Chapter Text
Duke ends up spending another day in Crime Alley.
The time spent in Leslie's Clinic gets away from him. Somewhere between him explaining all the good burger spots to Red Hood (who is, for some reason, incredibly outdated on the best places to eat) and Spoiler dramatically retelling the story of Red Hood failing to do a quadruple twirl grapple flip (whatever that is) and nosedived into a dumpster, Duke fell asleep on the gurney they were both sitting on.
He didn't realise just how tired he was until he woke up hours later. It makes sense now, looking back at the last few days, and how it was almost entirely spent walking around or getting bruised up. Duke's become pretty good at pushing the fatigue away, compensating for the tiredness by constantly having somewhere to go.
It's a good plan, always having something to do. Until his body can't quite keep up with his mind.
His mouth is thick and dry with heavy sleep, and he almost topples off the side of the gurney when he startles awake to figure out where he is, knocking a now warm ice pack off his foot and hearing it slap against the tile floor. He jumps at the sound, peering down in confusion.
It's well into the morning now, judging by the light pouring in from the windows. Duke looks up hurriedly, pushing the blanket someone had draped over him off and rubbing the sleep out of his eyes.
Blinking around shows he's still in the back of the clinic, the smell of antibacterial and general hospital equipment more identifiable than the night before, since he can actually see everything now. His bag is propped on a nearby table, and Duke jumps off the gurney to approach it slowly, still trying to push through the drowsiness that's holding onto him.
He's alone, unsurprisingly. After all, no one ever sees the infamous Gotham vigilantes when the sun's out, unless the world is truly ending. Duke pretends it doesn't sting a little, that Red Hood would have just left him here without a goodbye. Duke isn't exactly happy about being left here to spend the night somewhere he could have gotten caught either.
The sourness depletes a little when Duke catches a small note written on the back of an empty prescription paper next to his bag, and he holds it up to his face with a yawn. His eyes widen in pleasant surprise as he reads.
Duke,
Leslie's out of town on business, so the place is being looked after by her apprentice. Her name is Stephanie, and she won't come to check the back until after lunch, so take what you need and make sure you're gone by then!
See you around!
Spoiler.
Duke quickly looks around the room for a clock, breathing a sigh of relief when it shows just a little bit past nine in the morning. He folds up the note carefully, immediately tucking it safely into the front zipper pocket of his bag, finally feeling awake and eager to head out. He's cutting it pretty close for time, so it's best he makes himself scarce before this Stephanie comes to do inventory.
Despite the note's suggestion, Duke doesn't take anything. He'd already used the back room to sleep in, and that's definitely a step too far in what's acceptable. Not to mention that the clinic isn't exactly Gotham General, so their supplies are limited and could be used for someone who actually needs them.
Duke ignores the dull ache across his face at that thought, or the slightly less but still evident throbbing of his foot.
He tugs his jacket on properly, zips it up the whole way and hikes his bag over his shoulder, almost missing something hidden behind it. Duke doesn't need to look too hard to realise what it is, and the small smile on his face splits into a grin at the sight of it.
There's a silly looking smiley face drawn on the takeaway box with the same marker that Spoiler had written her note in, but Duke knows exactly who would have left waffles with no peanut toppings for him.
Duke probably needs to tell Hood that he can't keep feeding him waffles for breakfast, since it's probably not healthy and it'll definitely stunt his growth (his mother would have said that). But for now, Duke walks through the relatively empty streets, well rested and stomach full of cold but delicious waffles.
There's a slight chill over Gotham this morning, proof of the coming winter season as the autumn begins to pull away. There's very few trees in this part of the city, but even people's potted plants have started to lose their leaves and the air feels sharper with the growing cold.
Duke pulls the collar of his jacket up higher as he follows a familiar street past Leslie's Clinic. There's already a line curling around the specific building he was looking for, but it's not too long given the time, and Duke isn't too fussed when he joins the back easily. The man in front of him gives him a short nod in casual greeting, but otherwise, no one seems to notice the kid on his own.
A volunteer wrapped in a thick coat is walking up and down the line, greeting everyone with a bright and surprisingly genuine grin, “Morning everyone! We've got new sleeping bags if anyone needs one, along with some blankets and —”
“Oh, it's you,” Duke hears behind him, and turns hesitantly to see a somewhat familiar face.
“Clarisse,” the boy smiles, stepping to the side to let the older girl stand beside him in the slowly moving line, “Hey!”
“Hey yourself,” Clarisse grins back, knocking their shoulders together, “Haven't seen you in a while. Glad to see the cops haven't picked you up again for running away.”
He rolls his eyes as she laughs good naturedly, looking over him quickly. She seems happy at what she sees, since her dark eyes grow a little warmer, smiling softer. Duke's grateful she doesn't linger too long on his probably yellowing black eye, instead focusing her attention on what they're giving out for breakfast this morning.
He hasn't seen Clarisse in a while, but she looks a lot better than she did those few months ago, brown cheeks fuller and flushed a light pink as she smiles. As far as Duke knows, she sticks to Crime Alley, probably looking for something in its perpetually dark alleyways like everyone else, so it's not often they run into each other. Duke stays away from this place as best he can.
In fact, the last time he'd seen her, she told him about how Red Hood had saved her life from some kidnappers and thrown a couple hundred dollars into her hand.
What awe and slight disbelief he'd felt about that story before seems ridiculous now, since it sounds like something Hood definitely would have done. Red Hood's reputation may have not been too trustworthy before, but it definitely precedes him now.
“You staying in the Alley long?” Clarisse asks once they make it to the tables outside the shelter, keeping her head down as she accepts the styrofoam cup of warm tea.
Duke does the same, nodding slightly in thanks as he follows her to the trays of toast and bagels, “Probably not.”
“Did you find whoever it was you were looking for?” She asks a little softer.
Duke bites the inside of his cheek, suddenly not feeling as hungry and wordlessly declining a strawberry jam sandwich a volunteer tries to pass to him, “Nah. Not yet.”
Clarisse nods in understanding, taking it with stride and not letting the sudden heaviness of the conversation take over. She's snacking on a plain piece of toast and butter, standing off to the side and letting Duke catch up to her before moving along.
“So,” she continues, much more talkative than the first time they met under similar circumstances, now standing in the next line for necessities and camping equipment, “You staying at the shelter tonight?”
Duke considers her question, taking a short glance at the building in question, which seems to be bustling both inside and outside despite the early morning. As far as he knows, they always do breakfasts and tea outside in the mornings, just like the church up the road.
The Jason Todd-Wayne Homeless Shelter is a sore sight, in the sense that it's a warm toned and recently renovated building in comparison to the drab and crumbling state of the other buildings in the area. Duke can understand why, the name Jason Todd-Wayne not exactly an unfamiliar one, but it's a bit daunting to think about it in any serious capacity.
Duke was too young to really remember what it was like, when the boy was supposedly saved off the streets and placed into the care of Bruce Wayne. Duke's memory is near impeccable, but even then, it's a little difficult to try and imagine the man his family had saved all those years ago in such a position.
It was an oddly lucky fate for Jason, a one in a million Annie sort of lucky — though maybe it's a bit tasteless to make that comparison. The boy had died, after all, when he was around Duke's age. An accident, or something. He wonders what kind of dad Bruce Wayne was to Jason. What kind of dad he is now to his many other children Duke's heard of in the magazines.
He must not be too bad, if this building is any consolation. The Jason Todd Homeless Shelter is, obviously, very well funded and looked after. Which means it probably doesn't have anything too nefarious taking place in its walls, given its right under Bruce Wayne's charitable nose.
Unfortunately, that does mean they care a little too genuinely and ask hard to answer questions.
“Nah,” Duke tells Clarisse after a few seconds of thinking it over, finally making it to the table where a staff member is digging into a large plastic box, surrounded by an assortment of other random boxes of necessities.
“Would you like a blanket?” The lady asks, picking a folded one out for Clarisse.
She shakes her head, grabbing a box of tampons instead and moving along briskly, “No thanks, I've got one.”
Duke follows along, right at her heel, snagging a new toothbrush from a nearby tub, “Same here.”
The lady looks pleased, “Well, we'll definitely have extras at the end if you want another! Seems like everyone's already got a new blanket.”
Duke can't help but smile at that, because yeah, they do. He catches Clarisse look equally as happy about the news, and as they walk away from the shelter in no direction in particular, she gives him a knowing glance.
“What colour did he give you?” She asks casually, not really specifying who she's talking about.
Duke grins, understanding her all the same, “Yellow. You?”
She smirks, “Red.”
“Of course,” Duke grumbles, unsurprised, but he's smiling fondly. He's been doing that a lot lately.
Clarisse laughs, patting him strongly on the back as she shoves the last of her toast into her mouth, almost making him spill his cup of tea, “Come on, I've got an extra mattress at my place with your name on it.”
A couple hours later, Duke's weaving through dimly lit alleys of Park Row once more, but for the first time in a long time, he thinks his odds of finding what he's looking for are good.
Clarisse had come with him for a bit, showing him some of her favourite spots (Where Duke keeps an eye out for anyone resembling his parents) and telling him how to stay clear of the vigilant but infrequent patrol car, before she split and had to head to her new night job. She's washing plates in one of the Penguins clubs, where they don't care for ID and pay in cash for any extra hands in the back.
She'd offered to take him with her, but Duke's not exactly looking to take the few dollars he doesn't need right now when someone else could earn it. Besides, he's got something to do first.
The thing in question is parked between two under construction buildings, hidden between crates and forgotten material. It's a great attempt at being covert, but Duke had a feeling he would find it in a place like this, and approaches it with a smirk.
He taps against the handles of the very familiar bike, giving a pointed look to the wheels. He kneels down to inspect them, and Duke takes a moment to weigh the annoyance he might cause with how funny it would be to try and break the frame and swipe a tire again. You know, now that the threat of bodily harm is thrown out the window.
Before he can really commit to it however, Duke hears the telltale stomping of heavy footsteps round the corner, before they come to an abrupt stop. There's half a second of panic, where Duke realises being caught in a dark alley by a stranger is the worst way to end the night, but then he hears a modulated grumble of exasperation. He wonders when that became a familiar sound.
“You're kidding, this is some serious deja vu,” Red Hood complains, shaking his head as he approaches Duke, who's now standing by his bike with a stupid grin, “Haven't you learnt your lesson after trying to steal my tires the first time?”
“Haven't you learnt to not leave it parked where someone else could try?” Duke counters, doing his best to raise a brow and look defensive, but he's too amused to carry the tone. He splutters into a fit of giggles when Hood laughs as well.
“Hey, you're in my turf now,” Hood points out, slapping the seat bike and leaning against the back, “You'd be a fool to try and rob me here!”
“Is that a challenge?” Duke asks, smirking.
Red Hood barks a laughter in surprise, reaching out to pat Duke's head in a surprisingly gentle and familiar gesture. They're both too lost in the banter to realise it, because Duke only laughs louder and shrugs him off, and Hood doesn't pull away like he's been burned.
The movement does bring attention to his face though, and Hood tilts his head to the side to get a good look at him, laughter fading, “Your face is healing well.”
Duke blinks, suddenly remembering why he was even out looking for the vigilante in the first place, “Oh, yeah, about that. I wanted to say thanks.”
“Nothing to thank me for, kid,” Hood tells him, a little quieter. It's hard to tell for sure what sort of tone the man has, since most of it is hidden between that robotic layer, but he almost sounds a little sad.
It doesn't deter Duke's good mood, “Yeah sure. But really, thanks for taking me to the clinic. I appreciate it.”
Hood nods stiffly, turning away for a moment before he looks back at Duke, clearing his throat, “You got somewhere safe for tonight?”
“I'm staying with a friend,” Duke offers vaguely, but judging by the silence that follows, it's not quite enough for the attentive Red Hood, “Clarisse. We're staying in that abandoned apartment building by Falcone's old bar."
“Clarisse, seventeen, red?” Hood immediately asks.
Duke blinks in surprise, struggling to make sense of the seemingly random sequence of words. That is, until he remembers the first time they met, and the series of questions Red Hood had asked him. Name, age, favourite colour?
“Yeah,” Duke scoffs in disbelief, “Is that how you remember all the kids you run into?”
“Only the ones who get into the most trouble,” Hood laughs, “So you two better stay out of it.”
Duke holds up his hands in surrender, “Hey, I don't go looking for trouble!”
“Sure,” the man replies in a tone that suggests he doesn't quite agree, before he's angling his head towards the bike in question, “You hungry? We can check out that noodle place you were telling me about yesterday.”
Duke steps back instinctively. He's not even entirely aware he's done it until he catches Hood peering at him curiously, and he quickly smiles to hide the sudden nervousness. It's nothing Red Hood's done, at least, not willingly.
It's just — well, it's dangerous to form a routine. Red Hood isn't his guardian angel to be driving him around every night to escape a couple nightmares.
“No man, it's alright,” Duke laughs, hoping he doesn't sounds as unconvincing as he feels about it all, “Just wanted to say thanks. You've probably got better things to do.”
Duke knows he's opened a new and dangerous can of worms when the vigilante doesn't reply or move, but continues to watch Duke stumble about anxiously. It doesn't feel right to just leave, but at the same time, he's not going to get anywhere by just waiting for a response.
“You don't ever got to do what you don't want to do,” Hood starts rather abruptly, slow and calm and pouring deliberate purpose into every word. It's the most genuine Duke has ever heard him sound.
It stuns him into silence. Duke's not sure how to respond, if that's what he's supposed to do.
“You know that, right?” Hood prompts.
Duke swallows, shrugging, “Yeah.”
“So you don't gotta come with me if you don't want to,” Hood continues, “Just like how I don't have to eat dinner with you if I don't want to.”
“I get that,” Duke mumbles, a little offput by the over explaining.
Hood crosses his arms over his chest, leaning against his bike and watching Duke like he has all the time in the world to spend waiting, “So, what do you want right now?”
It's a loaded question. Probably a heavier one than what Red Hood is trying to encourage him with. Duke's surprise at the words quickly sink into something a little more brittle, not yet formed and weak, and the wants he holds are once again an ever present itch against his skin.
I want my parents. I want to go home. I want things to be normal again. I want to sleep in a bed. I want a hug.
“I want noodles,” Duke says quietly. It's the simplest and easiest way he thinks he can verbalise anything he wants right now.
Red Hood nods easily, like any answer would have been the right one. In a way, Duke thinks that was probably the point.
“Come on then,” he says, “I'm starving.”
After they've ordered some food (and experienced a very awkward encounter at the counter, where the cashier was very unsubtly trying to ask if Duke had been kidnapped by Red Hood and needed help), the man drives them further out of Park Row, past Crest Hill and across the bridge into even more secluded roads to eat the food.
The drive was longer than Duke expected, clinging onto the vigilante's back the entire way and watching as the forest of tall buildings quickly became empty lands and hills. They've long passed the skyscrapers and bright city office buildings, and reached more greenery and secluded houses in the distance.
They're not too far past the bridge that they've entered Wayne-level rich, but Bristol was still Bristol, and Duke was hesitant when they finally parked and Hood told him to take a seat in the grass. Either because this would be the perfect place to get murdered without anyone knowing, but also for someone to call the cops on them for loitering.
That being said, once Duke had (rather reservedly) settled into the grass, a foot or so away from Red Hood's bike, the man had taken a seat a bit away from him and silently pointed up at the sky.
Duke stops his fidgeting to follow the hand upward, and once he does he can't help but gasp.
He's never seen so many stars before.
He knew they existed, realistically. Even Duke had not been immune to a brief obsession about space as a kid, and so he'd say he was more knowledgeable about the vast expanses of the sky than the average Gothamite.
But living in a city that was known for its smog and perpetual overcast didn't just mean every other person was asthmatic — it also made it incredibly hard to believe the stars you learn about were actually up in the sky. Now that they're far away enough from the city and it's light pollution, Duke sees hundreds of little lights in the dark sky.
He feels a breeze rush past his neck, making him shiver, but he can't look away. Red Hood laughs quietly at his apparent amazement.
"Yeah, cool as hell right?" He chuckles, unpacking their food meticulously and carefully passing one box over with a plastic fork poked into the lid, "I remember the first time I saw it I almost cried. The world is so big once you get a chance to step back and really look."
Duke feels oddly choked up hearing that and when he takes his offered takeaway box with faintly shaking hands, he pulls his eyes away from the sky to look at Hood. He blinks for a moment, when the stars follow his vision down to the ground, but once it settles, he sees Hood looking up at the sky with the same sort of reverence, "Thanks."
Hood seems to realise the weight behind the gratitude, thankful for more than just the food, "Don't mention it kid. Eat your food."
Duke nods, telling himself it's the cold that's making his eyes watery, opening his food carefully as he crosses his legs beneath him.
He hears Hood do the same, but then, the man places his box in the grass and begins to fiddle behind his head.
It makes sense that Hood would need to take off his helmet to actually eat the food he'd brought, Duke realises. All the other times they'd eaten, Hood hadn't actually, well, eaten. Duke didn't consider he'd do that with him still here, and wasn't given any warning either, before he hears the clicking of metal, and he sees the back of the helmet open in his peripheral vision.
Duke almost has a heart attack when Hood moves to unclasp his helmet completely with a mechanical hiss of joints, pulling it off to reveal a domino mask and a head full of curly hair, with a single white streak through the middle.
For some reason, Duke hadn't considered the possibility that there was actually a person beneath the helmet. He knew, conceptually, that there had to be someone — but assuming so and seeing so are two very different truths.
There were rumours his red helmet was his head for a long time (it wouldn't make him the strangest looking guy in Gotham). Not to mention that for people who operated best in secrecy, vigilantes taking their masks off unannounced can't be helping them stay very hidden. Duke never felt the need to know for certain anyway.
Immediately though, Duke turns away before he can catalogue anything else about Red Hood's face. He finds a bush in the distance to stare at, even when he hears the sound of something heavy being placed on the grass between them. Duke is still facing away and very intently anywhere but the man next to him, a bit confused and mostly unsure of how to act, when he hears a clear and distinct laugh.
For the first time, it's without the robotic and modulated voice that encompasses it. He hears the real and true Red Hood.
This is a big deal right? It feels like a big deal. It feels like a huge, massive deal and Duke is also massively unprepared for it.
“Hey,” Hood laughs a little louder, “Duke.”
“Yeah?” Duke asks, shoving a mouthful of noodles and steamed vegetables into his mouth without anything better to do with his sweaty hands.
“You can turn around,” the man laughs again, softer. He's not making fun of Duke, but he sounds just as nervous about it as well.
It's this slight hesitancy in the man's tone that makes Duke consider the permission, “You sure?”
He hears Hood exhale slowly, “Yeah.”
Duke doesn't need more convincing, and slowly, he turns around until he's sat as he was before, but this time, he really looks.
Red Hood expects it and meets his eye, which is so weird, because it's more than just an expression now. Despite the fact the man's eyes are still covered by the white lenses of the domino mask, it's the principle of the matter; Duke can see Red Hood's eyes.
Duke can't help the smile that stretches across his face, which only grows when Hood does the same. It's a crooked sort of smile, mostly due to a scar on one corner of his mouth that pulls that side of his face down a little. Duke counts a couple more scars on his face, healed well and a long time ago by the smooth and light skin in comparison to the rest of his more tanned face.
But the most familiar, most human thing about Red Hood is his nose. It's as crooked as his smile.
Duke laughs, “How many times have you broken your nose?”
The question catches Hood off guard, and he blinks in surprise before laughing in bemusement, “What's it to you?”
“Is that why you wear a helmet?” Duke continues, grabbing his fork and digging around for his next bite, “Because you used to block every hit with your face?”
“You're one to talk,” Hood grumbles, but the twitch that pulls the corner of his mouth betrays his annoyed tone. The man mirrors Duke's lack of dramatic reaction, grabbing his own food.
Duke is practically vibrating on the inside, with a mixture of excitement and apprehension for the situation. But besides Red Hood's new revealed secret of never setting his nose correctly after getting it busted, Duke also realises that the man is much younger than he'd first assumed.
It's both daunting as it is comforting. Duke imagines the man's feeling just as nervous, if more, about revealing something so personal. So Duke's trying real hard to pretend it isn't a big deal.
That being said, he can't quite stop himself from asking, “Do you really trust me enough to show me your face?”
For some reason, Hood doesn't seem as surprised by this question as he was by the last. He hums around his fork, chewing his own mouthful of food in thought before answering, “Well, what's the worst you're gonna do now that you've seen it?”
Duke narrows his eyes at the underestimation, or naivety, “I could redraw it and run it through the criminal database and figure out your real identity.”
Red Hood raises his brows, morbidly impressed by the threat, “Is that something you know how to do?”
“I could figure it out!” Duke defends, pointing his fork at the man.
“I'm sure you could,” Hood laughs, and he doesn't sound like he disagrees, “You won't find anything though.”
“Because you're not a criminal?” Duke asks disbelievingly.
Red Hood grins with teeth, canines a little too sharp, and that might have truly terrified Duke if the guy's mouth wasn't also covered in teriyaki sauce, “Because my face isn't on any database.”
That does make it trickier. Duke contemplates it, taking another bite of his food in thought while Hood does the same. The man looks hopelessly amused by the situation, or Duke's best efforts in convincing him that showing his face is a bad idea.
“So, what, you like legally don't exist?” Duke ponders out loud, “Like a spy?”
“Something like that,” Hood hums.
“Nah, no offence man, but you're not cool enough to be a spy,” Duke scoffs, much to Red Hood's offended glare.
Before the man can try and convince the boy that he is definitely cool enough to be a spy, Duke comes to another thought. He's not really thinking about it seriously when he suggests another theory haphazardly, “You're not like, legally dead, are you?”
Duke is beginning to wonder if Red Hood's gone a little too soft, since the man starts to choke on his food in evident surprise, proving Duke's hit the right answer. The boy flounders around, wondering if he'll get away with slapping the man on the back to help him through his coughing fit, but before he can, Hood's breathing heavily and looking at him with wide eyes.
“New rule,” Red Hood quickly says, voice hoarse from all his hacking, “You can't tell anyone about how you almost stole my tires, and you definitely can't tell them about this conversation.”
“Not even Spoiler?” Duke grins.
“Definitely not Spoiler,” Red Hood groans, “She'll never let me live this down. You've already given her enough blackmail material.”
Duke's laughter is delighted and unforgivingly loud, as it gets carried through the tall grass of Bristol, under a clear and starry sky.
Later, Duke will realise that he laughs a lot, these days. It's... nice.