A/N: On one of the tumblrs I run, Twinings and I offered ourselves up for one full week of filling fic prompts for our readers, varying in length from a hundred to a thousand-plus words. The project has been dubbed the Free For All Fic For All—or FFAFFA for short. This is one of those stories—and this is the boilerplate author's note you'll see on all of 'em.

Prompt: Killer Croc and Killer Moth, BFF

Notes: The Killer Croc I tend to write is an extrapolation based on various aspects of comics canon, not based on any one single depiction. The Killer Moth I write is a similar creature of blended continuities. Onward!


The lunch tray clattered on the table, sending a few errant corn kernels skittering across the surface. Before the last one settled, Drury Walker was already rising out of his seat, intent on getting away. The meaty hand on his shoulder pushed him down again and he landed with a "plop" on the hard bench he'd been sitting on.

"Where you think you're goin', Walker?" Jim Peterson, two to five for tax fraud, said, plunking down next to Drury. "Don'tcha wanna stick around and be my lunch buddy?"

"I—"

Drury's lunch tray was upended, the instant mashed potatoes landing in a soggy glop near the corn. "Aww, ain't that a cryin' shame."

"Look, I'm not looking for any trouble—"

"Well, too bad," Peterson said snidely, "'cause you just found it, Killer Moth."

"Problem?" a deep voice rumbled from behind them. Drury turned and saw the hulking green form of Killer Croc staring down at them.

Peterson paled. He liked to think he was a pretty tough guy, but nobody was thattough.

"Oh, I see we had an accident," Waylon Jones said, eying the mashed potatoes and gravy puddled on the table. "That's okay, though. You gonna give Walker your fine dinner to make your clumsiness right, eh, mon ami?"

Peterson gulped, but somehow found just enough courage to do something incredibly stupid. "Who's gonna make me, you dumb hick?"

Jones sat down with his tray and twisted the corners of the steel up in his hands, turning the flat object into a bowl. "Look, I had an accident too. It be a shame if I get clumsy all over your head, no?"

Peterson's face went from off-white to the color of chalk and he nodded slowly.

"You gonna go down to the other end of the table," Jones continued menacingly, pointing with a clawed finger, "and you gonna sit there and think about what you did."

Peterson slunk away without his tray, taking a seat at the far end of the table.

"Um…thank you," Drury offered meekly.

"I don't like bullies," Killer Croc answered, tearing into his fillet of gray mystery meat and slapping Drury on the back. "Besides, we Killers gotta stick together."