Archive of Our Own

Oliver Queen hated Gotham City. He would even claim this as one of his core personality traits. He had hated Gotham back when Batman was the only vigilante, and he hated it now that there was an entire Bat-brood running around. He had hated Gotham since before there was any Batman at all. He hated its perpetually gloomy skies where he could never see the sun or the stars. He hated its thick, smog-filled air that clogged his lungs and threatened to choke him every time he visited. But, maybe most relevantly, he hated its self-important Rogues' Gallery that thought it was acceptable to be late to their own appointments and waste the time of attractive, blonde archers from the West Coast.

Batman had said Red Hood was unpredictable, short-sighted, violent, and incompetent, but he had never said that Hood lacked punctuality which was one of the Bat's biggest issues with anyone. Bruce had once complained to him that the Penguin was late on a ransom call, not the fact his kid was kidnapped and being ransomed. Although Batman had once told Oliver a story about the Red Hood and Crime Alley, the archer was starting to wonder how much was true and how much was fabricated and classist stories designed to make the Bats look better about acquiescing to a crime lord's demands. Oliver had asked a handful of Hood's people that he had run into about working for such a self-centered and short-sighted boss — if they had any concerns — and most of them had laughed in his face and made a snide remark about "Bat Propaganda."

Thirty minutes after their scheduled time, Oliver was strongly considering leaving Hood's office. If the case hadn't been so important and Hood wasn't the only one who might have the information he needed, he wouldn't have stayed. As it was, he felt a responsibility to the victims and their families to stick this out and see it through. At forty-five minutes, one of the assistants asked if they could get Oliver something to eat or drink and apologized on behalf of Hood. They offered to reschedule the meeting, but Oliver didn't trust it. In the time that he waited, two other appointments showed up, were offered to reschedule, and agreed. The Arrow didn't know if it made them smarter than him or not.

An hour after their scheduled meeting time, Red Hood finally came through the door. None of the research Ollie had done in anticipation of this mission had prepared him for just how much space Hood's mere presence took up in a room. The crime lord seemed genuinely surprised to see Oliver still in his office, at least if the way that he stopped in his tracks and rapidly shoved his signature red helmet on his head served as any indication. Before he could manage it, Oliver got a glimpse of dark hair and a face that seemed far too young. Hood was covered in some sort of grime, and the set of his shoulders indicated that he was beyond exhausted. (The archer's research over the next week would uncover an apartment fire, reports of Hood carrying nearly half of the building's residents to safety, and the crime lord's ongoing work to get Crime Alley's residents in clean and safe housing).

"Green Arrow," the Red Hood acknowledged him, and even through the helmet's vocoder, Oliver could tell that his throat and voice were in rough shape. "I hadn't realized you were still here. I apologize for making you wait so long."

It was polite, but more than that, it was the genuineness and simplicity of the statement that took the archer by surprise. He had worked with enough Gotham vigilantes and vigilante-adjacent allies to have an understanding of how they operated. It had always seemed that one of the key tenets they had was to always be the smartest person in the room who never admitted to not knowing something and self-confident assholes who never apologized. Hood had broken both in less than a minute.

"It's alright," Ollie responded, and surprised himself by finding he genuinely meant it. "Seems like you were pretty busy." He indicated Hood's attire which, upon further inspection, seemed to be covered in soot and ash.

"Yeah, some of the working girls had an emergency they needed help with." He waved his hand dismissively, like it was a normal occurrence. Maybe it was.

Working girls. The language threw Oliver off for a moment. "Hood runs the Gotham prostitution trade," Bruce had told him, and Oliver had drawn his own inferences off what that meant. He had dealt with plenty of other people who used sex and others' bodies to make them money, and they had all spoken with belittling and objectifying language. Prostitutes. Hookers. Whores. Hood spoke about them like they were regular people, and with the deference required to blow off three separate meetings to help them. (Oliver's later conversations with some of the working girls would reveal what he had already started to suspect — Red Hood was one of Crime Alley's, and was dedicated to making the Alley the best it could be. Underage prostitution was eliminated; abusive pimps had been eradicated; and violent clients were rewarded with broken bones and being dumped on the edge of Hood's territory with a warning if they ever decided to try and come back).

Hood had made it to his desk chair and sat down, although collapsed may have been a more appropriate description. He was clearly exhausted and, Oliver would suspect, hiding multiple injuries. He grabbed three bottles of water out of a fridge that Ollie hadn't even noticed, which now, once he had noticed it, he could see that it was covered in crayon drawings of Red Hood, and offered one to the archer. Oliver took it; if he didn't drink it now, maybe Hood would get rid of it, and it would be another waste of single-use plastic. Hood had settled into his chair again and turned his back to Oliver to remove his helmet and down the first water bottle. The crime lord cracked the second bottle, and Ollie had to fight the urge to tell him to slow down so he didn't make himself sick.

The helmet was securely back on when Red Hood turned back to Oliver, but he must have forgotten to turn the vocoder back on because when he spoke he sounded much less like a robot, and much more like a kid. "Listen, Ol— Arrow, sorry." Oliver had been used to people trying to sprinkle in that they knew his identity as a threat, but this seemed like a genuine mistake. As if Hood had found out his identity and filed it away as irrelevant if they were in costume. "I'm exhausted; I'm sure you're tired of sitting in here, nice as the ambiance is." He had to admit that Hood was right — for an office, especially one in Gotham, it was nice — but he wanted to be out of it. "I've been working on a case similar to yours here, and there are too many things that line up for them not to be connected. I can give you some of my files on it for you to look at tonight, and we can reconvene in the morning? I think it makes the most sense to coordinate our work."

It took a moment too long for the older man to register what the offer was. He was too used to Gotham vigilantes being secretive and operating on a need-to-know basis with them believing that the other heroes didn't need to know anything. They worked alone, and every interaction Oliver had had with them showed that. Hood had not only offered information — his files — but had offered to coordinate their efforts. Not to take Oliver's information and try to dismiss him like Batman would have; not to say that they could work together and then try to control everything like Red Robin did. Not even to hand him information and then just stare like the new one, Black Bat he thought, had the one time he had encountered her.

"Yeah, sounds good to me." His voice cracked with the disuse, and it reminded Oliver to drink his water.

"Great. I usually get in the office around 0700, but please don't feel obligated to be up that early, especially in the east coast time zones. I can arrange for breakfast. Anything in particular you want?"

Oliver was not above admitting he was beyond shocked. He was certain that if left to Bruce, he would have never eaten in the city of Gotham. Instead, it was up to Alfred to make sure Oliver was eating, partly because he had grown up knowing the archer and partly because of "good British etiquette". The fact that Red Hood had offered him more hospitality than one of his childhood friends had stunned the archer. The crime lord was still looking at him expectantly when he remembered that he had a question to answer.

"Oh… yeah. I'll eat anything, but I can always go for a good breakfast burrito." Red Hood nodded.

"Where are you staying?"

"I'm…" He trailed off. Where was he staying? Normally he stayed in a hotel as Oliver Queen, but that was only when he had legitimate business here. Oliver Queen and Green Arrow appearing in the same city could be cause for concern. He'd have to find somewhere that wouldn't ask questions and see if he could get a few hours. "I haven't figured that part out yet, I guess."

The admission that Oliver hadn't planned ahead for every aspect would be when Bruce normally made a pointed comment about how he was irresponsible and should have planned ahead. He hadn't even told Bruce that he was in Gotham this week, but he could still hear the incoming lecture.

"That's fine. I have some safe houses you can use while you're here."

"What?"

Hood must have realized his vocoder wasn't on and rectified it because the amused snort that came through the helmet sounded robotic again. "I said I have some safe houses around the Alley you can stay at. Not all of them are stocked very well, but they've all got running water and a bed."

That was all Ollie needed. Although he kept his safe houses well stocked and furnished — and he knew Batman was the same way — but it made sense that Red Hood, who stuck to the poorest parts of Gotham, wouldn't have the same liquid capital. If how his people talked about him was correct, then Hood was funneling all of his money back into the Alley's housing and social programs. From the limited trips Oliver had to Crime Alley, it looked like the work was making good changes which didn't speak well of the efforts of Bruce Wayne and Gotham's city government.

"Yeah…yeah. I would appreciate it."

"Of course. We're working together for now; no reason for me to make it more difficult than it needs to be."

Hood had gotten out of his chair and started walking towards the door. He indicated that the archer should follow him. Whoever Bruce had been describing during his rants about Gotham and its new crime lord, Oliver didn't know. None of what Batman had said about Red Hood matched up with what Oliver had heard and seen since being in Crime Alley.

The walk to the safe house was short, and during that time, kids came up to greet Hood and stare warily at Green Arrow. It was an unfamiliar feeling as a hero — being the one regarded with distrust instead of the actual crime lord next to him. Hood asked a few of them about their parents or what they were learning in school, but made sure to send all of them off with some money tucked in their pockets.

"Papá?" One of the little girls had loudly whispered to Hood while looking concernedly at Oliver. "Are you under arrest?"

"No, Mel," Hood responded…reassuringly? "This is Green Arrow. He's helping me with a case while he's in town. He's one of the good guys, okay? If you need anything and can't find me, you can go to him if you see him."

"Okay, Papá," the child — Mel — acquiesced easily. She turned to Oliver. "I'm Mel, and I'm nine."

Oliver glanced at Red Hood almost by default who nodded almost imperceptibly. The older man took it as the confirmation to introduce himself to Mel.

"Like Hood said, I'm Green Arrow. I'll be in town for a little bit. I'd love to help with what I can if you ever need anything." He smiled — not his default PR smile that he showed off to cameras, or even the cold, calculating one that he usually gave when he was in the Green Arrow costume — instead, he found himself offering the smaller, softer one that usually only came out around Lian.

"Okay, Mister Arrow." Mel simply accepted Oliver's introduction and offer. It was a stark contrast from the last time the Arrow had needed to traverse Crime Alley when every child either ran and hid or was violent and antagonistic. Instead, the kid had accepted an out-of-town vigilante simply because Hood said that he was okay, and because the kids trusted Hood.

Batman had implied that Red Hood had bullied the Alley into submission with undiscerning violence and kept his rule on it with threats of bringing that violence back. Oliver had yet to see any proof of that. Instead, Crime Alley seemed brighter and livelier. Kids were playing in the streets, which Oliver had never seen before, and the people that were sitting on their balconies waved at Red Hood as they passed. The archer didn't know that apartments in Crime Alley even had balconies.

By the time they reached Hood's safe house, Green Arrow felt like he needed several business days to come to terms with all of the new information he had found. Red Hood was nothing like Batman had described, and the people of Crime Alley seemed anything other than living in fear and terror of him. The theory that the Bats had made up stories to make themselves feel better was looking more and more likely.

Red Hood undid traps on the duplex's door that looked vaguely similar to some that he'd seen from Batman before inputting a code into the electric lock. He grabbed a card from inside the door and handed it to Oliver. The card was laminated and had a series of numbers printed on it.

"Top one is the lock code in case you need to go out for anything. Same code to lock and unlock it." Oliver nodded.

"Middle number is my office. It's answered only during regular office hours — Monday through Friday, et cetera et cetera. You sometimes work in an office; you know the drill." Oliver nodded again. Hood had already implied he knew his identity, and "an office" was broad enough to give them both plausible deniability.

"Last number is the Red Hotline. Answered 24 hours a day, 7 days a week. An emergency comes up, you can call it, and someone will send help or let me know." Oliver nodded, but was shocked to see that the last number was a toll-free number. If he really thought about it, he supposed he could recall that there were still a handful of payphones around Crime Alley — the area had missed the Wayne Enterprises funded mass removal of payphones that the rest of the city had gotten. It once again indicated that these areas were all but abandoned, even by the people who claimed to be doing good in Gotham.

"Got it." Hood had gone above and beyond what he had expected from him. Honestly, Oliver had been anticipating getting laughed at and thrown out of Gotham, and that he would be back in Star City by now. Instead, he was being offered intel, collaboration, and a place to stay.

"The fridge and cabinets should have some food; feel free to help yourself. Otherwise, if you're feeling something else, there's a taco stand three blocks west and a chili dog stand — the best in Gotham — four blocks northeast. There are some takeout menus in the drawer by the phone too." Hood was digging around in a bag that Oliver hadn't even seen him grab, and produced a set of folders. He briefly flipped through them and, from what little Ollie could see, they looked well put together with colour coded notes and immaculate handwriting in the margins.

The crime lord scribbled something on one of the pages before gathering them together and handed them to the archer. "Take a look at these, and we can discuss any questions you may have in the morning. Sound good?"

"Yes, thank you."

"You're smart, but if you have any issues getting lost, call the office number and they'll send somebody to come get you."

It was purely his vigilante trained instincts that prevented Oliver from staring at Red Hood fully slack-jawed. He'd been coming to Gotham for decades, and none of the people had ever called him smart before. Like Bruce, he had put on a dumb, rich idiot persona in public, and in costume, Batman only told him everything he did wrong.

"Uh…thanks." They had walked back to the front of the house, and Red Hood was halfway through the doorway.

"Have a good night, Arrow."

"Yeah, thanks. You…you too."

》⋆⭒˚.⋆ ⭒˚.⋆《

The next morning came too quickly. Oliver had been poring over the files Red Hood had left with him until late into the night. The information had been meticulous and well put together. The archer agreed with Hood's assessment that there were far too many similarities between the case in Star City and the one here, in Gotham, for them to not be connected somehow. He had put together a short list of questions to clarify Hood's information. Unlike files he would get from the Bats, Ollie had questions because the information was Gotham specific, not because the file didn't flow correctly — as if there had been pages removed — or because large blocks of information had been redacted. He didn't like the implications that a crime lord was putting more trust in him than his allies that were supposed to be on the same side as him.

By the time the archer was fully showered and out the door, the time was mid-morning at best. He felt a little bad, but Red Hood had seemed empathetic to the time zone difference that Ollie was working with. He made his way to the office, and what minimal daylight filtered through Gotham's smog let him see Crime Alley with a clarity the last night hadn't offered. From what he could see on the exteriors, the buildings looked cleaner and safer. There was less broken glass and, and more windows had curtains and flower boxes than had seen before. If the buildings weren't in Crime Alley in Gotham City, he might have even called them quaint.

For as close to broad daylight that Gotham could get, Oliver had decided that the entire Green Arrow costume was too much. He had gone with a pared down version with black pants and his domino mask, but the staff member still recognized him.

"Follow me, please," she instructed him with a polite customer service smile.

They made it fully out of the front waiting area by the time that Oliver registered that they weren't taking the same path to Hood's office. Instead, he was lead through a back hallway and to a set of double doors.

"Go ahead. He's waiting for you."

"Oh, thank you."

The moment Ollie crossed the doors, he was hit by the smell of food cooking. Hood was in the middle of what appeared to be cooking in a moderately well-stocked kitchen. The smell was heavenly and the archer found himself inhaling deeply.

"Smell's good."

Hood didn't startle at Oliver's presence, although the archer had assumed that would be the case. Maybe he had been informed by the front desk, or maybe he had that sixth sense that Gothamites seemed to have whenever someone was in their space.

"Thanks. Have a seat; everything should be done soon."

Looking around the room, Oliver took note of the furniture; it was all mismatched but welcoming in its own way. He opted to sit at the high top counter so he could watch the cooking. Red Hood was working on what appeared to be chorizo and eggs. The crime lord opened the oven to pull out what seemed like tortillas, and started assembling everything on a skillet. It took Ollie too long to figure out what Hood was making. He had mentioned burritos off-hand yesterday, and here Hood was making them for him. It was a level of consideration that Oliver had never considered that a stranger might have for him.

Red Hood put a plated burrito and a bottle of his favourite brand of hot sauce in front of Oliver. Why Hood knew Oliver's favourite hot sauce might have concerned him, except the bottle was already open and partially used. It seemed that maybe it was a coincidence and Hood also like the same brand. The burrito was, unfortunately, incredible. Oliver was sure that the noise he made after his first bite was inappropriate for the present company, but he couldn't find it in himself to care.

"This is incredible. Thank you so much."

Hood looked up in surprise from where he had been cleaning up the kitchen at the praise. It reminded Oliver that from the few glances he had gotten yesterday, the crime lord seemed too young to be in this line of business. Not for the first time he wondered what had driven him to this particular route. Although the older man couldn't blame him — from what he'd seen so far, Hood had cleaned up the Alley in ways Batman and company could only dream of. Had anyone recognized Hood's effort or results in cleaning up Crime Alley? If they had, had they ever told him? Or were they too caught up in the crime aspect of everything and too busy listening to the Bat's condemnation?

Hood had finished making the burritos, and cleaning up the the kitchen by the time Oliver was done eating, and the pair were making their way back to his office. Every so often, the crime lord would move in a way that felt so similar to the older man, but then it would be gone again. Maybe he was picking up on something, or maybe it was a set of movements that all Gothamites had.

Although the previous night Hood's office had been well-decorated with clutter that indicated it was well used scattered around, nothing could have prepared Oliver for what it looked like this morning. Whiteboards and corkboards had been set up with a combination of Red Hood and Green Arrow's files hung up or annotated. Apparently the crime lord had already started pointing out the parallels between the cases, with a familiarity to Star City that Oliver wasn't prepared for. The boards were even more thorough than the files Hood had given him, and at first glance, Ollie could see that some of his most glaring questioned were already answered.

The fact that the two of them worked well together may have been the least surprising part of the entire endeavor. Batman said he was uncompromising and hard to work with, but Green Arrow was getting the impression that Hood reserved that treatment for Batman in particular. Not that Ollie could blame him. Batman was one of the most uncompromising and hardest to work with allies that Oliver had ever known. The archer had even been tempted to do some of the same things to Batman that the crime lord had, but Hood didn't have to deal with Superman's sigh when he did something petty.

》⋆⭒˚.⋆ ⭒˚.⋆《

Green Arrow had been in Gotham for nearly a week when the case finally looked like it was coming to a close. Red Hood seemed distant and more stressed, and Oliver kept waiting for whichever part of their tenuous alliance would break first. It never came; instead, Hood summoned him to the office one evening.

As soon as he set foot into the office, the Arrow could tell something was off. Red Hood hadn't even looked up when he entered, pacing back and forth. He had already looked stressed, and when Oliver greeted him with a simple "Hood," he seemed to get even tenser.

"Oli— Green Arrow. Have a seat."

It wasn't the first time during their work together that it had happened. A few times he had spoken too casually to Ollie, implying he knew things about the older man's family, but never in a threatening way. The moment he realized, the crime lord would immediately backpedal and try to pretend it had never happened. Ollie had spent years learning how to read people, and he would wager that Red Hood didn't do it intentionally or maliciously. The longer that he worked with Hood, the more familiar he seemed. The dismissive way that Hood talked about his own mortality paired with Batman's complaints about him being reckless and violent reminded Oliver a different Crime Alley kid in ways that he wasn't ready to think about.

Oliver sat, but Hood kept pacing. He'd been in plenty of meetings — both in business and vigilantism — where the other party used standing over a seated Oliver to try and intimidate him. Hood was not employing any of those tactics. Instead, he seemed genuinely nervous to have this conversation.

"I've enjoyed our time working together. I'm sure Batman has told you a lot about me, and I appreciate you taking the chance and working with me anyways." He wondered how long Hood had been practicing the monologue. It sounded vaguely like a mixture of a break up or a job interview.

"These…" Red Hood trailed off, as if trying to decide what to say next.

"…fuckers" Okay so not quite what Oliver had anticipated the next word would be.

"These fuckers came after my kids." Hood spat it out, full of venom, and for the first time, Oliver could see the angry and violent crime lord Batman had described. He was angry and violent about innocent kids being hurt, and the archer couldn't blame him. "I don't want them in prison. If you want plausible deniability so you can still look Batman in the eyes at the next Justice League meeting, now is when you leave town."

He should stop this, right? A crime lord wanted by the FBI was telling him that he was about to commit mass, pre-meditated murder. It was nearly the textbook definition of something he should get involved with and prevent as a vigilante. But he thought about how Red Hood was about Crime Alley, and how many of the kids and working girls looked up to, and felt protected by, Hood. He thought about the immense relief that had fallen across Lian's face when she found out that he had killed her kidnappers. His granddaughter had tried to hide it, but the change in demeanor had been palpable; she was lighter, younger. He thought about the women who were waiting for whatever news he would deliver when he got back to Star City. Would they be relieved like Lian? If he didn't let Hood kill the traffickers, was he dooming those women to living in their nightmare for the rest of their lives?

And he thought back to the conversations he had been having with Crime Alley residents over the past week. They had asked him not to give Red Hood too hard of a time, that he did good work in the Alley. He had been vaguely threatened about what would happen to him if he tried to get Hood arrested at the end of everything. He had been pointedly and explicitly threatened about what would happen to him if he tried to do to Hood what Batman had.

The comment stuck with the archer for so long that he eventually had to ask Hood about it over dinner the crime lord had made one night. The younger man had snorted, voice clear without his signature helmet and in just a domino. (Ollie recognized him, but it wouldn't be until much later in their time working together that the name would come back to him — Jason Todd. Despite that, the older vigilante still felt some sort of responsibility for the kid. Someone has to, he thought). "Ask me later, and I'll think about telling you," he had responded with a finality that ended the conversation.

"I'm not going to stop you." Ollie wished he was more surprised by how easily the answer came to him. "I'm not Batman. I don't adhere to his code, and, quite frankly, sometimes I wish I could tell him to go fuck himself."

Red Hood's head shot up at that, and the blank, white lenses of his domino stared into Oliver's eyes. Even with the mask, Hood's gaze felt like it was searching for something. It was reminiscent of how Roy was after the older archer had apologized to him. They had built what could be called a moderately-healthy relationship, but the redhead's eyes would still dart to and across Oliver. It was a point of guilt for the Arrow — the fact that he hadn't handled Roy's addiction well, the fact that his own child seemed to be constantly evaluating whether or not Oliver would hit him again — but guilt had destroyed so many of his relationships so far. He wasn't going to let it take the second chance he had with his son.

"What did you say?" The crime lord's voice sounded too hopeful, and the archer was once again brutally reminded of how young he seemed.

"I've killed before. Many of the other Justice League heroes have killed before. And we can still all look Batman in the eyes at meetings because his moral code is not ours, and he doesn't get to decide what we should and should not be ashamed of in our lives." Red Hood was in as close to mouth-dropped shock as Oliver would probably ever see him — his training too thorough for that — but he knew what it was like to see someone denounce Batman or stand up to him. The first time Hal Jordan had done it, the archer had been conflicted between hiding him away or throwing a parade.

"You've been great to work with , kid — a lot better than Batman, although that bar isn't very high —" Oliver pretended that he didn't see how much Hood had preened under the praise. To the archer, it seemed a little too much like Roy during his Speedy days — desperate for his approval, and grasping onto every morsel of praise that Oliver gave out. Someone had failed Red Hood, probably in the same way that Ollie failed Roy, and he was not about to let history repeat itself. "You do good work, and I do appreciate all of the hospitality you've offered to me over the last week. I agreed to see this through with you, and I'm not about to bail on it when we're so close."

"'S not a big deal, y'know?" Hood's voice had changed again — still young, but rougher than it had been. The accent that Hood had been using was incredibly formal and Ollie couldn't pinpoint a location. This one, what he would assume was Hood's original accent, was clearly from Crime Alley. "'M used to it."

"To what, kid?"

"People don't choose me; they just get tired of me, and it's okay," Hood responded in a way that let Oliver know it was definitely not okay. Jesus, just how much had this kid even been through? "Sheila didn't want me. Willis was constantly in jail because of me. Mamá needed her medicine because of me. Even Br— even B told me that he wasn't my father and that I was his biggest failure."

The Crime Alley accent was gone again, instead replaced by Hood slurring his words.

"Kid…are you drunk?"

The Red Hood…giggled? "Oh! 'S that what this is? I was just gonna have a drink, y'know, build up my mettle afore this conversation, but I guessssss…" He never finished the sentence, but Oliver got the idea.

"Are you even old enough to drink? How old are you?" The archer really wished he was more surprised at his bar being underage drinking instead of mass murder, but he had seen what it had done to Roy. How it changed him and set him on a path into harder addictions. He had watched losing his son in real time happening, and had dismissed all of his concerns because "all kids do that". It was not a life he wanted for anyone, including — or maybe especially — already traumatized, too young crime lords.

"'M not a babyyyy," the kid replied, but with a pout that made Oliver want to rebuttal his argument immediately. "'M nineteen."

Oliver's entire world narrowed to himself, and the teenager standing in front of him. The Red Hood was a teenager — granted, an incredibly competent, well-trained teenager with a criminal empire to rival rogues decades his senior, but a teenager nonetheless. Red Hood was a teenager, and the "Batman is lying about him" theory kept looking more and more likely. (Somewhere, in the back of his mind, a traitorous voice whispered about how the second Robin would have been nineteen now too, but the archer couldn't hear anything over the sound of his own heartbeat in his ears. A world-ending apocalypse could be happening outside the office right now, and he wouldn't even notice).

"Can I take you home, kid?" Oliver watched how Red Hood's face fell, and how he started looking quickly between the archer and the door he was standing in front of. It reminded him of how Mia was when she first joined the Queen family. This wasn't some hardened criminal mastermind seeking monetary success for his own reasons, or a sadistic rogue hurting people for his own enjoyment. This was just a scared and hurting kid making his home better in the only way he knew how.

"I have a boyfriend." Hood's voice was small and unsure, hesitantly blank as if waiting for the older man to set the tone of the conversation. Oliver had done that to him, and he hated that fact.

"No, kid. Not like that. I just want to make sure you get home okay because you're drunk." Ollie felt like he was so far out of his depth. Dinah was so much better with important things like this. Right, Dinah. "Besides, I'm married."

Hood scoffed, and Ollie was relieved to hear some colour back in it. "'S never stopped anyone before." Ollie was no longer relieved.

Oliver was going to put his fist through Bruce's face at the next Justice League meeting if Red Hood kept talking. Batman had spent so much time and energy trying to convince them that Red Hood was evil with no regard for the lives of others. None of that was what Oliver had been seeing over the last week. Instead the Red Hood was a traumatized kid who was doing what he could. Based on his underage drunken ramblings of all of the trauma he'd been the victim of, the Arrow was impressed that the teenager wasn't more violent. Instead, somehow, the kid was still full of love for Crime Alley and her people, and it showed. Ollie didn't know if the roles were reversed if he would have been strong enough to do what Red Hood did.

"Maybe, kid, but I'm not those people, and my wife would kill me if I ever was."

"That's sooooo true," the crime lord drawled with an achingly familiar crooked smile. "Dinah's cool as fuck."

Somehow, Oliver was able to bribe the intoxicated teenager into giving him directions to a safe house with the promise of more stories of "kickass shit AD did". All of the little whisperings in the back of his mind had started tallying up the evidence he was discovering about Red Hood, and he was purposely avoiding thinking about it, because if he did think about it, he was going to he was going to do something stupid and then be too preoccupied waiting for his lawyers instead of being there for Hood.

They made it to Hood's apartment — and it was a true apartment — not a safe house, Ollie noted. The living room furniture was mismatched and homey like in Hood's office. Someone had put bookshelves up, but only a few books actually made it onto the shelf; the rest visible in an already packed duffel bag. There was a spice rack in the kitchen but no mat by the front door. The dining room table was moving boxes stacked on top of each other, but there were throw pillows on the bed. It very clearly told the story of someone used to having nothing now trying to have nice things, but who still wasn't ready to, or didn't quite believe they deserved it. For the first few months after rehab, Roy's apartment had looked the same.

Ollie helped the kid out of his boots and into bed, after making sure that he drank plenty of water. The archer even went so far as to make sure to put ibuprofen and water on the nightstand. Hood had said that he had a boyfriend, and Oliver wondered if he could call him, but the teenager assured Ollie that he would be fine. He helped the crime lord remove his boots and some of his outer armour, but when the older vigilante tried to help him into more comfortable clothes, the kid started shaking in the warm apartment. The archer took note of how Hood wrapped the blanket tighter around him and wanted to throw up.

Even before he had done it, Oliver knew he was going to regret asking the questions. At the time, he thought it would be the guilt of taking advantage of the teenager's intoxicated state and the — somehow, against all odds — trust he had put in the older man. Absolutely nothing had prepared him for the unadulterated rage that would bury itself in his chest.

"Did you know the Red Hood was actually the Joker's first name?"

"Of course I did," Hood had responded easily. "That's the only reason I took it."

Oliver could hear the I told you so now. He could see the self-satisfied smirk that Batman would have plastered on. It wasn't gloating — Bruce had said once that gloating was below Batman — but it may as well have been. Oliver had to ask anyway though.

"…Why did you choose the name Red Hood?"

"Because he killed me, Ollie." Red Hood said it so casually and self-assured that the older man just accepted it without question. "The Joker killed me, and I can never go back to who I was, so I took his name and now neither can he."

"Oh, kid." Oliver took the time to tuck Hood into bed, and the crime lord took the opportunity to let him know that no one had done that since "before Mamá got sick". Every new thing made the archer's heart break a little bit more.

Oliver had known the entire time that he didn't want to ask the question, but he also knew that because of that it was more important he ask it. Maybe Hood would sober up tomorrow — remember all of this and never want to speak to the archer again — and it wouldn't be worth it, but he needed to know.

"Hood?"

"Mm? Uncle Ollie?"

Oliver was decisively and intentionally not thinking about it.

"Yeah, kid. I need you to tell me what happened with you and Batman."

"Oh, that? He killed me."

Oliver was not thinking about it even more than before.

"What?"

"Yeah. Slit m' throat with a batarang. Got the scar and everythin'."

Hood shifted the collar of the shirt revealing a jagged scar that started in the center of the crime lord's throat and wrapped around the side of his neck and would have severed the jugular and carotid. It would have been impossible for anyone to survive.

"I asked 'im to choose between me and the Joker. B didn't choose me." Hood' voice sounded younger again, with more of the Alley accent. The kid's words from earlier echoed in Ollie's brain. I'm used to it. People don't choose me. B told me he wasn't my father.

Oliver went back to not thinking about it.

"Fuck 'em."

"What?" Hood tried to sit up to look at Oliver better, and the archer had to help him get situated against the headboard.

"I said, Fuck. Them. Your parents sucked. It's not your fault. The fact that they made you feel like it was your fault means they sucked. So fuck 'em. You're a good kid; you're doing good things; and you did all of it without them. You made yourself into something more without them, and you shouldn't have had to, but you did it anyways. Without them. You deserved better, but you didn't get it, and you still turned out alright, kid."

"You don't even know who I am," Red Hood scoffed while waving his arm to indicate the domino mask he hadn't taken off during the entire week Ollie had been working with him.

"I don't know your identity, kid, but I know who you are. The working girls and the street kids told me who you are. You showed me who you are with how much you care and in every way that you give back."

"I— Th— B— You can't possibly mean that."

"I do, but it makes sense you wouldn't trust that. Just think about it. Please?"

Hood nodded finally nodded, and Ollie wasn't going to push for any more of an answer.

The crime lord looked like he might finally be ready to sleep, but the archer had one final question he needed to ask.

"Hey, kid?"

"Hm?"

"Why did you trust me so easily?"

"Was I not supposed to, Uncle Ollie?"

Not thinking about it, not thinking about it, not thinking about it, not thinking abo—

"Besides, Arsenal vouched for you."

》⋆⭒˚.⋆ ⭒˚.⋆《

Green Arrow would say that the job went smoothly, except that would have been an insult to how the job went. It was executed perfectly, flawlessly even. Red Hood had planned for every contingency with a meticulous attention to detail that put Bruce's plans to shame. (Oliver was back to not thinking about it). They had timed when they hit so that there weren't any civilians in the building while Red Hood dealt with the traffickers and the Arrow grabbed what intel they needed from the office.

"I told you I would help, and I can help," Oliver had rebutted when Hood first told him the plan.

"I just want you to— I don't want— It would just make me feel better if you weren't there."

"Okay."

"What?" Red Hood had set his shoulders, probably expecting a fight, and every part of him froze at Ollie's easy acceptance.

"Okay. You made the plan; I trust you. If it would be better for me to not be there, then I won't be there."

"Thanks."

That had been the entire conversation, and it was back to business as usual.

"Red Hood?"

Green Arrow had finished with his portion of the mission which meant Hood should have been done as well, but the crime lord wasn't at the rendezvous spot. The archer had gone to look for him, but still wasn't braced for the 6 foot-something crime lord to come barreling at him and tackle him to the ground. Even caught off guard like he was, Ollie struggled against the hold with no success. The vigilante may have felt humbled if he wasn't so sure he was going to die. At least I won't have to see the smug I told you so look on Bruce's face, he thought.

The crime lord was… not attacking? Instead, he had wrapped himself around the archer on the ground.

"…Hood?"

"'S okay; I'll cover you. 'M bigger now."

Ollie didn't know who Hood was talking to, but he was sure that whoever it was wasn't here; Hood wasn't seeing him. He needed to figure out how to get out of this hold and get them both somewhere safe. The fact that they had been lying on the floor of the warehouse for what must have been at least a few minutes and no one showed up let the older vigilante know that Hood must have taken care of all of the traffickers. Unfortunately, it also meant that Oliver would have to work overtime to figure out what had triggered Hood.

"Hood? Kid? Can you tell me what's going on?" The archer had managed to loosen Hood's hold and started to shift.

The younger man's voice was muffled from where his helmet's speaker must be shoved into Oliver's shoulder, but the robotic mumbling that came through sounded vaguely like "a bomb".

"Is there a bomb, kid?" Ollie felt the crime lord nod against him. "Okay, then we have to go, yeah?"

"Th' door's locked. 'M so sorry."

"What are you sorry for kid?"

"I tried to unlock it, but I couldn't."

In planning for the mission, the two of them had studied every version of blueprints that had been printed for the warehouse since it was first built decades ago. They had staked out the building too, and the archer knew for a fact that the only door that went into or came out of this room was the one he had walked through. Wherever the kid was, it wasn't here.

"Kid, you gotta let me up so I can take of the bomb, okay?"

"I gotta protect you."

"Kid…"

"No, no. 'S okay, you can trust me. I'm Robin."

For the second time when it came to Red Hood, Oliver's entire world narrowed to the teenager in front of him. Jason Todd would have been nineteen. The Joker killed Robin. Jason Todd was from Crime Alley. Jason Todd was Robin.

"Can you just wait here for me, kid? I'll take a look and we can get out of here, yeah?"

"I gotta — you need — I'm supposed — B said it is critical and of the utmost importance that all civilians are protected and secured." Oliver could hear the way that Bruce would have said it too; the curt, disconnected, and professional way he would have made his children make endangering their own lives for strangers a priority.

He killed me.

I asked him to choose between me and the Joker.

B didn't choose me.

The idea of putting his fist through Bruce's face was looking better and better by the minute, but first, he had to get Red Hood — had to get Jason — out of the warehouse.

"It's okay, kid. I'm not a civilian, remember? It's Ollie." Green Arrow could hear the lecture from Batman about no names in the field, but Batman also lectured about killing and had slit his own kid's throat so he could get fucked as far as Oliver cared.

"Uncle Ollie?"

"Yeah, Jay."

"You came for me?"

"Of course I did, kid. Let me finish up here, and we can go home, yeah?"

"I don't have a home to go back to." It was a nearly silent admission, and Oliver wondered if he was even supposed to hear it. "B kicked me out. Told me he didn't need my teenage rebellion."

Oliver hoped Bruce had an excellent plastic surgeon on retainer because at this rate, it wasn't just a fist he was going to put through Bruce's face.

"You can come home with me, okay?" Hood nodded. "But first I need to get us out of here, so let me take care of the bomb and we'll go." Hood nodded again and loosened his grip on the older man, giving him enough space to stand up finally. With no other person to hold onto, Red Hood had curled around himself on the floor, and Oliver was plagued by just how small he looked.

His investigation of the room confirmed what Ollie had already suspected — there was no bomb. Instead, what he found was a digital clock with its red, glowing numbers counting the seconds. He pulled off the back panel and severed the internal wiring until it was free before returning to Hood. The crime lord hadn't moved, still curled up on the floor.

"Hey, Jay. I got it, see?" Hood peeked his head out of where it was protectively nestled in his arms to look at the now-dark digital display. "Let's go home, okay?" Green Arrow held his hand out to help the teenager stand up so they could finally leave the warehouse.

Back at Hood's apartment, now that he knew, Oliver could see Jason. The books that actually made it to the shelves were the same ones that the second Robin had dragged everywhere, from patrol in Gotham to mission briefings with the Justice League. The blanket he had found to wrap Jason in was Wonder Woman themed, and she had always been the second Robin's favourite hero. The kitchen was stocked with a variety of teas, with fancy names in languages that Ollie didn't know, but he picked an herbal one that smelled comforting. By the time the tea was done steeping, Jason had shed most of his body armour and banished it outside of his blanket cocoon. He had even taken off his domino, Oliver noted.

"Hey, Jay. Can you drink this for me?"

The hand that emerged from the blanket was steady, and Ollie hoped it meant that the crime lord fully stopped shaking. Jason had both hands out of blanket, and wrapped them around the warm mug, interlacing his fingers while he sipped slowly.

"You think you can answer some questions for me, Jay?" The teenager nodded, and Ollie was reminded of the first time he had met Jason at a Wayne Gala, shortly after Bruce had taken him in. The kid had been overwhelmed, hiding in a corner, and Bruce was nowhere to be seen. The archer had helped him sneak out a side door and sat with him while he came back to himself. (Oliver didn't know it at the time, but it would be the first in a series of incidents where Bruce failed to show up when Jason needed him most).

"How long have you been back?"

"In Gotham?" Jason's voice still sounded too young, too unsure. Nothing like the confident crime lord that Oliver had gotten to know over the last week.

"Sure. Or just in general. Whatever you're comfortable with." Ollie couldn't imagine that Bruce hadn't interrogated him extensively when he found out. The last thing the kid needed was another person prying into his life and trauma, heedless of comfort and boundaries.

"Back in Gotham for a year or so. Been alive for for three years or somethin'."

Back in Gotham for a year.

Oliver took it back — he wasn't going to put his fist through Bruce's face at the next Justice League meeting. He wouldn't get the chance to once Dinah and Diana heard about this.

"And how long has Bruce known?"

The older vigilante hoped for Bruce's sake that it wasn't very long, although the healed batarang scar on Jason's neck told a different story.

"Almost a year, nine or ten months maybe? Since the thing with the Joker."

Whatever past Oliver had been doing — the intense not thinking about it — had been good. Present Oliver briefly thought about bringing that idea back, but he couldn't. Not when a ghost was bundled up on the couch, looking up at him with might be the closest thing to hope he had ever seen in Jason Todd's eyes.

"Okay."

"Okay? That's it? That's all you have to say about me clawing my way out of my coffin and coming back to Gotham a murderer?"

"No, I have more to say, but not to you. I don't care about the killing or the drugs or whatever the fuck else you're doing, Jason. I care that you're alive; I care that you're here. I care that you came back. And I'm fucking livid that Bruce never said anything." Oliver had sat on the couch next to the teenager, and had wrapped an arm around him protectively. "But I am so happy you're alive, Jay."

They sat in silence for what could have been hours or five minutes. Ollie needed to tell Dinah, needed to call a Justice League meeting about Batman, but for now he was content to sit and let the time pass by.

"Come back to Star City with me." The statement shattered the serenity that had built itself around the pair of vigilantes. Ollie could see Jason try not to flinch back at its abruptness.

"I can't."

"You can. You don't have to stay in this god-forsaken city that has done nothing but hurt you."

"No, Ollie, I can't. Take a fucking look around the Alley. I'm building something here; I've built something here, and I'm not going to just fucking abandon them like everyone else."

Like everyone abandoned me, Ollie could hear in what was unsaid.

"Batman may think that Gotham is his city, but the Alley is mine."

Oliver stayed in Gotham three days longer than he had originally intended. He had reassured Dinah that everything was fine, even better than they were before he left Star City, and they would talk about it when he got home. On the day he was supposed to fly back to Star City, his wife informed him that the Birds of Prey were having girls' night.

"Everyone will be there," she told him, "even Oracle."

It scared him sometimes how easily she could read him even without seeing him.

The archer had always been conflicted about killing. He wasn't like Batman — too proud to admit that his moral code was not absolute — but he still tried to avoid it when he could. He had killed before, and he probably would again, but it wasn't his first choice for solutions. However, he could admit that some people needed to be stopped permanently; he would even argue that the Joker was one of them. It would be one thing if the clown was incarcerated so he couldn't hurt people anymore, but Bruce refused to actually do anything about the violation of human rights that was Arkham Asylum.

Jason had said that the Joker needed to die, and Oliver knew that many of his other victims would agree. He had hoped that someone else would do it — "It can't be me," Jason had told him. "If I do, Bruce will kill me for good, I think, and I'd rather help the Alley." How Jason lived and died through everything he had and still managed to be caring and selfless was a miracle that the archer still couldn't comprehend sometimes.

Oliver was convinced that he wouldn't be the one to kill the Joker. He didn't even live in this city, for god's sake.

That idea lasted until the night before he was going to head back to Star City. He and Jason had been watching a show when one of the characters laughed. Jason had fully retreated into himself, pale and shaking. It was brutally reminiscent of Red Hood in that warehouse when he thought the clock was a bomb. For a laugh. Jason was nineteen years old and expressions of joy made him relive his worst memories.

Ollie knew the look in his eyes — it was the same one Mia had had before her biological father was sentenced, the same one Roy had when Lian was out of his sight for just a little too long — he had seen it on countless victims and survivors who had gone through hell and still lived to talk about it. He thought about the women whose case started this entire thing, how he had had Black Canary and Arsenal tell them that the traffickers were dead, and the reports of how relieved they had been.

"It was like they could finally breathe after holding their breath for so long," Roy had said.

How many other victims of the Joker could Oliver find if he just asked? How many other families had been torn apart by the whims of a terrorist and Bruce's unwillingness to do anything about it? How many people would sleep soundly at night based on this one decision?

The archer had been conflicted about killing, but as he watched the teenager finally doze off into a fitful bout of sleep, he knew what his answer was always going to be.

The Joker was out of Arkham, because of course he was, and recruiting for his next big plan. Between growing up rich and famous, being friends with people who were rich and famous, and the vigilante training, Ollie had nearly perfected blending in with "normal people". He had dressed in some clothes he had grabbed from a thrift store — something Jason would never wear to keep the suspicion off him — and shown up for the interview. Red Hood was out patrolling, and Oliver made sure that he was deep and visibly into Crime Alley, far away from Amusement Mile, when he struck.

Despite how much terror and suffering the Joker had caused over the decades, Ollie was surprised how easy it was to kill him. Maybe he had gotten complacent once he found out that Batman would kill for him; maybe he had always been easy to kill and no one had been brave enough to try, too beat down by life's circumstances or the Rogues, or even Batman himself. Whatever the reason, the Arrow wasn't going to question it. He went into the interview, and left through a window. In its entirety, everything took less than ten minutes.

By the time the Joker's lieutenants realized something was off, Ollie was already on his plane back to Star City. Dinah had texted him that they had started a movie and were waiting for fondue to melt. Chocolate or cheese? he had asked, and was unsurprised by the Both. he got in response.

By the time Oracle made it back to the city, the bonfires and parties Gotham's residents had thrown at the news had contaminated any evidence, and rendered it completely useless.