Yeah, this was definitely supposed to be yesterday. Anyway, I got sick and totally spaced the whole day so here you are. This is totally the first of my regular Friday updates. Promise. XD

So, this was an anonymous prompt, 'I wish you would write a fic where Jason Todd was taken in by Catwoman after she witnessed him steal the tires off the Batmobile. I know Catlad's the fave name of the fandom, but I'm a fan of Alleycat.' - I'm slowly working my way through these, they always expand into bigger than I expected them to be. Yes, this does have more, I just haven't started it yet. For now, have a set-up chapter with adorable tiny Jason.

Warnings for: referenced underage sex, prostitution, and child abuse. None of it is graphic or mentioned in more than passing.

It's not a good idea, it's not a smart idea, I can't even call it a dumb idea it's so ridiculously stupid, but I can't resist it either. I'm hungry, I'm cold, I'm tired, and it's just sitting there.

The Batmobile. The fucking Batmobile, and it's just sitting there in the alley.

I stare at it, glance down the alley in both directions and then up at the rooftops just to be safe, and then down at the tire iron in my hand. I could do it. The Batmobile's got tires just like any other car, right? I bet they're top of the line, and I bet they'd sell for more than I could steal in a month. A slightly hysterical laugh threatens to get out of my mouth, and I clench my teeth together. Fight down a shiver as the cold steals through the thin fabric of the red shirt I'm wearing.

I could be the kid who stole the Batmobile's tires. I could get a name or at least a little bit of respect. It could be worth it. I could eat real food for a few months, instead of whatever I can scrounge or steal. What's the worst that could happen?

Everyone knows Batman doesn't hurt kids; the worst would be what, juvie? Cops are easy to pay off if you've got the right — a shiver that's got nothing to do with cold shakes my shoulders — goods, and nobody wants to deal with Crime Alley street rats anyway. I'd never end up in the system, not even if Batman's the one to hand me in. The cops would rather just give me a beating, pretend like they're going to drag me into a prison, and then let me go. Otherwise they have to deal with the hassle of finding anyone related to me, or trying to prosecute a minor, and none of them want to. Learned that from a few other street rats who taught me some survival tips my first few nights really on the streets.

Things are vicious on the streets, there's no such thing as allies, but when someone new comes in you teach them for a bit. Then you get them the fuck out of your territory, unless you're claiming them as working for you.

To hell with it. Batman's not going to hurt me, and I'm sure I can throw together some kind of sob story for him if he's pissed. Or just tell him the truth; that gets me enough from some of the kinder shopkeepers around.

I start for the Batmobile, glancing around one more time before getting to work. I almost expect traps to activate — some kind of gas, or sharp things trying to sever my fingers, or something — but nothing happens. The first tire comes off smoothly, and I set it to the side before starting on the second one. The tires are heavy, solid, and definitely better quality than anything else that comes through here. These are going to get me a pretty good payout, even if I know the bastards will sell them for way more than they offer me. Whatever; that's how business works.

"What are you doing, kid?"

I almost leap out of my damn skin, spinning and brandishing the tire iron because I am not going down without a fight, before it registers that it's a female voice. That's a comfort for all of the half a second it takes for me to turn and see a tall, lean woman in a black and grey bodysuit watching me, hips cocked to the right and one hand resting on it. Also, right on the handle of the whip curled into neat loops and secured on that side of her hips. I swallow, following the lines of her costume up past a pretty good set of breasts and the metal glint of claws at the ends of her fingertips, up to the full-hood and built in ears standing up on top of her head. She's got a small, amused smile on her lips, green eyes just slightly narrowed.

Catwoman.

I shift my grip on the tire iron, not lowering it. She's a villain, isn't she? Isn't she Batman's enemy? A thief? She's not going to beat the hell out of me for stealing his tires, right?

"What's it look like?" I hedge, trying for bravado as I bare my teeth, just a little bit. "This is mine. Go find your own target."

She moves closer, I bend my knees to either take off running or try and hurt her if she goes for me, and she stops. Her head tilts, and I think she looks curious but it's hard to really tell past the partial mask. "You know he's going to be back any minute, right, kid? You're never going to get this done in time."

The flush of embarrassment feels good against the cold, and I bring my lip a little higher to bare more of my teeth. "Why're you here?" I demand, and her lips bloom into a sharp-edged smile.

"To give him a bit of a surprise when he gets back. Maybe have a friendly conversation." She takes one more step forward, and then slides into a crouch with a grace that widens my eyes and makes me really jealous for a second. She looks comfortable there, perched on her toes, one leg stretched partway out like she's ready to bolt in any direction at a second's notice. "What's your name?" she asks.

I shift uneasily, waiting for the strike or for her to suddenly get really dangerous. "Jason," I answer, and then quietly follow it up with, "You're Catwoman."

Her mouth curls into a soft smile as she gives a laugh, matching my volume. "That's right, Jason."

"This is still mine," I point out, glancing sideways at the tire I've got leaning against the wall. "That's," I swallow, hard. "That's food for at least a week and I'm not giving it up." My voice shakes a little bit, but I turn it into a snarl and try to look like anything but the mouse she makes me feel like I am. I can't afford letting this go. I don't have anything in the corner I call mine and if I don't eat, if I don't get something…

"I'm not going to take it," she says softly. "It's alright, sweetheart, I'm not here to stop you. But you shouldn't stay here much longer, he really will be back soon." I glance over at the tire again, and then down at the second one that's not quite undone. I freeze up a little bit when she slowly reaches forward, barely breathing and expecting her to slice my skin open, to hurt me, until her hand touches my cheek. "Would you like to come home with me, Jason?"

Then I really do freeze, snarl falling as I stare at her. "What?"

Her gloved hand strokes back across my face, carefully combing my hair away from my face. "It's a place to sleep, a bath, and good food. You don't have to say yes, and you don't have to stay even if you do say yes. Promise." Her smile is small, and she has to be lying because no one offers a street rat a place to stay, but I can't see it. I can't…

"Why?" I ask, fighting down hope because this can't be real. "This isn't one of those weird 'into young boys' things is it? I mean, if you're going to pay me enough I might go for that but I like to know what I'm getting into up front."

She laughs, eyes closing for a moment, and then her hand slides down my neck and gently squeezes my shoulder. "No, sweetheart, no. My type is a whole lot bigger, older, and much more handsome. Maybe you'll meet him someday." Her smile is wide, green eyes alight and sparkling with the leftover of her laughter. "It takes guts to steal from Batman, and I've got a bit of a soft spot for strays with spirit. Stay a night or two, to repay you for interrupting your work." She squeezes my shoulder again, just for a second. "One thief to another."

That… That sounds way past fair. That sounds like a dream. I didn't slip and hit my head somewhere, right? This isn't some kind of fever dream I'm having? Is this real?

"Are you serious?" I ask, my voice cracking just a little bit. "You know this is Crime Alley, right? I'm a street rat. Why are you offering that?"

She ducks in, and before I can do more than jerk a bit she's pressing a kiss to my forehead, and then smiling as she pulls back and I stare. "With those teeth? You look more like a cat than a rat to me, Jason." She lets go, unfolding back to standing with that same totally jealousy-inducing grace, smiling down at me. "Come on, stray. If you're coming, we need to go."

"I— The car?"

Her smile flicks to a smirk for just a second, and she sounds straight out mischievous when she says, "Let's just make him paranoid for a few weeks." She holds out her hand to me, head tilting to one side.

I hesitate, considering all the reasons this is probably a bad idea. She's a villain, she's a liar, she can't be trusted any more than anyone else. There are always ulterior motives, no one ever helps just because. I don't know what hers are and that's dangerous, it's not safe. For all I know she could kill me the second I'm back wherever she lives. Maybe this is one of those weird 'likes young boys' things. Maybe… Maybe it's just a good meal and a place to sleep.

I let the tire iron fall and reach out to take her hand.

Catwoman is actually 'Selina,' and the place she lives is… Jesus. It's a high-rise apartment, with huge windows and at least five cats wandering around, and everything is soft and comfortable. She does usher me pretty much straight into the bathroom, where she gives me a brief tutorial on which knobs are which things, points me towards the towels, the laundry hamper, and the soaps that are less flowery smelling, and then — to my utter surprise — just leaves me alone.

The bath is heaven. It's hot, clean, and doesn't smell faintly like sulfur or anything less pleasant like I've gotten used to. I stay in the water, scrubbing with various things until I feel a little raw, and only get out when my fingers are well past pruned. The towel is soft, fluffy, and I dry off as best I can before looking at the hamper that I threw my clothes into and wincing. I don't have anything else, but…

I'd forgotten what it felt like to be clean, and I don't want to get back into those. I don't have to, right?

There's a knock on the door, and I spin towards it in a second of alarm — the only times I can remember, recently, hearing people knock were the police — before forcing myself to ease out. "Yeah?" I call, gathering the towel around my shoulders. It's big enough that it almost touches the floor, and more than securely wraps around everything I want to hide. My parts, and the bruises that weren't going to scrub away no matter what.

The door slowly opens, and Selina glances around the edge of it enough to see me before opening it the rest of the way. She's out of the Catwoman suit, dressed in what I think might be a silk robe in a dark grey that's tied at her waist. Her hair is short and black, curled around her face and close to her skull. "So, I don't have anything in your size, but I figure this is big enough it'll do for now." She holds out what I think is another robe, moving a little closer and within reach.

I carefully extract a hand from within my towel to touch the robe. It's soft, fluffy almost like the towel, with a folded over collar and cuffs, and it's kinda huge. It's also a very dark green, and I can tell at a glance it'll be more like a blanket than any kind of actual clothing. But at least it's got a belt that I can pull out of the loops to be where it'll actually be useful. I can make it work.

"Why are you doing this?" I ask, before I can stop myself.

Selina — Catwoman; I don't know what to call her even in my own head — crouches down, letting the robe she's offering fall to the side as she reaches forward with her other hand and gently touches the side of my head. Her fingers slide through my damp hair, and then she shifts a little closer and drops the robe. I see it coming before it happens, but I still stiffen up for a second as she gathers me, towel and all, into a hug. I stay that way for a second, mind on alert and thinking of every way I could get out of this, before it actually clicks in that there's no pain, and her hands aren't going anywhere they shouldn't be.

Then I can't help relaxing into the touch, letting my head slip forward against her shoulder and my own shoulders curl forward into her.

"I told you, honey," she says softly, into my ear. "I've got a soft spot for strays. Especially ones that still hiss and spit no matter how outmatched they are."

"You're taking the cat thing a little far," I grumble, but I don't want to leave the warmth of her hold. I carefully curl the hand out of the towels into her silk robe, pressing a little tighter into her, and I half-expect to get shoved or yanked away but it doesn't happen. Instead she gently strokes her hand through my damp hair, and gives a soft, reassuring noise.

"That's my right," she says, with a teasing note to her voice. "Come on, stray. Get bundled up in that, and I've got some food laid out and a very comfortable couch. Does that sound good to you? Because it sounds like a great way to spend a night to me."

"Just laying on a couch?" I ask, questioning, and she gives a soft laugh.

"Well, I've also got a TV and a collection of movies and shows." I can feel her chin against the side of my head as she presses closes, arms squeezing tighter for just a second. "You can pick out whatever you want." She lets me go, but not without a brush of lips to the center of my forehead. "I'll meet you outside."

I watch as she gets to her feet, holding the towel close until she softly closes the door behind her. Then I let it drop — giving a last futile scrub at my hair — and reach for the robe. It's pretty massive, and it drags on the ground, but after I pull the belt out and tie it further up it stays on. I hesitate a second, finally deciding to throw the towel in the hamper with my clothes, and then head for the door. It doesn't feel anything remotely like natural to step out onto soft carpet — how is everything she owns soft? — with my arms wrapped around my own chest to keep the massive robe on. I'm not this high class of a thief; I'm down in the alleys with the tires and whatever I can get away with stealing out of stores. I'm not one of the thieves that breaks into houses like this.

I feel so out of place.

I track the slight sounds of movement out to what, in my wildest dreams, might be called just a 'living room.' There's a fire lit, mostly blocked behind glass doors, and the light is dim and comfortable. Selina is crouched in front of a cabinet with similar glass doors, and across from the long, low couch is a similarly low table with a spread of food on it. Every bit of me screams to get to the food and eat as much as I can, as quickly as I can. The smarter bits hold me back though, and even though my stomach clenches and reminds me how long it's been since I ate I approach carefully instead of rushing.

Selina turns before I'm even halfway across the room, looking over her shoulder and then smiling, beckoning me closer. "Come pick something out, sweetheart."

I hesitate, glancing past her at the rows of slim cases. "I don't know movies," I admit, tightening my grip on myself just a little bit.

"Well, what genre sounds good? Science fiction, adventure, romance?" Her gaze slips to the food, following my glances, and then her smile softens a bit. "Go ahead, sweetheart. I'll pick something out."

With permission given — part of me snarls at needing permission at all; I control me — I slip closer, eyeing the food. Most of it I recognize, at least sort of, but some things are totally foreign. There are two plates to the side, and with another glance at Selina, who's turned back to the open case, I start collecting food onto one of them. After a few moments she leans to the side, shifting her weight to get to a black box that I can sort-of recognize as a DVD player. My family… I never had one, but I saw them in stores, or through the windows of other people's homes.

"It's romance," she says at my glance. "Complete fluff, so you don't have to pay attention."

I curl into the corner of the couch with my plate, watching her retrieve a remote and circle the low table to get to me. She gives another smile, and then takes the opposite corner of the couch. Something in me eases at that, and even more at the fact she just knew. I get distracted for a second as she clicks on the large screen that's hanging on the wall, and the sound with it, but it's not enough to keep my attention from the food I'm holding. I glance up, occasionally, through the first plate of food, and I keep half an ear on it, but not enough to actually follow whatever story it's playing.

Somehow — after I stop myself from getting a second plate, because even though I want more, I know I can't handle that much — as the night progresses I end up closer to her. Finally, as I fight to keep my eyes open, I end up with my head in her lap, and her fingers running through my hair. It's not familiar, but it's comfortable, and she's soft just like everything she owns, and I'm warm and full. The movie finally ends — I've lost slices of it to closed eyes, but I wasn't following it anyway — and Selina shifts, clicking the screen off. I wake up a little more, but she doesn't seem to want me to move so I greedily take the time to relax.

I jump a bit when there's a flash of black movement, and a slight weight on the couch in front of me. My eyes snap open, and I still at a pair of golden eyes looking back at me, watching. It's a cat, and that shouldn't surprise me because hello, Catwoman, but they've been pretty much invisible. I stare at it, as it stares at me, tail flicking lazily behind its head.

"Isis," Selina says quietly, gently stroking her hand through my hair, "this is Jason. Jason, this is Isis."

The cat glances up like it understands her, and then takes a step closer, stretching out. I stay very still as it sniffs at my face, glances up again, and then refocuses on me. Then it leans a little closer, and there's a flash of pink as it licks the tip of my nose. I screw my eyes up at the unexpectedly rough drag of it, and then my mouth curls into a smile I can't control as the cat, Isis, steps back and firmly curls up in front of my chest. I cautiously reach up, lightly touching the slightly stiff fur, stroking down the cat's side, and get rewarded with a faint purr.

"She likes you," Selina comments softly, combing my hair away from my eyes. She starts to move, carefully sliding out from underneath my head, and I tilt my chin up and watch her. "I'll clean up and find you a blanket and pillow, sweetheart. Get some sleep; Isis will keep you safe."

"I— I don't need—"

"Hush," she says, leaning down to press a kiss to my forehead. "It's not about what you need, it's what I want to give you. Cats are selfish like that." My throat clenches up, and Isis stretches out a bit and gives a louder purr that makes me look down at her. "Get some sleep, little stray. You're safe here."

I don't mean to. I really don't. But it's so warm, and comfortable, that I can't help it when my eyes slip closed, and the rhythmic purring of the cat at my chest lures me to sleep.

I keep waiting for the other shoe to drop.

Through the new clothes, and the regular meals, and the couch that's kind of become mine. Isis, when she's not off in her favorite sun spots or playing with the other cats, glues herself to my side. If I'm sitting down for even a few minutes, and she's not busy, she makes herself at home next to me, or on me. Selina is home more than I expect a thief with her kind of reputation to be; I guess it's a quality over quantity kind of job, for her.

I keep waiting for her to demand payment for what she's doing for me, but after a couple of weeks go by I start to relax. She's not asking for anything, hasn't even mentioned it, and she seems to like just having me around. Still, I start pocketing and hiding small things that look valuable, for the inevitable day she gets bored of playing savior to the street rat and kicks me back out. At least I've got new clothes, so when she does kick me out I'm a little better prepared. With the items I'm storing I might even be able to afford some kind of rent for a little while.

Things go pretty well, until the day she catches me.

I freeze at her laugh, hand halfway to my pocket around a pair of earrings, gaze snapping up to meet hers. I don't move either direction, just in case she didn't actually see me grab them, and she shakes her head. She doesn't look mad, more like she thinks it's funny, and she's resting against the inside of the doorframe. It was probably a bad idea to try swiping anything in her bedroom. In fact I'm sure it was.

"No, sweetheart," she says with a smile, slipping closer and reaching down to take the hand with the earrings in it.

I think about how fast I can bolt, and where the exits are. About how fast she is, and better skilled, and the tiny chance that maybe I can outrun her in her own home. As she eases my hand open, and the earrings fall into her palm, I try not to think about how good things were here. It was just luxury, I can live without it. Have before, will again. This was nice, but obviously it's done now. I'll deal.

"Not like that," she reprimands, and I wince, waiting for the command to get out of her home. She turns my hand over, and sets the earrings in the middle of it. I stare at them, and then at her, not understanding. Her smile curls up a little more, and then she moves both hands and cups mine. "A fist is obvious, sweetheart. Here, see these muscles?" Her fingers push, manipulating my hand how she wants it. "These are strong enough to hold something small, without curling your hand. When you palm something, use these to pick it up, not your fingers. Understand?"

I nod, slowly. "You're not kicking me out?" I ask, quietly.

She squeezes my hand. "Of course not, sweetheart. One thief to another, remember?" She leans in and down, kissing my forehead in a way I'm slowly starting to get used to. "I can teach you how to do what I can, if you want to know?"

My eyes widen, and then narrow. There has to be something else to this, that's way too generous to be free. "What do you want in exchange?" I ask suspiciously.

She laughs, and lets go of my hand. "Put my things back where they were. All of them. That's it, I promise. Training the next generation is in my best interest."

Oh.

"You want me to work with you," I say, not totally sure if it's a question or a statement.

Her eyes widen for a second, just a little bit, and then she tilts her head and sweeps her gaze down and back up my frame in a quick glance. "Not something I was thinking about," she admits, and I don't know if the tightness in my chest is disappointment or not. "But that's quite the idea." Her smile comes back full force. "Maybe a sidekick isn't such a bad idea."

I make a face before I can even think about it. "Sidekick?"

She laughs, eyes closing for a moment. "Not a fan of that word? How about 'protege?' That's what Batman calls Robin." Her hand comes up, and somehow I don't even think about flinching away until it's already in my hair, pulling it back from my eyes. "What do you think, sweetheart?"

That… That could be fun. Even if I decide I don't like it, what's to lose? Catwoman, one of the best thieves out there, teaching me how to be like her? Even if I leave, or she eventually gets tired of me — everyone does — that's a lot of skill that I can put into staying alive. The downside is what, going up against Batman? Robin hasn't been seen in months, so it's just Batman, and I already know Selina can handle him most of the time. She's not in prison, after all. If she really just wants a 'protege,' why not say yes?

I can always leave.

"You want me to be your Robin?" I ask, making sure, and I'm not expecting the high, clear laugh that bursts out of her throat.

She kneels down, pulling me into a hug. "Oh sweetheart, we eat Robins and Bats for breakfast. You're a hunter, not prey." Then she's pulling back again, smiling with that mischievous edge, like she did back with the Batmobile. "How about you be my Stray, Jason? Capital S."

"Stray?" I test the word on my tongue, swallowing around it and trying to feel how it fits. "Do we have to use that name?" I realize it's practically a yes only after I've asked it, and she pulls me into another hug. "I mean, it's alright, but…" It hits a little close to home; especially my lack of any place I can call that. But maybe that's best. Maybe I should keep it close, so I don't ever forget that this could vanish in a heartbeat. "I guess it works."

"When you turn eighteen," she starts, sounding like she's making a promise, "you can change your name to whatever you want. Now come on, let's go get started." She lets go, then takes my hand as she stands up. "We're going to buy you some heels."

"What?" Heels? As in, actual heels? Oh fuck no.

"There is no better way to teach you balance, sweetheart," she says with a smirk. "And if you're going to be a cat, you're going to have to learn to always keep your feet. They'll help."

I watch her, my eyes narrowed. That makes sense, but heels? I'm a man, and heels are so… I'd get laughed out of Crime Alley. Or murdered. "No one sees them?" I have to sacrifice somewhere, right? Training isn't going to be fun; I'm not that stupid.

"Just you and me," she promises. "As soon as you know how to move, you never have to wear them again unless you want to." Like I'm going to want to wear heels. "Sound like a deal to you?"

I make a face, but nod. "Deal."

Oh yeah, this might have taken hold in my mind. This is definitely going to turn into an aggressively flirtatious Jason, a startled Dick, and some mutual woes between Selina and Jason about trying to woo morally uptight/oblivious Bats. It should be pretty great. XD

See you Monday!