Chapter Text
“Hey.”
Red Robin didn’t flinch, but he wanted to. It was jarring to have the constant numbness cut clean through by a single word.
Or, more accurately, the voice that said it.
Red Hood landed on the roof nearby, all weight, no grace. (He was very capable of moving like a feather; Red Robin had witnessed this firsthand. What was the fun in that? Better to scare the shit out of your enemies.)
Red didn’t have many shits left to give, but the footsteps treading towards him, each one like the heavy painful beating of his own heart, sent little shivers down his spine. (It had been three years since the Tower. Hood didn’t hate him anymore. Probably.)
“What are you doing?” the mechanized voice growled, and Red suddenly remembered that he was balancing over a ten-story drop.
He looked up from the empty street blow. (Better than a busy road, because if the public spotted one of their vigilantes splattering to the pavement, they would probably panic, no matter how little-known the vigilante in question.) Hood was standing a few yards away, well out of reaching distance. Red couldn’t read anything past the neutral chrome helmet, but he didn’t want to.
“What,” Hood repeated slowly. “are you doing?”
Red looked away, disinterested. The gray numbness had crept back in, all-encompassing. “I don’t know.”
Hood moved closer; Red could feel it. He wondered if he should take a step forward. A step back. The decision would probably be made for him, one way or another, if he didn’t act soon.
“You’ve wandered pretty far from the nest,” Hood spoke again, closer. That wasn’t the helmet this time… That was Jason’s voice. Quiet. Concerned. (A trick.)
“You don’t have a grapple,” Hood was pointing out.
Red glanced down at his belt. “I do, actually.”
“Actually,” Hood shot back. “It’s not in your hand--- First red flag--- and it’s old; I can see the cracks from here.”
Red huffed a sigh, looking back over the skyline. He had to fix it. One of many on the long list of tasks, growing by the hour, that he’d never catch up with…
“It’s easy to grab damaged tools on a bad night, yeah?” Hood pressed on, annoyingly insistent. “If it jams or breaks on the job, it’s not your fault, right? It’s an occupational hazard.”
Red felt an uncomfortable lump lodge in his throat. “Why do you care?”
“I don’t. That would just be a shitty way to die after everything… else.”
Red couldn’t help the bitter laugh that scraped at his throat. “After everything else? You mean getting kicked out of my own home? Rescuing Batman by the skin of my teeth with no backup? Or are you referring to the Tower?”
The air itself seemed to flinch. “I apologized for that.”
“You really need to move on, Hood.” Red looked down, shifting his weight. The balls of his feet pressed against the gravelly ledge. His cape floated gently behind him, helping to keep his balance. He wondered if it would slow his fall.
“Kid,” Hood repeated urgently. “Tim.”
Red’s weight faltered, catching with the barest jolt along his spine. He rocked back onto flat feet. “Names.”
“Kid… listen.” Hood was closer now. “I know it hurts. I know you’re in a real shitty place right now.”
Red stared down at the ground, willing himself to move. Why was it suddenly so hard to tip forward? He had a grapple. (And if it broke…)
His chest hurt.
“I know I’m probably the last person that should be doing this,” Hood continued quietly, stepping up to Red’s side. “and I don’t have anything to say that’ll make it better.”
“An apology would be a good place to start,” Red found himself muttering.
“I’m sorry.”
It wasn’t cathartic. Red felt some measure of surprise, though, when he heard it. He hadn’t really expected an apology. (He hadn’t expected an answer at all.)
“You’re gonna throw yourself off,” Hood told him. “and you’re gonna forget to pull out your damaged grapple. And I’m gonna jump after you, grab you around the waist on my way up, cause my grapple actually works. And it’s gonna hurt, and you’re gonna be pissed--- more than you already are--- and you might try again next time. And I’m just gonna have to keep following you. And as much fun as I would have busting your ribs every night, I get the feeling that that situation is not gonna work long-term.”
Red’s eyes stung. “Why do you care?”
“Alternatively,” Hood pressed on, ignoring Red’s repeated question like the veiled assumption it was. “we could make a deal.”
Red finally looked up. Hood wasn’t wearing a domino. This was just… Jason. (And his eyes weren’t green.)
The older vigilante scowled. “Give me ten years.”
“… Ten?”
“Ten.”
Red heaved a sigh, trying to breathe around the crushing weight in his tight chest. “That’s a long time.”
“It sure fucking is.” Hood tugged a glove off, offering his hand. “Give me ten years to help you out, make this right. We’ll check in yearly. If it doesn’t get better… If you can’t make it better… maybe we’ll reconsider the whole rooftop thing. Arrange a fight you can’t win. Make a day of it.”
Red felt a scoff in the back of his throat. “I don’t wanna survive that long.” And that’s the problem, isn’t it?
“Yeah, well, tough shit. You did it once; you can do it again.” Hood flexed his fingers, keeping his hand out. He didn’t step closer. (He could have.) “I’ll help this time.”
Red stared down, considering. Ten years was… a long time. This deal benefited no one, really, besides Hood’s peace of mind. Still… There was nothing that said the deal couldn’t be renegotiated. There were always loopholes, if the gray came back; if he couldn’t do it.
And he’d never made a deal with his Robin before.
Tim reached out, grasping Jason’s hand, and sighed. “Okay… ten years.”