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It all started, as so many lifechanging events did (well – for the Bats, in any case), on a rooftop one dark night.
“What do you mean, Jason’s alive?” Nightwing cried, voice perhaps a bit shrill. The Bats had been mid-surveillance-operation when the subject had come up, huddled on a rooftop for cover – though the cover in question was growing ever-thinner with Nightwing’s voice echoing as he leapt to his feet.
The goons they were supposed surveilling – lackeys of the Red Hood – jolted at the sound of the vigilante’s voice before scattering into the night. The vigilantes atop the building didn’t even react as their footsteps pattered frantically into the distance.
“Code names in the field,” grunted Batman as he, too, straightened seemingly without another thought for the operation they’d been observing. The seemingly indifferent words were belied by his thoughtless abandonment of the task at hand in light of this revelation. The Red Hood was a League-trained mystery, and Batman didn’t like dangerous mysteries that he couldn’t solve; there were very few topics that could have torn his attention away from the Red Hood’s most recent operation, but his second son’s potential resurrection was one of them.
And the topic was not just a sensitive one for Batman. Nightwing paid his reprimand no mind, gaze not tearing away from the small figure who’d dropped such enormous news.
Robin looked uncomfortable – or, as uncomfortable as he ever looked, expression controlled but shoulders tense and back straight as the slightest wrinkle formed between his eyebrows. “I’m uncertain how I could be clearer, Nightwing,” he responded stiffly.
Nightwing appeared agitated by this answer, expression twisting, but Red Robin stepped forward and placed a calming hand on the older vigilante’s shoulder before turning to the youngest. “I don’t know who you met, but it couldn’t have been the second Robin. He died years ago,” Red Robin said evenly, though the slight strain to the words gave away his own tension.
“Yes,” said the current Robin crossly. “And then he came back to life and was found wandering Gotham before the League took him in. That is what Mother told me, at least.”
Nightwing made a disbelieving noise. “There’s no way. People don’t just come back to life!”
But Red Robin looked thoughtful. “Would it really be the strangest thing we’ve seen?” he asked rhetorically, glancing over at Batman.
Batman’s expression appeared nearly carved out of stone, but he responded tonelessly, “It would not be without precedent.”
“You’re not seriously entertaining this, are you, B?” Nightwing demanded incredulously, shaking his head in disbelief before his eyes narrowed. “He didn’t come back from the dead – if he had, why wouldn’t he have just come home?”
All eyes went to the small red-green-yellow-clad form, whose spine somehow straightened further under the attention. “Mother said he was…damaged,” Robin responded with a slight hesitance. “His mind was not entirely present when she rescued him. It was why she submerged him in a Lazarus Pit, to restore him to himself.”
“She what?” exclaimed several outraged voices at once.
Robin paused, eyeing his increasingly rambunctious crowd before responding warily, “I believe Grandfather gave her an ultimatum that led her to believe it was her only choice.”
“Where is he now?” Nightwing demanded, and Robin appeared even more reluctant to respond as he gritted out his answer.
“I am unsure.” Robin scowled at the expressions of stunned disappointment on the older vigilantes’ faces, arms crossing defensively. “I was not permitted to see him often – Grandfather disapproved. Said he was reckless, disobedient, and a bad influence.”
Nightwing laughed, a semi-hysterical sound. “Yeah, that sounds like something Ra’s would say about Jay.”
There was a moment’s silence as the various Bats processed. Robin braced himself during the reprieve in anticipation of a continued interrogation – an interrogation Nightwing appeared poised to restart, mouth opening, only to be interrupted by –
“Oh, are you guys talking about Jason?” said a familiar mechanized voice from across the rooftop, and the Bats spun around to spot the Red Hood casually leaning against the rooftop access door. “I miss that kid, he was a riot. Hope he’s doing alright.”
There was a moment of silence as the entire group stared at Red Hood, processing his words, and then Red Robin blurted, “Wait, you know Jason?”
“Sure,” Red Hood responded breezily, amusement written in the lines of his posture. “We got pushed into the Pit at the same time. He went a little crazy and fell off a cliff, but shit could only go up from there, am I right?” He chuckled, though the Bats didn’t seem to find the story nearly as funny.
“Hood, what the hell do you – “
“Well, this little trip down memory lane has been fun and all, but I’ve got places to be, crimes to commit – you know how it goes,” Hood said airily, raising a hand and waggling his fingers in a teasing good-bye.
“Wait – “
“Hood, don’t you dare – “
“Stop right there – “
The Red Hood ignored the cacophony as he launched himself off the rooftop, the Bats hot on his heels in pursuit. He led them on a merry chase across the city, dodging and weaving both the buildings and their shouted questions until the Bats rounded a corner and found that he’d seemingly vanished into thin air.
“Is this what the Commissioner feels like?” Red Robin muttered, staring at the empty air where the Red Hood should be.
“We’ll find him,” Batman said firmly. No one bothered to clarify whether he meant the Red Hood or Jason.
Opinions on the Red Hood depended largely on which Bat was asked.
If Robin was asked, he would state in clipped tones that the Red Hood was a well-trained adversary whose skills made him difficult to catch. Though Robin did not recall ever meeting Red Hood in the League, it had not been much of a surprise to him when the Bats had discovered the Rogue’s League connections. Red Hood had displayed a mastery of many different combat styles, after all, and Damian knew well that the League was an excellent place to learn to be as deadly as Red Hood had been when he’d first begun making a name for himself in Gotham – though the garish red helmet was certainly not League-approved. The League knew the value of subtlety, after all.
If Red Robin was asked, he would report that the Red Hood was a high-level threat, given the Rogue’s ruthless and incredibly successful takeover of Gotham’s underworld. The level of planning and foresight that was required to not only pull off that coup, but also to maintain control in the aftermath was beyond what the ordinary criminal would’ve been capable of – which made the Red Hood dangerously competent. However, Red Robin would also admit that, since Hood’s violent takeover, the Rogue had mostly stuck to patrolling the territory he’d claimed, and – shockingly – crime in that area had actually gone down. Red Robin had heard some interesting rumors that the Red Hood had an ironclad set of rules that included a no tolerance policy for crimes involving children, and that he protected the working girls. If it hadn’t been for the Rogue’s violence and lethal methods, Red Robin might’ve thought the man was an aspiring vigilante.
If Nightwing was asked, he would say that the Red Hood might have good intentions with his rules, but, if he was trying to make Gotham safer, he was going about it the wrong way and needed to be stopped. However, he wasn’t opposed to stopping the guy by reforming him and letting him patrol his area on strict no-kill orders – the Crime Alley people seemed to really like him, after all, and none of the Bats had ever been able to get that hardened group to trust them (well, with one exception).
If Batman was asked, he would say the Red Hood was a danger to the city and needed to be stopped. Period.
What all four could agree on, though, was that the Red Hood was slippery – something that had been annoying before but was a huge frustration in the wake of his little announcement.
By the time they cornered him again, it had been an entire tension-filled week. Bruce’s increasingly furious calls to Talia had been decisively ignored, and the Manor was littered with research about the Lazarus Pit and any means of rising from the dead that they could think of (Tim and Barbara preferred to keep their research saved in files on their computers like civilized people, but Bruce, Dick, and Damian preferred printed copies – much to Alfred’s dismay the fourth time he wound up with a distressingly large pile of semi-crumpled papers at the end of a sweep through the house).
What their research couldn’t tell them was how Jason, if he was truly alive, had been doing since his resurrection. For that, they needed to speak with Hood – but the Rogue was impressively good at hiding when he didn’t want to be found.
They finally cornered him at a warehouse while he was in the middle of busting a drug ring, much to the Red Hood’s evident annoyance.
“Seriously, you wanna talk right now?” Hood complained, taking one last shot at the backs of the thugs who’d taken advantage of the Bats’ arrival to scamper away. “I’m busy.”
“You were busy,” Red Robin corrected him, surveying the now-empty area as the last of the thugs disappeared out the door. Red Hood huffed, holstering his gun and folding his arms, posture radiating annoyance.
“Well, you have my attention,” he said sardonically. “What do you want?”
“What do you know of Jason’s whereabouts?” Batman growled, looming in a way that made most of Gotham’s criminal element quake with fear. Hood didn’t do him the courtesy of appearing even slightly intimidated.
“You’re still on this?” he asked incredulously, the mechanized voice somehow displaying genuine surprise. “Don’t you have better shit to do?”
Batman gritted his teeth. Given Hood’s League connections, it was likely that he knew the Bats’ identities, so there was no reason he couldn’t say, “Nothing is more important than finding my son.”
There was a weighted silence as Red Hood stared at the Bats, somehow even more inscrutable than usual behind that helmet. “Can’t say I expected that, since you replaced him before his body was even cold in the ground,” the Rogue finally commented, tone deceptively light as he tilted his head in Red Robin’s direction.
Red Robin had a moment to feel both startled and offended before Nightwing was stepping in front of him and hissing, “You don’t have any idea what you’re talking about, Hood!”
Red Hood snorted. “Don’t I?” he asked, seemingly rhetorically, and there was something almost bitter in his voice.
But before the Bats could respond, his posture loosened, and he took on the same blithe tone he’d had during their last encounter, displaying a lack of seriousness that immediately grated on every Bat’s nerves, given the subject. “Last I heard, his big dream was to get a Lit degree at one of those pretentious European universities. Oxford, or whatever. Talia told him she’d help, when he was ready,” he responded with a careless shrug.
That news broke through the Bats’ irritation. “Oh, Jason,” Nightwing breathed, a wide smile stretching across his face.
Batman remained stoic, though a slight twitch at the corner of his mouth suggested that he shared Nightwing’s sentiments. “And when was that?”
Red Hood tapped his chin thoughtfully. “Hmm, I think it was while we were learning from the professional poisoner. Or maybe when we were in sniper training? Kid was a natural at that.”
The reactions were instantaneous. Nightwing recoiled and Batman flinched minutely, while Robin and Red Robin looked unsurprised – though Red Robin did appear worried, glancing back and forth between the two older vigilantes.
“You’re lying,” Nightwing said hoarsely. “Jason would never…”
Red Hood scoffed. “What exactly did you think he was learning from the League, Big Bird?” he demanded, shedding the casual façade like a poorly fitting cloak. “Knitting patterns? No, he learned how to take care of himself, since apparently none of you were up to the task when he was still stupid enough to rely on you.”
Nightwing jerked back like he’d been slapped, and Batman growled, “That’s enough, Hood.”
Red Hood just laughed, a hard, mean sound. “Hey, you’re the ones who came to me. You don’t like my answers? Then stop asking me questions.”
And with that, he darted out one of the windows, Red Robin’s thoughtful gaze on his back.
It had been another tense few days as new information was processed. Like Damian and Tim, Alfred appeared unsurprised by the news that Jason might have been trained as an assassin, if Hood was to be believed. Dick and Bruce, however, took the news harder, both of them disappearing to their respective brooding places – characteristically so, for Bruce, but less characteristically for Dick.
Tim, too, appeared to be brooding on something, though not the same something as the eldest vigilantes. The activity log on the Batcomputer, if checked, would have showed that he’d been viewing the footage of the last encounter with Hood over and over, though no notes or new analyses were ever uploaded. If asked, he’d have said he was just trying to familiarize himself with a newer enemy – but the strange glint in his eye would’ve given away the lie.
Even Damian was not exempt from the heavy mood that had fallen over the Manor, disappearing into his room for a brood of his own upon seeing the depths of Dick and Bruce’s unhappiness at the news of Jason’s League training. If Dick and Bruce were unable to accept Jason’s League training, after all, why should they continue to accept Damian’s? Perhaps this entire reveal would make them rethink Damian’s place here.
Maybe it was this newly discovered insecurity that had Robin picking at Red Robin one evening during patrol – which was now doubling as an unofficial search for the Red Hood every night. Batman had been pairing the two youngest up for patrols recently in the hopes that it would help them learn to work together better. However, it was primarily succeeding in giving them more opportunities to squabble.
“For the fourth and final time, Robin, B doesn’t have favorites,” Red Robin was saying exasperatedly as they landed on a rooftop in the Bowery after having successfully stopped their second mugging of the night.
“Tt. You only say that because you know it is not you,” Robin scoffed, and Red Robin turned to glare at him.
“Children, don’t make me come over there and separate you,” Nightwing threatened, voice light over the comms but already changing directions to head to the other Robins’ location. The argument was verbal for now, but Nightwing had seen verbal sparring devolve into physical sparring in the space of half a heartbeat between those two.
They ignored him. “And I suppose you think that means it’s you,” Red Robin said sarcastically.
Robin folded his arms. “I am the blood son, that clearly makes me Father’s favorite.”
Both of them leaped a foot in the air when a wry voice chimed in unexpectedly. “Oh please, kid, you aren’t even Talia’s favorite child,” drawled the Red Hood from across the rooftop, touching down easily.
“Hood,” Red Robin greeted, his surprise quickly replaced by a calculating curiosity as he eyed the helmeted Rogue.
There was a noise over the comms, and Nightwing demanded, “Hood’s there? Hold on, I’m close.”
“On my way,” Batman growled. “Stall him.”
Because that was going to be such an easy task. “If D—Robin isn’t Talia’s favorite, who is then?” Red Robin asked, and Robin scowled at a question he likely considered inane. Behind them, Nightwing’s grappler latched onto their rooftop as he launched toward them, body angling to land beside Robin.
Hood shrugged easily. “Jason, of course.”
And Nightwing, likely for the first time since he was a very young child, did not stick the landing.
Curving into an ungraceful roll and skidding slightly across the roof – the other three winced, recalling their own episodes of concrete-burn – he launched himself to his feet the moment he recovered, barely missing a beat in his haste to question Hood.
“What do you mean Jason is Talia’s favorite kid?” he demanded angrily. “Jason isn’t even Talia’s! Right, Robin?” Nightwing spun to pin Robin with an expectant look, but Robin twitched and remained silent. Nightwing’s eyes widened. “Right, Robin?” he demanded more desperately.
Robin shrugged. “Mother always referred to Jason as my brother. I had assumed initially that she was referencing his connection to Father, but she later told me she had come to see him as her own son, making him my brother in full,” he said, avoiding eye contact with Nightwing.
Nightwing stared, attempting to make all kinds of aggressively unreturned eye contact, mouth open as he floundered before spinning back to glare at Hood. “But why would Jason want Talia as a mom?”
Hood snorted. “Can you blame the guy for wanting one parent who would kill for him instead of expecting him to die for them or their crusade?” he asked acerbically, and across the city, Batman flinched as he hurtled toward the Bowery.
“That’s – that’s not fair,” Nightwing protested, fumbling and looking for all the world like Hood had kicked his dog.
“It’s not accurate, either,” Red Robin concurred, eyeing Red Hood shrewdly, “unless you know something we don’t. Batman…well, fair or not, I suppose I can understand how Jason would see it that way. But his birth mother? Didn’t she get caught in the middle of Jason going after the Joker and essentially die for him?”
There was a beat of silence, and then Red Hood let out an incredulous laugh that had the other three recoiling at the sheer derisiveness of the sound. “You think she died for him? Try lured him to the warehouse in the first place. Try sold him out to get the Joker to stop blackmailing her. Try watched the Joker beat him into the ground without a word.”
Hood’s words had steadily risen in volume until he was near-shouting. “She died because the Joker double-crossed her, and she was stupid enough to trust a promise of safety in the first place.” He snorted, then muttered quietly, seemingly to himself, “Like mother, like son.”
Silence fell over the rooftop in the wake of Hood’s words, only to be broken by Hood himself. “So yeah, he’s delighted as shit to have one parent who would kill that fuckin’ clown for him if he asked,” he said bitterly.
Red Robin tilted his head, hesitating for a moment before asking, “If Talia is so willing to kill for him, then why isn’t the Joker dead?”
Hood turned to pin him with a stare, and Red Robin nearly flinched back at the coiled rage in the Rogue’s posture. “Maybe he wants to take the bastard out himself,” he answered, tone low and dangerous.
And with that, he launched himself off the roof and into the night, seconds before Batman arrived – a few moments too late.
For all that Batman was lauded as the World’s Greatest Detective, Tim Drake was no slouch, and the Red Hood had, intentionally or not, given him quite a bit to work with. Still, he didn’t dare take his suspicions to Bruce or Dick – not until he was certain.
Which, unfortunately, did not happen before the next time Red Hood and Red Robin ran into each other – though “ran into each other” was a rather loose description of the encounter.
“Y’know,” said the Joker thoughtfully, twirling the crowbar in his hand gaily before bringing it down on Red Robin’s arm with a sickening crack. A scream echoed through the warehouse. “The last pesky little Robin I had in this position got reeeeeal close to making it out before he went boom.” His expression grew exaggeratedly, unconvincingly mournful. “You had to hand it to him – he was a stubborn little bird. I was almost rooting for him to get out, poor kid.”
The false somberness vanished as the clown grinned nightmarishly down at the half-broken form tied to the chair, red paint stretching garishly across his face. “But – of course – he didn’t make it. Word on the street is that you’re the smart one, though – do you think you’ll find your way out in time, little bird?” he crooned, one hand reaching out to pat a bruised cheek.
Red Robin recoiled from the touch sluggishly, semi-conscious but aiming as heated a glare as he could at the Joker. “He’s coming for you,” the boy slurred, tugging uselessly at his bonds and biting back a cry of pain as he jarred broken bones.
Joker laughed, the ha-HA-ha’s echoing eerily in the empty space. “Batman? I’m not afraid of him,” he chortled. “He was too late to save the last birdie – do you really think he’ll be on time to save you?”
“Not Batman,” Red Robin corrected, voice steadily weakening but conviction strong underneath. “Robin.”
The Joker cackled. “Oh, please, let the littlest bird come – we’ll make it a party.”
“Not – not that Robin,” Red said, words slurring as he fought to maintain consciousness, blood and bruises marring a defiant expression. “The second one.”
That drew the clown up short, and he fixed Red Robin with a perplexed look. “Robin Two? The one I already put down?” Joker asked, eyebrows raising before a mean grin stretched across his face. “Oh, Red,” he cooed, “I think a couple of those bumps to your noggin might’ve knocked a few things loose. Too bad, you really need your wits about you right now.”
“He’s back,” Red Robin said with deep unshakeable faith. “He’s back, and he’s going to kill you. He told us so himself. Whatever you do to me, you’re a dead man anyway.”
Joker cackled. “Even if that little nuisance was back, you birdies don’t kill.”
“Birds may not,” came a cold voice from across the warehouse. “But I do.”
A shot rang out, clear and unflinching. The bang was followed by a momentary silence, where time itself seemed almost suspended in shock – and then Joker’s body hit the floor with a final-sounding thud, blood trickling from the bullet wound between sightless eyes.
“Jason,” Red Robin sighed, relaxing into the chair, eyes fluttering closed. “Knew you’d come.”
“Sorry, baby bird, it’s just me,” the Red Hood said, crossing the room and slicing through the bonds tying the vigilante to the chair in a matter of seconds. Red Robin slipped off the chair, Red Hood catching him before he could hit the floor.
“Yeah, ‘s what I said,” Red Robin agreed, not protesting as Red Hood scooped him up. “Jason.”
There was a distinct pause before the mechanized voice took on a forcibly light lilt. “Did you take some hits to the head, RR?”
Red Robin let out an unimpressed huff, still not bothering to open his eyes. “Y’can stop pretending. I already know ‘s you.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Red Hood said unconvincingly. “We should really get your head checked out.”
What little glass was left covering the warehouse’s windows shattered as Batman, Nightwing, and Robin burst in from three separate points, rolling to a stop in fighting stances – only to freeze at the scene in front of them. Red Hood appeared similarly frozen, holding Red Robin in a princess carry as they stood over the Joker’s body.
“This isn’t what it looks like?” Red Hood tried.
Batman looked at the Joker’s body, at Red Robin cradled in the Rogue’s arms, then at Red Hood. “It looks like you killed the Joker and rescued Red Robin,” he said evenly.
“Okay,” said Red Hood. “Maybe it’s exactly what it looks like.”
Batman’s lips thinned. “We don’t kill,” he said firmly, and Red Hood bristled.
“No, you just get your Robins killed,” he spat, arms tightening around Red Robin before reluctantly relinquishing him to Nightwing when the older vigilante stepped forward with his arms extended. Red Hood flinched at the pained noise Red Robin made at the transfer, then turned his attention and anger back at Batman. “And it was the same fucking clown pulling the same exact shit, too.”
Nightwing, clutching Red Robin tightly but carefully to his chest, couldn’t seem to tear his gaze away from the Joker’s body, but Batman’s gaze was firmly on Red Hood as he said, “If we behave like them, we’re no better than them.”
“Oh, bullshit,” Red Hood snarled. “Arkham’s a fucking revolving door, and some of the people in it are beyond saving. Are we just supposed to let them kill again and again and do fuck all to actually stop them?”
“That’s not what I said – “
“It is, though!” Red Hood cut in, voice heated and steadily gaining volume. “You’re so worried about your fucking rules, about having a criminal’s death on your conscience – but what about all of his victims? What about all the people you could’ve saved if you’d actually fucking stopped the man who’s murdered more fucking people than I can count! Instead of just putting him in a place that he breaks out of again and again and again and again and pulls the same shit! At some point, you’re responsible for those deaths, too – just like you would’ve been responsible for Red’s death tonight!”
There was a heavy pause, and Robin glanced up at Nightwing searchingly, as though wondering whether they should intervene, but Nightwing had finally torn his gaze away from the Joker to stare at Red Hood. “I’m not responsible for others’ actions,” Batman said tonelessly, without conviction.
Red Hood laughed bitterly. “Right. ‘Course not. You just founded the whole vigilante scene in Gotham and probably brought a lot of the Rogues out of the woodworks in the first place. And then shoved a bunch of children into tights and threw them into your goddamn crusade without a single care for the danger they’d be in.”
“That’s not true,” Batman said hoarsely. “I care – more than you can imagine.”
Red Hood stared at him for a moment, as though searching him for something. “If you care so much, then why the fuck was that clown still alive?” His tone was hard and unforgiving, and Batman flinched. “Still alive and about to do the exact same thing to another Robin. Was my death really for nothing?”
A moment of silence, and then Nightwing asked in a strangled tone, “Your death?”
Red Hood seemed to have forgotten that anyone else was there, jolting and glancing at the blue-and-black vigilante. “What?”
“You asked if your death meant nothing,” Nightwing said, gaze locked on Red Hood with an eerie intensity.
Red Hood was backpedaling quickly. “Oh, uh. I’m – I meant Jason’s death. Obviously.”
The Bats stared at him (all except for Red Robin, who was too busy rolling his eyes).
“No way,” Nightwing murmured, eyes wide. “Jason?”
Red Hood took an instinctual step back. “No?”
“Yes,” countered Red Robin.
“Yes?” Nightwing asked, glancing down at the boy in his arms.
“No,” Red Hood said more firmly, stabbing a finger in Red Robin’s direction. “People with head injuries don’t get to weigh in on this.”
“Red Robin sounded very certain in his deduction, head injury or not,” Robin pointed out.
“That doesn’t make him right,” Red Hood protested.
“Take off the helmet, then,” Nightwing challenged.
Red Hood folded his arms defensively. “Why the hell would I do that?”
Nightwing’s eyes narrowed. “Take off the helmet, Hood, or I’ll do it for you.”
Red Hood scoffed, gesturing at Red Robin. “How’re you gonna do that, with an armful of baby bird?”
Nightwing didn’t even break eye contact. “B, take Red Robin, please.” Wordlessly, Batman took the injured vigilante from his eldest. “Last chance. Take it off, Jaybird.”
“Ah shit,” Hood muttered under his breath, backing away more quickly, grabbing the grappling hook and aiming at one of the broken windows.
Nightwing was on him before he could fire it, lunging forward and knocking them both to the ground, the impact sending the grappling hook skidding out of Hood’s hand and across the warehouse floor. Nightwing reached for Hood’s helmet, but Hood batted his hands away, struggling to get away. “Get – your – fat – ass – off me,” Hood panted, squirming out of the hold and making a noise of triumph when he reversed their positions, looming over Nightwing.
“Should we help?” Robin asked from behind them.
“I think Nightwing has called dibs,” Batman said, tone dry.
“I can’t believe you just said dibs,” Red Robin groaned.
Batman’s faith was rewarded when Nightwing knocked Hood off, the helmeted vigilante landing on his back with a huff as the impromptu wrestling match continued, Nightwing struggling to hold Hood down. “Could’ve done this the easy way, Little Wing,” Nightwing sang, sitting firmly on Hood’s chest, knees pinning Hood’s arms down as he reached for the latches of Hood’s helmet.
“You’re such a dick,” Hood snarled, struggling ineffectively as Nightwing pulled the helmet off. Green eyes were narrowed, but the rest of Hood’s face was intimately familiar to Nightwing, if older than he last recalled those features.
“And you’re an idiot,” was Nightwing’s teary retort before collapsing down on top of Hood to wrap him in his most effective pin.
“Are you seriously hugging me right now?” Hood asked incredulously, and Nightwing just hummed an affirmative, arms snuggled tightly around his brother.
“Missed you, Jaybird,” he said softly, tucking wet cheeks and a runny nose against Hood’s neck.
“Shit, are you crying?” Hood sounded half-panicked about it, one hand coming up to awkwardly pat Nightwing’s back.
“Yes, because shockingly, little brothers coming back from the dead and not telling you is an emotional experience,” Nightwing said reproachfully, squeezing Hood tighter.
“Didn’t think you’d care, given how quickly you all replaced me,” Hood muttered.
“Red Robin is not your replacement.” Hood jolted at how unexpectedly close Batman’s voice was, craning past Nightwing to see the Dark Knight looming above him, arms still full of injured vigilante. Batman’s voice was strained with the weight of emotion that he usually suppressed as he said, “Just like you weren’t Nightwing’s replacement. You’re my son.”
His voice broke on the last word, Batman cracking back to Bruce, and Nightwing reluctantly released his brother, standing and yanking him to his feet. Nightwing stepped forward and took Red Robin from Batman. “Alright, your turn to hug him,” he instructed Batman with a jerk of his head at Red Hood.
“What?” Hood yelped. “No, I didn’t agree to more h– “
His words were cut off as Batman wordlessly engulfed him in a firm embrace. Hood was frozen, green eyes wide, but Batman didn’t seem to notice his shock as he tightened his grip, one hand coming up to settle in Hood’s hair. Slowly, Hood relaxed, arms tentatively coming up to return the hug.
“Come home, son,” Batman murmured, half-command, half-plea.
Hood looked like he half-thought this was all a dream. “I – okay,” he agreed semi-hysterically.
Neither man moved to break the embrace, though, and Nightwing and Red Robin seemed disinclined to move them along.
“Are we not going to talk about how Todd has been pretending to be his own friend?” Robin muttered.
“Later,” Nightwing promised.