Okay, so NEVER EVER EVER remove a bullet if you aren't a trained professional and certainly don't dig it out, but I'm working with comics laws of physics. In the comics, they do this kinda stuff, so I'm gonna say that they still can, since this is still in the comic universe. So: not real life, but comic life. And I am working with comic physics. Don't try this at home.
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There was not anyone but Dick Grayson who could possibly have made the prospect of leaving in the middle of the night seem more like a terrible, selfish decision than the small boy tucked into bed.
Jason glanced guiltily at the small lump under the covers, before turning away, black boots treating quietly against the lightly carpeted floor.
Nearly kneehigh boots with black pants tucked into the tops pulled into a black belt with two pistols tucked against his sides, concealed by the black leather jacket over a black long sleeved shirt. A black ski mask clenched in his hand would complete the look, unbroken except for the holes for the eyes. An assortment of knives were stashed in any convenient place he could find. Jason wasn't going for memorable: he shouldn't be here long, so there was no need to go for his usual look. The jacket was simply practical: covering pockets, intimidation, and if he needed to use his shirt to wrap a wound, he could wear the jacket over the top.
Jason refused to be guilted by an unconscious 8 year old. Sometimes grownups had to do things they didn't want to do - that was life. It was Jason's responsibility to go help people, and no matter what Dick thought, it was still Jason's responsibility. Jason turned around and walked out the door. He stopped in the kitchen to leave a note in case he was late, and then he walked out of Wayne manor.
He didn't have kevlar, but if he stayed in the shadows he might not need it. There were no supervillains here, and he'd gone low tech before. He was street smart, and that translated well to any universe he could get thrown into. Jason made his way down to the Gotham streets, keeping his head down, but eyes flickering to take in every detail of the world around him.
The internet could only tell you so much. Sometimes you needed to see things for yourself. Get your feet dirty. No website would tell you about how close to the sidewalk's edge scantily clad girls dared walk, and google could never tell you how many people's hands shifted to their guns at the sight of a scruffy looking man. No. Sometimes you needed to get into the sewer to chase out the rats.
Jason moved farther into the city's underbelly. Passersby were fewer, here, suspicious or threatening looks more common. Jason slowed down, deciding that this was where he'd make his mark. He moved into a dirty alleyway, glancing around to ensure he was alone.
Quickly he hefted himself up a rusting fire escape, making his way to the top of the building, loose stone crumbling under his feet. Just like home. He pulled the mask from his jacket pocket and slipped it on, making sure it wouldn't shift and cover his eyes. He left the safeties on his guns. The likelihood that the time it would take to release them would be important wasn't near high enough to risk their going off at an inconvenient moment.
Releasing your safeties this early was a rookie mistake, and Jason was anything but a rookie. His entire body went still, conserving energy, a python waiting for the strike. Fidgeting was a rookie mistake too. Wasted energy, made you easier to notice.
Normally Jason had his helmet which would let him zoom in on anything suspicious. Right now he didn't. That was fine. Technology was a luxury. He was perfectly prepared without it.
A scream. The python was released and Jason Todd was transformed into The Red Hood, a deadly weapon that maximized efficiency with nothing to distract it. Normally, he would be operating differently, but new universe: new rules. The Red Hood dove into action.
Mugging, possible escalation into rape if left unaffected. Red Hood leapt from the roof, rebounding off the fire escape to slam feet first into one of the men, both of his guns going up to shoot the wrists of two of the man's accomplices. The tendons that controlled their trigger fingers were completely severed.
Cries rose from the gang of five, or rather, of the four that were left. Keeping his head low, Hood dashed forward, guns firing upon the wrists of the remaining two men. Ridding them of the ability to fire was crutal. If your opponent has a weapon, neutralise it before anything else, for the maximum safety of yourself and civilians.
Hood positioned himself so that the woman was roughly behind him, the men's attention focused firmly on himself. They raced forward with indignant cries, as two bullets shot out the kneecaps of their leader. The man howled as he fell, a hand clawing forward. Hood raced forward, a kick snapping the man's head upward and his consciousness into oblivion.
The two left came at Hood from either side. Leaping into the air, Hood kicked the man on the left across the face, while grabbing the other by the collar and launching him into a wall. The two were dazed, but not out. A solid kick to the head sent one into unconsciousness, while a solid smack in the head from Hood's pistol finished off the last goon.
The whole ordeal had taken 1 minute and 15 seconds. Breathing barely elevated, Red Hood turned his attention to the woman. She was shaking, wide eyed, and gasping open mouthed.
"Be careful around here. Where are you going, and how long will it take you to get there?"
There were a few silent moments as the woman's mouth moved and nothing came out. After a few more seconds, in which Hood let her collect herself, she managed words again, eyes dilated and shifting, shoulders trembling and knees shaking. "I… My apartment. I'm going to my apartment. Well, it's my sister's apartment really. I'm visiting, I'm from Star city. I'm just visiting, but Julia, my sister, she lives here. I'm Jessica. I'm Jessica. Hi."
Victim was rambling, and panicked. Definitely needed an escort. "How far from here?"
"I… 5 minutes. It's 5 minutes."
"You'll get there safely. Go on." Hood disappeared back up to the roofs, keeping a careful eye on the woman, who was still glancing around, as if unable to believe she was safe. Pulling a phone from his pocket, Hood dialed the police. There was still a chance they could be properly put in jail. Hood didn't want to expose himself too much, though, so it would be difficult to ensure there would be enough evidence to get these scum properly convicted.
Oh well. The woman was safe, though. She had began to walk, hurrying, back along the litter covered decrepit pavement. Gotham's cold winds swirled around her, lifting the edges of her coat, brushing up the dirt and dust that never fully settled but was always there. Nothing in Gotham was ever clean. Just less dirty.
Jason followed her back to her sister's apartment, watching as she stumbled up the steps; shoved herself inside the door. Jason turned away, senses growing more and more attuned to the city around him, an acid burned, chemical choked, collection of rock and glass and metal.
Cigarette smoke mingled with exhaust fumes, men and women in scruffy coats bunched together inside dilapidated buildings, condemned to destruction but uncaringly left to nature and the overflowing masses of humanity - more homeless occupying the buildings now than when they had been structurally sound. Strangely colored water pooled at the entry grates to sewers, a man muffled a cough, trying not to appear weak.
Jason decided this place was quite similar to his Gotham after all.
A flash of movement caught his attention from behind him. Red Hood decided there was very little difference between the two cities.
This gang didn't have guns. They had knives. They were advancing on another female; a teenager. Attempted rape. There were six of them. All males. Hood leapt down, roundhouse kicking the one closest to the girl, and sending two more bullets toward the kneecaps of two of his conspirators.
Moving as fast as he could, Hood continued forward in a hail of metal and blood. Screams barely penetrated his consciousness, serving only as warnings as to his foes locations. Hood pivoted on the remaining three members, launching himself toward the two that were close together. He wasn't shooting anymore: he needed to conserve his ammo. an uppercut kaoed the one to his right, but the one on the left swung his knife, and Hood had to raise an arm to deflect it. He spun into a roundhouse kick to slam the man into the wall, but a resounding BANG tore through the alley.
Red Hood reeled forward as the bullet tore through his back, near his left shoulder. He had been wrong. One of them had had a gun. He pivoted instantly, clicking the safety onto his gun, and throwing the metal weapon toward his opponent as a makeshift batarang. Strike. He looked over his work, ensuring they were all unconscious.
He walked back to his gun and stooped to pick it up, wincing at the movement of his shoulder. It wasn't lethal, or too dangerous. But it hurt, and it would definitely need attention, especially without the normal supplies he would have to deal with a wound like this.
He made sure the girl got home safely. She would be fine. Jason needed to get back to the manor, and he needed to do it now. Moving up to the rooftops, he fashioned a bandage from his shirt, leaving the jacket on normally.
Once arriving at the manor, he made his way to one of the bathrooms near Alfred's room. He remembered seeing some real medical supplies around here. Alfred still had them probably as a result of his time in Her Majesty's secret service. Locking the door, he took off the jacket and unwrapped the shirt. Standing in front of the sink's mirror, he picked up a long pair of forceps, giving a wince in anticipation of pulling out the bullet, which was definitely still in there, and it felt like it was in one piece.
Jason thanked his lucky stars that the thug hadn't had better aim, and probably hadn't had that good of a gun either. It wasn't too uncommon for people too poor to do much anything else with their lives to get any kind of gun they could and start mugging people. However, not all of the guns were new, or even second hand. Sometimes they were more than badly used, and not everyone knew how to check quality. Besides, most everyone was desperate enough to want any gun.
Jason finally found the bullet, through a clever combination of a handheld and bathroom mirror. Wincing, he managed to pry the thing out, dropping it in the sink with a clattering clink. Sighing, he made eye contact with himself in the mirror, before looking away.
He hadn't been able to stand his reflection since coming back.
Grabbing disinfectant and a towel, he set to work cleaning the wound. The bleeding had mostly stopped, but had started up again after removing the bullet. He pushed the towel against the wound, the pressure slowing the bleeding.
Jason sighed, eyes dropping to the bloody shirt. What was he going to do? He'd had so much worse, but… he returned to the wound.
When normal people got shot, oftentimes the bullet wasn't even supposed to be removed. Unfortunately, for bats, this wasn't such an option. Getting too many bullets stuck in your body forever would look quite strange when getting x-rays or going through airport security, especially as highly prominent Waynes.
Jason was legally dead, but he still didn't need to leave that many bullets inside him. Too much attention to be attracted. There was no reason to get called out at every airport he went to because he'd been in a hundred fights too many. Also, with as many weird villains as they faced, there was always a substantial chance that the bullets all had trackers in them, or were poisoned. No reason to risk it.
Jason applied disinfectant to the wound, before a bandage. Lots of people also tend to think you're supposed to do something to close a bullet wound, like stitch it shut, but with a simple entry wound like this, it was better to just leave the thing at a bandage.
Jason leaned his head against the wall, sighing as the cool wall pressed against his warm skin, black hair pushing up over his forehead. He was tired. He probably had a slight fever - it happened, sometimes, after being shot. He didn't want to think about what was going to happen with Dick. He wanted to go punch criminals with a quirky archer who knew when not to ask questions and an alien supermodel everyone was jealous of.
Instead he was stuck caring for an eight year old - cooking eggs, watching Disney movies and playing hide and seek. How the mighty had fallen.
And what was he going to tell that eight year old? The wall wasn't warm yet, but Jason pulled his head away and began replacing the medical supplies. He picked up the bloody shirt and jacket, decided them a lost cause, and started walking to the back yard.
This couldn't keep happening. What would have happened if he'd been killed? What would Dick do? Surely the kid would think himself abandoned… would he kill himself for that? Would he be able to care for himself? Surely he had the resources… and Tim and Damian were coming soon… but they weren't here yet.
No. The Red Hood was grounded until Dick was safe. Jason had a responsibility now, and, until Tim and Damian returned, no way to pass that responsibility off to anyone else.
Jason moved into the backyard, walked a good ways from the house, and started rubbing some sticks together.
Dick would need to be told that Tim and Damian were coming. It seemed that there would be no immedient rescue coming, and even if there would be, there was no reason to risk whatever might happen at Dick's confusion at two strangers appearing in the house. Besides, what if Timmy's calculations were wrong, and they appeared sooner than expected? There were only three days left till they were supposed to come back, but they could reappear sooner.
A fire leapt from the sticks, and Jason tossed the shirt down, careful not to smother the flames.
It had been irresponsible to keep the truth from Dick this long, based solely on the hope that he would be spared having to invest in the situation further. But then there was the other question.
He would tell Dick about Tim and Damian coming, but did the kid need to know about their double lives? It would spare Jason having to keep the truth from him, and perhaps get the kid to not worry about following Jason's rules vs Daddy's, but it might also worry the kid a lot.
And Dick probably wasn't going to be able to keep their identities secret if it came down to it. And what if Dick told Daddy somehow? Jason's intentions were for Daddy to die, but his other family members might somehow get him in jail and while that wouldn't stop Jason from killing him, there was still time to do… something. Maybe not realistically… since there were no secret identities in Daddy's universe… but Jason knew better than to underestimate Bruce, in any universe under any circumstances.
No, there was probably no reason to tell Dick their identities. Maybe they should tell him something about how he should trust Batman and his allies, though…
Jason stood there a little longer, watching the flames leap around the jacket and shirt, light casting strange shadows over the yard, dancing and flickering and leaping and burning and destroying and reducing anything in its way to dust.
Jason blinked, stumbling back a few steps. He needed to get back to the mansion… he was cold and definitely feverish. Kicking dirt over the fire, he made his way back to the house, smoke curling into the sky before disappearing, nothing but a cold pile of ashes to testify that it had ever been.