Be careful Red Robin. They're wearing sunglasses at night. Which means they're very cool.-Richard Grayson (New Earth)
Three hours later, Jason had tracked down the suit. Bruce had beaten him to it- Tarantula quickly became a very sorry woman. Jason had gotten bored after Bruce had found out, and decided to go find and retrieve Dick.
That had led him to acquire a beanbag cannon off of someone rather shady in a dark alley, several rolls of duct tape, and the blueprints of a 1967 Impala. The duct tape was bright pink and had tiny little elephants in them in a horrifying shade of yellow. Dick would have loved it. Jason, on principle, despised it.
Two days after the shopping spree that made several people rethink their life choices, two people given concrete boots and a free swimming lesson, and more scarred-for-life people higher than Jason suspected the Joker could count, Jason was sabotaging the Winchesters' Impala.
Two small cuts to the fuel line, removed a screw, and Jason had made sure that the mammoth of a car could limp about sixty miles out of town. He then planted a bug and a tracker on both the inside and outside of the car- standard procedure for him when it came to vehicles. He paused for a minute, glanced around, and also stole the wheels. He then stuffed them in the backseat.
He snickered, and vanished.
Three hours later, the Winchesters come tearing out of a motel room, pursued by a pissed off guy with an axe. It was something out a bad horror movie, and the Winchesters have lived some of the better ones.
Dean then encountered one of his boggarts.
"My baby!" He wailed, almost dropping his duffel, "Who did this to you?"
"DEAN!" Sam yelled, struggling to unzip his duffel while running for his life.
Axe murdering guy stopped for a moment. "What?"
Sam got the shotgun out, whirled around and shot the axe murdering guy in the head. He dropped like a sack potatoes, and Sam turned around to see what had his brother in the snits. He manfully resisted the urge to giggle.
Dean's car had its tires stuffed in the back seat, and almost like an afterthought, someone had keyed on the top of the car what generously could be called a devil's trap. On the driver's side, someone had scrawled out the symbol for Michael, on the other Lucifer. Sam collapsed in laughter once he caught sight of what was keyed on the trunk.
A giant winged dick.
Oh Jesus Christ, a winged fucking dick.
Whoever had done this had a clear sense of irony. Sam suspected Gabriel. (Uriel would have been a suspect, if he wasn't. Well. Dead.) Dean evidently thought the same thing, judging how his anguished howls had turned into resentful glaring, and then him screaming for Gabe to get his winged ass over here.
Gabriel showed up after several minutes. Once he caught sight of the car, it took another twenty to get him to stop laughing. "I-I didn't do it," he wheezed out, "but, boy bozos, is it funny." He laughed again and vanished. Castiel showed up a spilt second after Gabriel left, evidently wishing to find out what had Dean in a tizzy. He vanished when he caught sight of the car.
It took them a half hour to get the tires out of the backseat, and then they remembered that the tiny town they were in didn't have any sort of mechanics or car shop. Dean swore, and resolved himself for the long drive to the closest big town.
The car stopped dead sixty miles out.
"Fuck!" Dean cussed, almost but not quite slamming the Impala's doors. He wrenched open the hood to see an enormous leak and a small amount of smoke. "Shit! Sam," he yelled, "We're sleeping in the car!"
"What's the problem?" Sam called back.
"I don't know! Fuck, it's too dark and I don't have the right stuff!" Dean swore vehemently under his breath, cursing his luck. Never his precious, though. Sam sighed and got into the backseat where he'd have more room to stretch out.
Jason grinned and dialed step two.
(*)(*)(*)(*)
"Excuse me." Someone knocked on the window, "Hey mister! Wait. Misters."
Dean groaned and threw an arm over his eyes.
"That's not gonna work! Mister! C'mon, lemme see those baby blueeeeees!"
What the fuck?
"Dean, make them go away," Sam demanded childishly.
"C'mon! I'm being paid forty bucks and a premiere to deliver this message! Plus, Jay-Jay said you were hot. Don't disappoint me!" Another rap on the window. The clock clicked to two in the morning.
Dean finally sat up and rolled down the window. The woman outside looked like she was barely out of her teens, sucking on a red lollipop, and leaning precariously on a bright eggplant Harley. She was blonde and grinning manically. "What." Dean demanded.
The woman grinned wider. "Jay-Jay says he's waiting. And boy, do you not disappoint. Can I lick you?" She laughed.
"No." Dean snapped. "Who are you talking about?"
At this the woman frowned, "Jay? Jason Todd? Black hair with a white streak, enough sarcasm to skin a cat?" She shook her head, "Hasn't Jay-Jay introduced himself?"
"Not officially," Dean answered. "What's he waiting for?"
The woman removed the lollipop she had been sucking on. Her tongue and lips were stained bright red. "Who do you think? He's waiting for Dick. As a matter of fact, the whole family is waiting for him. We're kinda like the mob. I would know." She shrugged. "That's the message. Now I gotta go collect my tickets to the newest Stephanie Plum movie."
"Hey, wait!"
The blonde straddled her motorcycle, revved up, and sped off.
"Jason isn't gonna give up any time soon." Sam commented. He had been dragged awake.
"No," Deam said, still watching the road, "No, he isn't."
(*)(*)(*)(*)(*)
In a small diner two states over, a blonde man checked his watch.
It was ten minutes slow. He adjusted it accordingly and then checked the date. He was four days early.
He looked around the diner, checked his watch again, and shrugged.
Well, it wasn't like they mattered.
The death count was forty-two. After the massacre made the news, the blonde man received a text with new coordinates, and a warning not to repeat himself. The blonde man scoffed and vanished.
(*)(*)(*)(*)(*)(*)
Outside the Impala, Jason checked his watch, smirked and rapped on the windshield.
Twenty miles away, a rather angry demon was crashing its way towards them. Which of them it wanted would be hard to say.
Okay. That's a lie.
The jokes about its status in hell were just to easy, Number Two.
Jason regretted nothing.