Author: Kat Lee
Character/Pairing: Killer Croc
Challenge/Prompt: tv_universe: It's New To Me (This great land comm is now accepting all fandoms! If you join, be sure to tell them Kat Lee of Team Bunny Ears sent YOU!)
Warning(s): Attempted Non-Con
Word Count: 930
Date Written: 4 May 2018
Disclaimer: All characters within belong to DC Comics, not the author, and are used without permission.
He’s minding his own business when he hears the scream. At first, he tries to ignore it with only a lash of his mighty, scaly tail and a snarl. The wind rips at his long trench coat. He turns the collar up, buries his ugly face deeper inside its protection, and continues on. But then the woman screams again. And again. And again.
He’s no hero, and there are plenty of heroes in Gotham to stop whatever’s happening to the chick. Yet, as he continues to hear her scream, his mind starts to flash images. The few people, and it is an extraordinarily small number, who have ever shown him any kindness have always been female. Many of their smiling, beautiful faces flash across the landscape of his mind, but there are two who keep popping up again and again, Ivy and Selina.
He doesn’t have many friends, but the Killer Croc would count both of those women among those treasured few he does have. They are also both labelled villainesses by the populace although he’s seen them commit heroic acts and knows that, deep down, they’re not about the villainry even when committing crimes. There’s a gentle side to both ladies, a gentility that might dominate them more, not that he would want it to, if they hadn’t been mistreated all their lives, such as he had been. If there had ever been a man who had involved himself in their lives and tried to help them, maybe they would have turned out different, better. He knows he could have been better if someone had ever cared for him.
He’s already broken out into a run and is heading for the screaming woman before he realizes it. He blinks suddenly upon the realization but doesn’t stop. Heroes don’t always have on time, and although he’s no hero, maybe he can help her. Maybe he can stop yet another person from being abused, from being taken advantage of, -- Croc turns the corner, and his blood runs cold. From being raped!
He barely thinks as he lashes out. His tail knocks two of the three men away, and he grabs the one who’d been about to press himself on the screaming, writhing, and crying woman by the throat. He yanks him up, snarls in his face, and throws him as hard as he can. The punk hits the concrete wall of a nearby building. Croc hears the satisfying cracking of bones. The wouldbe rapist slides to the ground, out cold. A primal roar thundering from his lungs, Killer Croc turns around and faces the other two.
They don’t have the same excuse as so many in Gotham do. They look like normal men. They smell like normal men. They are normal men, but they’re ruthless, uncaring bastards nonetheless. He takes a step toward the two trembling men. They scream like girls, drop their weapons, and flee. He almost lets them go.
Almost. But the thought of what they’d been about to do propels him forward. Snarling, he whirls around and slaps them both with his tail into the pavement. Then, one by one, he tosses them up as though they weigh nothing more than dolls and throw them hard against the building where the buddy’s already unconscious. Each falls in turn, and neither one would dare to get up and move again, even if their legs had been working.
The woman’s sobs have grown quieter. Croc turns toward her. He tries to smile reassurance, but of course his smile only shows vicious, razor-sharp fangs. She screams again and faints. Croc shakes his head. He can hear sirens coming and realizes that the cops aren’t far away. They’ll be here soon, and they can sort out the mess. They can throw the human scum into jail, where they’ll stay too short a time before being released to continue their vicious and cruel ways, and hopefully they can send the woman somewhere to get help.
He looks down at her and wonders if she’s a mother or a sister or even a wife. Again, he thinks of the women in his life. He’d been raised by a woman who didn’t care anything about him beyond the paycheck with which he’d provided her, but if he’d had an actual mother who had cared for him, and not taken one look at him and ran away screaming as his aunt had claimed, perhaps he could have been different. Perhaps this woman will make some guy’s life a little different, a little better.
Croc straightens and holds his ugly head up high above the collar of his jacket. Maybe by saving the woman he’s helped someone’s life improve, even if just her own. Maybe by saving her he’s helped make Gotham a little less horrid a place for somebody. Maybe the world will be a little bit better because of the dame he just saved.
Croc grins, smirking at himself. Nah, he knows better than to think such things could happen because of a single, heroic deed. But it is a nice fantasy. His tail thawks the wall, leaving a mark behind him as he exits the alley. As he leaves, he never looks back. He never sees the pair of beautiful, green eyes watching him or Poison Ivy sliding back into the vines that drape one wall. Despite his appearance, and after everything’s said and done, Killer Croc is still a human. She smiles as she disappears into the night, thinking, Maybe there’s at least one human man who’s worth saving after all.