This was supposed to be written a week ago.
The flickering light of the Batcomputer reflected off Barbara Gordon’s glasses as her fingers flew over the keyboard, pulling up another stream of surveillance footage from Gotham’s labyrinthine streets. Her chair creaked as she leaned forward, eyes narrowing behind the glass as the feed shifted to Crime Alley. Or what little she could still see of it, anyway.
“Damn it, Jason,” she muttered under her breath, adjusting the controls in a futile attempt to catch a better view. The screen displayed the grainy edges of Red Hood’s latest patrol, his familiar red helmet just barely visible at the edge of the frame before disappearing into one of the alley’s many blind spots. He wasn’t alone this time; Harley Quinn’s vibrant colors and unmistakable gait followed closely behind, along with a younger figure—the kid she’d flagged as an unknown earlier that week.
Barbara’s eyes flicked to the corner of the screen, where another camera had once provided a clear angle. Now, there was nothing but static. She sighed, tapping a pen against her desk as frustration gnawed at her.
“It’s like clockwork,” she muttered to herself. “Every time we set up new cameras, his gang takes them out. I’ve got more coverage in Arkham than I do in that damn alley.”
She leaned back in her chair, watching as the trio disappeared into the heart of Crime Alley, leaving her in the dark once more. For all her resources, for all her technological prowess, Jason Todd had carved out a section of Gotham even she couldn’t penetrate. And she hated it. Crime Alley wasn’t just another part of the city; it was a crucible, a place that had forged and broken more lives than she could count. And now, it was his domain.
“I hope you know what you’re doing, Jason,” she murmured, before turning her focus to another part of the city. But her thoughts lingered in the shadows of the alley, where she couldn’t follow.
P shifted uncomfortably as he followed Red Hood and Harley through the twisting maze of Crime Alley. Every step felt heavier than the last, his nerves fraying as they passed dimly lit doorways and shadowy alleys that seemed to breathe malice. The air was thick with the scent of rot and despair, and yet, there was something else—something beneath his skin, itching and burning in ways he couldn’t understand.
Around every corner, his senses flared. His heart raced, his palms slick with sweat as he felt the weight of unseen eyes. But every time the tension threatened to boil over, he’d glance at the two people leading him. Red Hood, towering and unyielding, moved like a force of nature, his presence warding off whatever horrors lurked in the shadows. And Harley, her jaunty stride and casual humming an odd contrast to the alley’s oppressive atmosphere, seemed utterly unfazed. Together, they were an immovable wall against the chaos, their sheer presence anchoring him.
“You’re awfully quiet back there, kid,” Harley called over her shoulder, twirling a baseball bat in one hand. “Crime Alley gotcha spooked? Don’t worry, it’s only about fifty percent as bad as it smells.”
P managed a weak chuckle, though his voice betrayed his unease. “It’s not… it’s not the smell.”
Harley turned, walking backward with an exaggerated tilt of her head. “Oh, lemme guess. It’s the vibes, right? This place has got… what do the kids call it? Big ‘Don’t Come Here’ energy?”
Red Hood snorted, shaking his head. “It’s Crime Alley. The vibes are the least of your problems.”
P nodded, swallowing hard. “It just feels… wrong. Like… I don’t know. Like I shouldn’t be here.”
Jason glanced back at him, his voice steady but firm. “You’re not the first person to feel that way. This place does that to people. But you’re here now, so keep your head on straight and follow us. Nothing’s gonna touch you while we’re around.”
There was a certainty in Jason’s words that settled P’s nerves, if only a little. He focused on putting one foot in front of the other, staying close behind them as they approached a particularly decrepit-looking building. Compared to the rest of Crime Alley, it seemed oddly well-maintained. The brickwork was intact, the windows—while grimy—weren’t shattered, and the door had a fresh coat of paint.
Harley grinned, turning to P. “See? Safe as houses. Or, uh, house-adjacent structures.”
P followed them inside, and the moment the door closed behind him, the oppressive weight he’d felt outside lessened. The air was still heavy, but the chaotic buzz in his head dulled, leaving him feeling almost normal. He glanced around the dimly lit hallway, noticing the worn but clean floors and the faint scent of disinfectant.
“Why does it feel… different in here?” he asked, his voice quiet.
Jason shrugged, leading the way up a creaky staircase. “Could be the insulation. Could be the fact that this place isn’t crawling with the worst Gotham has to offer. Either way, it works.”
Harley chimed in as they reached the third floor. “Plus, this place has got some good vibes. I’ve got a knack for picking up on stuff like that.” She tapped her temple with a wink. “Psychiatrist perks.”
P wasn’t sure he believed her, but he kept quiet as they reached a door near the end of the hall. Jason unlocked it, pushing it open to reveal a modest apartment. The furniture was mismatched but comfortable-looking, and a faint smell of lavender lingered in the air. A few personal touches—photos, knickknacks, and a vase of fresh flowers—hinted at a woman’s touch.
“Alright, kid,” Jason said, leaning against the doorframe. “This is Harley’s place. She shares it with her girlfriend, so don’t get any ideas about making yourself too comfortable. The only open room is part of her suite.”
P blinked, confused. “You don’t live here?”
Jason shook his head. “Nope. I’ve got my own spot. It’s not as nice, but it’s out of the way. Safer that way. Fewer people know where I lay my head, fewer people to worry about taking a shot at me when I’m not looking. Or worse, at someone I care about.”
Harley waved a hand dismissively. “He’s just a big ol’ softie who doesn’t wanna admit he’s paranoid. But hey, can’t blame him. Gotham’s not exactly friendly.”
Jason smirked. “Coming from you, that’s rich.”
Harley stuck out her tongue before turning to P. “C’mon, kid. Let’s get you settled. You look like you’re about to fall over.”
P hesitated, glancing back at Jason. “Are you sure it’s okay? I mean, I don’t want to be a bother.”
Jason nodded, his tone firm. “It’s fine. Better here than out there. Trust me.”
P nodded slowly, following Harley inside as Jason turned to leave. The sound of his boots echoed down the hall, followed by the distant roar of his motorcycle tearing off into the night. Harley placed a hand on P’s shoulder, steering him toward the small living room.
"Don't worry, sweetie. We'll figure everything out in the morning. For now, just relax. You're safe here." She flashed him a reassuring smile, her tone playful. "Plus, I'm way better company than Mr. Doom and Gloom out there. Trust me, you'll sleep like a baby."
P couldn't help but smile faintly, the tension in his shoulders easing just a little. As strange and overwhelming as everything felt, he wanted to believe her. Maybe, just maybe, he'd finally get some rest.