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Jason Todd had been fifteen years old when he’d tried to hijack the wheels of the Batmobile.
Of course, he hadn’t gotten away, but it wasn’t Batman who’d caught him. No, it was Catwoman.
Or–as he now knew her as–Selina Kyle.
A few months, shenanigans, failed heists, and one dead mother figure later, he gets officially adopted by her.
He worms her way into her heart, her home, and her… extracurriculars, step-by-step.
Now? Now he’s now Stray. Catwoman’s partner, lookout, and unbeknownst to the other rogues (well, except Harley and Ivy), her kid. Professionally, to the general public’s view he was the ward of renowned socialite, fundraiser and animal rights activist Selina Kyle.
Tonight he stands atop a rooftop, his cropped jacket with an excessive amount of pockets (two on the upper arms, two normal hoodie pockets, and two on the breasts) to hide stolen objects swishing in the wind, hood pulled up to his face.
He pulls his goggles that mirror Catwoman’s own pair over his eyes, cracking his knuckles. He checks his gloves over, making sure the claws function before hauling ass down the fire escape.
He’d only found himself here because Jason had heard grunts of pain, and the working girls frequented the alley. It was concerning, to put it mildly.
He hops the edge, swinging down onto the fire escape below. He drops to a crouch, before dusting himself, straightening and peering over the railing.
He hears a whack, and another muffled shriek.
“Fucking hell.” He hears a young voice mutter, and wow, he sounds supremely pissed. “Fucking scumbag, who deals to kids-”
Stray’s eyes narrow, grip on the rusting bar tightening.
A guy–around his age–stands below, clad in a sleeveless red suit; with yellow fingerless gloves, boots, and a cap with a crimson feather sticking out of it. A quiver was strapped to his back, bow folded and hanging from his hip.
It was oddly reminiscent of the Robin suit, with the traffic light colours.
His arms were crossed, mouth twisted in a scowl, and he's drawing his leg back.
Jason concludes that he’d kicked that man into the wall, which was a fresh take, with the resident bats and birds never usually resorting to such… crude methods.
It was interesting to witness.
Jason jumps over the railing, dropping to the ground behind the guy.
He pads closer, eyes flicking to the beat up person who let out a pathetic whimper. He didn’t seem to be bleeding.
A shame.
He plucks the sunny hat off the man’s head, who stiffens and jolts around.
Stray darts back, stifling a laugh as the guy’s eyes seem to widen under his domino.
“Who are you?” Red suit asks, snatching forward for his cap, fingers wrapping around thin air.
“Guess.” Jason throws back before sprinting out the alley.
“Hey–”
He hears footsteps smacking against cement behind him, and he keeps up his pace before making a harsh turn down a narrow path. He uses a box to bounce off onto a low-hanging balcony, swinging onto the ceiling.
He laughs, carefree, jumping rooftop-to-rooftop for a bit before giving out and stopping in front of a chimney.
He pants, bracing himself and then he’s pulled back and slammed against the brick smokestack, knocking the wind out of his lungs.
“You told me to guess?” The guy leers, forearm pressing against Jason’s throat, putting barely enough pressure to partially hamper his breathing. “Well, judging by the cat ears,” he flicks one with his other hand, “and goggles… I think it’d be a fair assumption to think that you have relations with Catwoman.”
Jason rolls his eyes, voice coming out slightly strained. “How clever. Does Fletching want a prize?” He juts his chin out, defiant.
“Fletching?” The guy repeats, disbelieving. “What the hell- no, it’s Speedy.”
“Well, Fletching,” Jason pulls up a hand, gripping Speedy’s nape and dragging a thumb over his cheek with the other. “Unless you want me to fuck up your pretty face, let go.”
His claws spring out, and he skims the thumb over the bridge of Speedy’s nose.
“Easy, kitty cat.”
Kitty cat? Jason bares his teeth, drawing back and headbutting Speedy for his inane statement.
“Ow-” Speedy groans, stumbling back blindly, before looking up at Stray’s smug, smirking face and he lunges forward.
Stray leaps to the side a second too early and he’s tackled to the ground, skidding over concrete. He slashes blindly, metal meeting skin and hears a yelp.
Good.
Speedy’s leaning over him, fist cracking into Jason's jaw, sending him reeling.
“Shit,” Jason gasps, claws digging into Speedy’s sides, and grinning when the bastard keels over in pain, taking his place atop him.
He settles, straddling Speedy’s abs, pinning his wrists above his head. “Punch me again, I dare you.”
Speedy’s suit ripped in various places, a slow drip of blood from each shallow wound. His lip’s split, nose dripping scarlet.
Yet he still looks infuriatingly cocky, throat and teeth bared.
“Say my name, Gonzales.” Stray purrs, removing a hand to bat Speedy's face to the side with.
Speedy mouths, 'Gonzales?' to himself, before throwing his head back, and relaxing against the ground. “Whatever this is is,” He wiggles his hips, squirming under Stray, “It’s more entertaining than sitting in the fucking Batcave.” His tongue darts out, licking at a dribble of blood near the corner of his mouth. “And I’m still not calling you that, kitty cat.”
“Pretty boy’s got a mouth on him.” Stray hums, hand wrapping around Speedy’s throat. “Think I’m amusing, do you?” A mock pout. “You wouldn’t if I ripped your throat out.”
“You wouldn’t.”
So cocksure.
Speedy continues. “You’re in the Bat’s city.” As if that explained everything, and infuriatingly? It did. No rogue with blood on their hands escaped the Bat’s wrath. Especially not a cape’s blood.
Stray snarls, smacking Speedy again, and again, failing to knock off that annoying ass grin.
“C’mon, dude.” Speedy cranes his head up, lifting it off the concrete. A spot of crimson falls onto his uniform. Stray’s faintly aware his nose might be bleeding.
“You’re annoying, Fletching.”
“So I’ve been told.”
“At least the chase was fun.” Stray mutters, flicking at Speedy’s nose.
“Aw, kitty cat likes playing cat and mouse?” The man croons, arching his back off the floor ever-so-slightly.
“Shut up.”