CLICK [HERE] FOR TEXT ONLY
— + —
Peter was perched on the roof of NRE, watching the figures huddled in the alley behind the shop.
Figuring he wasn't too keen on meeting with any of the other Bats so soon after his debut and deal with their interference — thanks Batgirl for the warning — Peter had made the executive decision to remain in Red Hood's territory that evening. In an unusual stroke of fortune, that choice led to Peter catching the deal below. He'd only noticed because he'd spread himself so far on the web and caught the presence of someone in the shop. As he settled down to spy, he all but vibrated with satisfaction. He might be able to resolve this quickly! Though it was a little disappointing to think the coding work he'd done on the goober might go unutilised.
But hey, maybe this would mean he wouldn't need to confess to the Red Hood/Jason (Peter seriously needed to work out how to label him!) that he'd already lost his burner phone. Sure, he had reluctantly bought a new one while out with Dog that morning, but really, handing over his burner to any old Gothamite that needed his help wasn't a sustainable option. Peter wasn't made of money! And who knew what'd happen once he resolved the issue at NRE… there might not even be an NRE at the end, though Peter sincerely hoped that wouldn't be the case…
Maybe he'd have to do as the Romans do and make himself a utility belt (gross) with some kind of gadget for people. Something he could make on the cheap….
As though summoned by Peter's thoughts, he felt the pressure of someone's attention off to the east of him. He didn't move, unwilling to show his observer that they'd been had.
The sksh of metal on brick. The rustle of fabric and kevlar. The tpp of rubber-soled boots as their owner landed on Peter's rooftop.
"Sup, Hood?" Peter asked as he heard the intake of breath, the preparation to speak.
Hell. He hoped it was Hood: Peter still hadn't worked out how to identify adults through the web. Only enough to recognise it as adult and male, but he thought that alone was pretty impressive.
A huff. "Spider," Hood said, growly through the modulator.
Phew. Misidentifying his watcher would have been embarrassing.
Peter didn't bother looking over. Now he knew who Hood was, he wasn't sure how to act, and he didn't want it to show through his body language (thank God his face was hidden). "You've got good timing, my dude."
He winced internally. Too familiar. Then again, maybe it was just the right amount? He'd already made himself known as obnoxious.
"Whatcha got?" Hood approached him cautiously, and Peter finally glanced up. Yup. Just as tall and faintly intimidating as last time, though was it Peter or did he seem to be in a better mood?
"See for yourself." He gestured downwards, voice pitched low. They weren't that high up. Peter didn't want to spook the dealers below.
Hood crouched beside him, maybe a little closer than Peter expected. It spoke of a familiarity that shouldn't have existed after one night working together, and Peter's heartrate picked up in response. He forced himself to focus, listening carefully to the man and woman conversing below:
"… First rate goods this time," the man said quietly as he looked over the two plastic crates of tech. He was tall and thin. His face was obscured by a black hoodie with holes cut into the cuffs for his thumbs. His nails were painted a chipped white. The woman stood to the side while he continued to inspect the crates, lifting the odd piece of tech to turn it over in his hands. "Tell your boss he's outdone himself."
"Sure," the woman drawled. She had a frame that equalled her counterpart's, and though Peter couldn't see her face, he could hear a wet crackle as she chewed gum with her mouth open. She held out a gloved hand and the man slapped an envelope and hard drive into it, which were promptly secreted away inside her coat.
The man hauled up one of the crates and disappeared through NRE's backdoor.
"What you thinkin' of, then?" Hood murmured from Peter's side. He shot the man a look, but who knew what Jason was thinking behind that mask. Peter got the impression Jason was humouring him.
"Well, I was planning on following the SUV," Peter said, just as soft. "But I reckon you might not keep up."
Hood's chuckle was definitely laced with a threat, no humour to be found. "Think you can outrun me, Itsy Bitsy?"
Having long since resigned himself to no further growth spurts, Peter shrugged, unaffected by the dig at his height. He grinned as he stood, ready to follow the woman once she slipped into her battered SUV. No suss vans here; Peter couldn't decide if that was a smart move or not. But it certainly suggested they were unconcerned with getting caught. Judging by that hidden ledger, Peter imagined they'd been running this gig for some time.
"Don't take this the wrong way," Peter said carefully even as he trotted along the rooftop. "It's just that it's hard to match up with me."
"I'm sure I can find a way to compensate," Hood rumbled.
Peter was poised to run just as the SUV's engine sputtered into life when he heard a soft crack, like an extremely muted gunshot. He spun around to see Hood put away what looked like a small, modified pistol. There was an air of smugness about him that had Peter narrowing his eyes.
"What was that?"
"Tracker," Hood bragged, and nodded down at the SUV. "You gonna follow that? I think I'll keep up just fine."
"A bike?" Peter asked, curious.
Hood straightened back to all his six-foot-something glory. Peter was absolutely certain he was wearing lifts: Jason definitely wasn't that tall, even if Peter was practically in bare feet with his thin boots. "Work smarter, not harder, right?"
"Right," Peter said distantly.
"They're getting away?" Hood jeered.
Peter blinked and glanced down: sure enough the SUV had just rolled onto the street.
He cursed, but froze on the precipice of a jump, balanced neatly on one foot as he pivoted back to Hood. "By the way, I don't have that number anymore."
"Why should that not surprise me?" Hood sighed, guttural through his muzzle. Peter thought maybe he was amused, though. It was a very Jason reaction.
"It was unavoidable," he said, then threw Jason/Hood a salute. "Catch you at the end, eh Hood?"
With that, Peter twisted back and jumped out into the air, a web already thrown out to catch him.
— + —
Left alone on the rooftop, Jason let out a low whistle.
Peter in the air was a thing of beauty. Raw, acrobatic talent. The kind of person he wouldn't mind pitching against Dick. The guy could use a little humbling.
And he was fast. Already Peter had disappeared, adeptly using those webs to slingshot himself around the corner of a building.
Jason couldn't have stopped his grin even if he'd tried. Looked like the chase was on.
— + —
As promised, Hood did manage to keep up with Peter. They'd followed the SUV to the north of Park Row, where the lines blurred between Crime Alley and the Narrows. Unaware of its pursuers, the SUV turned into an auto-shop and the woman jumped out, still chewing gum as she unlocked the door around the side of the shop.
Pater observed from the shelter of a roof across the street. There were a number of cars parked out the front of the mechanic's, all in varying states of disrepair. Did they mix up deliveries with different vehicles? It was a smart move if they did. Or at least it seemed that way, in Peter's admittedly uneducated opinion. He hung around a little while longer, just to see if the woman was going to leave again, but a touch against the web telegraphed the presence of five other people inside, so he doubted they'd disappear in the next ten minutes.
Confident in his judgement, Peter jumped across three rooftops just in time to see Jason pull into the small parking bay of a corner store. He tucked his motorcycle up against a wall, to be swallowed by the shadows cast by streetlamps breaking against the corner of the building. Out of professional courtesy, Peter sprayed a thin layer of web over the security cameras, then joined Jason by the bike.
"It's an auto shop," he explained as Jason took off his helmet. Peter watched, curious, as Jason pressed a latch beneath his jaw and the lower half of the helmet broke open: he was still wearing the muzzle. Replacing the helmet when damaged had to be a pain in the ass. Not only was it a custom build, but it couldn't exactly be easy to explain the necessity of its design.
Maybe Peter understood why most of the other bats — at least according to the stories — only wore dominoes.
"I know," Jason/Hood said. He nodded at the webbed cameras. "You planning on cleaning that up after?"
"It'll do that on its own."
"Hmm."
"I'd bore you with the details, but I like to play coy. Keep a few secrets."
"Coy," Hood echoed.
Peter grinned and gestured at his body. "Why else would I be dressed like this from head to toe? I'm shy."
"Shy my ass," Hood growled.
Peter laughed softly, then got to business.
"I was thinking, since you're intent on being in on this," Peter said as he investigated Hood's bike. Not that he really knew what he was looking at, but it probably helped to look like he did. The bike was nice though. Sleek like Skittle Robin's, but in a red so dark it looked black until the light shone on it. It was heftier, too, probably to match its master. Brute force to obscure the intelligence beneath. "You could be my distraction?"
Red Hood was silent. Peter took it as a sign he was amenable to the idea.
"The stolen goods should be dealt with, but the data is the more insidious threat," he carried on. "It's not enough to just catch them out today. In an ideal world, I find all the stolen data 'cause they haven't sold it on, then we can alert the authorities and all that." He frowned, thinking of SHIELDRA. "Or just delete it. Might be safer."
Hood grunted in acknowledgement. Possibly agreement. "Gotham isn't much for ideals."
Peter laughed hollowly. "Yeah, I got that impression. If that's the case, then it's back to the original idea, and track the data they've just collected."
"So, what? You want me to play instigator while you creep in and see if they've sold the stuff?"
Peter shrugged. "Pretty much."
"And you're not worried about them getting spooked? The Red Hood ain't exactly a small name, Bitsy."
Bitsy… was it a downgrade or an upgrade?
He dragged himself back on track. The thought hadoccurred to him on the sedate chase here. "Could you plausibly stage it as a surprise visit? Like, you just stumbled across it?"
"… You know how many are inside?"
Well. That wasn't a no. "Six."
"Six? You're that confident?"
Peter wasn't offended by the naked doubt. He wasn't. "I'm not just guesstimating, dude."
"You can, what? Hear 'em? You got super-hearing?"
"Sure," Peter agreed, evasive. He wasn't a huge fan of the invasive questioning, even if logically he knew it was Jason who was asking. Or that Peter would have been equally doubtful if in the same position. It didn't change the fact that Peter didn't enjoy the mistrust.
"Alright," Hood sighed. He rolled his shoulders like they were stiff. Peter wondered if he ever used a masseuse. Happy had once mentioned they had a whole team on the payroll for the Avengers. They'd had their work cut out for them. "I could probably pass it off. 'Specially if I'm goin' in alone and youdon't get caught."
"Then, go with that."
"And after?"
"After?"
"Well, the Red Hood ain't gonna just come in and leave them to it after. I'll be taking any of their stolen gear for myself."
"I — oh."
"You gonna be cool with that?"
Peter… wasn't really. But… stolen tech was replaceable. And chances were, whoever had lost it, had lost it weeks ago. It was shitty for the victims but didn't run the risk of ruining them like their stolen identities and personal data could.
"What are you going to do with them?" Peter asked warily.
"That would be none of your business, Bitsy."
Peter shifted on his feet, stomach twisting uncomfortably. "Right…"
Hood tilted his head, then sighed heavily. It was a death-rattle through his muzzle. "I'll call my guys to clean up after I'm done with 'em. You can deal with the data — we won't touch that shit. Pretend we missed it or whatever. You booby trap the files for whoever comes back to collect it after me and mine are done… You still got that virus thing?"
By virtue of Peter's sheer laziness, he did. It was still in his chest pocket with the notepad. He nodded.
"Cool. So, you do your thing, I do mine, and we call it a night when I call my guys."
Peter nodded silently. His stomach was still twisting itself up with guilt — he really didn't like the idea of any stolen tech not being returned to their rightful owners… but he already knew that Gotham was a different beast from New York. And who knew? Maybe there'd be nothing there, anyway. Maybe they cleaned themselves out with every delivery and that new hard drive was everything they had.
The two of them quickly worked out the rest of the plan and parted ways: Peter for the rooftops once more, since he'd be coming in from above (he suspected a lot of the incriminating material he was after was on the second floor of the auto shop), Jason back on his bike.
Peter crept across the rooftop of the auto shop, confident in his silence. Not that there was anyone upstairs to notice, but he didn't exactly want to throw the whole mission on its head because he couldn't play his stealth card right.
He found the perfect spot — a window on the south side of the building that had been left just slightly ajar. The faintest trace of cigarette smoke lingered around it and there was an unhealthy collection of cigarette butts littered on the yard below, but there was no one inside the room. Peter waited, perched just above, for Hood to saunter in — and there really was no better way to put it. He walked up the drive, sans bike, with the exact same murderous swagger that Peter had seen in all that shaky footage of the Winter Soldier, pre-return to the light side.
It was… a vibe. Yep. That was what it was. Peter onlyfound himself admiring the man's movement because of how similar it was and how convincing was the miasma of menace that hung around him like thick smog. That was all.
Had those unsteady clips been the start of his bisexual awakening? No sir. Nope. Not. At. All. Not even a bit.
Peter forcibly returned his attention to the web. The people inside were clustered in a back room, all of them awake despite the late hour. That in and of itself should have been suspicious enough: the only people awake in Gotham this time of night were night-workers, vigilantes and people up to no good. And Peter doubted there was anyone working a legal shift at MT Son's Garage at one in the morning.
Concealed in the shadows of the roof's awning, Peter watched as Hood tried the back door. Both laughed softly when they realised the door had been left unlocked, and Hood looked up, the faint gleam of red eyes latching onto Peter's hidden form. At least, he'd thought himself hidden.
He shouldn't be surprised: there were more than enough theories running around on the forums to suggest a link between the elusive Red Hood and the Bat menagerie. And all sorts of legends about theiruncanny powers of observation.
Had Hood not been trying for stealth, Peter suspected he might have said something. Instead, Hood simply opened the door and strolled right on in.
Peter listened to Hood's near-silent footsteps, then the creaking on an un-oiled door. Then he stopped and said: "Oh, hey guys. Y'all havin' a party?"
Peter bit back a laugh at the drawled greeting. Jason really was so funny when he wanted to be. Seemed like he was only a stick-in-the-mud when it came to Red Hood and Spider-Man.
The muted talking of the people inside fell quiet. Just for a second. Then all hell broke loose and there was a bunch of shouting and cursing and crashing — like that of bodies being thrown around.
Peter left Hood to it, figuring he'd made enough of a reputation to be able to handle things well enough. He wrenched open the window, confident the screech would be covered by the fighting downstairs and crawled inside. The room stank of layer upon layer of air-freshener and cigarette smoke: a lasagna of awful scents. It was a small and poky space, little more than a large storage room, and the walls lined were with shelves of old cardboard boxes, torn and scuffed with age and use. A peek inside some of them showed a mix of car parts (don't ask Peter what kind, he'd been too much of a surly pre-teen before Ben died to want to learn how to fix a car he'd never own) and clearly stolen devices. Phones and tablets mostly, piled on top of each other like discarded children's toys, many sporting shattered screens and a variety of cases.
Huh. Well, consider that a tick on the suspicions that NRE's stolen goods supplier might be working with other businesses. Why else keep so many on property when they'd just made an exchange?
Then again, they could just be drip-feeding them to NRE. It would be the smart way to maintain a stable income.
Get on with it, Parker. The crashing and yelling and odd strangled scream were still going on downstairs, but Peter thought it was less frenzied. Six really wasn't that many people if they were caught unawares and the plus one had significantly better training than the rest.
Then again… all it takes is one gun…
Peter ignored the twinge of anxiety and wrenched open the door — it had been locked from the outside, but one piddly lock was no match for Peter. He came out onto a landing, the stairs just off to his right and the fighting was much louder from where he stood. There were a few other doors down the hallway, a couple of them open. Still connected to the web — everyone was accounted for downstairs — Peter peeked into each room, breaking the locks on those he couldn't open. No need for stealth when staging a clear-out. Bedroom (it stank of stale air and unwashed sheets, gross), poky kitchen and then, an office.
That one had been locked. When Peter stepped inside, he smelled the faint traces of spearmint gum.
Jackpot.
He zeroed in on the computers — there were two of them, which wasn't suspect at all for a garage. A quick search of the desk, drawers and shelves didn't pull up the hard-drive from the exchange — perhaps the woman still had it on her? No matter. He'd have to tell Jason to pretend to miss it.
Goober One in hand, Peter booted up both computers and let the encryption-breaker do its thing on each. Once in, he went on the hunt. The smaller of the two desktops (though it had the larger of the two screens) was fruitless: it was mostly dedicated to the running of the garage and the worst he found was some lesbian porn.
Just as Peter turned his attention to the second desktop, he realised the fighting had stopped and there was someone coming up the stairs. He was on the ceiling and ready to attack from the corner in a fraction of a second and listened to the careful tread across the stained carpet. He didn't let down his guard until a familiar red hood and muzzle caught the light off the screen.
Hood didn't appear to be harmed — guess those bare arms were good for something — and carried a crowbar in his right hand. He stank of adrenaline sweat and blood.
(Peter didn't know how he knew it was adrenaline sweat... just that it was. The certainty of the observation was as unnerving as it was fascinating.)
Their masked eyes caught as Hood looked up and saw Peter crouched in the corner of the ceiling.
"That's never going to not be weird," Hood rasped.
Peter threw him the peace sign. "Did you have fun, dear?" he asked in a simpering voice.
Hood's shoulders twitched and Peter imagined he was grinning beneath the muzzle. "Terribly," he shot back, in a voice even fancier than Peter's. "You give me the most darling of things."
by the talented supine-ly! (Tumblr)
by the talented onyxmistkes (Tumblr)
Peter did laugh then. He flipped out of his corner to land on his feet. "I was about to start a hunt of my own," he said, fingers flying across the keyboard as soon as the goober broke in. They'd at least had the sense not to use the same password as the work computer. Peter offered the crook who set all this up a lick of respect.
"I've called in a few people." Hood loomed behind Peter's hunched figure, watching him work. The awareness of his presence sent shivers up and down Peter's spine, but he kept his attention firmly on the screen. "They'll be here in twenty. You think you can be done by then, or am I gonna need to tell 'em to steer clear of this room?"
"Hmmm…" Peter had pulled up the torrenting software he suspected they'd used to share the stolen data. It looked like it had been operating for some time. At least twelve months. "I want to see if I can trace each of these destinations, but I think I'll be done by then. Oh, also, don't search the woman for that hard drive. It's already full of the tagged data I set up the other night."
"You want her to conveniently escape?" Hood asked.
Peter thought about, but it didn't take much thinking. "Yeah, sure."
"Suit yourself," Hood said, and left him to it.
It made a lot more sense why the Red Hood would trust Spider-Man so quickly, Peter reflected, once he'd realised Jason knew exactly who Spider-Man was. It also made working with him a lot easier, even if Peter kept wondering if Jason knew that Peter knew who he was too.
As predicted, Peter had wrapped things up on his end before Hood's 'men' arrived. It wasn't promising: there were months' worth of file sharing on the desktop, to various buyers, too. And Peter doubted they were in Gotham, otherwise why bother when you could just give them a flash drive and call it a day? He installed a backdoor for himself to enter remotely — provided of course, whoever was organising this decided to return for the computer.
Satisfied, Peter shut everything down and withdrew, crossing the landing and jumping down the stairs. They came down to a storage-slash-break room at the back of the garage, but the six who'd been inside were out in the garage itself. Peter slipped out of the room to join Hood as he watched over the six.
The stink of blood was stronger here, but it hung low beneath the sharper scents of motor oil and gasoline. The concrete flooring was littered with debris from the fight: splinters of one of those rolling creepers that went under cars, bolts and nuts and a wall of tires had collapsed — presumably when one of the men had been thrown into them.
Peter hesitated to come closer. Hood had trussed the six — four men, two women, including the one they'd stalked here — up against a shelf. He'd taped their hands and feet together and blind-folded them. Judging by their slumped postures, the first of the women and two of the men were unconscious, but the other three were whey-faced and thin-lipped with pain. One of the men was shifting and groaning softly.
Jason had broken his leg. Badly.
On another, Jason had neatly wrapped a bandage around their bicep, but blood had already stained their denim jacket, cut off at the shoulder to allow for the first aid.
Peter was pretty sure the third had a handful of broken fingers, judging by their unnatural angles.
He rounded on Red Hood, but found he couldn't speak a word. Hood stared back; body language entirely unrepentant.
Anything Peter might have said was swallowed by the approaching rumble of an engine. He huffed and threw a web to jump onto the ceiling, then crawled into a corner more shadowed than the rest by a set of shelves. Soon enough, two men and a woman strolled in through the same back door Jason had entered from.
"Hola, Hood," one of the men called out, far too chipper for half past one in the morning. He was maybe Peter's height, but stocky, with a rich tan and long brown hair pulled back from his face in a low pony. Late twenties, maybe early-thirties. In his right hand, he carried a chunky red vape.
"Toni," Hood returned. "Nidi, Cisco."
The other two nodded at Hood with more appropriate levels of energy for the time. Peter realised as he studied them that they were siblings: both had similar noses and eyes, with equally serious expressions that Peter suspected wasn't because of their personality so much as the build of their face.
Toni sidled up beside Hood and peered down at the six from the garage and took a long puff from his vape. Hood sighed as Toni let out a stream of strawberry flavoured smoke.
"That shit's still gonna give you cancer, dumbass."
"There ain't no proof, and that's all I need," Toni shot back cheerily. He took another pull and puffed out an equally obnoxious cloud at the garage six. "What's this, eh?"
"A few fencers. A birdie told me her ex'd been sellin' stolen tech to her work. Figured I'd come check it out, and lo and behold, I find these idiots."
Peter blinked. As excuses went, he supposed it worked.
"Are we takin' over?"
"Nah. Just clear out and take 'em," Hood nodded at the six, "to Carm's. He can decide what to do with 'em."
"Sure thing, boss." Toni's 'boss' was delivered without an ounce of reverence, but Hood didn't appear to care.
Toni took one last pull of his vape then shoved it in the inside pocket of his jacket. The four worked quickly and efficiently, stripping the garage and upstairs of anything they suspected was stolen (despite his elevated status, Hood was perfectly willing to pitch in), but as promised, left the office alone.
By the time they we finished, Peter could sense that the woman — the one he'd followed here in the first place — had come to her senses, though she pretended to play dead while Hood and Nidi put her in the back of their van. An actual van, of the dodgy sort without windows that Peter had expected any self-respecting career criminal to use.
Peter waited until they had left — Toni with a middle-fingered salute to Hood; Nidi and Cisco with a much more respectful 'Goodnight' — before he jumped down from his corner and onto the floor.
Something was stewing under Peter's skin. It wasn't until his feet touched the concrete that he realised it was anger.
There was a pool of half-dried blood left where the man who'd been stabbed once sat.
"Hood."
"Spider," Hood echoed. He was messaging someone on his phone and didn't bother looking up.
Peter chewed on his inner cheek. Angry or not, he understood that he wasn't the local here. And Hood was still Jason. He didn't want to tear Jason a new one for breaking a man's tibia with a crowbar. Not because it was undeserved, but because it was Jason.
The double standard filled him with shameful guilt. He breathed in slowly to settle himself before he spoke, but failed to keep the bite out of his voice all the same: "Not to like, yuck your yum, but don't you think that was massively ineffective?"
Red Hood turned on him slowly, red eyes narrowed.
Okay. Maybe that still wasn't very diplomatic.
"The fuck you mean?"
Peter licked his lips nervously. He knew with almost 100% certainty that was Jason under the mask. He didn't like seeing this meaner, angrier version of his housemate-slash-literal-if-temporary-partner-in-crime. Not when he knew Jason.
Jason, who liked to slouch around the apartment in tracksuits and thrifted cardigans and loved boring classical literature and poetry. Who just three days ago Peter had caught snoring on the couch with Dog sprawled on top of him like a drooly weighted blanket, the book he'd been reading face down on the rug.
by the fantastic onyxmistkes (tumblr) 😵😭😭😭
Would Jason be like this if he knew that Peter knew who he was? Did it matter even if he did? Was the sudden hostility a front, or genuine?
Who had the real persona? Jason? …. Or Red Hood?
You were talking. Peter lightly shook himself and returned to his tentative point that he was fairly sure he wouldn't get shot for. "I just mean… you know poverty is like, the strongest indicator of crime, right?"
"Of fucking course I do," Hood/Jason growled. "I fucking grew up in this shithole district!"
Right. Of course he did. Jason had told Peter he'd been living on the streets before Bruce adopted him. But still… "Then… what do you think is gonna happen to those men whose bones you just broke?"
Hood/Jason remained silent. Peter tentatively took it as the permission he needed to go on.
"You break their leg or their hand or whatever… and what happens next? Do they lose their jobs? Their real jobs, I mean. Or do they go into debt to pay off the hospital? How long until they can work again?"
"You think they were innocent, Spider?" Anger radiated from Hood, scalding hot and vicious. "One tried to shoot me, no hesitation! I broke his fucking hand. His buddy tried to jump me with this—" Hood pulled a knife out of his belt. The blade was ragged and still stained with viscera. "So I stabbed him instead. Turnaround's fair play." He threw the knife into the air, light catching on the black metal before the hand slapped back into his palm. "The others, I warned. They didn't listen. I did what I had to do."
"You could've—"
"What? Called the fucking cops?" Hood cut in before Peter could finish (a relief: Peter wasn't even sure he knew what the hell he was talking about). "Or what? Act the cop? The fuck you think a brush with the pigs woulda done to 'em?" Red Hood took an intimidating step closer, looming over Peter. But this his senses barely tingled, it didn't make Jason's contempt sting any less. "Half the force are as violent as them. Half of what's left are worse, and what's left after that are complicit and covering their asses. Frankly, those dipshits were lucky it was me. If I was a cop, I'da shot first, ask questions never."
"I won't argue with you there," Peter acknowledged. Between the two of them, Hood was the Gotham veteran. He knew the GCPD better than Peter, who so far had only ever seen them in passing. "But… If all you do is escalate the violence, Hood, how are you any better than the cops?"
Red Hood flipped the knife again, and this time' Peter's senses flared as it smacked into the meaty flesh of his palm. Danger. "You don't know shit!Gotham ain't a funfair, Spider. You'd better get off that soapbox before she drags you off."
Peter's gut churned with something sad and ugly. Turned out vigilante chicken wasn't anywhere close to fun when you found yourself on opposite sides of an ideological divide.
He didn't let it show. Shrugged instead.
"I guess I just want to know," Peter said eventually, "what it is you do this for? Is it punishment? Retribution? Rehabilitation? Because from where I stand — and I get that I'm an outsider, I really do, but this is what I see — what you did wasn't the latter. And that won't make this city better. If anything, you're making things worse. Putting more people in hospital… potentially crippling them… what's that going to achieve except more pain and suffering?"
"And what the fuck's your alternative, Spider-Man?" Peter blinked. It was the first time Hood had called him by his name that evening. "I let 'em go? Free to steal another day? What about their victims? They've been stealing for months. Do you know how many people they've hurt along the way? You saying they don't deserve justice?"
"I'm not saying that, no," Peter said slowly. He was walking a fine line here; he knew it. "But how did you know?"
"How did I know what?"
"How did you know they deserved that? Did you do your research?"
"Funnily enough," Hood sneered. "I fucking have. More than I can say about you, eh?"
That stopped Peter in his tracks. "What?"
"Oh, you think we came across each other Wednesday night by coincidence?" Hood's laughter was mean. "I've been onto 'em for ages. All over the city. You just accelerated my timeline for dealing with 'em."
"… Oh."
Oh? Was that the best Peter could manage? He learnt Jason had known there was something dodgy going on at NRE while Peter was working there, and 'oh' was all he could say?
Suddenly mortified, Peter took a step back. Then another. The antsy feeling under his skin told him he needed to leave. Lick the wounds to his pride somewhere in private.
As though sensing Peter's withdrawal, Hood repeated his name: "Spider-Man." The aggression had seeped out of his tone, but there was still an undercurrent of angry steel. "Let me give you some advice: Gotham's a mean bitch. She's chewed up and spat out better people than you who've tried to 'fix' her, and she'll keep doing so into eternity. They only thing that gives you any chance of keeping your head above water is making damn sure you know what you're getting yourself into."
"I don't think I can 'fix' Gotham!" Peter retorted, defensive and irritated now. "Besides, why does it have to be a single person?" For all that Peter had joked to Bruce Fucking Wayne that the city needed a messianic intervention, he wasn't naive nor arrogant enough to believe that one single person could improve the city. "Why can't I just try to help where I can?"
"Then lemme ask you the same question: what is it you do this for?"
Redemption, was the word that came to mind, but the syllables caught in Peter's throat.
Hood took his silence as an answer. "People without conviction die here, Spider-Man… Sometimes, it even happens when they do."
"I have conviction," Peter said, quiet.
"What you say?"
"I have conviction!" he snarled the words, suddenly furious to even be questioned for it. Peter lost everything to Spider-Man and he still put on the fucking suit. Ending up in this hellscape of a city wasn't going to change a single thing. "I'm here because I care! And I've the power to help, so I have the responsibility to do so!"
Red Hood straightened up. Squared his shoulders. Peter readied himself for something equally cutting, but, "Okay," was all Hood said.
For the second time that night, Peter felt like the rug had been ripped out from under him. "Huh?"
"Okay," Hood said again. "I believe you."
Nothing but empty air escaped Peter's mouth.
Had… had this all just been some kind of fucked up casting call? A pep talk with bonus threat of violence?
No… right? Peter was the one to pick the fight, not Hood.
What the fuck just happened?
"What," Peter said, feeling hollow.
"Meet me above Sheldon Park Subway, tomorrow night. Ten-thirty. You'll be working with me until I'm sure you won't die at the first rogue."
"… Uhm?"
"You wanna help, Spider-Man? It's this, or the Bats run you out of town." He clapped a hand on Peter's shoulder. "Say 'thank-you'."
"… Thank-you?"
"You're welcome. Now go home. I'm sure it's your bedtime."
"Uhh?"
The Red Hood steered Peter out of the garage with his massive hands on Peter's shoulder's. "Off you go!" he said with dangerously bright cheer. "Take your sanctimonious attitude with you and make sure it stays at home tomorrow!"
Okay. So maybe Peter had offended him after all.
Peter tried to turn and look but Hood continued to push him outside. "Can't I just—?"
"Nope!" Hood overrode him, still deceptively bright. "Home time for the little spider!"
"But—!"
"Bye-bye! Next time, don't pick a fight you can't win!"
Meekly, Peter threw himself at the neighbouring building instead of replying.
[CLICK TO RETURN]
Chat with Orphan Annie. Time reads 12:34PM
Orphan Annie: (image of Spider-Man swinging between high-rise buildings)
Orphan Annie: Peter!
Red Hoodlum: … it's an evolving situation
Orphan Annie: kind of like ur man (devil, spider and web emojis)
Red Hoodlum: (middle finger emoji)