Tonnage

Nope.

>>

It takes another two weeks before his growth stops. Seven and a half feet tall plus a bit, and more than eight hundred and fifty pounds.

Yet he can manage a twenty-five-foot long jump, which is a bit better than he used to be able to do. He can run nearly as fast as he used to, and he can keep it up longer. His stamina is just insane.

His uncle and he have put together kind of a container and tent combination, mostly because his uncle wasn't entirely convinced that trying to wire a tent for power was a screamingly good idea. Especially considering that he was pretty likely to knock the thing over at some point. So the container is wired up and includes the computer that Leslie had procured for him, which has a super-sized steel keyboard and mouse accessories. All up against the far wall, which has become his desk and office area.

He has a couple of extension cords out into the large tent area where his bed is. A custom-made frame that his uncle put together that is made of welded and bolted steel, and a mattress made out of the strongest rubberized foam that they can find. The whole thing sits on a concrete slab left over when they replaced the car crusher fifteen years ago. The new one had needed a larger and thicker slab, so it had been a bit of an expense then. But it is working out well for them now.

Leslie dealt with the school problems by simply having him move directly to a purpose-built remote learning course where he could contact teachers to get assistance. They had him test and then told him he'd start his senior year with them in the fall, he is already beyond what they expect from Junior year. It's a great program and he is very grateful. The only issue is that he misses his friends from school.

Though the fact that none of them have tried to contact him makes him wonder what kind of friends they are. On the other hand, though? He still hasn't replaced his phone, he isn't currently going to the school they are... and he hasn't tried to contact them either. For reasons that feel like cowardice, which isn't thrilling him. But he doesn't know what to do. So he does nothing.

Now that he isn't getting bigger... (At least theoretically, Lou did point out that he wasn't done growing simply for being a sixteen-year-old.) his food requirements dropped like a rock. Fred was right, he is eating about four times normal. But that means a lunch of about four ham and cheese sandwiches, a couple of small bags of chips, and a two-liter of soda. Compared to what he was eating just a few days ago, that's practically nothing.

He'd made his trip to see the doctor earlier in the day, and since he'd completed the last of the requirements for Junior year he pulls out an old and well-loved copy of 'Treasure Island' and flips on the light next to the bed.

He gets a lot more 'me' time than he might even want if he's honest. But there are perks, and this uninterrupted evening is absolutely one of them.

>>

Gotham. 10:37 PM

Flitting across the streets, unseen and unknown to most, is a conversation. A very private conversation that comes complete with voice-to-text. Because sometimes, the gunfire, screaming, and monologues can get loud.

Hood: I lost the bastard. Any sign?

Oracle: Hood, are you actually asking for help?

R.Robin: Crap. Let me check who won. I know it wasn't me.

Robin: It was not me either. I said he was too stubborn to ever ask for assistance.

Hood: You people had a bet about this? Are you kidding me?

Spoiler: How the heck do you lose a seven-foot-tall bipedal crocodile with a bad attitude and a drinking problem?

Orphan: (Typed into phone.) I'll take my winnings in cash, check, or chores.

Hood: Are you sure he has a drinking problem?

R.Robin: That's your takeaway? That he might not be a drunk?

Spoiler: I see him. Just went over a fence, I'll keep him in sight. Oracle, any backup you can send my way would be appreciated.

B. Keep your distance. Jones isn't particularly intelligent, but he can be cunning and ruthless in a fight. He'll be going for a kill. Don't give him the chance.

Spoiler: He's ripping up a security guard, going in. Don't be too long.

>>

He's made it about a third of the way through his novel when he hears a curse, and then one of the night watchmen calls out. “We're closed. I am going to have to ask you to leave the premises.”

The voice that responds is aggressive, low, and rumbling. But sounds amused despite this. “Is that so.”

“Yes. Yes, it is. Don't make me shoot, I don't want to have to shoot you.”

Tom peeks out the flap on the front of the tent and he can see Jerry about fifteen feet away with his shotgun pointed shakily at what can only be Killer Croc. A Killer that is already charging. The shotgun spits out buckshot twice, then the man is thrown to the ground. As he is poised to stomp on the poor man's neck, three things happen. First, another notable slips over the fence. Tom isn't sure who it is, but Croc catches it out of the corner of their eye and twitches once in irritation. Second, two other members of the overnight security team have called out from somewhere beyond the mountains of scrap and are on their way.

Third, Tommy steps out of his tent. He hasn't managed to get clothes that fit yet due to only recently having stopped growing. So he's wearing a wool blanket with a hole cut into it for a poncho, and a modified pair of sweat shorts. A few cut seams and some added material.

The wool blanket is orange, black, and yellow plaid. The shorts are neon green. He looks beyond ridiculous, and he knows it. But the old junked refrigerator he throws at Croc to get him the hell off of Jerry is something of a universal language. The scaled brute is more surprised than anything, and the object hits him in the side with enough force to plow him over and then continue to roll another forty feet until the latch holding the door closed is smashed and the whole thing slams to a halt on the next rotation.

He doesn't know why... Maybe a remnant from Fred? But despite the unease and horror he is experiencing, he somehow knows exactly what to say.

“This is my patch. Go kill people somewhere else where I don't have to hear it.”

Croc is slowly standing up, his eyes centered on Tom. Blood dripping from his mouth, where somewhere in that it would seem he had bitten himself. Then, without a word, the meta leaps at his new opponent.

>>

Spoiler: Uh... What the hell? We have some giant fat guy going toe to toe with Croc...

Hood: Giant fat guy? Santa showed up?

R.Robin: On my way, maybe a minute out still?

Spoiler: He's winning.

B: Help if you can, but do not close to hand-to-hand. The other fighter is also a meta, and one we know very little about. Getting between them would be a mistake. ETA, ninety seconds.

Oracle: Tom is winning? Against Croc? Seriously?

Hood: Who the fuck is Tom?

B: How is he doing?

Spoiler: It's uh... It's over. Heading in with the plus-size cuffs.

>>

Tom has never been so scared before in his life. Even that split second before the van hit wasn't this bad.

He didn't have time to get scared then, but boy howdy does he have the time now, while the lunatic stands up.

Then Croc leaps. It's a good twenty-foot leap after a quick two-step for the speed to go the distance. All Tom knows is that if he falls back from where he's put himself now, he'll land on Jerry.

That can't happen.

So he has to stop the psycho here. Right here. If he gives up a step, Jerry is most likely as good as dead. So he braces himself. Set against the charge, as it were. And he feels something happen. Like he is reaching past the hard-packed gravel that covers the yard, and into the stone that the island is made of. And when Croc hits him?

He doesn't move. At all. Reaching out to grab his scaled opponent, he wrenches down on the guy's neck, trying to force his face into the dirt.

He isn't sure where he is getting this leverage, but it's like Croc just can't do anything. He's tried sweeping Tom's legs, tried biting him, clawing out the man's guts. For some reason, Croc just cannot get any leverage against him, and nothing he's doing even hurts the fat man, much less is damaging him.

However, this poor DIY poncho has seen better days.

Tom hasn't ever been much of a fighter, but he wrestled featherweight in the past. It isn't a nice move. Not a legal one. But it happened to him before on the street and he suspects it'll work pretty well here. So while he is holding him down, he drops a knee on the jerk's back and then slams his face into the ground a few times.

He ceases when Croc stops trying to get away.

“Hi there! You're Tom, Right?”

The huge sixteen-year-old looks over and then slams Croc's face into the ground again when the rogue tries to take advantage of the distraction. At this point, Tom has moved and is straddling the guy's back with his knees on either side, using this odd ability he has to anchor himself to the ground. His gut and all the weight he possesses are forcing Croc down, yes. But beyond that. It's like he can glue himself to the earth somehow. Once he has Croc under control again, he looks over. There is a blonde goddess in a purple superhero outfit standing about fifteen feet away and despite his best efforts...

Tom immediately blanks. “Um. Huh?”

There is another one, not a girl this time. One of the robins? Slipping over the fence. Because of course they needed more than one.

Spoiler giggles a bit as she sees Tom's eyes swivel to the fence and then back to her rather quickly. “You okay there big guy?”

He blinks. Twice. And then is able to get his head screwed back on straight.

“Yeah. Yeah, I'm fine. I guess you're here for this guy?”

There is the sound of a motorcycle closing in, and a third notable slips over the fence. This one has a bit more of a reputation. While he is making his way over, the second one to show up makes it to Tom, along with the other two members of the security team who are helping Jerry back to his feet. He is limping, a bad fall when Croc bulldozed him most likely.

The Robin speaks up. “Yes we are, can you get his hands together for the cuffs?”

Tom reaches down, grabs the man's wrists, and fights a bit to get them behind his back. It isn't easy, really. But it isn't hard either.

Cuffs on the hands and feet later, and Tom tentatively tries to get off the guy.

Croc just lies there. He's breathing, and muttering under his breath. But he has decided that he is done fighting for now.

Batman has now made the brisk walk across the lot to where the action is and is just about to open his mouth before Tom speaks up.

“So, hey. Um. I need to ask you all to take your guy and leave. We can't be having non-employees on the premises after dark, the insurance premiums for a twenty-four-hour business are insane in this area.”

He can almost feel the blank stare coming from Batman. He can definitely hear the snort of amusement from Red Robin, and Spoiler laughs out loud.

“Honest, it's like tripled. Besides, the cops in this area are dirty as hell and looking for a reason to screw us over. All things being equal, I'd rather you took him out of here before they come to lock him up.”

Batman continues to stare at him. “You're serious.”

Tom nods. “Yeah, completely. Not sure where you get the money for all your toys, but I can't even afford clothes. I need you to get out of here with him, like now.”

Two more people slip over the fence. One is the current actual Robin. The other is wearing a black and orange suit. He thinks she's the one they call Orphan? There are too many... 'bat people' around these days. He points to the two new ones.

“No, dang it. Can you please just take your pet and go? I don't need this kind of trouble.”

Croc tries to struggle to his feet with a guttural growl. “Pet?! I'll give you pet you fat fuck, eat your eyes and piss in the holes!”

Without missing a beat, Tom stomps him to the ground again with his very special sandals right in the center of Croc's back. The force is enough to blast all the air out of the lizard's lungs. Again. Tom looks up at the now nearly fully assembled Bat Clan.

“Can you please just get him out of here? Please? Pretty please?

And so, they do.

>>

Spoiler: Oh my god that was hilarious.

Oracle: Why? What happened?

R.Robin: He asked us to leave with Croc because he was worried about the insurance premiums. I didn't have the heart to tell him.

Robin: Tell him what?

Orphan: (Typed into phone.) That he has called out to the unruly, and they will respond.

Hood: That he just got on the hit list of every maniac in town, especially Croc's. Insurance premiums are the least of his problems. B? What are we going to do?

B: Nothing for now. I need to speak to someone before we move on this.

Oracle: Doc? I only knew about him because she was having me feel out educational and tailoring options for him a couple of weeks ago. She seems to be in his corner, no question there.

B: She is. And no matter what I say, she isn't going to be happy. But she needs to know. I'll stop by her place once we've dropped off Croc.

Winger-Dinger: What did I miss?

Winger-Dinger: (Typed into phone.) Who changed my screen name again? Not cool. :(

>>

Doctor Thompkins office. A few hours later.

“You don't look hurt. To what do I owe the honor?” Leslie Looks up from her desk, where she has a deck of cards laid out in a fairly standard Solitaire type of way. However, she does begin putting them away. Now that their patrol has ended for the night, she'll be going to bed soon.

Besides, that particular game wasn't looking good anyway.

“Your boy made a splash tonight. Has Oracle been keeping you informed?”

Leslie nods, her right eyebrow raised in a way that would indicate that he should have kept speaking. “Of course. Though I'm not sure why that matters. If he wanted to be a hero, he wouldn't have immediately asked you to leave and take your... Pet, with you.” Her tight little smirk at that disappears as fast as it came. Tonight will cause the poor kid problems. She knows that. She isn't a fool.

But to have even one impressionable kid look at the Dark Knight and say: 'Naw. Thanks anyway, you're too much trouble.'

It does her heart good. Batman does not seem to be enjoying her perspective at the moment.

“He may as well have put an ad in the paper calling out every rogue in the city. It might have been different if he'd had to be tricky, I've seen the video that Spoiler managed to capture of the fight. If you can call it that. He trounced Croc. As one-sided a fight as I've ever seen. That is going to get him a lot of attention, and most of it will be bad. Tom is powerful. Far more than I expected him to be. Far more than you let on. I'll even go so far as to say that everything I've learned about him makes me think he is every bit as good a person as you seem to think he is. But he can't take off a suit. He's found, now. And it's time we started being more realistic as to what is best for him and for Gotham. I'd like to send him to work with other young meta-humans, both so he can see what possibilities exist, and to get him out of town for a while until things cool off. Maybe we'll be lucky and he'll join a team on a permanent basis, which would solve several problems from the outset.”

Leslie turns to Bruce, her eyes down. A man that she respects, despite everything he does that she loathes. A man that grew up from a boy she adored.

“Bruce, he's a sixteen-year-old child that just had their life uprooted and completely fractured from any path he might have taken. He doesn't have his parents, and the only family he has left is here. He just wants to finish school and work at the family business while looking into further educational opportunities. And so I have to ask...”

She looks up at the man who has come to define so much of the second half of her life, and her eyes narrow.

“If Batman doesn't exist to respect and protect the rights of a child who simply wants to grow up, then what good is he anyway?”

Bruce frowns. “That isn't fair.”

Leslie shakes her head. “Life isn't fair, Bruce. And it is a lot more unfair to him than it is to you right now. If you think he needs assistance, then you do what you need to. But please don't drive the poor boy away from the only home and family he has. He doesn't deserve it. No matter how much more convenient it would be for you.”

He grits his teeth, but in the end, he can't manage to come up with an argument that doesn't make him sound like he's trying to traffic child soldiers, and he knows that there is no chance Leslie would let an opportunity like that go. So he leaves.

>>

Author's note:
I'd like to point out that Croc losing this fast is entirely because he doesn't know his opponent.
Physically tackling Blob isn't generally the way to go, and it is an extremely common way for Croc to initiate things.

I'd also like to point out that while I will do my best to accurately write the various characters, I am having to lean exceptionally hard on Wiki's right now. The most recently produced Batman thing that I read or watched (Aside from the Nolan movies) was Batman Beyond.
So I am leaning on Wiki's and (Gasp, shock, and horror!) characterizations in other fan fiction to supply personalities for Bat clan members that showed up post-Drake. And Todd has changed, just slightly, from what I recall. :)

Anyway, if things are off, that is probably why. Take care!