#tsitkredhood

[umhwarmglitterstory]

The spaces in the knot

Jason Todd x reader

Mature

•••

Into problems there you go

Little dove, little dove

Of your mother, buried corpse

And the blood and then the smoke

Red Hood may have done something horrible to you, in the meantime, while you search for truth and revenge, you end up staying at the Wayne manor?? Richard is nice at least.

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Graphic depictions of violence, death, gun violence.

_

Chapter 1

Things were going to get messy, one way or another. Literally, a lot of blood splattered on the bare bricks of the walls or puddles on the ground, to dry and fade along the many others on the cement. The new man had punched you on the cheek, with enough force -and disdain- to know this was in no way a negotiable situation, followed by another hit to your stomach, leaving you crouched on the floor gasping. The other guy, your guy, Harry just watched, interested maybe as much as a sort-of-thug's bodyguard should, no trace of the cocky, almost goofy prick he had been any other day, like he was actually smart now and not half a blowjob from gifting his brand watch.

You shook your head, leaning heavy against the wall.

"What happened now, huh? You are always- always such a chatter" You asked, looking at Harry dramatically frowning, annoyed and condescending, hoping to stir something.

It worked; the nameless man turned his head, clenched his jaw as he gave Harry an angry stare. Not surprised or even disappointed, Harry was indeed a blabber, a known one apparently. That short distraction was enough for you to reach for your wrist while they exchanged a look, with a shaky hand you unclasped the metal bangle

"Every time" The man muttered, still staring at his coworker but reaching behind his jacket. That was the last push you needed, ‘you or them’ . He looked back at you as he raised his gun, supposed to be aiming at your head.

Not quite, his frown barely had changed at your now coiled position, when you had already sprinted, under the gun and towards his neck. You heard the slick swirl from the silencer by your ear as you buried the sharp metal on the side of his throat, without much care for technique or consequences, just push and draw your hand with your whole body behind it. You didn't know what to do, you didn't know what you were doing, what you had been doing the last weeks to get here, but the sight of the gun put you in automatic, making you claw at the man way harder than you'd liked, than you had ever before even in your mental preparations.

The man stumbled back, another quiet shot -aimless now- and both his hands, one still holding the gun, flew to his throat, a heavy gush of blood seeping between his fingers, rapidly covering his chest, his arms, then his stomach. Thick and heavy, so fast.

You turned to run towards the blue hue of the club, but Harry had already pushed himself off the wall, wide eyes looking between you and his ‘friend’ . Before you could even think of dodging it, he grabbed you by both your cardigan and shirt and threw you across the place, landing just past the other man.

"You Bitch! What did you do?!" Harry crouched beside his friend unsure of what to do, his hands hovering over the wound at the same time as the other man stopped trying to hold his throat, dropping them by his sides.

"Boss? Oh man- Diego, come on" Harry stopped himself, clearly Diego was dead, no need to smudge his hands with the blood, unlike you. He turned around furious, if not shocked, unhinged expression and breathing fast. You recoiled, shook yourself out of your trance watching the blood, the life, draining out of the man, like nothing, because it was nothing.

What you had done.

You tried to crawl away from the man and from your crime, pushing yourself to run as Harry stumbled to his feet.

You ran as fast as you could to the dark end of the alley now, towards a street you hoped, and for a second you did it. But then Harry yanked you violently by the hair dragging you down to the ground, stealing your breath again, and hitting the back of your head.

Dizzy, you hardened your hold on your bloody bangle, momentarily looking at the sky, dull, starless and with a dirty orangish hue.They weren't good people, Diego definitely wasn't with that ease to shoot you, being a feared superior to Harry who you'd seen breaking people's bones for fun basically. Then again no one was ever good in this city, not them, not the police, not your friends, not your parents, definitely not you. Harry was close to be considered almost a friend.

You tried to sit, but the man kneeled by your side, then caged you with one leg, smart enough to pin down your arm holding your weapon, with his hand on your forearm, the other clamping around your neck, cutting your scream.

"Who the fuck do you think you are?! Eh?!" He yelled, starting to squeeze your throat, your free arm close to useless against him, trying to reach for his face, his eyes.

"Stupid- you stupid! This- this was going to be quick, you know? you... bitch!" Harry said through clenched teeth, spitting saliva, squishing harder and harder your throat, still careful- or unsure, maybe, hopefully- to keep you conscious, to make it slow. It burned, your throat and your neck, your lungs and your chest, a painful pressure building in your head, around your temples and behind your eyes, the electric rush of blood starting to deafen you to your own gasps, to everything.

"Fuck, Fuck! I could-"

A heavy, rumbling thud interrupted him, coming from the darkest end of the alley. Then heavy footsteps. You felt the shift of Harry's hold on you, his fear. You smiled amidst your grunting and glassy eyes, not like the man was paying you attention anymore, he couldn't. You would've worried yourself too; you did fear jail, as much as the next guy. But, given the circumstances, what would be The Batman but a blessing. Is this what average people felt at the vigilante’s arrival?

You continued to struggle, still desperate for air, even though all was left to do was see what would happen, hopefully Harry resisting and getting beaten. You, of course, would stick to the damsel in distress. Had to. Whatever came, be it go to prison, you'd solve it later.

Harry made a show of holding you harsher, shaking you a little.

"Move and I'll kill her!" He yelled, desperate already. How stupid, you would have laughed had you not been suffocating, had there not come the other amused huff first.

What?

Harry was startled as well. Batman didn't laugh in any way, and sounded older, voice more serious and deeper, as the news and the internet showed, bordering on being ridiculously low.

Harry's eyes widened in a full panic, maybe you should too. You tried to move your head, see what was happening, who was it lurking in the dark, but Harry loosened his hold on your neck, and as fast as he possibly could -as you started an inevitable coughing fit- he went for his gun under his jacket.

"Wrong -" the voice said coldly, as Harry was almost done aiming at its owner, his finger already on the trigger.

"- move." a deafening shot, louder and ‘sharper’ than a regular gun. You closed your eyes, warm droplets on your face, and when you opened them again there was no Harry, just the last remnants of a mist, followed by an intense smell of salt and metal, blood and meat. A body dropped besides your feet, the gunshot powerful enough to push Harry's body back.

Fuck. Fuck! You were dead too, then. Weren't you bad enough? Criminal enough? Could you lie, would he even give you time to lie? Your coughing was turning into gasps, you tried to roll over, mostly just your upper half, planting your palms on the ground. Your opened, bloody bangle under one of them. Please, please.

More footsteps, stopping right in front of you. You really didn't want to look up to find, once again, a gun aimed to your head, but you had to. Slowly, resignated maybe.

A blur of black and leather, then the red, faceless metallic mask so many saw right before their demise. As cold and apathetic as you would expect, just two bright slates for eyes, with as much mercy as the rest of the hard helmet.

"You okay ma'am?" He asked, the weird sight of his open, empty hand was in front of you. Along your bewildered stare came a wave of nausea at the smell of gunpowder and smoke, twisting your gut in an almost unprecedented way. Almost. You hadn't even registered the two previous shots from the first guy who tried to murder you today, not really. But now you recoiled, the smell, the nausea; the old feeling like panic, like grief. The Red Hood tilted his head.

"You look rather uncomfortable down there" Oh. Oh right!

At least you didn't have to pretend a tremble, you reached out your shaking hand, trying to ignore and hide your crafted dagger in the other. Maybe- maybe he wouldn't even notice it.

You couldn't even register the contact, just the sudden pull, lifted to your feet. He was tall, big, and smelled so much like it -the gunpowder- or it was just his gun, still hot and smoking in his other hand. You got sicker, back to the creaking wood, decaying sashes.

He nodded towards where you knew was your kill.

"Care to tell me what happened here?" Came out the helmet, authoritative and modulated, just a pinch below robotic.

"I- I had to do it, I was protecting myself" And that was very true.

"Did they hurt you?" He asked again after a moment, softer. Well, you probably were already swelling and bruising in several places, and your voice was obviously too raspy. Did he mean something more, like assault? Would he take you to a hospital then? Did vigilantes do that? Did they care? Would that side make you less likely to get killed, or arrested, or beaten?

Wouldn't you deserve it, though

"Uh, no- not much I mean" You broke into another coughing fit, overdoing it just a little. Your throat and chest still burned. Harry only got you for a few seconds, but Red Hood didn't know that, right? The safest thing to do was remain the legitimate victim, and most importantly, as small as the scenery allowed it.

You were thankful for the darkness, for the imposing presence, making the bodies on the floor almost easy to overlook. You zeroed on Henry's hand, as harmless as it could be, empty, almost relaxed. You really could have died to that.

You glanced at the other corpse while stroking your neck, again, conscious. The guy you killed was a higher up, more important than Harry, and maybe because of that more willing to kill. If... if only now Red Hood just left, you could go and register under the expensive jacket, a phone, a wallet, anything. You had to, right? After all this- but didn't want to risk anything with this man. No, no, you couldn't, just, just-

Gunshots echoed in the distance, not too far.

"You should go home"

"...Yeah"

You turned around, opting to remain silent. You walked away, a last glance at the bodies as you did. Maybe you could come back later, before the cops and any other lowlife, if you were lucky enough you'd be in time to retrieve something, anything. This couldn't be for nothing, you couldn't just go back to zero again, not after all your struggle and their deaths, that was proof, right? That you were recollecting something, a truth. But it was a sign, too, that you were going to get killed, for nothing but suspicions. What did it matter now anyway! You wanted to cry, thinking of everything, your mom, the cruel unfairness, the nausea coming back. Back there at your old apartment.

The earthy, acrid smell of the wood, old wood that made the frames of the windows. It was never dry or sunny in the city for the fir to dry; always wet and dark and decaying.

Another heavy thud interrupted, far more restrained and smooth this time, paired with a sharp swirl of fabric. A dramatic sight, with the newcomer raising to his full size and blocking the sight of the unreachable club lights, the alley closer to black. Batman, at last. He looked down at you for a second, you thought, but then as if he had heard something you couldn't, his head snapped towards his… peer? He walked past you, with a lumbering pace, deafening silence.

"You killed these men'' He stated, his voice in person as much of a dark omen as you had been told. Red hood crossed his arms, moving in an over-smugly way, flaunting gun- guns? One in each hand.

"Quite the keen detective" He responded, and despite the mock, you could hear it through his modulator, see it in his stance and the tilt of his head, he was so pissed.

Your fear resurged. And still amidst your turmoil of emotions, thinking unclearly, tired, exhausted, you just wanted to get home, bathe and sleep, forget, maybe? And yet.

Batman has his back turned on you, his figure big enough to hide you from Red Hood, they seemed distracted enough with each other.

You tripped in your wobbly legs trying to scurry away, saw the man you killed there, across you. You went for it.

"What are you doing? You think you are acting like a hero?"

You refastened your cuff as you crouched by its (his?) side, feeling over his jean pockets, where you found several trinkets that in your hidden hurry didn't care to take, you just clutched little more than keys, a small squarish thing, coins, and a phone. Then to his jacket, you gulped when you felt the dampness. So grateful for the darkness

"Ah! Right, right. See, in case you haven't fucking noticed, I think your kind is the fucking problem"

Loose bills, a lot actually, you fisted them. You felt a blocky shape, it had to be a wallet, and pulled extra hard with the jerk that came when gunshots blew, the sound of metal clanking and wires. Clutching everything to your chest you finally, finally, scampered out of the alley.

[umhwarmglitterstory]

The spaces in the knot

Jason Todd x reader

Mature- F reader, Descriptions of past violence

••• Chapter 3

It started with sounds, distorted and fading, indistinct voices, the smell of rubbing alcohol. You slowly opened your eyes to a navy blue room, your head beating with a dull pain. You moved in your place, barely turning on the cot, when you were seventeen you tripped and rolled down half a set of stairs, drunk enough to laugh at it, the next day it was like even your nails were sore. This was a lot like that, just much worse.

Your whimper got the attention of the two nurses chatting at the table in the corner of the room. “Hello there, how are we feeling? I'm doctor Katia” the woman said, pulling that small lantern from her chest pocket. She flared your eyes making you lose again the little sense you had recovered. You tried to sit but a hand on your shoulder stopped, as she kept talking.

You yelped when she grabbed your arm, folding it across your belly, your right hand was covered in bandages, maroon tint between the visible part of your fingers, coarse and thick casting over it. It was, if anything , a rough job. You automatically raised it closer to your face for inspection, aiming to turn your hand around without thinking, gyrate it- almost yelling in pain. The doctor promptly stopped the movement, landing it harshly once again above your chest, rolling her eyes “What did I just say?” As she was done she left, the other lady at the table still typing on the computer and still not acknowledging you.

What were you supposed to do? 

The door opened, a man walkin in, he gave you a quick glance, and then a ridiculously charming smile to the typing lady. “Laura, hey. Would you mind?” Before he was done asking Laura was already on her way out, a smile of her own. While the man saw her go, you watched him. He was tall, muscular but lean, an honest to god very handsome profile, classic movie star jet black hair, kinda slick back, but mostly, framing his face with fancy ‘unkempt’ locks.

That heart-monitor thing, the beeping one? You were grateful to be spared the humiliation of having one so he could hear his lame effect on you. He had that confident look, telltale of a million women at his mercy, really not needing another one.

“Hey there, how are you feeling?” He asked politely, and there seemed to be actual concern on his face. You just frowned a little. He sucked on hair and raised his eyebrows, another ‘too charming smile’ “Ha, uh, yeah, I should introduce myself right? I'm Richard Grayson, I- well, heard you were half-conscious on the street”

Now you frowned for real, and not at the far away bell that that name rang. “What?” You asked alarmed, the word dry and chapped, the short effort almost making you cough. Dick quickly handed you a small, sealed water bottle. Second guessing right before you grabbed it, pulling it back and opening it- only enough to break the seal- and then gave it to you. Your hand was pretty much useless. He didn't offer a hand shake in his introduction either.

“ I see you don't fully remember it, then? You got caught between some crossfire last night.” He said while watching you, observing you, if not ‘analyzing’. It bothered you, but you did start to remember. Your quest, your- oh god! You did shoot him in the head! “Red… Red hood, he…” You were talking to yourself, mostly. The man looked at the floor, a serious expression. “Yeah, yeah. He, uh, kind of roughed you up a little, uh”

Wait- wait, wait. There was an explosion, and- and Nightwing was there? What? - Oh! Oh, yeah, he caught you, again! He was very fucking alive grabbing you. You used your working hand to check your upper arm, and it was hella tender, your carefree squish making you hiss in pain.

“Woah, hey, carefull, you've been through a lot. You were pretty much hit by a truck, you know?” He said serious, sternly, almost authoritative, and a last piece fit then. You were surrounded by cops, while Redhood held you in the air.

You looked around: the depressing room, not a lot of equipment, but a sturdy door, opaque windows, and if you squinted, a black ‘net’ behind them. You turned back to the man, apparently he himself watching you having realizations, expectant. His handsome face had some tender, soft hues of purple around his eyes, his cheekbones and around his mouth, tiny butterfly band aids on each of his eyebrows.

“This is not a hospital” You said, and he pursed his lips in a half attempted smile “Yeah, no, sorry. I couldn't-” “You are a fucking cop” Your mouth said faster than your brain. You did freeze at your own stupidity, but before you could think of apologizing, he genuinely broke into a grin “Yeah, I- I've been told that, huh. Although I'd prefer to be referred as detective”

          You were on the copilot seat of his car, some 80's synth lullaby on the radio, the volume too low in the otherwise silent car. You had coughed and he had looked at you, concerned. You hated it, although your entire thorax did hurt ridiculously bad with the exert.

You were looking through your window, droplets of water splashing the fancier and fancier scenery. You had been to the technically fanciest/richest part of Gotham. -Into one of their restaurants even, well, more or less- But these parts, here, was actually where the fortunes were. Families as rich and old as time itself. The essence, the root of Gotham itself was between these properties, inside those houses far away behind imposing grids and elegant metal gates. Family names instead of street numbers.

You had seen this zone plenty, on TV or social media; people like you -like most of Gotham, of the world- just didn't come here. And that wasn't a hyperbole; you could ‘explain’ walking into one of those clubs or restaurants or jewelry stores. But here? You just didn't stumble upon here. The lack of visible surveillance was frightening enough.

After a few minutes, the scenery started to get a little more scattered, empty plots of land here and there between the lavish estates and homesteads. The detective took a turn, and abruptly the landscape switched. No more lawns or inert gardens or marble driveways. 

Acre upon acre of forest, wild enough, but cared for. Patches of clearly man planted trees, and not much scrub. A simple barbed wire fence, at least compared with the previous ones, surely electrified. You had spotted several outstanding stakes, cameras probably, although one of those looked like those weather gauge equipment, and some others had to be some form of birdhouse. 

It was the same on the other side of the road, although you couldn't stare for long since Richard turned to look at you when he sensed you turning in his direction.  You quickly averted, back to stare at your side of the scenery under the dusk colors. It was awkward.

And to add to it, you were also fighting a slumber, emotionally and physically busted. The occasional bump on the bare road flaring your bruises, or forcing you to gather back the bag on your lap. There was another one in the backseat, that probably had fallen to the car floor. It was mostly your clothes, and under your hands  was your wallet, phone, toiletries.

Three hours ago you wouldn't even had entertained the idea of being driven away by a stranger man, a cop nonetheless. Less than twenty four hours ago you didn't have any major problem in your life, except for your revenge.

     After a -mostly accurate- recount of last night's events, detective Grayson then proceeded to pull out his phone to show you a photo of yourself. You were totally lost for a second, and creeped, until under Richard's words you remembered, finally, that last night that one guy had shoved his phone to your face. There it has, the disheveled face of a woman who wanted to believe she had achieved something.

“And?”

“Do you know how I got this?”

You just shrugged and, what did it matter? As the fog dissipated more and more from your memories you started to think, to worry, to blame yourself. RedHood had been safe and sound, while you almost got Nightwing killed, and then just left him to his fate on some corner.

“Well, let's say you basically have a bounty on your head”

“W- what?” 

Grayson started scrolling 

“ ‘any information about her’, ‘probably a mole’ ‘Jackson's deal’ -that would be last night- and ‘meddling bitch’.” 

You just frowned, shaking your head indicating your absolute ignorance of whatever it was he was reading. The detective sat down at your side, showing you the screen to some tacky gamerish interface, the words he had read on a papyrus-like square blog.

“Uh, let's call it some ‘criminal social media’” He smiled, his canines kind of distracting. 

“Ok?”

“Ok, yeah. Well, you see, that's- it's not really much, a lot of gothamites get their mugs around this thing. I've seen people’s faces or names, addresses even, here because their awful exes wanted to make their lives extra hard. I am, too, principally under some ‘beware, competent detective’ you know, ha? But there is some serious stuff too.”

“So… some people are going to harass me, or what?”

“It's- complicated. It was ‘just that’ until, I don't know, ten a.m.? Because then, when we checked again, someone had added to it. Someone -or some people- that, I don't know, recognized you from something before, had interest in you already? or they finally got to put a face to an… event”

A train of memories went through your head, highlighting the one where you killed and stole. You tried to remain nonchalant, dumb and innocent. You shrugged again, and you could tell  the detective knew you were hiding stuff. He didn't insist.

“What do you mean ‘added’? Added what?”

“Well” He sighed, showing you his phone again “Same as restaurant guides, there are prices, and you got three signs”

He pointed on the screen, three green cartoonish dollar signs at the end of your ‘notes’.

“How much-

“Tens of thousands, or by the hundreds, even. It's a wide range, you have to contact them to get more details. But… okay,  so the revenge exes ones? Those get one, tops. It's more of an honorary one. I got two last time I checked, and it's stayed like that for years now” 

He looked you in the eyes, the severity of the situation evident.

“I am very fucked” You said, picking at the bandages with your left hand. Grayson nodded slowly, thinking.

“Yes. Absolutely… But, I could help you-” 

You interrupted with a snort, mockingly, without pausing your endeavor or looking at him.

He shifted slightly, crossing his arms “Do you have a plan?”

“Sure”

“Ok, tell me”

“Mmh I don't feel like sharing”

He smiled again, amused. He signaled the room.

“You are at a police station, and I happen to be a detective” Yeah, yeah, right. Wait- what was he trying to say?

“And on account of- what? Why- what did I do?”

You stood up, angry, immediately holding onto the drip stand by the stretcher because you almost bent over in pain and grogginess. You barely registered the hands supporting you, guiding you back to sit.

“You were in the middle of a crime scene, battered, and pretty much handed over by a vigilante-” “Since fuckin when is that fucking criminal a godamnt vigilante!?” The venom in your voice surprised even you.

He looked you in the eyes for a while, maybe too long, clenching his jaw, deep in thought. He came to a sort of understanding with himself, without taking his eyes off you, like he was looking for something. He then shrugged, almost comically casual.

“Right! That certainly wouldn't require more than a few hours of your time, yes? Now… when they run tests on the fired revolver, found in the same backstreet there was a failed arms deal last night, you know, the ‘Jackson's deal’” He bent a little, his face closer to yours. “Whose fingerprints are gonna be there?”

You didn't even think of schooling your face, directly shoving it into your hand. God, you had been so stupid and reckless. Seriously, you just dropped the gun? Oh fuck what if they found out it was Stephen's? Wait, your bangle! It was missing too! Mom's-

 Your eyes started to water. Why? Why were you so damn useless? You had given up your scarf too, you liked it, it wasn't sparkling, but it did have a subtle, fantasy shine. You couldn't work with your hand like this, supposing the pain on the rest of your body got tolerable and not worse, you had to buy your boyfriend a new gun, that rat was still alive-

“Please” He was looking up to you, fully crouched on the floor in front of you, not too close. And you almost believed the good intentions in his eyes. “Let me help you” You sniffled, turning to stare at the white fog of the window “In exchange for what?” you spat, hoping the unsaid told him about your disgust, your mistrust, towards them. You sensed him dropping his head, exhaling heavily. 

He stood up, looking at the window just like you, a minute of silence. “We- I, I have suspicions about who it might be, the ones putting a bounty on you. I want, no, I need to catch them. It's a little bit personal, I'd say. And, listen, I don't care what you did to piss them off. I swear I don't. They are the criminals, they are the only ones I'm interested in imprisoning. So, help me, and I'll help you, okay?”

You remained silent, lost. Any viable option parted from you fully accepting you were trapped. And you just really didn't want to.

But you also thought, as you stared at his blue eyes, that if he had some personal quarrel with the former employers of Harry and Diego, it would be just stupid to not get him involved with you.

“They will kill you” He continued “one way or another. On the street, in your house, in a second if you get arrested.”

That picked your attention. First, that he was straightforward with the GCPD letting you die, if not handing you over to the hounds, that was sensible enough. But also

“So I can't go home?” You asked, or stated. Before he answered you continued, less defensive “So… what? Are you gonna pay me for a hotel or what” And you truly heated the relief you saw on his face at the prospect of you listening to him.

“Uhm, yeah… Sure! I mean, but, uh, that wouldn't do much, actually… I could take you somewhere safe, really safe”

Oh, fuck me. “And, pray tell, does that ‘haven’ happen to be your fucking place?” God, you were so ready to punch him.

“NO! No, no! Listent, just, please, okay-” 

You looked him in the eye, unimpressed and fucking done. 

“It's not like that, at all, I swear. It's a- a family house, a manor, actually- Listen, you don't even have to see me-” You rolled your eyes, hard, turning your back to him. Unbelievable. 

He groaned “Just, ok- uh you can bring-” He stopped himself abruptly. Oh? He had to have read a file or something about you, to know you didn't really have many people to yourself. Not family, at least

“You- you can look it up, look me up online, or ask, or- just, ahh…There has to be something, someone, to make you trust me. Let's do this, what can I do? Just, tell me your conditions.

You half joked, half meant it when you said Jim Gordon's name. It did fully astonish you when a smile started to appear on the man's face, and he just left the room signaling you to ‘wait a second’. 

You did look up for his name while you waited, and then you were truly blindsided.

It would be too stupid to not take this opportunity.

           You had dozed off for a while, you were now driving past a lawn terrain again, but with lots of trees  unlike the other properties. It was pittoresque, pretty even. Oaks, and elms, and dogwoods, were the few you could recognize. And gardens and fruit trees, slopes and hills and plains, like a park worthy of being painted.

 You reached an illuminated area, lights from tall posts and garden lamps. The car slowed as it reached the imposing double black gates as they opened. 

You already could see the manor, and what a manor it was! God, regular people just couldn't grasp how unbelievably loaded the rich actually were. You really didn't want to look impressed, and it was hard, because just look at that damn porch!

“We are here” Richard announced with a tight smile, getting out of the car. You did so as well, slower and uncertain, clutching your bag with your left hand. Richard closed the door for you and then went for your other bag on the backseat, while a blonde woman in uniform got into the driver seat.

“Hi Jules” He greeted her, she nodded with a polite “Evening, master Grayson” driving off to a garage, you guessed, as soon as Richard closed the door. ‘Master’? A chauffeur? Front gardens full of flowers you had never seen in your life? A goddamn butler already waiting at the door? Yikes.

You follow him up the stone steps, -he limps a little, actually- into the entryway, feeling very out of place, of course. He hugs the butler heartfully. It's probably like in the movies? You think. ‘The rich parents are so busy and distant, the caretakers are actually the employees’... You stop yourself, it's none of your business, and you've been around for like what, 5 seconds? 

They exchange a warm greeting. Richard turns to you, patting the man at his side “This is Alfred, our beloved Butler” Said man bows a little, you quickly extend your hand and present yourself.

“It's a pleasure to meet you, miss. During your stay I will be of your service-” “Thank you” You blurt- interrupt- nervously fidgeting and shifting your weight on your feet, barely looking at him, at them, just watching with only half genuine interest the decorations, the type of lightbulbs- oh, chandeliers. Richard beckons you with a hand on your shoulder

“I'll show her around, Alfred” He announces, you two already past the entryway. The living room is not that big, but you supposed there's plenty of saloons. Still pretty. “Of course, I'll be preparing the night tea” The old man said, then walked away. You focused on your walking, you'll have time to snoop and gawk some other day.

You reached the second floor, Richard guided you to the hall on the right, then to the first door on the left, inviting  you to walk in first. It's a bedroom, big and beautiful with large windows to the backyard. Richard goes and drops your bag by the bed, eyeing the one you are carrying as if to say something, but deciding against it. 

“What do you think? Will you be okay staying here?” And it's so obviously he's being sincere, you don't have it in you to be sarcastic. “Yeah”

 Richard looks around the room, as if it was new to him. Well, maybe it was.

“Ok, uhm,  may I show you around the place?”

“Uhm, can't you just, tell me? I don't know, I'm tired”

“Right, of course, you're right- please?” He asks, gesturing at the two armchairs by the window. 

He gives you a short, quick description of the place: Three floors, an attic and basement. Here on the second floor, it's currently just you. Him, Bruce, family, they stay on the third floor, and the house personnel on the first.

It becomes a little ‘resort advertising’ when he starts listing all this place has in a ‘pool and tennis court’ way. You truly lose the thread, just picking it up when something interesting comes around, like the pool, the greenhouse or the gym. Right now you don't think you have the energy or the confidence to leave this room.

He doesn't explicitly tell you there are off limits places, but with the way he insists on the recreational spaces, you can tell. Nothing too much. You do know, just like when going to a house party, not to go to the master bedroom or the second floor. Third in this case.

He explains to you Bruce -and you still can't believe it, Bruce fucking Wayne!- is on a vacation with his fiancée, he himself will be out to work in the city, and his siblings barely are around. If anything you should just care to get along with Alfred, the only constant, and you are relieved and happy with that. He hasn't asked for your job, and you wonder how much he already knows. Any way you're thankful, you know he'll know you are lying the second you say ‘waitress’. Even if it's half truth. A little bit of this, a little bit of that.

“Dick?” Calls a strong voice from the corridor. It takes you a second to get that is a nickname and not an insult, Richard, right. A man appears at the door, messy black curls and a souring frown. He is tall, big, big big, like a fridge as they say. He also looks very unamused looking at you, not expecting any company, you supposed.

“Jay, hi, uhm” Richard looks… troubled? “So, this is Jason, my little brother” You almost smile at the ‘little’. Richard, once again, introduces you, quickly and short “-and, she'll be staying for a while with us.”

Jason do smiles. It's a brother's thing, you guess, the way he, with half-closed green eyes, answers with a? Sardonic voice? “You don't say.” He says. And it's quiet for a second.

 “Well! nice to meet you then, lady” -It sounds so much like Alfred- “Come talk to me as soon as you can, Dick. Night” He nods at the both of you as a goodbye, and disappears.

You break the new, short silence.

“So… is he also a cop or what?” Richard snorts hard “What?! Why do you say that?”

You shrug, although you do have very valid points “He's all roughed like you, his face is swelling” 

Richard closes his eyes a moment then looks you in the eyes, a very entertained expression on his face, like when you are about to deliver a punchline. He shakes his face a little “He, uhm… nah, he can be very impulsive, reckless if you might. Gets into fights quite often”

“Ah, uh… okay”

“Yeah, yeah. So, may you join me for dinner?”

You deinflatte at that, you haven't seen the dinner table, but you can imagine.

“Uh… I-”

“I promise is nothing fancy, yeah?” 

You are tired, and deep down, moved, because he's starting to seem sincere, about everything. You are starving, too.

“Yeah. Could I first-” you point to the bathroom door. 

“Of course! Meet me downstairs in fifteen, Okay?”

“Yeah, sounds good”

After the room's door closes with a click, you walk to the bathroom. You get some stuff out of your bag and into the white counter, too difficult with just one hand. You admire the place, while struggling. Not too big -considering-  but marbleish and well polished, several baskets here and there with toiletries, period pads and tampons. 

Until you find some place you trust, you'll have to carry your thick wallet with you all the time, among you phone and money and stuff.

Speaking of, before you fix yourself a little, you pick up your phone, texting your senior neighbor Noel, following Dicks advice. 

Me: Hi, evening!! By the way I'll be staying with some friends for a while. in case you don't see me.

Me: But! You can tell me if you need anything, anytime, okay?

Me: I'll send you your pastries and pizza, take care, bye!

Finally -and with excellent lighting- You check your reflection. You look so bad in the mirror, disheveled hair, bloodshot eyes, swelling in your face right where you got smacked by that man. You can't stare too  much, you'll go to dark places.

So, you are at the Wayne manor. The fucking Waynes! And you better get something -anything- out of it. You focus on that as you fix your hair.

[umhwarmglitterstory]

The spaces in the knot

Jason Todd x reader

Mature Graphic depictions of violence, gun violence, death threats.

••• Chapter 2

A year and a half later

Most of the afternoon had rained, and by now with the night breeze it gave the streets a false effect of sanitation, depressing enough to just bury your face in your black scarf. Your resolution barely covered all the sleepless nightS, and the pain on your neck and back was honestly starting to kill you. But you stretched and clenched your fingers with pride, the pain comfortin, you could do it, you had to do it even if it cost you your life, as much as you didnt want to die. God, you'd go happy if you could just take him with you.

Your knife -bangle - and Stephen's gun. You wanted to do it with your own hands, you knew how to, had done it before, but as poetic as it could be to slaughter him with that bracelet, your priority was to kill him, just kill him. Impossible, of course, of course. And yet not trying was the real unthinkable.

There was only one card in your favor to play: a righteous civilian, the poor feeble lady that doesn't know how she ended up in this side of the city, or this close to Arkham, in the middle of the night, all alone, caught in a crossfire between gangs. Your nerves had helped when preparing, doing and undoing your hair, picking a skirt and shirt, carrying a bag with groceries, ballerina shoes. 

You had been to several places these last months, more often than not getting to watch another vigilante, never red hood, or at least not in time. You did recognized the gunshots, and the news the next day reported several dead and seriously injured. Only once you had seen him close enough to distinguish a person instead of a reddish hue, but the cops were already arriving and there were too many people around.

You had learned a couple of things these past failed attempts, along with reading hundreds of newspapers, police reports and even fan blogs. First, his modus operandis had changed a lot from the one you saw at the alley: a lot of survivors now, also the police had suddenly started to arrive on time, be useful, and you knew it wasn't because pigs themselves decided to become competent And then, the bats, it was like they had gotten a lot closer to Redhood, both in time and space. The electric one, Nightwing, was even reported to work alongside his former enemy.And the last change, that you had only found hints about it elsewhere: his armory. You knew damn well the smell of his gunpowder, and it wasn't the same anymore. 

You discovered it five months ago, when you were even more lost and way more suicidal than right now. You found a clue, and the last push towards your current position. Some clash close to your home, you covered behind a car besides other people while heavy guns went off. Then It all went quiet and you recognized Redhood gunshots. You got close -too close in retrospect- to the mess, before bystanders even decided to pull out their phones. You peeped beyond the wall, beyond the lamppost, beyond the coiling door, down at the groaning men on the floor in the hopes of spotting him. Instead, only a tiny ball appeared close to your feet. You picked up the pellet, hot and stained with blood, the thing started to crumble in your fingers like a sugar cube into a fine dust, like smooth ash. It had been an impressive device, but in the end, and adding the lack of dead, it was a rubber bullet, a damn rubber bullet!

Redhood was using non lethal ammo. Redhood was no longer an assured death.

That didn’t diminish the possibility of being hit by any other bullet in the middle of some organization quarrell, but it all was quite unimportant now. You just needed to get close.

The door of a car you had not noticed opened, alarming you back to focus on the present. A man got out and walked towards the alley right beside the car, a few seconds later he came back with other three men, they all looked armed. It made you nervous, and excited. Here you go to try your luck again

You waited a minute and followed into the alley, you passed a couple of back doors, then just barren walls with the closest windows to the ground several feet above your head, and still heavily guarded with metal bars.

You crouched behind a rusted fire escape staircase, trusting you were invincible in your black attire, and waited. You leaned enough to peek a little beyond the wall, across the industrial dumpsters and steel rebars webbing the alley, there was some light coming from the close end, and some heated talking that you could barely make out.

It continued like that for a while, indistinct shadows and voices. A thud perked you up, as silence followed, which definitely meant something had just happened: someone had arrived. A deaf clacking sizzling like a whiplash, like electrocution sounded like in cartoons. And then it all seemed to come alive, gunshots, metallic clatter, screams and yelling.

You clutched your bracelet for a second then patted the gun over your clothing, waiting for the quarrel to develop, hoping for the sides to wear down each other. A distinct gunshot, very distinct from the other ones, almost familiar to you. It was all the confirmation you needed that Redhood was here. 

Any night in Gotham was a busy night of crime, vigilantes mostly rushed from place to place throughout the night. You stood up from your crouched position because once he arrived, things could go too fast, he could get away.  You heard hurried steps coming your way, running, bumping against metal and plastic. One man passed your hiding spot and ran into the street, too busy running away to notice your careareful  steps towards the noise. Another goon approached, less skilled dodging the obstacles. Redhood’s bullets whizzed not too far from you and hit the man, he yelled in pain and fell to the ground, turning around to shoot back his gun blindly.

 A bullet ricocheted on the metal of the stairs above your head and you couldn't help but scream and flinch, the sudden movement ripping the plastic bag hanging on your elbow and sending the two tomatoes and two avocados rolling away.

He just appeared in front of you, tall and scary as you remembered, maybe more now that he was an ominous backlit silhouette. You were speechless, all your rehearsed pleas and sob stories forgotten as you focused on the red hue that almost glowed around his frame. Maybe you were frozen with terror, maybe you were a coward, too small and weak and pretentious. He said something, you thought, as he kicked lightly something on the ground, but you were numb and deaf, from the shots and the rush of blood in your head. 

You opened your mouth, tried to speak, but the involuntary spasm of your hand made you conscious of the metal… and that brought you back… You kneeling on the floor boards, mulch and mold and gunpowder. Her perfume, her blood.

What about a store? Like a clothing store, or whatever! I tried to, when-when you were little- but you know, uhm, anyway. But actually far from here, this time. I… I've been thinking, you know, move to another city? That, uhm, sounds right, yeah?

Something called his attention back behind him; the second he just tilted his head an inch to look back, you zeroed on his neck, right under his helmet- found no metallic reflection- it was, absolutely, the best chance you could ever hope for. 

Like deja vu, hitting replay, you swung your knife against the throat of a man. You were stronger, even if just a little, faster and more precise than a year ago, this time fury fueled you instead of fear.

 And yet, you could only barely grasp revenge.

He didn't flinch that much, but oh boy his grasp on your wrist! You weren't sure it hurt less than you purposely slamming your hand against a rock corner, and his hand still tightened! He just observed you, in silence, just as you, his closed fingers around your wrist with a mockering calm while you struggled still to press the metal against his throat, fighting whimpers and tears. But of course your whole might was nothing to the brute using a fraction of his force.

He tilted his head, and scoffed. You were sure your glare would be enough to kill him. He started to tighten his grip again, slowly, interested, as you kept fighting a scream of pain, sweating and with buckling knees, god it hurt so much. You dropped your head down as tears formed, defeated, you pushed back a sob, and heard more than feel the bangle hit the floor, your hand too hot with pain to even realize you had let go of the piece. But- but not willingly! of course not, you had to! Somehow, you had to try, to do something, to think, mom, if only- 

The running steps of another one of the criminals came to a sudden stop, confident the silence -lack of gunshots- meant Redhood was gone and it was time to get out. His mistake, their mistake as other men joined him. You heard them curse loud and violently, as an order, and you kind of expected what came next. Without relenting an inch his grasp on you, Redhood pulled out his gun, his head tracing his victims while his body remained still caging you against the side of the building. They didn't even have time to shoot back, barely had it to try to run away, to crawl.

You hated so, so much those stupid loud gunshots. Totally unesesary, nothing but a very pretentious statement from the man, to induce fear, to be fucking heard and recognized. But mostly, you thought, to mock the others, here i am! relinquishing stealt and discretion because I am just that fucking good. And it hurt your ears, and your chest, and was so annoying!... But now could you be so grateful, as it covered your movements, the rustle of fabric, the click. He heard something, or sensed it, perhaps. It didn't matter, because before he could fully turn his head back to look down at you, you cocked and pulled the trigger.

A strange sound came from the bullet colliding with his helmet, if anything very different from all the other bullets you had heard before when hitting metal or concrete. He unceremoniously fell to the ground, too heavy and big and solid, a new wave of pain flared in your wrist as it was released. You grunted in pain pulling it close to your chest, your other hand dropping the gun to cup your pain. 

“Red!” Called a man from the end of the alley. You jumped and ran to hide behind the next dumpster. Look and behold it was fricking Nightwing! As foretold by the online journalists.

 A true hero, maybe, a way more charismatic batman. Now, he was scary, all disheveled and ruffled, the bluish light of raw electricity making him look unhinged.

You scampered away, trusting the other vigilante hadn't watched you yet, still busy with the two or three armed men still standing. There were other people around, getting away from the commotion, or starting to snoop around, from corners and windows. Ahead of you was an old lady with an apron, looking very pale and nervous. She got up behind a food cart and started running to the end of the street, you followed, as police sirens were closing.

A hand covered your mouth, an arm snaked around your torso. The man dragged you inside a parking lot, shoving you violently against the metal fencing, an orange hue rising behind the horizon of concrete framework, reds and blues and purple. Straight to the point the man aimed at you with a handgun “Who sent you?!” He yelled, spit getting on your face.

“What?” 

“Who do you work for?!”

Just your confused face was a response enough before you repeated your previous answer. He squished you against the fence, a hand clutched against your throat and the other pushing painfully the barrel against your temple.

“Dont fucking play with me! You hear me?! What were you doing there?!” He retracted the gun so he could shove it again against your head “Huh? A spy? Who's paying you?”

You knew what your answer would cause, but you really had nothing else.

“What? No- no I was just there!”

He hit you in the head harder, now keeping you in a sided bent position, he looming over you.

“I'll fucking shoot you then”

“Please! Please i just- I just was there, alone, no one sent me, please!” you started to beg, crying.

“Oh of course, right? You just were there right? You bitch” he grabbed you by the chin, turning roughly your head to the sides “I've seen you before, Yeah? Yeah, this is what you do” He pushed you back again and took out his phone, blinded you with the flash for a second “Lets see how long it takes for them to recognize you, huh? Yeah you should be fucking scared doll” 

He smiled wide, lifted the phone to his ear “It doesn't even matter what they wanted with you, no no, you busted us, us!- yes you did it! You have no idea. This was, this- fuck! For the fucking last time-” He hit you in the head once more with the barrel,  an electric sisling cut throug the air, and the rest of his threat. 

You yourself who were facing his direction hadn't noticed Nightwing until a second before he landed a hit with a baton against the man.

 But the man was big, and although surprised, he was still aware enough. Before Nightwing could land a second strike the man dodged, letting you go, he ducked and shooted the handgun. Nightwing dodged the bullets as well, jumped through the air and throwed one baton, so the man had to avoid it, and in that distraction Nightwing landed on him.

You were cowering on the floor with your arms on each side of your face, when you saw both men roll on the floor you got up to run. The man, still struggling against the hero, sacrificed a blunt to his face so he could shoot you.

“Down” Nightwing shouted, in a reflective way more than anything, you did duck, the inertia making you fall flat on the floor. You heard more gunshots, but you didn't care at this point, for the whole grunting and punching behind you. You had landed on your hands and the broken one was again reaching dizzying levels of pain, so bad things around you just felt dull. You got up and started to try to run once again.

You heard beeps somewhere, behind you? Above you? Not close, just- there.

A body slammed against you, holding you as you fell to the ground. You got to see his extended arm in front of you, blue and black in disposition to absorb both your landings, but everything stopped with a boom

When you opened your eyes your sight was very blurry, shaky, you tried to stand but it was like your brain no longer could distinguish up from down, you were also deaf except for an indistinguish buzz. Besides you laid on the floor the body of Nightwing, limp but breathing.

In the middle of an empty parking lot, with the other man laying on the floor too, but starting to twitch. You really weren't thinking, just stared at your savior's face covered in grime, specks of blood, and his own hair. You turned him on his back and grabbed his arms, dragging him through the asphalt. You did know you were in an adrenaline overdrive, staring at your injured hand tightly holding one of his.

Unceremoniously you pulled him over a tall step leading behind one of the stores surrounding the lot, his body bouncing painfully. The backdoor entry had a corridor long enough to hide him, so you dropped him there, leaning his torso against the door and bending his legs against one of the entry walls. You half checked he was not visible for passersby and were on your way. 

And yet you stopped yourself, with shaking and very clumsy hands you took your scarf off and tried to cover him as best as you could. It was one of those very light materials that had to be folded several times, so it was a big square of fabric turning his form into a black lump, looking easily like a big bag of thrash. You started to jog again, too out of it to run.

Everything was in patches, your whole body hurt, your wrist killing you, and an ever present threat of throwing up. It was still night, the sirens were too bright, an arm stopped your run, like a railroad crossing gate just way more solid and crashing across your chest. With how disoriented you were, a small breeze had been enough to send you to the floor, so you felt like you were just spinning in the air, or outer space. Next thing you knew Redhood, again, was in front of you, holding you -lifting you?- by your arms, at your shoulders height.

He shook you, then asked you in a calm, chill-to-the-bone way “Where  is  blue?” Each paused word sinking you deeper. His anger crossing beyond the voice modulator, beyond the faceless mask. You could almost see the snarl, bared teeth, burning eyes. 

The buzz started again, louder than everything around you, louder than your own deafening heartbeatings. He started to tighten his hold on your shoulders, he would break them too, no doubt. Your head was too heavy, your skin felt too hot, you had to call your boyfriend, give him back his gun- oh fuck where did you left it? Blue. Blue?  What is blue? ¿A cupcake? Yeah, a blueberry cupcake.

With that thought you closed your mind for the night. You got to see Redhood look somewhere behind you, surprised? Relieved? His hold got a lot lighter, but then again, you kind of stopped feeling your entire body. ---

My ao3