It was a dark night with the moon being just a sliver in the sky. While it was cold, there wasn’t a wind to carry the frost through chilled skin and bones. Gotham was melting the last of the winter snows away, warming her people up with stagnant air and the occasional hiss of steam from out of the grates of underground subway lines.
The sounds of sirens in the distance and of fighting down below became white noise as the minutes went by. Eventually, the homeless mob broke apart and each of them shuffled in opposite directions. The entertainment was gone, a saddening thought. Sighing, the kid swung his legs back and forth, leaned back to look for the stars, and almost fell off the ledge when he saw crimson in place of black smog.
It was nearing four AM. His stomach growled in hunger.
“You’re here,” he managed to say without too much surprise coloring his voice. He scrambled to stand up, If his guesses were correct, this would be a test of wills. Red Hood was stubborn so he needed to be that way too. One of the paint cans toppled over as he stood and clattered as it rolled to a stop a few feet away.
He stared at it to give him something to do because just like that, all his words had gone away. Everything important he felt he needed to say disappeared, leaving a sticky feeling in his mouth.
“Uh,” he breathed and realized that this was probably just as awkward as he felt it was. He was a confident kid, always had been, but these were deep, unknown waters he was treading into and Dick wasn’t exactly sure he wouldn’t be shot in the head for it all. As if by some miracle, he remembered his manners and hastily swiped his hand on his pant leg, offering it out to Red Hood. “Hi."
The boy nearly jumped out of his skin when Jason spoke; he was nervous, scared. Unsure. Stumbling around a greeting, he about tripped off the roof. He arched an eyebrow, knowing that the boy couldn’t see.
"Hi, Kid.”
He took the proffered hand, pumping it twice in a handshake before turning it palm up, examining the scars and calluses that covered the skin. Satisfied, he let it drop back to his side.
“You’ve lived a rough life. Calluses, plus your body type, mean gymnast, or trapeze artist. Scars suggest a hard-earned education in knives and blades. Add in the trouble you’ve made for me, and I’d guess you ran away from the circus. That, or you’ve made a damn fine habit of treating the city like your playground.”
He swiveled his head, nodding at the dozens of red bats littering the walls.
"Impressive stuff. I don’t suppose you used a rig, which means either free climbing or a rope. Either way, it’s ballsy, just to get my attention.”
He straightened, bringing himself to his full height now.
“What do you want? Here’s your chance, Kid.”
and all of this will never be the same again 