There was a guy who sometimes came in to the 24-hour drugstore you worked at. He always stood out to you- mostly because you found him kind of intimidating. Leather jacket, torn jeans, white streak contrasting against his black hair, smelling like cigarettes- you could just tell that this was a guy who had Seen Some Shit.

He had been coming in almost weekly for about a year to buy the large first aid kits. They were supposed to last years- the type of thing that you leave in the back of a car in case of emergency. You wondered what on earth he did for a living to need the kits so often- but you never asked, assuming it was probably something you didn't want to know.

Your exchanges were minimal. At first, you'd ask how his day had been- after a month of barely being grunted at in response, you resigned yourself to simply scanning his kit, taking his cash, giving him change and watching him leave. You fell into something of a rhythm- you would hear his bike pull up, grab the kit, and have it ready by the time he reached the door. The first time you did this, you could swear you saw his lip quirk slightly before returning to the usual stone-faced 'I don't care' look he had going on. It seemed like he had two moods- indifferent, or pissed off. He was never rude to you, of course, but his mood was pretty clear in his demeanour.

Sometimes you wondered if you thought about the guy a bit too much, pondering who he was behind the mysterious façade. You would never admit it out loud, but you had always kind of had a thing for the 'bad boy' type. So what if you checked out his ass every now and again.

You were working the night shift one Thursday in September when you heard his motorbike pull up outside the otherwise empty store. You were about to retrieve his usual first-aid kit when the doors slid open to reveal… Red Hood? Ok, so not what you had been expecting.

You recognised him from the news. Armed, dangerous- if you saw him, you were to not under any circumstances engage. You were to hide and call the authorities- which you had fully intended to do, until he limped over to the shelf and grabbed a large first aid kit. Oh. Oh.

As he shuffled back to the registers, you wrestled with yourself in your mind. Could it really be him? Oh god, he smelled like cigarettes. It totally was him. Should you report this to the police? Did he know you knew his identity? Was he going to kill you now that you knew? Your panicking came to a halt as he placed the kit on the counter and pulled out twenty dollars from his wallet. He wouldn't pay someone he was going to murder, right?

You glanced down at his leg and winced. There was an open wound, bleeding through a slash in his pants. That explained the limping.

As you were finding his change, you cleared your throat, summoning the courage to speak.

"Um… can I help… bandage that for you?" He looked at you (at least you assumed he did, the mask made it hard to tell) for a moment, seeming to consider the offer. "Seriously, it's my job. I'll do it quickly and you can get back to… whatever it is you do" You added, gesturing to his outfit. Wait, what were you doing? Aiding a criminal? Did this make you an accomplice to murder?

You assumed his lowering himself onto a chair was compliance- you wondered if he was simply too weak to object- so you hastily opened the first aid kit and knelt by his leg, silencing your conflicted thoughts to focus on the task at hand. You reached for your water bottle, grimacing as you prepared yourself for what you had to do. "This is going to sting, sorry…"

His body tensed and he hissed as you pulled the fabric stuck to his wound away from his body, cutting off what was in the way of the gash. He mumbled a chain of expletives as you carefully washed the wound with water and you found yourself apologising yet again- to yourself as just as much as the masked vigilante.

As you wrapped and secured the wound and handed him some painkillers, he finally seemed to relax into the chair, if only a little. You both sat in silence for a moment, resting after the ordeal, before he finally spoke.

"…Well, that was some good service." You smiled in appreciation. So he did have a sense of humour.

"You should probably stay off of that for a few days. It'll need some time to heal." You weren't sure why you were telling him this. He was probably used to these types of injuries. He stood up, seemingly ready to leave.

"There's no rest for the wicked. But thanks." He began shuffling towards the door, but you called out behind him and he turned to face you once more.

"Just so you know… you don't have anything to worry about. This could get me in just as much trouble as you, so… as far as I'm concerned, this didn't happen."

You watched as he left the store, contemplating the crazy turn that your night had taken.

He didn't come by the store again. You wondered if he was okay, from time to time, and couldn't help but search 'Red Hood' on the internet occasionally to see what he had been doing. It comforted you a little to find that he seemed to only take out the 'bad guys'. Less blood on your conscience.

By the time Christmas rolled around a few months later, you fully assumed that you wouldn't hear from the vigilante again. It was as you were watching TV in your apartment that a small envelope slipped under your front door, catching your eye. Curious, you walked over and opened it- revealing a scrawled note accompanied by a hundred dollars.

Here's your tip. Merry Christmas.

- RH

You couldn't help but grin as you heard a motorbike speed away into the distance.

A/N: Yeah, I know reader insert stories are totally taboo but I wrote this for tumblr and I thought I could put it here for those of you who are into this kind of thing :) If you're interested in more stuff like this, my username is 'batfamscribbles' on there!

Thanks for reading, let me know if you'd like me to turn this into a series or alter this so it is OC rather than reader insert if it's what you prefer!

- Chai