Last night, I dreamt that someone murdered by parents and hung them on wires on my front porch and rang the doorbell. I opened the door, saw their bodies and screamed. I sobbed. I shot their bodies down… It was horrible.

It was all calm in the manor. Bruce sat in his study in his big maroon chair, curled up beside the fire, reading some big book with tiny print in the dim light. Alfred was going about the house, dithering casually about, keeping himself busy. Richard sat in the kitchen where he was supposed to be working on his homework but was really drawing a stick figure war all over his Pre-Algebra, his tongue poking between his lips in thought. So basically, today was just a normal Wednesday, the start of the WTF on the calendar.

Richard's homework was finished as it lay on the counter, being tortured by the barrage of lead that killed the edges of the once clean paper. Captain Fat Leg ordered his troops of the Big Heads across enemy lines to take down the evil Dr. Algebraic and his army of Problems who held with them boomerangs [1] and ninja stars [2] and advanced technology that had already defeated Lieutenant Wavy Back's troop of Midget Legs. Dead bodies littered the battle field, many missing legs and heads scattered about the lands of the Word Problems. [3]

A smirk spread over Richard's lips as he drew one stick figure holding the other, who was messing half his legs. 'Tell my wife and kids… I loved them' he had the dying one say, and the other one had tears rolling from where he probably would've had eyes. Sure, it was sadistic, but it was what he wanted to draw and he was bored anyway, so what did it matter? As long as he got good grades, Bruce was usually quite satisfied with his homework. His hand froze in mid 'loved' as he heard a teasing 'tsk'.

"Master Richard, I'm not sure that your math teacher would appreciate your little battle there…" Alfred noted, observing the bloody lead battle field with amusement.

Richard's smirk widened.

"You think I care what she has to say about my battlefield? Captain Fat Leg's troops must take down Dr. Algebraic before he conquers the minds of all innocent children!" Richard replied excitedly, finishing the m in them.

"Captain Fat Leg?" Alfred questioned.

Richard pointed to a man at the back of the charging troop who had one leg that had a bigger accent then the other. Alfred chuckled.

"Aw, good job Master Richard. Such imagination!"

Richard shrugged, his eyes sparkling with pride.

"Thanks Alfred, but this is nothing. You should see my other homework!"

Alfred nodded.

"Possibly some other time Richard. I can see your busy trying to destroy Dr. Algebraic. If you need me, I'll be upstairs attending to the laundry."

Alfred dismissed himself with a curt bow and stole out of the room to work on the avalanche of dirty clothes and torn outfits that he'd have to repatch. Richard really didn't care though. He was just waiting for it to be nine o'clock so he could hide upstairs and watch the few episodes of South Park that he had recorded from the previous night. It was only 8:30 though, and Bruce made sure that Robin worked two hours on all of his homework. So basically, he had 30 minutes of doodling left unless he snuck upstairs and got his sketch pad, but he didn't want to risk it.

He randomly drew a small monocle for Dr. Algebraic and gave him a large fanged grin, showing that the evil mastermind had no penitence for all the lives lost. He tapped his pencil against his lip as he stared at the blank face of Captain Fat Leg.

"What expression do you have Captain? Are you angry? How about possessed? Does Dr. Algebraic have a soul sucking device in use on you? Is he controlling your mind?" Richard mumbled to himself, tapping some nonexistence beat on his bottom lip.

Finally, he decided that he'd give the Captain swirls for eyes and a drooling upside-down grin with a small shadow of a stick figure standing behind him. It looked a little weird though, so Richard sketched a 'soul possessor 2000' behind Dr. Algebraic and making him laugh maniacally. The other soldiers looked more like minions being taken over too, so they were given little army hats and machetes. A grin came to Richard's face as he finally finished the doodle. Then he dared a glance at the clock. 8:45.

"Damnit," Richard groaned, setting his head in his hands.

He was bored. There was nowhere left to draw on his paper. He rested his head in his hands, grumbling incoherently for a minute or two. Suddenly, his head snapped up, his blue eyes wide with fear. He heard a sound that he hadn't heard in all four years of his time living with Bruce: the doorbell. That's how he knew something was wrong. The only people that knew the code to the gate to get into the manor yard were in the house at that moment.

Richard swiftly got to his feet and dashed across the kitchen, opening the drawer to the right of the refrigerator, reaching beneath the space of the drawer and the cabinet bottom, grasping the familiar grip in his hands. Then he dashed forward across the kitchen floor to the front door, casually peeking through the window. He definitely saw the outline of a person. He swiftly closed the curtain and glanced to his right, relieved to see Bruce there, a pistol in his own hands, worry in his expression. Their eyes met for a second, the same idea registering in both heads.

Richard backed up to the foot of the stairs as Bruce's hand tightened around the door handle.

"One," he mouthed.

Richard rose the gun calmly, using both hands to hold it securely.

"Two."

The onyx haired boy's arms locked carefully and a finger snaked around the trigger. The doorbell rang again impatiently, but neither of the two made a move to go any faster.

"Three…" Bruce waited until Richard had released the safety of the gun before he ripped the door open.

When Richard saw who was on his door step, he started to shooting. Bruce stepped back so he could see too, but by the time he moved, Richard had stopped firing.

"He's getting away!" the blue eyed babe cried, tearing off into the night as fast as his feet could run.

Bruce rose an eyebrow, but before he could call out, Richard was gone too. He heard feet on the staircase and turned to see Alfred.

"Sir, I heard gun shots! Is everything alright?" the butler asked, concern coating his voice.

Bruce said nothing.

"Stay here; I'll be back," Bruce excused himself quickly, tearing out after Richard, worriedly.

"B-But Master Bruce!" Alfred called after him, but his words fell on deaf ears.

He ran a hand over his balding head, frowning and fretting with worry.

"Oh! Do you suppose Master Richard's okay? What was that gun shot?" Alfred shook his head and gently closed the door, walking into the kitchen.

He tried not to fret to hard as he turned his attention to the homework abandoned on the table. Looking at the product of Richard's imagination, a simple smirk came to his lips. It was adorable, especially "Dr. Algebraic" and his cute little monocle. Captain Fat Leg's soul was adorable as it stood behind him, trying to stop the fight. This was definitely something Richard would think of. Maybe he'd take up the offer on seeing the rest of his practical grandson's drawings.

XxXxX

Richard knew that the face he had seen shouldn't have been there. No, it belonged in Arkham or a prison somewhere, not on what was almost his front porch. There had better be a pretty damn good reason that he was chasing after an asshole that wasn't supposed to be there in the first place with a pistol in his hand through the darkness.

"Hey! You! Stop!" he cried angrily.

The figure hesitated for a moment, but they kept running. With an angry growl, Richard stopped and fired a few more shots at the outline. The outline staggered and stopped for a moment, pulling something from his pocket. Before Richard could register it, a sharp pain tore through his shoulder. A cry involuntarily spilled from his lips.

"Richard!" he heard Bruce's cry tear across the yard.

Richard looked after the outline, frowning angrily. He picked up the gun again and just kept firing until he couldn't keep his eyes open any longer. He heard footsteps behind him and strong arms wrap worriedly around him.

"Richard!" the familiar voice rang in his ears.

"B-B…" his tongue felt heavy and foreign in his mouth.

He was aware that he was being picked up, but he couldn't see anyway so it didn't matter.

"Just hang out a bit longer Richard! We're going for help," Bruce assured him, his voice sounding so distant.

Richard felt like he was on laughing gas. The world disappeared around him until it was just a black empty void that was still bright at the same time. It vibrated around him and he felt like he was falling deeper and deeper into the darkness. Bruce's voice became a dull hum in his ear until there was nothing left. Before Richard lost consciousness, only one thought flashed through his mind. That man he had seen on what was almost his doorstep; the man he had chased through the woods; the man that had shot him with whatever gave him the happy gas symptoms was none other than Tony Zucco.

[1] The square root sign.

[2] Multiply signs and the x's for the… er… the think you gotta figure out? I dunno what it's called. Like, 5x + 42y = 16y -2x +4. The x's in there I guess.

[3] Yup, that's translation for a bunch of stick figures attacking the problems on the homework. Don't you love it?

Are there any bad guys in the DC Comic or Marvel world that can shrink things? This is super important! SERIOUSLY! And should I continue this or what? And should I start titling my chapters or what?

-F.J.