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They saw the canister too late. "Oh shit," breathed out Hood softly. He met Carl's gaze, eyes wide beneath his domino mask. "I don't have a rebreather. I gave my last gas mask away."
"Shit," bit out Carl, safe behind his own mask.
"Call," started Hood before he descended into coughing.
Carl was already herding Hood deeper into the thankfully dead-end alley, the better to guard the exits, and radioing for backup. "Hood's got a face-full of Fear Gas, I need a perimeter over at 48th and Olivet."
"On our way," came the reply from Bill. Good. Bill was partnered up with Davy. They were good Merrys, level-headed. Loyal.
"Carl, you need to back the fuck up and make sure I don't shoot anyone, okay?" wheezed the Red Hood, who looked like he was trying to squeeze himself in the space between two dumpsters like a much smaller kid.
Carl just nodded. "No worries, boss, I got you." He ignored the whimpers that started soon after. Hood was a good boss. He deserved, hell he had earned, Carl's respect. He was smart as hell, angry as hell, tough as hell, sure. But he was a kid. And they were all nearly sure that he was Batman's kid. The lost bird.
They certainly acted like family when they fought.
He typed out a text. Anybody have eyes on the Bat?
There was a fwoosh behind him, and he could swear the shadows got deeper. He didn't send the text.
Carl slowly turned around. The faceless Bat loomed above him. "Where is he?" came the growl.
"You have the antidote?" he asked first. The Bat jerked his head once, affirmative. Carl glanced toward the dumpsters and nodded. "I got the exit. Take care of him." Of course, Carl didn't actually move till he saw Batman crouch in front of the spot where he knew Hood was trying to hide. He ignored the high-pitch keening sound and the responding gentle shushing.
He kept his head on a swivel and spotted Bill and Davy. Positioning them at the entryway of the alley, he risked a glance back when Hood's cry reached a particularly heart-wrenching note.
"Dad, Dad, please, where are you? Dad! Please! He's coming, he's coming, please don't let him get me, B, I'm sorry, Dad, please please, don't let him get me again, oh god not again, Dad WHERE ARE YOU?"
Carl almost wished he hadn't risked the glance. Almost.
Batman had Hood wrapped in a hold, trying to prevent him from thrashing. He was whispering, barely audible only when Hood took a breath between his desperate cries. "I'm right here. I'm here, Jay, I'm right here."
Now Carl could be wrong. He was willing to believe he was wrong. But it looked like the Bat was gently rocking the screaming teenage crime lord. Carl didn't think he'd once glanced up at the three armed men at the mouth of the alley. Carl, Bill, and Davy made sure he didn't have to; no one got through them.
It felt like hours, but Carl's watch said it was only thirty minutes before Hood's Fear-Gas induced cries died away. He risked another glance back, checking on the Bat and the boss. Hood looked like he had finally passed out from exhaustion. Batman was pressing his forehead against Hood's, finger gently combing through his hair.
Bill kicked his foot, getting his attention. Directing his gaze through the smog and smoke, he heard before he saw a hulking shadow of a tank roll up. The Batmobile had arrived.
Davy and Carl shifted so they were back-to-back, clearing a path for the Bat to carry Hood to the tank. Because that's what the Bat was doing; carrying the 220lb young man like he was a slightly-too-large sack of rice (or a beloved child).
Carl waited till Hood was safely loaded into the vehicle. "Hey Bat," he called out. Batman closed the passenger door and tilted his head their direction. "You take care of your bird, you hear? But we're gonna want him back. He's ours now."
The cowl shifted slowly till it was facing them fully, silently, for a few heartbeats. "We'll see," came the cryptic reply. And then Batman climbed into the tank and roared off.
Slowly, Carl felt Bill and Davy relax. Bill nudged him. "Think he'll take good care of our Robin Hood?" he asked softly.
Carl glared at the direction the Batmobile had gone. "He better."
***
Six hours later, Jason felt like he was clawing his way toward consciousness. God, he was tired of nightmares. Why was he having nightmares? Oh. Right. Scarecrow. A canister to the face. Hiding. Someone guarding an alley. And... B? Jason blinked heavily a few times, catching and then loosing sight of Bruce next to him. "Dad?"
"Shh, Jaylad, it's alright, I'm right here," came a soothing baritone. "Here, here's a straw. Sip slowly." Jason followed instructions, grateful to not have to think of his next move for the moment. The cold water was refreshing, if a bit shocking to his raw throat. Jason sat back with a sigh, able to keep his eyes open a bit longer between blinks. Bruce's face appeared in his line of vision. "There he is," whispered the old man, one corner of his lips curling softly. Rough fingers combed through his hair, and Jason felt a little more anxiety leak away.
"Hey," croaked Jason. He winced; apparently it had been a screamer. He didn't remember what the Fear Gas had brought up (this time). "We good? We get 'em?"
Bruce nodded, then closed his eyes and shuddered.
Jason felt like he'd kicked a puppy. "Sorry," he mumbled. He couldn't remember why Bruce was in pain yet, but he felt like it was his fault.
"Not your fault, son," Bruce immediately replied. "Never your fault." Bruce released Jason's hand, and how funny that he only noticed once the warmth was gone, only to cup his face and press a kiss to his forehead. "Go back to sleep, son. I'll be here when you wake up."
Jason felt a little warmth bloom in his chest and he followed directions like a good son, a good Robin, before he had time to think about why he wasn't anymore.
***
His son was asleep. Bruce took the chance to slip back into the suit and track down the man from the alley. Carl Lewis. One of Red Hood's "Merry Men." He'd been with Hood a long time. As Bruce slunk over to the softly glowing window to peer into the man's apartment, he wondered what he'd find. Would the window be alarmed? Booby-trapped? Would he be asleep? Armed? Angry?
He didn't expect to see the man sitting in a chair facing said window. Like he'd been waiting. Carl merely arched an eyebrow and exaggeratedly looked at his watch. Bruce didn't like feeling predictable. Slipping in the obviously unlocked window, Bruce tried to conjure up some of the usual wrath he felt toward the criminal element. He was failing. He settled for slowly advancing on the man in the chair and staring at him.
Carl looked unimpressed. "You know, the boss does the same thing? I'm a little immune to the Bat-stare at this point, sorry," he spoke quietly, casually, like they were catching up. "How's he doing?"
"Stable." Bruce didn't want to hear the note of genuine concern. He didn't want to see the genuine care or interest on the man's face.
"Good." Carl nodded sharply. "We'll expect him back at the warehouse on 87th when he's better. Now don't you need to get out of here and take care of your Robin, Bats?"
Bruce did not flinch. He didn't breathe for a moment either. "What did you say."
The unimpressed look came back. "Please don't think of me as an idiot. The Merrys have all guessed. Besides, you two aren't exactly subtle when you argue on rooftops."
"Hn." This was... a concerning development. "If you know... then why do you follow him?"
Carl gave him a wry grin. "Because your kid is smart as hell, and he understands the Alley. He's from here. He was our Robin. Most of us didn't start out wanting to be criminals, you know. But we all fell in somewhere along the line and now this is what we're good at. And we're good at keeping things stabilized. He's good at seeing the big picture and understanding the players. He's good with our families." Carl leaned forward and fixed Bruce with an earnest, almost desperate look. "Do you know how god-damn impossible it is to find a mob boss who actually gives a damn about our kids? Who doesn't just see them as tools to be used or discarded? Three months ago, some of the Kings took Charlie's boy to try to use him as leverage, get to Charlie, intimidate him, flip him for information. It took Hood all of three hours to find them and wipe them out."
Bruce remembered that incident. He remembered yelling at Hood for being reckless and incendiary and trying to start another gang war. And all Hood had said was "Fuck you, old man. You don't know my business." He didn't, did he?
"He protects us, in ways you never bothered to," Carl was saying, leaning back in his chair slowly. "Not even when he was Robin. The Alley is a different beast than the rest of Gotham."
"I know."
Carl tilted his head. "Hm. Do you?"
Bruce turned to leave. "87th. He'll be there when he's ready."
***
Jason's nose was itchy. He groaned, annoyed that he had to exert energy to scratch at his face. It took a couple swipes, but when he felt a cannula pull away, he opened one eye in a squint to glare at it. "Eh?"
"Easy, Jay, you're just waking up again," Bruce voice came from somewhere.
Jason groaned. "Again? What does that mean? Wha's goin' on?"
Bruce's hands gently caught his and untangled the cannula. Jason fought to keep his eyes open for more than two seconds. "Scarecrow attack. You took a full face of Fear Gas last night. You've been asleep for about nine hours."
Bruce's face finally came into view. Concerned brows framed anxious blue-grey eyes.
"Ah. Explains why I feel like shit." He lifted a hand and Bruce helped him sit up. Jason rolled his shoulders and frowned. "Though not as much as I expect. What did you give me?"
Bruce handed him a water bottle, which Jason gratefully drained. "Tim made some adjustments to the antidote. It's more effective but puts subjects to sleep longer."
"Huh. Any chance we can use it on Timmy to get him to sleep for once?"
Bruce huffed a laugh, the worry in his eyes finally fading. "I wish. Do you feel like eating? Alfred made chicken noodle soup."
Jason took stock of his body. "Yeah, actually. That sounds really good." He hopped off the table, using Bruce as a support, because whoa, the room shouldn't move like that. "So what else happened last night? I remember running around handing out masks and then nothing."
"You were with your Merry Men, right? Handing out masks?" Bruce asked, the barest note of hesitation in his tone.
Jason slowed and glared at him. "Yeah. What of it?"
Bruce hummed and didn't slow down. "They are very loyal to you. I'm impressed with them."
Jason stopped moving altogether. What in the hell did he just say? "What in the hell did you just say?"
Finally Bruce paused and turned back, looking almost surprised that Jason wasn't next to him anymore. "Your men. You inspire loyalty in them. Also, I was told that I have to return you when you're better."
Jason narrowed his eyes and didn't move. Neither did Bruce. "By who?"
"Carl. He's very... persuasive. And perceptive."
Rolling his eyes and groan, Jason begged, "B, please tell me you didn't break into Carl's apartment and terrify him!"
Bruce raised his hands in surrender and huffed exasperatedly. "I didn't break it! He was expecting me. And apparently my glare doesn't work on him because he's too used to you doing it," he added, only a little petulantly.
Jason sniggered, then walked forward, feeling only slightly (maybe more than slightly) dizzy.
Holding out his arm, which Jason (gratefully) took, Bruce rolled his eyes. "Did you know your Merrys have guessed that you were Robin?" he asked.
Jason shook his head, carefully. "No. What did Carl say to you?"
Bruce was silent for a moment, and Jason risked a peek at his face. "That I needed to take care of my kid. And that we aren't subtle when we argue on rooftops." Jason looked away from the gentle look on his dad's Bruce's face. "He's not wrong," Bruce added wryly.
***
A day later, the normal Batmobile pulled up in front of their warehouse on 87th. Carl and Davy stepped out, keeping the rest of the crew inside. (It also gave them plausible deniability in case anybody "asked" for confirmation that Hood was working with the Bats. They didn't see nothing. Couldn't answer the question one way or the other.)
Hood stepped out of the car with a shiny new helmet, gave them a nod, and then bent back down to speak to the driver. Carl thought it looked like he was haggling. After a couple minutes, he stepped away, this time holding a large tupperware container of... something. He backed up a couple steps and then just looked at the driver, who hadn't moved yet. Shifting the container to one hand, Hood place his free hand on his hip and started tapping his foot impatiently. Slowly, the Batmobile began moving away. Hood watched till it turned a corner and disappeared from sight.
"Finally," came the familiar mechanized voice. Hood sauntered towards them. "'Sup, boys? Who wants a lemon bar?"
Davy snickered. "Did you dad make treats for you to bring to class?"
Hood stopped a dozen feet away, pulling up sharp. He clutched the container to his chest. "No," he said, sounding almost offended. "It was my grandpa, obviously."
"Oh sweet, in that case, yeah," Davy immediately changed his tune. "The brownies he dropped off last time were amazing."
Hood paused with the lid half-way off. "What?"
Carl elbowed Davy sharply and answered for him. "Older gent, wore tweed. Hell of a sharpshooter. You brought him for that one job with that cartel, remember?"
"Oh yeah," Hood answered, clearly not remembering. He held the container out anyway. Davy took two.
Carl carefully picked one for himself before opening the door. "Good to have you back, boss," he said quietly.
"Good to be back, boys," Hood replied just as quietly, replacing the lid before he marched through the rusted doorway. "Now! Tell me where we are with that weapons shipment Penguin was trying to smuggle it. There was a bazooka I want to get my hands on."
Twenty minutes later, the lemon bars were gone.