On the third level of a parking garage in downtown Los Angeles, a man in a black jacket and a red Raiders cap paced along the concrete pillars. After a moment, a short man with long, stringy black hair appeared, his hands buried in the pockets of his polka-dot hoodie. He approached Raiders Cap, nodded in greeting, and held out a wad of cash. Raiders Cap took the money, pulled a bag of weed out of his jacket pocket, and handed it to Stringy Hair.

Suddenly there was a soft whooshing noise, and a dark figure appeared behind the two men. They squinted into the darkness, and the figure took a few steps forward, into the meager light, revealing black body armor and a black mask.

"Batman?" Stringy Hair asked softly.

Batman approached Raiders Cap. "Hey man," he said in a gravely mumble. "You shouldn't sell drugs here."

"What?" Raiders Cap asked.

"This lifestyle will only lead to, you know, bad things."

Raiders Cap frowned. "Seriously, dude, I can't understand a word you're saying."

"Find a better way to express yourself," Batman continued. "Do you have a guitar?"

Raiders Cap punched Batman in the face, and Batman crumpled to the ground.

*

Tim got home just as Lars' favorite prostitute was leaving. The band was staying at Tim's house as they wrote and recorded demos for their next album, and Lucy had become a familiar presence. She was a tall redhead with big eyes, big breasts, and a great sense of humor. While Tim didn't usually avail himself of her services, he'd slept with her once or twice on Lars' dime. Whenever Tim was moody, Matt would give him a cigarette, Branden would give him a hug, and Lars would give him a hooker.

"What happened to your face?" Lucy asked as she put on her jacket.

"Fell on a door," Tim mumbled.

Lucy sighed. "If no one's around to translate, you'll have to do charades or something."

Tim leaned forward and kissed her on the cheek. "Fuck...you..." he said slowly.

Lucy smacked his ass. "Maybe later," she said, and she headed out the front door.

Tim went upstairs and checked his face in the bathroom mirror. His jaw was swollen, and would probably be bruised by the morning, but it was nothing serious. He took his shirt off, collapsed on his bed, and was asleep in minutes.

Tim was awakened by Lars pounding on the open door.

"Hey!" Lars yelled. "We're writing an album, not conducting a sleep study."

Tim rolled over and squinted into the sunlight pouring through the open window. "Too early," he muttered.

"It's three in the afternoon." Lars sat down on the bed beside him. "Where were you all night? Do you have a new girlfriend? Is she a werewolf?" Lars put his hand on Tim's shoulder. "No one will judge you."

"I don't date werewolves."

Lars smacked him lightly on the shoulder. "Don't be racist." He stood up. "Come on. We got some pizza, and Matt's got the studio all set up. We can record that song you wrote about ducks."

Tim put his arm over his face. "It's a metaphor."

"Lucy'll be here at midnight if you wanna join us," Lars said as he walked out the door.

*

Later that evening in the parking garage, the man in the Raiders cap leaned against one of the concrete pillars and smoked a cigarette. He heard footsteps approaching, but took no notice, and soon Batman was standing in front of him.

"Man, look, I'm not here to give you shit," Batman mumbled. "But there's an elementary school across the street."

Raiders Cap took a drag off his cigarette and exhaled slowly before replying. "What?"

"I gotta get home for this threesome," Batman continued. "But I just wanted to tell you that selling drugs here isn't cool."

Raiders Cap just stared at him. "Are you even speaking English?"

"Aha!" A short figure emerged from between two cars. It was the stringy-haired buyer from the previous night, only now he was wearing a dirty red dress, ballerina slippers, and a plastic cat mask.

"I am Catwoman!" he proclaimed.

Raiders Cap exhaled another plume of smoke. "Doesn't Catwoman wear black?" he asked. "And shave her legs?"

Catwoman walked up to Batman, one finger extended threatingly. "Batman, I am your arch nemesis. And I vow to buy weed in this parking garage every night until you reveal your true identity."

"I'm Tim Armstrong," Batman said.

"What?" Catwoman asked.

"What?" Batman asked.

Raiders Cap dropped his cigarette to the ground and stamped it out. "I don't get paid enough for this shit," he said, and he began walking away.

"Hold up!" Catwoman called after him. "I need an eighth, man!" He chased after Raiders Cap and they disappeared around the bend to the next level.

*

Tim got home just after midnight. Matt was sitting in the living room watching a horror movie.

"Tim," he said without taking his eyes off the screen. "We gotta talk about your song about ducks."

"It's a metaphor," Tim said as he closed and locked the door behind him.

"I know," Matt said. "It's a metaphor for geese." He looked over at Tim. "You need to get some sleep."

Tim sighed and ran his hand over his face. "Yeah, I know. I'll get to bed early tonight."

Matt nodded.

Tim walked up to the guest bedroom on the second floor. He could hear Lars and Lucy laughing before he opened the door, and the sound only made him feel worse. It seemed like everyone around him was happy with what they had. Matt had his family, Branden had his wife and studio, and Lars had his endless parade of prostitutes. Meanwhile Tim had one small goal, to clean up the school zone in his neighborhood, and he'd been defeated by a halfwit drug dealer and a dude in a dress.

Tim opened the bedroom door. Lars and Lucy were naked, partially wrapped up in sheets and partially wrapped up in each other. Tim knew he could go up to Lucy, and Lars would gladly play second fiddle. But he honestly didn't have the energy to entertain other people. Instead he crawled into the bed beside Lars, fully clothed, and closed his eyes, suddenly exhausted.

He heard Lars and Lucy exchange a few whispers, and then he felt Lars' breath on his face. "Hey," Lars said. "What do you need?"

"I don't know," Tim muttered. He listened to Lars and Lucy's uneven breathing and the slight shifting of sheets for a moment, and when he opened his eyes, Lars was still watching him.

*

When Tim woke up, the bedroom was empty, and he was still tired. He checked the clock. It was nine in the morning. It was much too early to get up, but he could hear voices coming from downstairs, and he didn't want to see Matt's disapproving frown again. He got out of bed, found his clothes on the floor, got dressed, and went downstairs.

Matt and Branden were sitting at the kitchen table, eating cereal, each reading a different section of the newspaper. Tim took the seat at the end of the table and put his head in his hands.

"I did something stupid," Tim said.

"Did you sign another shitty thugcore band to Hellcat?" Matt asked without looking up from the newspaper.

Branden put his newspaper down. "Do you need a hug?"

"I had sex with Lars."

Matt froze with his spoon halfway to his mouth. "What?"

Branden frowned. "I thought you were already having sex with Lars."

"Wait a minute," Matt said, dropping his spoon into the bowl, barely noticing when it sent a splash of milk onto his shirt. "Lucy was here last night. You've had threesomes before. That doesn't mean - "

Tim shook his head. "We had sex. Lucy was on the other side of the room playing Bejeweled."

Branden nodded. "That explains how she beat my high score on Facebook."

"What?" Tim asked.

"There's this thing called the internet," Branden explained. "People invented it to share pornography and play meaningless games."

"I'm not stupid," Tim said with a scowl. He grabbed Matt's glass of orange juice and took a sip. "How do they make a book with your face?"

"Were you drinking?" Matt asked.

"No way," Tim said. "I was just...I was tired."

Matt stared at him. "You were tired, so you fucked Lars in the ass."

Tim ducked his head down, as if he could completely hide behind the half-full glass of orange juice. "Yeah."

Lars walked into the kitchen, wearing a ridiculous homemade spray-painted shirt and holding a sheet of paper. He dropped it on the table between Matt and Tim. "Check it out," he said. "I think we can salvage that duck song if we speed it up a little and change the lyrics to be about this guy in Campbell who I beat up once with a stick." He looked around at everyone's faces. "What happened? Did Tim sign another shitty thugcore band to Hellcat?"

Tim sighed. "I'm afraid I've irreparably damaged our friendship."

Lars smacked him on the head. "Stop reading. No one knows what those fucking words mean."

"If you two are going to have a relationship -" Matt began.

"Right," Lars interrupted. "Because I'm known for how often I have relationships." He took the fourth seat at the table and grabbed a marshmallow out of Branden's cereal with his fingers. "Sex is just sex, man, and it lasts one night. Friendship is forever. Fuck that shit. Just fucking fuck it."

Tim considered this. "You make a convincing argument."

Matt stole his juice back. "My next band will be with sane people."

*

After a productive day of writing, recording, and prank calling Tony Hawk, the band got take-out from a Chinese restaurant and ate it sitting around the living room. After eating, Tim stood up and announced that he had to go out for a while.

"Out where?" Matt asked.

Tim shrugged. "Places. You know."

Matt put his near-empty plate down on the coffee table. "You've been going out late every night for a week."

"Werewolf girlfriend," Lars whispered loudly.

"You wouldn't understand," Tim said.

"I've been your best friend for forty years," Matt said. "Forty fucking years. Lars has been your friend for twenty years. And Branden was in The Used, so nothing can shock him."

"It's true," Branden said. "If we have to break into Ozzy Osbourne' house to steal pictures of you fucking an octopus, I have experience."

Tim sat down on the sofa. "Okay," he said. "I'm Batman."

There was a long silence.

"I have a Bat-suit in the garage," Tim continued. "I change into it and then go out and try to scare drug dealers away from schools." He looked down at his hands. "It isn't going well."

"Want me to come with you?" Lars offered.

Tim looked up at him. "As Robin?"

Lars rolled his eyes. "As the one person in the band who actually knows how to fight."

"Want us to come too?" Branden offered.

"When we need a badass bass solo or a level-headed business decision, we go to Matt," Lars said. "When we need a recipe for some bichin' vegan stew, we go to Branden. When we need someone to write hit songs and mumble incomprehensibly, we go to Tim." He stood up. "Who do we call when we need someone's ass kicked?"

Branden crossed his arms. "If you make fun of my stew, my wife will hit you."

"I really like your stew," Tim said.

"What?" Branden said.

"He likes your stew," Matt repeated. He turned to Lars. "Look out for him, would you?"

"I've been in a fight before," Tim argued.

"Yeah, and she won," Lars said. He grabbed his jacket. "I'll call if I need bail money."

*

Lars and Tim leaned against a car in the parking garage and waited.

"Did you really have to put the outfit on?" Lars asked.

Tim adjusted his Batman mask.

"No one's gonna recognize you," Lars said. "I'm the one who always gets hassled." He nudged Tim with his elbow. "Remember that time you were sitting outside JFK smoking and that lady thought you were homeless and gave you a sandwich?"

Tim nodded. "That was a really good sandwich."

The man in the Raider's Cap appeared near the row of cars opposite them. Lars took a step forward, but Tim put his hand on his shoulder to stop him.

"Wait for Catwoman," Tim whispered.

"What the fuck?"

The man in the cat mask and red dress wandered up the garage ramp smoking a cigarette. He nodded as he approached Raiders Cap and fished out a wad of cash from inside one of his ballerina slippers.

"Let's go," Tim said. He pulled his cape out dramatically, hitting the car beside them and setting off the alarm.

"Stealthy," Lars muttered. He walked over to the other two men, who were now watching them carefully.

"Holy shit," Raiders Cap said. "You're Lars Frederiksen!" He reached out, grabbed Lars' hand, and shook it furiously. "I love your music, man. Fall Back Down is my jam. You're the best fucking thing in that band." He let go of Lars' hand. "And I like the other guy too. The dude with the brain damage."

"What?" Tim asked as he walked up behind Lars.

"He thinks you're special," Lars said.

Tim smiled. "Thanks."

"You know Batman?" Raiders Cap asked.

Catwoman waved his fistful of cash over his head. "Don't be nice to this douchenozzle. He's with my ex."

"You're with his ex?" Raiders Cap asked.

Lars shrugged. "I fuck a lot of people."

"How many people?" Tim asked with a frown.

"Most people," Lars said. "What do you care?"

"We didn't use a condom," Tim said.

Catwoman gasped. "You're fucking Batman?"

Tim seemed to remember his outfit. "Yeah," he said to Raiders Cap. "Yeah, man, we're here to stop you."

Raiders Cap looked at Lars. "Do you know what he's saying?"

Lars rolled his eyes. "We don't want you selling drugs here. It's too close to the school. So either move your operation or I have to kick your ass."

Raiders Cap held his hands up. "Yeah, no problem, man. Most of my clients are on Main Street anyway."

"What?" Catwoman screeched. "Asshole! I don't want to walk to Main Street."

"It's two blocks," Raiders Cap said.

Catwoman thrust out his wad of cash again, and Raiders Cap exchanged it for a plastic ziploc bag of weed.

"So you buy your shit on Main Street now, got it?" Lars said.

Catwoman scowled. "Fuck you and Mr. Mumbles. I'm on tour for three weeks, but as soon as I get back, I'm smoking up in front of that school every day."

Tim took a step closer to him and pointed at him. "Not on my watch!"

Catwoman bit the tip of his finger.

"Fuck!" Tim brought his hand to his chest.

"Three weeks!" Catwoman called out as he began running away. "I'll be waiting!"

"Sorry, guys," Raiders Cap said. "I won't sell here anymore, for real." He nodded at the two men. "Lars Frederiksen. Batman." Then he dashed off in the opposite direction.

Tim pulled his cape around him. "Our work here is done." He took a step forward, tripped on the edge of his cape, and fell onto the concrete.

Lars fished a cigarette out of his pocket and looked down at his friend's prone form. "You're not the hero Los Angeles wants. You're the hero Los Angeles needs."

Tim pushed himself up into a sitting position. "My finger hurts."

Lars reached down to help Tim to his feet. "Let's get home and disinfect that shit. Catwoman looks like he has herpes."

*

Within three weeks the band had the album written and demos recorded. They booked time in the studio with Brett, but had to reschedule when Lars got sick. One day Lars was so violently ill that Branden made what he called "the Bert and Quinn ultimate hangover remedy".

"I wasn't even fucking drinking," Lars said as he sat down on the couch holding the drink Branden had prepared. He took a sip and winced. "This tastes like my balls."

Beside him, Matt changed the television channel to a Seinfeld rerun. "When have you tasted your own balls?"

"It was my fault," Tim said without looking up from his newspaper.

"Are you two still fucking?" Matt asked. "Now I'm gonna puke."

Branden stole the remote away from him and turned the television to soccer. "Don't be homophobic."

"It's not homophobic," Matt argued. "It's just that I've seen both these motherfuckers naked and they're nothing to write home about." He took the remote back. "You're not bad, Branden. I'd fuck you if I was drunk enough."

Branden frowned. "Tim, does this count as sexual harrassment in the workplace?"

Tim turned a page. "If you call me ugly, Lars will punch you."

Lars doubled over and vomited on the floor.

Tim offered to take Lars to the hospital, but when pressed, admitted to Matt that his plan involved taking two buses and hitchhiking part of the way. By the time they all agreed to go, Lars had recovered somewhat, and insisted he'd only see a doctor he knew and trusted. His regular doctors were in San Francisco, but there was a U.S. Thugs member named Shawn who the band had known for a long time, and who'd recently opened a general practice in LA. Matt drove them all to the office, and he and Branden waited in the lobby while the nurse ushered Lars and Tim into a room.

After a tech examined and X-rayed Lars, Shawn came in wearing a suit and white coat, holding a clipboard and the X-ray films.

"Little Shawn!" Lars said from where he sat on the examination table. "I can't believe it. I remember when you were this skinny stoned dude who put his dick in a cantaloupe for three dollars and a cigarette. Good times, motherfucker."

Shawn hugged Lars, and his sleeves rode up enough to reveal the edges of an elaborate tattoo. "Yeah, I know. It's crazy, right?" He put his hand on Tim's shoulder. "If it wasn't for this guy, I wouldn't have made it through med school."

Tim pulled him into a hug. "Nah, it was all you, Little Shawn."

"You're like a father to me," Shawn said.

Tim gently pushed him away. "Fuck you, I'm not that old."

Lars nodded at the papers in Shawn's hands. "So what's the diagnosis, buddy?"

"Oh, right," Shawn said. "You're pregnant."

Lars and Tim stared at him.

"Dude," Lars said finally.

Shawn leaned against the wall. "Yeah, I know. It's super fucked up."

"Is that your medical opinion?" Lars asked, his voice rising. "Is that your diagnosis? 'Super fucked up'?"

Tim put his hand on Lars' shoulder. "I must be the father."

Shawn frowned. "Are you magic in some way I don't know about?"

Tim nodded. "Sometimes I'm Batman."

Lars turned and punched Tim in the face.

*

After Lars calmed down, he went into the waiting room, where Matt and Branden were sharing a Sports Illustrated. Tim went to the receptionist's window to pay, and Lars approached the other two.

"I'm having a baby," Lars said.

Matt turned a page. "With which hooker?"

"The baby's in me."

Matt and Branden looked up.

"You ate a baby?" Branden asked softly.

"It's just some weird mutation," Lars explained. "But I have all the right parts, so the baby'll be safe until the ninth month, and then Shawn will oversee a C-section."

Tim walked over with his hat pulled down over his eyes. "It's my baby. I made it."

"Well," Matt said. "I never thought I'd be nostalgic for the days when the most irresponsible things you did included going down on my sister, quitting our band, and almost dying of alcohol poisoning."

"How is your sister?" Tim asked.

"Hey, this is a good thing," Branden interrupted. "Children are a blessing. Matt, you have kids. Aren't they great?"

"There are moments when I love them more than life itself," Matt said. "But most of the time they just scream and puke."

"That sounds like my last band," Branden muttered.

Matt squinted at Tim. "What happened to your face?"

"Lars punched me," Tim said. "It's cool." He took a cigarette out of his pocket and put it between his lips.

Lars knocked the cigarette out of his mouth. "If I can't smoke or drink for eight months your ass is entertaining me."

Tim nodded. "I wrote a song yesterday about squirrels." He took another cigarette out of his pocket. "It's a metaphor for...some other squirrels."

Matt put his head in his hands.

*

They decided to tell Brett and everyone else in their inner circle that the album would be delayed because Lars got a stripper in Japan pregnant, and he wanted to be with her. Lars would hide out at Tim's until the baby was born. They set a date for the album release for the following year, and when journalists called Hellcat to question the long wait, Chris mumbled and hung up on them.

"I taught him that," Tim said proudly as he walked into the living room holding two bottles of fruit juice. He handed one to Lars and sat down beside him.

"I'm not surprised," Lars replied. He opened the juice and gulped down most of it. "I should kick your ass, man."

Tim raised an eyebrow. "One day fifteen years ago you got so drunk you peed on my shoes. So maybe we're even now." He ducked just as Lars' fist connected with the couch cushion behind him.

Tim sat back up and eyed the dent in the cushion. "That wasn't even that hard. I think you're not mad anymore."

Lars leaned back and closed his eyes. "Entertain me, fuckface."

Tim retrieved his beat-up Fender from the other side of the room and quickly tuned it.

"Is this a song about small woodland creatures?" Lars asked.

Tim played a chord.

"Are they angry, badass animals?"

Tim didn't respond.

"Do they ride the bus somewhere?"

Tim set his guitar down on the floor.

Lars opened his eyes and turned his head. "What the fuck is wrong with you?"

Tim leaned back. "I guess I'm depressed about not being a good Batman."

Lars nodded sympathetically. "Isn't tonight the night Catwoman returns?"

Tim closed his eyes.

Lars leaned over and slapped him on the shoulder. "You can do it, man. You can do anything!"

Tim opened one eye. "Yeah?"

Lars moved closer and put his arm around him. "Who started his own record label with nothing but a dream?"

"Brett," Tim said softly.

"Who made punk popular in the nineties?"

"Billie Joe."

"Who brought ska to the Bay Area despite that no one was really asking for any ska?"

"The Uptones."

Lars smacked Tim on the head.

"What?" Tim said. "I got them all right."

"I took care of your drug dealer," Lars explained. "All that's left is a skinny stoned transvestite who thinks you're Batman."

"I am Batman," Tim muttered.

Lars shoved his shoulder. "Go kick that dude's ass already."

Tim stood up and adjusted his hat. "Allright. If I win the fight I'll bring home a pizza."

Lars sat back and put his hand on his stomach. "And ice cream."

*

The back doors of the elementary school were closed, the area clearly deserted for the night. The parking lot safety lights were dim, casting a pale yellow glow over the sidewalk, playground, and neatly-trimmed hedges. Catwoman leaned against the side of the building taking leisurely hits off a joint, pausing occasionally to spit on the ground.

Tim approached him, his cape billowing out behind him.

"Hi Batman," Catwoman said.

Tim stopped just a few feet away from him and put his hands on his hips. "Catwoman, only one of us is walking away from this swingset alive."

Catwoman took a hit off the joint and exhaled. "I have no idea what you just said."

Tim took a step forward and slapped Catwoman across the face. His joint fell onto the sidewalk and rolled away, disappearing into the grass.

Catwoman stumbled, caught himself on the side of the building, and raised his head. "Dude! What the fuck?"

"Sorry," Tim muttered.

Catwoman straightened his mask. "I know we're mortal enemies, man, but that was harsh."

Tim put his hand on Catwoman's cheek. "Sorry, I just -" Tim frowned and pulled the mask down gently, revealing Catwoman's face. "Bert McCracken?"

Bert's eyes widened. "Holy shit. Batman listens to The Used?"

Tim let go of the mask, and it snapped back against Bert's face.

"Ow!" Bert tore off the mask and rubbed his face.

Tim pulled his Batman mask off and dropped it onto the grass.

Bert's face broke into a wide smile. "Dude!" he yelled. "No way! I lost my virginity listening to Op Ivy." He reached into his pocket, pulled out a pack of cigarettes, and opened it to reveal a row of sloppily-rolled joints. "But who didn't, right?"

Tim put his hand over the pack. He cleared his throat and spoke slowly. "No drugs by the school."

Bert smirked. "Gonna put something else in my mouth?" He leaned forward and kissed Tim.

At first Tim was too shocked to push him away, and then he was too taken by Bert's sloppy enthusiasm and odd grunting noises to put a stop to it. He grabbed the front of Bert's shirt and returned the kiss. The stumbled against one of the bushes and Tim pulled his head back.

Bert raised an eyebrow questioningly.

"When I was a kid we used to jump in hedges for fun," Tim said.

Bert nodded. "Is that because television wasn't invented yet?"

"Motherfucker." Tim tackled him into the hedge.

*

Six years later.

A dark-haired little girl was playing with action figures in the sandbox, carefully arranging the superheroes in a circle. A blond little girl approached, wearing only one shoe, the front of her shirt paint-stained. She stepped into the sandbox and knelt down by the other girl's toys.

"Hi my name is Mary Jane. Let's be friends," the little girl said. She reached out and grabbed Wolverine.

"I'm Joe Strummer," the other girl said. She held out her middle finger. "You know what this means?"

Mary Jane extended her own middle finger, studied it for a moment, and then stuck it in her nose.

"It means take my picture," Joe Strummer said. "But it also means fuck you, don't touch my shit."

Mary Jane banged Wolverine's head against the sand, sending up little clouds. "I like kindergarten. Everyone is my friend."

Joe Strummer snatched her toy back. "I'm not your friend. You fuck with Wolverine and you're my enemy."

A bell rang.

"Meet me back here tomorrow so we can fight," Joe Strummer said.

Mary Jane put a handful of sand in her mouth.

A woman in a long skirt approached the sandbox. "Time to go home, girls. Joe, your dads are in the parking lot, and Mary, your dad is in the art room, um...licking the teaching assistant."

Mary Jane spit the sand down the front of her shirt. "Daddy!" she yelled, and stumbled toward the school building.

Joe Strummer collected her action figures, put them in her backpack, and walked to the gate. The crossing guard smiled and pointed out her two fathers, leaning against one of the yellow schoolbuses and passing a cigarette back and forth. When she reached them, her Daddy scooped her into his arms, while her Dad put out the cigarette and leaned over to kiss her.

"You're getting big," her Daddy said. "And my back's not getting any less fucked up. How was school?"

"I have a mortal enemy now," Joe Strummer explained. "Also there was jello."

Her Dad held his arms out, and she climbed over to him. "Sounds like a good day," he said as he tugged his hat down over his eyes. "Let's go home and play guitars, huh?"

Her Daddy took her backpack as they began walking. "Your Dad wrote a song. It's about hedgehogs on a train."

"Really?" Joe Strummer asked.

"It's a metaphor," her Dad mumbled. And they got to the sidewalk just as the bus arrived.