There's a Rat at Your Boot || Jason & Dick || Flashback
Nearly all of the heroes in this city were chalked up to "just stories." People used to tell their kids that The Batman would come and get them if they were bad. Dick remembered when his mother did the exact same thing and it worked, too, because he always ended up in bed on time. Nowadays, everyone knew Batman was real. Batman had saved the day. Batman had sacrificed himself and given up his legacy to his little ineffective underlings.
The lesser known vigilantes were the ones stuck in legends and folktales, either struggling hard to find recognition or trying their damnedest to stay in the shadows. Hardly anyone knew about the Black Canary or the Spoiler or Manhunter. It was a bat that shined in the sky when the GCPD was having trouble, not an arrow or a fancy "S." The Red Hood (and his Outlaws, to a lesser degree) was an enigma to most people. The rumors about him had spread like wildfire after The Occupation, but the general populace didn't believe in his existence. Dick knew that he had gone underground right after the terrorist cells were rounded up and shipped off to some prison in Louisiana. Only those who had seen him in action knew that he was real-- knew who he was, what he did and how he did it. He was merciless and successful in his brutality. He knew what he was doing and exactly how to do it. Dick desperately needed that.
The Hood operated almost exclusively within a twenty mile radius of the Narrows. Dick hadn't managed to catalogue any sighting of the vigilante anywhere else and he had stationed himself around all parts of the city over the last few weeks. He had been tracking Hood's movements for one purpose--to meet. After watching the Outlaws protect their little patch of territory during Bane's war, Dick knew that he had found someone to help him and do for him what Bruce, in all his self-righteousness, wouldn't even think about.
At fourteen, he wasn't much of a vandal. What possessions he had were kept clean and utterly safe, so destroying property was a new thing for him. It was the only way to get Hood's attention, however--short of tracking the guy for months upon months to see if he had a pattern to intercept. It was easier to get Hood to come to him.
After smashing in three storefront windows, hijacking a motorcycle and crashing it into a shady mafia-owned restaurant, causing three alley fires, and starting a mad brawl between about six or seven smelly vagrants all within three successive nights, Dick made his way up to the top of his usual building to wait, perching himself on the edge of the roof so he could watch the fight he started play out. He had made sure to leave evidence of himself along with a 'calling card'--a crudely spray-painted red bat--wherever he could. The brick building he was at had the same bat painted on its side and the teenager had made sure to come here every night, just in case.
If he were lucky, Red Hood would show up. (If he were very unlucky, Batman would show up instead, but Dick liked to think that the universe couldn't possibly hate him that much.) If he never showed, he'd keep at it until he landed himself in prison, until he got what he wanted, until it killed him. He had already acquired a few bruises and some glass shards in his arm. Neither of the injuries hurt too badly, but it wasn't exactly what he would call fun.
Still, he hoped this wouldn't take too much longer. He had plans and this was only the beginning of everything.
