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Jason knew better than to wander the streets at night. Bad things happened to the kids who chose to ignore the rules. They were never heard from again—unless they were (and it was so much worse if they returned). Broken and battered and with empty gazes that screamed their trauma to the world. Gazes too similar to Mama’s before she had—
Well.
It didn’t matter anymore, did it? Jason was alone, and had been alone for a long time. Even before Mama had—before. Even then, Jason had been mostly alone, because Mama couldn’t remember anything beside her next fix. She loved Jason, he knew that—she hadn’t thrown him out and had even stood up against Willis for him a handful of times before the tracks on her arms overtook her mind.
He missed Mama, but he was old enough to go it alone, and that was all that mattered. He blinked as a snowflake drifted in front of him, and shifted his glare to the sky. It was too early for this bullshit! Winter wasn’t for another month or two, and Gotham usually didn’t snow that much anyway! (Unless the ash falling from the sky from yet another villains attacks counted.) It was so unfair. Jason wasn’t prepared for the super-cold yet, only for the fall chill!
He needed to—to stock up on food, and a coat, and blankets (how? He was out of money, and his usual haunts had been taken up by some of the younger, cuter kids. Jason hadn’t been cute—ever, maybe. Maybe that was why Mama left him, why Willis hated him).
He shifted under a fire escape and stared at the dreary sky.
Snow. In September.
He took a deep breath and shuffled forward. The world wasn’t fair, and Jason would just have to live with the fact. Like always.
Anyway.
Jason knew better than to wander the streets at night, but he had no choice.
He was hungry, and Carlos’ shop had closed (apparently he’d been caught for cheating on his taxes. Even in Gotham, money crimes were considered the absolute worst (Jason didn’t get it. Why were taxes more important than the dead people?) so he didn’t even get to mooch off of him for a Dog or two.
He kept a careful eye out—Jason might be stupid enough to wander at night, but he wasn’t stupid enough to get caught. He clenched his tire iron more tightly. Weapon and tool both, it had proved its worth to a number of attempted kidnappers’ knees. He turned a corner, hoping for—
He froze, heart hammering away at his chest, beating at his ribcage to escape, begging to be freed. There was no way. There was no fucking way.
In front of him, in all of its shiny glory, was the fucking Batmobile. It was so out of place in Crime Alley’s dingy streets that it only gleamed brighter in comparison (even though it was painted dull black, it was new, and didn’t have dents, and it had both headlights even!). Jason had never, ever seen a prettier vehicle in his life.
He wanted it. Holy shit, he wanted it.
He valued his life more, but only by a tiny amount.
He swallowed and turned away—a run-in with the bat was so not on his agenda—but turned back to stare.
He couldn’t.
He shouldn’t.
But he would.
Those tires would keep him fed for months—he could even insulate the worn out room in the abandoned apartment complex he’d been living in. He could get blankets, and if he was careful, maybe even a cheap heater.
He wouldn’t freeze to death.
Before he could second guess himself (this was the Batmobile, holy shit fuck what was he doing?), he trotted toward it and started working. It was second nature at this point. He didn’t have a jack handy (he hadn’t expected the Batmobile to appear), but he knew how to remove tires, and there were a few cinderblocks handy nearby (this was Park Row, of course there were a few random cinderblocks lazing about the streets. It would have been more suspicious if there weren’t). They gave him enough of a setting to start prying the tires from their rims.
He started with one—and he was going to be content with that, really, but—
But he was hungry, and he’d been hungry for so long.
Jason got greedy.
He managed three tires, heart racing and time ticking down like a bomb before a shadow fell over him.
Jason froze. He recognized that silhouette—who didn’t? Which street urchin wouldn’t know the heavy whip of that long cape, the sharp ears on that head (and really, the Bat had to be a demon, because what grownup would choose to dress in an animal costume?).
Batman found Jason jacking the tires from his ride.
Jason didn’t want to become one of those missing kids.
“What are you doing?” The Bat’s low growl sent the hairs on Jason’s neck standing straight, prickling at him.
His breaths were coming short, he felt a bit light-headed (was that the fear or the hunger?), and his body was frozen stiff. He couldn’t even turn his head around. His heart was jack-rabbiting against his ribs so hard he was afraid it would break them—or maybe that it would be stabbed, he wasn’t sure and why did it even matter at this time why was he thinking stupid things he needed a plan.
Jason had been in a number of bad situations, but at least they had been against petty crooks, low-ranked thugs.
The Bat, though?
Batman was way outside of Jason’s playing field.
Jason was dumb enough to be out at night, to try and steal all of the Bat’s tires (he would have made it, if he’d only taken one or two).
Jason tried to take a deep breath, but his chest was frozen. He was freezing, and he couldn’t breathe, and—and he didn’t want to be disappeared!
That thought broke him out, and Jason’s world narrowed. He had one chance. If he missed it—if he missed it…
He forced his feet to shuffle, just a little bit—just enough to make sure he could move.
The Bat spoke again, “My tires,” in an even lower growl than earlier, moving forward, toward Jason—
And Jason acted, twisting and using his momentum like he had a hundred times before (although that was against humans, this was a monster, would it even work?).
He swung his tire iron as hard as he could against the Bat’s knees.
The Bat stumbled a bit, and Jason took his opportunity. He booked it.
The Bat might be a demon in human-ish form, but Jason knew the streets. He knew every turn, every building, every fucking grate. So he ran, hearing the Bat’s cape whipping about and his heavy steps thudding behind him.
Jason was screwed.
He ducked behind an alcove and twisted down an alley that the Bat would be too big to—
A thwip interrupted his thoughts.
Fuck, he’d forgotten the bat used his wire-gun to fly, he’d make it into the alley in no time—the dead end alley Jason had only chosen because the Bat was too big for the entrance—fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck—
A hand gripped the back of Jason’s collar, reeling him in against a larger body. He tried to scream, but the person’s other hand covered his mouth, and the hand around his collar wove its way around his chest, keeping him still.
He tried to struggle, but he couldn’t, the other was too big and too strong and—
Jason wanted to cry. He was a big boy, he hadn’t cried since he was a baby, but he didn’t want to be a missing kid, this was the worst, he was so so stupid and he should have never been out at night—
The cape whipped past them, Batman’s feet crunching on the torn up pavement. Jason tried to scream for his attention—getting beat up by the Bat had to be better than getting kidnapped by whoever had him—but the person’s grip was too tight and Jason couldn’t make a single noise. He tried to squirm—nothing. The person holding him didn’t move a muscle, not even when Jason kicked at their shins.
The Batman grumbled something at the dead end, picked up Jason’s tire iron (the bastard!), and then thwipped away, wire-gun carrying him to the roofs.
Jason was fucked.
He breathed in through his nose as deeply as he could, prepared for a second attempt—when he was released.
He was so surprised that he didn’t even try to run.
Instead, his kidnapper (was it a kidnapper if they let go of Jason before anything happened?) paced around him, steps—completely silent, okay that was seriously creepy, there were too many rocks and glass shards and pavement crumbles to stay silent in a Park Row alley.
Jason forced himself to look up. If he was going to die tonight, he was going to know exactly what his murderer looked like so he could come back as a ghost and haunt his ass.
Jason regretted his decision as he came face to face with a creepy mask with giant eyes that stared through his soul.
Great. He’d traded one demon for another.
The mask guy (was it a guy? They were slender under the weird ass black outfit with all the straps and shit) stepped away lightly, movements delicate. Jason had never seen anybody move like that before, and he’d snuck into the gymnastics/ballet hall more than once (it was air-conditioned and they didn’t give a shit if he was there as long as he didn’t interrupt).
This guy moved like—like it was natural, like a gentle breeze or a river flowing. It was creepy as fuck and added about a billion points to Jason’s demon theory.
“Who are you?” Jason demanded of the creepy mask demon guy. If Jason was going to die tonight, he at least wanted its name (the better for Jason to haunt it with).
The demon let out a soft huff that might be generously called a laugh, but Jason wasn’t stupid enough to accept that. He crossed his arms in all the false bravado his dumbass twelve-year old self could manage.
He’d always hoped he’d at least get old enough to be a teenager, but Jason had been stupid, and this was his own fault really.
The demon stared at him with those giant gold, unblinking eyes set deep within the mask. Jason didn’t know if they were its real eyes or part of the mask, but the effect was the same. Hella creepy.
“The Bat…tires…” the demon spoke, voice rough and crackly and so heavily accented Jason almost couldn’t understand it. Was this the demon’s first time trying out English? Or human, even?
“Yeah, I stole them,” Jason snarled, trying to seem more intimidating than his noodle arms would let him. “What about it?”
The demon tilted its head at him, the way an animal would. Sixty thousand more points to the absolutely-not-a-human-what-the-fuck-had-Jason-gotten-himself-into jar.
“Good,” the demon crooned, and it reached out, toward Jason, and forget the Bat, this was the most scared he’d ever been as those long, golden claws reached toward him slowly, so slowly, like the demon wanted to savor his fear, and he needed to duck or run or something, but he was frozen to the ground, could only watch as the demon’s claws—
Lightly patted his head?
Jason was a bit let down, and a lot relieved.
“Good,” the demon crooned again, and continued lightly stroking at Jason’s (filthy, matted) hair, softly crooning and gently running its claws over the tangles, so light it wasn’t even painful when the claws touched his scalp.
Jason—
He almost cried again (he didn’t, he kept the heat contained by rapidly blinking, but it was a close thing), like a pathetic little baby, but for an entirely different reason.
It had been a long, long time since anybody had touched him this gently, and he couldn’t ever remember a time when he’d been called good. He swallowed past the lump in his throat, and tried to speak, but nothing came out.
A sharp crack had the demon push Jason behind it as it crouched, baring claws at the edge of the alley—nothing came through of course, any street kid would be smart enough to stay out of shit with somebody in a mask and weird outfit (always a sign of shit about to go down in Gotham), and any adults would be too big (how had the demon made it into the alley? Fifty million points for the ‘actually a demon’ category).
Jason stared in disbelief. The demon…was protecting him?
He paused and rewound the whole mess. Had the demon been…protecting him from the Bat?
…Holy shit.
It turned back around when it determined there was no threat, still crouching at an angle that was inhuman (the points were already too high, jury’s out, dude was a demon—or a cat, which would still make it a demon), and stared at Jason with those giant, creepy, glowing gold eyes.
“…Thank you?” Jason tried, and the demon crooned at him again, which was a creepy sound from a human(ish) figure.
They just stared at each other for a long moment, before Jason decided he would stop testing fate and head home. He waved to the demon, and it tilted its head at him and crooned again as he trotted away. It didn’t try to follow him.
…Jason had the feeling this wasn’t the end.