Notes: Any errors in this chapter are my own for continuing to mess with it long after Beta signed off on what I already had.
"Robin to Genbu. Do you read me?"
"I do."
"There's been a Red Hood sighting. Spoiler confirmed it. Oracle said she'll send coordinates. You in?"
"Affirmative."
"Rendezvous with Batman for—"
Kei was already out the window and running.
"Hayate," Akaboshi said as they crossed his territory with reasonable stealth, keeping off the ground level. "Odds are this meeting will turn ugly."
That was gentle phrasing. Some of Akaboshi's scouts called in stranger sightings during the evening, and then his men clarified that report an hour later: Black Mask was making his move on the Alley. One of Vitaliy's subordinates—Mori or Maaku—was missing after the initial scattering, which probably meant things were going very bad. The only way that gangs interpreted "send a message" involved blood.
"What do you want me to do?" Hayate asked, because it seemed like what Akaboshi wanted to hear. Hayate still didn't consider himself bound by obedience if the orders were useless. That said, he could take suggestions. And then decide for himself if they were any good.
"No matter what happens," Akaboshi began as they approached the potential disaster area, "just focus on getting Mike to Vitaliy. He's waiting on us."
Oh, that was his name. In Hayate's defense, he'd been eavesdropping and wasn't totally sure what sounds were allowed to be names in this language yet. "Is Vita-san at the clinic or the last hideout?"
Akaboshi made a scoffing noise. "No gang activity at the clinic. Doctor's orders." While Hayate waited, bouncing on his heels, Akaboshi performed his last-minute weapons check. Metal clicked softly in his hands. "There's a car waiting two streets over. Did you see it? Get Mike there and give the driver the cash."
Hayate had seen it. The driver was another one of Vitaliy's underlings, but only on weekends. Part-time gangsters really made up the majority of any decently diversified criminal enterprise."Okay! But what if—"
"Hayate. No."
"Fine, doors only. If I have to." Hayate heaved a theatrical sigh. The lackey in question was bigger than Hayate and Akaboshi put together and probably wouldn't have fit through alternative escape routes anyway. Even if he didn't sport terrible injuries. "I'll get him there."
"Good." And if Akaboshi was getting less chatty all of a sudden, that meant the fight would start soon.
On his phone, Hayate painstakingly typed, Hello, I am here to help! Please come with me. The translation app spat out something reasonable, probably, and he held up his screen for Akaboshi to check.
The helmet nodded in approval. "Go as soon as he's clear."
The arena for this fight was a "parking lot" with a drop-off on one side, overlooked by rooftops and the metal tracks used by the city's rattling trains. Hayate and Akaboshi landed in the unfinished—or neglected—skeleton of the building nearby, taking advantage of higher ground. Then they both peeked over the gaps left by construction and continued assessing, silently.
Akaboshi had an easier time. He was way taller.
By the dim light cast from nearby buildings, Hayate could make out a smudgy shape—probably Mike—backed up against a dead car by three other men. One of them held a bottle capped with a burning rag, and two had guns. While Hayate wasn't close enough for any kind of medical assessment, it was probably safe to assume Mike was already hurt. Being a big guy didn't make him any more immune to gunshots than Hayate was.
Hopefully, he could still run.
Akaboshi stepped out into what would've been plain view, if anyone in this city ever looked up, and drew one of his guns. He took aim.
One of the men below said something, loudly enough that Hayate could make out the threat in his voice even from three stories up.
CRACK. And then there was the sound of broken glass, screaming, and sizzling.
Akaboshi probably could've been an Uchiha in a different life. Same willingness to burn stuff into little cinders because it needed not to be in the way anymore.
Hayate made the appropriate hand seals and vanished from mundane sight, throwing himself off one side of the building as Akaboshi went to cause a big distraction. Metal crunched where he landed.
Hayate, meanwhile, had just caught up with Mike when the shooting started. Then there was a lot of noise. The sound of bullets ricocheting off metal was a better sound when Hayate didn't know that meant something was already going wrong. A successful encounter, for Akaboshi, didn't take that long.
Hayate tried to put that out of his mind as he followed Mike into an empty alleyway, lit only by an ambient glow from across the street.
Mike was a heavyset man, darker than most Kumo shinobi Hayate could name. He had a pointed nose, but it looked broken, and his tank top and boxers were flecked with fresh blood. One of his earrings was gone because the earlobe was torn. He had shoes on—though his house slippers' straps had ripped halfway—and that at least saved him from getting glass or gravel in his feet. Really, it looked like he'd been dragged out of bed for this confrontation. His strength was already flagging.
And he'd stopped to catch his breath, so that meant it was as good a time as any to approach. "Good evening, Mike-san!"
Mike let out a yelp and swung blindly at Hayate's ear.
Hayate caught his wrist and turned the blow aside, dropping the genjutsu immediately. "Wait, how do you say…? Hi, I…" Um, it went something like… "Help! You!"
Mike blinked at him. His eyes darted from Hayate's masked face to the mostly empty alleyway, like he'd be able to hide behind a dumpster really quick. Or find other help.
Hayate gave up and held out his phone.
Mike's shoulders sagged in obvious relief as the message cut through his fear. He said something Hayate didn't understand, but that was pretty common, so he just ran the translation function again.
The screen now read, You work for Hood?
Hayate nodded. He quickly wrote, There is a car. You need to leave.
Thankfully, Mike accepted this argument. With a grunt of pain, he allowed Hayate to half-guide, half-limp their way together toward safety. Or at least escape, which was nearly as good. Hayate didn't have to bend his back much at all to haul Mike's uninjured arm over his shoulders, so they made the journey with little difficulty.
Still, two streets' width never felt quite so long.
The car in question was a beat-up old thing, but it was running and both Hayate and Mike recognized the driver sitting idle. Mostly, the man felt like someone who really didn't want to be shot tonight.
That was good, because he'd be a pretty lousy getaway driver if it wasn't the case.
Mike said something, but Hayate banged on the driver's door to get him to unlock the back seat. He didn't really need to understand much for this part. It wasn't until Mike was safely restrained by the fabric belt contraption that Hayate started on his next translation input.
Please go to Vita-san and not the clinic, Hayate wrote, and held up the phone so both the driver and Mike could read it. Then he fished a wad of cash out of his pocket and slapped it into the driver's waiting hand.
Money didn't talk, but it sure helped people listen.
Mike caught Hayate's sleeve as he was about to leave. He said something again, but this time Hayate's app caught it properly.
Aren't you coming with us?
Hayate shook his head. He wouldn't do any good where they were going. Then he ducked out of the car with his phone, slammed the door shut, and banged on the back hatch to signal the driver to just go already. He even said, "Hurry!" even though no one here could understand him.
There was no squeal of rubber against the road. That might have drawn attention. Instead, Vitaliy's underlings rode off together in the night with the lights all low, at least until they were safely out of sight.
The gunshots had stopped.
That was either a good thing or a really bad one, and Hayate had to know which.
He applied the camouflage genjutsu again and backtracked at top speed.
There were four opponents this time. Each one wore metal armor that caught the light strangely, which might have been how they survived Akaboshi's shots. The distended form of the biggest fighter looked more like an oversized doll than anything, weirder than any samurai, and that one didn't seem to carry weapons other than sheer mass. One of the smaller fighters held a staff with two glowing blue ends, and the person without a helmet had two bright katanas and a long brown ponytail. The fully-armored one seemed only to have one eye and a stance that implied fighting with claws.
And Akaboshi was curled up on the ground between them.
Shit.
The car with Mike's blood smeared across it was still there, though the roof was shoved in and sliced up. There were bullets and shell casings and bullet holes all over the place, rivaling broken street debris in volume. And there was a black trail marking the direction on-fire guy had run. Something to track with his shoes.
Any one of those things could give Hayate away before he got close enough to stab one of the bad guys.
Hayate climbed higher, channeling the instinctive thrum of adrenaline and fear into movement. It wasn't necessarily a standard Konoha tactic to drop out of trees onto unsuspecting enemies, but it was a useful stereotype to indulge sometimes.
Just a little more…
They were talking. Hayate couldn't understand a word of it even if the sounds were distinct when coming from three stories below. Instead, he made sure to stay low as he crept into an ideal launching point, wary of being spotted by technology instead of another sensor, and slipped his hand over his katana without a sound.
The big one grabbed Akaboshi by the helmet and Hayate's breath caught. Dangling in the air like that, he could easily get his neck broken by those metal hands—but they were still talking, and Hayate forced himself to keep moving.
Almost there—
Akaboshi threw bombs in the big guy's chest plate and then the fight was moving again almost before his feet hit the ground. They weren't Kei's bombs and the target was armored thickest there, so the big guy got to bounce off the ground and live instead of just turning into meat goo.
Worse, though, was the way the fighters were actually all decently fast. It was a total tangle.
Almost before Big Guy was clear, Staff Guy and Two Swords were moving in to make sure Akaboshi couldn't close on him and actually capitalize on the opening he'd made. Then, once Akaboshi fended off Two Swords and bought himself breathing room with a knife and a kick to his opponent's breastplate, Staff Guy cut him off again. Instead of trying to advance, Akaboshi was forced to drop his knife on a bad block, which left the option of punching an armored opponent for more space.
What the hell happened to the guns? Hayate wondered. If there was anything to level the playing field against experienced, coordinated enemies, it was range. Especially against the array of melee weapons on display.
Unless he'd been reckless with ammunition. Why would Akaboshi do that?
And then Akaboshi took an uppercut to the chin hard enough to flip him with the momentum like a pancake. It was the kind of impact that should've killed a normal human.
Hayate winced almost before the sound registered.
Akaboshi was still moving, though. Landing prone like that wasn't ideal, not with four opponents still up and all covering for each other, but Hayate hadn't even expected him to get that far. In defiance of that thought, Akaboshi forced himself up onto his elbows and knees like nothing broke on impact.
Maybe nothing had. Maybe he was just winded.
But dammit, that was too close. Hayate vibrated with the urge to intervene, but some instinct told him that it wasn't the right time. Instead, he tried to reposition to drop onto…
Oh. Well, that's asking for it.
Two Swords was the softest target, despite the name. No headgear there. A blade could pierce right through the top of that skull.
Staff Guy approached Akaboshi first, using one end of his glowing weapon to angle under the helmet and tilt Akaboshi's head up. Like that was any way to hold a conversation.
Using that cliché gets you a hundred pushups where I come from, Hayate thought, with an edge of frantic worry he hated. That move gave people like his sister or Rin or Obito a chance to grab the weapon right out of someone's hand and, with their inhuman strength, club them with it. Nobody did it twice. He'd never seen it used in a real fight.
It was showmanship. Gloating.
A victory declaration.
They were talking, again, and Hayate nearly had the correct positioning to intervene, but Staff Guy was raising his weapon already—
Black streaks in the half-faded darkness, from an unexpected angle. From a source level with Hayate, but the direction was wrong.
Staff Guy dropped his weapon with a shout of pain. There were two weird blades piercing his forearm, so of course he clutched at the injury like that would help at all.
Hayate looked up in time to see the long, distinct cape of Kumori—of Batman arriving on the scene. All four of Akaboshi's opponents froze for a split second, like he was the worst thing that could've shown up to this fight. As though he wasn't a man with technology and a scary profile. He didn't feel like anything impossible as he'd descended past Hayate's hiding place. Grim-annoyed-interrogative, sure, but those weren't unique.
And that cape was the most unwieldy nonsense Hayate had ever seen.
Akaboshi clambered to his feet with an audible laugh, like he'd never been knocked down in the first place. He said something to Batman, then turned and exposed his back to the newcomer like he really didn't expect to be stabbed.
Hayate frowned, leaning forward a little to get a better look as Big Guy tried charging and was instantly beaten back. Actually…
Huh.
Akaboshi and Batman moved around each other—and into their opponents' spaces—as though they'd been tandem fighting for years.
Whenever one opponent was knocked back, another metal-armored assassin tried to capitalize on the sudden gap the way they had before, but then met Batman where Akaboshi had been, or vice versa. Or the assassins would get slapped with more bombs, or a joint-targeting strike that made metal armor creak ominously, like it wasn't supposed to bend that way.
It was like a dance.
It wasn't like Kei's team's old exercises, which were a relic of their chūnin training sessions, from when Kakashi was still just a jerk and Obito needed all the practice he could get. They were small back then, with the expectation that they'd be fighting bigger enemies most of the time. They'd used the Hokage as a training dummy, plus any of the adults they could get, and constantly covered each other's weaknesses because there was this desperate sense that the war would rip them apart if they didn't.
It didn't make sense.
Hayate had been with Akaboshi for the last month, and he hadn't gone out to train with the Bat-clan once—
Ah.
Hayate had thought, for a little bit there, that Robin reminded him of Akaboshi somewhat. It was in the training and the interrogative personality type, mostly, but the thought lingered long past its initial relevance. There was an acrobatic signature to how they moved that Akaboshi usually held back—guns and all that—but now Hayate could see it.
He'd seen worse Chūnin Exam performances. By a lot.
When Batman punched Big Guy in the unarmored part of his neck, Akaboshi would drive a knee straight into Two Swords's gut and practically fold the smaller fighter in half. Then Staff Guy would rush into the gap, weapon humming, only to meet Batman going the other way and take a right cross to the face. And behind Batman's back, Akaboshi ducked under a shot from One-Eye and threw Two Swords at him, to distract the only person with ranged attacks.
It was perfectly coordinated. Like they'd done it a thousand times.
A thought struck Hayate, in between the admiration. He'd thought there was something deeper than resentment in Akaboshi's explanations about the various caped people in the city, but he'd never felt comfortable actually asking about it. Now, it seemed like those half-forgotten questions were all coming back.
Did…did Akaboshi come from the Bat-clan? Only now he couldn't go back?
Something hummed in a distinctly not-alive way, and Hayate looked down again. One-Eye had dropped into a stabilizing crouch and pointed his eye up, up, until it was fixed on Hayate. And glowing ominously.
Nope! Hayate threw himself backward and shot through the sequence for Replacing himself faster than he had all month.
There was a scream as air heated too fast to get out of the way.
The bolt of light hit the car side mirror Hayate had tossed into the firing line with his ninjutsu, exploding it into a million pieces to shower down on them all. The fake-Hayate illusion, jammed under the remnants of the camouflage at the last second and wrapped around the object, lasted just long enough for Hayate to hear Akaboshi shout in alarm.
"Kid!"
Right, he'd never told Akaboshi his fake name. He couldn't go around yelling "Hayate!" all the time. Not with witnesses.
Then Hayate dropped the genjutsu—pointless if the one ranged opponent could see him—squarely in Akaboshi's line of sight. It put him roughly equidistant from Two Swords and Staff Guy, which wasn't the best, but he already had his blade drawn and wasn't interested in a lecture about picking his battles. And, most importantly for Akaboshi's equilibrium, Hayate was totally unscathed.
Concern-relief-don't-do-that radiated off Akaboshi like heat anyway. What he said instead of any of that was, "I warned you about the thermal signature." His tone was still angry, at least on the surface.
"You did," Hayate allowed, ignoring the anger in favor of the worry underneath it. It was endearing, instead of annoying. It wasn't like Akaboshi knew everything Hayate could do. He meant well. "For some reason, I still thought they'd be too busy to shoot at me."
Akaboshi made a noise that didn't pass either as a scoff or a laugh. "They're still barely worth killing. Don't bother."
Disappointment-anger- longing rolled off Akaboshi as his attention shifted off of Batman, pointing the remainder of his fighting instinct toward the confirmed enemy combatants.
And then the armored assassins attacked again.
Hayate hadn't practiced fighting alongside Akaboshi at all. Most of what he did know was to stay out of the crossfire, and that only came up when Akaboshi knew Hayate was going to be in the area. Aside from their sparring matches, which were too short and too crammed into an apartment to be useful, Hayate couldn't honestly say he knew which direction Akaboshi would jump except by observation.
Little too close for that now. Oh well, Hayate had a sword and almost all of his chakra reserves. It'd be fine.
Akaboshi paired off with Staff Guy, leaving Hayate to cut Two Swords down to size.
His training never emphasized dual-wielding weapons, because Mom thought it was a waste of concentration. Weapons the same length tended just to get tangled up. Two Swords's glowing blades were fast, mostly, but they were also only about half as strong in a direct confrontation as a traditional grip.
Flip over the slash, sheath katana in one motion, then— Hunting Tiger Strike!
Two Swords fell back with a shout, one of the humming blades broken under the weight of Hayate's perfectly timed blow. She hadn't blocked with the other one, which was probably for the best. If she had, her middling control might've meant stabbing herself with her own busted weapons.
Hayate wanted a better look at it anyway.
While Hayate and Two Swords pulled back to recover from their exchange, Akaboshi managed to break Staff Guy's weapon in half after a brief tugging match, snapping it over his knee and clubbing the guy in the face. He hit Staff Guy two more times for good measure, once in the gut and one downward strike that sent him bonelessly into the ground.
He was probably done.
Meanwhile Batman, who had some really weird toys, got something stuck to One-Eye. All Hayate knew was that the guy sailed screaming past them and over into the abandoned building from before, propelled by something that left a trail of smoke.
That left Two Swords and Big Guy.
"I take it you're Suzaku," said Batman into the brief lull, and the world froze a little even as Hayate was still in motion.
How the hell did—? Argh! Hayate pointed an accusing sword at Batman's face. "I knew Robin was a snitch!"
That got Akaboshi's head to whip around in his direction. "What was that?"
Oops.
And behind him, Big Guy had just picked up the car.
Yeah, Hayate officially hated this fight. "Later! Not now!"
They scattered.
Since fucking when does Hayate know Robin?
It was the first thing to come to mind. It was the second-least useful thought Jason could've shaken out of his brain at the moment.
The actual least useful one was something along the lines of, Of course the kid went vigilante while I wasn't looking. God dammit.
"Later!" Hayate shouted, shoving Jason's shoulder to get him moving like he needed the hint. "Not now!"
"Don't think I'll forget about this, brat!"
"What part of 'not now' is unclear?!"
So much for getting the last word.
Also, Tank Man was still threateningly hefting a car at them. Jason darted to one side so Batman could deal with that bullshit. When he looked, Hayate was already gone again.
Miss Stabby apparently decided having a bunch of masked weirdos yelling at each other in Japanese was infringing on the tech-ninja theme, and charged Jason immediately. A blue, gleaming blade slashed at him again and again.
Well, if Black Mask was so certain this group was worth the money, it'd only be reasonable to make sure their hunt for Red Hood cost them.
Miss Stabby shouldn't have let Jason inside her range. Wielding two swords—or even one, thanks to Hayate—only counted as an advantage if it kept her from being punched in the face. Which, to be clear, it did not.
One wrist-level block and a right cross later, and she'd learned a thing or two.
Miss Stabby reeled with the blow, jaw armor be damned, but only went to one knee instead of fully hitting the ground. Instead, she whipped around and—
Ow, shit! A hiss of pain escaped the helmet's modulator as Jason grasped reflexively at the new slash in his bicep. Not actually critical , but not helpful if this fight kept going.
Miss Stabby tried to press her advantage, gearing up to go for his throat again.
Jason ducked one swing, then two, retreating without losing situational awareness. He'd fought better combatants wielding swords before, poisoned others, shot some in the face, but that didn't mean he was going to be reckless about this. He could dismantle anyone with enough time.
Then Hayate whirled in, kicked both of Miss Stabby's legs out from under her, and darted away again before she could stab him back. Her remaining sword stabbed uselessly into asphalt. Jason swore the kid actually blew a raspberry on the retreat, and blinked out of sight.
Absolutely ridiculous. There were skirmishers and fighters who specialized in hit-and-run, and then there was that.
And, since the situation had deteriorated somewhat since Tank Man's teammate count dropped, then the car finally got thrown. Honestly, what was he even using all that circuitry for if it took him that long to decide things?
Batman charged toward the car.
The old man's still got it. The "it" in question either meant his detective skills—with the exception of the Red Hood breadcrumbs Jason was practically shoving in his face—or the part where he actually ran through the falling car to go for Tank Man while he was busy being smug.
Bee-beepbeepbeep!
There was a bit of screaming as the rocket booster slapped to the big guy's armor finally activated. It was about as panicked as Laserface, but the sheer mass of the guy meant the effect only tossed him half as far.
Dramatic bastard. Jason missed the sheer number of toys in the Wayne family arsenal. Sometimes.
Miss Stabby got back to her feet and lurched into a run. Jason humored her and her busted ankle exactly long enough to run up a support column, spinning around on the downswing, and almost cracked her head open with a roundhouse kick. If she hadn't ducked.
Not good enough, lady.
She swung for him with her remaining sword, of course, but Jason was inside her guard again and caught her wrist to make all parts of her plan immediately useless. Even if her armor deflected bullets—and not even all of them, given she'd been using her swords to block—it didn't do shit for her mass or his extensive training in taking people apart.
One elbow strike to the back of the neck worked to stun her, and then Jason grabbed her drooping head with both hands. He could have twisted her head all the way around. His hands were in the right spot, and he had the strength to snap most human necks even without particular attention paid to positioning.
But he didn't. Instead, Jason slammed his helmet into her unprotected forehead, dropping Miss Stabby into a useless heap on the spot.
Hayate reappeared a second later within arm's reach, biting out, " I can't get through the armor without drawing blood. It breaks some kind of rule if someone dies, right?"
Presumably the kid was about to go full can opener on Tank Man's shell, then remembered Jason's request. Not worth it. Jason patted his shoulder. "Sort of."
"...Why are you bleeding?" Even with his face almost entirely covered, Hayate's voice dripped with judgment.
Jason snorted. "Why do you think, kid?"
"I'll look at it later," Hayate decided, in a tone not to be argued with despite the way his voice still cracked sometimes. Apparently, being able to heal himself faster than average was all the authority he needed to boss Jason around on medical matters.
Still, that was all four assassins down, if not out. He steered Hayate around the broken bits of swords and the stray bullets, checking on some of the other problems.
"Did you miss this many times? Aniki, you need glasses."
"Kid, have you ever heard of 'stalling'?"
And Batman was right there, avoiding the double-tap as usual. Jason nudged Hayate a little, which made the baby ninja swat at his hand, and said to Batman, "I gotta say, I missed watching you work."
Enough of a hint for you, old man? Though for all Jason knew, that scowl was one of confusion. When it came to leaving clues for Batman to find and fixate on, Jason had been as deliberate as a man assembling a ship in a bottle.
During the escape from Batman and Nightwing and the helicopter adventure, he'd leaned into the acrobatics training of his earliest days as Robin. Bouncing everywhere, leaping between buildings without even a grapple line, and then actually telling the man he knew the entire flock's identities with barely a sentence.
"You haven't lost your touch, Bruce!" was going to live in Jason's wretched hollow of a soul forever.
He hoped Bruce would agree, assuming he managed to figure it out.
There were more options, too. Jason wasn't planning on picking up Miss Stabby's swords or policing his brass at all. The blood and ballistics could tell a story just fine.
Except for the part about Hayate.
That would require some careful maneuvering, assuming Spike didn't come out of hiding too angry to listen. Hayate made it pretty clear threats to him, specifically, would be met with extreme violence from his sister. It was somewhat less clear if she could be talked out of it.
It was too late for the kid to avoid untoward attention. Far, far too late.
One of the fucking assassins had even identified him as "Red Shadow," Red Hood's little would-be sidekick. Black Mask apparently put a five-digit bounty on the kid, to go with the six-figure one on Red Hood. Jason hadn't decided yet who was going to get shot in the face for that, but candidates did seem to enjoy lining up at his doorstep.
Speaking of the Black Masks's hired guns, the big one was getting back up with the whirr of straining servos. A late-night mist threw the few highlights of the armor and its contours into sharp relief, which ruined this guy's sad excuse for stealth.
So much for high-velocity impacts with asphalt, concrete, and whatever else went into that wall. Probably lead. Nice and soft and poisonous over the longer term. Good ol' Gotham and the eternal plague of lowest-bidder construction projects. If this'd been new Metropolis construction, the power armor would've crumpled like a tin can against buildings rated for Kryptonians occasionally flying drunk.
Jason was briefly tempted to curl a little around Hayate, to push the kid behind him, like he could take the potential hit on his body armor better than a kid who fought like Captain America never grew past five-foot-nothing. Maybe he could. Maybe they'd just run. It was safer.
He instead nudged Hayate away from him, encouraging him to go check one of the downed assassins for signs of life. The kid was fast enough for any trouble to regret getting in his way.
Hayate didn't actually go that far. Maybe ten feet, also watching Tank Man get his bearings.
Batman, of course, was focusing less on Jason or the kid, and on Tank Man The obvious threat who'd just tried to crush him with a car. Maybe another rocket-sticker would solve the problem. It seemed like the kind of gadget-heavy plan he liked.
Which meant he missed the second guy closing from his five o'clock. Laserface, already up and moving. Dilemma: Slow opponent who could be outmaneuvered or a head-mounted laser cannon? When Jason knew he was the ultimate target here.
Not even a choice.
"Get down!" Jason surged forward and yanked Batman out of the line of fire before he registered being hit was going to fucking hurt.
And it did. The beam was aimed square at the chest—not enough time to dodge—
"Aniki!"
Blackness. Ear-ringing, can't-breathe blackness. Panic stabbed at him, enough to force a breath anyway. Nothing above him, nothing stopping him—
His first clear thought after that was: Ow.
"Aniki, get up right now!"
Heartbeat pounding in his ears, while simultaneously slamming into potentially cracked ribs. But Jason drew a full breath soon enough, and another, and another. The flash of terror that rolled in wasn't unfamiliar, but it was deeply unwelcome. His helmet's HUD flickered back to life with the red overlay.
He hated the red overlay. It was like trying to navigate by the light from road flares.
Sound came back next, with the frantic pulses of that fucking laser cannon filling the air between Bat-grade smoke bombs and indistinct Japanese shouting.
Hayate. God dammit, kid—
Blinking black spots out of his vision, Jason heaved himself back into a sitting position with a silent groan. Ribs were definitely bruised, but that wasn't important. The enemy was still active, and Jason needed to take stock before he fixed that problem.
Batman wasn't down— anymore—but he was clearly recovering from having been knocked for a loop. From what, Jason didn't know and must have missed it. Still, the old man was on his feet. An item of least concern.
Hayate, meanwhile, was like a goddamn woodchipper. Using a mix of the metahuman abilities Jason had seen so far, the kid ducked and weaved between both the hulking Tank Man's slow, cumbersome swipes and Laserface's much faster reflexes. Any opening he found, he put his metahuman speed, strength, and stabbing to work.
"AARGH!"
Hayate yanked his blade free of Laserface's clawed hand, then popped like a smoke bomb when a punch from Tank Man looked like it'd caved in the back of his skull. Jason saw Batman jerk forward until the distraction revealed itself.
God, if Jason hadn't already seen the kid do this in the warehouse that first time, he'd have been fucking terrified. As it was, he was looking for his kris and planning to use it.
Both of the enemy fighters were leaking sparks and hydraulic fluid from their armor and they definitely hadn't been before. That represented an opening, if Jason still had any ammunition left. Or his guns. The knife would have to do.
Batman…hesitated. Unwilling to step into melee and take charge when there was such a fine line between helping and getting the overaggressive child killed.
Jason also didn't know where to jump in, but he at least had the excuse of taking an energy blast to center mass. Maybe the old man had lost a step.
At one point, there were five illusory copies of the kid harassing the two opponents from every angle. And the only reason Jason knew five of them were fake was because Jason's helmet picked him out by his heat signature, and the kid's real silhouette could only be in one place at a time.
Not that Tank Man knew that. "Hold still, you little shit—"
Jason grabbed for his remaining contact bombs soon as he could get to his feet again. No way he'd let this kid fight alone.
Several things happened at once:
Blue light lanced out, unerringly targeting the correct Hayate.
Hayate threw himself flat onto the asphalt to dodge.
Jason flung his arsenal for Laserface's head.
Batman dove for Hayate, like he could shield him with his body. Maybe he could.
And Tank Man slammed to the ground like a goddamn earthquake, buckling the pavement underneath him with a sound that was pure train collision. All screaming metal and enough force to set off car alarms for a one block radius if there were any. Even the sound of the charges Jason threw was overridden like nothing.
Even the steady mist was blown back by the impact, sending—
No.
The rain stopped. It hung in the air like fog instead, held eerily still as though by magic.
Or by a certain angry metahuman.
Oh, good, I missed the feeling of ants crawling up my spine. It explained the random fear spikes making a mess of his heart rate.
A figure wearing a white mask hopped down from Tank Man's crumpled shell, letting boots crunch on asphalt. She only twisted around once, to slap some kind of decal to the wreckage, then leapt the rest of the way out of the crater she'd made. Spike's masked face turned as she scanned the area, broadcasting that murderous aura like a predator gearing up for a territorial fight.
And Jason's HUD revealed that she was putting out heat like a furnace, intensely enough that it was actually making her outline indistinct as she moved.
But in terms of body language Jason could practically see her checking off a list.
Laserface was getting to his feet again, somehow, but bleeding this time. The explosives had done more damage to him after Hayate's angry cutlery impression broke the ice, so to speak, a little like cracking an egg.
Batman was shaking bits of plastic and metal off his cape, standing between Laserface and Hayate like a guard dog. Already, he was saying, "Stand down." Probably to Spike.
Jason…raised his empty hand in a wave, to communicate that he wasn't worth smashing through the pavement by an ally. Nominal ally, anyway. "Late to the party, aren't you?"
Spike ignored Batman and Jason both, turning her masked face toward the last assassin standing.
Laserface, who could apparently do basic math, turned to run. His armor was busted, he was outnumbered four-to-one this time, and it probably wasn't gonna end well for him if he stayed.
He didn't get very far.
Spike's hands blurred, and then water whipped out of the air and tied Laserface's legs together like bolas right before she leapt and landed on him. This time, though, she didn't squash her target—instead, she slapped another sticker down on his back and stepped back as soon as Laserface stopped moving. The water construct dissolved a second later, which left the guy twitching unhappily on the ground.
So much for the Fearsome Hand of Four. Jason hadn't even gotten to make a crack about their shitty name.
The weird heat aura died out, leaving just a bunch of masked freaks standing around in the now-moving rain. Spike made some kind of hand signal as she lowered her shoulders and deliberately relaxed, looking pointedly at Batman this time. Or rather, behind him.
Hayate dove into her outstretched arms like it was an Olympic sport. "Oneesan!"
Jason resolved to check on the downed assassins to give that family reunion a little time to work itself out. His and Batman's would keep. As would his future screaming match with Spike about the viability of using children in war.
In the split second after she made the "all clear" hand sign, Hayate crashed into her and flung his outstretched arms around her middle, driving the air out of her lungs. Kei didn't blame him for an instant, not when she was doing her best to reciprocate.
Lightning burst against her chakra sense, pushing against the blanket ban Isobu imposed on outside influences. Up close, finally, finally, Kei could feel her brother's signature past that interference. He was here. Safe and sound.
And overwhelmed.
"I missed you so much." Hayate's voice didn't crack on the last two words, but only because he swallowed it down. Even with the mask, he sounded near tears.
Kei's breath hitched. There was a lump in her throat, forcing her to wheeze a little to draw a full breath. She'd tried her best to hold it together these past few weeks, but now the hopeless haze of waiting was over. God, what could she do other than hold on for dear life?
"I've got you. I'm right here," Kei gasped, pressing the side of her masked face as carefully to the top of Hayate's hood as she could. The angle wasn't ideal, and the reinforced porcelain probably didn't feel good, but that wasn't the point. "You're safe."
"So are you."
A slightly-hysterical laugh bubbled up in Kei's chest. "I can handle anything. You know that."
The two of us together certainly can, Isobu remarked. His chakra hummed under Kei's, reaching out as though to pat Hayate's head.
"Can't blame me for worrying," Hayate insisted. He didn't flinch from Isobu's interest, either, and burrowed in against her sternum and Isobu's seal. Hayate's head butted up under her chin as she kept her arms tight around his shoulders, clutching at the fabric of his jacket. "'S not allowed."
He hadn't taken off the strange mask or the red-lens goggles, which dug into the armored mesh at Kei's throat a little, but Kei didn't care. No amount of borrowed modern nonsense could hide her brother from her, which was the only thing that mattered.
Safe, safe, safe, her soul sang quietly. Love you, love you, all I need to know is that you're okay.
Hayate wriggled a little in her grip, so Kei loosened her hold somewhat. She transferred her hands from his shoulders to his face, feeling the metal edges of his mask in her palms. Under her pinkies, on either side of his face, his pulse was strong and sure. Her fingertips lingered almost at the edge of the mask, near his ears.
Hayate mirrored her. His hands were gloveless, and a little cold from the rain, but so was everything else. "You haven't been sleeping enough." Oh, the disapproval in that voice.
Kei huffed a laugh. "Guilty." Clearing her throat, she asked, "You've been okay here?"
"Aniki made sure I was safe," Hayate said. Kei couldn't tell where he was looking, exactly, but he pushed a little against her left hand as though to turn. One of his hands shifted to grip her wrist. "But he's hurt. Do you mind taking a look?"
"I did tell you I wasn't a medic-nin anymore—"
"This isn't about certifications," Hayate muttered, tugging more insistently at her arm. "Come on, you should meet him anyway."
Isobu's consciousness nudged Kei's, in agreement with Hayate. The outside world called. Sometimes she hated it.
Still, she allowed Hayate to lead her by the wrist back into reality.
"Aniki" stood well back from Batman, fists held tight and shoulders braced for an attack. Luckily, Red Hood's instinct for chaos hadn't extended to peeling off the genjutsu seal Kei used for nonlethal takedowns. Kei hadn't been careful enough to be sure the man on the receiving end of her Dynamic Entry ripoff was still in one piece, but hopefully the pain was being handled by the brain-scrambling dose of Isobu's chakra.
And if it wasn't…
Kei didn't have a lot of sympathy for people who tried to hurt her brother on a good day, never mind what this entire month had been.
Batman, meanwhile, had maintained a careful, cautious distance from both shinobi and Red Hood. While a reasonable decision would've been to actually try to arrest the teenage crime lord, maybe Kei's intermittent death aura broadcast kept his attention split.
"Aniki, give me your arm," Hayate demanded, trotting up to Red Hood like…like he'd been living with this guy for a month. Kei was just along for the ride now.
Red Hood angled his injury, whatever it was, away from Hayate's reaching hand. He never angled his helmet far enough that Kei was entirely out of his line of sight, but he did apparently look down at Hayate in exasperation. "It was just a scratch, kid."
It was supremely weird to hear Red Hood speak Japanese. It was clearly a necessary part of communicating with Hayate, who was monolingual barring whatever loanword bullshit made it into their world, but for some reason Kei hadn't expected it. A child trained by Batman probably got a thorough education in the art of being prepared. Sure, he was using it to stay one step ahead of the Bats and generally cause problems, but that was still practicing the skills in question.
"I told you I was going to look at it, so you're gonna either let me do it now, or I'll corner you later."
"And ditch your sister to do it?" Red Hood challenged him, but gently.
Are… Are you seeing this? Kei asked Isobu. Red Hood, teenage murder-positive vigilante, was treating her brother with kid gloves. Like Hayate was his precocious little brother.
I believe your brother has somehow managed to charm the problem.
…We might have different definitions of "problem."
We only have different perspectives.
"If you want to heal slowly. That's a call you can make, I guess." Hayate tossed his head like he was rolling his eyes. "Come on, Aniki, don't be stubborn."
There was an easy familiarity here that also probably meant Hayate's sensor technique had been working overtime, because he was never that chipper when dealing with fellow shinobi. He was playing up the childishness and persistence he usually reserved for wheedling Gai or Obito into doing favors for him, which never made it into his mission persona. Inoichi would've said something to Kei before now if it bled over and compromised something.
"I used to be on the medic career track," Kei offered, because it seemed like Hayate was working an angle. She held out the hand Hayate wasn't hanging onto like a weird koala, palm up and as innocent as she could make it seem. "I can handle a clean cut easily enough."
Red Hood, who had just seen her slam into a guy in power armor like a meteorite, did not seem convinced.
"Genbu, be careful. You don't know what motivates him." Fuck, it was even weirder to hear Batman speak Japanese. His accent was definitely American, but minimized by his actually-correct conjugation. "Or what he might do."
That's your son. I can't tell if you suspect it or if you know it. Aloud, Kei said, "No. But I know what I can do, and what drives me." She turned her head back toward Red Hood and raised her hand a little more insistently, drawing his attention to it again. "You looked after my brother, didn't you? That means I owe you at least this much."
Hayate nodded brightly. What a manipulative little brat he'd become.
It seems to have suited his survival strategy well.
Still.
"Not here," was Red Hood's eventual response.
Hayate let go of Kei to cross his arms and play up the judginess. "Ugh, you're being ridiculous."
No, there's just a six-two night demon behind us that's casting a shadow over this entire conversation. Also, it's his dad. Good luck fighting that influence, Hayate.
"Name your time and place," Kei said instead. With her now-freed hand, Kei made a signal behind her back.
Hayate nudged her as though she hadn't. "Oneesan," he grumbled.
"Hm, let me think about—no." And Red Hood whipped a smoke canister out of his coat and pulled the pin.
Oh, screw you.
It wasn't like Kei didn't know exactly where that shithead was going when she yanked Hayate away. Her fog-generating ninjutsu might not have been in effect, but Isobu had control of the mist around them. She had a bead on Red Hood—north-north-west and down to street level—for at least a hundred meters if she wanted to pursue it.
She didn't.
Hayate, following that "withdraw" order to the letter, clung to Kei's arm as she backed all the way up until they were both level with Batman. The smoke clung to them a little, but the rain took care of the excess in less time than whatever was written on the device. That was how it always went.
"I did warn you, Genbu," Batman said once Kei was done shaking off the smell of hot ash.
"What, that Red Hood isn't trustworthy? I got that." Kei sighed. She rested her hand more loosely against Hayate's shoulder. Thank goodness Red Hood had left him with a mask with an air filter. "But he got my brother safely back to me in one piece. That's worth a lot."
His safety is worth more to you than yours is.
I don't need protection.
Hayate was still looking in the direction Red Hood had gone, with the same-but-different precision Kei enjoyed. "Oneesan, I wasn't kidding about him being hurt."
"My offer is still open." It just didn't look like Red Hood was interested.
"He's not going to take it now," Hayate complained. He sighed and wrapped both arms around Kei's waist again, burying his face against her collarbones. "Oneesan, I don't think he'll look after himself unless…"
"What makes you say that?" Kei muttered to the top of his head. "He seemed fine to me."
Hayate shook his head. His mask and goggles scraped against her hoodie's zipper. "I know what I saw."
What the hell did that mean?
Kei rested her chin on top of Hayate's head again, frowning behind her mask. Okay. If Hayate was saying anything about someone's mental state, it was because he'd listened very closely. Especially over this last month; it was probably one of the few ways he could glean information from people with whom he shared no common language. And if he said it in that tone, then there was reason to start worrying. Assuming anyone gave an even marginal fuck about who Red Hood was under the mask, in a caring rather than curious capacity, then it was a warning as real as the tremors and smoke near a volcano.
While Kei hadn't come up with a name for Hayate's sensor technique, she suspected her mother would've appreciated "Shingan." Heart's eye, rather than a mind's eye. A view into the truth that was so precise even Zetsu couldn't avoid detection, when otherwise their disguises were impenetrable to everyone but Kurama's host. Truly scary levels of insight. Hayate knew his business.
"Hayate?" Kei prompted in a voice barely above a whisper, aimed mostly at his hair.
"Oneesan, would you be mad if I wanted to go back? If I said I thought he needed me?"
"Mad" wasn't the correct word. "Upset" worked better. Because while she wasn't going to be the kind of person who screamed at Hayate for being motivated to help someone, he could have chosen a better time and a better target for his altruism. The thought of losing track of Hayate again hurt, even if he had cause.
Kei's grip tightened around her brother's shoulders, a reflexive reluctance she knew her brother would hate. She'd been called an overprotective big sister before, at varying volumes, and in more than a few voices.
"Not yet," Kei muttered. "Just don't go yet, and when you do, I'm coming with you."
"Then what are we doing now?"
Kei sighed and broke her hug and held her brother by his shoulders. Then she pressed her forehead against Hayate's, trying to make eye contact even though both of them were wearing masks. "We're going to go and get some rest, and talk, and rest, and probably talk more. Your mission report is way overdue."
Her authority was threefold, being his guardian, his older sibling, and something like a commanding officer even if they weren't on the same mission. It'd probably keep him from rebelling immediately. Fuck, she hoped so.
"Hayate."
Hayate's shoulders sagged in defeat. "Fine."
Kei thumped one of his shoulders gently. "Get the weaponry, then wait for me up there. I have to talk to Batman."
Hayate followed her gaze upward, to the busted-up building that'd suffered so under the attention of a techno-ninja fight. He groaned again, but obediently scuttled up the nearest wall to find a spot.
Kei waited until she was sure Hayate was out of earshot, then turned to Batman. In English, she asked, "What did you and Hood talk about?"
Batman didn't look like he appreciated the questioning, but why would he? If Red Hood was acting anything like the version that existed in Kei's wiki-based imagination, then "escalation" was as much a part of his repertoire as it was hers. There were just more guns gumming the details.
"Red Hood views the entire gang war with Black Mask as a single stepping stone in his plan." Probably the only reason Batman was even telling her that much was because if she'd had eyes or ears for anyone but Hayate during those first few minutes, she wouldn't have needed to ask at all. It was just obvious. "Whatever he thinks he's doing, it's digging a knife deeper and deeper into Gotham's underbelly, and there's no telling what might crawl out."
Well, Gotham only had so many Rogues. Chances were the city wasn't capable of coughing up a General Zod at this point.
Kei sure hoped Batman suspected he knew who Red Hood was, or else this conversation was going to just spiral uselessly. "With that persona there's no endgame to Red Hood's plan that doesn't involve the Joker."
Kei's information was like starting from the end of an equation and having to work backwards to come up with the reasoning. Not unusual in algebra or any mathematics more complex than that, but a lot less reasonable in detective work. Kei's conclusions stemmed from knowing who Red Hood was without the helmet and deducing his motives from there, rather than having to work out his identity the long way. Explaining transmigration-based information was never going to end well.
As long as the Joker was in Arkham, Red Hood would delay, and delay, and probably keep his own counsel. Without Hayate, who else did he have to talk to? He didn't have peers after the duffel bag stunt.
This was such a mess.
Kei still hadn't debriefed with Hayate. She didn't know what her kid brother might've sussed out. Even if Hayate was ignorant of the rules in this world, he was clever, and he'd already dug deep enough to prove to his satisfaction that Red Hood was passively suicidal. The idea of more details lurking in Hayate's head was probably the main reason Batman was even talking to her.
"From what I understand, my brother lived with Red Hood as his guardian for most of a month," Kei went on. "He'll talk to me about it if I ask."
"Do you really think someone as meticulous as Red Hood would have told your brother anything?" Batman demanded. He couldn't loom like that and make her care. It was the same problem Red Hood had; after a certain point, the size of human opponents just didn't matter.
If he didn't know Hayate could practically read his mind? Yep. "I'll find out. Consider it my part of the deal."
Batman didn't accept that at face value, and Kei didn't expect him to. But the blue-and-red lights of the GCPD lit the street adjacent to theirs, which meant it was time to leave Crime Alley behind. Their lockup probably contained more than the average number of hired killers by now, so there was only so much harm in increasing the count by four.
Unless they are dead.
Still trying not to think about that, you know.
Kei, as Batman grapple-gunned his way toward his car or whatever, rejoined her brother on the roof. He was sitting there on a bare I-beam, swinging his legs idly. Kei's estimation of Red Hood's care went up a couple of notches, for providing weatherproof clothes and shoes.
"Done?" Hayate tucked his legs under him and bounced up.
"Yeah. Come on, it's time to go," Kei said. She held out a hand.
Hayate tucked himself under her arm, briefly, and gave her a quick side-hug before they started their run together.
"Oneesan?" Hayate sounded like he was chewing on his lip before the word slipped out. Maybe he needed a minute? "I lied earlier. By omission."
"It's fine. What about?" They were shinobi. Kei wasn't a great liar by any metric, but she couldn't blame Hayate for practicing the skill since they'd been separated. It was a survival tactic. "I swear I won't judge."
"Iruka and Genma taught me how to listen better while you were gone. Not as good as them, obviously, but I'm better at channeling chakra into my ears now." Hayate peered up at her, as earnest as he could be with his entire face covered. His chakra was still a content, low thrum. He rested his hand against her arm, as though trying to ground both of them after all the shocks of the last couple of minutes. "So, I heard what you said to Batman. Parts of it."
Kei's blood froze in her veins between one heartbeat and the next.
"Oneesan, how do you know how to speak English?"
Oh, fuck.
Notes:
1. If Jason has to supervise Hayate while crime lord stuff is happening, he might as well have the kid help with medivac. Hayate has never seen a man pull off a cape before this, and still hasn't as far as he's concerned.
2. The Fearsome Hand of Four is an original group of minor villains from the Under the Red Hood movie. They don't get individual names and one of them gets tasered in the face and his head (cannon) explodes. In the comics, their roster is different. One of them is literally Captain Nazi, and he's the guy who ends up getting killed. Good riddance.
3. Not all of the seals Kei was making during the last chapter were variations on "I cast Fireball."
4. Referring to Batman as a "six-foot-two night demon" is a reference to ThePandaRedd on TikTok and YouTube. I quite like the skits about Gotham's punching bag, Bill the Professional Henchman.
5. Funny how much easier it is to hide bilingualism when there's no one around to talk to.