Kneads No Introduction

themandylion:

I decided to go in a different direction with this, so have a ficlet! Many thanks to @spazzterror for the bread pun below. 😀

———

He’s hanging out on a roof, having a bite to eat because apparently teenage growth spurts really are an actual thing, when the sound of breaking glass from down below distracts him from his Batman-approved snack. Sighing, Robin wraps up the half-finished granola bar and tucks it into his belt pouch. Figures Gotham’s criminals can’t stop long to let a guy eat, though usually they go for more high-value targets than mom and pop bakeries. Still, mom and pop bakeries have any even harder time dealing with the aftermath of a burglary than heavily-insured jewelry stores,so he better check it out.

Grabbing the bar of a rolled-up awning, Robin swings himself in through the broken window with a cheerful, “Taking an order to go? Let me baguette that for y—what the?” The batarang in his hand clatters to the tile floor, briefly startling an opportunistic cat that’s slinking towards a display of croissants. The grubby teen gathering all the loaves from the basket next to the register, on the other hand, doesn’t even glance up.

“What are you even doing here?” Robin demands, cautiously approaching the older boy. “Last I checked, you were supposed to be…” He hesitates, gulps. “Somewhere else.”

The thief doesn’t respond, just takes a bite from one of the loaves in his arms and moves past Robin like he isn’t even there.

“Hey, no, you can’t just take those,” Robin says, defaulting to doing the job since he’s so far out of his depth with this entire situation. Reach out an arm, he grabs the loaves from the boy.

The reaction is immediate. One moment the boy is relaxed, completely focused on his ill-gotten bread, the next moment, his leg is spinning through the air, nearly catching Robin in the chest as he dodges just in time.

“Look, I know you don’t know me, but you don’t need to—” He breaks off, dancing out of the way of another kick, a punch, a sweep that would have him on his butt just six months ago. Now, he side-steps the sweep only to be felled by the neck chop that follows it up. Robin gasps for breath, knows he isn’t going to win this fight, will lose it and so much more when he fails.

There’s a fist coming straight at his face, sure to be a knockout blow when it connects—only it doesn’t. Behind the whited out lenses of his domino, Robin slowly opens his eyes. The fist is uncurled and the other boy is gently, reverently touching the R shuriken on Robin’s chest.

“Yeah,” Robin says softly. “You remember that, don’t you?”

Still clutching his partially-eaten baguette to his chest, the older boy kneels down next to Robin, stroking the R with his free hand like it’s something magical.

Moving carefully, Robin activates the comm in his ear. “Hey, Batman? I think you better get over here.”

“Something wrong?” is Batman’s immediate reply, sharp and concerned.

“No-o, not wrong,” Robin says slowly, one eye still on the boy touching his chest. “But I just got laid on my butt by a very alive Jason Todd.”