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Chapter Text

Ben leaned idly against the doorframe, watching Grey and a pair of Philip’s lackeys check over the car. It wasn’t likely that someone would sabotage the car in their own garage, but it also wasn’t impossible, and Boss was probably more paranoid than Batman, so they always checked the car before going anywhere.

Grey directed the lackeys with a discerning eye, not an expert mechanic or demolitions expert himself, but excellent at delegating. It took only a few minutes for the checks to be done, and then Ben watched Grey pull out his phone. He would be shooting a text to the executives group chat… and there it was, Ben’s phone dinging loudly in his pocket.

Grey looked up at the sound, meeting Ben’s eyes and nodding seriously. Ben slipped away from the door, striding towards the car.

“You coming to this one?” Ben asked.

“Yes,” Grey said, his eyes coldly calculating, “the Boss wants my insight on this newcomer.”

The sudden absence of Black Mask had led to less of a power vacuum than any of them had expected. Even after they’d wiped out Sionis’s upper lackeys, the gang still churned on. They’d rebranded and redistributed ranks but had managed to stay relatively stable despite the upheaval.

The newcomer – Benjamin Napier, if their intel was right – had gathered up the scattered scraps of Sionis’s operation and cobbled them back together into a functioning whole. The gang had retreated completely from Crime Alley – that was solidly Hood’s territory now – but had quickly regained their footing in Otisburg and the Bowery.

Instead of killing Napier and wiping out the gang for good, the Boss had elected to set up a meeting with the new leader and try to negotiate a truce. Although, where the Boss was concerned, ‘truce’ was more like ‘you follow this set of rules and I won’t wipe you out completely’.

Ben hummed, rocking back on his feet. Grey was coming because he was terrifyingly smart and great at pinpointing people’s weaknesses. Ben was coming because he was the Boss’s primary bruiser. Neither Teddy nor Julia had a reason to be there, Ben would know if Alex or Hound were wanted, and if Gil was going to join them, he would be doing so on top of a separate building with a sniper rifle in hand, which left…

“Philip,” Grey greeted blandly. “Are you joining us today?”

Philip smirked, throwing his tool kit over his shoulder. “That I am. Boss asked me to tag along and get a gist of the loyalties.”

Where Grey was academically intelligent, there wasn’t a Merry Man in the gang that could read people like Philip. Maybe Teddy, but Boss wouldn’t bring Teddy into anything that might have the chance of him getting hurt.

“Speaking of, where is the Boss?” Ben piped up, tucking his phone back into his pocket.

“Here.”

The three of them turned towards the open door. Ben’s eyes almost popped out of his head. Grey, in a startling display of humanity, shared a shocked glance with Ben. He didn’t know what was going on either, and Philip was just as startled. Which meant the only one who did was the Boss himself. Or… themselves?

Outside Red Hood’s Merry Men, it was well-known that the gang was run by a pair of brothers, theatrically vicious Red Hood – real name Jonathen, which had been the weirdest thing ever to learn – and clever, understated TJ. They each managed different sections of the gang and carefully coordinated their moves with each other. Inside the gang, it was a ridiculously open secret that TJ and Red Hood were one and the same, though no one was sure which one wore the wig.

All of which to say that when TJ walked through the door with Red Hood on his heels, Ben was half convinced he’d stepped into a parallel dimension.

“Let’s get going,” TJ said, not bothering to explain literally anything and instead pushing past his gaping executives to slip into the car.

Grey recovered first – or at least hid his surprise best – and claimed the driver seat, forcing Philip to sit in the back with the Boss. …Bosses. Ben was confused. Grey honked at him, and Ben jumped, startled out of his shock long enough to claim shotgun – figuratively and literally.

The air inside the car was stiflingly silent.

After almost a full minute of sitting frozen in the passenger seat trying to figure out what was going on, Ben was jarred from his thoughts by Boss- Red Hood sitting up straight. Ben pulled his sun guard down and slid the mirror open, eyeing the trio in the back.

“Car’s clear,” Red Hood said, voice buzzing with the modulator.

TJ let out a breath, and a fine tension Ben hadn’t even noticed loosened from his shoulders.

“You can take off the helmet,” TJ said, “the windows are tinted.”

Red Hood did just that, reaching his thumbs up to undo the latches. There was a familiar click-hiss, and he pulled his helmet off.

“You’re an imposter,” Grey said coolly, his eyes flickering to the rearview mirror.

“My actual brother,” Boss drawled, then, to the fake Red Hood, “Your hair stripe is coming out.”

The imposter huffed, pulling the lock of hair down towards his eyes. The white rubbed off on his gloves like Boss’s never did. The imposter produced a little round capsule from some pocket, snapping it closed around his lock of hair and sliding the capsule down, leaving the hair stark white.

Now that Ben knew what was up, he managed to pick up on some of the things that must have queued Grey in. The imposter’s face was narrower than the Boss’s, and his hair had just a touch more curl to it. The jacket was a bit bulkier on the imposter, and Ben suspected that, under the armor, he had a slimmer build. Not that that was especially difficult. Boss rivaled Batman for muscle mass.

“I can’t believe I let you talk me into this,” the imposter huffed, slipping the capsule back into his pocket.

“Try for less exasperation and more rage,” Boss said absently, attention on his phone, “your supposed to be me, remember?”

“I’m supposed to be at home stopping my little brothers from killing each other,” the imposter griped, “not galivanting around in Burnley with more guns than anyone could possibly need.”

“Would you stop complaining?!” Boss sighed, looking up from his phone to glare at the imposter, “your guns aren’t even loaded. If you keep this up, you’re going to make me look like a gun-shy pansy.”

Ben silently thought that nothing and no one could convince him that Red Hood was at all gun-shy, but he didn’t voice that. He was invested in this argument now. Why would Boss let a man with unloaded guns even wear his colors? It seemed like an accident waiting to happen, if you asked Ben. He’d have to keep an eye on the imposter in case a fight broke out. It wouldn’t end well for him if he let Boss’s brother die.

“I reserve the right to complain about anything and everything I want to,” the imposter returned hotly, “Just because you blackmailed me into this doesn’t mean I’m taking it lying down.”

Ben wasn’t sure whether he should interpret that as crime lord blackmail or sibling blackmail. Neither would surprise him, and he actually probably didn’t want to know.

“Clearly, I should have picked someone better to blackmail,” Boss sighed, turning back to his phone.

“Nobody else fits in your stupid armor,” the imposter retorted, “not unless you’re willing to work with dad.” There was a weird inflection on the word, like the imposter wasn’t used to saying it. Ben wasn’t thinking about that, either. He was paid better than to think about that sort of thing.

“I might ask next time, just to see his face,” Boss mused. “Also, my armor’s not stupid.”

“Yes, it is. It’s stupidly restricting. How do you dodge bullets in this?”

“The point is that I don’t dodge bullets,” Boss said, “I can catch an entire clip to the chest and keep moving.”

There was a beat, and the imposter slowly turned towards Boss. “Are you speaking from experience?”

Ben had never seen Boss panic. As TJ or as Red Hood, when the world turned upside down and detailed plans turned to ash and gunpowder, the worst he got was angry. He swore sometimes, and he’d been shocked speechless before, but this was the closest Ben had ever seen him to real panic.

“I’m not answering that.”

“My dearest brother whom I adore,” the imposter started, voice perfectly calm, “have you, at some point in your life, been shot eight times in the chest, and then not told anyone?”

“It was only six,” Boss said, then immediately realized his mistake.

“Only six. Only six bullets. You were only shot six times, and you, what, just ignored your broken ribs? Kept going and didn’t bother to get medical attention before you pierced a lung?”

“Batman’s armor can take six shots with barely a crack,” Boss defended himself weakly.

“You. Don’t. Have. Batman’s. Armor.”

“Yeah, mine’s thicker.”

“Yours is made of inferior material and ends up weaker despite the extra thickness.”

Boss blinked at him. “How do you even know that?”

“I know what armor materials you have access to without Bat resources, and I know how thick your armor is,” the imposter said primly. “If you think I’m going to let my little brother go running around as a crime lord without making sure he’s taking care of himself, you must have lost some important memories when-” the imposter abruptly cut himself off, leveling Boss with a slightly guilty glare instead.

“Okay, we’re bringing that up now, are we?” Boss demanded. “Need I mention where you were the whole time? Not anywhere nearby, certainly, and not fast enough to help.”

The imposter flashed him a look that Ben couldn’t read, then turned away. Boss returned to his phone. The air in the car was frigid. Even Grey looked uncomfortable. Or, well, more uncomfortable than Grey looked in any social situation.

The car stopped. Parked. Grey slipped out, and Philip practically flung himself from the vehicle. Ben followed at a more steady pace, checking his holsters and closing the car door behind him.

Boss and the imposter emerged a moment later, walking side by side. All traces of animosity were gone. The imposter carried himself like the Red Hood, boldly confident and bulletproof, hands flickering over his holsters every now and then. There was nothing in either of their body language that could possibly imply that one was a fake, or that they’d just gotten into a serious argument.

“If a fight breaks out,” Boss hissed, jabbing a finger at the imposter, “you need to grab the guns. I don’t care if you immediately drop them, pretend they were shot out of your hand, whatever. Go for them first.”

“Fine,” the imposter growled. “Let’s go.”

“Let’s go,” Boss repeated, jaw set. They stalked up to the door together, and Ben purged all musings about brothers and blackmail and arguments from his head. He needed to be all there, scanning for threats, one hundred percent focused. Boss jerked his head, and the imposter threw the door open. Showtime.

Napier was a tall man with white-blond hair. His skin was paper-white and traced with stark black tattoos, he had way too many rings, and he was wearing wraparound sunglasses inside. Ben thought he looked about as physically intimidating as a wet cat, but there was a heavy presence of danger lingering around him.

It wasn’t Ben’s job to talk during meetings like these – that was for Boss and maybe Grey or Philip – so Ben just silently catalogued everything Napier and his minions said and did, standing behind and to the right of Boss, who was flanked on the other side by the imposter.

The meeting lasted almost an hour, and the imposter never slipped up once. He acted like the Red Hood, talked like him, moved like him. He growled and threatened the same way, waved his hands while he talked, even moved with the same catlike grace and near silence despite the bulky armor. It was uncanny. If Ben hadn’t seen it himself, he never would have suspected that the man under the helmet was anyone but the Red Hood.

They left the meeting room just as quickly as they’d entered, the five of them piling back into the car. Philip managed to claim the driver’s seat this time around, forcing Grey to sit in the back with the brothers.

Boss was smugly satisfied, but when the imposter took the helmet off with the familiar click-hiss, he only looked relieved.

“That was the worst,” the imposter groaned, slumping down into the seat the same way Boss did. He dug through his pockets, coming away with what looked like a tube of lip gloss. Instead of his lips, he applied the clear fluid in the tube around the edges of the domino mask, peeling the whole thing off a moment later. “I can’t believe you wear a domino under your helmet, you lunatic. My whole face hurts.”

“You survived.” Boss rolled his eyes, jabbing an elbow into the seam of the armor with a practiced motion. “Quit whining about it.”

“I did more than survive,” the imposter said primly, though it was ruined slightly by him repeatedly wiping his eyes. “I did great. I deserve an A+ in impersonating my little brother, a thing that it is both normal to want and possible to achieve.”

“I’ll send grandad your report card,” Boss drawled.

“You could say that I passed with flying colors,” the imposter said, a smile playing across his lips. “That I was really vigilant in my role.”

“I hate you,” Boss said blandly.

“Aw, come on, you gotta admit that was pretty good, considering how much I was winging it!”

“Never speak to me again.” Boss turned away from the imposter to stare out the window.

“You wound me, little w- brother.” The imposter feigned a collapse directly on top of Boss, and Ben knew from experience that, no matter who was wearing it, the Red Hood armor was heavy. Boss just grunted, shoving the imposter away.

“Remember that’s my armor. I know exactly where to stick a knife through it.”

“Then you’d have to fix it,” the imposter said, wriggling slightly to settle more of his weight on Boss. Now that he was busy pestering Boss, Ben finally got a good look at his eyes. They were blue. Strikingly blue, sure, but nowhere near the glittering acid-green of Boss’s eyes.

“You’re missing the knife in your boot,” Grey said, his blandly factual tone cutting through the lighthearted teasing.

“What?” the imposter sat up straight, blinking at Grey.

“The sheath in your boot is empty,” Grey repeated. “There’s usually a knife there.”

The imposter automatically checked his boot with the same instinctual swipe that Ben had seen Boss do a dozen times. Apparently, he didn’t find what he was looking for.

“What are you doing with it?” the imposter asked, turning back to Grey. Grey looked at him blankly.

Boss snorted. “Just hand it over, Grey. He’s smarter than he looks.” An indignant look flashed over the imposter’s face, but he didn’t say anything.

Grey begrudgingly produced a knife from his sleeve, offering it hilt-first to the imposter. Why…?

“How did you know I took it?” Grey asked, his eyes just slightly narrowed in calculation.

The imposter shrugged, spinning the knife once before sliding it into the sheath. “I had it when I got in the car. The only people who could have taken it were you or J, and I’ve been watching him the whole time.”

“Deduction rather than situational awareness?” Grey asked coldly.

The imposter squinted at him. “You remind me of Danny. TJ, does he remind you of Danny?”

“Every day,” Boss said immediately, not looking up, “except Grey is smarter than Danny.”

Ben thought he might have seen a flicker of actual emotion flash across Grey’s face.

“Who’s Danny?” Ben ventured.

The imposter looked up at him, meeting his eyes in the mirror, and Ben’s blood turned to ice. Ben rarely had the opportunity to meet the eyes of powerful people. Sometimes Boss, when he wasn’t wearing his glasses. A few times, mostly accidentally, he’d locked eyes with other bosses. All the truly dangerous ones, the ones he needed to watch his step around, had the same look in their eyes. So did this imposter. Like they knew they could get away with anything they wanted, if they put their mind to it. Like they already had, and they would do it again.

And then the imposter smiled, and the danger in his eyes was hidden. Not gone, just hidden.

“Danny’s our little brother. Baby of the family, thinks he’s better than everyone else, only sometimes right.”

“That’s a bit of an understatement,” Boss scoffed.

“I mean, he’s better at most things than most civilians. It’s just that we don’t usually associate with regular civilians.”

Boss hummed, acknowledging the point.

Philip wordlessly pulled the car into the garage, and the imposter slid the helmet back on.

Ben immediately moved to flank the Boss again the instant he was out of the car. There was always the risk that they’d been followed, after all, and right when they arrived at their home base was a great time to catch them unaware.

Nothing happened, fortunately, and nothing continued to happen. The five of them crossed the open factory floor – catching shocked looks from everyone who was pretty sure TJ and the Red Hood were the same person – and ducked into the meeting room. There was only one chair at the head of the table, since there was only one Boss, but the imposter didn’t seem to mind.

Julia and Teddy were already seated, and Gil ducked in a moment later. All of them looked just as shocked as Ben had been to see two Bosses.

“Okay,” Boss sighed, sinking into his seat, “Rob, was there anything you noticed you think I should know?

The imposter hesitated for a moment, then slowly shook his head. “Nothing your own guys missed. I would like to make it clear that you’re never getting me to do this again.”

“That’s what they all say,” Boss drawled. “I trust you know how to put away the armor?”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m not a child.”

Ben didn’t think he knew how to unlatch most of Boss’s armor. …which might be a problem, actually. He should make sure someone knew how to do that so they could provide emergency medical care if necessary.

“You got a body double?” Gil asked, gaze on the imposter’s retreating form.

“Brother,” Boss said, “My actual brother, Rob.”

“Don’t tell me his full name’s Robin,” Philip groaned. The imposter was too old to be from the era of Robin’s first appearance, when half the couples in Gotham were bestowing the name on their children, but it was still a possibility.

Boss snorted. “Nah, he’s just Robert. Don’t think he’d ever live that down, if his name was Robin.”

Something about that niggled in Ben’s brain, but he couldn’t immediately pin it down. He mentally shrugged, shelved that issue, and focused on the executive debriefing. He had more important things to worry about than Boss’s mysterious gun-shy older brother.

Chapter Text

“Sir!”

Philip reluctantly clicked his pen shut and looked up from his paperwork. There was a group of three men approaching him, the ones he’d assigned to transporting the most recent munitions shipment. They were supposed to have driven away half an hour ago.

“What are you still doing here?” Philip demanded, rising from his seat.

“We had a stowaway,” Harrison, the primary driver, grunted, “snuck into the back of the truck when we were loading.”

“So shoot him and dump the body off a cliff,” Philip snapped. “We don’t need you ruining your timetables just because-”

“Sir!” Harrison interrupted. Philip glared at him, and the man quailed slightly but pressed on. “Sir, it’s a kid.”

Philip froze. He knew he was on very thin ice already. He’d worked for human traffickers, organized a gang of much less discerning drug dealers. Boss had only let Philip into the gang in the first place because he was so good at his job and so willing to follow the Boss’s rules. If Boss suspected Philip had even accidentally hurt a kid, he’d get a bullet through his skull before he could blink.

“We’re not sure what to do with him,” Harrison continued hesitantly. “He was taking pictures, got our faces good before we realized what was going on.”

“Next time,” Philip said, voice sharp as knives, “don’t let the stowaway get your picture.”

“Sorry, sir,” Harrison muttered. “What, uh, what should we do with the kid?”

Philip hesitated for a moment, then snapped, “Bring him here. I’ll deal with him. You three need to go do your deliveries!”

“Yes, sir,” Harrison says hurriedly, waving at one of the loaders who had drifted away from the conversation. The loader nodded quickly and vanished back through the door. Philip tapped his fingers on his desk, slowly sinking back into his chair.

The man returned a moment later, escorting a teenager by a heavy hand on their shoulder. Philip leaned forward, inspecting the kid. He had slicked-back black hair and an unnecessary number of piercings, and it was clear that the term ‘kid’ only barely applied. He was definitely only a teenager, but starting to push the limit. He looked like a typical teenage hoodlum, down to the lackadaisical posture and sunglasses indoors.

“We done now?” the teenager snapped, “Gonna get your fat hands off me and give me back my camera?”

“No,” Philip said simply. “I need to know who you’re working for.”

“I ain’t workin’ for anyone spe-ci-fic,” the teen scoffed, yanking himself free from the grip on his shoulder and slumping down into the seat across from Philip, “I sell my pics to the highest bidder.”

“To what end?” While addressing the teenager, Philip made eye contact with the men standing behind him, dismissing them back to their deliveries. One of them deposited a box on Philip’s desk, then waved a lazy salute and turned away.

“I’unno.” The teenager shrugged, eyeing the box with sharp eyes. “Whatever they wanna do with ‘em. Evidence of who’s working for who, who’s runnin’ what, where they’re runnin’ it to, whatever.” He shrugged again, waving a hand in a dismissive gesture. “Not my people, not my problem.”

“Well, you’ve managed to very successfully make it my problem,” Philip informed him coldly, pulling one flap of the box open. A well-loved black camera sat in a nest of broken packing peanuts inside. “And I already had enough problems.”

“Oh yeah? Whatcha gonna do about it?” the informant spread his hands wide, “You’re workin’ for Red, you can’t touch me.”

“Physically, no, there is little I can do to you,” Philip agreed, mentally cursing the teenager out. Of course an underground informant would recognize Red Hood’s organization, and any teenager on the street would know about the protections Hood offered them.

“However,” Philip continued, and even through the sunglasses he could see the teenager’s attention lock onto him, “you are an informant by trade. There is no informant without some sort of system, a web of connections that make their information valuable. Cut the web, the informant becomes ignorant, their knowledge disconnected. A disconnected informant is worse than useless, because they know too much and do no good. I won’t have to touch you, and in the end, you may end up useful one last time to point out to my Boss who is killing minors.”

The teenager leaned back in his chair, face paling and confidence shaken. “You can’t do that.”

“I assure you I’m entirely capable. I have more connections, more money, and more sway in those circles than you. The Red Hood’s protection doesn’t make you invulnerable.”

“That’s-”

“Now,” Philip interrupted, cutting the teenager off, “On the other hand, if you cooperate with me, I may even be convinced to give you back your camera.”

“…fine.” The teenager said stiffly. “What do you want?”

“First, your name,” Philip said, whipping his phone out.

“Worm,” the informant said immediately.

“Legal name,” Philip clarified, raising his eyes to level the teen with a flat look.

“Alvin Draper,” the teenager spat with a matching glower.

“Do you prefer Alvin or Worm for business?” Philip asked, already suspecting the answer. He shot a text off to Eugene, telling him to look up records for one Alvin Draper and any rumors of the informant Worm.

The teen scoffed. “Only Family calls me Alvin.”

“Worm, then,” Philip agreed, not at all phased by the codename, “We can’t have sensitive information getting out about our operation here. It’s bad for business and bad for our reputation if everyone knows what’s going on behind closed doors.”

“What does that have to do with me?” Worm demanded. “I can promise not to shell out the pics I’ve snapped, but there ain’t much else I do here.”

“I know better than to trust unaffiliated informants to not share information,” Philip said flatly. “So, here’s my offer to you.”

Worm leaned in slightly, a line of tension growing between his shoulders.

“I will pay you for exclusive rights to all information you have gained on the Red Hood’s Merry Men in the last three months, as well as the location of this base. You won’t sell it to anyone else, you won’t talk to your informant contacts about it, you won’t even tell your friends. In addition, you won’t be going information gathering for three days after this. No taking pictures, no sneaking into places, not even asking questions.”

Worm sat back in his chair, mulling it over. His arms crossed and he chewed on his lip. “…fine. I agree.”

“Great,” Philip said. “I’ll get you in contact with our information specialist.”

“What about my camera?” Worm demanded.

Philip arched an eyebrow at him. “You get that back in three days.”

“And my payment?”

“You’ll get your camera back in three days.”

Worm snarled at Philip, fury burning in his eyes, but Philip had seen that camera. It was well-used, but very high quality, something he’d only expect from a professional reporter, something expensive. Worth way more than three months of info on one gang and three days of non-work.

Just as Worm opened his mouth to say something, the catwalk door at the roof of the factory swung open with a distinctive metallic warble.

 The door leading to the catwalks had been installed as part of converting the abandoned factory into the gang’s headquarters. There was no external ladder or fire escape leading to the door. There was only one person who ever used it.

Worm glanced up at the door, brows furrowed with confusion. A moment later they shot up, and Worm gaped as Boss vaulted over the railing and dropped down to the floor of the factory.

“What are you thinking?” Worm snapped, shooting out of his chair.

Philip opened his mouth to warn Worm away – Boss didn’t take kindly to unnecessary corrections – but Boss interrupted him.

“Al,” Boss said, his helmet modulator stripping all tone from the word. “What are you doing here?”

“Trying to get my camera back,” Worm snipped, “after your guys nabbed me.”

Instead of going directly into one of his infamous ‘how dare you lay a single finger on a minor’ rages, Boss snorted, crossing his arms over his chest and tipping his helmet at Worm. “And what did you do to provoke them?”

“I was just doing my job,” Worm sniffed, “Investigating a shipment of smuggled weapons.”

“My smuggled weapons.” The lenses on Boss’s helmet glowed dangerously under the shop lights, and even with that dangerous edge aimed at someone else, Philip felt a chill run down his spine.

“Well, maybe if you bothered to tell us what you were doing, we wouldn’t keep interrupting your operations!” Worm snapped.

Boss was still for a beat, posture unreadable. “Come with me.”

Worm yelped as Boss’s hand closed on his wrist, dragging him away from the open factory floor and, Philip realized, the operations that had slowed down to eavesdrop on the conversation. Boss stopped in front of the door to his office, punching in the code with more force than was necessary and yanking the door open. The two vanished into the room, and a moment later, the blinds snapped shut.

Philip sighed, bracing his elbows on the table and pressing his palms to his eyes. His hands were shaking. Alone in the office, the kid could tell Boss anything. And Boss would unequivocally believe him. He was a kid, after all. Teenager, sure, but Boss always, always took the minor’s side. Depending on whether Worm realized this and what all he said, Philip might live. At this point, it was useless to try to wriggle out of it. Anyone who tried to run or hide from Boss’s vengeance only ended up worse for it.

Despite himself, Philip couldn’t help but strain his ears, trying to figure out what Boss and Worm were talking about. There was a bit of shouting at one point, two voices tangling with each other, but Philip couldn’t pick up any actual words. After a handful of minutes that felt like hours, the door swung open.

“Philip,” Boss called, “Come here.” There was a line of restrained rage in his frame, something Philip knew from experience wouldn’t be restrained for long.

With a deep breath and a prayer to a god he hadn’t intoned since the last time he met Batman face to face, Philip stood. He crossed the room and slipped through the door, standing at attention against the wall, his hands clasped behind his back to hide the violent trembling. It was pathetic to go to your execution a sniveling coward.

Boss was leaning casually against his desk, his helmet and domino and Worm’s sunglasses sitting on the desk next to him. Worm was backwards in one of the guest chairs, chin resting on his arms, which were crossed over the back of the chair.

“What’s wrong with you?” Worm asked, cutting off Boss before he could speak.

“What?” Philip managed.

“What’s wrong with you?” Worm repeated. “You’re all…” he sat up straight and freed a hand from the chair to wave vaguely at Philip. “shaky.”

Had Worm not realized the sway he had with Boss? But he was an Alley kid. Stupid kids in the Alley didn’t last long, and Worm had already pulled the ‘you can’t hurt a minor’ card. It wasn’t a big leap to get from there to realizing he could lynch Philip himself with a word or two to the Red Hood.

“I don’t believe that’s any of your business,” Philip told him blandly. It was Boss’s business, if Boss cared to ask, but he hadn’t yet, so Philip didn’t feel the need to share.

“Use your brain for once, Alvin,” Boss snapped, anger redirecting at the kid. It wouldn’t stay there for long, but it gave Philip a chance to catch his breath and draw his wits around him, steadying the shaking in his hands.

“Fine, fine, whatever.” Worm dropped his chin back onto his arms with an emphatic roll of his eyes.

Boss turned away from Worm again and Philip found himself pinned in place by glittering green eyes.

“Alvin told me what you said to him.” Marble would have been more expressive than Boss’s face.

“Yes, sir,” Philip said, struggling for the same sort of neutrality.

“You threatened to eliminate his livelihood and put him at substantial risk for the information he already had.” When he said it like that, it made it sound so much worse than it had in Philip’s head.

“Yes, sir.” Lying would only make his situation worse.

“You refused to return his property to him until he spent three days without any sort of income.”

“Yes, sir.” Philip was definitely going to die today. He hadn’t actually done anything to the kid, so hopefully, Boss would make it quick.

“Good job.”

Philip’s brain bluescreened.

A tiny smirk quirked the edges of Boss’s lips. “I asked Alvin to get caught taking pictures where he shouldn’t be –” Boss’s eyes flickered briefly to Worm “– which he’s always been very good at­ –” and back to Philip, “– to see how you’d respond without my direct presence acting as a threat.”

“It was a test?” Philip managed, his heartbeat pounding in his ears.

“Yes,” Boss said. “And you passed.”

All the terrified tension flooded out of Philip’s body, and he collapsed boneless into the nearest chair. He was sure his face was pale, and his fingers trembled with the adrenaline crash.

Worm let out an impressed whistle. “That was a pretty great poker face, man.”

“Just out of curiosity, do you think I just picked a handful of random losers off the street to be my executives?” Boss asked Worm snippily.

“Hey man, ‘good at running a gang’ and ‘great poker face’ don’t nec-es-sarily overlap. I figured you’d value competency most.”

“You would think that.”

“Are you sayin’ you don’t value competency?”

“Well, you’re here.”

Worm squawked, affronted, and sat upright in his chair.

“Are you two related?”

Glittering green and icy blue eyes turned to him, and Philip found himself pinned down by not one, but two predators. Identically sharp, calculating eyes brimming with calm surety and an unfathomable depth of knowledge. No teenager should look like that. No one younger than forty should have that much deadly focused experience, but here was a teenager who looked like he had seen more in the last two years than Philip had in his entire life.

“Brothers,” Worm said finally.

“Another one,” Philip said faintly.

“Another one?” Worm turned back to Boss and Philip found he could breathe again without calculating blue eyes peering into his soul.

“I got Rob to help me with that meeting with Napier.”

Worm whistled lowly. “What dirt‘d you have to dig up for that?”

“That would be telling,” Boss smirked, then turned to Philip. “You’re good to go now,” he said, “I just wanted to make sure you didn’t give yourself a heart attack. I’ll send you a full performance review later.”

“Yes sir.” Philip gladly excused himself from the room, leaving what was quickly shaping up to be a legendary battle of wits. Philip would never understand people with siblings.

Chapter Text

If Teddy had a nickel for every time he’d found a kid huddled alone in a dead-end alley or rooftop, he could probably get himself an apartment. Including the bribe required to get them to sell to a teenager.

This one wasn’t as young as most. Younger than Teddy, sure, but he looked about twelve years old. Considering the living circumstances of Crime Alley and how they affected your growth, Teddy was going to guess around fourteen.

“Hey,” Teddy called, voice low but loud enough to carry to the kid. They shifted, limbs unfolding slightly to let them look up, and alarm bells went off in Teddy’s head.

The kid was holding themself stiffly, muscles taught with something beyond fear. Pain was written across their face, evident even in the unsure lighting, and the gravel beneath them was dappled with something dark and glittering red.

Teddy shoved aside the litany of curses tripping through his head and instead took a careful step closer to the kid. “Can I help you, kid?”

“If you come any nearer to me, I will put this through your throat,” the kid snarled, jerking backwards slightly, and Teddy caught a flash of light glinting off the edge of a blade.

“Alright,” Teddy agreed easily, lifting his hands in surrender and retreating backwards a step. “I won’t come any closer if you don’t want me to. Is there someone I can call for you? A message I can run?”

That gave the kid pause, and Teddy watched indecision flash across his face. He opened his mouth, then closed it again.

“Where am I?” the kid asked finally.

Teddy sucked in a sharp breath. The kid’s accent was all off to be an Alley native, but he didn’t sound like he was even American, so Teddy had hoped he was an immigrant. If he wasn’t a Gothamite, then Teddy couldn’t be sure how much information the kid had. Did he not know his exact bearings in the Alley, or was the Gotham skyline completely unfamiliar to him?

Teddy settled with, “Crime Alley. Pretty much dead center.”

The kid shifted, gaze darting away from Teddy to scan the surrounding rooftops.

“Red Hood,” the kid said abruptly.

“What?” Teddy blinked at him, taken aback.

“Crime Alley is the Red Hood’s domain.” Somehow, Teddy felt like he was getting lectured. By a kid at least two years younger than him. It was like a tiny dark-haired Grey was waving a knife at him. “The Red Hood is a strident defender of… minors. I demand his presence, or that of one of his employees.”

Employees. Wherever this kid was from, it definitely wasn’t the Alley. Employees. He demanded the presence of the Red Hood or one of his employees. The crime lord. Knowing the Red Hood, he’d probably be willing, able, and maybe even glad to drop everything he was doing and show up for some random kid’s peace of mind.

“I’m Teddy Jensen,” Teddy said, “I’m one of Red Hood’s executives.”

The kid blinked, surprised, then narrowed his eyes at Teddy. “Turn your face to the light,” he demanded.

Teddy took two steps to the left and turned his head slightly, letting a nearby lamppost light up his features while keeping the kid in view. The kid studied him carefully, a line of tension easing from his frame.

“You may assist me to the nearest sponsored shelter,” the kid decided finally. Teddy let the domineering tone slide off him, fully aware that injured and scared children needed to feel like they were in control.

“Thank you,” Teddy said, and he meant it. “Can I get closer?”

“Well, that will be required to aid me,” the kid snipped. “You must help me to regain my feet.”

Teddy paced forward slowly, making his motions predictable and obvious. The kid watched him the whole time, eyes narrowed but not actively threatening anymore.

The kid reached a hand up, and Teddy took it, letting the kid use him as an anchor to lever himself to his feet.

“I have a knife in my leg,” the kid informed him, “You will have to walk on my right.”

“Sure,” Teddy agreed, waiting until the kid was supporting his weight on the air conditioning unit he’d been huddled against before moving. He quickly circled around to the kid’s other side, offering him his arm again.

“The fire escape doesn’t reach the roof,” Teddy said carefully, “we’ll probably have to take the inside stairs.”

“Very well,” the kid said stiffly, “you will lead.”

Teddy slowly started towards the roof access door, supporting the majority of the kid’s weight. It would have been way easier to carry him, but Teddy knew how terrifying it was to be picked up and carried, held immobile and helpless by a larger man, even if he trusted them, so he didn’t suggest it.

The door was locked, obviously, but Teddy fixed that with a quick jab from his lockpicking rake before helping the kid over the threshold. It was going to be a struggle to get down any stairs. Teddy hoped the elevator in the building worked, but he knew better than to expect it to.

Sure enough, there was a wrinkled, weathered piece of paper taped over the elevator’s buttons. It had clearly been there a long time, and the paper was practically shaped to the buttons. Teddy didn’t bother trying to read the sign. The letters had blurred and run together, and Teddy couldn’t read very well on the best of days.

“Stairs,” Teddy said, leading the limping kid past the elevator. The kid’s eyes trailed over the paper sign, and he made a tutting, frustrated noise.

“You… it would be easier to go downstairs if you carried me,” the kid said stiffly, then added, almost as an afterthought, “If you are capable.”

“You sure?” Teddy asked, taken aback, “I don’t want to make you-” don’t say scared, nobody ever admits to being scared, “-uh, feel unsafe.”

The kid tutted at him, leaning more of his weight onto Teddy. “I doubt you could threaten a guinea pig,” he scoffed, “If you are supporting me, I will only be closer to your core.” Somehow, Teddy had forgotten that the kid had a knife.

“Yeah, alright.” Teddy shifted his grip on the kid, who leaned away from Teddy to be mostly supporting his own weight. The kid wrapped his arms around Teddy’s neck and Teddy carefully lifted him off the ground.

Teddy had carried a lot of people before. Most of them were either children or way bigger than him. This kid was definitely smaller than him, but he weighed a ton, and Teddy had to hold him in the reversed position than he was used to, the kid’s right side pressed to his chest, so the knife in the kid’s leg wouldn’t touch anything.

“I believe the stairs were that way,” the kid said.

“Yeah, give me a minute,” Teddy said, trying to steady himself with the unfamiliar weight.

Teddy had the kid open the door to the stairwell, then carefully started down the stairs. Neither of them said a word. Teddy could feel the kid’s tension under his hands, growing with every second, but he hadn’t said anything yet.

“You got a name, kid?” Teddy asked, breaking the tense silence between them.

“Ah, my apologies. I am… Danny.”

It was a fake name if Teddy had ever heard one, but he wasn’t going to call him out on it. Sometimes you needed a fake name or two.

“You know what happened, Danny?” Teddy asked, “Why you ended up bleeding out on a roof?”

Danny tutted at him, turning away to look down the stairs. “It is none of your concern.”

“I just want to make sure nobody else runs into the same problem,” Teddy said calmly. “It’s my job to look after the kids in the Alley, and if the guys who got you are still out there stabbing kids, I need to let the Boss know.”

“Your Boss is already aware of the threat posed by my attackers,” Danny said stiffly. “You need not concern yourself with it.”

“Alright, thanks for letting me know.” Teddy ignored Danny’s surprised look, chuckling mentally. The kid probably wasn’t used to people thanking him for his verbal deflections.

They came out of the stairwell on the ground floor, and Teddy had Danny open the door again. The lobby was deserted except for the bored-looking man at the front desk. He barely gave the two of them a second glance despite the bloody knife still sticking out of Danny’s leg.

“Do you want me to put you down?” Teddy asked as the automatic doors ground shut behind them.

Danny opened his mouth, then closed it. He tried again. “It would be detrimental to my health for me to put weight on my injury.”

“I can keep holding you, if that’s fine with you.” Teddy shrugged with one shoulder, scanning the street around them. Being at street level was always more dangerous in the Alley. More potential threats, more places for danger to hide. But also, easier access to everything.

“It’s about three blocks to the nearest temporary safe house,” Teddy said, craning his neck to squint into a suspicious shadow. “But I think it has transportation there.”

Danny nodded stiffly, squirming to tuck his head closer to Teddy’s. Teddy almost dropped him, but managed to shift his grip in time.

“There is a man watching us,” Danny hissed into Teddy’s ear, “He is keeping to the shadows.”

“Do you recognize him?” Teddy whispered, the hair on the back of his neck prickling.

“I have never met him,” Danny said, eyes narrowed and peering over Teddy’s shoulder. “Though his face looks familiar. I believe his picture was in the newspaper. He was recently arrested for child abuse, kidnapping, and pedophilia.”

Teddy mentally added ‘reads newspapers’ to the list of reasons Danny was strange. He kept his steps slow and measured, not letting on that he knew he was being followed.

“What is the exact address of the safe house?” Danny asked.

Teddy rattled it off, eyes darting around the street. There wasn’t anyone else there, just him, Danny, and whoever was following them.

“Can you run while holding me?” Danny hissed, squirming slightly in his grip again. Teddy cursed, almost losing him again, but forgave Danny immediately when he revealed the reason he’d moved. Danny’s knife had been swapped for what looked like a police-grade taser gun, the blocky black casing huge in Danny’s small hand.

“Probably,” Teddy hedged, “at least for a bit.”

“When you pass that lamppost, break into a run,” Danny said, nimbly loading his taser. “Since you are carrying me, he will be faster than you. When he gets close enough, I will pull myself up and shoot him over your shoulder. Drop me if you must, but do not step on me.”

“Yeah, okay,” Teddy said, well beyond questioning it at this point. The lamppost was coming up. It was the last dark one before a long line of still lit ones – probably why Danny chose it. Teddy did his level best to not look like he was gearing up to run. He kept his pace the same, didn’t glance over his shoulder any more than was normal in Crime Alley. Then, when he passed the lamppost, he bolted.

Instantly, footsteps started up behind him. They were loud, but from speed, not weight. The man was faster than him, Danny had been right about that, and running with a kid in his arms was harder than Teddy had expected it to be.

He didn’t even make it three lampposts before Danny’s hand dug harshly into his shoulder and the kid’s weight shifted, almost throwing Teddy off balance. The taser went off by his ear with a sharp snap and a crackling thrum of electricity. There was a strangled noise from behind him, and a body hit the ground.

Danny cursed in Teddy’s ear. “Keep running!”

Teddy did just that. The door he needed was just across the street; he was so close. But the footsteps were following them again, unsteady but fast, and gaining quickly.

A gun – a real gun – went off from somewhere Teddy couldn’t see, and the man behind them screamed, hitting the ground again with a much more decisive thud.

“You can slow down,” Danny said, his voice perfectly calm despite everything that had just happened.

“Where did that gunshot come from?” Teddy demanded, reluctantly slowing to a nervous speedwalk.

“Up here,” a familiar voice called, and Teddy craned his neck to look up at the window of the apartment building he was hurrying towards. A shock of red hair and green eyes so bright they were visible even from three stories down, practically glowing in the night. “You two looked like you could use a hand.”

“Todd,” Danny scowled, hand tightening on his taser. “Your interference was-”

“Very helpful, thanks,” Teddy interrupted, tearing his gaze away from Boss to push through the door into the building.

This elevator worked, fortunately, and it took only a few seconds to get up to the third floor. Danny fumed silently the whole time, but didn’t say anything or stab Teddy, so he was going to count it as a win.

Boss was standing in the doorway of the safe house apartment when the two of them got there, and Danny tutted indignantly at him.

“Hey, brat.” Boss grinned at Danny.

“Imbecile,” Danny responded in kind, green eyes flashing.

Teddy ignored them both, scooting past Boss to deposit Danny on the couch. Danny gladly let go of him, his impatient noise cut off by a sharp inhale of pain.

“You’ve been stabbed,” Boss said blandly.

“Incredible observation, Todd, you should be a detective,” Danny snapped.

“Nobody calls me ‘Todd’, brat,” Boss sighed. “Did you at least take the antidote?”

“I am neither a fool nor an amateur.” Danny crossed his arms defensively over his chest, and Teddy recognized the stubborn set of his jaw.

“You’re the baby brother,” Teddy realized, piecing together what little he knew about Boss’s siblings from thirdhand information.

Both of them turned to him, identical green eyes locking onto Teddy. Oookay, he didn’t like that. He did not like that. They had different face shapes, different skin tones, and even different hair textures, not to mention the fact that Boss was built like a brick wall while Danny looked more like a sea anemone – spiky and vicious but absolutely tiny – but their eyes were the exact same shade of unnatural, glittering green.

 Danny tutted, turning to Boss with a judgmental look. “You must be either a fool or an amateur, to so easily let vital information slip.”

“Your name isn’t vital information, brat,” Boss said absently, “and Robbie volunteered.”

That made both Danny and Teddy falter.

“He told me you blackmailed him,” Danny tried.

“He suggested it, then had to get blackmailed into it,” Boss shrugged. “Are you surprised?”

Danny paused for a moment, then shook his head. “That is very like R- Robbie.”

“You can go now,” Boss said, turning to Teddy. “I can handle the midget.”

“Todd!”

Boss didn’t even glance at Danny, but a little smirk twitched at the corners of his mouth.

“Yes, sir,” Teddy said, retreating to the door. “Thanks for the assist.”

“Any time.”

The door shut behind Teddy, and he took a deep breath. He pulled out his phone, flipped to the group chat that had all the executives and deputies but not the Boss himself, and quickly typed a message.

<Teddy> Ull never guess who I met

<Gil> Tell

<Teddy> Boss’s baby brother danny

Several people are typing…

Teddy grinned, wandering back to the elevator. For once, he had the new gossip.

Chapter Text

Hound considered himself pretty easygoing for a gang member. Sure, he wasn’t above kicking heads in or breaking every bone in someone’s hand, but it wasn’t like he went out to do it for fun. It was his job to wander the streets, look in on the whorehouses, make sure nobody was selling or buying things they shouldn’t. Sometimes that meant delivering a threat or an ultimatum. Other times, Hound caved in skulls and shattered bones. It was just business.

Hound suspected that tonight, it was personal.

With his height and years of streetside ‘training,’ Hound was fast. He had once successfully outrun Nightwing, back before Hound had ditched his enemies in Bludhaven and relocated to Gotham. Unfortunately, nobody could run very well with a bullet in their side.

Well, maybe a Bat could. And actually, Hound was pretty sure he’d seen Boss go jumping between rooftops with a knife wedged between his armor plates.

Suffice it to say that Hound, at least, wasn’t up to his usual performance with a bullet lodged between his ribs. His trio of pursuers were gaining quickly, and if they’d been smarter with their ammo, Hound would have probably been dead already.

Hound tore around a corner, kicking off a wall and barely snagging the bottom rung of the ladder, hauling himself up onto a fire escape. The three people chasing him rounded the corner a moment later, and Hound finally got a good loock at their faces. Two were strangers, but the one in the lead was unfortunately familiar.

“Julian Charles,” Hound sighed, leaning against the cage around the fire escape. “don’t you ever let anything go?”

Julian snarled at him, hand clenched around the grip of his empty gun. “Don’t you ever stop running away?!”

“Only when I’m winning,” Hound said mildly. “How are your missing friends?”

The two thugs turned vicious at that, which was what Hound had expected. They’d tried to corner him, pincer style, and Hound had made sure that his original attackers wouldn’t be running after him. He was pretty sure he’d left at least one of them alive, but they weren’t in any sort of shape to go chasing people through the streets.

“Do you know who we are?” snapped the man to Julian’s right – square shaped face, shaggy dark red hair, eye bags for days – “We’re the Full Moon gang!”

“Oh my, the Full Moon gang? From Bludhaven?” Hound’s voice practically oozed concern. The three of them all started to light up, viciously delighted despite the transparent falseness in Hound’s tone. “Wait, aren’t you just all a bunch of Mooners?”

“Why you-!” Eye Bags furiously yanked a small-caliber pistol from his belt and the other Full Moon thug – squinty eyes, blonde buzzcut, cheekbones so sharp they could cut glass – followed his lead.

Hound tensed, easing away from the fire escape and preparing to jump down the moment they lifted their guns.

“Hello?” an unfamiliar voice called down the alley. It was a woman’s voice. Young, though probably not a minor. Concerned, but not as wary as most would be in Crime Alley.

Hound froze. The Full Moon thugs turned towards the mouth of the alley.

“What is happening?” the voice was coming closer, and a moment later, she turned the corner. Small, with Asian features and dark eyeshadow, color-striped black hair tied up in a high ponytail. A black leather half-jacket hng open around her shoulders over a black corset and her studded black combat boots were at odds with her fishnet stockings and lacy skirt.

“This is none of your concern,” Julian snarled, pointing his still-empty gun at the woman.

Her gaze flickered over the whole scene – Hound on the fire escape, Julian and the Full Moon thugs standing beneath them, rapidly dimming sky, blood splattered on all three of them – and Hound expected her to immediately get the heck out of dodge. Nobody in their right mind would stick around a showdown like this, not if they wanted to keep all their bones intact and organs on the inside of their body. Instead, the woman’s eyes narrowed, and her gaze locked onto Hound.

“You are Hound. Red Hood’s Hound.”

Hound almost fell off his perch.

“Hound?” Julian asked while Hound tried to recover from the fact that this little slip of a goth girl had not only refused to run from the confrontation, but had recognized him on sight. “What, did you need to put yourself above us? Were you too good for us normal people, Garry?”

“It’s Gerrard,” Hound snapped automatically, still watching the unfamiliar woman. Her eyes had sharpened, stance shifting, and Hound was beginning to pick up on why she had been so confident.

She locked eyes with him – warrior to warrior, predator to predator, weapon to weapon – and Hound understood. Hound had met a lot of dangerous people in his time. Some threw their weight around like it was petty cash, others covered it up or tucked it away for emergencies to collect dust. The most truly dangerous took their strength and their power and forged it into a weapon. Hound had always been better at the former, more inclined to just do what he wanted and let the consequences fall where they would. This woman – whoever she was, wherever she had come from – was decidedly the latter.

Hound swung himself down from the fire escape, driving all of his redirected weight into Julian’s chest. Something buckled under the blow, and a curl of satisfaction unfurled in his chest despite the pain that shot across his ribs at the same time. Hound twisted away from Eye Bags’s wild swing, then almost stumbled as his ribs lit up with agony.

Cheekbones was lifting his gun and Eye Bags was coming in for a second strike and Hound had to breathe.

A black blur shot past him, and Cheekbones’s gun went flying, clattering against the wall as he screeched. Eye Bags turned on the woman, momentarily ignoring Hound, but she was untouchable, moving like a shadow. Her responding attack was brutally efficient, strikes so precise it looked like Eye Bags was ducking into her blows.

In seconds, both of the Full Moon thugs were laid out on the ground next to Julian, and Hound was leaning heavily against the wall, forcing breath through screaming ribs.

“Okay?” the woman asked, concerned.

“Bullet,” Hound forced through clenched teeth. “Might have cracked ribs. You have a gun?”

“Why?”

Hound waved his free hand vaguely at Julian, who was clearly still alive. “He’s not going to leave me alone until I kill him.”

The woman’s face went hard, set like a stone. “No.”

“What?”

“No. Dishonorable.”

“What?”

“Help you,” the woman said, not at all answering his question. “Find home.”

“There’s a safe house-”

“No,” she interrupted. “Not safe house. Headquarters.” She spun in a slow circle, then pointed. “That way.”

Hound gaped at her, unease mixing with shock in his gut. That- that was exactly right. How did she know where headquarters was? She wasn’t an employee, he knew that. Unless she worked under Julia, but Hound had gotten to know the prostitutes better than anyone else, and he was pretty sure he’d recognize all of them under the makeup.

“Can you walk?” the woman asked, grabbing his hand.

The pain in his chest had faded from a bonfire to a torch, which was probably the best he was going to get. “Sure.”

“This way.”

Hound stumbled after the woman as best as he could, trying not to put too much of his weight on her. She was so tiny, and he was huge in comparison, and fighting skills didn’t always necessarily correlate to loadbearing capacity.

As they walked, Hound tried to think through the facts he had. His head was getting a little fuzzy – probably related to the slowly-growing splotch of crimson on his shirt – but he figured there were only two explanations. The first was that someone – most likely Philip or Julia – had an outside contract for bodyguards, and this woman was one of them. Or… or she was a spy.

She didn’t look like a spy. Her body language was open and friendly, and she clearly already knew the route to headquarters, so she didn’t even need him. Also, Hound really hoped she wasn’t a spy, because then he might have to fight her off and… Well. He’d seen her fight. He was already injured. She could kill him in a heartbeat.

“Here,” the woman said, stopping at a side door. “Code?”

Hound shuffled forward, carefully angling his body so she couldn’t see the code he put in. It was probably useless. All she had to do was wait around in the alley for a while and someone less careful would come through. She could even just charm or bribe someone into letting her in if she felt like it. But it made Hound feel at least a little better.

“Need help?” the woman asked, depositing Hound in the makeshift medical center.

“Uh, no?” Hound said, not really believing it himself. “You’re not supposed to be in here, anyway.”

She shrugged at him, smiling, then skipped out the door, vanishing from view. Hound debated getting up to follow her, but his ribs twinged at him and he decided against it. She was probably just seeing herself out. He hoped.

Hound sighed, digging his phone out and sending a quick text to Alex. ‘There is an unknown person in HQ. She’s a small Asian woman in her twenties with a goth outfit and dark hair. She helped me fight off some old enemies.’

He quickly put his phone away again, ignoring the increasingly frantic texts Alex was sending him. Alex was internal security, so it was literally in his job description to be as high strung as a feral chihuahua. That did not make him any more fun to deal with.

By the time Alex had stopped blowing up his phone, Hound had dug the bullet out of his side, decided seeing a real doctor wasn’t necessary, and started wrapping his ribs. Unfortunately, Alex had apparently opted to come to the source directly.

The door crashed open and a whirlwind of frantic energy burst through.

“What did you do!?” Alex demanded, vibrating in place and clearly moments away from grabbing Hound by the shoulders and aggressively shaking him. “You can’t just say stuff like that! Who is she?! Where did she come from!? Where did she go!?”

“Cotton Eye Joe,” Hound muttered, tugging on his bandage.

“This isn’t a joke!” Alex fretted, wringing his hands out, “We can’t just let random strangers go poking around headquarters, I don’t even know if she’s still here!”

“If who’s still here?”

Alex practically leaped out of his skin, but Hound just waved idly to Boss, who was leaning casually in the doorway in everything but his helmet, which was dangling limply from one hand.

“Uh, Boss! Hi, yeah, so, Hound let a stranger into the headquarters and then lost her, and I haven’t managed to find her yet but I’m looking, so-”

“Stranger?” Boss interrupted. “You mean Roxie?”

That actually struck Alex speechless for several seconds. “…who?”

“Roxie. My sister.”

“Is that how she knew where HQ was,” Hound mused, wiggling his fingers at the woman – Roxie, apparently – who had appeared behind Boss.

“Yeah, whole family knows now, just in case.” Boss pushed off the doorframe, then paused. “But you still let a stranger into headquarters.”

“Exactly!” Alex was quick to rally, practically vibrating with vindication, “we can’t have random people just showing up unannounced, and you can’t let strangers run around HQ unaccompanied!”

“How do you expect me to accompany her?” Hound grumbled, barely suppressing an eye roll, “I can barely walk.”

“Did good,” Roxie piped up, and Boss turned to her.

“At what?”

“Reading,” she said, like that meant anything to anyone. It apparently meant something to Boss, because he cast a considering glance back at Hound.

“Alright,” Boss sighed. “Alex, it’s fine. Nothing happened this time.” Alex ground his teeth, but subsided. “Hound, you were lucky it was Roxie and not a spy or informant. Don’t do it again.”

Boss made eye contact with both of them through the domino mask, making sure they’d registered his words. Then, he turned away. Roxie waved to Hound, who hesitantly waved back, and then the two of them vanished, door swinging shut behind them.

Hound glanced at Alex, who already had his phone out. A moment later, Hound’s phone dinged in his pocket. He knew the gist of the message before he even pulled his phone out.

<Alex> hound brought boss’s sister back to hq WITHOUT TELLING ME

Hound sighed. He knew Eugene had a special file all about Boss’s mysterious family, and the furor of Teddy’s encounter with Danny had just barely died down. He was never going to hear the end of this.

Chapter Text

There were a lot of stereotypes about Gil’s profession. They were supposed to be the strong silent type, withdrawn and unremarkable. Endlessly patient and completely controlled, they subsisted solely on the energy of the universe, perpetually chasing the only emotion they could feel: the briefest thrill of death. Okay, maybe he’d exaggerated a bit at the end there. Either way, there was a certain way snipers were supposed to act. There were rules for this sort of thing, especially in Gotham, where image was everything.

Gil had never been the best at following rules.

Fortunately, Red Hood hired based on merit rather than keeping his image, so Gil had still managed to land a job. Unlike the cops, who had pretty much dismissed him as a suspect the second they saw him.

Now someone please explain to him why he was in the slammer anyway.

Gil sighed, leaning back on the metal bench. He fiddled idly with the cuffs of his shirt, hands skimming the fabric and repetitively untucking and re-tucking his collar. He’d been stripped of all his fidget toys along with his handgun, knives, lockpicks, flask, and even his gum. Having nothing at hand to fidget with, Gil had resigned himself to slowly unraveling the threads of his shirt.

This was fine. He was fine. Completely fine and definitely not beginning to consider clawing his own skin off. He popped his knuckles one by one, then went through the motions of doing it again despite the lack of actual popping. He snapped his fingers. Ran a hand through his hair.

A door opened somewhere, and Gil’s gaze shot up. He desperately needed something to entertain him. Literally anything. At this point, he’d be willing to pick a fight he was sure to lose. Maybe provoke a cop.

A pair of cops appeared, marching a man down the hallway. One of them pulled a key from his pocket, and Gil’s fingers itched. He didn’t even want to break out, necessarily. He just wanted something to hold, maybe jangle the keys on the ring together. It made a really nice sound when the cop flipped it around, jamming a key into the lock.

The cops directed the man into the cell, and he slunk in with a slightly guilty look. On second glance, the term ‘man’ was a bit of an overstatement. He was a teenager at most, but built like a brick wall. He had dark skin, short dreads, and a gold hoop on his nose.

“Hey,” Gil said, rubbing the seam of his shirt between two fingers.

“Hi,” the guy said, subdued. He wouldn’t last a day like that in any real penitentiary, but since this was just the police slammer, Gil could give him a pass. All sorts of people ended up behind these bars, especially – as he’d come to learn – in Gotham.

“What’d they nab you for?” Gil asked, and he could tell the instant the guy clocked him as nonnative. His whole expression closed off, frame tensing and eyes narrowing as he swept a discerning gaze over Gil. Gil was used to that reaction. He moved like a Gothamite, acted like a Gothamite, doom-prepped like the most paranoid of Gothamites, but even after living in Gotham for several years, his accent was still Australian. The double-take followed by once-over happened every time he even ordered lunch.

“Nothin’ important,” the guy said, almost defensive as his eyes flickered away from Gil.

Gil hummed, plucking at a loose thread in the cuffs of his sleeve.

“I’m Gil,” he said, foot starting to bounce of its own accord. “Not entirely sure why I’m in here. Something about being a suspect without any actual proof, other than my accent of course.”

The guy hummed in agreement, gaze drifting around the cell.

“So, you got a name?” Gil asked, desperate to keep the meagre conversation going as long as was humanly possible.

“Zach,” the guy said after a beat.

“Are you sure you don’t want to tell me why you’re here?” Gil probed, absently sticking a fingernail between his teeth. Zach studied him for a moment, and then his gaze slipped away again. Finally, he sighed.

“Wrong place wrong time,” he said, “’m a suspect for some theft or ‘nother. I think they were after my necklaces.”

“They?” Gil asked, then realized he knew the answer already. “The cops.”

Zach sighed, not even bothering with a response. “How ‘bout you? What’cha ‘imp-li-ca-ted’ in?”

“Shooting.” Gil shrugged. “Somebody drops dead with a sniper bullet through their skull and everyone in a mile radius is a suspect. ‘Course, only the foreigner gets taken in.”

“Obviously,” Zach agreed sarcastically. “My brother would be ticked about that.”

“Oh yeah?”

Zach hummed, shaking dreadlocks out of his eyes. “He’s got a slick accent, on ‘count of ‘is mom. Different skin tone, face shape, you know. ‘f he weren’t twelve years old, he’d be ‘implicated’ in every crime in the neighborhood.”

Considering the condensed nature of Alley neighborhoods and the sort of people that usually frequented them, that was a lot of crime for a twelve-year-old to get up to. Not for the first time, Gil was glad he had stable, discrete housing near the center of the Alley where cops never ventured.

“So you’ve got siblings?” Gil asked, forcing his bouncing leg to still.

“Too many,” Zach sighed. “I swear, every time I turn around there’s a new one they never told me about.”

Gil blinked at him silently and Zach must have caught the confusion on his face, because he explained, “Adopted. Kind of. Hard to really classify my relationship with the Family, but Gramps’s got a picture o’ me on his desk, so I figure that’s close enough.”

Gil shrugged in agreement, decently familiar with inexplicable familial bonds himself.

“Are you, like, okay, man?” Zach asked, and Gil realized he’d started chewing on his fingernails again.

“ADHD,” Gil explained, reluctantly going back to unraveling his sleeve. “They confiscated all my fidget toys for no reason.”

Zach hummed, digging through his pockets for a moment before pulling out a laser pointer. “Here, you can have this.” He offered it to Gil, who accepted it without thinking.

On closer inspection, the laser pointer was way fancier than Gil had expected. It had a whole host of buttons, switches, and dials that changed the color and intensity of the beam or controlled the refraction. There was also a keyring attached to the base of the laser, which Gil immediately hooked onto his ring finger. Then, he paused and looked up at Zach.

“You sure, man? This looks pretty fancy.”

“It’s fine,” Zach waved his concern away, “I’ve got more.”

Which raised several questions in Gil’s mind, most notably why, but he didn’t bother to look a gift horse in the mouth. He had something non-destructive for his hands to do, which was a definite step up.

The door down the hall opened, and Gil allowed himself to hope for a minute. But the cop came up to the cell and called for ‘Zachary’, escorting him out and leaving Gil alone again.

Whoever had designed the laser had some kind of sense of humor. There were several lenses that Gil clicked into place with a neat flick, and along with the typical square, circle, and galaxy ones, there was a lens that made all the different Bat and Bird symbols. Gil spun the laser through Batman, Nightwing Batgirl, Black Bat, and mirrored Robin and Red Robin symbols before it looped back to Batman.

It was kind of like a mini Batsignal. Gil wondered idly how well the laser would reflect off the Gotham smog. Where had Zach even gotten it? Because now Gil wanted more.

The cop reappeared only ten minutes later, unlocking the cell and waving Gil out. He followed gladly, tucking the laser into his pocket and the unraveled threads of his shirt up his sleeve.

Instead of Philip or Ben on the other side, there was a youngish redhead in wraparound sunglasses. Gil was so distracted by TJ’s appearance that he almost tripped over the threshold, and he had to flail a hand out to catch the doorframe.

The nearby cops all shot him looks that ranged from disgusted to hateful. Gil barely even noticed.

“Hey, Gil,” Boss grinned, leaning casually against the intake desk.

“Hey, uh, TJ,” Gil managed.

“You two brothers?” the cop cut in impatiently.

“Yeah,” Boss said easily, which almost gave Gil another heart attack.

The cop grumbled, but hurried them through the sign-out process. Gil was barely paying attention. He just followed Boss, spilling out of the police station and onto the street. Hovering only a few feet from the door, hands in his pockets and slightly guilty grin on his face, was Zach.

“What is happening,” Gil wondered distantly.

“I’d like to know that, too,” Boss agreed, turning to Zach. Zach just shrugged.

“I don’t know why you’re looking at me. I already told you why I got arrested. I think Gil’s the most confused person here.”

Boss sighed, running a hand through his hair.

“You two know each other?” Gil asked cautiously, looking between them. They were in sharp contrast to each other with Boss’s light skin, flaming red hair, and sharp aura of danger standing next to Zach’s dark skin, black hair, and more muted presence.

“You remember how I said I was kind of adopted recently?” Zach asked, self-consciously rubbing the back of his neck.

“Kind of adopted?” Boss returned. “Like you could ever get free of us now.”

“Oh noooo,” Zach said sarcastically, “Anything but half a dozen brand new siblings to mess with.”

“That’s the spirit,” Boss agreed. “Do you need a ride?”

“Nah, Minnie’s pickin’ me up.”

There was something that Gil couldn’t quite put his finger on, a realization that was just out of reach. Maybe, if he’d been a Gothamite born and raised, he might have figured it out. As it was, he had it just on the tip of his tongue.

Boss raised an eyebrow behind his sunglasses and Gil lost whatever he thought he remembered. “And you agreed to that? Do you even value your life?”

“I’m workin’ on familial trust,” Zach said, “and, if she kills me, she’ll have to pester someone else to make ‘er waffles.”

“Fair,” Boss agreed, then turned to Gil. “You, I know, need a ride.”

“Also, my phone,” Gil agreed, “I don’t suppose you brought my phone?”

“I came for Zach,” Boss said, not at all apologetic. “I didn’t even know you were here. Why would I bring your phone?”

Gil shrugged, spinning a dial on the laser in his pocket. “Just in case?”

“No, I don’t have your phone. You’ll have to get it yourself. Come on, I parked the car over this way.”

Gil sighed and trailed after Boss, waving goodbye to Zach, who was staring at a rapidly-approaching fuchsia motorcycle like it was a guillotine. Zach managed to wave back, looking like he was walking to his execution, and then Gil turned around the corner and lost sight of him. He mentally wished Zach good luck. Best-case scenario, judging by the rider’s color scheme, he’d have to wear a purple helmet, and that alone was a fate worse than death.

Chapter Text

Grey was not typically one for clubbing. He preferred to spend his free time reading, scrolling endlessly through Wikipedia, or, when he was feeling particularly sentimental, playing a videogame. There were very few things that could convince him to leave his routine. Unfortunately, Grey had spent a long time working for the Red Hood, and a lot of time working with a few specific people, all of which shared mostly the same moral code. That, combined with the closeness necessitated by the secrets and responsibilities the gang executives shared, Grey had found himself – for the second time in his life – with friends.

There were many upsides to having friends. For one, it meant Grey actually had names and numbers to put on his emergency contact list. There were people who would actually listen when Grey wanted to share a piece of likely-useless information he’d found in a book or online. There were also downsides.

At the moment, the downsides were shaped like a pool hall that doubled as a nightclub. Grey was good at pool. He might even go so far as to say he was great at pool. He was not great at nightclubs.

“Come on, live a little!” Ben urged, vaguely waving his drink. Everyone except Grey and Hound – who was the designated driver – already had some sort of drink in hand. Considering the whole trip was a birthday celebration for Teddy, who had – as best as he could tell – just turned seventeen, that was mildly concerning. It was Gotham, though. Grey was sure Teddy had tasted alcohol before he could even write his name.

“Or I could take the place of designated driver,” Grey countered blandly, “So Hound could get something.”

Hound flashed Grey a sly look in the middle of lining up his shot, and Grey suspected he wouldn’t be wriggling out of this. “I’m good, actually,” Hound said casually, then snapped his cue forward in a perfectly-aimed shot. “It’s my turn, anyway.” The cue ball bounced off of four balls and two cushions, neatly pocketing three striped balls.

“You heard the man.” Gil grinned into his mug. “Have some fun for once in your life. Get a girl’s number or something.”

Grey’s face twitched slightly with his irritation, the only reaction he allowed himself as he glanced away from the game and towards the bar. Naturally, the bar was straddling the line between the pool hall and nightclub sections of the establishment. Just looking at the painfully bright, seizure-inducing lights made Grey’s head spin.

Philip moved to take Hound’s place, cocking an eyebrow at Grey. “I can’t help but notice that you’re still here.”

“I’m going,” Grey said blandly, pushing himself off from the table he’d been leaning on. As Grey reluctantly wound his way away from the table, he heard the clacking of balls and Philip’s cursing. A brief smirk flashed across his face, unnoticed by anyone around him. Philip was good at pool, but not nearly at Hound or Grey’s level. He didn’t stand a chance.

Grey sidled up to the bar as far from the nightclub side as possible. He ordered something that tasted decent and wasn’t too alcoholic. A bartender slid the drink onto the counter and Grey immediately lifted it to his lips. It was sweet and fruity and didn’t taste like alcohol at all. Just the way he liked it.

The music from the nightclub shifted into some sort of screaming, throbbing, cacophony. The lights flared along with it, and Grey screwed his eyes shut, desperately trying to fend off the stabbing headache that threatened to consume him.

Someone collided with him, and Grey’s eyes snapped open, a biting chastisement on his lips. The person was already gone, though, vanishing into the swarm of people who were, for some reason, moving towards the nightclub.

Grey settled for a snarl in the vague direction he was pretty sure the person had vanished into, then turned back to his drink. It had definitely not been worth getting so close to the nightclub. Just as Grey was about to take another sip, a hand snaked in from the side and grabbed his wrist.

“Don’t drink that.”

“What!?” Grey snapped, outrage building on the simmering irritation in his chest. “Let go of me!”

 “Sorry,” the owner of the hand said, quickly releasing her grip. “I just wanted to warn you. I saw someone slip something into your drink.”

Grey’s head shot up, and he finally looked at the person who had grabbed him. She had long brown hair shot through with half a dozen different shades of purple stripes that was falling in layered waves around her face. She was wearing elaborate silver hoop earrings, a black off-the-shoulder top with a short, violently purple sequined skirt, and stilettos. Under the outfit, she was fit and lean, with ample cleavage, chaotic but professionally applied makeup, and a myriad of neatly concealed scars.

“What did you put in my drink?” Grey asked flatly.

“What? Me?” She looked genuinely taken aback, as far as Grey could tell. “I didn’t do anything to it! I saw someone push past you and drop something in your glass, I just thought I’d warn you.”

Grey tilted his head slightly, inspecting her again to see what he’d missed. There was a very cleverly concealed weapon strapped to her side, under her shirt. Not a gun, but maybe a knife or brass knuckles. She probably knew how to use it, too. Her build and stance screamed brawler, and judging by how many scars she had, she was either very good at it or very, very lucky. And nobody was that lucky in Gotham.

“Why?” Grey asked, absently sliding his drink aside.

“Because I didn’t want anyone to get drugged?” The woman tried. Grey hummed in acknowledgement, wincing slightly as a buzzing baseline started up in the nightclub. It was not out of the question for there to be someone willing to step in and help a stranger in such a low-risk, high-reward sort of scenario. It was rare, but not unheard of.

“Are you, like, okay?” the woman asked, and Grey opened his eyes again – when had he closed them? – to find her staring at him with open concern.

“I was not built for nightclubs,” Grey said shortly. “If you’ll excuse me…”

“Yeah, sure, I guess.” The woman gave him a cautious wave, and Grey gladly escaped the conversation, retreating back to the pool tables.

“You find a cute girl?” Gil asked the instant Grey was in hearing range. “I saw you chatting up that brunette in the purple.” Gil wiggled his eyebrows outrageously, which Grey ignored with the ease of long practice.

“Someone drugged my drink,” Grey said shortly, “she alerted me of that fact.”

“And?” Hound asked. “Did you get her name? Number?”

“I don’t need either of those,” Grey told him, “as I’ll never see her again.”

The next instant, as if orchestrated just to prove him wrong, the woman’s shout carried over the music. “Grey!”

He spun in her direction automatically, just in time to see a man with a knife fade out of the crowd. Grey acted on instinct, stepping just out of range of the man’s strike and lashing out with his leg. The man stepped over the attack, and Grey was in the process of shifting away from his next swing when the woman in purple appeared seemingly from nowhere.

She was wearing a pair of well-worn brass knuckles, the weapons at odds with her glitzy appearance, and she definitely knew how to use them. She caught the knifeman with a single brutal blow that sent him toppling to the floor, knife skittering from his hand. Grey raised his eyebrows at the sight, but said nothing, slowly relaxing from his combat-ready stance.

“Are you alright?” the woman asked, flipping her hair out of her face with a practiced toss of her head.

“Yes,” Grey said, tracing the outline of the brass on her fingers. There were tiny letters carved into the brass knuckles, and they were almost obscured by the scrapes and dents in the metal, but Grey could just barely make out the initials ‘MM’.

“Oh, good,” the woman dropped her hands, and Grey looked up at her face, eyes narrow and mind racing. It wasn’t out of the question for a good Samaritan to intervene if they saw someone getting roofied. Generally, nobody that wasn’t a very close friend would step between someone and an armed attacker.

“How did you know my name?” Grey demanded, stepping in closer.

The woman blinked at him, startled, and then realization flashed over her face. “Ah…”

“I’d like to know that, too,” Ben put in, stepping up behind Grey. While Grey could hold his own in pretty much any even fight, Ben looked like he could and would crush you like a bug.

“I…” The woman looked between Ben, Grey, and Hound, who had followed Ben over. Then, she deflated with a resigned sigh. “My name’s Minnie,” she admitted. “I’m TJ’s sister.”

Grey rapidly reassessed her, eyes flicking over her figure. The scars were still there, expertly covered by makeup and false skin, but visible if you knew what you were looking for. The outline of a weapon under her shirt was also still there, despite the brass knuckles in her hands. What Grey hadn’t picked up on last time – what finally sealed the deal now – was the look in her eyes.

Every one of the Boss’s siblings that had been tested had proven themself a very dangerous person, from the twelve-year-old who could think up and execute an effective plan on the fly with a knife in his leg to the older brother who could play the role of the Red Hood for over an hour without slipping once. Grey’s initial conclusion still held true, that Minnie was likely a blatant, punch-you-in-the-face sort of dangerous rather than some of her siblings’ more subtle threats, but Grey suspected that even he would struggle in a one-on-one fight with her.

“Thank you,” Grey said finally, and from the shock on her face, he suspected she had more information on him than just his name.

“What’s going on over here?” Philip, Gil, Alex, and Teddy finally hurried over, pool cues still in hand.

“We found another one of Boss’s siblings,” Ben grinned, passing Hound his cue to hold out his hand to Minnie. “I’m Ben.”

Minnie grinned and shook his hand. “I know.”

“You want to come join us?” Gil offered, “You could even out our numbers.”

Minnie tilted her head, eyebrows furrowing in thought. Her gaze flicked from the unconscious man on the ground to the nightclub and back to Gil. “Sure,” she said after a moment, “Why not?”

All seven of them – eight now – made their way back to the tables they’d reserved. Minnie snagged a cue from the rack and paired off with Philip.

“So, Boss’s sister,” Ben mused, chalking his cue and waiting for Teddy to be done shooting.

“That’s what I said,” Minnie said, in the process of racking the balls.

“You don’t look much like him,” Ben said. “Not at all, actually.”

Minnie had brown hair where Boss had red, hazel eyes where Boss’s were violently green. She was built different, too, different face shape and bone structure though with the same bulky strength.

“Half-sister, really,” Minnie allowed, neatly breaking the rack. “His mom’s a bit crazy- eh, well, a lot crazy, and not around most of the time. I think Dad’s still technically married to her, but it doesn’t really mean a lot.”

Several of them hummed or chuckled in acknowledgement. Eugene yelped as he accidentally sunk the 8-ball with only half his object balls pocketed and Gil snorted at him like he hadn’t done the same thing on their last game.

“So did you two grow up together?” Philip asked, watching Alex line up his shot.

“Not really,” Minnie shrugged. “TJ and Danny were both mostly raised by their mom, and so was I. We only got the whole family back together a few years ago.”

Grey could tell that Ben and Philip were coming to their own conclusions. They were matching up people with their parents, Rob almost identical to Boss had to be full siblings, and Danny’s eyes were apparently such a perfect match for Boss’s unusual eye color that there was no other explanation. Alvin leaned more towards the brown haired, brown eyed side of the family, and Zach had straight admitted that he was adopted. Grey wasn’t sure he was drawing the same conclusions, though.

Sure, TJ and Rob were very similar, down to their skin tone and face shape, but Grey had grown up in the Alley and he’d watched other Alley kids grow up with him. When Rob wasn’t playing the part of Red Hood, he wasn’t from the Alley. He was familiar with it, sure, knew the lingo and the accent and the streets, but he wasn’t born with Gotham in his veins.

Grey hadn’t met any of the others face-to-face, so he couldn’t say for sure, but he knew for a fact that Rob, at least, hadn’t been born in Gotham. Which meant Minnie was lying. Indirectly, sure. And Grey wasn’t sure about which part or for what exactly, but she hadn’t told them the whole truth.

Honestly, though, Grey wasn’t planning to press her on it. Everyone had secrets, and if the secrets were about his Boss – the best boss Grey had worked under since he’d been fifteen and desperate for something to eat – then Grey wasn’t going to pry. He could suck it up and suspend his disbelief, and if it ever became important, Boss would tell them the truth himself.

“No wonder you guys keep popping up,” Gil sighed, carefully lifting the rack. “He showed up and immediately broke away from the family to start his own gang?”

“Pretty much,” Minnie hummed. “Dad was ticked, upset that TJ hadn’t even asked him for any tips. Only got more ticked later when he learned TJ had broken into Dad’s records to research potential employees.”

There was a beat while that sank in, and Grey watched a myriad of emotions flicker across Eugene’s very expressive face.

“Do you know whose records he found there?” Rowan was the one to ask, and Minnie hummed distractedly, focused intently on the tricky shot she was trying to line up.

“Not sure. I think Grey and Eugene were labeled as third party consultants and Philip’s name was on the file somewhere. Couldn’t tell you what else, though. I’m not really in charge of that sort of stuff. You’d have to ask TJ. Or Dad, I guess.”

Minnie took her shot. The cue ball bounced off two cushions and neatly sunk the eight-ball, and Minnie straightening with a satisfied smile.

“I think I’ve gotta go,” she said, pausing to check her watch, “Got a, uh, meeting to attend. Thanks for letting me join you, and try not to get drugged, Grey.” They all knew what ‘meeting’ meant in that tone of voice. It was Gotham, after all.

She tossed them a wave and a wink, slipped her cue into the rack, and vanished into the nightclub’s flashing lights. Grey watched her go with an expressionless face and a flicker of respect. He could practically hear Eugene’s mind already churning behind him, and after a moment, Grey turned with an imperceptible sigh to head off the chaos. Eugene may have been slightly too invested in the mystery of Boss’s family.

Chapter Text

Alex had still not forgiven Hound. Sure, Roxie was Boss’s sister, she’d already known where Headquarters was, and according to Boss she even had the codes to get in. There had been no way for Hound to know that, though. And Alex wasn’t going to let him forget it.

Security around HQ had been souped up at all points, cameras and motion sensors, a guard at every entrance and keycard or passcode access required for everything. Mandatory security training for everyone. Alex had been given free reign of an actual almost-legitimate workplace and he was taking full advantage of that. He was locking down on any possible leak.

So, all the new security measures taken into account, could someone please tell him why there was a stranger sitting at his desk.

She had brown hair tied up into twin buns, stray whisps falling into her face, and she had huge square glasses that were slowly but surely sliding down her nose. She was wearing an obnoxiously bright red flower-patterned blouse and, Alex noticed after a moment, was in a wheelchair.

A wheelchair. She was in a wheelchair and had gotten past all his layers of security anyway. In a wheelchair.

“Close your mouth or you’ll catch flies,” the stranger said casually, in the middle of typing something on Alex’s computer.

“Who the h-ll are you?!” Alex exploded, finally managing to find his voice and his gun. He drew his gun, but kept it pointed at the floor. “How the f-ck did you even get in here?!”

“I’m Avery,” the stranger said blandly, shooting Alex a judgmental look behind her glasses. “And I rolled.”

“You- what?”

“I rolled,” Avery repeated, “Keep up, will you? Now, about your shipping routes-”

“What the f-ck do you think you’re doing!?” Alex seethed.

“I’m testing your security, like I was hired to do,” Avery said drolly, pushing her glasses up to level an exasperated look at Alex. “Don’t you ever keep in contact with your own operations?”

“You- stay there. Don’t move,” Alex ordered, and flicked the muzzle of his gun at her briefly just to make sure she knew he was willing to use it. With his other hand, he pulled out his phone and jabbed at his contacts list.

“Hello, this is Philip Keller,” Philip answered almost immediately.

“Philip, did you hire some- some third party outsider to test our security?” Alex demanded.

“I did not,” Philip said, and Alex was all ready to shoot Avery – somewhere nonlethal, obviously, so they could interrogate her – when Philip added, “but I think Boss did.”

“What?” Alex growled. “And he didn’t tell me?”

“He only mentioned it to me in passing,” Philip said, the casual shrug evident in his voice. “You’ll have to ask him about it.”

Alex snarled and jabbed the ‘hang up’ button before immediately dialing another number.

“Talk,” Boss said, ever efficient.

“Did you hire someone to test security?” Alex repeated.

Boss hummed, then said, “Oh, yeah, Avery. You can trust her, I called her in.”

“In the future,” Alex snapped, “some warning would be nice. I can’t do my job if you keep throwing unknowns at me!”

“That is your job,” Boss snorted, and the line beeped. He’d hung up.

Alex cursed, shoving his phone in his pocket and his gun in its holster. “Fine,” he snapped at Avery, “what do you want?”

“You’re in charge of internal security, right?” Avery said, suddenly all business. Alex nodded brusquely, and Avery turned back to her computer, straightening in her chair slightly. It was only then, when he really took the time to look at her, that Alex realized she didn’t have any legs. Nothing past the knee on the right and barely even a nub on the left.

“What are you doing?” Alex demanded, slightly less caustic now that he knew she was actually supposed to be there but still generally against anyone messing with his computer.

“Looking up your shipping routes,” she said easily. “Did you know it only took me three tries to guess your password?”

“How?” It was a combination of two old, old nicknames for Ben and him that neither of them had used in a literal decade. No one should have known it. Not even Hound had been around when they were using them.

“Oh, I hacked your social media profiles first.”

Which only raised more questions in Alex’s mind. None of which he was going to voice.

“Okay,” Alex sighed, “Why are you looking up the shipping routes?”

“To compare them to Philip’s shipping routes,” Avery said.

“They’ll be different,” Alex told her, “Philip only gives the real ones to the drivers, and even then only a few hours beforehand.”

“That’s good to hear,” Avery hummed, still working through Alex’s computer. “Hm, two-factor authentication, that’s good. You got your phone on you?”

“Yes, but it’s not routed to my phone,” Alex said, leaning over Avery’s shoulder, “I’ve got it to route a notification to my phone and watch, but if I accept the one on my phone then it locks the account down and sends an internal alert.”

“Nice,” Avery said, lifting Alex’s own watch and tapping on the notification on the screen.

“How did-”

“Your digital security is good, but you’re a bit lacking in personal situational awareness,” Avery said blandly, “And you underestimated me just because I’m crippled.”

Alex winced, in equal measure because of the frankly true statement about his situational awareness and the realization of his own internalized ableism. “Sorry.”

“Don’t apologize to me,” Avery said, tone sharp, “I’m not reprimanding for your ableism, just for underestimating your opponent. One of them is rude, the other is potentially deadly.”

Alex winced again, but Avery wasn’t paying attention to him. Apparently, she’d already gotten all the data she needed from his computer, because she was backing out of everything she’d opened and shutting it back down.

“Let’s go,” Avery said, “we’re checking with the unloaders.”

“I suppose you don’t need directions,” Alex sighed, holding the door open for Avery.

“On the contrary,” Avery said, “You didn’t have a map on your computer, and the blueprints I found online were for the original building, which has gone through a lot of renovations. I don’t know where practically anything is.”

“Then how’d you get to my office?”

Avery sent him a bland look. “…TJ let me in.”

Alex abruptly felt like slapping himself. Of course. “The loading bay is this way,” he said instead, “Or, ah, there’s, uh… stairs…”

“Is there an accessible route to the loading bay?” Avery asked briskly.

“Yeah, um, through the storage bay would probably work?”

“How many entrances are there to the loading bay?” Avery asked, unearthing a notepad and pen from the bookbag hanging from her wheelchair.

“Technically four,” Alex said, glad to be back on familiar ground. “Through storage, through the garage, and two doors on the street.”

“That’s a lot of points of access,” Avery noted, pen flying.

“One of the street accesses is a garage door. The opener is inside, and drivers call in to get the doors opened. The other’s got the same security as the rest of the external doors, and if it’s open, then the doors to the garage and storage bay are sealed.”

Avery hummed, still scrawling notes across her paper. “That would result in a lot of transporting, if they can’t move stuff directly from storage to a truck and vice versa.”

“A bit, yeah,” Alex shrugged, “But we’ve got a system, and the security is worth it.”

They stopped at the door to the storage bay and Alex checked the PIN pad. “Screen’s glowing green, that means the door’s open,” He explained briefly to Avery as he punched in his PIN, “If it’s dark, then it’s locked down, but it doesn’t look locked down.” Alex swiped his card through the reader and the door beeped softly.

Alex pulled the door open and stepped back, letting Avery wheel into the room. Everything was organized and strapped onto pallets, which sat pretty much flush with the wall. The pair of forklifts were parked neatly against the wall and there was a broad path down the center of the room. Avery hummed with approval and jotted something more on her pad.

“Who has access to this room?” Avery asked.

Alex shrugged. “People who need it. Philip, the loaders, me, the Bosses, that’s pretty much it. If anyone needs to come in once or twice, they come to me for a one-time code or get authorization to go in with someone else.”

“Why do you have access?”

“Because this is also the armory,” Alex waved vaguely at one of the boxes lined up on the wall. “All our gear comes out of stuff we sell.”

“Good to know.” Avery chewed idly on the end of her pen, “How about the loading bay?”

“Same thing,” Alex said. “People who need it. Loaders, drivers, some executives.”

“And TJ, obviously,” Avery said, not even seeming like she was paying attention.

“Yeah,” Alex said, but cast her a slightly suspicious glance. It was widely accepted that there were two bosses of the Merry Men. Sometimes, people would pick one to refer to, but it was very rare that anyone, when offered the choice, would pick TJ. Red Hood was designed to be noticed, to be talked about, to be always on the back of your mind. He was always what came up first.

“Oh, don’t look at me like that,” Avery said, and Alex quickly looked away. “I have eyes in my head and informants just as good as yours. He’s got a halfway decent disguise, but mostly what’s carrying him through is that no one’s asking hard questions.”

Alex had to admit, she was right. That and a few body doubles every now and then – mostly Rob and a man who looked like TJ that none of them had ever caught the real name of – were all that were keeping Boss’s tenuous ‘secret’ intact.

“It also helps that Minnie and Roxie talk to me,” Avery said, and Alex’s attention shot towards her. She was grinning at him, something sharp and knowing lurking behind her eyes.

“How many sisters does he have?” Alex lamented, and Avery just laughed.

“I’m not his sister. Technically. Kind of.”

Alex glared at her, but she just grinned. “We’ve got security to secure, don’t we?”

“Fine,” Alex huffed, jabbing at the PIN pad connected to the loading bay.

All in all, the inspection went surprisingly well. Alex could tell that Avery was begrudgingly impressed by his security and acknowledged the good job he’d done. She took notes on everything, but about halfway through Alex caught a glimpse of her paper and from the doodles in the margins and the clearly personal notes on the paper – ‘For B’s birthday: set up triple-authentication system?’ – that he suspected it was mostly a power play to try to get him to slip up.

“You’ve did well here,” Avery said once they’d finally circled back to Alex’s office, absently tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear. “TJ chose well, and from what I’ve heard of Ben and Hound, you’re not alone.”

Alex ignored the way that made him want to swell with pride. He was an adult and a professional. He didn’t need the approval of some random stranger to make him feel good about himself. Still, it was nice to be acknowledged by someone other than his oldest friends every once in a while.

Avery rolled away from Alex and vanished into Boss’s office, which was all the confirmation Alex needed that she was, if not his sibling, very close to his family. The instant she was gone, Alex whipped out his phone.

<Alex> 3rd party security inspec happnd today

<Alex> inspector was def from boss’s fam

<Hound> Should we have a conspiracy meeting?

Alex cringed at Hound – why did he have to text with proper punctuation and grammar and all that nonsense? Why couldn’t he just be normal? – but quickly typed out his reply.

<Alex> def. 30 min?

Responses poured in from all the executives, and thirty minutes later Alex was sitting in the smaller meeting room with Eugene, Teddy, Hound, Grey, Gil, and Ben. Julia was working and Philip was still traumatized by his own meeting with the Boss’s brother – which he refused to share anything but the bare info about – so it was just the seven of them.

“So, tell us what you’ve got,” Eugene said, leaning eagerly across the table.

“Her name is Avery,” Alex started, lacing his fingers with a sly grin. He built up from there, going in-depth with his impressions and observations about Avery. By the time he finished, Grey had a distinctly thoughtful expression, Ben, Gil, and Teddy all seemed interested for their own reasons, Hound was staring at the ceiling, clearly deep in thought, and Eugene looked like Alex had handed him the answer to life, the universe, and everything and like he’d swallowed a lemon in equal measure.

“Eugene?” Grey asked, breaking the silence that had fallen after Alex stopped talking. “Do you have a theory?”

Eugene had been more invested in Boss’s family than the rest of them. Alex hadn’t really paid a whole lot of attention to it, other than to make sure Hound knew his actions were unacceptable, even if it was revealed later that Roxie had been Boss’s sister. Still, even he knew that Eugene had been chewing on this puzzle like a bloodhound, more persistent and determined than a Bat. If there was some big, surprising answer, they all expected Eugene to come up with it.

“I think so,” Eugene said carefully, “but I don’t want to share it without doing a lot of research.” Which was fair. Research was very important, especially when spreading rumors. Still, Alex  was dying from the suspense. But whatever. He could wait. He could be patient. Yes, shut up, Ben, he could. Just wait and see!

Oh, G-d, how long was this going to take?

Chapter Text

Eugene had maybe gone a bit too far with this. The Boss’s family was the talk of the executives chat every time it came up, and Eugene couldn’t help but catalogue it. He’d made a list. A diagram. Most of them appeared unconnected at first. What he knew of their personalities was pretty normal for the Alley underground. Their names weren’t anything exceptional, except maybe Roxie. All together, though…

Zach was recently adopted. Rob, Boss, and Danny were the legitimate children, with Minnie and Roxie as the… less legitimate children. Avery was a tagalong, not actually related but simultaneously claiming the title of sister and aunt. If he sorted them into the proper order, that would leave Rob as the oldest and Danny as the youngest with Boss, Minnie, Roxie, and the newly acquired Zach in between. Boss went by TJ, but Danny had called him Todd. Rob, Roxie, Todd, Zach, Minnie, and Danny, with Avery as a close associate. Just a quick search of those names together was almost enough to close the case. What really sealed the deal was Alvin Draper.

According to Philip, Worm claimed to be an unaffiliated informant. From what information Eugene could dig up, that held true… for the alias ‘Worm’. The name Alvin Draper, however, had very strong ties with one very specific gang in particular. Well, not a gang, really. More like a Family.

An old Irish Family, old and dangerous. They didn’t have a designated territory in the city and they swept in and out of the criminal scene like errant breezes, but everyone knew their name. Was it coincidence or careful planning that the only ones they hadn’t met were the most notorious and easily recognizable?

The Family name was unmistakable, but the majority of the Family worked best flying under the radar. There were only two exceptions. Brian, rarely seen but often mentioned, known by most only by the codename Pyrite. The Family called him Mórathair, the king father. And the most infamous, the first one to show up in the city and unmistakable whenever he popped up to rile up the Gotham underground. His real name was Daniel, but he was only ever known as Matches.

Eugene looked at the compiled stack of evidence strewn across his desk, pinned to his bulletin boards, and pulled up on his computer. He’d seen back-alley trash heaps with more careful forethought and planning than his mess of an office.

With a sigh, Eugene went to disconnect his laptop from the monitor. He’d gathered all the data, done all the research. Now he just needed to sleep on it and see how he felt about it in the morning.

Eugene slung his satchel over his shoulder and made his way out of the building. It was mostly locked up for the night, only a few guards posted in subtle places. Upsides of keeping the location of your main base a secret: you didn’t have to worry as much about guarding it from potential attacks.

In all honesty, Eugene should have known better than to walk home alone at night in the Alley. He’d been walking for less than five minutes before a heavy, restraining arm fell over his shoulders.

“You know,” a low voice mused in his ear, “there’s a pretty hefty price on the head of any one of Red Hood’s executives, captured alive.”

Ice spilled down Eugene’s spine, and his breath caught in his throat. They’d looked into it, after someone had attacked Grey. It didn’t look well on a gang for their executives to be drugged or captured. They hadn’t managed to find out who had set the bounty, but they knew there was someone looking for the downfall of the Red Hood, and doing so by targeting his executives.

“What’s that got to do with me?” Eugene demanded, by now an expert at putting on a brave face and hoping that would scare away whoever was threatening him.

The man holding him chuckled, dark and low. “They published pictures with their wanted add, you know. Pictures of the executives and the two bosses.” Eugene’s step stuttered for a moment, and the man made a smug little huff sound. Eugene risked a glance to the right. He caught a glimpse of red sunglasses and the dangerous flash of teeth before hurriedly looking away again.

“Now I know that I’m not stupid,” the man said, “and I suppose I’ll give you a pass this time, but don’t bother to deny it again.”

“R-right,” Eugene managed, terrifyingly aware of the huge, possessive hand around his shoulders. The man was clearly strong, clearly dangerous, and clearly riding the line between lenient and truly upset.

“Here we are,” the man said as a sleek black limo pulled up on the street next to them. “Why don’t you come take a ride with me?”

“Sure,” Eugene agreed breathlessly, barely holding onto his thin façade of normalcy, and let himself be guided into the limo. The man slid in behind him, closing the door soundlessly and taking the seat across from Eugene.

Then, finally, Eugene got a good look at him.

He was huge, built like a brick wall, and unfortunately familiar. Red glasses, dark green suit coat, striped yellow-and-black shirt and slacks, and a downturned mustache. What really sealed the deal was the wide grin on his face and the matchhead sticking between his teeth.

“Eugene Gail, is it?” Matches G-dd-mn Malone said, teeth flashing. “I’ve been meaning to have a chat with you.”

“Is that so, sir?” Eugene asked, trying desperately to stall for time while his mind raced. Matches Malone was definitely, one hundred percent Boss’s dad. Unfortunately, that didn’t mean he wouldn’t go after Boss’s executives. It didn’t even mean he wouldn’t go after Boss. Minnie had said that Malone was upset with Boss after he split from the Malones to found his Merry Men.

“Oh, yes,” Malone tipped his head slightly to the side, studying Eugene behind his glasses. “You’ve figured me out, after all. I always want to talk to people who figure me out.”

Was that talk as in have an actual conversation, or talk as in have a… conversation. Eugene prayed it was the former. There were only two mob bosses that Batman had never gone after. Eugene didn’t doubt Boss would come for him if Malone took him off somewhere to have a conversation, but Eugene also really, really didn’t want to see the horror that would come from a clash between the Malones and the Merry Men.

Eugene knew the Merry Men, and he’d done his research on the Malones. The Merry Men – and especially a few choice executives – could hold their own for a while. But if they got into a real, bloody, tooth-and-nail-and-bullets war, the Malones would slaughter them.

“Figure you out?” Eugene asked carefully, watching Malone for any hint that this was going to get vicious.

Malone waved a hand vaguely, “Oh, you know.” Eugene really didn’t. “You connected the tangled web, figured out the original picture from scraps and ashes.”

Fire metaphors. There was a reason they called him ‘Matches’. Things tended to… mysteriously catch on fire around the Malones. Especially Matches and his son, Danny, but all of them had that little Malone spark. …no wonder Boss was always so liberal with his explosives. It was literally in his blood.

“So you just want to talk because I put together that you’re Boss’s Dad?” Eugene ventured tentatively. “This feels a little extreme for such a simple conversation.”

“Oh, I’m not just talking to you,” Malone said, and before Eugene had a second to process that, the door popped open.

Ben, Alex, and Hound filed into the car. Ben looked conflicted but Alex and Hound both had their trademark expression – decidedly ticked off and vaguely smug, respectively – still in place.

“Thanks for joining us, gentlemen,” Malone said smoothly, “Just sit tight for a couple minutes, we have a few more passengers to pick up.”

“Is someone going to tell us what’s going on?” Ben demanded, still looking more confused than truly upset.

“All in good time,” Malone grinned, and the car peeled away from the curb with a dangerous purr.

“This car is armored,” Hound said almost casually, knocking on the window next to him.

“Of course it is. It’s mine.”

And that was, evidently, that. The limo flowed through Gotham like one of Her own shadows, only stopping a few times to pick up more people. Gil had a suspiciously rifle-case-shaped bag slung over his shoulder, but neither Malone nor the man ushering Gil into the car saw any need to relieve him of it. Julia slipped into the car with a wad of bills in hand, her gaze flickering from Malone to Gil’s gun to the money. Teddy took one look at the inside of the car, glanced over his shoulder, and quickly settled between Julia and Ben. Phillip was literally backed into the car at gunpoint, and then Malone and the rest of them had to quickly talk him down.

Finally, the last to be picked up was Grey. He was standing on the curb with his bag over his shoulder, watching the limo approach. There wasn’t anyone standing next to him, and he didn’t even look surprised as the limo slid up next to him. He watched it with his typical snake-eyed stare, slipping into the almost-full backseat like an ice cube dropped in a drink.

“I’m glad you all could make it,” Malone said smoothly, apparently completely unphased by the presence of almost a dozen people with the means, opportunity, and potentially motive to kill him then and there.

“What the f-ck do you want, you b-stard!?” Philip snapped, arms crossed over his chest to glare at Malone. Philip, Eugene noted, had been relieved of his weapons. His holsters were empty, and the hilt typically sticking out of his belt was suspiciously absent.

“Now, Mr. Gail here has already reasoned it out,” Malone said, pretty much ignoring Philip completely, “I know that. But I’m interested in how much the rest of you had figured out.”

“You’re Matches Malone,” Grey said blandly, gaze sharp. Eugene could tell that he was excited in a very Grey sort of way. There was a puzzle laid out in front of him, and Malone was going to tweak it just a few inches and everything would fall into place. Eugene had seen Grey look at him that way, had seen that look on his face as they sat through Red Hood’s first sales pitch for his executives, saw it only a little while ago when Minnie showed up, and now it was here. Maybe it was a characteristic of the Malone family, to pull Grey’s brain into full gear.

“I am,” Malone said easily, “anything else?”

The car was almost stiflingly silent. Cautious glances and encouraging looks flashed across the space. Eugene said nothing, watching Teddy lock eyes with Grey and Philip look away from Hound.

“You’ve got it,” Malone said, leaning forward and tipping his glasses down to pin Teddy to his seat. “You know what I’m going to say.”

“Sorry? I dunno what you’re talkin’ ‘bout, Sir,” Teddy said in a tone unique to street kids that balanced on the perfect knife edge between respectful and threatening.

“Oh, don’t bother with the fake denial,” Malone said, and a hint of danger slipped into his tone. “No need to lie to me, kid. Spit it out.”

“You’re Boss’s dad!” Eugene blurted.

Malone’s icy look shot to him, and Eugene tried valiantly to sink into the seat behind him. Slowly, Malone sat back in his seat.

The car had gone terrifyingly silent. Then, it exploded with noise.

Ben was shouting, Philip was spluttering his way up into a proper blue-in-the-face rage, and Hound was laughing. Eugene’s eyes found Grey, desperate for an island of calm in the chaos. Instead of the glacial focus Grey was famous for, he looked stricken. Eyes wide, face paling slightly, hands shaking. If Eugene didn’t know better, he would have said Grey looked scared. Grey didn’t do scared. In situations that would scare a lesser man, Grey got calculating and determined.

“Ah, calm down,” Malone said, voice cutting under the cacophony of noise. Unfortunately, it didn’t even make a dent in the chaos. Malone sighed, leaned back in his seat, and shouted, “SHUT UP!”

Everyone in the car shut up in record time.

“I don’t care where you came from, how TJ found you, or what he’s paying you to do,” Malone said sharply. “You aren’t going to fight me, I’m not going to hurt you, and I see no reason why we can’t be friends.”

“Except that you kidnaped us,” Philip hissed.

“Hmm, so I did,” Malone said, tone too casual. “Now, I wonder, why might I kidnap you specifically, Philip Keller?”

As one, the entire car turned to Philip, who had gone a slightly concerning shade of gray. Malone, Eugene knew, was infamous for his policy on retaliation. His punishments always fit the crime, and the Malones hated human traffickers… almost as much as… Boss… did… huh. Well, Eugene should have put that together a bit earlier.

“I’ve never kidnapped anyone,” Philip defended unconvincingly. Even Eugene could see his hand shifting towards where his gun should have been.

“Oh, no, of course not,” Malone agreed, “That’s why you were allowed in here to talk to me instead of, hm, let’s say taken to a secondary location.”

The Malones didn’t traffic, and they very rarely killed outright, but they were known to turn over unfortunate rivals to enemy gangs, cops competent enough to get them properly charged, or even the Bats. It was also rumored that one of Malone’s sons was an expert at torture, for information or as a punishment. …Eugene had heard stores of Boss’s interrogations. Oh, G-d, Boss was the Malones’ torturer.

“Unfortunately,” Malone continued, and Philip – who had relaxed just slightly at Malone’s allowance – tensed up again, “You’ve been a vital cornerstone in trafficking operations. Your only saving grace at the moment is that you’re a whistleblower.”

The stares from the rest of the car grew more dangerous, and Eugene leveled his own glare at Philip. Not even children liked a tattle-tale, and in Eugene’s profession, tattling could get good men killed.

“Now, of course, if you’d called the Bats in on anything except selling kids, we’d be having a very different conversation,” Malone added, and realization shot through Eugene. He’d known that Philip had been running when he’d been snapped up by the Red Hood. Running from his last boss, Eugene had found out later. Who, where, and why had always been mysteries, but if Philip had intentionally shut down a child trafficking ring – and those things were d-mn profitable, if you could pull it off – Eugene could understand why his old crew would be hunting him so viciously.

“I just wanted to make sure you all, at least, got the information from a reliable source,” Malone said, clearly back on the original topic of the whole conversation. “So, there it is. TJ’s my second son, Todd Jonathen Malone. He broke off to form his own gang, but we’re still allies, no matter what he tells you. Neither I, nor my people will harm you unless you step out of line. So, don’t step out of line.”

Malone flashed them all a dark grin, and then popped out the door onto the street. Eugene shared a look with Ben and the executives slowly trickled out after him. They were right in front of HQ, standing on the pitted sidewalk in front of the ‘main’ entrance.

“Let me in, would you, Philip?” Malone asked, hands in his pockets and matchstick wedged between his teeth. “I promised my son a visit.”