paipertrails

[paipertrails]

Cold shadows

Characters: Leila Markova (OC) , Misha Markova(OC), Jason Todd (Red Hood) Setting: Gotham City (The Narrows) Word Count: ~5,000 TW: Assault, Violence.

The chill of Gotham's winter cut through the air like a blade, sharp enough to bite into the exposed skin on Leila’s hands. Her coat, worn and thin, provided little warmth as she hurried down the dimly lit streets of the Narrows. The neon signs above flickered weakly, casting shadows on the crumbling walls, while the smell of damp, decay, and oil lingered in the air.

“Hold tight, Mishka (little bear),” she whispered to her son, his small hand tucked securely in hers. Misha, just four years old, was quiet as always. His wide, dark eyes mirrored the caution in hers, and his lips, pressed into a firm line, rarely spoke unless he was sure they were safe.

They weren’t far from their apartment, but in the Narrows, every step felt like walking a tightrope over a pit of wolves. Leila knew better than most that the city had teeth, and they were always waiting for someone too slow or too weak to escape.

She adjusted the bag of groceries on her shoulder—a meager collection of bread, a tin of soup, and a few apples. She was doing her best to make the money last. After all, she had more than just herself and Misha to think about. The child growing inside her seemed to kick in agreement, and she absentmindedly rubbed her belly.

The tension in her spine never left. She had learned too much, seen too much, to ever truly relax in Gotham. Her escape from captivity had been nothing short of a miracle, but Gotham’s underworld was as dark as the one she’d fled, if not darker. Her trafficker’s empire had crumbled back in Europe, but that didn’t mean there weren’t remnants of his network lurking in this city.

They were halfway down the block when Leila’s stomach dropped. The faint echo of footsteps behind them sent her pulse racing. She glanced over her shoulder, catching sight of a group of men emerging from the shadows of a nearby alley.

They were too close. Too fast.

“Hey!” one of them called, his voice slurred with the unmistakable edge of trouble. “Where you goin’, sweetheart?”

Leila’s grip tightened around Misha’s hand. “Keep walking, Mishka,” she whispered, her voice calm but firm. “Don’t stop.”

The footsteps grew louder, closer, until she could hear their heavy breaths and feel the heat of their presence at her back.

“Hey! I said stop!” The voice, closer now, carried a sharper tone of impatience.

Leila pulled Misha behind her, turning to face the approaching men. Three of them—grimy, with matted hair and clothes that stank of stale smoke and sweat. The leader, a rat-faced man with beady eyes, stepped forward, a leering smile curling on his lips.

“Looks like you’re lost, darling. How ‘bout we help you find your way?” he sneered, his eyes sweeping over her and Misha with a sickening familiarity.

Leila stood her ground, her heart racing in her chest. Her hand instinctively slid to her coat pocket, where a small knife rested. She had never used it, but she wasn’t going to let them hurt her or her son. Not again. Not ever.

“Leave us alone,” she said, her voice low and steady.

The rat-faced man chuckled, taking a step closer. “Come on now, no need to be like that. We’re just having a bit of fun. How ‘bout you show us what’s in that bag?”

Before she could react, a figure dropped from the rooftop above with terrifying silence. The sound of impact was soft, but the air around them shifted, heavy with the presence of something—or someone—far more dangerous than the thugs.

Leila barely had time to register the movement before the figure stepped out of the shadows. He was tall, clad in a black jacket and body armor, a red helmet concealing his face. In his hands were two sleek, black pistols, but they weren’t raised. Not yet.

The thugs froze, momentarily stunned. The rat-faced man’s sneer faltered as his eyes flickered to the new arrival.

—the Red Hood.

“Walk away,” Hood said, his voice cold and flat, carrying the weight of a command that left no room for negotiation.

The rat-faced man glared but didn’t move. “Who the hell are you?”

Red Hood tilted his head slightly, the red of his helmet glinting under the dim streetlights. “Last chance,” he said, the faintest hint of amusement creeping into his tone. “Walk away. Now.”

The tension hung in the air, thick and oppressive, before the rat-faced man made his decision. With a growl, he lunged forward, his hand reaching for a knife at his belt.

But Hood was faster—so much faster.

In a blur of movement, Hood struck, his gun crashing into the thug’s jaw with a sickening crack. The man crumpled to the ground, unconscious before he hit the pavement. The other two barely had time to react before Red Hood was on them. One was sent flying into the wall with a well-placed kick to the chest, while the other found himself disarmed and pinned to the ground, Hood’s boot pressed against his throat.

Leila stood frozen, her heart thudding wildly in her chest. Misha clung to her leg, his wide eyes watching the scene in silence.

The Red Hood didn’t speak as he stared down at the last thug, the pressure from his boot enough to keep the man gasping for air but not enough to crush his windpipe.

“You’re done,” He growled softly, his voice low and lethal. “Get out of here. If I see you again, you won’t be walking away.”

He lifted his boot, and the man scrambled to his feet, dragging his unconscious friend with him as he fled down the alley without looking back. The silence that followed was suffocating, the only sound the distant hum of traffic and the faint clinking of metal as he holstered his guns.

Leila stared at him, unsure whether to thank him or fear him. She had heard of Red Hood—heard the stories of his brutal methods and his willingness to kill. She wasn’t sure what to expect now that he stood before her.

He turned to her, his gaze unreadable behind the red visor. For a moment, they stood in silence, neither of them moving. Then, he spoke, his voice quieter than before but still carrying that same cold edge.

“You alright?”

Leila blinked, snapping out of her trance. She nodded slowly, though her heart was still racing. “Yes… thank you.”

Hood's gaze shifted down to Misha, who was peeking out from behind her leg. His expression softened, just slightly. “You need to be more careful,” he said, his tone gruff but not unkind. “The Narrows isn’t safe.”

Leila let out a bitter laugh, though there was no humor in it. “No place in Gotham is safe.”

He didn’t argue. He simply nodded, as if he understood more than she realized. Without another word, he turned and disappeared into the shadows, leaving Leila and Misha standing in the alley, the cold wind biting at their skin.

For a long moment, Leila stood there, her mind racing, trying to process what had just happened. She had been ready to fight—to protect Misha no matter the cost—but Red Hood had appeared out of nowhere, like a ghost in the night. And then he was gone, just as quickly as he had come.

She looked down at Misha, who was staring up at her with wide, trusting eyes. “Let’s go home, Mishka,” she whispered, her voice trembling slightly. “We’re almost there.”

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LMK if you have any questions or requests for fics or oneshots ! If you wanna read more about Leila and Misha, interact with the story in some way, love you guys. Yes, even the silent readers <3