There’s a Rat at Your Boot || Jason & Dick || Flashback

waywardacrobat:

In all his life, he’d never wanted something more than this, never wanted anything so desperately. It was agonizing, having to wait. He’d do anything at all for this, his chance to have revenge. Bruce didn’t understand, didn’t even try to reason with him— just threw him out when the man realized his ankle-biter hadn’t let go of his issues. Red Hood was his last chance to get some help. He knew he couldn’t do it himself as he was now, having already tried to confront Zucco and being beaten to a pulp for it. His bravery had left him that day, withered out of him as if Zucco were a scorching sun and Dick was the last plant in the desert.

The young boy faced off with the other criminal with narrowed eyes, reminding himself that he was still in danger here. He didn’t know this guy, not up front. He could very well push the kid off the roof if Dick didn’t say what he wanted to hear. Gotham was a grimy place, filled with dirty, dusty people who played by their own rules. Despite all his time, he still didn’t understand all of it. This place and its customs. It was all so strange, nothing at all like the bright circus he was so fond of.

“I want to know everything you can teach me on how to kill someone and get away with it,” the boy stared down at his hands again, looking at the callouses that spoke of years of bar training. There were cuts and scrapes on his fingers too, from climbing a fire escape and slipping in the rain a few days previous. An amateur mistake. “Someone killed my parents and I got dumped here, in this shit-hole of a city.”

With a fire blazing behind his eyes, Dick looked up to meet Red Hood’s own gaze, shifting his weight to the back of one foot. “I’m not dumb enough to think I can do this on my own. I need a teacher. Please, help me.”

So he was angry. Good. Anger got you places, took you to another level of existence entirely. But anger without an outlet was like a fire left alone; it could easily burn out, burn down a forest, or hurt the innocent. But rage, rage was different. Rage was a tool something you focus, like a scalpel on the tumors infecting your soul.

Rage was an ally.

Jason looked him over again, taking in the set of his jaw, the stubborn puff of his chest. His arms, rippled with muscles, were firmly held at his side. He was trying to hide it, but there was a current of nervous energy running through him. Despite the confidence he was attempting to show, this kid was scared, and with good reason. Still, the kid had a point. Who better to teach an angry young orphan than Jason Todd? Talia, maybe. Plus, having a new face around the Complex could be fun, if for no reason other than training was always a highlight of Jason’s day.

Jason sighed, pulling out his sword. He rotated his wrist, slicing through the air. “Here’s the thing, Kid. Teaching requires lots of time and effort. If you’re serious, you’ve gotta prove it.” He handed him the sword, then took a defensive stance. “Land a blow, then we’ll talk.”

Unsheathing his crooked knife, he took a backhand grip and waited, crouching before the kid with Ra’s al Ghul’s blade. Talk about a first impression.

There’s a Rat at Your Boot || Jason & Dick || Flashback

waywardacrobat:

“Alright, Sherlock. Tone down the Dark Knight detective stuff, will ya?” He scoffed, turning his hand over and seeing what Red Hood saw. So many things could be gleaned from a person’s appearance. As an avid people watcher, Dick knew that better than anyone. A split lip was a bad relationship. Disheveled clothes in the early morning meant a late night away from home. A nose in the air spoke of perceived superiority. A slight bump near the breast pocket of a well-dressed suit meant they were packing, stay far away.

"What an ass,” he muttered to himself, referring to Bruce and dropping his hand to his side, fiddling with the edges of his shorts. Years away from the man and he still felt a bit wounded. There wasn’t anything he could do about it though. Showing his face to the man again would result in nothing but hurt feelings and bruises. He wasn’t eager to break out the foundation—stuff in his skintone was so hard to find.

When he noticed that his time was ticking away and that Red Hood was (almost certainly) staring at him, waiting for him to say more than snark, he straightened, matching the vigilante’s posture. Well, he might as well get to the point— “I need to kill someone.”

The kid’s muttered words caught his attention, and Jay cocked his head slightly at the outburst. Obviously, other things were on his mind than just the Red Hood.

Not much he could really do here, given the kid wasn’t guilty of much more than mischief and destruction of property. The kid wanted to see him, wanted an audience. Took major balls for that, and Jay was gonna allow him time to get his words together. Even if there was afire two blocks away, a robbery six away, and a domestic abuse call just two miles up the river.

He finally coughed out his reason for calling Jason here, which was fascinating in its own right. Murder? Excellent, if motivated by the correct reasons. And if the implications were what Jason thought they were…this could be the best use of his night possible.

“You’re not fuckin’ around, are ya kid? Good on you. So, what’s this hit, if I can ask? Something you want taken care of? You wanna get into position to do it yourself? There’s a certain logistical side to take into consideration too.”

He stopped, leaning forward slightly.

“Not to mention motive. Spill.”

Snap Out of It | Oner | Flashback

She was gone.

A whirlwind of anger and magic and she was

just

gone.

Gone.

He was left a shell, filling in the holes she left with booze and bullets, the former to the point of poisoning and the latter to the tune of half the criminals in China Basin. He was frightening the locals, almost all of whom had, at one point or another, interacted with the Outlaws before. No one had seen the Red Hood act like this, not even during the Occupation. Then, it had been retributive, retaliating at the mercenaries who set out to destroy the lives and livelihoods of the citizens of Gotham. Now, it was different. It seemed to be without any direction, just senseless violence against those whom, ironically, had done nothing more vicious than breaking and entering.

It was one night in particular that stuck in his mind, the night that he found himself holding a gun to a single father who had, in an act of desperation, left his children in the car while he attempted to break into an ATM machine. The father had pulled a knife on Jason, and in full view of the children, Jason had broken the man’s collarbone, disarmed him, and pressed the cold steel of a .44 against his temple. One of the children screamed in fright, and the reality of what he’d done had hit him in full. He had dropped the man, disappearing in a burst of hazy anger and fury at losing his cool, his sharp edge of retribution falling to bullying the struggling poor of the city’s worst neighborhoods.

The shame and regret had taken him to The Looper again, where he’d first met her months ago. It, of course, would propel him deeper into depression and despair, but that was better anyway. Less dangerous for the people around him. After a few bottles of vodka, he’d wind up at a safehouse, passing out fully clothed on top of sheets that still smelled like her.

Weeks went by. He didn’t get better. Kory, Roy, Henri, Dick-all of them reached out, but only the kid got a response. His training was harsh, made even harder by the now nonexistent humor that Dick had previously been able to elicit from Jason. It was all business, and it was taking its toll. Tensions were high, and the Outlaws suffered because of it. Kory and Roy took solace-relief-in each other, something which only further annoyed Jason. Their not-so-secretive romance was the lowlight of his days, especially when he came home to find a Kory-shaped burn against his bedroom door. Fucking cretins.

Batgirl was the one good thing he still had going. While they’d been cautious allies at first, their shared patrols over the summer had grown a bond unlike one he had with the Outlaws. They didn’t trust each other implicitly-after all, they still held their civilian identities close to the chest-but they became a remarkable team, each so different from the other, but stronger for it. She was a goddamn wizard at on the go tactical decisions; standoffs and hostage situations that had Jason resorting to extremes got peeled apart with finesse when she was present. On the flip side, he was a hammer to her scalpel. A battering ram, really. Where she tiptoed around property damage and injuries, he’d come full force down on those who opposed him. They suited each other. Yin and Yang, or some shit.

So it was a surprise when he found a stirring inside of him, one that he hadn’t considered since his heart had been ripped out of his chest and cut to ribbons, a feeling like maybe, just maybe, he wasn’t cursed to this freakish life, alive, dead, alive again. Maybe she was the answer. Who the hell knows.

He started warming back up to life after that. Even one sided, realizing he could still care about someone like that…it changed things. He was able to tolerate Kory’s post-coital glow, and ignore Roy’s sheepish looks when the three of them hung out. Dick noticed he had his laugh back, and training doubled in speed. Jason had some semblance of normality back, and everyone was the better for it.

Even so, the nighttime patrols with Batgirl became sacred. Secret. An escape from where he was expected to be one way, and allowing him to truly be himself. Witty humor, both appropriate and not. Dark and brooding, occasionally. Coarse, always. He never hid himself from her, not like he had from the rest for so long. She, oddly, incredulously, knew him better than most. This girl, whose name he didn’t know, who he spent most nights with. Talking. Working out. Kicking ass. He was a Gotham Knights fan; she a Gotham Griffins fan. Hours had been spent arguing the finer points of a designated hitter versus letting the pitcher hit (with no conclusion, naturally). She loved computers and had an encyclopedic knowledge of books. He could (and would) talk as long as she’d let him about weapons and their strengths/weaknesses, as well as the new tech that he acquired, almost always sharing his toys.

They worked.

And so, that night they finally kissed, it was like a lock had dropped from around his ribcage at last. The weight and humiliation, plus internalized blame for the breakup, finally lifted away from Jason, and he was happy. The next weeks were spent stealing kisses in alleyways, sharing them above a pile of groaning and neutralized criminals. Like goddamn teenagers, they shared a reckless abandon for the other, daring the world to catch them, to stop them. It wasn’t love, not to them. Neither believed in it, anyway. But that’s the special thing about falling in love. You never think you’re headed that direction until you’re stuck, confused, angry, elated, and scared, alone with the one who took you there.

Ready to face the big bad world hand in hand.

Arabella | Red Hood and Batgirl | Zero Year Flashback [Completed]

divine-my-own-future:

likeamantra:

He leaned against the brick wall, one foot kicked against the wall, as she ran down the list of things she thought he should do. He let her talk, let her finish.

“That’s the thing, Batsie. I’m a bat, just not his bat.”

He unzipped his worn brown leather jacket, revealing the upper half of his black armor. The stylized bat he’d put there as a last minute decision was muted, bloodred. His voice was low as he responded to her.

"I’m not a sign of hope, some urban legend to frighten the weak. I’m a warning, a sign of what will happen to evil.”

Zipping the leather back up, he shook his head, slowly.

"I’ll only go to him if I’m desperate. But you? You’re different. You’re independent. Headstrong. Doesn’t seem like you take much shit from anyone above you. I respect that."

Pulling out a basic prepaid phone, he tossed it to her, watching it sail through the air.

"There’s only one number in it. Anytime you want some help, call it. I’ll show up.”

Stepping forward, he brushed past her, hand lingering just a second on her hip as he strode by. Turning his head back, he nearly whispered, letting the words float behind him.

“Thanks for the assist, Batsie. See you around.”

Barbara sneered, hint of a smile playing at her lips as she shook her head. “You only think you aren’t a symbol of hope. I’m sure that girl in there would argue differently.” Snatching the phone midair, she gave it a once over before tucking it into her belt. No acknowledgement beyond a quick nod of her head was made. As much as her mind was telling her it was a bad idea, you didn’t discard allies. Truthfully, if their last meeting was any proof, she needed all the assistance she could get.

His hand swept against her, and she swallowed back a lump, her beating heart pushing against her ribs. She stared at him for longer than was comfortable, her posture stiff. Barbara didn’t respond to his farewell, the words too twisted in her mouth. As soon as he was out of sight, she turned toward the wall and slammed her fist against the brick. Wincing, she walked back into the clinic, rubbing her swelling knuckles.

One day her temperament would get the better of her. Until then she would continue making stupid, impulsive mistakes.

Barbara sat with the young woman as she came out of the recovery unit, holding her hand and reading from the outdated magazine pile. Tonight had been a bruise to her ego, especially since it was clear the girl would have preferred it if Hood had stayed instead of her. She took it in stride, though, too exhausted to care.

It was well past dawn when Barbara made her way home, tired, worn eyes barely able to stay open. Her normally busy mind was finally quiet enough to allow her rest, no matter how fleeting it would be.

[COMPLETED]

There’s a Rat at Your Boot || Jason & Dick || Flashback

waywardacrobat:

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.”

Arabella | Red Hood and Batgirl | Zero Year Flashback

divine-my-own-future:

Arms had been crossed and uncrossed over her chest at least a half dozen times, weight shifting from one leg to the other. If she didn’t feel like Hood would immediately call her out, she would have anxiously began pacing up and down the dilapidated sidewalk. She still had a few ounces of dignity left, although they were hanging on by a thread. Instead, she opted to lean against the cool brick of the old building, hazy vision spanning up to the darkened sky.

It took more than a few moments to gather her thoughts and even then they weren’t exactly clear in her head. There was still part of her that felt like she should have stayed behind; a guilt that was eating into her gut. She’d had that feeling more and more lately; perhaps it was a side effect of her new persona. Or maybe it was just her empathy kicking into overdrive.

Hood’s gratitude, spoken practically under his breath and thrown into the night air, startled her. Barbara didn’t show it, but it was definitely surprising. Of course, he’d done nothing but do that exact same thing since the night they’d met. This was beginning to become a theme: the Red Hood consistently defying her expectations.

Rubbing her eyes with the heels of gloved palms, she pushed herself off the masonry, one eyebrow arched up in question. “Yeah, you kind of did piss me off. If you wanted to use someone solely for their symbolism or name,” She pointed to the bat on her chest with her index finger. “You should have gone directly to him.” Crouching down, she ran her hands over the mismatched pavement. “I don’t need a sidekick.” Barbara stared at the ground for several silent moments before snapping her head up towards the helmeted man. “You should go have them check your wound. As many gadgets and tools as I have in my belt, I don’t have a doctor.” A tiny smile pulled at her mouth as she slowly stood up.

“I don’t need a sidekick. But I wouldn’t say no to assistance with patrol. We could always add some bat ears to your helmet.”

He leaned against the brick wall, one foot kicked against the wall, as she ran down the list of things she thought he should do. He let her talk, let her finish.

“That’s the thing, Batsie. I’m a bat, just not his bat.”

He unzipped his worn brown leather jacket, revealing the upper half of his black armor. The stylized bat he’d put there as a last minute decision was muted, bloodred. His voice was low as he responded to her.

“I’m not a sign of hope, some urban legend to frighten the weak. I’m a warning, a sign of what will happen to evil."

Zipping the leather back up, he shook his head, slowly.

"I’ll only go to him if I’m desperate. But you? You’re different. You’re independent. Headstrong. Doesn’t seem like you take much shit from anyone above you. I respect that."

Pulling out a basic prepaid phone, he tossed it to her, watching it sail through the air.

"There’s only one number in it. Anytime you want some help, call it. I’ll show up.”

Stepping forward, he brushed past her, hand lingering just a second on her hip as he strode by. Turning his head back, he nearly whispered, letting the words float behind him.

“Thanks for the assist, Batsie. See you around.”

Arabella | Red Hood and Batgirl | Zero Year Flashback

divine-my-own-future:

Her eyes were searching the ground, trying to grasp at thoughts that just weren’t coming. Her mind felt like it was a sieve; anything and everything filtering through tiny holes, slowly filling up with nothing but useless information. Typically she did well under pressure, but Hood had this knack for making her feel like an amateur. Like a child. It was obvious she had little control over this situation and it was grating, infuriating.

Choking down her ego for the second time that evening, Barbara rose from her crouch. She bit back the urge to reply with a snarky quip about how it was obvious he was just using her for her reputation and reputation alone. She’d know better next time. This wasn’t the place.

“Yeah, it’s safe.” The statement was huffed out, tinged with hints of bitterness and fatigue. She was hesitant to leave the young women here, but the sirens in the distance gave her some reassurance. Eyes raked over the group of girls, huddling together and she could feel her heart swell with anger and sorrow.

Tonight was more than a reality check. It had been a blow; the kind of hit that knocks you on your ass, and sends you spiraling in a direction you could never foresee. Like an uppercut to the chin that forced you to re-evaluate everything you thought you knew about the world. She hated those the most. Barbara had always been certain of herself, and her situations. Most of all, she was certain of what she knew. And damn if this Red Hood character didn’t have a way of mucking all of that up.

Nodding her head, Barbara began walking to the other side of the building. “Let’s go.”

Less than an hour later, they had reached the clinic, where a kindly older woman took the Russian girl with no questions, murmuring softly in a dialect that Jason recognized, but didn’t speak.

That left Batgirl and him alone, standing somewhat awkwardly outside the neon glow of a “Safe Haven” sign that pulsed with the unreliable electricity that only Crime Alley could supply.

“Thanks, Batsie."

It was mumbled, humble. He knew that he very well could have died if not for her timely rescue, and he wouldn’t forget it. His side hurt like hell, and he considered taking a brief refuge in the clinic, if for no other reason than he could pass a few hours of the pain away under sedation.

He eyed her, through the lenses of his helmet. She was hunched, though trying not to appear so. Angry. Biting her lip, mulling over hidden thoughts that swirled in between those pointy ears.

"I know I pissed you off tonight, Batsie. Let me make it up to you. I’ll give you three nights, of your choice. Your sidekick. Take it or leave it.”

Arabella | Red Hood and Batgirl | Zero Year Flashback

divine-my-own-future:

Barbara had tried to push the sounds of steel slicing skin out of her mind, but it was more than a little distracting. She winced, swallowing hard, desperate to keep her attention on the young woman. The girl couldn’t have been more than fifteen – if that. Tentatively, Barbara had reached for her hand before the girl snapped it away, trembling, and as much as she understood, it still stung. It was beyond frustrating being unable to communicate with the girl, to tell her that she meant her no harm, she was just trying to help. So when Hood approached, Barbara was secretly relieved, even if her pride suffered.

Brows furrowed in astonishment as the girl easily let Hood cradle her in his arms, and had the situation been different she may have been resentful or bitter. Now wasn’t the time for egos, though, and Barbara nodded at the Red Hood’s request. She sprinted for the exit, eyes scanning the lot for the group of girls – spotting them all huddled together on the broken asphalt.

“There’s a place in midtown, a clinic. Anonymous, low profile. Should be safe.” Propping open the door, she waited for Hood and the girl to pass through before securing the area. Heading in the direction of the group, she swept the perimeter, ensuring they didn’t have any unexpected tails. Barbara crouched down, running a gentle hand over the shoulder of one of the sobbing young women. “You going to be able to take her with that injury?” Eyes flicked to the man’s side. “I can stay here with them, make sure they’re safe until the authorities arrive, if you can handle it.”

He didn’t catch the resentment in her pose, so occupied with his injuries and the girl. Shaking his head, he spoke just through the comms, not wanting to alarm the girl with more indecipherable language.

“They won’t trust me if I go alone. Someone needs to go with me, and it’s gotta be you. Otherwise…” He glanced down at the girl, frightened and clinging to his neck. “I don’t think she’ll make it. Is your clinic safe? Can I stay there with her, at least until she gets into surgery?”

He didn’t mention that he himself needed attention; it seemed obvious.

“Look. The cops can handle this, right? Case like this, Gordon or at least Chandler will be here. They can take care of it.” He paused, his next words bouncing around his skull before he spoke them.

“I need your help again, Batsie. Just drive the truck to your clinic, introduce me and her. Then you can ghost.”

Arabella | Red Hood and Batgirl | Zero Year Flashback

divine-my-own-future:

Barbara’s forehead wrinkled as she scowled. She wasn’t there to be his gun for hire and yet she had felt like she was not only rented muscle, but part babysitter as well. She didn’t appreciate being either. “You know, if you just needed someone to watch your ass, I’m sure you could have gotten anyone else.” She chided, snatching the weapon with expert grace. “If you tell anyone I used a gun, I will hunt you down.”

Standing sentry, she cradled the gun with two hands, eyes only periodically looking down at his progress. The girls clambered out of the cells and Barbara motioned for them to be quiet as she helped guide a few stragglers toward the exit. As the last of the prisoners filed out, Barbara caught up to the Red Hood, keeping a few paces behind him, eyes methodically scanning their surroundings.

Out of the corner of her eye, Barbara spotted her. Clinging to the shadows, segregated from the rest of the holding area, a young woman covered in filth. She appeared to be injured. Barbara began motioning toward Hood, but he was already too far ahead. “We missed one.” She whispered into her comm as she silently stalked over to the wired door. Frowning, she smashed the rusted lock with relative ease, kicking in the gate.

“Are you ok?” The girl flinched but didn’t respond. With a gloved index finger, she touched the symbol on her chest. “I’m here to help.” Curling bloodied legs up towards her chest, the girl tucked herself farther into the corner. “I don’t think she understands me, Darth.”

“Может вы ходьбы?” Grimacing, she began nervously tapping her boot against the ground. “Ok, I either asked her if she could walk or if she liked pickles. I don’t know Russian.”

His wound was long forgotten, and he danced through the Russians like a deadly ballet, sword flashing in the light. Limbs hit the ground like rain, blood covering the floor as he carved through the guards.

He finished with a mighty swing that severed two heads before spinning to find the room empty, save for Batgirl. She was on edge, tense and staring. She nodded at a corner, and he followed her eyeline to see a grungy woman, clearly petrified.

Batgirl’s Russian was clearly from a book, and her accent was atrocious. Sweeping her aside, he knelt down in front of the girl.

“Я Красная шапочка. Я здесь, чтобы спасти вас. Вы можете прийти со мной, пожалуйста? Я хочу взять тебя в безопасное место. Меня не волнует, что вы сделали; Я просто хочу, чтобы вы были свободны. Вы можете доверять мне, честное слово, как русский.”

She nodded, slowly and unsure. Scooping her up in his arms, he turned to Batgirl.

“We gotta go. Cops will be here soon. She’s coming with us. Can you make sure the other girls get out? I don’t think this one is gonna go with anyone but me.”

As if on cue, the girl curled into Jason’s chest, her head finding the space between helmet and shoulder.

Swiveling back to Batgirl, h sealed his helmet, closing the girl from his words.

“She needs a doctor, now. She’s got at least three broken ribs, and what looks like internal bleeding around her stomach. Who do you use? Batcave, Gotham General, Mercy?"

The sound of sirens did not give him much hope.

Arabella | Red Hood and Batgirl | Zero Year Flashback

divine-my-own-future:

With an exaggerated cant of her head, Barbara stared at him. “I don’t feel sorry for you at all.” She looked down to the floor below as reality hit her again; with Hood all but incapacitated, there was no way she was getting these girls out of there. With her eyes, Barbara mapped the narrow pathway between cells to the end where a pack of guards huddled together, guns slung haphazardly over shoulders and around hips.

What was that?

Barbara leaned over the railing, glancing across from the occupied cells. Rows and rows of additional holding areas sat completely empty. Frowning, she gripped the railing, puzzled. At the opposite area of the basement, the section nearest to them, a piece of ripped paper was taped to the crumbling sheetrock. From this distance she couldn’t tell what it was, but it must have held importance for someone to go to the trouble.

Turning her attention back to the bleeding man, she pursed her lips in distaste. “Maybe next time, don’t be so cocky.” Pushing herself up, she chewed on her bottom lip. Pointing with a gloved index finger, she indicated to the staircase and the paper hanging to the wall. “Stay here, and make yourself useful – see if you can spot your friend’s kid. I’m going to grab that and see what it is.”

Barbara bounded down the rickety iron staircase with ease and stealth. She triple checked her line of sight before emerging from the shadows, approaching the wall, slowly, dumbfounded with what she saw. Snatching the paper, she made her way back to the main floor. “It’s a postcard. But,” she moved the damaged paper towards him. “For one thing, the picture on the front is a movie poster for an infamous lost film, which is completely random. And for another, it looks like there are geographic coordinates handwritten on the back.” Flipping the postcard over, she displayed the scrawled numbers, and shrugged.

His poorly swathed wound caught her eye, and she shook her head. “I think you’re done for the night, Darth. You should get out of here before you pass out from blood loss.”

Batgirl did not, as it turned out, have a plan.

Instead, she was spitting insults at him and leaving, off to grab a fucking postcard that one of the girls probably left as a cry for help.

Jason took advantage of the time, rewrapping and dressing the wound best he could. He confirmed that it hadn’t done more than skim muscle, which was optimal. No organs were hit, and he was damn lucky for that. The clotting factor had started working, and the bleeding was slowing down. A quick spray of alcohol, a gauze pad, and more tape. Better than nothing. Henri would have to take a look at it when he was home. If he made it home.

He peered through the cells, looking for any identifying factor he could distinguish. Nothing. Just hair color and rough height, which wouldn’t be useful for much longer if they didn’t get the girls to safety soon.

She was back now, and damn proud of her postcard. She showed it off, a confused frown tugging at her lips. Jason rolled his shoulders in a dismissive way, not sharing her intrigue.

“Stash it. We have work to do.” At her meaningful glance towards the bandage, he flashed her a grin. “I’ve had worse and done more. Come on. I think I’ll be able to work the locks off. There’s what, twelve cells that are full? Not too hard to shatter twelve locks. All I need you to do is lay down some cover fire.” She stared at him. He sighed.

“I’m gonna go free some ladies. When you see guards, start shooting near them. Hopefully they’ll stay down.” He tossed her the pistol in his left hand, the one he’d taken from Tyson earlier. “There’s a few other clips back there. It’s small caliber, 9mm. Just aim low. You don’t want to kill any of them, I don’t think.” Standing, he donned his hood, wincing as it slid on. Tapping his temple, he spoke through the vents. “I’m on frequency 371.R, if you don’t mind.”

He clambered down the stairs, slipping noiselessly into the holding area. He lobbed a smoke bomb into the guards area, not stopping to wait for the explosion. Using the butt of the revolver, he smashed the first three locks, all of which had six or more girls inside.

“Go. Outside. GCPD should be waiting.” He pointed at the exit, not waiting to escort them off. Drawing his sword, he sliced through the next nine, only stopping to remove one of the guard’s heads. The last three locks got a .357 slug, the gates swinging open uselessly.

Looking up to Batgirl, he gave her a nod before charging the guards again-this time with cover.