#batfiction

[lionthenovel]

“everybody wants to rule the world” part 1 fanfiction (red hood x oc)

DISCLAIMER: I am not an expert on Gotham and/or Jason Todd. I merely like the character of Red Hood and know a little about the city and Batman through several different movies.

BACKGROUND MUSIC SUGGESTION: You’ll Find A Way Switch & Sinden Remix - Santigold

________________________

“Lonnie, … this is literally your job.”

The woman taps her empty glass on the bar top, staring at the barkeeper who’s patiently polishing shot glasses. He stares at her, silently, and they engage in a long staring contest while the woman’s tapping gets louder. Tap.

Tap tap.

Tap tap tap tap tap tap tap tap tap tap ta-

The barkeeper groans and takes the glass away from her, annoyed.

“Good boy,” she grins and winks at the middle aged, begruntled Lonnie refilling her glass. He pushes it back to her, grimly, and walks to another part of the bar attempting to avoid her triumphant glare. She watches him lean over the counter to a young boy sweeping the floors. His son, Danny. 13 years old, working at his father’s bar after school to help keep the costs down. They talk for a short second and Danny nods, obligingly sweeping the area his father pointed towards. Some drunk left a ton of peanut shells on the floor.

The bar is filling up. Getting to be that time where normal people start to go drinking. She had been there early, after a long 36 hours of staking out one of the Penguin’s right-hand men with Gordon. It was a dead-end, as usual. She was Gordon’s “new partner”, involuntarily though. She worked forensics, but had been in the field for some time before that. Gordon noticed her detective- and shooting skills and promoted her. She hated leg-work. That’s why she had switched to forensics in the first place. But she liked Gordon, so she did it as a favor. The rest of the police academy was full of scum-bags anyway. He was better off with her.

She didn’t look it, but she was one of the best in the academy. She was intelligent, a straight shooter and an ok fighter. But because she was female and not as beautifully toned as Wonder Woman (the AMAZON (!!!!)), men thought she was easy to push around. They were often mistaken. She didn’t hold back, mostly because she loved kicking misogynists’ in the balls.

“Girl, there you are!”

The woman looks up from her glass. Ziva enters with a bunch of other girls who were hanging up their coats. Ziva runs over to the woman at the bar and gives her a big side-hug, pressing cheek on cheek. The woman smiles warmly, closing her eyes as her face is smushed against her friend’s. She smells like cheap hair-spray.  

“Hey Ziva.” The brown-haired woman escapes the seemingly never-ending hug to look at her friend’s face. “New crew?” She nods in the direction of the girl group. They’re all very pretty.

“Oh yeah, work friends. Some of the newcomers need to relax a little after their first day.”

Ah, first day stripping. Can’t be a fun experience. Ziva runs her hand through her long, black curls and smiles. It’s nice of her to take care of the new girls. She’s been a stripper for over 5 years, seen some shit too. Nevertheless, she’s still the sweet girl the woman knew from High School. Deserves better.

“So, what are you drinking about tonight?” Ziva asks, flicking the side of the woman’s whiskey glass. It makes a slight ping sound.

“Gotham’s low crime rate.” The woman answers monotonal. The black-haired girl snickers, looking around the bar. She waves at the other girls to order something already.

“You still with Derek?” The woman grunts out taking a sip of her drink and staring at her friend. Her words muffle in the glass. Derek was a meathead, fucking disaster of a person. Didn’t treat her well.

Ziva chews her gum loudly and shakes her head. Off again, good. She’s typing on her phone as she answers. Probably the owner of the strip club, as always. The woman bites her lip, angrily. She had tried to get Ziva out of that scene, but she was in way too deep. The police wasn’t able to pull her out, the Mob was too heavily resourced. Fuck Falcone. To the thought of the Mob boss choking on a gold ice cube, the woman takes another sip from her glass.

“I met this new guy, though.” Ziva confesses and smiles coquettishly, still staring down at her phone. The woman raises her eyebrows. Can’t be worse than Derek. She looks at Ziva, interested, who returns her gaze with a big smile on her face.

“He’s meeting me here. Real hottie. You’ll know when you see him.” She clicks her tongue and leans against the bar. Come to think of it, she does look nicer than usual today. She put effort into her make-up. Must really wanna impress this guy. “You should join us!”

“Nah, I’m good here. Just take care of yourself, ok?” The woman returns her attention to her drink, swirling the liquid in her glass. “Your girls look nervous, go.” She gestures towards the clump of girls in the booth who are sheepishly sipping on their beverages. Non-alcoholic.

Ziva chuckles warmly and fist-bumps the brown-haired patron before walking over to her group. The woman continues to drink, alone.

Some time passes and a handsome guy joins Ziva’s table and kisses her on the cheek. She was right, he is good-looking. But fuck-boy type, for sure. Wears a leather jacket inside, black hair with a white strand in it. Probably dyed it on a dare or some bullshit. He’s all over Ziva, putting his arm around the back of the seat behind her. Laughing a little too much at what she says. He’s drinking Pabst Blue Ribbon. Definite fuck-boy. The other girls are swooning over him. The woman rolls her eyes. Predictable disaster. They’ll sleep together and then he won’t contact her again. Classy.

THUMP.

Some asshole pushes Danny to the side as he walks through the bar. The young boy hits the side of the bar and the dickhead’s entourage is cackling. Lonnie, the barkeeper looks petrified. It’s clear this troupe belongs to some Mob group, otherwise Lonnie would’ve said something already. The woman glares at the group. Their tattoos look familiar. Maroni maybe? Fuck-head. The whole bar is silent and watching. Even fuck-boy is glaring at them. Ziva’s whispering something in his ear.

“Yo grandpa, I want some of your finest tequila!” Dickhead, a skinny white guy with a bunch of face-tattoos, is yelling across the bar to Lonnie, who instantly obeys and hastily grabs a big bottle to bring it to them.

“No no. Not you. Let dipshit over there bring it!” He’s pointing at Danny, who’s rubbing the side of his arm. The entourage laughs again. The boy looks at his father and there’s a slight pause between the two. Lonnie looks worried, but paradoxically nods reassuringly at his son as he’s handing him the bottle. Danny walks over to the morons and Dickhead smirks as the young boy pours their drinks snakingly. Danny finishes and starts walking away, when Dickhead trips him. The boy falls and the whole bottle crashes onto the ground. The noise of the glass breaking is overpowered by the assholes’ loud and disgusting laughter. They return to their drinking as Danny tries to pick up the pieces of glass on the floor, humiliated. His father rushes over to help him.

The people in the bar resume their conversation as if nothing happened. The noise level rises again. Only the woman and the fuck-boy are still staring at the group. No one asks the boy if he’s ok. Lonnie and Danny have finished cleaning up and the barkeeper leads his frightened son back to his broom, gently rubbing his back.

The woman downs her drink. Fuck that noise. Mob group, Schmob group. They look like three skinny albino roosters who lost most of their feathers.

She gets up from her bar stool and pushes her tits up, giving herself more cleavage. She walks over to the group and focuses on the asshole who pushed and tripped Danny.

“… you look important…” she says, sultry. The guy looks her up and down and smiles, showing her his yellow teeth.

“I am important, toots.” He grins wider.

Ugh.

She leans over the table, making her cleavage more visible. She notices the eye of the fuck-boy, pretending to look at Ziva, stare at her a few tables over. The rest of the bar has moved on. She focuses her attention back on the skinheads.

“Oh of course you are.” She grins. She takes the shot glass in her hand and he watches her, lustfully. She holds the glass near her chest. His eyes follow her hand. “Big boy like you…-” Skinny ass motherfucker. He readjusts the way he is sitting, hanging a leg over the side of the booth and pointing at his lap. Evidently, he wants her to sit there. He keeps smiling with his mustard teeth.

She laughs quietly, swirling the tequila in the glass and she leans closer to him. Her face is near to his and he’s staring down her shirt, licking his lips.

“Big boy like you who gets a hard-on bullying children.” As the words leave her mouth, she tilts the glass over his crotch and it splashes onto it.

He lets out a loud yelp and flails his arms attempting to punch her, yelling some derogatory term. Anticipating, she grabs his head and slams it into the table, knocking him out cold. The other two bozos try to grab her, but she elbows one of them in the nose, breaking it, and kicks the other in between his legs. Both run out of the bar without looking back. The woman grabs the knocked-out, skinny miscreant’s collar and drags his body on the floor. She sees the whole bar stare at her, including Ziva’s entire table. The fuck-boy had gotten up.

With effort, she flings the skinhead out of the bar, wipes her wet, tequila-hands on her pants and walks back in. Lonnie and Danny run to her and ask if she’s alright. They thank her and some of the bar patrons clap for her. It’s a very sparing applause. She holds up her hand in gratitude, awkwardly, and resumes her conversation with the young boy. Ziva runs over to her and talks to her as well.

Time passes. The bar is nearly empty. Ziva’s group had left hours ago. A few stragglers here and there, with the woman still comforting Lonnie. Apparently, Maroni had been forcing Lonnie to launder money in exchange for Danny’s life. That allowed his dipshit men to do whatever they wanted in the bar. Danny had been the target of their bullying for the past two weeks. But at least he was alive, which is what was most important to Lonnie. Still, he was grateful to the woman’s actions.

The woman finally leaves the bar at around 3 a.m. She walks confidently with her purse flung around her shoulder, loosely. Her heels echo in the alley ways. It’s dark and the street lights flicker, with orange color gleaming up above. She’s used to walking at night in Gotham, a city crippled by the intense crime rate. There’s always noise, even this late at night. Ambulances, sirens, people yelling at each other, helicopters looking for some insane escapees from Arkham. And, somewhere in this city, a caped crusader watches. Gordon had taken her with him to meet the infamous Batman, just a few weeks ago. That’s where they got the lead to follow Penguin’s men. The Batman didn’t speak much, he grunted occasionally and nodded. Handed her an electronic gadget to track the guy with. It was pretty amazing technology. Who could that man be, under that weird mask? Bit kinky, for her taste.

She turns into a darker alley. It’s a short-cut to her apartment, and she’d rather spend less time on these streets. Unbeknownst to her, there was someone watching her from the top of the building beside her. Quietly and completely hidden, there was an eye on her. And it didn’t belong to a Bat.

A group of three turned into the alley ahead of her. They stop and seem to be looking in her direction. The woman raises an eyebrow, but doesn’t stop walking. The threesome starts to walk towards her again. It’s hard to see with the flickering lights. She walks slower, sensing that the group is not aiming to walk past her.

Oh man, it’s Dickhead and the Assholes. The skinny white guy has a big red bulge on his forehead, probably where she hammered his face into the table. The one to his right has a bloody nose with tissues stuffed in his nostrils and the one of his left is limping a little. They look mad.

“You fucking cunt!” The “leader” blurts out, standing right in front of her. He points a skinny finger at her and she stops in her tracks. Not great. They have her surrounded.

“Hey babe,” she retorts and looks down at his wet pants. She won’t be able to flirt her way out of his, that’s for sure.

“Shut your fucking mouth.” The bloody nose says, nasal-y. All three of them are glaring at her.

“You’re gonna pay for that little stunt you pulled.” Skinny Dickhead flashes his yellow teeth at her again. Did he just … hiss at her, what the hell was that? The woman raises her eyebrow again, obviously not very impressed by his threat.

“I wouldn’t flash those, they’re not very threatening. Disgusting, yes. Threatening, nah.”  Her hands are on her sides as she makes a disgusted facial expression. “I know a good dentist.”

Quickly, Skinny Dickhead pulls out a handgun and points it right at her face. She looks past the barrel at his face. She doesn’t flinch.

“You little bitch.” He growls and takes a step closer to her. The gun is still pointing right at her nose. “I work for Maroni. You know what we do to people who disrespect us?” He starts unbuckling his belt and she looks down at the open belt buckle, then back at him. “You’re gonna suck my dick before I blow your brains out.”

She laughs in derision, looking to the side slightly as if in disbelief. Without hesitation, she clamps her hands around the gun simultaneously turning it away from her and disarming him. Now she’s holding the gun and pointing it at his crane-like nose. He stares and starts the sweat. The other two start to back away with a few “HOLY SHIT”’s in there.

“You should cock your gun before pointing it.” She says as she uncocks it. The click echoes through the alley. “It’s a more serious threat.”

He puts his hands up and they limply hang over his head. She can tell he’s shaking. The other two have already run off. She walks towards him, holding the gun with both hands.

“Now. Put that little thing away.” She gestures with the gun at his open fly and he hectically tries to close his pants. While he’s fiddling around, she takes a step towards him and hits him over the head with the barrel. Again, he falls to the ground. Out. Hit the same spot as before.

“Moron,” she mumbles and handcuffs him to a nearby pipe.

The woman starts walking through the alley again. As she’s walking, she’s disassembling the gun and leaving the pieces spread around the alley. Her heels clack confidentially, until she hears another gun cock behind her.

“You should check your surroundings before getting rid of a weapon like that.” A voice says from behind her.

The woman lets out a deep sigh and turns around. What an awful night. Mugged twice in under three minutes. She turns to find notorious Red Hood holding a rifle at her. It’s cocked.

She glares at him, annoyed.

“That was pretty cool just now. That little stunt. Where’d you learn to do that?” he asks, leaning against the wall of the building. Completely non-chalant, as if he’s not just mugging her.

“Math Camp.” She shrugs her shoulders and crosses her arms. If he wants to mug/kill her, he might as well get it over with. No way she can disarm a rifle.

“Cool! Purse please!” He speaks in a sing-song voice, holding out a free hand.

Rolling her eyes, she throws her purse to him and taps her foot. The police had been looking for this guy, too. But Batman had asked Gordon to let the case go. Now he was here, robbing a cop.

Red Hood was rummaging through her tiny purse, balancing it on his leg while his right hand still held the rifle pointed at her. He pulls out her Police ID.

“Oooh.” He exclaims, triumphantly. He opens the ID and reads it. “Cerys Edison, weird name.”

“Red Hood, dumb name.” The brown-haired woman named Cerys retorts, sarcastically. The vigilante chuckles under his mask.

“Buuuuurn.” He turns the ID a couple times. “Cool, Detective.”

After he reads all of her information and takes a couple of cough drops out of her purse, he throws it back to her. He didn’t take any money. She catches the purse, confused, and stares at him. Huh?

“You could be useful. Have a good night!” He leans the rifle behind his neck, waves kindly and starts to jump up the fire escapes back up to the rooftop. What the hell was that all about? Did he really just fake-mug her for some cough drops?

Cerys stood in the alleyway for a couple more minutes, befuddled. She had seen a lot of things in Gotham, but never did a mugging turn out so well. He had disappeared over the rooftops and left her with a feeling of uneasiness.

Useful. What did he mean by that?

Gathering herself back together, Cerys Edison finally walked out of the alley and towards her apartment.

_______

[tyler-reed-is-superman]

I Feel Like Writing Silly Little Snippets for Batman.

Alas, my brain cannot decide on any ideas. So I turn to you people.

Don't even have to be a Bat fan or anything. Just throw me some silly little prompts for short stories and we'll see what happens.

(oh, and if you do give me a specific idea for the batfandom, I say now, it's for Bat AND Rob, more specifically Dick. he's the only bird I know, so...yeah)

Whatcha got?

[rifatzabini-blog]

So I am watching Batman Beyond now. And there are like lot of new villains and stuff. But the character that has piqued my interest is the member of Assassin society Curare. The lack of information about her gives you a great scope to fanfiction about her. Gonna do that very soon. fun facts about curare:

Curare (spelled without the accent) is also the name of a poisonous plant used by some South American native peoples to tip their arrows, and by medical doctors as a muscle relaxant. Curare is also a Latin word, meaning "to take care of" or "to handle." This could be a subtle reference to her career, as, being an assassin, it is her job to "take care" of her victims. 

[lionthenovel]

part 3 fanfiction (red hood x oc)

DISCLAIMER: I am not an expert on Gotham and/or Jason Todd. I merely like the character of Red Hood and know a little about the city and Batman through several different movies.

WARNINGS: none

BACKGROUND MUSIC SUGGESTION: You’re Scaring Me by Maria Mena

_________________

He told her everything after the night terrors.

It was extremely late and stormy that night when Cerys catapulted upright from the coach hearing the wounded Red Hood screaming in the bedroom. Still dazed from being ripped out of her needed sleep, she ran to the source of the noise to find a sweat-drenched and flailing Jason lying sideways across the bed. His panicked grunts mixed with the sound of loud thunder gave the whole scene an eerie undertone. Unsure of what was happening, the brown-haired woman stood in the doorway and observed before realizing that Jason was having a terrible nightmare. His eyes were clenched shut and he kept screaming “Don’t kill me” at the top of his lungs. Extremely hesitant, Cerys walked to the side of the bed where his head was. She stared for a few seconds, clamping her teeth together in fear of being hurt by his hysteria. She needed to calm him down, otherwise the neighbors would hear and call the police which was the last thing either one of them needed. 

“DON’T LET HIM KILL ME!” He screamed.

What did her mother do when she was young? She was always a magician at calming her brother down.

Taking a quivering breath, Cerys bent over him and gently placed her hands on his face.

“Jason.” She tried making her raspy, tired voice sound as calm and collected as possible.

His eyes shot open and stared at her in absolute terror. There were tears running down to his ear. He started looking around the room, panicked and confused as to where he was. His breathing was frantic and the crashing storm outside wasn’t helping him orient himself. He sat up, quickly and disregarding his stomach wound, and continued to look around the room for …someone? What was he looking for?

Cerys was kneeling on the side of the bed now and, carefully, put her hands back on his face to force him to look at her. He was still crying and panting in fear.

“Look at me. Shhh.” She was cradling his face in her hands and wiped a tear from his cheek. Jason still tried to look around, but she held him tight so that he could really only stare at her. She returned his gaze and continued to shush him, evenly. He broke into more tears, perhaps overwhelmed with emotion, and sobbed like a child before falling forward into her arms. He hugged her tightly, a little aggressively even. Cerys could feel his fingers digging into her back. His head was buried in her shoulder and she felt the cold tears and snot run down her chest. “Don’t let him kill me”, he sobbed into her body a few times. Still disoriented.

Cerys wrapped her arms around him, still completely confused as to what the hell he had been dreaming/hallucinating, but acknowledged the care he needed right now. At least he stopped screaming, but now he was weeping hysterically. So, calm wasn’t a word she would use to describe him. She hated seeing him like this, it was a bizarre scene to her. The Red Hood she knew was cool and made dick jokes or weird puns, never bothered by anything. This was terrifying to witness. He was still hugging her so aggressively that she winced slightly. For her own sake, she needed to continue calming him down otherwise he would surely break her ribs.

His ear was right beside her lips and, quite subconsciously, she was rocking his body from side to side. He continued to murmur something about killing him, but it was hard to tell with all the shaky breaths and snivels.

Cerys started to hum. She was remembering a song her mom used to sing to her little brother when he was having a panic attack. Maybe it would help here, too. It was worth the shot anyway. As she hummed, his breathing became deeper but was still interrupted by convulsive sobs. Moving her head slightly closer to his ear, she kept humming.  

It was working. Jason regulated his breathing and seemed to be listening to her. She was so tired that some of the notes disappeared and became soft breaths. She finished the tune and realized that he wasn’t digging his fingers in her anymore. The tears had stopped as well. He stayed in her arms, though, and Cerys ran her fingers through his hair, without thinking about it, and rocked him still. They didn’t speak for a good half an hour. Jason was concentrating on breathing in her scent. 

He told her while he was still cradled in her arms about the Joker and Batman and his death and resurrection and all that. He was somewhat back to normal and obviously felt the need to explain himself. Or perhaps he needed to tell SOMEONE about what happened to him, which he obviously had never done before. It was strange for a skeptic like Cerys that she believed every word he said to her. He even told her why he was wounded in the first place and how he wound up outside her apartment. That it was the Joker who stabbed him in the gut and threw him into the river. That it was the Joker he was so terrified of and that he didn’t want to go to the hospital in fear of being found by the clown. That he should’ve listened to Batman, but that he still had conflicting feelings about him.

Maybe it was the fact that she was so mentally and physically exhausted, but Cerys took all the information in without question. It was like a therapy session, except no therapist cradles their patient the way she was at this moment. They were in such an intimate position, but strangely, neither one of them felt the need to move. After he finished talking, both remained silent for a bit.

Breaking the quiet, Cerys opened her mouth. Her eyes were half closed when she spoke:

“You’re safe with me.”

With that final whisper, they fell asleep together.

[lionthenovel]

“everybody wants to rule the world” part 2 fanfiction (red hood x oc)

honestly not sure if i like this, may delete....

DISCLAIMER: I am not an expert on Gotham and/or Jason Todd. I merely like the character of Red Hood and know a little about the city and Batman through several different movies.

WARNINGS: Blood, kinda sorta gore idk, swearwords

BACKGROUND MUSIC SUGGESTION: Dark Room by Mule & Man

_____________________________________

Weeks passed. The Joker had escaped Arkham once more. Cerys and Gordon were working closely with Batman to get him back there, discovering hidden gaseous traces on some playing cards the clown had scattered across a night-club massacre. Red Hood and Cerys crossed paths a few times, eventually agreeing that Cerys would give him information about the clown in exchange for evidence to imprison Falcone (and, in turn, free Ziva). It was difficult for Red Hood to persuade Cerys to disclose G.C.P.D information to him. But he had proven himself a trust-worthy (and kinda/sorta good person) to her by saving a group of kids from a burning building after Cerys was being held back by other officers. The fire was immense and she, surely, would’ve died going in there. Red Hood not only saved the children, but saved her from a gruesome death.

He had her phone number and calls her while she waits for Gordon to come back to ask if there was anything he should know about the clown. She tells him they don’t have much info, just that Batman told them he was following a specific (and probably illicit) lead in the harbor. Red Hood hangs up on her after that and she mumbles “Dickhead” to herself. Exhausted from another day spent staking out moronic criminals, she stares out of the car window at the night sky.

The door opening startles Cerys so much that she spills coffee in her lap. She was about to take her first sip. Moist, she sits there staring at the stain on her black pants. Brief silence as she glares at the middle-aged Commissioner.

“Oh jeez, are you alright?” Gordon asks, frantically trying to take a few tissues out of his tiny little pack to help her clean. He holds a clump out to her and she takes them, annoyed. She hadn’t slept well since the fire, worrying what would happen to those kids. Orphans now. This coffee was her attempt to wake up.

Patting on her pants with one hand still holding her coffee cup, she yawns quietly.

“Where we HEADED…” she mumbles as she slaps Gordon’s hand away from trying to clean her. “…now?”

“Uh, right. I think we can call it a night. Batman’s following that lead and we don’t have any new information. I’m gonna go back and talk to the DA about the Mob. You should go home and get some rest though. You need it.” Gordon starts the car and pulls out of the parking lot. “I’ll drive you home.”

Gordon drops Cerys off at her apartment. With moist pants, she waddles up the staircase to her door. Once inside, she takes off her stained clothes and throws them in the corner of her bedroom where her laundry-basket is already overflowing. She sniffs her armpits, trying to remember the last time she showered properly and not the ok-ill-just-rub-a-wet-washcloth-under-my-arms shower she does throughout long work periods. She decides it’s time to get her apartment and herself back in order and mentally prepares for the long cleaning process. Shower. Shower first.

Some hours pass with Cerys, back to her squeaky-clean self, collecting the many beer bottles and other trash tossed around her living room. She stuffs all of it in a large black trash bag until it reaches capacity. Looking around and not seeing anything else to possibly shove in the bag, she grabs it and carries it down the stairs. The microwave clock says 1:38 a.m. It’s a chilly night and the alley-way, where the giant trash container is, is deserted except for a few stray cats. Cerys regrets only wearing a tank-top out, feeling her skin cover itself with goosebumps. Some jerks moved the container all the way to the back of the alley, where the street light doesn’t reach. She can make out the silhouette of the container and drags the oozing trash bag, the only sound being the plastic skidding on the concrete. As she’s moving closer, however, another sound becomes clearer and she stops in her path. It sounds like…panting? She frowns, looking over her shoulder. The alley behind her is still empty. Turning back and gulping visibly, Cerys squints into the darkness near the container. Is someone there?

The panting is clear to hear now that she’s stopped dragging the trash bag. Slowly, she takes her phone out of her sweatpants and swipes up to activate the flashlight. Carefully, the woman shines the light towards the end of the alley. The light reveals black combat boots first. Cerys tenses up, realizing that there is a person lying next to the trash container. She moves the light upward to get a glimpse of the whole body.

“Oh my God.” The words escape her as she stares at a severely wounded Red Hood, panting on the ground with a hand on a gushing stomach wound, the other pointing a gun at her. He lowers it once he hears her voice. Dropping the bag, she runs over to him.

“Fucking hell, can you hear me?” she asks frantically, placing her hand on his shoulder. Red Hood’s helmet is broken, revealing his left eye and some black hair. He opens it and looks at her.

“I’ll call an ambulance.” Cerys unlocks her phone and begins typing 911, when Red Hood gives out a large groan and grabs her wrist with his free hand.

“..n-no.” His voice is shaky and barely audible with the amount of panting and broken mask interfering. Cerys looks at him perplexed and stares down at the wound. It’s a deep cut. “What?! You need to go to the hospital! Now.” She puts her hand on the wound to hold back the blood.

“..he’ll find…hah…he can’t…I don’t…”, she can’t understand him under the mask. She looks behind her to see if anyone is there. They’re alone. She looks back at him and shakes her head in confusion. His blue eye is full of fear. She can’t make out what he’s mumbling to her frantically. Except for

“he…’ll…..kill me”

Cerys’ eyes narrow and she bites her lip. He’s scared, for sure. But of what, she doesn’t know. She’s never seen Red Hood in such a state before. In any case, he won’t let her call an ambulance. And he will die in this alley if she doesn’t tend to his injury. He had saved her life before, she owed him. Plus, it's simply unethical to leave him to die in this filthy street. Taking a deep breath, thinking intensely about what needs to be done to save him, she rips off a piece of her tank top and presses it against his stomach wound.

“Hold this.” She says while she pulls him on his feet with immense effort. He’s a heavy guy. “You’re gonna have to help me. Walk.” Cerys looks at the ground as she speaks, sweat dripping down her face already. The vigilante puts his feet forward, stumbling a lot but they’re making progress. As they’re walking up the steps carefully, Cerys goes through what she will have to do once they make it to her apartment.

‘Why the fuck do I live on the 5th floor’, the brown-haired woman thinks to herself, both of them groaning as they’re climbing, Red Hood out of pain and Cerys from exertion. It’s late at night, hopefully no one will be in the staircase to hear them. Finally, they manage to reach her apartment and Cerys lays the wounded man on her bed. He’s still cumbersomely holding the ripped piece of fabric to his wound, but it’s completely soaked with blood already. She runs into the kitchen and grabs a large knife. Then she scurries to her tiny lab table and grabs a Bunsen burner, alcohol and her first-aid kit. When she comes back to her bedroom, Red Hood is panting heavier than before. His eye is scrunched together in agony.

“Take off your mask.” She says, her voice shaking. What she’s about to do is something she has never done before and she is visibly anxious. If she doesn’t act fast, he’ll bleed out. She has no clue how long he’s been lying out there. Red Hood’s eye opens and stares at her.

“You need to bite into this. If you scream, they’ll call the police.” Cerys is holding a leather belt and points at the walls around them, indicating that the neighbors will notice. She places all of the items on the night stand. Red Hood watches her as she assembles something, and finally, takes off his mask with his free hand.

She looks down at the sweat-drenched fuck-boy Ziva was with that night in the bar. But she doesn’t have time to think about that fact. He’s still panting.

As she turns on the Bunsen burner, she takes the knife and cuts open his shirt exposing his bloody chest and abdomen. He doesn’t recoil, all he can focus on is the pain.

“I’m not a doctor, but if you can’t go to the hospital for whatever reason I’m going to have to take drastic measures.” Cerys’ voice continues to tremble. The man is only able to keep one eye open to look at her. She’s holding the knife over the blue flame. The blade is glowing.

“I have to cauterize your wound. It’s the only way to stop the bleeding.”

The man’s eye widens and his panting becomes even more intense than before. He’s trying to breathe through his nose now. She stares at him, her eyes boring into him as he’s looking right back at her. She bites her lip again. She’s waiting for confirmation. After what feels like endless minutes, he finally nods hesitantly. With that nod, she grabs the belt with her free hand and holds it in front of his mouth. He bites down on it letting his head fall back down onto the pillow, as his nose breathing becomes all she can hear in that moment. Holding the hot knife over the wound, she looks up at him one last time. He nods once more.

With that, Cerys pushes the flat side of the scorching blade on to the open wound. A loud sizzling noise escapes from the area and the man recoils heavily with suppressed and agonizing grunts leaving his clenched jaw. Cerys tries to calm him with a few “shhh”’s, but it’s no use. The pain must be horrific. She holds the knife down for a solid 35 seconds, making sure the whole wound is seared shut. The man is twitching in her bed, anguish written all over his scrunched face still biting into the belt with all his might. This horrible scene feels endless. 

Cerys releases the blade from his body and the relief is visible for both of them. The wound is closed, sort of, and the man’s chest moves up and down as he takes deep breaths to calm himself. She listens to his breathing for a few seconds, relieved that this part is over. Recollecting herself, the woman quickly grabs a gauze and alcohol and begins cleaning the wound. The man spits out the belt, leaving his head lying heavy on the pillow. He is drenched in sweat, the white strands sticking to his face.

“Are…you ok?” she asks, her voice still shaky, as she wraps the gauze around his abdomen. There are tears in her eyes.

There is silence for a while. Cerys thinks he’s passed out as his breathing has become less audible. She finishes covering the wound and tapes it down. She lets out a deep, quivering sigh, not sure if what she just did was the right thing to do. Should she have called the ambulance despite his objection? But he was terrified of someone finding him there. This was the only way to save him…right?

Having gathered all the first aid materials she frantically threw on to the night stand, Cerys gets up and starts to leave the room, thinking she needs to make some morphine in her lab now. As she’s walking towards the door, she hears his faint and weak voice say:

“…thank you.”