Chapter 9 of What's Up, Danger?: Save The Cat
10:05 PM, Thursday
A glimpse of black and white fur darting out from behind a trash can caught Jason's attention through the thin white slits in his helmet.
"You're just gonna leave me here?" The dealer whined pathetically as he wriggled his hands against the cable that was chafing his skin.
"Consider yourself lucky, you're getting off light tonight," the Red Hood warned darkly.
Because I should be breaking both of your arms for dealing to kids.
He didn't want the criminals in Gotham to think he was going soft, but he had other business to attend to now.
Jason didn't give the man a second thought, leaving him alone and bound in the dark alley crawling with rats and who knew what else, as he followed the cat's trail.
What had started as a slow night was turning out to be more eventful than he anticipated. He hadn't set out to chase a cat tonight, but while tailing the dealer earlier in the evening he had spotted the recognizable creature slinking around from under one parked car to another.
Funny how things worked out.
He figured if he caught the cat and returned it to Sabine, she would be indebted to the Red Hood and help him with the murder case. She knew something and was hiding it from him, he could read it in her body language and nervous mannerisms. And he wanted to know what.
It sounded logical to him when the idea first sprang to life in his mind. An indebted civilian was a good ally to have.
The idea of using her made his chest feel heavy. Was it out of guilt?
Bruce had taught him to use whatever tools he could find, to be resourceful. From here on out, it would be a bad idea to continue to be friendly with her as himself, as Jason. He needed to create distance between Sabine and his civilian identity.
Yeah, that's what he needed. Distance. Fewer complications. Focus on the mission.
He quickly double-checked to make sure his comm line was turned off because he didn't want Oracle to overhear him cooing to a cat when he was supposed to be on apprehending drug dealers and other violent criminals.
Jason managed to corner the cat at the end of one of Gotham's hundreds of alleyways. A floodlight flickered ominously overhead, creating a strobe light effect.
Upon closer inspection, he realized with relief that this was the cat Sabine was utterly obsessed with. His markings were the same, the black fur that turned white at his paws, resembling a suit. The little bow-tie-shaped patch of black fur in a triangle of white under his chin. The little gut that swayed when he walked. The tipped ear. It was CEO, a funny but fitting name for the cat.
Along the cat's side, Jason saw a fresh pink wound and the surrounding fur matted with blood. It looked like the little guy had gotten into a bad scrape, maybe with another cat.
"Nice kitty, good kitty," Jason whispered as he cautiously toed closer to the tuxedo cat. "Remember when I gave you some of my burrito?"
He hoped the little good deed earned him some goodwill.
CEO arched his back and hissed as the masked man approached him. The hair on his body and tail stood on end.
Well, so much for that.
Jason shrugged off his jacket and held it to the side in his hands, intending to use it to capture the small creature.
"Come on," Jason urged, "good kitty…"
The cat backed away a few paces before darting forward and brushing past his leg.
Jason tried to toss his jacket over him, like a net, and missed.
The cat ran away quickly and rounded a corner behind him, vanishing from view.
"Fuck."
Snatching up his jacket, Jason pursued. His heavy boots hit the pavement in long strides as he followed. Sweat slathered his forehead and the back of his neck as he sprinted.
I'm getting my steps in tonight, he joked to himself through his frustration.
Ahead of him, the cat darted into the open door of a liquor store on the corner of the street.
Jason followed closely behind, his boots pounding against the cracked sidewalk, and entered the store, triggering the chime above the doorway. The cashier who was reading a newspaper behind the ash register simply looked up at him, rustled his paper as he turned the page, and looked down.
"Have you seen a cat?" Red Hood asked slightly out of breath, gesturing with his hands to help describe its features and size. "About this big? Tipped ear?"
The cashier shrugged without glancing back up, keeping his nose buried in the newspaper. He probably didn't want to get caught up in the riff-raff that vigilantes often brought with them.
Jason rolled his eyes. Thanks for the help.
He scanned the liquor store, there were no customers present; unusual for this time of night. It was small and cramped, with plenty of places for a cat to hide.
From behind a shelf, Jason heard a low meow.
Slowly, Jason approached the source of the noise and knelt, inspecting the space under the shelf stocked with an assortment of chips. The cat had wiggled itself behind several bags of potato chips, his eyes open wide and alert.
The entryway chimed twice as Jason carefully reached for the cat.
"C'mon kitty…"
The cat's eyes widened fearfully as a sudden yell broke out from behind him:
"—Empty the register, now!"
Jason's head whipped around just as the two men wearing black balaclavas over their faces pulled firearms out of trench coats.
The cat jumped forward, racing away and around a counter at the sound of the first explosive shots being fired.
Reflexively, Jason leaped up and bullets whizzed past his red helmet as he dove behind the counter. He shoved the cashier to the ground and out of the path of the danger.
He heard the cat hiss over the noise. Jason grumbled and let out an agitated puff of air as he pushed himself up and off the ground.
This was all that stupid cat's fault.
The sound of gunfire crackled explosively overhead like an ear-splitting cacophony, rattling the store windows. Glass bottles shattered above him, causing the amber liquid to spill down the shelves onto the floor and glass shards to rain down.
His boots squeaked against the tile floor as he scrambled to sit upright.
Next to him, he heard heavy breathing and sobbing.
Twisting his head to the side, he saw the terrified cashier cowering below the register, curled into the fetal position with his hands over his head.
Okay, okay, so it wasn't entirely fair to blame the cat for his current predicament. But he had been careless nonetheless and it felt good to blame someone. He'd never hear the end of it if the others found out.
He un-holstered his handguns—this would be so much easier if he had real bullets, not rubber ones, he thought in annoyance—and was about to move around the edge of the counter to get a look at what idiot was shooting at him tonight when a sharp pain in his right thigh caused his leg to buckle.
Jason looked down. His dark cargo pants were torn and there was a fresh streak of blood across his exposed thigh. A bullet must have grazed him—deep enough to tear through flesh and hurt, but not deep enough to stop the adrenaline pumping through him and prevent him from moving. The wound was going to hinder him a bit and the gash was bleeding freely. Great.
He definitely wouldn't hear the end of this if a certain demon spawn found out that he got distracted and a bullet nicked him.
The cashier whimpered over the sound of shouting and bullets flying. More glass bottles exploded. There was more yelling and cursing.
Jason tossed an irritated glance over to a stack of halfway unpacked cardboard boxes in the corner. Under one of the open lids, the cat pressed his body to the floor and flattened his ears, signaling that he was terrified of the noise but didn't know where to go.
Jason clenched his teeth and willed himself to ignore the throbbing in his leg.
There was a break in the gunfire.
"Did we get him?" A deep voice asked.
"I don't know. Why don't you go check?" The second voice sounded younger, higher pitched.
"Why don't you go check?" The first voice sneered back.
"Why me? You go!"
"Wait—shit, do you think that was the Red Hood?"
"Fuck, really? Now I'm definitely not checking. You go!"
Jason's fingers hovered over the triggers of his guns as he quietly made his way to the corner of the counter, using the cover to conceal his movement. The two gunmen continued to bicker like a cranky couple, their attention now on each other instead of the dangerous vigilante they should be worried about. It was a stupid mistake that they were going to pay for dearly.
He tilted his head up and examined the convex mirror in the corner of the wall. The reflection provided a wide-angle view of the store, showing him that the gunmen were standing behind a short shelf stocked with chips that were in front of a large drink cooler with sliding glass doors. He judged the angle and figured that with two well-placed shots he could finish the encounter without inflicting life-threatening injuries to either man.
He steeled himself, ready to jump out from behind his hiding spot to end it quickly; to end it without any more collateral damage, and to save the stupid cat.
Jason squatted on his toes, pistols ready in his hands. He checked their positions once more in the convex mirror, they were still arguing with each other ("You check!" "No, you check!") and their guns were lowered.
Quietly, Jason maneuvered around the corner and sprang up, pulling the triggers. One rubber bullet shot out and hit the larger one square in the chest, knocking him back; the second bullet hit the other one in the gut, the burst of pain that came with the impact caused him to vomit in his mouth and collapse forward.
Good, clean shots that incapacitated the robbers in one hit.
Jason didn't lower his guard and kept his guns raised. Walking around the shelves, he saw the two men doubled over in pain. Rubber bullets were less lethal than the real thing, but they still hurt like a bitch.
"You're welcome," Red Hood remarked dryly as the cashier finally poked his head up from behind the counter.
He kicked their guns across the floor and away from their grasp before he extracted two pairs of zip ties from an inner jacket pocket. Kneeling, he hastily restrained their hands behind their backs. They didn't resist, dazed from the blunt force trauma to their bodies.
Inexperienced, Jason thought immediately from their embarrassed silence, this was probably their first time trying to hold up a liquor store.
The cashier stuttered as he held a phone to his ear, his entire body shaking from shock. Jason caught a few of the words he said into the receiver as the ringing in his ears faded.
"…an a-attempted robbery…c-cross streets are G-grand and…and…"
"And that's my cue to go," Jason muttered. He didn't want to be around when the police arrived.
Removing his jacket, he swept up the cat next to the cardboard box, bundling it so it couldn't lash out at him with his claws. He shambled out of the store, careful not to put all of his weight on his wounded leg, the cat safely in his arms.
Jason pressed two fingers to his ear as he sat on the edge of the roof, his legs dangling over the ledge and his red helmet next to him. His hair was matted with sweat. His leg still throbbed, but he had tied a rag around it to stop the bleeding. Not the most hygienic or elegant thing he had ever done but, in a pinch, one could not afford to be picky.
"Oracle, come in."
Beneath him, he heard sirens piercing the air with their shrill wails and saw red and blue lights flashing off the surrounding buildings. Tires screeched as the police cars pulled up in front of the convenience store. The cops would find the two gunmen tied up together, and sitting back-to-back on the floor with their mouths gagged thanks to him.
Static crackled over the comm line as Oracle's familiar voice filled his earpiece. "What's up, Red?"
"Where's the nearest emergency vet clinic?" Jason asked as he held onto the wriggling cat wrapped in his brown jacket.
The cat was trying his damn hardest to escape Jason's grasp.
"Emergency vet?" He heard the surprise in her tone followed by a short laugh. "Are you rescuing cats from trees now?"
Jason sighed. "Something like that."
There was a pause, the static dissipated briefly before coming back in his earpiece.
"There's a 24-hour animal urgent care clinic in Gotham Heights."
Jason whistled. In Gotham Heights? That was going to be expensive.
Good thing he was planning to put all of the expenses on a credit card—credit line courtesy of Bruce Wayne—anyway.
Some-Good-Awful-Early-Hour, Friday—
There was a loud knock on Sabine's window. She sat up languidly, rubbing the sleep from her eyes. Had she imagined the sound? There were no trees outside to scrape against the glass. Maybe the neighborhood kids were throwing rocks again?
A second knock and her eyes shot wide open, her tiredness instantly forgotten. It was coming from the living room window, just beyond her bed and next to the couch.
It was early—too early for this shit—the bright glow of the streetlights still crept in through the blinds and her apartment was swathed in soft blue and purple undertones.
A third knock and an anxious lump formed in her throat.
Okay, someone was deliberately trying to get her attention. She wished she kept a baseball bat under her bed. Or maybe a knife under her pillow. Hell, maybe she should start.
Slowly and carefully, she slid out from under the warm blankets. Her three-sizes-too-big Gotham University shirt and checkered lounge pants helped little against the brisk air that filled her studio apartment.
Holding her breath and waiting, she saw a gloved hand knock for the fourth time behind the glass.
The leather glove looked familiar and her forehead creased. Immediately, she knew who it was.
A discernible modulated voice came from outside.
"Special delivery!" Followed by a hollow snicker.
If that red-helmet-wearing-ass thought it was appropriate to scare her half to death like this, she didn't care if her screeching at him at whatever-hour-it-was woke up the entire damn block.
Furious, she marched over to the window and threw it open, ready to scream bloody murder at the vigilante who thought it was okay to bother her on her fire escape.
Her voice caught in her throat, however, when she saw what he was carrying in his gloved hand. He leaned against the fire escape railing, his leather jacket askew like he had just thrown it on. The guns that were usually strapped to his thighs were missing as if he had come over to her apartment in a hurry. She could tell he was smiling under the red helmet as he held up an animal carrier.
Inside the blue and grey carrier and behind the grate came a ragged meow she hadn't heard in weeks.
Sabine's jaw almost dropped open, stunned.
Here was the Red Hood—rumored to be the bloodiest and most violent vigilante in the city—chilling on her fire escape with the freaking cat she had been obsessively worrying over.
The icy early morning air breezed over her skin as she stared at him with wide eyes. She almost couldn't feel the frigid temperature through her surprise.
"Well, are you gonna take him or what?" Red Hood asked, his arm starting to get sore from holding up the carrier like he was giving her a peace offering.
Jason had walked, or rather limped, into the urgent care clinic several hours earlier in his civilian clothes—jeans, sneakers, and red hoodie—with a cardboard box in his arms that contained the agitated cat, who was howling and furiously scratching at the wall of its small prison. Jason had hastily wrapped his leg wound with sterile gauze after he cleaned it before heading over to the clinic, but he knew would need to make a trip to the manor so Alfred could look at it.
The clinic was clean and smelled like a combination of antiseptic and animal hair. After going up to the front desk, Jason was prompted by the receptionist to fill out what seemed like several stacks of paperwork; approving care for the stray cat, getting his shots up to date, and writing down Sabine's information for the microchip registration. He handed CEO over to a vet technician and then waited several hours in the lobby with his limbs sprawled uncomfortably over a couch, almost nodding off several times.
Finally, after two hours, the cat was returned to him with paperwork on the type of care he had received and a vial of antibiotics for the scratch on his side with aftercare instructions.
Jason was used to long and difficult nights. He was more than ready to saddle back up to Waffle House and fall asleep face first on another omelet.
Sabine opened and closed her mouth a few times, fumbling over what to say to him. She scrambled through the window to join him on the fire escape. Forgetting that she was barefoot, the freezing temperature of the stainless stain felt like it was burning the soles of her feet. But she didn't care.
She took the carrier from his outstretched arm gently, still unable to think of what to say. Carefully, she leaned back through the window and placed the carrier on the floor. Her mind was already making a mental shopping list of things she was going to have to pick up from the pet store for CEO.
Red Hood started up the steep fire escape stairs to the roof. He was used to not being thanked but from her, it stung his pride a bit. She didn't know the damn trouble he went through that night.
"H-hey, wait!" She croaked, stepping up to the bottom of the stairs and gripping the handrails. The cold metal felt like fire against the skin of her palms.
He turned his head slightly, looking over his shoulder and down at her. She seemed so far away even though there were less than ten feet between them.
Her nose and cheeks were a rosy red from the cold. "T-thank you."
He stared down at her for a few seconds, a tiny grin pulling up the corners of his lips behind the emotionless helmet. Red Hood returned her words of gratitude with a curt nod.
She owed him now. But that could wait for another night.
"Now go back inside before you freeze to death," he said in a mechanical voice, noticing that she was in her pajamas.
Sabine wrapped her arms around herself and her teeth chattered, finally fully feeling the numbing cold air now that her astonishment had worn off.
She climbed back through her window, closing it behind her, as Red Hood made his way up to the roof to disappear into the night.
A/N: And that's the end of "Act I" for this fic! Things are only going to ramp up/get crazier/weirder from here, so I hope you'll stay tuned.
This chapter was (essentially) the inspiration for this fic back when I was planning a Jason/Reader one shot, but then my brain just spiraled out of control with questions like: how do the characters get to the point? Why does Jason care about *this* cat? Why is it significant?
Anyway, can't believe I've written over 30k words of this story! That may not seem like a lot to some but this has been my first concentrated fanfic writing effort in *checks notes* OVER TEN YEARS AHHH
Thanks for reading!