A/N: On the "Ask the Squishykins" tumblr, Twinings and I have been offering ourselves up for a few weeks of filling fic prompts for our readers, varying in length from a hundred to seven thousand plus words. The project has been dubbed the Free For All Fic For All—or FFAFFA for short. This is one of those stories—and this is the boilerplate author's note you'll see on all of 'em. The last round of FFAFFA was put on hold for a few months due to IRL circumstances, but after that lengthy forced hiatus, we're back! There are two more days in the Free for All: it ends on February 1st. So, if you want a custom fic written to any particular specifications, drop by and ask for it!

Prompts: Killer Croc/Batgirl Christmas Truce

Notes: As always, my version of Killer Croc is a blending of many canon sources. Yay.

Silent as a shadow, Cassandra Cain sped across the rooftops of Gotham, leaving only the slightest trace of footprints in the freshly fallen snow. She melted into the dark spaces that were scattered between buildings, careful to keep out of sight. The man she trailed directly below suspected nothing, she knew, as he lumbered along clumsily in what was undoubtedly a stolen Santa suit. He too was doing his level best to be stealthy, but his massive size and the comparably sized sack he carried slung over his shoulder did him no favors in the hustle and bustle of downtown on Christmas Eve.

There were too many people around to risk dropping on him now—too many potential hostages who were too easy to grab in so crowded a location—so Batgirl followed him, eyes intent, body tensed and ready to spring whenever the opportunity presented itself. Killer Croc would not get away with whatever it was he was trying to get away with, not on her watch.

Small children tugged their parents sleeves, pointing at Santa as he stumped through the snow. He waved at them with one hand, ho-ho-hoed with a great booming voice and continued on his way to wherever he was going. Nobody seemed to notice that the tiny strip of visible flesh between his bushy white beard and the fur of his cap had a grayish, greenish tinge to it, or that his mittens seemed a bit worn and tattered from keeping his claws concealed. The children who were young enough to believe in Santa Claus were in awe of his appearance and their parents were too busy hurrying to finish their last minute shopping to care about what they surely believed was an employee of some department store or another.

The counterfeit Santa made his way down the avenue, getting further and further from the epicenter of the shopping district and, when the crowd began to thin out a bit, looked around for…something. He craned his head this way and that, hoisting the bag a little higher up on his shoulder, shifting its weight to make it more comfortable to carry, and made a sharp turn down an alleyway next to a Thai Restaurant. He continued down the narrow passageway, cutting across another street to another alleyway and another, then took a few left turns, then right turns, then a few more lefts for good measure.

All the while, Batgirl followed him above, still undetected. He seemed to be taking some sort of shortcut to the East End that was unknown to her, she noted. Most likely, he was heading back to his hideout with whatever stolen goods were in his bag. She briefly considered taking him down right there, but there was a high probability that there were more stolen items hidden away in his lair—and perhaps even some accomplices. She decided that waiting until he reached his destination was wiser and would yield better results.

After a few more blocks, his pace slowed. She'd been following him for more than a mile by the time he finally took one last turn into one last dark alley and came to a stop in front of a nondescript door in the back of a small but rather ornate stone building.

"Church," Cassandra whispered, eyes narrowing behind her mask. Gotham—especially the poorer areas of Gotham—was full of abandoned buildings of all types, churches included, but she never knew criminals to take refuge in them. It was…peculiar. Batgirl slunk down to a flagpole in the shadows and perched there, waiting for the perfect moment to attack.

Killer Croc dropped the sack next to him, pulled the too-small mittens from his hands and moved to open it. His hand had just closed around the door handle when Cassandra dropped out of the sky onto his back, the heels of her boots landing squarely on his shoulder blades. He went down with an "Oof!" but rolled over, grasping at the air, forcing Batgirl to spring away from him to avoid being grabbed. She rebounded quickly, spinning into a roundhouse kick that connected with his temple and knocked his hat right off his head. Undeterred, he reached out with one powerful hand and snatched her ankle, twisting it and forcing her other foot to leave the ground.

Instead of being put off balance, Batgirl compensated, throwing all her weight behind the leg he hadn't captured, swinging it up and over his shoulder. He was so surprised that he lost his grip and she used this to her advantage. In one graceful motion that was almost too quick to see, she trapped his head between her thighs and threw herself backwards, using momentum to flip him flat on his back on the concrete.

Now straddling his chest, she punched him a few times—in the face, in the solar plexus—before he made another grab for her. He was surprisingly fast for someone his size, and what he lacked in grace he made up for with sheer strength. Batgirl quickly found herself pinned beneath his hulking frame but made the most of the position by elbowing him in the throat.

He recoiled, gasping for breath, and she slid out from under him easily. Batgirl dropped into a crouch to avoid his clumsy attempts to hit her and, putting all the power she could behind the action, kicked at him from the ground, hitting him squarely in the chest.

Killer Croc fell backward, arms spinning uselessly as he tried to regain his balance, and landed on his sack, crushing it under his weight. He lay there, his ragged breaths making little clouds over his face, and for a moment Cassandra thought him unconscious. When she grabbed him by the coat and hauled him up into a seated position, she saw that she hadn't knocked him out, but the fight seemed to have gone out of him.

"You are going to jail," she said, staring down into his yellow eyes and pointedly ignoring his comically askew fake beard.

He coughed and rubbed his throat where she'd hit him. "And a Merry Christmas to you too, petite. Do you always give such violent gifts?"

Cassandra's eyes narrowed, though he could not see it. "You will come quietly. Now."

"I think…" he said, baring his teeth at her in a fair approximation of a smile, "No."

"I will hit you again."

"I have no doubt you will. But…" He didn't fight her when she snapped a very large pair of handcuffs around his wrists. "It's Christmas, no? Where's your Christmas spirit?"

She didn't answer.

"Ah, I see," he said with a sigh as she pulled him to his feet. "You have none. Such is a very sad state of affairs."

Cassandra didn't think this was entirely accurate—she liked warm cider and opening presents just as much as anyone—but he didn't need to know that. She pushed him against the alley wall face first and checked him over for weapons before turning to survey the crushed and torn sack he'd been carrying. Its contents were slightly scattered, but still mostly intact.

"Food." Puzzled, Batgirl looked over the items on the ground with interest. Various canned and boxed foodstuffs peeked out of the torn fabric of the sack—some beans here, some cookies there—not at all the jewelry or electronics she'd been expecting. "Stolen. Why?"

Killer Croc tilted his head in the direction of the church, indicating the door he'd been standing in front of when she attacked him.

She didn't trust him, and with good reason. Still, she forced him towards the door, putting him in the perfect position to serve as a human shield. "Open it."

He did as he was told, opening the door just a crack. Batgirl peered around him and looked, wide eyed, at the derelict interior of the building. Many wooden pews were overturned, some even chopped apart. Blankets of all sizes and colors were piled up into makeshift cots around the room and several steel drums stood in the center of the church, with fires burning away in them merrily.

A dozen homeless people, perhaps even two dozen, sat and stood around the drums, warming themselves and speaking in murmurs. Cassandra saw a few children scattered amongst the adults, and could hear the faint sound of someone humming Christmas carols mingled with quiet, insistent coughing and even a little laughter.

Cassandra looked back at the torn bag and pulled Killer Croc back away from the door, letting it close quietly behind him. She motioned at the food on the ground. "For them?"

"They are hungry, petite."

She considered for a moment and then, in a move that surprised him, Batgirl swept the cape from her shoulders. She held it by the corners, forming a sack to replace the torn one and said, "Pick it up."

Killer Croc took one step toward the food but her stern voice gave him a moment's pause, "…and do not try anything."

It didn't take long to put everything in her cape as she had instructed and when he was finished, Batgirl pulled the edges together as best she could and forced the parcel into his hands. Before he could say anything, she scooped his Santa hat off the ground and placed it back on his head, tugging it down over his ears and then straightened his beard for him.

"And the handcuffs?" he said hopefully.

"You are still going to jail," she said, shoving him at the door. "Five minutes."

He looked disappointed, but nodded with resigned understanding. "Merci, petite."

"Merry Christmas."

A/N: This story pairs exceptionally well with Batman #471, one of the best Killer Croc appearances ever, in which he protects an underground community of Gotham's homeless and unwanted. Check it out, it's pretty great.