A/N: I might as well put some warnings here. First of all, this is obviously gay fanfiction. Second, this work is going to have quite a few flashbacks and vivid descriptions of death and violence, and the psychological results of it. If you've read the comics or have scanned the fandom enough, you should know what the deal is, but I felt it was worth mentioning. Lastly, while this is rated T now, the rating may go up in later chapters. I never know how graphic I'm going to be about sex scenes until I write them, but the rating will change if it needs to.

Also, obviously, none of these characters belong to me. I am in no way affiliated with DC comics and I make no money off this. This is purely speculative fiction, as much as I wish that James could have been Resurrected in some way other than as a zombie in the comics. :(

"Well, crazy's not my thing. And playing the sidekick again…never. If the last year has taught me anything, it's time to carve out a life of my own."

-Jason Todd, Countdown to Final Crisis #01

CHAPTER ONE

When Hartley awoke the next morning, everything was most certainly NOT okay. For starters, it was still dark. That in itself wasn't necessarily odd, as it could very easily still be night, and not morning at all, but something about the darkness seemed… weird. As Hartley's eyes began to adjust, he began to understand his unease. It was really dark. When he first arrived via boom-tube in the alley, it had certainly been night, but it was night in a big city. There were lights on in the buildings, and the great luminous bat-signal in the sky didn't hurt in brightening up the city-scape. Now, apparently, even the Batman had gone to bed. It was truly time for the city to sleep, and for a brief moment, Hartley felt as though he were back in the desert, where the only light came from the eyes of the scavengers, trying to decide if he was as dead as his companion. He had definitely felt like it.

As his eyes adjusted further, he was able to pick out another cause for his concern. There were two eyes, now, staring down at him, and they weren't the eyes of a coyote, or even one of his rats, who, now that he noticed, were more alert than he was, and watching warily, half hidden behind him. One of them hissed. No, these eyes were human, but they were odd, strangely shaped as if hidden behind a helmet… or a mask-

Crap.

Hartley surged to his feet, swaying dangerously as he reached for his flute, his friends watching warily to see what happened.

What happened involved this new cape (whether villain or hero, he had yet to determine) gripping him around the shoulders and steadying him, keeping him from falling over, as he realized he must certainly have been about to do so, judging from the black dots dancing across his vision and the wave of dizziness that continued to wash over him. "Easy man," a voice said from slightly above him. Male. But of course he could tell that now just by looking at the figure. Broad shoulders, a gleaming jacket that must have been leather and a red… helmet…

Crap. This was not good.

"Christ, you look like hell," the voice continued. Hartley gripped his flute tighter, ready in case he needed it. It didn't seem like an unlikely possibility. "Then again, you did visit Apokolips recently, so I guess that counts."

He started, tensing in the other's grip. He couldn't tell if that grip was supporting him or imprisoning him. Maybe both. "How did you-"

But the other cut him off. "Because I was there. Saw you being dragged off by that nutcase, Desaad. Sorry to leave you but I kind of had other fish to fry. Plus I didn't know if you were friend or foe." He paused to consider. "Still don't, really. I know you're wanted for murder, but I also know you didn't kill that kid, so there's that."

Piper took in a deep breath. Maybe there was still a chance of getting out of this without any bloodshed. Because he had heard of the Red Hood. Heard he was a little like Batman, but with guns. "How do you know I'm innocent?" He asked tentatively.

"Please," Red Hood snorted, "Look at you. Not to judge a book by its cover or anything, but you don't look guilty. Scared, sure, but not a murderer- and trust me, I know what a murderer looks like. I really do. And you're not one of 'em. Also, to be fair, I know a thing or two about you Rogues. You're so gimmicky. Especially you and the Trickster. That game you have going with the Flash- it's more like hide and seek than cowboys and Indians. Although I guess that's all changed now." He paused to consider the ragged and still dog-tired body he was half-supporting. "Besides," he continued, "you look like you could use a shower a helluva lot more than my wallet or world domination right now." Judging by the tone of his voice, he was probably grinning- not that his helmet gave anything away.

After a moment of silence, Hartley reluctantly agreed. "I really could." He couldn't help smiling too, though he felt a muscle twitch spasmodically in the corner of his mouth. It had been a while since he had really smiled, not since… well, not since James was alive. That thought sobered him instantly, and he slumped a bit in Hood's arms, trying not to imagine that grinning face, the rush of train tracks passing them by as he endured joke after joke, trying to decide if he wanted more to punch that laughing face, or…

"Hey, I gotcha. Don't pass out on me now, man." The vigilante grabbed him more securely, hoisting him back to his feet and Hartley began to realize that he really did need to eat something before he died of starvation, and wouldn't that just be funny. Red Hood was helping him to the end of the alleyway, he noticed dimly. He tried his best to make his feet cooperate and pushed away from his… friend? Saviour? Captor? He didn't want to be in the Red Hood's debt.

"Thanks," he muttered, "but I can take it from here. I just need to get something to eat and I'll be out of your city."

The Hood didn't try to grab him again, but he did continue a short distance behind him, hands in his pockets, putting on an air of cool indifference though his words were anything but. "And go where? I hardly think your Rogue friends will take you back in, if you could even find them. Flash will probably kill you on sight, and god knows who else is still on your trail." Hartley gulped, thinking of Deadshot and blood on the tracks. A cold sweat had started to form on his brow. "You're in Gotham now, which means you're about a hopscotch and a sneeze away from being on Batman's radar, which, may I remind you, is not the place to be for a wanted murderer," He remembered very acutely being strung upside down from a building and left for the Bat, that brief fleeting horror, and that haunting smirk as the Dark Knight judged Wally's rage to be worse than anything he could do to them… "So the way I see it, you've got to lay low and gather your resources. I can help you with that. I've got an apartment not far from here. It's not much, and it's not in my name, so don't bother snooping, but I'd be glad to offer it to you for a little while, to both of you, while you get your affairs in order. Where is the Trickster anyways? I thought the two of you were sticking together."

'And here's a parting shot for you too, Pied Pooftah!'

'NO! Not him… Not NOW!'

Piper winced as if the echoing gunshots in his mind had just sliced through him, like they were meant to. He felt his knees wobble then give out, and the dull thud they made as they hit the concrete was slightly off-putting, but not as much as Deadshot's ringing laughter or the stench of smoking blood, or the ghost-like image of that slack-jawed, broken face- After all, scars do add character, they say, eh?

"Hey, whoa! What the hell, man-" He felt a warm dampness trickle down his cheeks, and Hood must have noticed too, because in an instant the man froze, and then grabbed him around the shoulders again, helping him to his feet. "Sorry I asked." His voice had dropped to something more somber. "Let's get you out of here. He wouldn't want the same thing to happen to you."

Hartley sighed, reaching up to wipe away the first tears shed for his fallen comrade. Red Hood had no idea how right he was.

After a short ride through the pre-dawn streets of Gotham on the back of the Hood's motorcycle, they arrived at a slightly run-down apartment complex. It didn't look like it was in the worst part of town, but it was certainly more disheveled than any building he could remember seeing in the Twin Cities. He was led up three or four flights of stairs, which he trudged up solemnly, his knees still shaking all the way, and waited while the Hood inserted a key into a door with a rusted number '18' hanging halfway off its plaque. Inside, the actual apartment didn't appear to be much bigger than the Rogue's hideout back in Keystone. There was a small living area, with an attached kitchenette and a breakfast bar dividing the two, and a tiny hallway with two doors; Hartley assumed they were to the bathroom and bedroom.

"It's not much, but it's better than an alley filled with rats."

Hartley didn't even have the energy to frown. "The rats are my friends."

Red Hood stared at him with the emotionless expression of his helmet. "You're a weird dude." Then he surprised him by reaching up and removing the helmet entirely, shaking his head to loosen his shiny black hair. Several shocked thoughts raced through Hartley's head, not the least of which was, 'Man, he's cute.' He banished that one. Now was not the time. "Jason, by the way." He reached out a hand to shake Piper's, who hesitantly accepted, feeling the strength in that confident grip.

"Uh, Hartley…" he replied, unsure. "Why are you telling me this? Is that even-"

"My real name?" He shrugged. "Maybe. Have fun trying to figure it out, if you want. Just know that if you cause me any grief, I will turn you over to the police- or better yet, Flash. I don't think you will, but better safe than conned. Not that you'd have much luck anyway. I think you have more important things to worry about."

Hartley swore he could feel a headache coming on. Of course, to be fair, it had never really left, not since he got slapped with a pair of shock cuffs and strapped in for the ride of his life. And now it seemed that the ride wasn't even over. He was still wanted for a murder he didn't commit, and now, like Jason had said, he was sitting right under the nose of Batman, who was friends with the Flash like he used to be and who knew if Deadshot had picked up his trail, and… Hartley closed his eyes. The room was spinning again.

A hand on his shoulder brought him swiftly back to reality, and Jason gave him a worried look. "Listen man, you need to eat something. There's food in the fridge, so make yourself whatever you want. Take a shower, towels are in the hall closet, and there's clean clothes in the dresser in the bedroom. Do all that and then grab yourself a beer and try to relax. Take a nap or something. I've got to go run a few errands- talk to a couple people, figure out what your situation is." He must have noticed Piper flinch, because he continued on, "Relax. I know how to do what I do. I'm not going to leak your location, and I'm not going to turn you over. If it makes you feel any better, you can hang on to that." He tossed his red helmet over to Hartley, who caught it on instinct, confused. "That's a guarantee I'll be back, so make sure you're here when I do. Don't think for a minute you're capable of hoofing it on your own. You'll be eaten alive out there."

Piper immediately had to swallow back the images of vultures swooping out of the sky, risking a tangle with him, whom they'd already written off, to get to James. He swallowed around the lump in his throat and nodded. He didn't trust himself to speak.

Jason nodded in return and twirled his keys in his hand and turned for the door. "Remember. Food. Shower. Beer. Relax. I'll be back." And then he was gone, the door slamming shut behind him.

Piper turned towards the kitchen just as his stomache rumbled. He felt a rustle in his cape and turned to see two beady eyes peek out over his shoulder, and a whiskered nose twitch speculatively. He smiled. "Well, let's see what we can find to eat, huh buddy?" The rat chittered his approval.