Chapter Text
1998 March 4th, Gotham, Crime Alley
Yuck. His bones feel off. His skin too. Everything did. He needs a drink.
He'd somehow survived that fire. And he had a feeling his father had too.
He'd managed to stumble his way into Gotham. The bad part– well, bad for Gotham. He didn't know many other places that would accept him. Even with the mask, he still looked and smelled like the most depressing thing in the world. And honestly? He definitely felt like he was.
Hard to think of something more depressing than everyone you've ever known dying. Including himself. Except, maybe, finding out the world saw death as too much of a mercy for shits like him.
“What?” The bartender greeted roughly, probably on edge. After all, a masked stranger, in Gotham, had just walked in.
Michael couldn't really speak very well, Side-effect of having your lungs ripped out, He'd figured.
After a second of consideration. He decided trying to speak would make him more worried. So instead, he put his dollar on the counter, hoping he'd get something.
He got something, not entirely sure what, but he wasn't too worried. If it killed him, it'd done something he himself hadn't been able to.
He left the bar again, slowly. Hard to walk when you're a decomposing corpse. if something broke, or fell off, he'd just duct tape it back on.
He was aware that wasn't supposed to work. But it did. And his life wasn't really going as it should anyways.
Once outside again, the streets were as shitty as they were before. Rats rummaging through trash, looking for heaps of rotten food, and no doubt bodies. Mumbled screams, of pleasure and pain. Occasionally he walked past an alley with drug dealers, and buyers.
Something big hit him from his side. Pushing him, and it into a wall.
He heard a loud crack as he felt discomfort shoot through his, probably broken, ribcage.
The thing –man that got thrown into him, quickly grabbed his hand and pulled him out the way for– a car!? Looking up, he could see the person who'd thrown it. Bane.
All throughout Michael's horribly horrible life, and after, he'd never had an encounter with a villain. Now he had. Great.
“Hey, you.. good?” the man asked. Slightly staticky, which didn't bring good memories.
He was big. Not Bane kind of big, but big. He didn't look like the other heros of Gotham, and yet he did.
The grey Kevlar armor was the same kind, as well as the fact he had a bat -a red one- on his chest. But they usually weren't wearing helmets, nor biker jackets. Except Red Hood.
Wasn't Red Hood– his thought process was cut short, as the guy dragged him away from getting crushed by another car.
Speaking up again, though more tense than before, he yelled “Hey, bear mask! Wake the fuck up, so I can asses your damage.” Michael blinked up at him. “Thank fuck you're alive, at least.” he sighed.
“s—y” was all he could get out, and even that was hard.
“I have to deal with the fucker throwing cars. Don't fucking die.” the guy said, before running off.
Yup. Michael could do that. Not dying seemed to be the one thing he could do.
So, he sat up, waiting for the man to come back. Though maybe he shouldn't. If Michael remembered correctly, he's a bad guy.
Though he didn't really care at this point.
It didn't take long before the man was back. Lifting Michael up -did he weigh anything to this guy!?- carefully. As to not further break his bones. It was futile, as Micheal had been made aware, because his body was fragile these days. Very fragile.
To prove this, his body decided that his arm was not stronger than gravity, and that it didn't need it anymore. So, it fell off. Because of course it did.
The man stopped. Staring at the arm. “whatthefuck?” he heard him whisper. Which was a pretty calm response, all things considered.
Micheal would've explained, that, it doesn't hurt, and that this just kinda happened, and some duct tape would put it back. He couldn't really do that however. So instead he simply wriggled out of the shocked man's carry, picked the arm up, and got out his handy tape.
This made the guy snap back to the present, as he stopped Michael's attempt to re-attach the arm. When Michael looked up at him, he simply shook his head, slowly and undoubtedly horrified.
♡
What. The. Fuck.
Duct tape!? Did this guy seriously try to tape his arm back on?
Jason's seen weird fuckers. He himself was a weird fucker. His entire family were weird fuckers.
But this hasn't happened before. Jason doesn't know what to do with this.
“So. You're going to a hospital–” bear guy shaked his head “–no that's not up for debate–” bear guy looked at the duct tape “–I don't give a fuck about your duct tape. I'm getting you to the hospital. If you die, the others are gonna complain, and I don't wanna deal with that” Jason finished, staring at the guy.
Are his eyes a part of the mask? He's pretty sure they're glowing. And it's not like bright fucking purple is a normal eye color. Let alone the fact his eye whites -no Jason had not bothered to learn the name, and he wasn't going to- wasn't white, and instead pitch black.
So, definitely a meta.
Was that why he didn't like the idea of a hospital?
“She won't think much of, whatever the fuck that was, she's reliable like that.” he reassured. Bear guy gave a shaky sigh and looked away, nodding.
“So, what's your name?” Jason asked, trying to cut the awkward ass silence.
“.....i-” something completely unrecognizable “e-”
Okay. Right. He can't speak. "Right, sorry. Forgot.” Their walk -ie hadn't let Jason carry him, and after the arm thing, he felt it was fair enough- was now even more awkward. And he realized why there had been the awkward silence in the first place. “I'm Red Hood.”
Bear guy nodded slowly. Distantly, Jason wondered if the ‘arm-thing’ was actually an ‘everything-thing’, and distantly, Jason realized he didn't want an answer.
Ie… how many names were there that had ‘ie’? Probably lots… if he was lucky, it was a common name. “So, your name's I-something-E?”
I-something-E considered that, then shrugged. They'd tried to keep it in place with bandages, cuse Jason refused bear guys every attempt at taping it.
“Be careful with the arm or whatever” he muttered. “Is there something before the I?”
He nodded. Yes.
"After the E?”
He shook his head. No.
“Alright… is it a common name?”
Yes.
“Shortened?”
Yes.
“How many letters?”
He held up four fingers.
“Olive? Fuck that's five– Aiden? Nope, that too…. Miles– fuck”
The guy kinda, maybe, almost laughed. It sounded off. The guy's ribs were definitely broken, and he could barely make any sounds. Jason wasn't too surprised it came out hoarse and breathless.
“Ezekiel? Idk how people make that a nickname, is that it?”
He stared at Jason. So no, then.
“Yeah, didn't really think so..”
He sighed.
Jason gave up.
“Heya, doc. Found a new patient. Not a speaker.” he said, as he opened the door.
Dr.Tompkins walked over to them, examining the bear guy -who he still hadn't figured out the name for-, before speaking “Hi. Dr.Tompkins. come right over here. I'll have to take off your mask.”
Reluctantly, bear guy followed.
1998 March 5th, Gotham, Wayne Manor
“Is anyone expecting a call from Dr.Tompkins?” Alfred called out to the group of kids -Jason, Steph, Cassie and Damian- holding a phone in his hand.
Jason stood up and walked over. “Yup. Left a guy there earlier, I'll take it” he took the phone from the butler's hand and sat back down.
“I'm.. uh.. not sure.” She started. And that was…
“It.. can't be worse then what you've seen before?” He said. This got his siblings attention. Because Dr.Thompson had seen It all.
“It can. And it is.”
Jason froze. No fucking way right? “I mean. At least he's alive?”
“I'm.. not so sure.”
“Fuck!”
Dr.Tompkins was an amazing doctor. Broken ribs -granted, it sounded bad- weren't a new thing for her. She wouldn't have let someone die to that? Not this fast at least.
“Hit me. What's up?” He stated. Looking at their family doctor.
She bit her lip, the way she did when she couldn't really explain. She wasn't sad, however, so he probably wasn't dead.
“He's asked me not to explain, and I don't know if I even could.” She paused, then sighed “I'll lead you to him.”
1998 March 5th, Gotham, Crime Alley
Michael was tired. He didn't like hospitals.
Dr.Tompkins was nice, and it was clear she held back on questions. But finding a literal zombie and not asking questions, would be dumb.
So, he'd had to tell her what he knew. Which was basically nothing.
‘Why don't you have a heartbeat?’ ‘uh’ ‘right. How are you alive?’ he'd shrugged ‘that's-... okay…’
After that she'd gotten him a notebook and pens to write in. But it hadn't really helped. Most of his answers were just shrugging, or shaking his head.
She'd clearly been out of her depth. And Micheal doesnt think that's really anyone's depth. Except Williams.
He heard the door open, and soon, Red Hood -who he'd found out was, in fact, a good guy now- stepped inside.
“Hey.” Red Hood said.
Michael nodded at him. Thankfully he was still wearing the mask. He'd gotten it back as soon as Dr.Thompson was done with the check-up. Which was fair. No one would wanna look at a decaying corpse longer than they had too.
Red Hood nodded back at him. “So, gonna explain?” He asked, sitting down in the chair next to him. And was he seriously man-spreading right now? Mike would have been beaten to all hell, had he done that.
It took a while to figure out what to write. I mean, how do you explain this? To a stranger.
Eventually, he settled on short.
Hi. I'm Mike. Can't believe you didn't guess that.
And sorry I spooked you with the arm falling off. I'm pretty fragile. And my duct tape would've worked. Without bothering you and this kind doctor.
I understand that you, like her, want answers now. And honestly, so do I.
All I know is that
1. I should be dead.
2. I hate robots.
3. I'm not dead?
4. I really hate robots.
5. It's my father's fault.
I do know some more. But I don't wanna deal with that. And I doubt you want to either.
Ps: I fucking hate robots.
They were both quiet as Red Hood read the sub-par explanation. Once he finished reading, he looked up at Michael. “You want some pizza?”