"They just need to make an example out of somebody and I'm it because I'm an ex-con. I used to steal things when I was a kid, and that's what they are shooting me for. They're shooting me for the bread and chewing gum I stole when I was 12 years old."
—Eddie Slovik, 1945*

January 31, 1945

Ice caked the streets of Gotham, snow coming down in sheets reducing Batman's visibility to next to nothing. At least it also made crime difficult. Transporting had been suspended, and all small-time criminals figured it would be better to wait until they could actually move before pulling any stupid stunts. It seemed even any meetings were put on hold as most of the warehouses and complexes in the area had no source of heat.

It was exactly this reason that had Bruce leave Dick at home for this particular patrol, concerned as the boy had just gotten over a rather nasty cold. Two hours on his own had proven to be more boring than even the unnaturally patient bat could stand, and finally he decided to call it a night. If crime was going to take time off due to the weather, he figured he had a right to, as well.

Only, it seemed not every criminal had taken the night off. Once Batman had returned to his Batmobile, he was surprised to find it—for lack of a better word—incapacitated. A leftover hubcap with a few lug nuts lay forgotten in the snow, the only sign there were wheels on the blasted thing at all.

Silence except for Batman's breathing and falling snow rang in Bruce's ears, until a sudden noise pierced the silence. Whistling, its source subdued but content by the sound of it. The noise was high-pitched, and by and the weight of the crunching on the powdered sidewalks, he deduced its source to be a petite woman or a child.

Soon enough, the answer was clear as an almost skeletal boy rounded the corner, halting at the sight of the Dark Knight in front of him. A pang of something Batman shoved away as sympathy from the billionaire side of him thought of Dick when he looked over the boy. To appease his more emotional half, he assessed the urchin for signs of danger. Malnourishment was evident, as were the bruise across his cheek and lack of any clothes warmer than the moth-eaten, oversized sweater hanging over his shoulders and the damp jeans that were two sizes two large, secured with a cracked leather belt.

He looked back up to the boy's eyes, the blue-green orbs staring back at him, the squared jaw making the boy look defiant in spite of the tremble that overcame him. There was something about him that made his tough heart twinge and, of all things, pulled his typical scowl into a smile.

"Returning for something?" he asked.

"I don't know what you're talking about," the boy managed.

Batman's scowl returned, but inside he could sense the other half of him laughing. "How about you look at the car and tell me what's missing."

The boy shrugged. "Looks more like a snowmobile. You might want tires if you're going to call it a car."

"It was once a car," Batman insisted, his face inching closer to the urchin. "Want to venture a guess on where the tires went?"

"How the heck should I know?"

The child had one heck of a backbone; he had to give him that much. If Batman wasn't so ready to go home and end one of the longest stretches of patrol he had in a while, he may have laughed outright. Instead, the cold forced away the warmth of humor, allowing him to give no more than an arched eyebrow beneath his cowl.

"What's in your hand?" he asked.

The boy feigned surprise, pulling the tire iron out from behind his back. "This? Nothing."

"Nothing? What's it for?" Batman asked, again inching closer. He could sense the boy's rapid breaths, see the flush in his cheeks that came from far more than the weather. Subtle panic, if Batman had to guess. Suppressed far better than most criminals tended to manage, but there nonetheless. Once he was within arm's length, the boy's panic hit its peak, his eyes darting in all directions down the alleyway.

"What. Is. It. For?" he repeated in a low growl.

With clenched teeth and a burst of courage, the boy lashed out, slamming the tire iron into Batman's middle. "This!"

Batman's suit protected most of his abdomen from the brunt of the blow, but a shock of pain surged from the point of impact. As annoying as it was, he found it more… surprising that someone so small could be so forceful. His shock was short-lived, however. The boy took his chance, dashing past him and down the street, even shouting back a cocky, "Try to catch me, you big boob!"

Smartass little brat, the Dark Knight side of him ground out.

You're just angry a kid got the better of you, retorted Bruce.

Watch it. I can turn you off a lot more easily than you can turn me off.

Bruce weighed his other half's statement. That had once been true, for sure. Since taking in Dick, however, the man felt he had a stronger hold over the bat. Strange how much this other boy reminded him of his ward…

Except Dick was tucked away at home, safe and sound, free from the violence of Crime Alley and the snow-covered scum of Gotham. A twinge of something he couldn't place his finger on tugged at him, leading him down the alleyway in pursuit of the tiny thief.

Don't tell me you're getting sentimental, snapped the bat.

Unless you want to try to skate the Batmobile home, we should at least find its tires. You have to admit that much.

His dark half silenced, providing the only concession of his being correct. Bruce enjoyed the quiet, using his senses to track down the source of tonight's trouble. Though previously a nuisance, the fallen snow provided the biggest clues, a distinct child's footprints leading him through the dark streets and further into the harshest district in Gotham. Batman chanced kneeling down at one particularly well-kept print. The shoes, he saw, were different, and the one on the right had a hole in the sole. It was a wonder the kid could run at all with what had to be clear discomfort.

He's probably dealt with worse, Batman spoke up again.

Bruce couldn't help but smirk, Now who is feeling sentimental?

I'm admiring his ability to work through pain.

Sure you are.

After a while, Batman found another trait to admire in the boy: his intelligence. Any other criminal in the Narrows would have run off in a panic, not thinking through their next move other than getting to their safe house. This little thief had the good sense to at least attempt to knock Batman off his trail once he realized he was leaving footprints behind. He mussed up the snow in one direction before rushing off into another, until he finally took to the fire escapes and rooftops.

If he hadn't jumped just at the right moment into a ray of moonlight, Batman may have lost him.

The boy slowed when he reached a crumbling shell of a building, a former tenement whose glory (if it ever had any) had peaked prior to the turn of the century. The windows were shattered—those of them that weren't boarded up, anyway—and a condemned sign hung over the front door. From the look of things, it had been there for at least ten years, back when Gotham had begun enforcing a better housing code. Not that this part of the city really benefitted all that much outside of some of its residents being displaced while a select few ignored the law.

Seemed to be this boy and whoever he lived with were part of the latter.

A single light flicked into a window a few stories above, and Batman made quick work of grappling to the fire escape along the side of it. Perched on the creaking metal platform, he observed through tears in a moth-eaten curtain.

The apartment was silent except for the child's movements. Batman could see his tires leaning against the front door. They proved to be one of the few pieces of "furniture" around the place. A thin mattress lay on the floor, its sheets in a bundle while the kid grabbed the thread-bare blanket to wrap it around himself. A side table with a picture frame and a couple of chairs were all that was left.

No, one chair. The child took the second and began breaking it apart, throwing the wooden splinters into a trashcan.

"Sorry, Mom," he muttered as he went about destroying one of the few items he had, soon pulling out a match and setting the remnants ablaze. He held his frozen hands over the fire for a minute or two, pulling away every so often to rub warmth into his arms and legs. He then pulled off his shoes and soaked socks, hanging the dripping wool on a hook.

The sight tugged at Bruce's heart, usually so bitter and cold beneath the suit. He was amazed at how much the boy resembled Dick. Except for the hue of his eyes and slight curl to his hair, the boy could have passed as a younger brother. He was small, bone-thin, but managed to keep a boyish face from going too gaunt. The harshness of this winter would rob him of that, Bruce was sure. Maybe even rob him of his life entirely.

Before he knew what he was doing, Batman pushed his way through the broken glass of the window, stepping into the light of the boy's fire.

A panic rushed over his target, forcing the tiny thief to step backward, his fists clenching. "What are you doing here?!"

"I came to get my property. I can't go home without tires on my car, now, can I?"

"Fine! Take them and just get out. I don't need your damn tires, anyway," he snapped back.

Batman stepped closer to the boy. "What's your name?"

"None of your God damned business, that's what."

"You could make this easier or you could make it harder. Up to you," Batman growled, "I just want to know your name right now."

Crossed arms, scowl, narrowed eyes. All the signs of defiance came out in full force. Resembling Dick or not, there was no way his boy would ever look as sour as this one did before him. Then again, it wasn't like his ward had lived the sort of life this kid had, either. Batman felt himself soften just a little at that.

Perhaps it was the softening that allowed the boy to offer, "Jason. Jason Todd."

"Well, Jason Todd, where are your parents?"

Jason's arms dropped, shoulders heaving into a shrug. "Hell if I know about my old man. Probably jail. Last I heard anyway."

Batman nodded. He could have guessed as much from the neighborhood alone. Still, perhaps he would have better luck in asking, "What about your mother?"

This time, Jason looked away, straight into the picture frame sitting on the lone table. Batman turned to see it, spotting a young woman with auburn hair and a bright smile. Though Jason didn't look a damn thing like her, it was clear from the look on his face that she was his mother.

"That her?" Batman asked, more to get him to speak again rather than get an answer.

"Yeah. She's gone. I… She's gone," he muttered.

Batman nodded, feeling a pinch in his chest at another familiar story, another statistic. "How long?" he asked.

"Last year."

He stood there, watching Jason in silence as the touch exterior cracked here and there. That feeling was back, the desperate desire to help this boy somehow. There were hundreds, thousands of other children like him. Why was Jason so special?

Because he looks like Dick, Batman answered.

It's more than that. Bruce replied. Not that he could put his finger on what.

This time when Batman stepped closer, Jason stayed still, only shifting his green eyes up to watch him. "Do you live with anyone else?" Batman asked

"I don't need anyone else. I'm fine on my own. Jason Peter Todd doesn't need help from no one, and don't start look at me like I'm some dumb lost puppy. I've been watching out for myself for a year. I can keep doing it just fine."

"What about school?"

Jason scoffed. "I graduated a long time ago from the school of Crime Alley. It's all the education I need."

Batman had to keep from rolling his eyes at that. "What about lasting the rest of the winter?"

A little of the defiant look dropped away. "I'll be fine."

"You're running out of chairs to burn."

"Then I'll find more," Jason shot back.

"Jason," Batman started, sighing as he closed the space between them. "I'm going to ask you a 'yes' or 'no' question, and I'm going to expect that you answer it honestly. It will be easier on the both of us if you do that. Understand?"

"Sure, pops. Fine."

"Are you warm and well-fed, and will continue to be so through the end of winter?"

Jason looked away, first toward his mother's picture then out the open window, staring at the falling snow. "It's not that simple."

"That's a 'no' then."

"That's a 'not exactly,'" replied Jason.

Batman hesitated, looking at the trashcan fire and the falling snow. There was no way a child, especially one as neglected and small as Jason, would last through the winter. The question now was, where would he last?

*A quote from the one person sentenced to death for desertion in WWII. Though clearly a devisive comment, I thought the quote fit Jason rather well. Out of everyone who did the same thing he did, Jason was the person they made an example of.

A short chapter, but I'm getting back into the swing of things. A second chapter coming soon!

-Defective