AN: This was iconic and I am BITTER that the 80s readers didn't appreciate a good thing when they had it.

Guest-Nevermind traumatized, I'd be SCREWED. Right now, I'm good. So maybe that stab from, like, three Thursdays ago scarred because I couldn't reach well enough to give it super-neat stitches. Big deal. But them? Together? On my ass about every life choice I make? NOPE NOPE NOPE.-J.T.

EchokittyCat-Alfred sees all. (Because Bruce's cowl films all. The whole family's seen it by now.)


For a second, Jason's convinced he's hit his head or inhaled some crazy's Toxin of the Week or maybe even straight-up died and didn't realize it.

Knocking his funny bone into a wall hurts like a mother fucker, though, so he's apparently alive. And probably lucid.

Batman's car is parked and silent, and, as Jason finds out when he gets the nerve to put his hand on it, not even warm. It's huge, and up close he can see how it can go that fast, how it can jump raising bridges without so much as a whine.

Wow.

It's not crushed or scratched or showin' any signs of damage at all. He has no idea what it's doin' down here, and the best guess he's got is that Batman is a damn moron.

The tires on this thing, wow…Jason puts a hand on one of 'em, because how many chances do you get to touch the Batmobile, and it's twice as big across. Little worn, too, like they've been chasin' Joker or Ivy or somebody. A few somebodies, probably.

Are there…

Wait. Wait, wait, wait, Really. Really?

Yeah. The treads are bat-shaped. Talk about an ego…

Jason snorts. Batman's a nut. Okay, so he's kinda helpful, but dude, there comes a time that somebody needs to say, 'now Batman, it's a little silly to put your symbol on everything you own'. Does he have bat-shaped reading glasses? A bat-bed? A bat-house? (Okay, maybe not that, someone would've noticed, but still.)

Whatever.

He should go, before Batman gets back and kidnaps him or whatever the hell he does to people that get too close to his car. But…

Look. It's cold. And while he can-and has-make up a little cardboard shelter, he doesn't wanna have to. It's no guarantee that he won't be found by some old lady, a little Toddsicle in an alley. He's found people like that before. And rent's pricy, all right? There's only so many options available, and most of 'em are less than ideal. But Batman's tires…he could have rent and some semi-decent food for a couple'a months, easy.

Batman hasn't come back yet. The car's cold, so maybe he's just left it here while he goes and does…whatever the fuck it is he does when he's not punching homicidal clowns in the face. If Jason's quick, he can at least get one, and then go from there.

And he is quick. You gotta be, down here.

It's not like he'll get caught. Nobody's noticed him before, they're not gonna start now.


He's got three outta four, and yeah, he probably should've thanked whatever lazy lucky stars he's got and called it quits, but…he's never been a quitter.

When a shadow looms over him, he kinda wishes he'd learned that skill.

He senses the grabbing hand a second before it can snatch his collar and ducks, rolls under the car and bolts. He gets maybe three feet before he's yanked off his feet and the Batman-all six feet of JUSTICE and two hundred pounds of THIS IS GONNA HURT-is dangling him in the air, scowling.

"Where are the other three."

Judgmental prick. Whatever 'oh shit' had been running through Jason's head is promptly replaced with 'fuck you'.

He remembers he's still holding the iron and swings it with everything he's got, feels it connect with Batman's stomach. He's as surprised as anyone when he's dropped, iron clattering to the ground.

Not that he's gonna complain.

He sprints for it, dives between a pair of buildings and emerges on the sidewalk. There's a crowd of bar-hoppers and he ducks through them, scoring a wallet on the way, and darts across the street. A taxi driver screams at him to 'watch where you're going, you fuckin' brat!' and he flips 'em off before ducking between another pair of buildings-one of 'em the one he's desperately clinging to because it's not as drafty as some.

He stumbles through his window and onto his mattress, gasping for breath and feeling his heart try to batter its way through his ribs and skin.

Holy. Shit. He just. Outran. The Batman.

He laughs, a little hysterical, and topples forward. No one is ever gonna believe this, but holy crap, what are the chances…

Zilch, apparently. His door opens and the Goddamn Batman sweeps into the room, grabs him, and growls, "Are you hungry?"

THE END