Chapter Text
Sally Morrison’s granddaughter, despite only being in kindergarten, was born for the stage. If not to act on its surface, perhaps, then most certainly to craft the world that unfolds upon it from below.
One day, Sally knew, Naomi Morrison would be a big name, and she was all too ready to support her daughter’s little girl in any way she could.
Until then, however, Naomi is but the tiniest of kindergarteners, with a penchant for loud and dramatic bursts of storytelling with no concern for the location in which they take place.
Luckily, they take this train home from South Levens Street all the way to Berkley Avenue every weekday after Sally picks Naomi up from the Youngster’s Theater program, and the evening crowd was just as constant in their routines.
Their fellow passengers have long grown used to Naomi’s play; many of them, by now, even act invested in her runaround storyline enough to amusedly ask her follow up questions whenever she plots herself into a wall.
The grocery tote of dolls and action figures Naomi uses as props is a familiar sight to many of them, and Sally has even been told by a few people that Naomi’s theatrics are a highlight of their evening commute home.
Sally couldn't be more grateful for the community that her family chose to settle themselves into.
Tonight is no different than any other, and Sally holds her granddaughter’s hand to help Naomi hop down the tall steps leading into the subway.
Ten minutes later, Sally chuckles softly as she sees several people’s eyes light up at the sight of them and the bright orange tote hanging from Sally’s arm. She gets Naomi situated in their usual seats — one had been taken already, in fact, but the teenager sitting sprawled there had hopped up at the sight of them and scurried over to another open seat in the corner, almost as if he’d been saving the spot for them.
Sally sends the boy a grateful smile — she’s had to stand in the aisle before, on particularly crowded nights, and she could do so again, but her joints just aren’t what they used to be. The teenager looks away from her with a flush crawling up his freckled neck, and stuffs wired earbuds into his ears. With the peeks over his shoulder, however, it’s clear he’s waiting for the show to begin.
Naomi, now properly perched on the plastic chair, clears her throat a few times. Their fellow passengers cast her a collection of fond and amused glances. She looks in askance at her grandmother, and Sally pulls the orange tote onto her lap with a sigh that does nothing to hide the curl of a smile at her mouth.
The cabin doors hiss closed, and the train gives a gentle lurch as it takes off from the stop to continue on its path.
“Where did we leave off?” She muses aloud, unzipping the tote to reveal the colorful array of characters that lie within.
Naomi pauses, looking over her repertoire with a thoughtful look. With the many stories she becomes engrossed with throughout the week, it’s often that she’ll find herself crossing plotlines over each other in grand mix ups. She is still learning about continuity in the theatre program.
Someone clears their throat, and Sally looks up to see a portly Hispanic woman sitting in the bend of the cabin. A tiny tot sits in her lap, getting her wild curls brained back by deft hands.
“Our fearless protectors were finally confronting each other.” The woman grins.
“Oh right,” someone else says, snickering. “Because Nightwing was playing detective, wasn’t he?”
Naomi claps her hands together. “Yes!”
She dives for the tote, digging through the dolls until she comes back up with a sound of triumph, hands clutching at two action figures made in the image of Gotham finest.
“Where we left off…” Naomi clears her throat again, before continuing in a slightly more dramatic tone, “The great and fearless detective, Nightwing Robinson—“
Someone smothers a snort, and is quickly shushed by their companion.
“— follows the lead he got from the plumber, alllll the way to the person he has been searching for this whole time. That person, he now discovers, is none other than….”
Naomi pauses, before thrusting up the other doll, showcasing its visage to her audience.
“Red Hood, himself!”
“Ooooh.” A young man dressed in a fluorescent construction vest over an orange hoodie murmurs lowly. “Plot twist.”
“I thought they were working together!” A woman dressed in a smart-looking ensemble brings a hand to her mouth in overly-acted shock.
“Impossible.” Naomi lowers the Red Hood figure and instead raises the Nightwing doll. She continues in a low voice, almost as deep as she can make it, to signify the character is speaking lines. “There is no way it could be you…”
The Red Hood doll is lifted up again, just as the train pulls into the next stop. The movement throws Naomi off balance, and Sally reaches out a hand to steady her granddaughter. The doll sways in the air slightly, but Naomi pays it no attention, now completely engrossed in her story.
She deepens her voice even further, adding a gravelly growl to it this time, and it makes several people grin.
“Why couldn’t it be me?” ‘Red Hood’ asks the Nightwing doll with a snide tone. “You know I am strong.”
“After all this time…” ‘Nightwing’ goes on. “You would betray me like this?”
The door to the cabin slides open.
Sally glances over to see two men shuffle onboard. They’re huddled against each other, one practically using the other as a crutch, and both look like they’d seen much better days.
“Yo,” the teenager in the corner yanks his earbuds out by the wire, watching the two new arrivals with wide eyes. “The hell you guys doing here?”
One of the men shrugs. “Our rides gave us a, uh… rain check.”
“They tossed our bikes into the harbor.” The man hanging off his shoulder says monotonously.
The passengers sitting on the row closest to the door scramble amongst one another to make room, opening up two seats across from Sally and her granddaughter. The men hobble over without a remark and collapse onto their rumps more than sit down.
Sally is too distracted by their sudden appearance to realize her — or rather, her granddaughters situation. It isn’t until Naomi raises both dolls up into the air with a loud exclamation that she, horrified, realizes she should have hushed the girl before Naomi could continue her story.
Because the subject of her story were now sitting, living and breathing — if worse for wear — right in front of them.
“How could you!” Naomi hollers.
The people in the cab who had previously been amused by her theatrics all go pale as sheets. Their eyes flicker between the two hero’s slumped amongst them and their corresponding action figures clutched in the small kindergartener’s hands.
The yell, unfortunately, catches the vigilantes’ attention, and their heads snap over to stare just as Noami smashes the Nightwing doll into the Red Hood one.
“You killed him!” Naomi, terrible Spanish accent learnt from the soap operas that Sally is now rather regretting allowing her to watch, accuses. “The man I married, the love of my life, is dead because of you!”
For a moment, the train cabin is silent. Sally, absolutely mortified, prays to all the saints whose names she can remember that the vigilantes just decide to leave, but they instead sit there silently, staring at her granddaughter from behind their motionless masks.
The canon door hisses shut, and the train starts moving again with a jerk. Sally closes her eyes in defeat. There is no escaping this terrible situation.
She’s going to have to apologize —
Then, Nightwing swings around in his seat to pin Red Hood with an outraged look.
“You killed my husband?!”
The silence of the train care stretched even thicker. For a moment, everyone stares at each other in befuddlement and the still clinging remnants of their earlier horror, now suppressed mostly by confusion.
Naomi, bless her tiny heart, has realized who exactly had joined them, and the dolls have dropped into her lap in a startled motion of uncharacteristic embarrassment. The girls shoulders hunch inward as she regards her heroes who now sit across from her.
Red Hood pauses for a moment. It’s as if everyone in the train is holding their breath, waiting in suspense to see what he will do.
Sally snakes an arm around Naomi’s shoulders as the little girl nervously pressed into her side, clutching her action figures tightly in her tiny hands and staring at their real life counterparts with massive, round eyes.
After a second, in which not one single person in the canon dares to move, Red Hood shrugs out from under Nightwing’s supportive arm. With deft hands, he reaches up and unlatched his helmet, pulling it off to thump down into his lap —
He’s younger, much younger, than Sally could have ever imagined.
Even with the run of the mill domino mask that all Batclan members seem to wear covering his eyes and hiding his identity, there is no mistaking the youth of his skin, the springy curls of his hair. There is white there, too, but it clearly has nothing to do with age.
And there, at the corner of his mouth, is a boyish smirk.
Red Hood casts that smirk toward Nightwing, and drawls out in a smooth Park Row accent.
“He wasn’t good enough for you.”
There’s a few chokes, cut off guffaws. The teenager in the corner has both hands covering his face in second-hand mortification, but stares at the vigilantes from in between his fingers.
Sally is off her game today, it seems. The oddity of the situation has knocked her off kilter, because she isn’t fast enough to recognize the moment that the wind billows back into Naomi’s sails.
A bright, fanatical grin eclipses her granddaughter’s face. Naomi peels off Sally’s side, breaks free of her restraining arm, and grabs the action figures back up into her hands.
Sally presses a hand over her mouth to suppress her heavy sigh as the girl kicks off running.
“I,” she says haughtily in her deep, Red Hood voice, “am capable of anything. You should know that… cousin.”
Nightwing gasps, hand flinging up to cover his mouth in shock.
He leans over into Red Hood’s space, and says in a stage whisper, “We’re cousins? Why would you hide that from me?”
Red Hood shakes his head, rather solemnly if not for the mirthful smirk still trying to twist at his mouth.
“You can’t handle the truth.”
The incredulity of the situation seems to have hit for some of the passengers. There are people who are covering their mouths to suppress somewhat hysterical chuckling, while others have whipped out their phones to record the Gotham celebrities in their midsts. Sally shifts to the side a bit to hopefully shield Naomi from the cameras.
“That is impossible!” Naomi says, slightly less deep Nightwing voice in full effect. “My uncle…. He was killed by a stray piano long before you were born!”
Nightwing snorts, clapping a hand over his mouth to cover it. Beside him, Red Hood huffs.
“Wow, a stray… They really need to get a handle on those things.” He says seriously. “They’re a danger to the public.”
Naomi whacks the Nightwing doll with the Red Hood doll, and both heroes press their lips together as if to smother grins.
“That could not have happened!” Naomi’s says as deeply as she can.
Sally has to look away from the way that Red Hood’s shoulders are shaking with suppressed laughter, otherwise she knows she’ll burst into mirth herself.
“My father,” Naomi continues grandly. “Was the best piano wrangler the east coast has ever seen!”
“That’s a scary job.” Nightwing comments to his fellow vigilante. “No wonder he died.”
“Hey, don’t say that to me.” Red Hood replies in a stage whisper. “I have trauma about that.”
The blue hero glances at him, as if surprised. There is, however, a devious grin on his face.
“Ohhh…” He nods. “Is that why you’re scared of pianos?”
Sally pinches the bridge of her nose. A middle aged man in a business suit hanging on to one of the poles is quietly cackling.
Red Hood pauses, takes a deep breath, and then covers his mouth with a gloved hand.
“Because…” Nightwing’s voice is shaking in humor. “Because one killed your dad?”
“Don’t.” Red Hood shoves up a hand, as if to ward the other away. “This is bad… I’m gonna need to go talk to my…” He snorts, “my orchestral therapist after this.”
Snickering flows throughout the cabin, people covering their mouths as if they aren’t yet sure whether they are allowed to laugh.
Naomi builds off the heroes’ comments like a bird taking to the air.
“You!” She roars. “You will pay for this! Orchestra therapy is expensive! I have to go all the way to Bristol!”
Nightwing has listed to the side, and is sniggering into Red Hoods shoulder.
“Noooo,” he bemoans dramatically. “No, I’m poor too!”
“Shut up,” Red Hood grumbles back lightly. “You still owe me my five dollars for the pizza.”
“You thief!” Naomi shrieks, and everyone’s head whips back to watch her fling Red Hoods doll across the seat, the leg of the Nightwing doll extended stiffly.
“I can’t believe it, you kicked me.” The real Red Hood says, as if stunned. “Thought we were bros, man.”
“You literally threw me off a bridge last week.” Is the flat, dry reply.
“That was a trust exercise—“
“Into the harbor.”
“And it worked because—“
“With the plane.”
“RR caught you, didn’t he? You big baby.”
A beaming smile lightens up Nightwing’s face.
“Yeah,” he says fondly. “He did. He’s a good kid.”
Sally watches as the people with their phones out inch slowly but ever closer, all trying to get the best angle and capture every word. She understands why — after all, it’s not often the Gotham vigilantes allow themselves to be this… publicly available.
She wonders what happened. Didn’t they say something about their bikes being thrown into the harbor?
“I am the thief? You are the one who stole my inheritance!” Naomi charges on, like a bull in a China shop.
She lifts the Red Hood doll up into the air to signify that he is the one speaking, as if her deep gravelly growl that sounds more like a cat is not enough.
“All one hundred dollars of it!”
“That is so not cool.” Red Hood turns to regard Nightwing with a glower. “That much money could have bought me a nice place in the suburbs.”
The train lurches as it pulls into another stop.
“Not after taxes, it couldn’t.”
Two seconds later, the doors hiss open and a figure decked out in purple comes strolling into the cabin.
Naomi gasps, and Sally allows the back of her head to thunk against the window behind her, wondering how many vigilantes are going to show up and witness this train wreck of a situation.
“My lost little birds,” The Spoiler singsongs, spinning in place before giving theatrical jazzhands as she comes to a stop before her fellow bats. “Your chariot has arrived!”
Both Red Hood and Nightwing stare up at her, looking unimpressed. Neither of them move.
Spoiler tilts her head at them. She shifts her stance wider and places both hands on her hips.
“Hello, I’m here to save you?” She tsks. “What’s with this reception? Ungrateful.”
“First of all,” Red Hood holds up a finger. “We didn’t ask.”
“Wow.” Spoiler gasps, outraged.
“Secondly!” Nightwing interjects cheerfully, lifting up two fingers. “We can’t just leave now. I’m way too invested.”
“Yeah, I wanna know what happens next.” Red Hood grouses. “Can you move? You’re blocking the show.”
The Spoiler stands still for another five seconds before she slowly pivots around until she is facing Sally.
Her hooded head tilts down as she finally catches sight of the little girl with the action figures.
Naomi stares back at her. There’s a brief moment of hesitation, but Sally’s granddaughter is not one to be stopped once she truly gets going.
The girl holds the Red Hood doll aloft once more, as if offering it to Spoiler as a tribute.
“Nightwing,” she says in the gravely voice. “Yes, I killed your husband, but it was not unprovoked.”
“Her vocabulary is great.” Red Hood whispers — in a real whisper, not a stage whisper — quietly to Nightwing, who nods ardently.
“Not only did you rob me of my hundred dollar inheritance.” ‘Red Hood’s’ gravel continues, “but it was YOUR father that killed mine by releasing the pack of wild pianos.”
The real Red Hood whistles lowly. “What a way to go.”
“Grisly end.” The real Nightwing agrees somberly.
The passengers are following along like they’re watching a tennis match, heads swiveling from Naomi’s theatrical production and then back to the vigilantes for their commentary. Several phones are held aloft over heads, all vying for the best vantage point.
Spoiler claps her hands together, and something about her posture looks absolutely delighted to Sally.
The purple-clad vigilante takes a single step back and plops down, shoving herself in between her fellow bats while both men complain grumpily at the jostling.
“BB,” Spoiler mumbles into a high tech looking watch that is wrapped snugly around her wrist, “can you send the Batmobile back to the garage? Something came up.”
The watch crackles briefly, which must have been an affirmative, because Spoiler hits a button on it and then props her chin up on both her palms, beaming across the isle at Naomi.
Naomi glances at her. She casts an eye back toward Sally, and wiggles a hand toward the bag at her grandmother’s feet.
Sally can’t help but sigh at the absurd situation they've found themselves in.
Well, in for a penny, right?
She lifts the bag up high enough for Naomi to reach, and the girl fishes around in its contents for a moment before coming up with a familiar, purple-clad doll.
“Ooooh my god.” Spoiler claps her hands again. She even reaches out to slap a hand against Nightwing’s leg. “Buckle up boys, it’s about to get good.”
“Psssh.” Red Hood’s eyes are covered, but the exaggerated movement of his head heavily implies that he just rolled them. “Fringe side character vibes.”
The woman gasps in outrage, jabbing him with a finger. “You take that back!”
He winces and rubs at his clearly armored chest with a groan.
Sally is beginning to think the batclan might just be a tad bit on the dramatic side.
“You’re wrong!” Naomi says shrilly, in a new voice. She’s not a bad hand at mimicry, despite her extremely young voice, and just now hearing Spoiler speak helps sell it a bit more than otherwise.
“It wasn’t Nightwing who released the pianos….” Naomi pauses dramatically.
Spoiler leans forward in her seat, hands clasped to her chest.
“Oh my god, who could it have been.” She murmurs quietly.
A flash goes off from someone’s phone camera. There’s muffled cursing as the person scrambles to turn it off, despite already revealing themselves. Several people cast narrowed eyed glares their way before turning back to their own recording phones.
Not one of the batclan members moves, casually acting as if they hadn’t seen it.
Sally shakes her head at the lot of them.
“It was actually….” Naomi thrusts the Spoiler doll up into the air. “Me!”
Spoiler gasps loudly, but not as loud as Nightwing.