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prince-septimus · 3 years

Text

the run-in

pairing : jason todd x detective!reader

summary : 3 times you run into the red hood, and the one time it’s jason todd

word count : 1.8k

warnings : mention of blood & violence

“Didn’t your mother ever teach you not to play with fire?”

You spin around quickly, your gun pointed at the chest of a man you had never met but had heard all too much about.

The Red Hood.

“Sounds more like something the Commissioner would tell me,” you speak calmly, but don’t move the gun away.

There are bodies lying around you – some brought down by your own hand and the others brought down by his. Groans of pain fill the air, but you know some of the men are dead.

“Commissioner Gordon—” his voice is mechanical, any real traces of what he sounds like hidden by the mask he wears, “—how is he doing these days?”

Your gaze turns into a glare. “He’s fine. Would you like me to call him up? I bet he’d love to talk to you.”

Under the dim streetlights of Gotham, the Red Hood is a startling figure. He’s almost terrifying as he stands in front of you, but in a city full of heroes and villains alike, you don’t let his imposing structure intimidate you.

“I’ve actually got places to be,” he quips, before turning his attention to one of the men lying on the ground.

They were all members of a local drug ring you had recently been trying to bust. You know the names of a few, recognized them from photos you had found, but now they were just bodies to fill the jail cells, or for some, the morgue. You had been on a stakeout, trying to find some last bits of evidence you would need to finally make the bust, but you were ambushed.

The Red Hood had appeared out of nowhere.

He kicks at the body closest to him. There’s no groan of pain. Letting out a huff of air, it’s almost masked by the static of his mask. “Looks like you have a lot of paperwork to do.”

“No thanks to you.”

His head turns. You briefly wonder what he looks like under that mask, wonder what he sounds like.

“I’ll make sure to leave a few for you next time.”

You can practically hear the smile hidden away underneath the false voice he carries with him. Finally, you drop your gun. “I’ll let the Commissioner know you say ‘hello’.”

“It’s not like you to sit up on roofs. That’s more of my kind of thing.”

You sigh, bringing your camera away from your face to look at the man who’s saddled up next to you. “What do you want, Red?”

“What? Can’t stop by to see how my favorite detective is doing?”

“You hate the police,” you reply flatly.

It had been a few weeks since you had last seen the Red Hood. He had popped up occasionally, always when you were working alone. You figured he had found some sort of trust in you, helping you out on the occasional case by offering information if you turned a blind eye to his criminal activities. You had a sort of trust in him too, you had decided, trusting him to never lead you on a wrong turn when it came to the leads he gave you.

You still bickered with him, though, almost treating him like an old friend rather than a deadly vigilante.

“I only hate the police that don’t do their job.” He leans against the concrete barrier surrounding the roof, the one you had been hiding behind as you spied on the gangsters in the window across the street. “That doesn’t include you.”

“I wouldn’t think you’d be here if it did.” You scroll through the photos you had taken so far on your camera, making sure you have what you need before turning to the man standing next to you. “What do you want, Red?”

“Heard your name from some of the men you’ve been scouting.” He nods toward the building. “I think you need to be a little more careful.”

“Isn’t that what I keep you around for?”

This is one of the moments where you wish you could see the face beneath the mask. You want to be able to read him, be able to know what he’s thinking, what he’s feeling. Instead, you’re forced to look at the masked man in front of you and be completely unaware as to who sits beneath it all.

“Just be careful. Keep someone with you when you’re out here doing these kinds of things.”

You shake your head, turning to bend down and grab your equipment from where it’s spread out on the roof. “I’ll be alright, Red. Now, how about you walk me home, hm?”

You stand back up, but he’s nowhere to be found, almost as if he was never there.

A bullet flies past your head, planting itself into the man who had been pointing his gun at you.

You don’t need to turn around to know who the bullet belongs to. Instead, you let your arms fall to your side as a huff of air falls past your lips. “I had it.”

“Sure, you did.”

He appears next to you, sliding his gun back into the holster strapped to his hip. You feel the anger rise up in you as you turn to look at him, and without thinking, you’re shoving at his chest.

“I had it!”

“I told you not to do stakeouts alone anymore—”

“You don’t get to decide what I can and cannot do.” You lower your voice, trying to calm yourself. “This is my job. I shouldn’t even be talking to you—”

“But you need my help.”

You rub your hands across your face. “I don’t need your help unless I ask for it, and I didn’t ask for it this time.”

A mechanic scoff. “You could’ve died.”

“I needed more information out of the guy.”

“You could’ve died. Do I need to keep repeating it?”

“Well, I’m fine. And now I have to find an explanation of why this guy is dead.”

“Better than finding you dead.”

Sirens sound in the distance. Someone must’ve called the cops before you ever got the chance to call it in.

“Go,” you say quickly, “get out of here so I don’t have to explain to my coworkers why I’m talking to a man they’re actively hunting.”

By the time the patrol cars arrive, spotting you with your hands raised in the air, the Red Hood is long gone.

The lights above you hurt your eyes. You try to lift yourself off the ground, but the pain stops you. You’re not sure where it stems from, but it’s spreading like a wildfire. Your whole body burns. It hurts to turn your head, but you manage to do so and almost let out a sob at the sight of your partner laid out on the ground.

Blood drips out of his nose, and his eyes are lifeless.

You cough, suddenly feeling like you can’t catch your breath at the realization of everything that had just happened. You had convinced your newest partner – a newer recruit, almost 30 – to do a stakeout with you. It was supposed to be a simple watch, one to get more information on one of the newer crime families in Gotham.

Instead, the two of you had been ambushed and laid out. Your partner was dead and you were close enough to it.

You don’t hear the footsteps or the panicked shout of your name until there’s a man standing over you. It’s hard to see anything but his shadow under the streetlight, but you would recognize the voice hidden beneath that mask anywhere.

“Red,” you manage to get out softly before your throat begins to burn and you’re coughing out any next words you have.

“Stay still,” he orders. He reaches for your side, his gloved hand covered in blood when he pulls it back before immediately pressing it back against your side in order to stop some of the bleeding. "You've been shot.”

You hiss at the pain that shoots through you, your eyes shutting . “Feels like I’ve been hit by a truck.”

“Hey, hey,” he pats at your cheek, “keep your eyes open for me.”

“At least I didn’t come alone.”

He looks over at the fallen body of your partner, letting out a sigh. “Look at how well that worked out for you. Where’s your phone?”

“Don’t know. Car maybe.”

“Fuck it,” he spits out, keeping one hand pressed against your gunshot wound while the other digs his own phone out of his pocket.

“What are you doing?”

You watch through blurry vision as he brings the phone up to his ear.

“Commissioner,” he speaks into the phone, quickly explaining what’s happened and where to find you. When the call ends, he looks back down at you. “Help is on its way.”

Beneath his mask, the Red Hood has a confused expression etched onto his face as he listens to the soft laugh you let out. “What are you laughing at? You’re bleeding out in an alley and you’re laughing.”

“You called the Commissioner to help me.” Your voice is broken, breathy words falling from your lips. “You’re risking the police finding you here in order to get me help. You’re doing all this, and I don’t even know your name or what you look like.”

A turn of his head towards the end of the alley, looking to see if there’s anyone watching. There’s sirens in the distance. He only has a few minutes.

With a click, he removes the helmet and tosses it next to him. His black and white streaked hair falls onto his forehead, and his face is still partially covered by the domino mask he always wore underneath, but he’s all-too-familiar even without revealing everything.

You smile. “You’re supposed to be dead.”

“I was dead.”

“And Jim knows?”

“Yes.”

You try to sit up again, attempting to ignore the pain, but Jason’s free hand finds your shoulder and holds you down.

“Don’t move. It could make it worse.”

“What’s next? Is Nightwing about to appear from the rooftop?”

Jason laughs. “We’re not exactly speaking at the moment, so I assume no.”

You shake your head as best you can. “Jason fuckin’ Todd. Back from the dead. Can’t believe I made friends with a zombie.”

“Real original.”

The sirens are closer now, too close.

Jason lets out a sigh when he hears a car door slam shut. There’s blood on your face and he reaches up to smear some of it away with his glove. “I guess that’s my cue.”

Gordon appears first, clearly keeping the other officers away to give Jason time.

You watch the two nod at each other before Jason grabs one of your hands.

“Almost there,” he tells you softly, removing his hand and placing yours over the gunshot wound in your side. “Keep pressure there, help is here.”

Jason reaches for his helmet, slipping it back on before taking off into the shadows.

You realize he never said goodbye, but as the Commissioner and the EMTs reach you, you know that you’ll see him again.

#jason todd x reader #jason todd #jason todd imagine #jason todd fic #3+1 #red hood #red hood x reader #red hood imagine #my fics #recently got back into my batman phase and im having a grand time #also lemme know if you like the new format #i have another writing blog where i use this format and i just happen to like it better

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nothingeverlost · 4 years

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Marta the Vampire Slayer

I don’t even know. I was thinking about my already in progress Cablanca fic, and reading Buffy/Giles fic, and then as I was falling asleep this happened in my brain.

“It’s all true, my dear girl. Every Slayer or potential Slayer is assigned a Watcher, to train them in the art of fighting and to aid them in the fight against the dark. Harlan was your Watcher.”

“Where’s Harlan’s body?” The question came only a few minutes after Benoit Blanc introduced himself as an old friend of Harlan’s. She hadn’t even had a chance to find out why he’d come or how he’d known, somehow, that Harlan had died.

“It’s at the morgue. They have to do an autopsy.” She remembered the strange wound at his neck and the blood that stained his shirt collar. The cops thought he’d killed himself, because of the knife in his hands, but there was still something about the wound that wasn’t right.

“We have to go there right away. I’m surprised you’re not there already.” Mr. Blanc picked up his bag. “Were there any signs that they might have tried to turn him? Any blood stains near his mouth?”

“I don’t understand.” Why would it matter if someone had turned him over?

“It’s a great coup, to turn a Watcher. His knowledge of his Slayer, of course, is invaluable but what most vampires find satisfying is the potential mind games. Few things rattle a Slayer more than coming face to face with a demon wearing the face of a friend.”

“Slayer? Watcher?” He spoke the words as if they meant something.

“Oh dear. I was hoping Harlan would have explained at least some of the fundamentals to you. I’ll have to explain as we go. We need to be at the morgue as soon as we can; the sun is about to rise.” He spoke with a Southern drawl that made her think of picnics in the sun but changed direction quick enough to make her dizzy.

“Harlan’s children will be here soon.” She’d called Linda as soon as the police had allowed her. Linda would tell Walt and Joanie.

“They won’t be any use in this.” He ushered her into his car before she’d realized they’d even left the house. She felt numb, like her brain wasn’t connected to her feet or anything else. She should have insisted that they stay at the house. What happened when Linda and the family arrived? What if the police called again? And what did he mean by turning?

“The morgue will be closed by now.” It would be dark outside in half an hour.

“Good, that should make it easier to get inside. Fewer people to distract.”

“You don’t really mean to go inside, do you?” Corpses weren’t anything new; she’d had to dissect them for her AP bio classes, and she was planning on being premed next year in college. She wasn’t ready to see Harlan like that.

“We’re both going to have to go in, I’m afraid. We need to be certain that he’s not going to rise.”

“He’s dead.” Blood dripping down his neck and his eyes fading as he tried to whisper something to her. She hadn’t been able to understand.

“He is, and I’m sorry Marta, I really am. I know you will need time to mourn him, but unfortunately right now there are more pressing matters. We need to be certain he stays dead,” he said emphatically.

“People don’t come back from the dead, not after their brain activity stops.” It had been hours since she’d found him. He’d be so cold now.

“There are exceptions.” He looked at her once, as they pulled up to the red light of an intersection. Until the car started again he was silent. “Harlan has been training you, hasn’t he?”

“Someone comes to the house three days a week for judo lessons. Harlan says it’s important that I know how to defend myself.” Her mom had always said to make as much noise as she could and then run, but Harlan said you couldn’t always get away. “He’s teaching me fencing too, but I think that’s more because he misses having someone to spar against. And we play Go in the evenings, because he says it’s good training for the brain.”

“He’s right about not always being able to run.” Mr. Blanc parked the car on the street behind the morgue. “Has he trained you with any weapons?”

“Other than the epee? He showed me how to use a knife and how to get a weapon away from an attacker. And he explained a lot of his weapons.” He had a whole wall of them, some centuries old. Marta had put it down to his being a mystery writer. “Sometimes we do archery. I’m pretty good at that.”

“Yes, well it’s going to be too small of a room for arrows, and a knife isn’t going to help you if the worst happens tonight. You’ll need this.” He opened the bag he’d stowed in the trunk and handed her a stick. Sure, it was sharp on one end but it was still a stick.

“I’m going to defend myself with a stick?”

“Yes, and remember to aim for the heart. The wood has to pierce the heart for it to work.” He was already making his way towards the back door. Marta didn’t have any choice but to keep up, the wood still clenched in her hand despite her confusion.

“What if someone sees us?” It wasn’t quite dark yet, and he was kneeling in front of the door with a lock pick in his hand. He might be able to get off, but she wasn’t a white guy with a charming accent. And she had a weapon, if you could call it that. She was so going to jail.

“We tell the truth, or at least part of it. Our friend died today. We didn’t know the morgue was closed already.” It didn’t take him much longer to open the door then it would have with a key. She had to wonder why he was so good at that. The lights were off, the hallway already dim. It only took a few steps to get to the room they were looking for. “It’s always better to at least start with the truth.”

“I can’t lie.” Even thinking about it had bile rising at the back of her throat.

“Ah yes, I heard about that. Well I’m sure regurgitation would be just as good at distracting anyone who asked a question.” He opened the door, holding it for her to enter first. She really didn’t want to go in, but couldn’t figure out how to say no to him. “Oh good, it looks like everyone is still nicely tucked in.”

“You said you would explain things.” She pulled her cardigan a little tighter around her. It wasn’t actually getting colder in the room, was it?

“I did, and I always endeavor to keep my promises. There isn’t an easy way to explain this, but the simple version is that vampires are real, and in order to battle the forces of dark there is a Slayer, a girl gifted with the power to fight the vampire and protect our world. When one Slayer dies a new one is called. And that, Marta Cabrera, is you.”

“Are you in a mystery writing group with Harlan? Is that how you knew him?” She would laugh if she remembered how.

“Harlan was a friend of the family.” He’d taken her and Alice in, two years ago when their mom had died. She’d never met him before that, but he’d apparently been an old friend of her father’s from years ago and since she and Alice had no other family he’d become their guardian.

“He has quite the extensive library. Did you ever see books about vampires and magic in his collection?”

“He writes mystery novels. Some of them have occult plot lines.” She might have looked at them, finding them fascinating, but it was all fiction. It had to be.

“Does he train your sister in fencing and martial arts?”

“She’s younger than I am and doesn’t go places alone.” She was thirteen now, and a freshman; it was the only year they would go to school together. Marta had just started her senior year.

“Vampires are very real, Marta. I’m afraid you’re going to learn that soon. If not tonight then we’ll start patrolling tomorrow.”

“Patrolling what?” The tables in the middle of the room were all empty, but there was a wall of drawers that Marta knew didn’t hold papers. Harlan was in one of those drawers.

“Cemeteries. It’s the best place to find new vampires other than morgues and I don’t think we should break into one too often. It’s better if you start out with ones that are new, before they’ve learned to use their strength.”

“I’d like to go home now.” She didn’t think she could take much more. Then again she didn’t know how much longer she had a home either. Harlan was her guardian but he was dead. He had kids, though she hadn’t met them very often. She was pretty sure none of them would be interested in taking in a pair of orphaned teenagers.

“I’m afraid it’s time for your first lesson, Marta. You have your stake?” Behind her there was a sound of metal rolling. One of the drawers was opening but she and Mr. Blanc were the only ones in the room.

“Mr. Blanc…”

“Why don’t you call me Benoit? We’re going to be spending a lot of time together.” His touch to her shoulder was gentle. “Now just remember to aim for the heart, alright?”

Marta turned and wanted to scream when a man came lunging at her. It was a young man, someone she’d never seen before. Even though she didn’t believe what was happening she was grateful it wasn’t Harlan. The stake in her hand was weirdly comforting.

“Aim for the heart,” she whispered to herself. Maybe she took her own advice, or maybe she just reacted. When the man - thing - got too close she moved her hand. A piece of wood shouldn’t be enough to impale someone but she felt it hit flesh. A moment later he was gone and all that remained was a pile of ash on the floor of the cemetery.

“Good girl. How do you feel?” Benoit asked.

“Fine,” she answered politely. A moment later she threw up in the trash can.

It was an hour before they left, One moment Benoit had been telling her a story about a demon prophecy thwarted a year ago, and the next he had declared that if Harlan had turned he wouldn’t have been so patient. They were spared that painful task, at least.

“What happens now?” She asked after they drove back to the house in silence.

“You will need to train and study with a Watcher. Tomorrow we’ll start night-time patrols.”

“You said Harlan was my Watcher.”

“He was a good Watcher and a good man. He will be missed but the Council would never leave you unprotected. I did not come just to tell you that you’re a Slayer, Marta. I am your new Watcher.”

“Oh.” She didn’t know what else to say. It was all too much, and she wanted nothing more than her bed. Alice was at a friend’s birthday slumber party, and tomorrow she would have to tell her about Harlan. They would have to figure out what came next, which she thought was hard enough when it meant where they were going to live and who would take care of them. But apparently, now there were vampires and demons too.

“We’ll work on it all together, a little at a time. You’re more prepared for this then you know. I will help you see that,” Benoit promised.

Marta looked over her shoulder when she got out of the car. The house was surrounded by darkness. She wondered what was out there, waiting.

#Cablanca #marta cabrera #benoit blanc #My fic #cablanca fic #knives out fic #gen at the moment #not saying there's more #but in some future it's probably a shippy thing

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