It was a cold night, and his clothes had been wet. Jason had pulled himself out of the manhole for a breath of fresh air. The rung of rusted iron still in his right hand as he hoisted himself awkwardly onto the rough asphalt. He laid in the alleyway, perhaps a moment too long, and rolled onto his back to stare at the dark clouds that swirled overhead. He remembered having looked off to his left at the windows that lined the building, and the dumpster that stood only feet from him. He tenderly placed his left arm over his chest as it ached. He remembered the fear thick in his throat, as he couldn't find the will to scream. The pipe over the yellow-man's head. Killer Croc.
Jason sighed in exhaustion, as he tried to keep himself from the unconsciousness ahead. It was slow, he raised up his arm and felt it buckle under the force of metal. Pain. Instant suffocating pain, excruciating, as he felt his bones give in. Now knowing the crazed killer had broken his ulna, and his radius had kept the structure up pretty well considering.
He remembered thinking he was going to die, then he flinched from the cold rousing him from having fallen asleep. He slowly rose up from the black street, that he had imagined would be his home until the Roman found him. He limped to the end of the alley, and pushed his sticky blond hair to look down the street. He belonged to the Roman, and he was a dead man. They'd feed him to the Croc.
He felt his arm limp at his side throb in the remembered pain of the hit. The tall man, licking his bloody teeth, the grotesque smile, as he curled around his own broken arm.
Then he saw her face. His mother's wide eyes of terror, no hair to cover her shame. She had given him to this sick man, even after he'd tried to be a good son. He wanted to tell her he'd save her, that she would be fine, that the ambulance would be there soon. But the truth was that she had thrown him away. He was on borrowed time. She sold him. Right then, there was nothing but him and the large Crocodile man; she was no longer there.
He crouched near the entrance of a store, hiding behind the stoop. He had felt the fatigue take over that night against the cold. I might not be killed by the Croc after all, he entertained the thought of being found frozen to death. He wrapped around his arm, his hair falling onto his face in stiff clusters. He had still smelled of the under-city as he nodded off.
The Croc brought the pipe back up, swinging low. He blocked with his foot, his tennis shoe flying off, and Jason rolling over himself. He stood and ran. Croc laughed, and walked after him, as he ran the way Croc had come from. He pried open a floor grate, and crawled in the thin space of sewage, pulling himself away from them, his arm screaming in pain, stiffening.
"Run boy, I have your scent," the man's gravel voice sounded after him, until he got into a slightly larger space. Now the coliseum's yells and chants were farther away.
His heart pounded in his chest, throat, ears! Croc had his scent, he would find him! He made it to the end of the tunnel, and fell into the water. It smelled gross, as it invaded his mouth. He pushed himself to the surface, trying to get fresh air, but sewage was all there was. He felt the panic flood him as he turned over, and so kept himself closed off as he tumbled about. He hit an iron gate, but dared not open his eyes, still surrounded by the water. He felt his legs go past on the bottom, and pushed himself down, though it took everything he had.
He tumbled until he hit concrete, and desperately pulled himself up Throwing his useless arm over, and feeling it bend unnaturally. Jason coughed and hacked up what he could, and looked around, seeing the iron ladder. He looked up, seeing light beyond the loosely placed manhole, and had tentatively climbed to freedom.
His fear back to rise again as the ladder grew longer. He looked down, and the water rose up below him. He climbed faster only to see the Croc's face over the manhole, shoving him from the cold sleep.
A small man, in a long trench coat —longer than him— and a large top hat, knelt before him, his hand flinching away. A small smile presented itself as Jason pushed his hair back with his good hand.
"Hello, there," the mousy man started, his voice sounded as though he had caught a cold. "Has Alice been lost?" Jason stared up at him mystified. The man jumped away, maybe a foot or two, and plucked his hat from his head and in a sweeping motion bowed deeply, "I hope you'll join me for some tea." He said, then pulled his hat to his face, "Yes, yes, tea! A hot tea, or warm, on a cold raining date for Alice!" He squeaked.
Tea sounded nice, but he couldn't understand who was Alice. Jason was too tired to decide to figure it out, and decided to leave it for later.
As he started to stiffly stand, the hatter placed his hat on his head, and rushed to help him up, then tugged him along.
Once they'd reached a place, he remembered as a place near his house, maybe two or three blocks away. The hat shop he had peeked through before. He was gingerly pulled in, and pushed into a seat with a full tea party before him. The man locked the heavy door with many heavy locks, which should have sent Jason a clear warning, but maybe he though the Roman wouldn't be able to get to him this way. The hat man rushed off to a different room, where a high scream was heard.
He rushed back with a pot, and filled the pot before him, swishing with the cold water already inside of the small pot. He poured the brown liquid into a tea cup before the boy, steam rising from it, beckoning him to warm his frozen insides. He took it, and drank deeply, before looking to the man, and noticing that he hadn't pour himself any of what he offered.
"Wait," Jason said too late, and already felt the effects of whatever it was, and pushed to his feet, only to feel his head spin.
"Oh, Alice, you haven't finished you tea!" The man squeaked as he put his hands beneath his chin, and watched as the black swirls tightened about Jason's vision, and a thud was loud.
He pried his eyes open, forcing away the ill feeling that threatened his eyes, as the heaviness on his gut cemented itself. "No, no! This is all wrong!" The man said standing over him, his hands in his brown and white hair, avoiding the balding crown of his head.
Jason knew he was naked, this man had stripped him, and he shoved forth his broken hand to brush away the man hovering over him. He flipped off the table.
"No, no, Alice!" The man cried. He rushed around the table, and tugged on his shoulder, "Not yet! I told you, you needed more tea!" Jason tried to brush him off again, but this consciousness was only temporary. He dragged himself only a half a step worth before fading once again to wake up in a blue dress.
His arms felt heavy, and when he tried to lift them they were tied. He whimpered meekly, tugging halfheartedly. He looked around, his head nodding here and there, the room's bright colors in a slight blur. It was too hard to focus, his eyes hurt from the strain. "Help," he tried to yell, but it had only come as a whisper.
"You're awake!" An excited peep came, and he slowly looked over to him. "Oh, Alice, what fun we'll have!" His hands clasped in front of him, "But first, my dear, we must come up with a few agreements, yes?" He came close, leaning on his arm rests, his face inches from his. "No running away." He said in a low rasp, a warning clear as day in the haze of what was in the tea. "We must find the white rabbit. He's been running around! Left us behind. You'll help me find him, won't you Alice?"
"I'm not Alice," Jason responded.
"Oh, but you are!" he rebutted shrilly. "You'll see soon enough." He leaned in a little too close, and Jason cringed away. "No running." He warned, finger wagging.
As soon as he was loose, Jason shoved him away, and tried to run, tripping in the shoes he now wore. The man grabbed his ankles and pulled him, shoved him onto his back, climbing over him. "I'm not Alice!" He yelled.
"You are!" He had a pot from the table in his hand, and clasped his other on Jason's nose, forcing the spout into his mouth. He choked on some, and slapped it harshly away, kicking off the hatter with what strength he had.
He tried to run but held onto a chair to regain some steadiness.
"Come now, Alice," he said calmly trying to convince him as he sat in the small chair. He couldn't fight anymore, and this man knew.
He circled around him like a predator, and pointed down a hallway in a self-satisfied sort of way. "I said, 'Let us go,' Alice." He seemed to be losing his patience and reached out to grab his arm, and pulled him to his feet. He winced in pain and leaned back to get as far away from him as possible.
The room spun more, and tears threatened to blind him. But he practically shoved him towards the hallway, with his already absent balance. "But my name isn't Alice," he insisted.
"Don't be silly Alice!" He rebuffed, his voice trembling with anger. "I had taken too long to get you to put on the dress; we must hurry to go back through the Looking Glass!" His voice seemed shrill with desperation.
"But I'm not Alice," he tried again as the dizziness overtook and he sagged into the table. The madman pulled him, nearly tripping over the teapot he had thrown earlier. "Alice is a girl's name!" Jason slurred as he slumped against the wall, and swatted away another attempt from the man to grab him.
He had raised his hand to slap him, when he was knocked him off balance and Batman ran close behind him, jumping over the small boy and rushed the enemy. Robin quickly followed, scooping him up and tried to head for the door he had seen from the outside.
The door had been sealed off, plaster and curtains blending it into the rest of the scenery.
The Mad Hatter screamed far behind them. "Alice!" He cried out to the confused boy, reaching out desperately for help. "ALICE!"
"My name isn't Alice, it's Jason," he mumbled almost to himself. Next thing he knew they were falling from the window before he finally blacked out.
"Jason, you're next," a woman called from the room. He stood, though his ribs ached from the strain. He slowly made his way trying not to limp. "This is Bruce Wayne and Lieutenant Gordon."
Jason gingerly sat before them, their eyes examining him. His hair had been trimmed nicely, by the visiting barber, but some hair still hung on his forehead, because he had lashed out at the barber before completing the style. Privileges had been revoked until two days ago.
"Wanted to see how you were holding up." The officer spoke first.
"Fine," He replied brusquely as he eyed Bruce Wayne.
"I know you two haven't met before, but Bruce Wayne here is interested in adopting you," the lady informed, seeming quite abashed by Jason's form of responding.
"Well, that's if there is no longer any parents available to care for you," Lt. Gordon quickly established. Jason tried to sit up straighter but his ribs protested so instead he cringed. "We know your father died in custody last week, but your mother has gone missing.
"She's dead," he spat, "This large man killed her. He had yellow skin, and big sharp teeth. He had a crackly voice. He works for the Roman!" He couldn't get out the information fast enough. He had given his statement before, in the precinct, but Lt. Gordon's face showed that this was the first he had heard of it.
Bruce seemed to be overly quiet, as he just sat back and listened, questions seemed to play by in his eyes but he said nothing.
"They called him Croc," Jason offered meekly, "he tried to kill me too."
Gordon's gaze shifted over to Bruce who's contemplative looked changed to worry. "I'll need to take a statement and have a full investigation before any of this can proceed." He said curtly. Bruce nodded in compliance.
"Fine," He replied brusquely as he eyed Bruce Wayne.
"I know you two haven't met before, but Bruce Wayne here is interested in adopting you," the lady informed, seeming quite abashed by Jason's form of responding.
"Well, that's if there is no longer any parents available to care for you," Lt. Gordon quickly established. Jason tried to sit up straighter but his ribs protested so instead he cringed. "We know your father died in custody last week, but your mother has gone missing.
"She's dead," he spat, "This large man killed her. He had yellow skin, and big sharp teeth. He had a crackly voice. He works for the Roman!" He couldn't get out the information fast enough. He had given his statement before, in the precinct, but Lt. Gordon's face showed that this was the first he had heard of it.
Bruce seemed to be overly quiet, as he just sat back and listened, questions seemed to play by in his eyes but he said nothing.
"They called him Croc," Jason offered meekly, "he tried to kill me too."
Gordon's gaze shifted over to Bruce who's contemplative looked changed to worry. "I'll need to take a statement and have a full investigation before any of this can proceed." He said curtly. Bruce nodded in compliance.