richie todd wayne

Babyfic ~ Interlude n°3


But I had writer’s block and this bunny demanded attention.


Interlude 3 – A few months before Jason showed up at Wayne Manor holding Richie


There was no better way to describe his current predicament.

He was in deep shit, and he had no one to blame but himself. An amateurish mistake – you don’t go back a few moments before the bomb detonates, not even to save a friggin’ kid – and now he was trapped under the rubble.

Jason tried to move around, cursed lowly when a jolt of pain burst up from his right knee.



And he wasn’t even sure if the kid was all right.


This so not was how he wanted to go. Nope. He didn’t want to go. Well, maybe he did. Okay, he really did. Want to. Go. Like, put a stop to everything. And he was delirious and all with pain and bloodloss and whatever, so he could admit to it, admit to this thing that Alfred would’ve called ‘such an unhealthy self-destructive urge, Master Jason’ that he nursed. It was an on and off thing, but it was there, this urge, this need, this wish to try and bleed enough for someone to come and take care of it, care of him, and damn, but he was getting dizzy now, when was the last time he’d gulped down some air? Oh. Right. Air. Breathe in. Breathe out. So, he wanted to die, every now and then. Who didn’t? Jason was fuckin’ sure every fuckin’ one thought they wanted to die. But he didn’t want to die now. Not like this. Not in this stupid place after a stupid accident because he’d been stupid and he really, really hoped the kid was okay. She’d reminded him of Martha, somehow. Guess that was why Jason had rushed back so fast? Guess the kid would grow up and find herself a Thed of her own, now? If Jason had saved her? And – oh, pretty. Coloured spots in front of his eyes. His throat constricting. Dust clogging his nostrils, his mouth, and then a hand in his hair, soothing, kevlar cool and leather soft, and a voice called his name, whispering “…Red Hood? Red Hood?

Jason’s eyes fluttered up.

A figure aureoled with cold neon light, dust motes dancing around the dark shoulders. The white lenses of a domino mask glittered above him like twin stars, wide and white and gentle, and Jason coughed and rasped and felt his chest expand with more than just air and more than just emotion.


Robin smiled. A quirk of pink lips, the flash of white teeth.

“Not quite,” he said, a touch of pride and a touch of coyness colouring his voice. “But thank you. It’s nice to know I remind you of him.”

And then those lips were pressed to his forehead – soft warm soft cool soft pink soft - and Jason’s eyes rolled back into his head just as a cape – Batman’s cape – closed around him – folded around his body like wings – bird wings, robin wings broken and bleeding, bat wings, hard and soft – just as hands cupped his face, trailed down the scar on his neck – Robin. Tim. Robin. Timtimtim - held the back of his head – Bruce? Why do you care, you do not care, you never cared, not your son, not my dad, nevermore, nevermore – and Jason went under, just as Batman picked him up.


The medics at the shelter were stunned, when Batman barged into their modest little hide and deposited the Red Hood onto one of their not-quite-clean stretches. They knew better than to ask questions, and rushed to help the vigilante instead– their vigilante. They were in his neighbourhood, and they were his… not quite friends, but they did owe him more than words could say (he’d saved that interim from getting raped in the back alley. Found that other interim’s son shivering with the first symptoms of withdrawal and brought him to safety. Picked this medic’s daughter out of the streets, smashed her wanna-be pimp’s head against a wall.)

Together, those medics and interims and grateful people bandaged Jason and warmed him and gave him blood and fluids and antibiotics. They fluttered around him, gave him stitches and took his blood pressure and tested his pupil’s reaction to the light – and breathed a collective sight of relief when he muttered a curse and whipped his head away from the nuisance.

By the time they thought to look up to Batman, he was long gone.


Outside, up, up on the opposite building, a little figure was draped in a precarious perch. Tights flexed tight around a Gargoyle, long cape outspread like a bird’s wings behind him, lithe body twisted into a contortionist’s pose, neck stretched to peer down into Jason’s room.

He looked intently at the raise and fall of Jason’s chest – up, down, up, down – then moved back into a proper sitting position.

“He’s safe,” he sighed. Then dropping his head in relief, he said it again, but softer still: “Thank God, he’s safe.

“Rushing to his aid was careless. You could’ve compromised the mission.”

“Oh, hush. Like we could’ve let him die.”

He glanced briefly to his right. He could barely make out Batman’s shape in the shadows, the hard set of his jaw, the tight line of his mouth.

“It wasn’t our duty to interfere.”

“Says the one who almost beat me to the site.”


Robin grinned – wide, wild and pretty, tilting his head like his namesake.

“Holy rosy cheeks, Batman, is that a blush I spy? Aww, you do care about my Daddy, then!”

“Somehow, I find it fitting you had to inherit Grayson’s questionable humour.”

Robin leaned his chin in his folded hands, grinned up at his partner.

“I’m the perfect lil’ Robin – Dick’s quips, Jason’s strength, Tim’s prettiness–”


“…and brains, and Steph’s charm. Admit it, you’d be lost without me.”

The silence stretched for a moment, then the device around Robin’s wrist beeped and flashed a light blue.

Batman glanced down at it; released a sigh that was even softer than a sigh.

“Our time here is almost up.”

Robin made a noncommittal sound in the back of his throat.

“Good thing we found what we came for, right?”

“…do you want to see them? While we’re here? I heard they lived in the vicinity.”

Robin glanced up, tensing slightly.

“See who?”

“…your parents.”

Robin straightened up, began to fiddle with the time-machine embedded in his gauntlet.

“I’ve no idea what you’re talking about. As far as I’m concerned, I’ve already met my parents during this mission.”

A flash of blue, and he was gone.

Damian glanced down at Jason – his chest went up and down, up and down, regularly, like a clock, keeping the time, steady and strong.

A moment’s hesitation.

Then he too was gone.


Babyfic ~ future!fic interlude n°2



“Hood, I need your assistance with something.”

“The Big Bad Bat came grovelling to me? That’s a sight for sore eyes.”


“Jeez Damian, you’re 100% daddy’s son, aren’t you? Chill out. And anyway, nope.”

“…I beg your pardon?”

“Nope, as in ‘no, I’m not gonna help you break my son’s heart’.”

“Tt. I have no idea what you are referring to. I don’t want Robin to tag along for the next mission, but he refuses to listen to reason. You shall order him to stay put. As your son, it’s his duty to listen to your wishes.”

“Break. His. Heart. That’s what I said.”

“Not participating in a mission is no cause of heartbreak.”

“Damian. Damian. One, are you for friggin’ real? Being sent away by your partner is no cause for heartbreak? Since when? And two, Batman does not leave Robin to his own devices. It’s, like, the worst idea ever. Hell, aren’t we evidence enough of that?”


“Yes, one-hundred-friggin’-percent the Bat’s son. Okay. Uhm. Hello? You’re kinda talking to the Robin Who Died, here. B left me on the benches as he went pursuing some baddy or the other and I went kaboom.”

“It had come to my understanding you had reasons for–”

“Sure I had reasons. Robin had reasons. I had a person to save. And I died trying. Because I was alone.”

“One single piece of evidence is not enough to prove-”

“Steph? City-wide Gang war? You know what Death Mask did to her. You know.”

“Richard is too level-headed to ever make the same mistake Brown did.”

“Yeah, he’s a lot like Tim, ain’t he?”

“I suppose.”

“Tim. Who friggin’ went across the globe to learn how to kill people when Bruce was gone. Tim. I’ll-let-you-walk-all-over-me-if-it-helps Tim. Learning killing techniques. Because he was a Batman-less lil’ Robin.”

“That doesn’t–”

“He killed Shiva. Went off his rocket? Sort-of used the League? And what before that, when he tried to clone the Superkid?

“It is amusing how you try to infuse loathing in that old nickname when we’re both aware of how much you appreciate the younger Kent.”

“Don’t waste time trying to change the subject, Damian. We’re so not talking about that.”

“Tt. I will concede that you, Brown and Drake might not be the sort of Robin that can be left unsupervised.”

“That’s a whole new level of insulting, but it kinda proves my point, so – ah! Go me.”

“You’ve yet to produce any evidence about Grayson.”

“You’re not seriously going to argue the case that Dick can be left to his own devices. DICK.

“…what do you suggest then?”

“I strongly suggest you go down in the cave, grovel and do whatever the hell it takes to wipe that pout off Richie’s face, because God knows if he perfected those Teary Puppy Dog Eyes of Doom of his, and they’re beyond lethal.”


Then you allow him into whatever crazy mission you’ve got in mind – you allow him to have an active part in it, mind you; and don’t just have him trail along like a trained puppy.”


“And then you are going to bring my son back home safe and sound, or I’m gonna rip you slowly open from chin to groin using the bluntest knife I can find; I’ll make a bouquet of your intestines and force-feed them to you as if you still were an hatchling. Did I make myself clear?”


Good. Now go. Shoo. Quick. Go-go-go! … … … … jeez. Finally.


“Uh? Babybird? How long have been here?”

“Long enough.”


“Yes. Oh. Exactly what aren’t you telling me about you and Kon?”

“…that’s… not what Damian made it sound like.”

“I dearly hope not.”

“I’m gonna kill him as soon as he’s back.”

“Good luck with that. Now. You? And Kon?”