Thanks to Patty for beta reading this and to Jesse for staying after me to get this part done. I hope you all enjoy. A few Author's notes: The Larry Winter Show is from Nightwing: The Series; for Timmy's rat reaction see Patty's A Bad Bear Day; for the alcohol corruption of a minor see most of the older brothers I know who feel it is their duty to get the little brothers drunk for their first time. LOL Char :-)

RoadTrip 2: Born to be Wild Part 3:

"I make a rich woman beg, I'll make a good woman steal," Roy pointed to the table where three young women sat laughing at his antics as he continued to sing. "I'll make an old woman blush, and make a young woman squeal." And squeal they did. He smiled a crooked smile at them as he wiggled his hips. "I wanna be yours pretty baby, yours and yours alone," he jumped from the small stage, microphone in hand, and moved to the women's table. "I'm here to tell ya honey, that I'm bad to the bone. B-B-B-B-Bad B-B-B-B-Bad B-B-B-B-Bad Bad to the bone."

Tim sighed and sunk further in his chair. "Who knew it would only take six beers to limber Roy up enough to sing."

"He's a performer," Dick said taking a swig of his beer.

"This isn't a karaoke bar."

"He used to be in a band."

Tim looked stricked. "Music has improved from your generation to mine then."

Dick rolled his eyes. "He was the drummer."

"I can see why," Tim replied drolly.

"On that note, I'm going to get round seven. Man the table Timmy," Dick chuckled as he stood and headed to the bar.

"Don't call me Timmy!" Tim called out behind him. "I'm not five anymore. They act like I'm still five." He looked at Dick's beer bottle, looked around, and slyly pulled it over and took a big swallow. His nose and eyes scrunched together. "EWWWWWW!!! That's like ... like ... horse piss. Why do people drink that? EWWW."

"Because it's an acquired taste Tot," Roy said as he balled his knuckles up and bored playfully into the back of Tim's head.

"How do you get past the taste to acquire it?" Tim asked as he took a napkin and ran it across his tongue trying to get the offending taste out of his mouth. He picked up his Zesti and downed the whole glass. His face was an interesting shade of grey.

"It's cheap," Roy laughed. "I'll make sure you get another one of those." He pointed at the Zesti and laughed as he headed toward the bar. Meeting Dick, Roy whispered in his ear. They both laughed and returned to the bar together.

"What are they doing?" Tim wondered as he watched them. His eyes went wide when he saw Roy whistling his way back to the table, a tray of shot glasses and bottles in his hands. "What is that?"

"The way to acquire your taste for liqour."

"OH NO! I don't wanna!"

"You wanted to when you tasted my beer," Dick added slapping Tim on the back as he sat beside him. "We thought we'd give you some choices, see what you like."

"Put hair on your chest," Roy laughed as he started pouring tasters.

"I don't want hair on my chest. My chest is fine like it is thank you very much."

Roy and Dick laughed loudly at Tim's protestations. Roy poured a tall glass from four different bottles. "Drink up kiddo. We're going to introduce you to the four kings -- Jose, Johnny, Jim, and Jack."

"UH UH! You've gotta be crazy!" Tim said as he started to push back from the table.

Dick's hand went flat against Tim's back and pushed him back to the table. "You started this. You're going to finish it. If you want to experiment with alcohol, that's fine. Let's do a controlled experiment."

Tim's face went pale. "Oh man, this is gonna suck."

Roy grinned. "Oh yeah, but by the time it's over, you won't care." Wickedly, he handed a glass to Tim and laughed at the face the boy made as he swallowed the liquid.

Tim grabbed his throat and gasped. "My throat ... fire ... water."

Roy handed him a glass of Old Crow Sour Mash Whiskey, "Yeah, they call it firewater."

Dick eyed the bottle, "Actually, they call the Old Crow a lot of things and none of them are good." Roy nodded and laughed while Dick mixed Seagram's Seven with Seven-Up and handed it to him, "This is a mixed drink, oh younger brother."

"What was that other?" Tim scowled. "I hate you both," and swallowed the shot. Dick patted him on the back and laughed as he coughed.

The three young women Roy had sung to walked to their table and giggled. "This is cute."

Roy grinned and held out a chair. "Ladies, join us, please. We could use some company." The three women smiled and sat down. Roy motioned with his hand to the bartender for more drinks. "Like my singing ladies?" The girls giggled again and nodded.

The brunette sat beside Tim. "You're just a kid aren't you?"

Tim blushed. "I'm not a kid!"

"Sure you are Tot," Roy answered not skipping a beat.

"I am not! I'm ... sophisticated." Tim glared at Roy when he snorted.

"You have interesting tattoo's," she said as she rubbed her hand across his knuckles. "I'm Deliliah."

"I'm Jack," Tim said with a grin. "Nice ta meet ya."

Roy turned toward the bar. "What's up with that bartender. Ain't he coming?" Roy got up and stomped over to the bar to order some drinks.

"You can have some of mine," Deliliah said as she handed Tim a glass of orange liquid.

"Juice, yeah that's good." Tim took a big sip and looked at Dick. "You know this bar thing isn't as fun as you said it would be."

Dick turned from the red-head he was talking to, "You're the one who said they had strippers."

"That was just to torture Ro--Lance." He took another swallow of Deliliah's drink. "This is good juice."

The red-head took Dick by the hand and led him to the dance floor. Roy sat a tray of drinks down on the table, looked after Dick and the red-head and held his hand out to the blonde girl. "Wanna go?" She smiled and put her hand in his as they went off.

Deliliah looked at Tim. "Do you want to dance?"

Tim shrugged. "I dunno. I'm not really that good at it."

"Aww, I could teach you," she said as she patted his leg.

"That's ok, maybe later." He looked at the red and yellow drinks on the tray. "What's this?"

"Jello shots," she replied. "Try one."

"Jello, huh? I've always liked pudding." He picked a red one up and downed it. "Whoa ... that's ... that's good."

"It's got Everclear in it, just like the orange juice," she smiled.

"It's good. I'm having another." Tim grabbed a yellow shot and downed it as well. "What's Everclear?"

"Just something to make it taste better," she said as she rubbed his arm.

Tim had downed a few more by the time Dick and Roy finished their dance and headed back to the table. He looked up at them as they came up to the table. Loudly, Tim greeted them "HI!! YOU GOTTA TRY THIS ... DESSERT THINGS!" Tim held out the Jello shots.

Dick's eyes narrowed. "Is that what I think it is?"

Roy sighed, "Yeah. Good thing I told them to use vodka not Everclear." Roy reached down and picked up his Jaegermiester.

Dick gave Roy the Bat look. "Yeah, good thing!"

Tim smiled up at them. "I got that Everclear in the orange juice! What's this?" He grabbed the Jaegermiester from Roy's hand. "COOL!" he downed it and coughed and spasmed. "Meet," he coughed "Del ... Del ... oh her," he said as he pointed at Delilah."

"We've met already, remember." Dick grabbed Tim's hand as he reached for another drink. "I think you've had enough."

"I DON'T THINK I HAVE!" Tim yelled as he tried to stand up and fell backwards into the chair. Roy and Dick laughed at him and sat down beside him. "well, ok, maybe I have," Tim said as he held his now spinning head. Getting up was more work than he thought.

"I'm afraid you three are going to have to leave," the bartender said as he walked to the table and pointed at Dick, Roy and Tim.

"Why?" Dick asked as he leaned across the table toward the round man.

"You're serving alcohol to a minor," the said pointing at Tim and the glass in his hand. "Can't allow it. You'll have to leave."

"That's a crock of shit," Roy loudly stated. "We didn't serve him, he just took what he wanted."

"No alcohol for minors. That's the law. Now either the three of you leave now or I call the sheriff," the bartender replied.

Dick had already stood, his hands outstretched in the palm position. "No need to do that. We were just messing around with my little brother. We didn't mean to cause you any trouble. We'll just ... be leaving ... now," Dick pulled Tim up and motioned his thumb toward the door. "Come on Lance."

"I don't wanna," Roy whined. "I wanna stay here with the girls. This cow town's just getting interesting."

"Now Cowboy," Dick said as he pointed to the door. "Lets go."

Roy got up grumbling. He whispered his room number in one of the girl's ears. She blushed and giggled. "I don't know Lance. You guys are cute, but you're kind of ... rough."

"I'm not rough," he protested.

"You look kinda rough," Tim slurred as he shook his two index fingers at him. "Both Lance's look rough."

"I'm not the one with the jail tats, Tot," Roy spat as he grabbed his beer bottle and headed toward the door. "One horse town and their one horse bars that aren't fit for anyone to stay at. I don't wanna stay here anyway. It's a bar for little old ladies," Roy made sure this last was loudly said.

Dick closed his eyes and hoped everyone would just ignore Roy as the drunk he was and let them leave in peace. The sound of a pool stick slamming against the wall told him they weren't ignoring Hurricane Roy.

"Who're ya calling a little old lady?" a bald, tattooed, leather wearing man asked. His coat identified him as belonging to a local biker's association -- the Demon Dogs. A white bulldog with horns and holding in his anthropomorphic hand a red pitchfork, flames behind him.

Roy turned to the man with a feral grin on his face. "Guess you -- dawg," he dragged out this last word.

Dick palmed his face. "Hold on to the wall," he told Tim as he moved between Roy and the biker. "Sir, if you'll just excuse my friend's big fat idiot mouth. It runs away with him. He's slightly inebriated and not responsible for what he says."

"I don't care if his parents were related, I'm gonna teach him what we do to smart-ass city boys around here," the biker said as he swung the pool stick at Dick's head.

Dick ducked and Roy swung hitting the guy in the jaw. "What did you do THAT for?" Dick yelled at Roy.

"He was going to hit you. No one hits my friends. Titans together and all that."

Dick was palming his face when one of the biker's friends slammed a chair into his back causing him to fall into Roy. "Oh that was low, hitting me in the back."

"Let's take 'em?" Roy prodded.

"Yes, let's," Dick agreed turning and kicking the pool stick from the hand of the advancing bald man.

Tim held up one hand, "I can help too." Letting go of the wall and advancing toward the on-going fight he fell flat in the floor. "Or not."

Dick and Roy made short work of the bar patrons who had started a fight with the wrong city boys. Laughing, they bent down to pick up Tim. "Come on little brother, time to go."

"Not so fast," the bartender said. "You've got to pay for the damage."

Dick looked around at the broken tables, remnants of chairs and the one broken pool table. Sighing, he asked, "How much?"

"The pool table alone will cost you two grand, plus the other damage. I'd say three thousand and we'll call it even. Or I call the cops. Your choice."

"Three thousand dollars!" He dropped Tim who slumped back to the floor. "Do we look like we carry that kind of cash on us?" Dick yelled as the bartender picked up the phone.

Roy walked over to the bar. "Whoa, waitaminute, put the phone down. Do you take plastic?" The bartender nodded. Roy smiled and pulled a credit card out of his wallet.

Dick smiled and walked back to pick Tim up. "That's very grown-up of you, to pay for this."

Roy grinned as he handed Dick's credit card he had acquired at the convience store to the bartender. "Any time buddy, you know me. Mr. Responsible."

"YOU USED MY CREDIT CARD!!!! MY CREDIT CARD!!!"

"Dick you don't have to yell," Roy said as he sat on the edge of the bed playing with the TV remote. "If you're gonna yell, yell about the sucky TV chioces. I think we've got what ... three channels of shows and nine channels of static."

"Just tell me WHY you used my credit card?"

"Because it was the only one I had. Geez, you don't have to get bent out of shape about it."

"What about 'Mr. Responsible'? Is he going to pay me back the three grand?" Dick asked as he walked between Roy and the TV.

"Why would he want to do that?" Roy grinned as he looked up at Dick. "You're in the way of the screen dude."

"He is you and you owe me three thousand dollars."

"Do not. Dude, you were as much a part of that fight as I was."

"You started it!"

"Did not."

"Did too."

"NOT!"

"TOO!"

"Oooooo," Tim moaned as he jumped from the bed and ran to the bathroom for the fourth time this morning.

Roy grinned. "BatTot's having a bad hangover."

A yelp came from the bathroom as Tim fell into the door, then out the door and onto the floor. He looked up, his face an interesting shade of pale green, and pointed at the bathroom door. "Rat. "RAT! There are rats!"

"It's probably the bell hop," Roy said leaning back on the rust colored blanket shaking the remote control.

"There's a huge rat in the bathroom. It ran between my legs while I was ... well when I was ... "

"When you were hugging the throne puking last night's Everclear," Roy said. "So there's a little mouse, whoopee."

Dick sighed, "I'll get it. Stay here."

"No! It's a rat, with big red eyes and ... we need to just leave." Tim scrambled up and staggered slightly. "Where's our bags?"

Roy looked at Dick, confusion on his face. Dick shrugged. "He's been scared of rats since he was five. Then there was the time that Ratcatcher had him in the Gotham sewers..."

Roy tossed the remote to Dick, stood, grabbed his butterfly knife from the bed side table and entered the bathroom closing the door. Tim's jaw dropped and he moved near Dick, "What's he doing?"

"Rat hunting."

"Ewwww. Man, he can't just do that. He -- " Tim's protestations were cutoff by the sounds of banging and crashing in the bathroom. Finally the door opened and Roy emerged holding a screwed rat on the end of his butterfly knife. "

"They're at least one rat short now," Roy said as he waved the rat topped knife around.

Tim moved slightly behind Dick. "Just get rid of that thing."

"Oooooo, what's the matter? Tot scared of the itty bitty mouse?" Roy asked as he came closer.

Tim gripped Dick's arm using his body as a shield as he yelled, "NO!" As Roy lunged toward him, Tim's face contorted and he jumped over the bed. "Keep it away!"

Roy burst out laughing.

"What's so funny?" Tim asked petulantly.

"Bat Tot's scared of a mouse! You're the sidekick to a flying mouse."

"Bat's AREN'T rodents!" Tim defiantly said.

"Ooooooooooo," Roy coughed out between laughter.

Dick glared at Roy. "Just get that out of here before I call the SPCA or tell Timmy about your baby-food fetish."

Roy headed toward the motel room door. Opening it he tossed the dead rat out. Turning, he shook his knife in Dick's direction. "Dude, that's cold. Besides I do not have a baby food fetish."

Dick grinned wickedly. "Then why were you caught stealing Donna's kid's food?"

"I happen to LIKE tapioca pudding. It has nothing to do with baby food."

"Sureeeeeeee it doesn't," Tim laughed.

"Then there was the ninth grade Titans ski trip Tim --" Dick began as Roy came up behind him and cupped his mouth.

"Never mind about that! No one EVER needs to know about that! Especially no one who knows people who know Dinah and it might get back to her. So on that note, who's ready for breakfast."

Tim moaned again. "God, don't mention food. EVER."

Dick grabbed his keys and headed to the door, "I'll go pick something up, and some coffee. Lots of coffee."

Roy grinned evilly at Tim, "Want to see if we can find more rats?"

"No!" Tim grabbed his clothes and headed into the bathroom slamming the door.

A wicked grin crossed Roy's face as he chuckled. Flopping back on the bed and riding the springs as the mattress rippled, he grabbed the remote, turning the TV back on and flipped through the three channels. He propped up on his elbow and opened his mouth as he watched Dick coming through the door empty handed. "Dude, where's the coffee? You haven't been gone long enough to go anywhere."

Dick ignored him, purposefully striding to the small desk on the other side of the room. He sat in the straight back chair and pulled the singular center drawer open pulling out a small pad of motel stationary. Picking up the pen he started writing.

"Yo, Grayson, what'cha doin?"

"Writing my will," Dick said without skipping a beat or looking up from the pad.

"Oh. Why?" Roy asked shaking the remote as it seemed to be stuck on Larry Winter Show.

"I'm gonna need it."

"Any particular reason?" Roy asked sitting up.

"The car's been stolen," Dick replied flatly.

"Oh. WHAT?" Roy jumped from the bed, moved to the door and opened it peering into the empty parking lot. "Oh crap. Dude you are dead."

"That's why I'm gonna need the will."

Tim emerged from the bathroom in his jeans, towel thrown over his shoulder, and water dripping from his still wet hair. He rummaged around in his bag, then looked up at his travel companions. "What's going on?"

Roy turned toward him and smiled. "Car's been stolen."

"What? OMIGOD! Have you called the cops?"

"NO!" Dick said, the first sign of emotion since his reentry into the room.

"Why not?" Tim said. He started rubbing his hair with the towel and walking toward Dick.

"If we report the car stolen, the cops will call the car's owner to let him know his car was stolen," Dick replied content in his reasoning.

"Yeah. And?" Tim pushed.

"The car's owner is Bruce who will kill us for letting his car get stolen," Dick retorted.

"Hence the will," Roy added with a lopsided grin as he pointed at the pad on the desk.

"You are both so short sighted," Tim said as he approached the phone. "This way we can blame the damage on the thieves."

Dick's eyes lit up. He jumped from the straight back chair, and leaped over the bed grabbing the telephone receiver from Tim's hand, and he deftly punched the numbers 9-1-1, and then smiled. "Yes ... I have an emergency to report. A car's been stolen." He held his hand out, thumb extended in the air and grinned.

Roy wrapped his arm around Tim's shoulder, "You're a devious kid. I like that about you."

"Uh huh," the deputy said as he scribbled on his pad. "Stolen you say."

"YEAH," Dick replied exasperated. "That's what we've been telling you for thirty minutes now."

The deputy looked up at him over the rim of his dark sunglasses. "You three wouldn't be trying to scam Mr. Wayne and the insurance company, would you?"

"Excuse me?" Dick asked indignantly.

"You think we took the car?" Tim asked. "Why would we take the car? It's our car!"

"It's Bruce Wayne's car. A car the three of you were paid to drive to Gotham City. A car the three of you have wrecked. I wouldn't put it past you to try selling the car and reporting it stolen."

"Hey! We wouldn't do that and you have no reason to say we would," Roy yelled as he walked closer. "We are the victims here. You're supposed to protect and serve so start serving."

"Um hm. Mr," looks at his pad, "Archer, is it? I've seen your rap sheet and Mr. Malone's. We don't generally have professional criminals in our neck of the woods."

"We ain't criminals," Tim stated defiantly, shoving his tattooed hands into his jean pockets.

Dick glared at the deputy. "Are you refusing to list the car as stolen?"

Taking the sunglasses off, the deputy hung them on the pocket of his brown uniform shirt. "Oh, I'm certainly listing it as stolen. I'll also be contacting the owner. You three need to make sure you stay in town. No running off. I have a feeling that I'm going to want to have a very long talk with you boys again." The deputy closed his pad, stuck the pen in the wire binding of the pad, and moved to his patrol car to leave the motel parking lot.

"I don't ... can you believe that crock a bull?" Roy shouted, his arms waving above his head incensed.

Dick's eyes narrowed as he watched the patrol car leave the parking lot. "He didn't even investigate. I can't believe he didn't do anything." Dick faced his friends with a determined look on his face. "Bruce always said that if you want a job done, do it yourself. Well, the only way we'll find the car is to do it ourselves."

"Yeah, we can do that," Tim said heading for the room. "Let's get our gear."

Roy shrugged. "Might as well. It's not like anything --"

Dick's eyes went wide. Tim froze in place, hand on the door. In unison they started to yell, "Don't --"

" -- else can go wrong," Roy grinned.

"Say --- awww man," Tim whined and pointed. The motel manager was approaching them taking long angry strides.

"Crap," Dick added. "Roy, you gotta stop saying that."

TO BE CONTINUED