A/N: Yes, yes, I'm a terrible person for procrastinating work on RtF. Unfortunately, I probably will not pick it up until finals are over. I promise many updates in the summer! Please enjoy this stand in ridiculousness. As ever, nothing you recognize is mine.

Everyone knows that, out of the entire family, Jason has the best singing voice, low and raspy and dreamy from all those years he smoked. He tends to sing or hum softly, in the places one least expects it-in a hospital waiting room, on a rooftop sitting bloody and bruised, back to back, those final moments before unconsciousness swallows them. Because Jason is contrary and stubborn and capable of incredible kindness when he wants to be.

He sticks to old, bluesy numbers, classics, and the occasional half-forgotten lullaby they can only assume his mother taught him years ago. It's a private Jason thing that they've all learned to accept and cherish, never push for, because pushing Jason is like herding cats-except with shouted profanity, and likely more knives.

One exhausting night, the Batmobile screeches in pursuit of an armored truck full of stolen cash, Jason grinning delightedly behind the wheel, and Tim somehow ends up hanging half out the window, straining to bridge the gap between the two vehicles. And, god, Jason is a terrible driver (dying is not conducive to attending driver's ed, thank you) and he has unfortunately figured out how to connect the radio to the local pop station and Alicia Keys is currently trying to deafen Tim.

Alicia is crooning about a girl on fire, and Jason swerves, causing Tim to wobble dangerously and pray that the song is not an omen.

Tim reaches again and the beat drops and suddenly, out of absolutely fucking nowhere, Jason wails.

Tim yelps, slipping, but a gloved hand wraps around his ankle and Jason is miraculously keeping Tim from dying and driving with one hand and hitting every damn note.

Jason's voice overpowers Alicia's and, jesus, Tim didn't know he could sing like this. It's loud and full and so clear in a way that hurts and Christina Aguilera has nothing on this. It vibrates up Tim's veins and makes his heart stutter in his chest, pulsing to the beat of the music. Jason belts out the lyrics, and Tim can't help the awe that fills him, even as he's hanging almost upside down out of a speeding car and trying not to die.

The hand around his ankle yanks, and Tim is lying sideways across the passenger seat with his legs draped haphazardly over Jason. Jason still steers with only his left hand, and oh my god his eyes are closed. All Tim can think is that at least the last thing he hears before they skid to a fiery death will be a voice to make angels jealous. He wonders if this is blasphemy.

Then, of course, there is the roar and heat of fire, but Tim does not feel like a piece of charcoal and Jason is still singing, so they must still be alive. Tim creaks one eye open as they slam to a squealing, disorienting stop and, oh, yes, the armored truck is on fire, and oops, it looks like they just blew up two million dollars.

They sit there in silence as Alicia fades out, and then Iggy Azalea is rapping against the backdrop of flames and smoke and Tim briefly contemplates if they are in hell. The fire casts Jason's grin in a manic, hellish light, as Tim slithers upright and attempts to calm the frantic rhythm of his heart.

They sit there like they are at a barbecue picnic instead of the scene of a gigantic, violent explosion. Iggy drones on, but Tim waits it out because soon Jason and Jennifer Hudson are booming smells like trouble to me full of power and sass,and Tim is struck dumb by the disturbing accuracy of Gotham's pop radio.