Richie liked his pillow.

Big nearly to the point of oversized, the baby-blue fabric almost coordinated with his semi-decorated bedroom. It was one of the few things he'd been allowed to bring with him when his family moved to Dakota from Idaho when he was ten years old. As a child, he'd lugged it around everywhere and most of his childhood photos had the pillow in them somewhere. He though he might even have given it a name once, long ago, but he couldn't remember it now. The pillow served many purposes beyond providing comfort for his head while he slept. Right now, he was taking advantage of one of its better uses.

He'd discovered, if he held it over his face and pushed down on it with his arms really, really hard, it almost drowned out the sound of his parents shouting at one another in the kitchen below.

Almost.

The urge to turn on his stereo at full blast grew more tempting by the second. He'd do it, too, except that he knew that would only bring the argument upstairs to him. He wasn't in the mood to get in the middle of any family disputes. The way they were going at it, Richie guessed a neighbor would call the police again, anyway. Then, things would get really ugly.

No, he was content to lie flat on his bed, listening through layers of cotton and batting to the occasional swear word and personal insult, punctuated now and then by a dish breaking against the linoleum. The pillow offered him the best protection he could manage at the moment, shielding him from the horrors of his family life that, more often than not, made him want to scream, yell, and break things as well. Normally, he'd just go hide out at Virgil's house, but since Virgil was still out of town, the pillow was just going to have to serve as his buffer.

As a result, he didn't hear Backpack's warning beeps. Nor did he hear his window sliding open or the soft footsteps on his carpet. He didn't see the figure standing over his bed, wasn't even remotely aware he wasn't alone, until a hand gently touched his own.

Richie let out a down right unmanly shriek, which was thankfully muffled to the point of inaudibility. He threw the pillow to the side, scrambling backwards on the bed in reflex, letting out a grunt as his head slammed against the wall behind him. When nothing came immediately into focus, he panicked momentarily before realizing his glasses lay across the room, out of reach on his desk. He blinked owlishly at the fuzzy figure before him, which let out a huff of annoyance at his antics.

"Chill, man! Jeez!" said the figure, taking a step closer.

Richie couldn't make out much in the way of distinguishing features of his home invader without his glasses, but he could tell he was wearing a cape and a mask. Since he'd yet to run into a Bang Baby that went to all that trouble to hide their appearance, he quickly deduced that this was an out-of-towner. He wasn't dead or being threatened with death at this point, so the odds looked good that this person did not intend to kill or maim him, either. Regardless, he still didn't feel exactly comfortable that a stranger stood in his room in the first place.

"Who are you?" he said, thankful that his voice sounded strong and sure, none of the fear and worry coming through.

The figure scoffed.

"Hello? Robin?" replied the boy, gesturing down at himself. "How many other super heroes dress like this?"

"Hello? Blind without my glasses," Richie said in irritation, crawling off his bed and still rubbing his aching skull. He crossed the room, grabbing his glasses off his desk and shoving them on his face. He breathed a sigh of relief as the room resolved itself into focus. It certainly looked like Robin. "Ever heard of knocking?"

"I did knock," Robin said, crossing his arms. "You didn't hear me."

"Knock louder next time," Richie said through gritted teeth.

What was Robin doing here? Shouldn't he be in Gotham City with Batman and Virgil? He'd seen them on the television earlier in the evening, celebratory news of the newest super villain's downfall a good opening story for every station. The only reason Richie could think of for Robin to come to Dakota was if he was giving Virgil a lift home, but that didn't explain why the Boy Wonder was in his room, alone.

A sinking sensation settled in Richie's stomach and that night's leftover pizza dinner suddenly didn't seem so good anymore.

"What happened?" he asked, instantly concerned.

"There was an accident," Robin said matter-of-factly. "We need you to come to Gotham."

"Is Static okay?" Richie didn't particularly like the expression on Robin's face.

"I don't know," said the other teen after a moment. "That's why we need to go now. Time may not be on our side."

Richie could feel a headache building behind his eyes. Cryptic speech concerning the well being of his best friend tended to do that. "Just tell me what happened now so I'll have time to think about it on the ride over."

"Hell if I know." Robin went back over to the window, sitting down on the ledge. "Timecode's machine activated and Static disappeared. It's possible that he might have... been sent to the future."

Robin said that last part quietly, looking uncomfortable, and Richie felt his eyes widening in shock behind his glasses. "Virgil's lost in the future?" he asked, putting his hand on the desk to steady himself. "You lost my partner in the future?"

"Hey, it was an accident," Robin said defensively, eyes narrowing behind his mask. "The machine was malfunctioning."

"So, my partner was sent to the future by a malfunctioning machine," Richie snapped, rubbing firmly at his throbbing temple. "That makes me feel a whole lot better."

"Which is why you need to get changed so we can go to Gotham and you can bring him back," Robin said, tapping his fingers on the windowsill.

"This is great. Just great," Richie muttered, going to his closet and throwing open the door. "I knew I shouldn't have let him go to Gotham by himself. I knew it. He always gets himself into trouble without me."

Pushing aside a pile of dirty clothes, Richie dragged out his costume. He pulled off his shirt and had just hooked his thumbs under the waistline of his pajama pants when the sensation of eyes on his back crawled up his spine. Turning, he glared at Robin.

"You mind?" he asked mildly.

"Sorry," Robin said, looking a little sheepish. He turned around, dangling his legs out of the window, staring out over the city. "If it's any consolation, Batman's pretty sure we can get him back. That's why we need you. The machine is too complicated for us to fix and we didn't want to bring in any outside..."

Robin stopped abruptly as a loud crash echoed up from the floor. Richie, more than used to such sounds in his house, continued putting on his costume. As yet another dish broke, this time against a wall, if he heard right, he picked up his helmet, turning it over. A dirty sock fell out. Putting the helmet on his head, he wrinkled his nose, hoping the smell would dissipate soon. Taking his blades in hand, he didn't even flinch as his father shouted something less than savory at his mother, who returned the insult with equal force.

"Those your parents?" Robin asked in curious disbelief.

"Yep." Richie sat down on his bed, quickly lacing up his jet blades.

"They sound... nice."

Richie snorted. "Welcome to the real world," he said sardonically, standing up and calling for Backpack, which took its customary place on his back. "Ready to go?"

"Ready and waiting." Robin leapt out of the window, grasping onto a black rope dangling close by, connected to what Richie assumed was the Batplane. He started to crawl out after him, when Robin gestured with a nod to his bedroom floor. "You need to leave a note?"

"They won't even notice I'm gone," Richie replied shortly and was thankful when Robin only nodded again, no pity in his expression as he climbed up to the plane. Richie followed quickly.

The Batplane tore through the sky, parting the clouds like a hot knife through butter. The engine whispered like a lover, soft and seductive, only the occasional glimpse of the land below giving any indication at all of their movement towards Gotham. The red interior lights, while reducing glare and positively highlighting Robin's costume, turned Richie's a less than flattering brown, but save for that one short-coming, the Batplane was quite the technological marvel.

Any other time, or in any other circumstance, Richie would be in seventh heaven. For a long time now, he'd fantasized about Batman's technology, so complex and yet, so stylish. Normally, he'd be ecstatic with glee, poking, prodding, scanning, and learning everything he could. Now, however, he was too worried about Virgil to give a damn.

Robin, on the other hand, seemed quite worked up and agitated, tugging at the controls from his place in the cockpit and pushing buttons with more force than Richie suspected was strictly necessary. He kept muttering under his breath, something that sounded like curses to Richie's ears. He watched him for a few moments, wondering what the problem was, and then it dawned on him.

The plane was on autopilot.

"I hate it when he does this," Robin said, finally giving up and slumping back in his chair. Richie saw him scowl and cross his arms over his chest in the reflection from the windshield. "I'm trusted to wash the mighty Batplane, but does he ever let me fly it? Oh, no. Of course not. Can't have that."

Robin caught Richie's eye and turned around in his seat, hooking his arms around the back and propping his chin on the headrest.

"Does Static ever do that to you?" he asked.

Richie blinked. "Do what?" He suspected, in his state of slightly frantic worry about his best friend, that he wasn't quite grasping Robin's meaning. Their headquarters was a freaking gas station. They certainly didn't own a plane.

"You know," Robin went on. "Does he control everything, act like you're too stupid to have any real responsibility, or treat you like, well, a sidekick?"

"I'm not Static's sidekick," Richie said, glancing out the window, annoyed that they hadn't reached Gotham yet. Couldn't the stupid plane go any faster? "I'm his partner."

"His partner?"

"Yes." Richie sighed and pulled his eyes away from the window, turning back to Robin. There was an expression of genuine curiosity on the other boy's face. "We're partners," he repeated after a moment. "We're a team and we compliment each other. Static needs me to come up with the plans and keep his ego in check, and I need Static to..."

Richie paused, taking off his helmet and rubbing his eyes. He felt tired all of the sudden. What if he couldn't get Static back? What if something happened? What if something bad had already happened? What if...

"I just need him," Richie concluded softly, putting his helmet back on.

Robin looked thoughtful. "You two are really close, aren't you," he said, not asking a question, but stating a painfully obvious fact.

Richie nodded anyway. "We were best friends even before all of this super hero stuff. We went from playing video games and reading comic books to fighting crime in the space of a week. I can't imagine doing this without him."

"I've learned a lot from Batman," Robin mused, "but we're not exactly big on the talking and sharing. It must be nice having a friend like that, having someone you can really connect with, even after the masks come off."

"It is," Richie said simply.

Suddenly, the control console started beeping and Robin turned back around, refastening his seatbelt. Richie could feel the plane start to slow and descend. Looking out the window again, Richie saw the familiar Gotham skyline, made famous through postcards and artistic photography.

The city looked too close for Richie's comfort, given the size of the plane. Still, none that they passed looked up, not noticing the plane's presence. No Airforce shadowed them, either, which made Richie wonder.

"How does the stealth on this plane work?" he asked, the question just blurting out of his mouth. His brain did that sometimes, the greedy thing. "Does it reflect the electromagnetic signals from RADAR or does it absorb them? How do you hide the heat signature? Cooling inside the engine mixing the heated air with outside air before emission? What's the elemental composition of the metal in the body? How does..."

"Woah," Robin said, looking at Richie by way of the reflection and holding up both of his hands. "You are really asking the wrong guy, my friend. Maybe Batman could tell you when we get to the Batcave. All I know for certain is how long it takes to wax this thing and what brand works best."

Richie snapped his mouth shut and nodded, finally regaining control of his hyper-intelligent brain, for the time being. He went back to looking out the window, watching as the city lights drifted away as the plane got ever closer to the ground. They were heading to the outskirts of Gotham, near the waterfront. They went out over the water, the horizon line disappearing into the murky depths, then the plane turned around, heading straight for a cliff face. A well-hidden door slid open and they were suddenly deep inside the cliff, moving silently and quickly through a tunnel.

It was highly disturbing. Richie hoped they could trust the autopilot, which he was banking on, since Robin looked so calm and cool about the whole thing. He avoided his fear by thinking through a series of highly complex mathematical computations, which always made him feel better. Finally the plane began to slow and the tunnel opened up once more, this time, into a large cavern.

"Home sweet cave," Robin said as the plane hovered to a stop above a landing pad. The landing was smooth and easy and Richie felt hardly any turbulence. Richie breathed a low sigh of relief.

As soon as the cockpit opened, Robin undid his seatbelt and performed a needlessly flamboyant flip out of his seat and onto the ground. Richie climbed down a little more carefully, glancing here and there while he waited for Backpack to follow him, not moving until the robot once again settled on his back. The Batcave was just as Virgil described it - big, dank, slightly musty, vaguely guano-scented, and filled to the brim with fascinating technological knickknacks.

The giant supercomputer along the far wall looked particularly interesting. What kind of information did Batman have stored on that thing? How did he get such good resolution on it? How the heck did he get it downstairs in the first place? He started to walk forward, then stopped when he found his way instantly blocked.

Batman appeared out of nowhere, seemingly melting from the shadows. It reminded Richie of Ebon, in a way. The man was graceful as a cat, making no sound as he moved across the stone floors. He certainly looked impressive and Richie felt unsettled by his presence, like all the life had been sucked out of the room. He had the urge to confess to crimes he didn't think he committed, the Batman's mere countenance that intimidating. No wonder criminals turned and ran in fear at the mere mention of his name. Any man who could wear a hood with tiny bat ears sticking up on it and still come off that scary was a force to be reckoned with.

Robin, probably due to his familiarity with the older man, wasn't nearly so impressed.

"Thanks for letting me fly," he said peevishly, stalking past Batman and deeper into the cave.

Batman ignored him completely. "Come on," he said to Richie, deep voice resonating off the cave walls around them. He turned and walked away, obviously expecting Richie to follow without being asked. "The time machine is this way."

Richie followed.

To Be Continued...

A/N: Hi all! This story is done and I'm uploading part as soon as I get them HTMLed. Review if you feel like it! All feedback is greatly appreciated. Thanks for reading!