I’ve gotten into a Billy Batson craze recently. Mostly just him being a teen and cussing and being a little shit. It’s so funny to me, especially with the league.
I especially love the creator kathkin on ao3, just perfect Billy Batson.
Anyway, I thought about Robin Jason meeting Billy. Batman would introduce them and immediately be like, ‘I’ve made a mistake’.
Two street kids bonding and stealing shit together, roasting everyone, and just living the feral child life.
Briar looked behind him. Five more horsemen of the Watch rode out of a blind alley to cut off his retreat.
One of the men ahead rode forward until he was a yard from Briar. “Pahan Briar Moss of Winding Temple and Summersea in Emelan,” he intoned in a wooden voice. “You are invited to speak with Mutabir Kemit doen Polumri. At once.”
Old instinct and new learning fought bitterly in his head. Instinct told him to leap from his horse's back and run, as far and as fast as he could. He clenched his teeth and fought it, sweating. He wasn't a thief anymore, wasn't a street kid, wasn't meat for the Watch to grind up and spit out. He was a citizen, a pahan, not a criminal. Citizens didn't run from the Watch.
Detectives Gordon and Bullock investigate a child trafficking ring preying on Gotham's street kids, including Selina Kyle. Meanwhile, Penguin resurfaces in the countryside and begins to make his way back to Gotham, leaving victims in his wake.
"They were losing their patience. The little rat was practically money on legs and they wanted that money, they never saw so many zeros on a missing poster.
How could the little shit even keep running like that? After everything they knew, everyone with access to media knew, the twerp was supposed to be easy to catch.
But. He. Just. Kept. Going.
They followed him around the corner, fearing for a hot second they could have lost him, but they saw him running down the empty street, heading for the bridge.
They collected their remaining stamina and ran after him.
Somewhere closer to the other side he finally had to stop, gasping for air and fighting to not just collapse against the railing.
"Got- gotcha," one of the thugs panted out, they all were out of breath. "Giving... up finally?... Ya... can't run... for... forever."
Their prey stood with his back to them, bent over with his hands pressed on his legs right above the knees to not just topple over. He turned his head to look at them over his left shoulder. A dim white light flashing at them briefly, before he turned his face back ahead, not saying anything. Just fighting for breath.
"Don't... make it harder... than it... had to be," gasped another of the gang. "Just... just let us... bring you h-... home."
The small figure didn't react at all to that. At first.
Then he forced his breathing to calm down, straightened up and answered, "only over my dusted body."
His next move came unexpected.
Instead of running off again, he closed the distance to the railing with two quick steps and used the momentum to hurl himself over it and disappeared in the wild raging river beneath them with a faint splash."
More on my book about being a child runaway living on the streets of London.
Just a bit more about Poems From a Runaway in this video below. This book has been completely self-published by me with extremely limited funding, so a huge thanks to anyone and everyone that gets behind me.
Big Love.
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