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The usually silent steps of Batman echoed through Crime Alley as he staggered to his car. Bruce's inexhaustible stamina did not prevent emotional exhaustion. Donning the cape and cowl hadn’t been in his plans this evening, but sleep would have eluded him if he ignored Jim's signal. One of the Commissioner's contacts had ratted out who was responsible for the disappearances of several teenage girls; Jervis Tetch. Better known as the Mad Hatter, Tetch possesses an unhealthy obsession with Alice in Wonderland, and spends his every waking moment trying to reshape the world to fit his ideal narrative.
Bruce supposed they had that much in common.
He'd found Tetch in an abandoned warehouse on the lower East End of Gotham, hosting a tea party for six blonde girls, all of whom had been dressed in the same Alice costume. Considering they were all calmly playing along, one might think it was harmless enough. But Bruce knew better; the girl wore identical headbands, and he'd bet his life that each band contained one of the chips that enabled Hatter to reprogram their brains. Even Bruce's formidable will and intellect was unable to fight off this mind control; Robin had saved him from it the one time Tetch had gotten one of his hats on the Dark Knight. With that sinister context, the sight of Hatter's get together was all the evidence Bruce needed to clobber the kidnapping creep into submission.
It was only after Tetch was cuffed to a support beam that Bruce freed the girls from his mind control; he didn’t want them panicking. Thankfully, his worst fears hadn’t come to fruition. None of the girls reported abuse or neglect of any kind, and Bruce knew from experience that they would remember. Jervis was sick and needed help, and kidnapping was enough of a crime that Bruce didn't regret giving him black eyes. But he was grateful it hadn’t been worse.
That particular case had left Bruce in a fairly grim mood. Seeing so many terrified children, some as old as fifteen and one as young as eleven, was unnerving. Part of him wanted to stay with them until each had been picked up by their parents, but he knew he couldn't devote that much time to them. Now that the girls were safe, he needed to go home and get some sleep.
He wished that Dick was still around. Whenever the Boy Wonder noticed that Bruce was getting too broody, he'd always tell a joke to lighten the mood. But now Dick was off attending college, and Robin was becoming more synonymous with the Teen Titans than with Batman. They hadn't seen each other much since the Winter holidays, and Bruce had felt that there was something different about their dynamic.
Perhaps Batman needs Robin more than Robin needs Batman these days. The thought made him chuckle, but edged him ever closer to a glum mood.
He was pulled out of his melancholic sulking by the sudden clatter of metal on concrete. This sound snapped him back to alertness; he detected small footsteps, and a muffled thudding that sounded like a car door closing. Taking precaution, he loosed a batarang from his utility belt and held it high, turning the corner into Crime Alley. In some small way, he was glad that something had taken his mind off of where he was, as he was now looking out for any potential danger. But when nobody attacked him and no other sound reached his ears, he relaxed and sheathed the weapon. Investigating the area, he found the source of the clanging; a tire iron had been abandoned near the driver’s side tire. Closer inspection revealed the hubcap was about three-fifths of the way loose - some brave soul had been working their way to removing it.
Both irritated and curious, Bruce inspected the outside of the vehicle for further damage. On the passenger’s side door, he saw that the lock had been tampered with. So much so that he couldn’t even fit his key in. Perhaps the tire thief had made off with something easier to transport.
“Computer, open the passenger side door,” Bruce ordered.
The door popped open, and Bruce discovered the culprit.
“Ahh!” cracked the voice of a young man who had been laying across both the driver’s and passenger’s seats and was now throwing his arms up to shield himself. The tinted windows of the Batmobile had hidden him from Bruce’s view; why would he ever assume someone would manage to work their way into his car? He couldn’t have been more than fourteen, and Bruce could tell a lot about at first glance; his red t-shirt was tattered, his jeans ripped in awkward places. Dirt had settled around his hands, hair and face. If Bruce was right, he was either a runaway or a homeless kid.
“How did you get in here?” Bruce asked, more inquisitive than angry.
“Get away from me!” the boy warned, kicking Bruce in the ribs and sending him reeling.
Bruce grunted, and shook his head, watching the child open the other door and scramble out of the car. He figured the kid would run off, and shut the passenger door, but was surprised to find the child standing his ground, breathing heavily and holding up his tire iron as a weapon. His stance was remarkably solid; clearly this boy had been in a few scraps.
“Calm down, son. I’m not going to hurt you,” Bruce assured him, motioning for him to stand down with his hands.
“Stay away from me!” he warned, brandishing the metal rod and scowling fiercely.
“What’s your name, huh?” Bruce inquired, trying to be amenable and calm his temper.
“Jason,” he sniffled, his nostrils flaring.
“Okay. Jason. Put the tire iron down and talk to me,” Bruce instructed, taking a closer step.
“Back off, Bat-Creep. I’m not scared of you!” he hollered, raising his weapon as if he were at bat.
“You don’t need to be,” Bruce promised him, taking a few more steps closer.
Predictably, Jason charged. Bruce anticipated his movement, caught the tire iron with his left hand, and gave the teenager a sharp slap on the rear with his right.
“Ouch! Hey!” Jason balked, releasing his grip on the tire iron and clutching his stinging backside. “You said you weren’t going to hurt me.”
“You attacked me,” Bruce pointed out, wagging a finger and then tossing the tire iron away. “Are you done?”
Jason attempted to slide his hair back in a show of confidence, but the matted brown locks snapped right back into place. Still, a cocky grin showed Bruce that the boy still had fight in him.
“Nope!” he exclaimed, rushing Bruce and throwing a wild haymaker. This time, Bruce merely leaned forward and held out his hand, grabbing the boy’s forehead and keeping him too far away to land any blows.
“Let me go!” Jason hollered, continuing to throw useless jabs that couldn’t connect. “Fight me like a man!”
“Jason,” Bruce sighed. “I’m Batman. I fight hardened criminals, hulking zombies and killer clowns. Not little boys who need an attitude adjustment.”
“Who are you calling little?” Jason snapped, spitting right on the bat insignia on Bruce’s chest.
Bruce scowled, and let go of Jason.
“I’m going to let that slide. Obviously, you’re a brave kid, or you wouldn’t be stupid enough to try to take tires from Batman,” Bruce acknowledged. “But you got caught, and the gig is up. If I were you, I’d apologize and run home to your mother.”
“Don’t have one,” Jason answered, the bitterness cuing Bruce that the boy wasn’t lying. “And I'm pretty sure Two-Face sent my dad down the river.”
Bruce frowned. He’d expected to be dealing with runaway hoodlum, not an orphan with no place to call home. Bruce was hit with a strange case of deja vu, but not about his personal loss. He remembered staring at a teary Dick Grayson after his parents were murdered, and how he couldn't help taking in the boy. Jason was older, and far more aggressive, but the grief was the same.
Bruce's lost focus allowed Jason to get another cheap shot to the ribs. Bruce had to hand it to the little brat; when he actually landed a blow, he made it count.
"Alright, bucko. That's enough," he stated, affecting a stern tone for the first time. "Stand down, or I'm going to teach you a lesson."
"Hah. You can't teach me nothin'." Jason put up his fists and started to dance around, poorly mimicking whatever boxing he'd seen on TV. Clearly, getting in a blow had emboldened him.
Bruce rolled his eyes and waited for the inevitable. Jason came in with a left jab, Bruce deflected it. This time, he extended his foot to trip the teenager over and caught him under his left arm.
"Alright then. School's in session," Bruce declared, carrying Jason over and placing him facedown on the hood of the car. Despite some kicking, it was a simple task to administer three good smacks to the seat of his jeans. "So pay attention!"
"Ouch! Ow! That's not fucking fair! Let me go!" Jason demanded, trying to claw his way out of Bruce's grip but getting no traction from the Batmobile's hood.
"Nice," Bruce whispered, bemoaning the language that had gotten him a mouthful of soap when he was Jason's age. He yanked Jason's pants down, deciding this particular teaching moment didn't require them. "If I were in your position, I'd be more respectful."
“Hey!” Jason barked, squirming with even more force. “What gives? You can’t treat me this way.”
Bruce didn’t dignify the statement with a remark. Instead, he brought his hand down over and over at a deliberate pace, wanting to smarten the kid up with as few swats as possible. “Attacking people who mean you know harm is not a good idea. Trying to steal tires is not a good idea. Giving me an attitude is really not a good idea.”
“Ow! Ow! Stop!” Jason sounded as willful as ever, ordering Bruce instead of pleading. “I’m too old for this.”
Bruce had to bite down a laugh. He remembered the countless times that Dick had made that same argument, insisting every year that thirteen, fourteen, fifteen and sixteen were all reasonable times to stop using corporal punishment. When he got a spanking at seventeen for joyriding on his motorcycle, he seemed to have given up that argument.
“I’ve been dealing with naughty, angry little boys since you were in grade school, kid,” Bruce chided, continuing to deliver his message with a flat palm and a firm grip. “Nothing brings an out of control brat down to earth quite like a good spanking. Now. Are you ready to calm down and apologize, or do I need to keep punishing you?”
“Get bent!” Jason howled after the last wallop, as recalcitrant as ever.
“If you value having your boxers on for the rest of this lesson, I would think harder about what you say,” Bruce warned. Perhaps he should take this boy home with him and tell Alfred to lather up some soap.
This threat seemed to curb Jason’s worst instincts. He didn’t say much over the next minute or so, only yelping at the spanks and flailing his limbs in a vain attempt to escape or make the pain bearable. When he eventually spoke again, he was a lot more intelligent in his choice of words.
“Okay! Ow! Okay! I’m sorry, alright? I won’t try to attack you anymore. And obviously I’m not going to steal your tire now,” he grumbled. “I was just going to sell it and get myself something to eat! Oww!”
Bruce stopped smacking then. It seemed that Jason had realized the errors of his ways. And he certainly couldn’t blame the kid for being desperate.
“Well. I can certainly get you something to eat,” Bruce declared, letting the boy go. “But only if you start behaving yourself. Deal?”
Jason’s stomach growled as he fought his way back into his jeans. At first, he was still scowling, and Bruce was half convinced he was going to run off again. Honestly, he wasn't sure whether it would be worth it to chase after him or not. Maybe the boy wasn't looking for the Dark Knight to swoop in and save him from the problems of his life. Perhaps he really did just want to stand in the middle of Crime Alley with crossed arms and a sore bottom.
"I guess I can mind my manners if it means you'll feed me," he decided, rolling his eyes. "But you better not even think about smacking me around again!" he added quickly, throwing an accusatory finger at Bruce's chest.
Bruce grabbed the wrist and gently pushed it away from him. Then he used it to drag Jason around the hood of the car and to the passenger's side. After a verbal command to the Bat Computer, the door opened, and Bruce directed his new charge to sit.
"Stay there while I fix the hubcap on the tire," Bruce instructed. "And don't even think about trying to bail. We made a deal, and I'm not letting you out of my sight until we've gotten you fed. If you run, I'll catch you, and when I catch you, I'll spank your bare bottom. Understood?"
Jason's cheeks flushed about as red as Bruce imagined the other set was. He waved his hands back and forth to deter any more discipline. "Yeah, yeah, I get it, Batman! Criminy."
Now that he was getting a modicum of cooperation from the boy, Bruce patted his shoulder and favored him with a smile. He closed the door, activated the long neglected child locks, and went around to the other side to begin the task he'd have to complete before he could start driving. It took him about ten minutes to get the hubcap back on securely enough to drive, during which he heard Jason's whining. Occasionally, he'd look up and see the boy shifting uncomfortably in his seat. Well, surely he had been spanked adequately if he couldn't even sit still.
"Put your seat belt on," Bruce told him as he took his own seat. "I won't have you crashing through the window."
Once they were on the road, a fidgety Jason finally found the nerve to say something. "So, where are we going? McDonalds? Taco Bell?"
"No," Bruce stated plainly. "We're going home. I'm going to make sure you get some real food with actual nutrition. You'll get a good night's rest, and I think you really ought to take a shower when you have the opportunity."
Jason gawked. "You're taking me home? Like, to your home?"
"Mmhmm," Bruce answered. "You're strong enough to bruise my ribs, smart enough to break into the Batmobile, and brave and stupid enough to try to steal from Batman. And you're an angry orphan who's lost at least one parent to crime. Sounds to me like I wouldn't be doing my job as Batman if I didn't bring you home and make sure that you stay on the straight and narrow path."
Jason seemed at a loss for words. When everything seemed to sink in, he grinned from ear to ear.
"Does that mean I'm going to be Robin?" he asked, perking up.
"Only if you earn it," Bruce laughed, smiling warmly at the now beaming teenager. He extended his hand and ruffled the boy's hair. With any luck, he would be able to save the boy from a life of crime and tragedy. And he certainly looked forward to having a new child in the house to help him stay young.