𝐢𝐧 𝐰𝐡𝐢𝐜𝐡, reader discovers a new side to Crime Alley’s resident ‘merciless’ enforcer and perhaps has to admit she was misguided in her beliefs when it comes to him
cws: canon typical violence, cursing??
𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐑𝐄𝐃 𝐇𝐎𝐎𝐃 had arrived.
You didn’t have to glance up from your less than ideal vantage point on the grimy floor of a warehouse to know.
There was a tangible shift in the air. You would’ve attempted to taste it had you not been bound and gagged.
Your gaze finds him whether you want it to or not, however.
He stands in the half-light, imposing and striking as you’d heard. His attire is a stark contrast to what you know of vigilantes: he lacks the Bat’s subtlety in colour scheme, but regains his essence in presence. The weight of it, despite that untouchable silence. Perhaps the theories floating around tying him to Batman weren’t so far-fetched after all.
The little girl beside you, trembling in her bindings, whimpers, and you shush her to the best of your ability, gesturing vaguely with your body and making whatever comforting noise can escape the plastic ensnaring your mouth.
It’s in part to keep the criminals holding the two of you from having an excuse to pulverise her. But, in truth, you’re also not sure of the Red Hood’s temperament, if he cares for the so-called ‘weakness’ betrayed by a child’s fear.
The ringleader of the goons slinks from his perch atop a barrel in the centre of the warehouse.
As he speaks, one of his henchmen hauls the little girl cowering in your direction to her feet roughly. The noise that escapes you is that of a wounded animal. You drag your useless, bound body towards him, baring your teeth and attempting to bite into the plastic.
Take an innocent little girl, hurt her, brand her with their fear and fierce hands?
The henchman does not care.
He drags the little girl (god, you don’t even know her name) across the floor with no care. None at all. She cries out and so do you as the man presses the barrel of a gun to her temple in punishment.
You thrash until two henchmen seize your torso, dragging you backwards.
Red Hood goes rigid at the sight of the girl, now just beside the ringleader.
You’ve never seen anyone so still.
The ringleader’s face splits into a terrible grin and you’re desperate to close your eyes against the horror of it. You watch every second. “How about you give me those pretty guns, Hood, hm?”
Red Hood’s fingers twitch in his gloves. He draws out a gun slowly, slowly, achingly slowly.
“If you play with that trigger,” the ringleader warns, sing-song, “my friend here will have to hurt your friend there.”
He gestures to the little girl, who is now overcome with tremors, and the man’s gun pressed to her brow, skating up and down her forehead.
You wonder what Red Hood will do. Surely his pride comes over some civilian.
He hurls the gun onto the stained floor, the clank silencing your doubt.
“Now the helmet. And the knives in those boots, Hoodie.”
You can almost see the vigilante’s jaw working, but all the same he drags off his helmet gradually, leaving on a domino mask beneath. Then he sinks to one knee to extract the knives from his heels.
Now you watch his teeth grit as the Red Hood bows his head, peeling off the mask with a hiss between his teeth. If you were to look closely, you would see that he always keeps his eyes, at least partially, on the little girl. She’s trying to cry silently and the sight of it is enough to make your throat close up.
Though she reminds you of her still-beating pulse every second click of the trigger, which seems to startle her to life: she fights and fights. She’s braver than you.
He doesn’t look how you’d expect, not really. Younger, for one, probably similar age to you. And a kind of battered pretty, is what you gauge from what you can see of him. His eyes an unnaturally bright green, unnerving in the dim and sleepy light.
The loathing in his eyes is unadulterated.
As the ringleader commands, he removes his body armour, the remainder of his knives, and your stomach twists.
The ringleader? He’s loving it. Almost maniacal in his delight at reducing the Red Hood to this.
Your eyes, like the vigilante’s, can’t help flicking to the girl every so often. She’s deathly still, now, and you feel as if you could double over with the nausea. Would she make a sound, if the trigger was pulled?
“I did it.” Red Hood speaks, his voice ragged without the modulator he’s known for. “What do you want to do now, exactly?”
You notice his heel tapping the floor — once, twice, and the little girl suddenly screams. So loudly that the goons momentarily turn their attention to her as she breaks free. Lax fools. But you don’t.
Because the Red Hood is in motion.
He lunges into a handstand of sorts and twists his body as he flips, knocking the gun from a henchman’s hand with one foot, casting it to the ground. It goes off upon the men’s feet and Red Hood jumps back to meet the ringleader as the others yell. He tips his body back in a free fall, one hand twisting to catch the ringleader’s knife, twisting until the breaking of a wrist.
You think he’ll go for the ranks at the back of the warehouse, armed and shooting, but instead he dives for the little girl, pressing her down with one hand on her shoulders, shielding her body with his.
The men lining the back wall are too cowardly to come any closer, and none have particularly good aim. If they do, you doubt Red Hood would let it show, though.
He rises to a crouch in a serpentine motion, and the little girl..is gone.
“Alright, alright,” he swivels, now on his feet. “This has been fun, gentleman. But you know the rules. My rules.”
You’re suddenly dropped, promptly, to the floor, and a whoosh of air leaves you.
The Red Hood’s eyes meet yours, and his eyes widen before he scowls. “Shoulda fuckin’ known you didn’t stop at kids.”
He draws a gun — where the hell did he get that? — and grins. “Step away from her or start unbinding you fuckin’ vermin. Now.”
The group scatters, and two quaking men drop to their knees to untie you frantically.
Red Hood oversees it all, his teeth practically bared.
One of them brushes a finger over your lips, despite his better judgment. He’s the one who dragged the little girl in to begin with, so it doesn’t surprise you that he’s perverted in the face of death.
You don’t think the Red Hood’s seen for a moment. Until the man moves to walk and you hear a bang. He slumps 15 meters from you. Ah.
The second men tending to you yelps and shies away once you’re completely free.
You scramble to your feet all the same, maybe find the little girl, check on her. Or just go home. It’s selfish; you’re shaken.
The Red Hood catches your wrist, touch startlingly gentle. “Sorry, I shoulda-“ his attention snaps like a whip to the group still huddled at the back of the warehouse, “-don’t you bastards fuckin’ consider running. I like a hunt.” He turns back to you, tone softening, “-shoulda got you out earlier. See if you can find the girl, hm? Said her name’s Alyssa.”
You nod shakily. Later you’ll wonder how he even got the girl’s name, let alone remembered it. The Red Hood you’d heard of would never retain or learn that. But the Red Hood you now knew had just saved your life. And apologised for not doing so in a timely manner.
“Thank you.” You say, because it’s all you know how to in that moment. It’s then you notice the blood snaking down his side. “Oh- you’re-“
“I’m fine,” he tells you, like it’s a fact, and the warmth of his touch disappears as though it was never there when he lets go of you. “Go.”
And that’s how you realised that perhaps justice was red.
theartofmadeline
baratheonpilled
turnnoffyourmind
pixelskylines
