You’re suffering from an acute case of dumbassery.” She arched an eyebrow. “It’s terminal.”

“I’ve always said I’m here for a good time, not a long time.”

 

Stephanie looked at the stitches properly. “They actually look… really good,” she said seriously. “It’s almost completely healed over. I could probably take them out now.” Hood stared back at her, expression inscrutable. “I’m no medical professional, but I’m pretty sure it shouldn’t be doing that.”

Hood pulled down his shirt. “I’ve always healed quickly- Don’t worry about it.” He rubbed his face roughly, and then his hand stopped. “Wait- Steph? Are you okay?”

“There’s no bullet in me, if that’s what you're asking.”

“Ugh- No, I mean, I don’t remember much from last night. How the hell did you get me home?”

“Painfully, but I can now drive a bike.” She saw that he was serious and drew in on herself. “You got shot and pretty much zoned out. I dragged us to your bike and then lost Rinkstein’s security. And then I pulled you up to your apartment and stitched you up.”

Hood sighed, and dropped his head between his knees. “I’m sorry you had to do all that.”

“Are you kidding me? It’s because I got you shot.”

“Yeah, but I should have never dragged you with me to a mission like that. I swear to you, I thought it was gonna be safe.” He glanced up at her. “Steph, wait, what’s wrong?”

Oh. She was crying. Why was she crying? “I couldn’t protect you,” she sobbed. “I know that you’re capable and shit but it’s just another cruel reminder that I just keep failing to save anyone, that I’m nothing but a liability.” She threw out her arms. “If I had shut him up quickly enough, if I’d have listened to you, if I was better trained and smarter, you wouldn’t have gotten shot, you wouldn’t have almost died of blood loss. If only I was as good as them they wouldn’t have-” Stephanie gasped. “And I’m so fucking tired of always failing, always being the reason people have to hang back or protect.”

Hood’s eyes were soft. “Hey, in the field, people get hurt. It’s part of the job description. And everyone messes up, but we don’t beat ourselves up about it. It’s a team effort.”

“Then why did I get kicked out? If we’re supposed to be patient with each other, then why did I get left behind?” Stephanie scrubbed her cheeks, furious with herself. “You don’t get it. You’re strong and smart and capable and independent, but I’m just some girl who thought that she was meant for greater things.”

“I’m all those things because I’m a petty ass-bitch who wouldn’t take no for an answer and forced people to train me. Just like you do. You can’t get good without people teaching you.”

And then the dam broke, properly. “Then what is it about me that screams, ‘No potential’? Because people have made it abundantly clear that training is wasted on me. I’ve been fighting since I was a kid, hoping someone would take a chance on me, but I always disappoint them. I’m so tired of it, Hood.”

“Jay,” he said, gently. She snapped her head up. “And everyone has potential. And if someone can’t recognise that in you, it’s because they’re a stuck up bitch, and you ignore them and push forward. You wanna get better? You gotta fight for it. But don’t think you're a lost cause, or a disappointment.”

“Then why won’t you train me?”

Jay looked heartbroken for a moment, eyes seeming decades older than his age. “Because I don’t wanna see any more kids die. Fighting a war that isn’t theirs.” He paused. “I can’t watch a child sacrifice their life for a world that’s meant to protect them, for people that are supposed to protect them. But, I see now,” he chuckled, “That you’ll never take no for an answer. But I really, really wish you would.”

Stephanie pushed, tentatively. “You’re gonna teach me?”

“It only took annoying me for about a month and me getting shot to agree.” Jay exhaled heavily. “But yeah, if it means you won’t get hurt whilst recklessly endangering your life.”

She whooped. “Fuck yes!”

“Not right now though, heartless bitch, I just got shot.”

She chucked the bottle of disinfectant at him.

 

J: Come get your ass handed to you now before I change my mind
J: Nvm i changed my mind
J: Nah just kidding hurry up tho

After the… events of the past week, Jay had decided that it would be responsible to give her a burner phone with his number, which he now decided was a perfect way to harass her constantly. Stephanie never stopped complaining about his clingy texting, but deep down she was glad.

There were very few people in her life willing to put in the effort to talk to her. It was nice.

What wasn’t nice, however, was when the man-child himself, Jay, stuck his tongue at her when she fell on her ass for the hundredth time in an hour.

“You wanna keep repeating the same mistake or are we actually gonna get somewhere?”

Stephanie glared and swiped the back of her hand along her forehead. “If you were only a better teacher,” she sniped.

“I showed you the move. Now think: how do I execute it? That’s not something I can teach. People will attack you a hundred different ways, and you need to adapt to force them into submission.” Jay leaned forward. “Use your skills to your advantage. You’re smart, quick and small. Now, again.”

It took another eight goes to get it.

Jay ran at her and tried to grab her waist and slam her back onto the mat, but she darted to his left, jabbed out her heel and forced his knees to give way. He stumbled backwards, and she jumped and wrapped her arms around his neck, used her knees to force his legs into a lock, and tightened her legs around his middle. He couldn’t move, and the heel of her palm was slowly choking him.

He tapped out and rolled out of her grip. “There we go,” he smiled, all teeth. She grinned back.

 

“When someone comes at you with a weapon, don’t fight them. Get the weapon out of their hands first.” Jay drew his gun. “Don’t worry, the safety’s on. So, in this situation, what do you do?”

“Not forget my bulletproof vest?” she squeaked. Jay sighed and mimed shooting her arms and legs.

“And now you’re shot, and now I can kill you. What do you do?”

Stephanie groaned, and fell backwards. “Pretend to be dead.”

 

“I don’t care if you miss training with me, but you never miss the gym. Here’s my membership card. I’m gonna draw up a schedule for you. Cardio, arms, legs. And, a boxing gym. Not expecting you to punch through the bags, but your form is so bad that you’ll most likely hurt yourself more than your opponent.”

Stephanie cried from the treadmill, flopping over the monitor. “I hate you. I hate you so much. I’m gonna kill you.” Jay’s fingers sped up on the strings of his guitar, and he started humming a tune, trying to drown her voice out. She screeched at him and began running quicker.

Jay smiled. “There we go. Don’t stop running now.” He set down his guitar, walked up next to her and tapped the screen of her treadmill. The speed went up, and suddenly she was running and glaring at him, betrayed.

 

“What the fuck is this?” Stephanie slammed a sheet of paper on his counter.

Jay didn’t even look up from his book. “Meal plan.”

“I can see that, but what does this mean?” In big print, the words, ‘No processed foods or sugars!’ were scrawled.

“It means no more twinkies and waffles, blondie. Your body is supposed to be a temple, not a Greasy Spoon.”

Stephanie scowled. “I’ll train all you want. I’ll go to the gym every day. But I am not giving up my waffles.” With a pen, she added, right at the bottom of the plan, ‘+ three waffles a week!’ “There we go. All is well with the world all again.”

From behind his book, Jay sighed loudly. But she could hear in that sigh that he was smiling.

For all her complaints and her whining, when Stephanie had a goal, she slaved away at it. She hit the weights every day, she went for jogs in the evenings, she cut out the large majority of her sugar and fat intake, and she fought. Angrily, scrappily, yes, but she was sharpening her skills, polishing them to a shine and wielding them with a smirk and a dangerous resolve.

And while it definitely wasn’t a magic fix, and maybe it was because of her increasing confidence, but her bouts of intense anxiety were getting fewer and farther between.

 

The good news was that Stephanie’s midterms were over. In even better news, her literature course was over and although she had originally planned to burn her copies of the class texts, Jay had called it sacrilege and taken them off her hands. As long as they weren’t on her shelf anymore, she was happy.

Gotham’s spring nights brought a bit of warmth back into the city, especially after the bitter winter, and patrol stopped being such a miserable experience. Sure, people were still killing and hurting and breaking, but at least it wasn’t freezing. Maybe Stephanie was imagining things, but the criminals almost seemed amiable when she kicked out their front teeth with her improved form.

The coming of the seasons brought something else with it - Jay himself. Clad in his musty leather jacket, he finally agreed to run patrols with him, though not before repeatedly warning her that he wasn’t going to babyproof his usual activities for her. She argued back that as long as he didn’t kill anyone, he didn’t need to. Jay looked like he had swallowed a lemon, but finally agreed.

After so long flying alone, it was nice to go out with somebody by her side. Stephanie didn’t know if she was a great team player - she hardly had any opportunities to work in a team - but it was comforting to know that someone was backing her, watching her the way she watched them. It reminded her of the first year of being Spoiler, slowly falling in and out of love with Robin, laughing and learning and growing along with him, loving and hating him all the way. Tim was now all sharp edges and criticisms, but the years hadn’t been kind to him either. She remembered him, bright eyed and fresh-faced, delighted to run with someone his age, even one who had hit him with a brick when they’d first met.

Jay was… different, to say the least. She knew he was older than him, but the way he moaned about things made him sound simultaneously like a child and also a bazillion years old. He was also a lot more dependable, a lot more willing to cover her back and trust in her to do the same, to do her part in whatever they were carrying out. Tim always thought she was made of glass and incapable, and she couldn’t decide whether he was a misogynist or arrogant. Today, he was definitely a mixture of both.

Although she did miss his genius. It had been about three months since Jay had first talked to her about Black Mask’s little drug ring, and they hadn’t made much progress with his other allies.

Hood was definitely amenable to just shooting Sionis in the face - the rest of the operation would crash like a deck of cards - but even he, without Stephanie’s disapproval, could see that Black Mask was the centre of many other very complex schemes that would disrupt the fabric of Gotham’s underworld in a way that would set the city on fire. No, they had to be delicate about this, dismantle his throne piece by piece, until he fell from his place and down back into hell.

But neither of them had the resources they needed and - as much as it pained Stephanie’s ego - the detective skills. They needed a fresh set of eyes, a different approach, and they’d sort of hit a dead end.

So when she was perched on one of the gargoyles, arguing with Hood, and locked eyes with Robin swinging past Main Street, Stephanie internally groaned. Think of the devil, and he shall appear.

Next to her, Hood stiffened and stood up. “I’m calling it a night Blondie, go home.”

She looked up at him and frowned. “What’s up? Don’t tell me you’re running from Robin.”

“I’m sure Batman will be happy to hear from Robin that his old protege is now hanging out with the big bad Hood,” he sneered. “Practically night and day, you and the perfect shiny Robin.”

Stephanie startled, hurt. “Fine, fuckin’ be that way,” she huffed. “Leave then.”

As she watched his back disappear into the night, her mind lingered on the sight of Robin, clad in his colours, a bright light swinging across the gothic buildings of Gotham.

 

The image didn’t leave her; in fact, it was a constant distraction all day, up until the end of her last class, where she stepped out and squinted against the sun, eyes falling on Tim Drake’s still form leaning against a tree across from her. He was scrolling on his phone under the shade, looking up distractedly every few moments to glance across the courtyard. His eyes caught on hers, and narrowed.

Right, there was no getting out of it now. Stephanie shoved her hands into the pockets of her sweatpants and strode up to him. “Heya Timmers,” she drawled. “Decided to condescend upon my humble university?”

“Why were you with Hood?” he scowled. Perfect. Straight to business.

“Because it’s a free country and we criminals have got to stick together, right?”

Tim winced. “I’ve never called you a criminal, Steph.”

“Yes,” she said brightly. “You’ve said much worse. Look, Tim. I know it looks bad, but Hood’s not a half bad person. When was the last time he killed somebody?”

“When he shot Frank Rinkenstein and sent the entire political scene to shit.”

“Okay, but that was like, ages ago. He’s a changed man.”

Tim scoffed. “You changed him? Single handedly, you made him a better man, forced his heart to grow three times? He’s obviously still killing, he’s just hiding it from you. Though I’m not sure why he’s even letting you go out with him. He hates Bats.”

Stephanie pinched her nose and took a deep breath. “Right. Tim, I haven’t been a bat in a long time, both you and B made that perfectly clear. Secondly, I am so sick of you acting like I’m not a grown woman, like I don’t know how to judge people. If I say Hood has changed, he has changed. He’s not a good person by any stretch of the imagination, but he’s not some crazed psycho. And-” Tim tried to interrupt her, but she was on a roll. “I am so fucking sick of you talking to me like a child. I am capable, I can do things, and I don’t screw stuff up all the time. I have been working so hard, so hard, so that you guys would be able to see that I am worth it, that I can be as good as the golden boy, Tim Drake. So fuck you for treating me like shit, Tim, because you lost that privledge years ago. We’re not dating, we’re not friends, we don’t even speak anymore, so get the fuck out of my business.”

Stephanie panted a little, but her lips curled up into a smile at Tim’s shocked expression. And then he said something she never expected.

“I’m sorry.”

“What?”

“You’re right, you don’t deserve how we treated you. Alfred made it clear what he thought about the whole situation ages ago. Look, I thought you needed someone to look out for you and protect you, but I can see you’ve changed since then.” It was now Stephanie’s turn to look shocked.

He sighed. “I don’t like Hood, but I’ve been looking at some data last night and you’re right, he’s not all bad. If you need any help with whatever you guys are tracking down, I could see if I can get you anything.”

“Actually…”

And that was how Stephanie secured a promised USB with all the intel Tim had been gathering for months but could never sacrifice time to look into. Before they parted ways, Tim hesitated, and then spoke.

“I’m an asshole, I know, but I won’t tell B anything. But he will find out,” he said, seriously. “And when he does, he’s not going to be happy. Watch your back.”

“I will,” she said, and smiled at him a little. He looked a little uncomfortable, but returned it, and left with a promise to send over the USB as soon as he could.

Feeling lighter than she had in months, Stephanie made a silent reminder to drop by Jay’s whenever she was in the area.

She zipped up her coat and buried her hands in her pockets, and smiled a little into the thick scarf she had around her neck, and blinked up into the early spring sun. A spring in her step, she started making her way to her apartment, resolved to do a big spring cleaning and then settle into her shitty sofa and start looking through the files, until her phone buzzed next to her hand. She fished it out, answered the call and jammed it under her ear.

“Hey, mom.”

“Steph? You need to come home right now.”

Stephanie frowned. She reached up to hold her phone upright. “What’s wrong?”

On the end of the line, her mom choked a little. “It’s Danny.”

Her heart stilled. “What about him? Mom, what’s wrong with Danny?”

“He-”

“Mom, what happened to Danny?” She stuck her arm out and desperately flagged down a taxi speeding by. It slowed to a stop, she yanked the door open and jumped in. She rattled off her childhood address and then returned to her phone. “Mom?”

Her mother was sobbing on the end. “We hadn’t heard from him in a few days, so your aunt Lucy kept calling him and then went over to his dorm. She found him on the floor of his bathroom. He wasn’t breathing.”

Stephanie’s heart lurched in her throat, and the noise of the speeding traffic and her bag sliding across the leather seats all disappeared. Only her mom’s muffled sobs ricocheted through the air

“Did she take him to the hospital?”

“Ambulance came,” she said. “And they pronounced him dead at the scene. Estimated he passed away yesterday, early morning.”

Flashes of her cousin’s face, grinning and covered in sticky popsicle juice, yelling at the game on the TV, his steady hands hitching her up higher on his back as they piggybacked around their childhood garden.

“Oh Steph, he was in such a bad state, Lucy is inconsolable, I don’t know what to do.”

“I’m coming mom, hold on. Don’t hang up.”

She sat, hands clasped together, staring at the roof of the taxi, listening as her mom sobbed on the line.

 

The taxi heaved to a stop in front of their shambling old terraced house. She chucked a wad of cash at him and clambered out the back, and up the stairs, slamming the door open.

“Mom?” She yelled up the stairs. She could hear her own voice coming through the call, and then it abruptly ended.

Her mom, paler and looking more tired than she’d ever seen in her life, stood leaning against the wall at the top of the staircase like it was the only thing keeping her upright. Taking two steps at a time, Stephanie raced up the stairs and crashed into her mother’s embrace, circling her arms around her thin, shaking form. Her chin propped up over her mom’s shoulder, she squeezed her eyes shut and tried desperately not to cry, as her mom wailed in her arms.

About ten minutes later, after she was all cried out, her mom collapsed into a chair and stared at the wall, numb.

“What killed him?” Stephanie asked. She needed to talk. She needed to fill the silence, to fill the emptiness, take her mom’s mind off the now and try and tether her to her body.

“We found empty syringes. Probably overdosed. Though, there weren't enough of them for the paramedics to declare it for sure.” Her mom wouldn’t even look at her. “What does it matter?”

“And where’s Aunt Lucy?”

“She’s at the station. Police want to ask lots of questions, and Lucy just told me to go home.” Suddenly, her mom woke up out of her misery-induced haze, and her head snapped up. Stephanie startled; her eyes were unflinching and serious, more serious than she’d ever seen before. “Stephanie Brown, don’t ever touch any drugs and don’t you dare get killed for something like this. You hear me?”

She promised; of course she did, but something in her gut writhed as she thought of Jay and his bullet wound, two steps away from death.

After about an hour or two, where they both mostly just sat in silence and waited for Lucy to return, her mom sent her back to her dorm. “You’ve got classes tomorrow,” she said. “Oh my little girl,” she whispered, cupping Steph’s face. “Stay safe, okay? Make sure you eat something.”

Standing in her flat, she looked around, lost. The polaroid of her and Danny on the last day of high school in their graduation outfit and big dumb smiles, or her ultrasound pictures he had compiled and made into a little gallery, covered in stickers. Or even the ridiculous sweater he’d given her two Christmases ago, with the ugliest photo of her childhood dog whose death devastated her. Everywhere she looked, he was there, woven into her home and her things.

In her mind's eye, she imagined his body, sprawled across the linoleum, eyes dull and skin frozen to the touch, and then unfair rage bubbled in her gut. A fucking overdose? What did he think he was doing, fucking around with drugs? How many times had she told him to be careful in college, to be safe and responsible? She’d sat in their PSHE lessons with him, he knew the dangers.

For the first time since receiving the news, she collapsed to the floor, sobbing, cold and alone.
It took her two days to leave her apartment. Really, she only left because her burner phone buzzed. She picked it up blearily in the dark of the night and blinked at the harsh blue light, sitting up in her bed.

J: blondie?
J: theres been some developments

Twice, she read over the message, a niggling thought in her mind. And then she gasped, remembering the USB still in her pocket, and swung her legs out of bed. She pulled on a thick coat, a domino, and a scarf to hide the bottom of her face, and made a start into the cold towards Jay’s apartment.

When he opened the door, he looked just as bad as her, but where her face was drawn with exhaustion and grief, his was filled with a barely concealed rage. He stood in a worn-out Gotham Knights sweatshirt, hair unkempt and heavy undereyes. He let her in, wordless, and followed her into the living room. All around the room, papers, files and pictures were sprawled across every surface. Some of the furniture looked like it had been shot at. Her hand traced one of the photos, a floor splattered with blood and a lilac substance, and then looked away.

“What’s wrong?” She asked. Her voice was hoarse and weak.

“Mask has released a new strain of product on the market. This one isn’t like the others,” he pressed. “It fucks up the user, bad. And he’s been giving it to low level peddlers, school dealers, those operating in the hostels and the shelters and-” He took a breath. “I’m gonna put a fucking bullet between his eyes.” Stephanie looked up at him. He was serious.

“No,” she sighed. “You’re not going to shoot him. Have a look at this,” she said, handing over the USB. “Robin gave it to me.”

At the mention of his name, Jay’s jaw set. “When?” He accused.

“Couple of days ago. Look, I know you don’t trust the bats, but he wanted to apologise. He posted it at some point, and I haven’t had a look yet, but I trust him. He’s smart and he’s in it for all the right reasons.”

“Give it here,” he huffed. He snatched it out of her hands and ran his fingers through his messy hair.

For the first time since she had met him, an overwhelming sense of disgust crashed into her. “You not even gonna ask how I’m doing?” She looked at the corkboard pinned to the wall, saw pictures of the victims, the drug, that same strange lilac color, and couldn’t even find it in her to care. Jay looked at her distractedly from where he was plugging in the USB. She didn’t even think he heard what she said.

Steph gathered her rage and stormed out, slamming the door behind her. Fuck him, fuck Black Mask, fuck her cousin.

Who gave a shit about some new product? Her cousin was dead.

And then she stalled and came to a stop in the middle of the pavement. Someone banged across her shoulder and yelled something at her.

She pulled her mask up and started towards the GCPD local station.

As she did, she thought of Danny. Sure, he was a wild kid, but a good one. Sure, he drank, if only from the slurred voice notes at 2 am, the sound of the club banging behind him, but he knew to stay away from drugs. All she’d heard from him was a spliff or two.

The GCPD building had a fire escape, folded up and propped against its walls. She clambered up it, grabbing onto window ledges and staying out of sight of the blinking red camera lights. It took a while - everything was wet and slippery from a shower that she hadn’t even noticed, but eventually she reached the top floor and shimmed open the window. Silently, she stepped into the file room, with rows and rows of cases. Stephanie didn’t know whether Danny’s case was still ongoing, or if they’d already decided to close it, only 80 hours after his corpse was found.

She went to the closed cases section of the past two weeks, looking through Salinas, her late uncle's last name, and swore when she saw Danny, a case already closed. The shock of seeing his name brought her to tears again, and frustrated, she tugged the file free.

Deceased, it said. Overdose. Substance, unknown. See, Unknown Opioid 219.

She turned the page, hands red and cold bitten, shaking. There, clipped to the folder, pictures of his body, just as she had feared, as he was in her nightmares, blank-eyed and staring into nothing, feeling and seeing nothing. His legs were contorted at an odd angle, and his veils were blue, his lips blue. By his lax hand, an empty syringe.

Another few photos were taken of the syringe up close, and her heart dropped. Lilac dredges, lilac stains on the carpet. Her breath came too sharply, came out too quickly, and fire burned through her veins. Her eyes fell shut, and she stopped feeling too.

How she got back home, she would never know, but the feeling never returned, not when her stomach rumbled so violently that she forced leftovers into her mouth and then spent three hours clutching the toilet bowl, throwing up, stomach turning.

Numbness settled in her bones, taking up permanent residence, and it stayed until her phone vibrated off her desk, and she was forced to move.

“Stephanie?”

“Tim?”

“Turn on your TV. Now, Steph!”

She got up, every limb screaming as she shuffled towards her box TV and hit the on button. The news channel fizzed to life in front of her. A blurred picture, with a censor box trying to follow the camera footage, but struggling.

A man, strung up by the neck, eye sockets empty and running blood, drenched in lilac.

“...reportedly the right hand man of the Black Mask, victim of a horrific murder that many eyewitnesses claim was perpetrated by the Red Hood, notorious crime boss from Crime Alley…”

The room span, round and round, following her, the news caster cackled at her, followed her back as she ran to the bathroom and retched.

The Red Hood, the Red Hood, Red Hood-

Red, red, red blood dripping down gaunt cheeks, empty sockets, hollowed out, sinus and gore dripping, taunting purple tones mixing in and deepening with the red red red blood.

 

A few miles away, across the city, a man stood in a room, shaking in fury. He quelled it, however, and picked up the phone and held it to his ear. He heard it ring out, and then connect. “An eye for an eye, Red Hood. A soul for a soul, a tooth for a tooth, and a body for a body.” Then he hung up, and his fist came down and cracked the expensive wood of his table.

Chapter Text

The morning of Danny’s funeral was a bleak one. For the first time in about a week, she set an alarm, woke up with purpose, and felt the urge to leave her dingy room. Pulling up the blinds revealed a grey, overcast sky, colder than usual, with condensation running little trickles of water down the window pane. The trees outside had only just started returning to life, no blossoms or flowers just yet. Sighing, she pulled away the covers and pushed out of bed.

In the bathroom, she stared at her reflection, eyes dully taking in her state. She hadn’t eaten very well these past few days, and her skin had lost its usual glow and turned lifeless and dull, cast over with a sickly pallor. Her hair was scrabbled back into a topknot and had seen better days.

Pushing away from the sink, she started stripping and got into the shower. The spray wasn’t warm immediately, and she recoiled away from the cold. Her feet padded back onto the bathroom mat as she stood there, hair dripping with cold water, completely naked and shivering miserably. A hand reached out to test the water again, and stepped gingerly back in, body relaxing under the heat.

She stared at the tiles and felt her face drop and her shoulders slump. Her eyes creased and pricked with tears, and then she was crying, sobbing under the hot spray with exhaustion and grief so heavy, so deep it felt like a weight in her gut, pulling her down.

Eventually, she got tired of feeling sorry for herself and got out, wrapping a towel around herself and rubbing her hair dry. She picked up a tub of curl cream and ran it through her hair, scrunching it upwards and then diffusing it, trying to perk up her lanky hair. One glance at the mirror made her reach for her makeup bag and slowly go through the well-trodden ground of applying concealer, blush, a bit of eyeliner and mascara. Bit by bit, feeling was returning to her skin, if only for a moment, and when she turned to her wardrobe, she actually stopped and thought about her outfit, and smiled a little as she added little mushroom earrings Danny had gifted her a while back.

It took her about an hour, but she finally stepped outside and started heading towards the graveyard by her old house. As she walked, her mind drifted, and every step felt more foreboding than the last. The closer she got, the more real it became. She thought of the wet mud that the graveyard must have already shifted and dug out, thought of the coffin Aunt Lucy chose, thought of the mourners and the funeral procession.

She thought back to her younger years, her brighter days, when she and Danny were carefree kids, when the late 90s felt like the setting sun and the last glimpse of sunlight before the enormousness of the new century. She remembered the days she lived fast and loose, having sleepovers when her dad was busy making a fool of the family, and the incarcerations.

Where did the time go? When did she and Danny drift apart and start seeing each other less? Maybe, if only she stuck by him, hung out with him more often, called him more, checked on whatever hijinks he was up to-

God, why didn’t she pay attention?

And if only she had been smarter, taken down Black Mask quicker, maybe the new product would have never been released, maybe whatever mystery drug they’d made would have never found its way into the hands of a college dealer, into a friend's hands, into Danny’s hands, his veins, his blood.

Her black boots splashed through the wet streets and past alleyways, and the click of the heel on the sidewalk was the only thing she heard until her scream was cut short and a hand grabbed her waist and yanked her into a dark alley. Two men, one holding onto her from behind, and another, holding a gun, loomed over her.

Shit, shit, shit, she wasn’t Spoiler right now, and even if she was, there was no way she could take these two in her present circumstances. She tore away from the hand at her mouth and struggled. “My purse,” she gasped, “At my waist. Take whatever you want. If you want money, you’ll get it.”

One of the men chuckled darkly. “Oh sweetheart,” he smirked, dragging a finger up her cheek. “It’s not your money Black Mask wants.”

Stephanie looked up, straight into his eyes, petrified.

“You’ll see him soon,” he promised, and then it went black.

 

It’s often said that humans adopt the traits of those near them. They mimic their mannerisms, they weave others' ideas and opinions and way of life into their own. Each person is a beautiful tapestry of all the people who shaped them into who they are today.

Tim’s tapestry was mostly just the ugly dark green of paranoia, courtesy of the Bat himself. Tim's brand of paranoia was more compassionate - it was a fear of losing people that made him invade others' privacy, rather than suspicion and mistrust, like Bruce.

And it was this very paranoia that made Tim’s concern for Stephanie go through the roof.

He noticed fairly quickly when she stopped patrolling. If he pinpointed the earliest occasion, it was the same evening when he’d approached her at college and given her the USB of intel. From then, she’d not been seen once, although the Red Hood had stomped around Crime Alley almost every night.

It only took a few searches to find the recent death of her cousin by overdose. His throat tightened when he saw it, and he immediately sent her a text to check up on her. But… her college attendance. She hadn’t shown up, not even to hand in work or to let them know about her absence.

And since a day ago, it was like she’d dropped off the map entirely.

Right.

Tim swivelled around in his chair and leaned over his desk to pick up his personal phone. He found Stephanie’s contact and pressed call. It cut to unavailable, immediately. Tim narrowed his eyes at the screen and left her a voice message.

But it ate at him, all day, whilst he was doing his ‘internship’ at Wayne Enterprises, whilst sifting through a backlog of crime reports, whilst on call with Babs about a security breach. Every slow moment of the day led him back to his phone, to check that she’d at least seen the message, even if she hadn’t bothered to answer. And yet, no response, and Tim knew Stephanie wasn’t the kind to stay away from her phone.

Though some small part of him felt vindicated, almost. Maybe it was Hood-related, and her running with him, especially after the stunt he just pulled, made him feel as though he was right somehow, but it was too ugly a feeling that he twisted and pushed it deep down. Resolved, he got ready for patrol and an hour later was on the prowl for the now extremely infamous Red Hood.

 

The obnoxious red helmet made for easy spotting, and Tim found Hood relatively easy after studying his patrol routes from the past couple of weeks. Hood obviously did not want to be found, as he tore off in the opposite direction and sent Tim on a chase that he didn’t particularly plan for.

And damn, that man could run: Hood was a clear expert on disappearing, taking turns and sharp corners, running and hanging from scaffolding and disappearing into apartment windows only to come out the other side, throwing every kind of distraction possible to shake Tim off his tail. Unfortunately for him, though, Tim was equally trained and never refused a good challenge, and was never far behind. Eventually, though, he got tired and yelled across from one high-rise to another.

“Have you seen the Spoiler?”

Hood turned around slowly and cocked his head in an eerie fashion. Tim had no idea what was going on behind that wall of reinforced metal, and forged onwards. “What’s it to you, replacement?”

Replacement? Strange. Tim shook away the thought. “For some reason, you don’t like me. Fine. I don’t like you either. But I do care about Spoiler and she hasn’t been seen for almost a week now.”

“Blondie’s fine. She can take care of herself. Probably sulking about something I did.”

Rage clogged Tim’s throat. “She’s fine? Have you even heard from her these past few days? Don’t you know what happened?”

 

That got Hood’s attention. He swung over the distance between them and slowly strode towards him. “What happened to Blondie?” he asked, voice lower than Tim had ever heard.

“Her cousin overdosed,” Tim said flatly. “The same day I gave her the USB that you used to murder a man on live television,” he accused.

“Overdosed?” Hood said, faintly.

Fury boiled over in his chest. “You didn’t even check how she was doing when she gave you the stick, did you? That the drug that killed her brother is from the same man you’ve both been tracking for months? How the hell do you think she’s feeling, asshole? You didn’t even check on her? Hood, where is Spoiler?”

For the first time, Hood had nothing to say, and Tim imagined that under that helmet that betrayed nothing, the man behind it was truly lost.

“Wait,” Hood said. “Mask called me the night I… dispatched his lieutenant. He said, ‘an eye for an eye.’”

“Oh, shit. He has Spoiler.”

 

Something was chafing her wrists and ankles. Despite herself, she shivered. Every hair on her body stood on end, every nerve sung with danger and fear. A dull pain throbbed in the back of her head, and as she sat in the dark of her closed eyes, she tried to remember what had happened, but nothing except a vague sense of fear floated to the surface of her consciousness.

Gingerly, she cracked open an eyelid and looked around. Safe for a single lightbulb above her head - how corny - the room was drenched in darkness. A man’s silhouette stood in front of her, face obscured.

“Stephanie Brown,” he drawled. Oh, that wasn’t good. “You’re a lot younger than I thought you’d be. And…” Suddenly, his eyes caught the light, flashing. “A lot prettier too,” he said, slowly. Stephanie suddenly realised her top was gone. Beneath her training bra, her heart rate picked up rapidly, thudding painfully against her ribcage. Seeing the flash of a knife in his hand almost settled her heart. “Don’t worry, I’m not that kind of evil.” She didn’t mistake the lingering of his eyes on her collarbone and revulsed, thrashing against the rope. “I am much more interested in making you scream in pain.”

Black Mask stepped into the light, a wide smile stretching across his face.

Rage, burning more fiercely than it ever had, exploded from her lungs. “You bastard! You sick sonofabitch, let me go right now! You killed my cousin!”

“Collateral, my dear girl,” he said, almost regretfully. “And that’s what you’re about to become.”

Stephanie’s heart suddenly fell quiet. The ringing in her ears stilled. “What?” She said, faintly.

“You’ve been running with the Red Hood. And he just killed my best man. You do know that I’ve got to repay the favour, right?” He walked up to her, slowly, circling behind her, and resting two cold hands on her bare shoulders. “Such a shame to ruin such a beautiful face, but an eye for an eye, a debt repaid.”

And then his knife was at her throat and dragging down, to her lower neck, and then down her side, to her ribs.

With a quick flash, his knife came down into her thigh and she screamed. Black Mask tutted and pulled it out, excruciatingly slowly. And then her other thigh, deep into the tendon between muscle and bone. His polished shoes dug into her toes, and then with a crystal clear crack-

Stephanie’s screams rang, a single high note.

“Shut up, bitch,” he spat, and slugged her across the cheekbone. She choked and swung backwards, hitting the floor hard. The air forced itself out of her lungs.

From where she sat sobbing on the floor, Stephanie looked up through fuzzy eyes at Black Mask’s face, chest heaving and expression twisted into something ugly. Those horrific shoes stomped on her hand, snapping her fingers, and creasing as he bent down next to her face, lazily tracing the edge of his knife, dripping with her own blood, across her face. The tip split her skin and blood beaded to the surface.

Mask got up and started walking away. Stephanie sobbed in relief, until she heard the mechanical whirr of a power tool, and then the squeak of leather towards her.

“Wait, wait, please, I’m sorry, no, don’t-”

He said nothing, and the spinning end of the tool dug into her side and she cried, ripping animal screams from her chest, feeling everything all at once, and then nothing at all.

 

When she came back to, with the dull ache of her broken hands and feet, the stab wounds in her thigh, and the mess of her abdomen, Mask’s cold hands were fitting something to her torso. It beeped steadily.

“I hope he appreciates the irony,” Mask was muttering. “Right, girly. I’m off to watch this lightshow from a safe distance. Stephanie didn’t even look up at him. “Nice knowing you,” he said, and disappeared. From the darkness, about seven to ten men emerged into the light. She felt their eyes on her, roving her bare skin, but she couldn’t find it in her to care.

Her eyes were pinned on the timer attached to her chest, the mess of wire, and then numbers with 58 minutes and counting.

She was meant to be at Danny’s funeral today. She hoped her mother would find enough pieces left to put in the casket when they buried her, too.

 

“Oracle, look for her last known location, check all the cameras. I will follow the trail. Robin, get in contact with the informants and track down any intel. Nightwing, start sweeping the outposts and the known hotspots. Do not collaborate with the Red Hood. If you see him, subdue him and have the GCPD pick him up.”

Tim muttered his response and turned to Red Hood. “I’m coming with you,” he said. “I have more contacts on these streets than the lot of you combined.”

Tim sighed. “If Batman catches us, you have to explain that you forced me into monitoring you so you wouldn’t kill anybody.”

“Sure, replacement. Let’s bounce.”

They stayed in the same general area, but split up to go meet with contacts and try and gather any news or chatter. Together, they hit every warehouse they knew of, beat up dozens of Mask’s goons, coaxed information out of the street kids, and even tried calling the number that had threatened Hood a few days prior. The call obviously didn’t connect.

Again and again, they hit dead end after dead end.

Boots driving into the wet rooftops, Tim sprinted across the city, spinning helplessly. He knew they didn’t have a lot of time. If Mask had her, after what Hood had done to his lieutenant…

The longer they stalled, the lower the chances of finding her in one piece fell lower and lower.

Hood seemed equally frustrated, throwing Mask’s goons against brick walls with enough force to break all their ribs. He stopped asking questions first, choosing to shoot their legs out from beneath them before grabbing by the hair and suspending them midair, raging against their terrified, but confused faces. Their faces quickly shifted to fear as they saw Hood work himself up as they babbled their innocence in the scheme and he looked more and more murderous.
In his ear, Oracle rattled off her last known sighting, and Batman’s gruff voice gave short reports on her trail. Nightwing chimed in every now and then, if only to declare another area clear of Mask and Stephanie.

About forty-five minutes later, they came across a man standing on a rooftop, alone, wearing a black shirt and tie - Mask’s calling card. Tim watched as Hood stalked up to him, grabbed him by the tie, and lifted him up.

The material tightened around the man’s throat, skin bulging around it. His face turned darker and he gasped a little. “Hood,” Tim said sharply. “Let him breathe.”

Reluctantly, Hood put him down. “Talk. Now.”

“Message from Black Mask. ‘For you: since you love explosions so much, keep an eye out in the skies tonight. It’s gonna be a helluva lightshow.’”

“Where?” He roared. The man shook his head, terrified, and stepped back, feet catching on the edge of the roof. Hood tore forward and grabbed him by the collar again, and shoved the man over the edge. Feet dangling, the man looked at the void beneath him, and then back up at Hood’s blank helmet with glazed eyes. “Either I torture it out of you, or you give it up, but I will find out where. Tell me, and you can go to Blackgate quietly, where you’ll get out on good behaviour, or resist, and I will make with Mask’ll do to you look like mercy.”

Tim watched, horrified, but unable to move. He saw the man go through the same thought process as he did, and then gasped, “I’ll talk! Fuck, I’ll talk, just put me down.” As his feet found footing again, he bent over, gasping, hands shakingly reaching up to his neck. In between choked breaths, he rattled off an address.

They both stepped away. Hood made a quick call and then chucked the phone over the edge. “GCPD are coming. You better be glad I didn’t just leave you high and dry.” And with that, Tim and Hood were moving again, sprinting towards the Bowery.

As they ran, Tim barked down the address into his comms.

“ETA 15 minutes.”

“ETA 8.”

“ETA two,” Tim said. His boots slammed on the floor as he dropped from a rooftop back onto the sidewalk, tearing towards the warehouses of the docks.

When they got there, they threw open the doors - to nothing. Only crates stacked up to the ceiling. Tim’s heart dropped into his stomach. Stephanie didn’t have time for them to go on a wild goose chase.
Hood was having a similar realisation. “Fuck!” He yelled, turning to leave.

“Wait, Hood, look-” Tim said, running up to a darker grey in the concrete floor. At closer inspection, it was lined with a dull metal, and shifting it led to a tunnel. “That bastard,” he breathed.

Hood swung down, and Tim immediately heard the sounds of his gun going off. Swearing, he followed him down and spun towards the man, barely sparing a glance at one of the goons, lying on the floor of the underground bunker, oozing blood from his forehead.

“Don’t you get it, Hood?” Tim hissed. “Spoiler was taken because you murdered a man. What do you think will happen when you kill more of his men? How many people need to die because you can’t stop a man without murdering him in cold blood?” Tim shoved him out of the way in disgust. “Go find the bomb. Find Spoiler. I’ll deal with this.”

With one last glance, Hood turned and sidestepped the last of Mask’s men, guns at the ready, all pointing towards Tim. He raised his staff and grinned. “Bring it on, boys.”

About a minute later, and all the men down for the count, Tim heard a gasp, broken and panicked. “Robin?” Tim startled. That was Hood. “Robin, please, I need you here-”

Tim ran forward, into a room illuminated with only a single light over a slumped form in a chair, and Hood, crouched in front. He slowly stepped into the light, and his heart stopped.

Stephanie, sluggish and eyes lost, looked dully down at the bomb vest with only two and a half minutes left.

“Please, I can’t do this, I can’t do-” Hood sounded more like a child than ever, stuttering out excuses and sorrys and pleading.

Tim dropped onto his knees in front of Stephanie. She looked back at him, and her eyes swam with tears, and then her cheeks were flooded. Violently, she shook her head, exposing cuts down her face, and jostling her limp right arm that looked like it had been popped out of the socket. Fuck. Tim turned towards Hood, but the man seemed to have disappeared into his own head. Right, he was alone in this.

Fingers dipping into his belt, he pulled out a wire cutter and inspected the mass of wires. Red or blue?

They stood out to him, taunted him, swam in his vision, blurring into double and triple and merging into two singing wires, one blue, one red, one blue, one red.

Red?

Blue?

Which-

He didn’t have time to analyse it. He didn’t recognise the make. He couldn’t untangle the mess of wires.

It was red or blue.

Life or death?

Steph was thrashing against her bonds now, sobbing silently. “Don’t,” she said. “Don’t do it, Tim. Get out, get away.”

Tim ignored her, his hands shakily raising up to the wires. He eyed the timer quickly. 1 minute 47.

“Don’t,” she cried. “Please Tim, get everybody out.”

“Shut up, Steph!” He strained.

Red or blue?

Blue or red.

Batman was barking in his ear. Hood was having a panic attack two meters away from him.

Red or blue?

Blue or red.

Tim closed his eyes. Blue.

He opened them, took a deep breath, looked at Stephanie’s frantic face, and cut.

The timer disappeared. Tim’s shoulders slumped, and he reached forward to cut it from her. Hood seemed to have refocused, and he threw his jacket over her shoulders as Tim tore the bomb away from her and stepped away. He watched, shaking violently, as Hood slowly tugged the jacket onto Stephanie’s bare shoulders and carefully did up the zip. The gore of her stomach disappeared out of view as the leather closed around it. Stephanie wailed, slumping against Hood like it was the only thing keeping her upright.

Boots hit the ground behind them, and Tim spun around to see Batman, and hot on his heels, Nightwing, striding over to them. Dick’s arms circled around Tim and pulled him close, murmuring into his hair. Tim melted against the touch, sniffling a bit as his heart tried to calm in his chest.

He watched, detached, as Batman stood against Hood. “Release Spoiler. You are under arrest.”

“With what authority?" Hood said, tiredly. “You’re not having her.”

Dick spoke, his chest rumbling against Tim’s cheek. “Hood, be reasonable. You aren’t equipped to help her right now. She needs those wounds treated. She’s not out of the woods. An infection and it’s game over.”

Tim didn’t miss the way that Stephanie’s hands twisted in Hood’s Kevlar, and pushed him away gently. The man staggered back, hurt, but turned to Batman with a flat voice. “Keep her alive,” he threatened, and pushed past all of them and out of sight.

Gently, Batman crouched by her and pulled her into his arms, and walked, head bent over her body, away from the blood, away from the power tools with chunks of-

Tim threw up.