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prologue, part two: the trolley problem
The first time Roy Harper met the Red Hood it was by accident. He hadn’t meant to be in Star City this long, certainly didn’t mean to be there in any masked capacity, and he really didn’t want to get involved with whatever craziness Oliver had managed to incite this time.
As with most things in his life, nothing really turned out the way he wanted.
Roy still had old contacts in Star City and he couldn’t bring himself to ignore a lead as large as this. There was a new player disrupting the supply chain between here and Gotham, which never boded well. Train cars were getting hit, emptied of all sorts of contraband ranging from weapons to antiquities. In Roy’s experience, that usually only meant one thing wasn’t far behind--drug distribution, and not the nice kind.
Well, when it came to drugs Roy wasn’t particularly nice either, which is how he found himself standing on top of a moving train at three in the morning, freezing his ass off. This was the last car he hadn’t searched, so if it came up empty he was out of luck and out a good amount of bribe money.
Teeth chattering, he popped the head of an acid arrow and used it to melt a nice, Roy-sized square in the roof. It wouldn’t leak all the way through, but it would weaken the metal enough that it should give with a swift kick. There wasn’t another entry point to the car that was usable, which meant he had to go for a less than subtle approach.
Also, it was damn cold.
“Here goes nothing,” Roy muttered, and stomped hard on the square he’d carved out, bracing himself for anything. He landed in a low crouch, arrow already nocked and ready. The few sparks from the piece of roof hitting the metal floor lit up the dim interior of the car, just enough for Roy to see the barrel of a pistol pointed right at his face. Well, that tracks .
“Nice of you to drop in,” came an eerie, mechanized voice. Roy didn’t waste a second, throwing his body heavily to the left to get out of the line of fire. He released his arrow as the gun went off, so close to his ear it almost deafened him and definitely made him dizzy. He put his back against one of the many crates in the car, trying to get a better feel for his surroundings.
“That’s a pretty lazy opening,” he said, trying to buy time as he reached for another arrow. “I mean, this close to Christmas I’d’ve expected something including Santa, or a chimney.”
The voice chuckled, an electric hum from what had to be a voice modulator. It sounded farther away, like his target was moving. “I would’ve, but you don’t seem to have any cookies,” the voice said again, and this time the sound was layered, like he could hear the human behind it. Roy’s eyes narrowed, wondering if it was his eardrum still recovering from the gunshot, but then he realized.
“Fuck,” he murmured, and looked up. Crouched on top of the crate above him was a young man in a red domino, twin pistols pointed straight down. Roy could probably dodge one shot, but not both. “I wouldn’t worry about the cookies,” he said, slowly placing his bow on the ground, palming an arrowhead. “You look like the naughty list type to me.”
“You have no idea,” theman said, smirking, and for a second Roy forgot the plan because the expression seemed so familiar.
This was going to suck. Roy hated getting shot.
Lightning quick, he flicked the arrowhead up towards the ceiling, his thumb flicking the tip to activate it. Bright light burst throughout the whole car. Roy shut his eyes against it as he rolled away. Both guns went off and he felt the telltale sting of a bullet graze his shoulder.
Roy was lucky in more ways than one - he’d thrown the flare with enough strength to attach it to the ceiling, so the light wasn’t going anywhere anytime soon. He scooped up his bow and rose to his feet, pressing his advantage as his attacker leapt off the container. Swinging his bow like a baseball bat, he managed to strike both of the man’s forearms, causing his next shots to go wide.
One gun dropped to the floor and Roy made the split-second decision to let go of his bow, realizing that close quarters was going to be the only way to keep the upperhand. He grabbed the man’s other wrist, wrestling for the weapon, using his last second of surprise to deliver a brutal headbutt. His attacker fell back, and Roy wrenched the gun from his hand, immediately stepping back to turn the weapon on him.
In the bright shine of the train car, Roy finally got a better look at who he was fighting. The man in front of him was tall, probably had an inch or two on him. He was dressed simply, black body armor and a brown leather jacket, no insignia that Roy could make out. His nose was bleeding freely from Roy’s headbutt, painting the lower half of his face in garish red. His hair was a mess of black curls, save for a white shock of hair that fell across his forehead.
“Ow,” the man said, and this time there wasn’t the weird double feedback from before. His voice sounded familiar, and Roy fought against the swell of surprise that threatened to stiffen his posture as the pieces clicked:
White lock of hair. Red domino. A train to Gotham .
He’d heard the stories from Dick about the Red Hood. He’d watched the footage of Oliver and Mia’s encounter only a few weeks before, and yet he struggled to believe what he was seeing with his own two eyes: Jason Todd, in the flesh, resurrected and decidedly not on the side of the angels anymore.
The realization caused him to hesitate long enough for Jason to slide a nasty looking knife from his sleeve. Roy ducked as Jason swung wildly, heedless of the gun Roy had aimed at his head. Roy swore and kicked out, narrowly missing Jason’s stomach as the other man twisted away.
“Sure you know how to use that thing?” Jason snarled, spitting blood on the ground as they both regrouped, circling each other like cats.
“You’d be surprised,” Roy said, surprising himself with how level his voice sounded. His brain was in overdrive. “I know who you are, Hood.”
Jason chuckled. The sound had nothing of that cocky, bright, Robin cackle he remembered. He was favoring his right side, and Roy could make out the blunt end of the arrow he’d released when he first entered the train car. Apparently he’d hit Jason in the abdomen, and instead of calling it quits Jason had simply broke off the fletching and kept right on going.
Fucking Bats .
“That makes one of us,” Jason said, ducking low and charging. Roy barely had enough time to counter. “You’re the wrong color for Star City.”
“Excuse me?” Roy spat. He wasn’t going to win this with a gun either and he tossed it to the far side of the container, focusing on blocking Jason’s furious blows.
“You’re not Green Arrow, and you’re a little too tall to be the new Speedy, so what kind of Arrow are you?” Jason murmured, kicking out with a powerful thigh.
Roy dodged with a back handspring that would’ve made Dick Grayson proud, coming up with his fists protecting his face. That knife was becoming a problem, and there was not a great chance of Roy winning hand-to-hand combat with one of Bruce’s brethren.
“I’m not any kind of Arrow,” Roy growled, taking a swipe to push Jason to reposition. “Might want to brush up on your intel after being gone for so long, Robin , I’m my own man now.”
The gamble paid off, the minute Roy said the word Robin Jason was on him, furious and brutal. He hit hard, almost as hard as a meta, knife tearing into Roy’s gauntlets as he tried to keep up with the assault. Jason’s fury gave him the opening he needed though.
Sorry, kiddo, he thought, and brought his knee up to the shaft of the arrow embedded in Jason’s side. He winced in sympathy as Jason gasped at the pain, dropping heavily onto one knee. Roy wasn’t in a taking chances kind of mood, and he quickly reached into his quiver for a tranquilizing arrow and slammed it into Jason’s neck.
Jason wasn’t giving up without a fight though, knife clattering to the floor as he grabbed ineffectively at Roy’s hand on his throat. Roy managed to hold on as the sedative took, feeling Jason’s weight finally slump against him. He kicked the knife away and pulled a pair of meta-grade handcuffs from his belt, quickly securing Jason’s arms behind his back.
“Neat trick,” Jason slurred, letting out a low groan as the positioning in his arms pulled at his wound. “I’m gonna warn you though, that kind of stuff doesn’t work on me these days.”
Roy snorted, but eyed Jason carefully. He was conscious and somehow still on his knees when most people would’ve been out like a light. Roy looked down at the wound on Jason’s side, seeing blood trickling down his back and over one well-muscled thigh where the arrowhead poked through. It didn’t look like he’d hit anything vital, but it probably stung like a son-of-a-bitch.
“I guess I’ll take my chances, Rambo,” Roy muttered, pulling a few first aid supplies from his belt as well.
He moved to Jason’s side, eyeballing the entry and exit wounds from a low crouch. Jason tracked his movements, the slight lolling of his head giving him away as a side effect from the drug. Or he was faking it. It didn’t matter, Roy was out of other tranquilizers and now that he was closer to Jason he could see the rough shape he was in - even with the domino he could see the dark circles under his eyes, the ghastly pallor of skin, the sunken cheeks.
“Guess the outlaw life’s running you pretty hard,” Roy commented, edging closer.
The trick with Bats isn’t getting a hit on them , warned Oliver’s voice in his head. Roy flashbacked to a rooftop, the two of them sitting with a six-pack between them after a night of do-gooding. Roy couldn't remember another time he felt that happy.
It’s hitting them twice.
The wound was bleeding pretty steadily. Plus, this was Dick’s baby brother, and more importantly, something in his gut made him want to help. Roy could hear Ollie’s ghost in his ear, telling him he was about to make another mistake.
Roy ignored it, like he did most Oliver-related things. Instead he pinched the bridge of his nose and muttered a few curse words, making a decision.
“Now, don’t...I don’t know, tase me or bite me or whatever signature move Red Hood has these days,” he said. Before Jason could react he reached out with both hands, pressing them firmly against the wound to help stop the bleeding. Jason went stiff as a board when he did so, jaw clenched shut, shoulders thrumming with tension.
“What...the fuck ,” Jason bit out, sweat dripping from his brow.
Roy shushed him, examining the cleanly-cut arrow shaft sticking out of Jason’s abdomen. He’d probably cut it with that stupid knife of his, somehow, and Roy really wanted to know what that beauty was made of if it cut through arrows and body armor so readily. It was going to be easy to pull through. He tightened his grip on the arrowhead at Jason’s back, eyeballing the angle. The movement got Jason’s attention and that dark head snapped up. “Wait, you’re not supposed to--stop, Speedy, don’t-- fuck! ’
Roy hadn’t heard that name in awhile, and it almost shook him but he yanked the arrow through cleanly. Jason’s entire body tipped to the side like his strings had been cut, finally succumbing to the pain and blood loss. Roy eased him on his good side so the kid didn’t brain himself on the floor.
“You idiot, you already fought Speedy. It’s Arsenal now,” he told Jason as he cleaned him up. Roy had patched a lot of arrow wounds in his time and this one wasn’t any different. Jason’s momentary faint lasted barely thirty seconds, but he kept still as Roy bandaged his side. The only time he moved was when Roy had to pull the hem of his shirt up, flinching slightly. Roy caught sight of a few scars, a particularly nasty one running through his navel and into the waistline of his pants.
“You’re fine,” Roy murmured as he packed the wound. He realized he was using the soothing tone he reserved for injured civilians and decided to go with instinct.
“No need to be shy,” he continued. “I was on the Teen Titans so I’ve seen it all. You remember Gar? Yeah, he does not shift into those crazy animals as quickly as he thinks he does, so you can’t shock me. I mean, have you seen a cloaca up close? I have.”
“What is wrong with you?” Jason muttered, seemingly to himself. He sounded less out of it, and Roy hurried to move faster. His position was vulnerable and Jason’s legs looked strong. He was hardly that small kid Roy remembered from so long ago. “You know you can’t arrest me.”
“Oh I can’t, can I?” Roy asked, chuckling as he tore off a strip of gauze. “Sorry buddy, but you’re a drug dealer. You’re lucky the only thing I’m doing is throwing you in jail.”
Jason scoffed. “A drug dealer? Seriously? I’m not a drug dealer, I’m a lot worse than that. You should ask Goldie what happened the last time one of the Bats threw me in prison.”
Which, okay, that sounded ominous. Roy wracked his brain to see if he could remember what Jason was talking about but came up empty. That either meant whatever Jason was referencing happened while Roy was busy fucking up his life or it was so bad Dick wouldn’t talk about it.
Or, Roy settled on, it was likely both.
“Not helping your case,” was all he said in return. He eased Jason a little more on his stomach, moving to patch backside. It also gave Jason less leverage in case he started feeling feisty. Jason groaned, hissing through his teeth as Roy got to work, but didn’t move.
“I don’t understand you,” Jason said once the pain lessened. “You can’t possibly work on absolute moralities anymore. I know that’s G.A.’s schtick and it doesn’t seem like you and him are on the same page. This shipment is leaving your city. I’ve disrupted the gun and drug trade in your city and you’d think I’d get a thank you for making your lives a little easier.”
Roy did pause at that. He’d heard about Jason’s crusade from Dick. “Well maybe I don’t understand you . Just because guns and drugs are going to a different city doesn’t mean I stop caring about the people there. And don’t start this controlling crime speech with me, there’s nothing about drugs you can control, believe me. I’ve heard every argument.”
“Oh for fuck’s... sake ,” Jason nearly whimpered, face scrunching up as Roy pressed down, feeling a rush of hot blood seep into the gauze. The exit wounds were always more painful.
Jason was quiet for a moment, breathing heavily through his mouth. He glared up at Roy, tilting his head pointedly to the scars on Roy’s arms. “So you were lucky enough to get off the junk, now you’re going to make sure no one goes through what you went through? That it? Give me a break.”
Roy wasn’t ashamed of his past. He refused to be. He hummed, noncommittal as Jason twitched beneath him. He tore the last few pieces of medical tape he needed with his teeth, keeping one hand firmly on the small of Jason’s back as he secured the bandage. Roy stood up as he finished, keeping one eye on Jason as he scooped up his bow and the weird dagger he’d tossed aside earlier.
“You can’t possibly be this naive. What? You gonna deal with the opioid crisis all on your lonesome? Gonna fix healthcare and poverty with a prehistoric weapon made of string and a fucking twig?” Jason pressed on, awkwardly shoving himself to a sitting position, hands still bound behind him.
“It’s a compound, actually,” Roy pointed out, flashing a charming smile. “I made it myself.”
He felt a triumphant thrill as Jason gaped at him.
“My point still stands,” Jason spat, recovering. “I’m not dealing drugs, I’m controlling the assholes who do. Take a look around, Red, half the people in the city are hooked from broken backs, or they’re busy trying to stay awake to keep from getting assaulted on the streets. You think they’ll stop buying because some Robin Hood says so? Because he cares? ”
Roy never knew Jason from before, not really. He’d been busy with Titans, with Oliver, with his own messy head when Jason had been Robin. They’d met once or twice when Dick brought his new baby brother to the Tower.
Roy remembered a scrawny kid with a bright, cocky smile and a chip on his shoulder Roy recognized all too well. He remembered Jason’s quick wit, so reminiscent of Dick in some ways, but sharper. Roy remembered Jason’s pale cheeks turning an alarming red whenever Donna’s attention turned to him. He remembered thinking of how mouthy and sweet he’d been himself at thirteen, before everything crumbled. He remembered wishing Jason would never know the same.
It was taking everything in him right now to remember those few memories. Strangely, he thought of Dick again, whose furious temper cut with the same surgical precision as Jason was trying for now. Jason’s words were crueler, but his conviction lacked the whisper of righteousness Dick’s usually held. For some reason that made Jason’s open anger harder to take.
“I don’t know what you’ve been through,” Roy began, entire body hot with fury, “But I know it’s been something, probably a lot of somethings, that were fucking indescribably terrible.”
Jason stilled for a moment. Fuck. He was probably working on getting loose and Roy needed to hurry. He hit the button on the handle of his bow, distress signal sent. The train was probably well past the city limits, but maybe Ollie was down for a run.
“However, I will tell you what I do know, and that’s suffering. And there is no escaping or controlling suffering. And what you’re doing? That’s all you’re doing. That’s all any of this is,” Roy continued, waving a hand at the stacks of crates around them. Jason watched him with a blank look on his face. “Suffering is still suffering, and the only thing anyone ever wants is for it to stop .”
“So what are you gonna do then?” Jason challenged, indignant. Roy heard a slight wobble in his voice, the question sounding more earnest than maybe he’d intended.
Roy sighed.
“I think the question is what are you gonna do,” Roy replied gently. “I’m not gonna be an asshole and pretend I could tell you what’ll fix it.”
“No, you’ll just toss me in prison like everyone else,” Jason sighed, sounding bored.
Roy shrugged. “Nobody’s perfect. Look--”
“You want to know what I’m going to do?” Jason interrupted, tone ominously conversational.
Roy tensed, eyes narrowing at the shift of the other man's shoulders.
Jason picked up on it, head tipping sideways as a dangerous smile spread across his face. “I’m gonna blow up this train car.”
Goddamn fucking Bats.
Roy bit back an exasperated sigh as a sharp electronic whine started near the front of the car, signaling a countdown. His brain split into a thousand thoughts at once, feet already carrying him towards the sound. There was a console at the front, Jason must have rigged it before he arrived--oh god there were guns and live ammo in here, they were gonna die .
“Tell me how to stop it!” Roy shouted, darting for the console only to be brought up short as his boot grazed a signature red helmet on the floor. There was light flashing behind the eye slits, the alarm screaming from its speakers. Shit . Roy reached instinctively for an EMP arrow and drew to fire.
“Yeah, that’s not gonna work,” Jason said, voice low and suddenly much closer. Two hands gripped Roy’s shoulders and pulled, hard, sending him almost to his knees. Roy swore as his shot went wide, alarm blaring in his ears. Jason yanked at him again, twisting his right arm until his shoulder dislocated. Roy screamed as the pain drilled down his shoulder and spine, then suddenly his feet weren’t on the ground anymore and everything went red.
The world came back in pieces, each of them painful and confusing. Roy could feel something wet and cold against his back. A tinny, high-pitched whine filled his ears and he could smell smoke. There was suddenly a huge, overwhelming pressure against his chest and he gasped as his lungs seized up, fear sending a shock through his system. He groaned, trying to wriggle away from the cold behind him and the heat above, almost blacking out again as his bad shoulder caught on the ground.
“Stay down!” came a distant voice, barely able to be heard over the ringing in his ears. Had Ollie come for him? Roy remembered hitting the emergency beacon before Jason had activated the helmet ( why did he keep high-grade explosives in a helmet what the absolute shit ). The thought of Jason forced Roy to open his eyes, blinking away wet tears as a warm gust of fire and ash blew across his face. A loud boom sounded in the distance and he flinched, moaning as the movement made his head swim.
“You’re okay, you’re gonna be fine,” came the voice again. Roy forced himself to focus. The pressure on his chest eased and Roy looked up to find Jason kneeling over him. His red domino had ripped, revealing a singular blue-green eye. His jacket was open and a deep wash of red spilled down over his chest. Roy could see a mess of stitches on his neck, ripped and weeping blood.
“Fuck,” Roy slurred, reaching out with his one good hand towards the wound. He couldn’t quite reach. “You’re hurt.”
“Glass houses,” Jason rasped, easily batting Roy’s hand away. “I think you hit your head pretty hard, bud. Sorry about that.” Still crouched, Jason turned to look over his shoulder. He seemed to be listening for something. Behind him Roy could see the fading lights of the train as it traveled away, now missing its last train car. A few pieces of fiery debris lit Jason from behind, sparks scattering up into the cold night air like fireflies.
Roy flexed his toes, relieved as he felt them shift inside his boots. “You blew up the goods,” he tried, swallowing through the faint nausea that came with head wounds. “What kind of self-respecting drug dealer blows up his own product?”
Jason laughed, a weary but brighter sound. He looked down and for a moment Roy swore he could see a fond smile at the edges of his expression. Roy would take it--if Jason decided to kill him here and now there wasn’t much he could do about it. If anything at least Roy wouldn’t be pressed into freezing cold grass anymore and that’d be a win in his book. Fuck, his head hurt.
“Your stupid team is coming for you,” Jason said, pulling Roy’s focus back to him. “I’m not gonna stick around to say hi. Sorry to be rude, but y’know, crime to do, people to threaten.”
Roy smiled, but it might have been more of a grimace. He watched Jason rise to his full height, darkness on the edge of his vision as he tried to focus.
“Sorry I couldn’t arrest you,” Roy said tiredly. His eyelids felt so heavy. “And also fuck you for blowing me up.”
“The first time’s always the worst,” Jason said absently. He had an arm wrapped around his waist, hand pressed to the wound Roy had patched up earlier. God, Roy wished he wouldn’t leave.
Like most things, Roy wasn’t going to get what he wanted. He watched as Jason turned to lope off into the night, a lone shadow flitting between the flames.
“See you around, Jaybird,” Roy muttered, and let the darkness take him.
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