Chapter Text
Even with the windows cracked open, allowing in a rare pleasant breeze from Gotham- the scent of vanilla continued to dance around the kitchen where Alfred worked.
It had been there ever since Martha and Thomas were newlyweds.
They had insisted on baking a cake for themselves for just about every occasion.
Martha finished her painting she had been working on for months?
Classic chocolate cake with extra frosting.
Thomas scored a company deal he had been stressed over?
Simple but sweet carrot cake, a dash of cinnamon on top.
Of course it was far from perfect, frostings would clump together, edges would burn, stacks would cave in or slump together. But they refused Alfreds help and seemed pleased regardless of the results.
"It's not pretty but it's still sweet, that's what matters right Alfie?" Thomas had said with that beaming smile, eyes crinkling.
That with Martha's pleased smirk when they'd shown him the molten lava cake, emphasis on molten he couldn't deny them.
"Quite right young master, young mistress- now please do partake before the chocolate continues to pile on the tile floor."
"AH- Thomas grab the spoons- no no the fancy ones!"
The cake did, in fact, taste sweet enough to make up for the mess.
By that he wasn't surprised when for their first anniversary, they were determined to bake their own cake.
A fairly ambitious recreation of the triple layer vanilla that they’d had at their wedding.
He had been working in the garden, checking in on some of the newly sprouted Perennial blooms. Bee balms, Butterfly weed, Cardinal flowers all beginning to show their colors and hopefully maintain them for the years to come.
A loud scream had Alfred grabbing his rifle and booking it to the kitchen, ready to protect his young master and mistress no matter the cost.
But instead of an unwelcome guest, he was met with Martha and Thomas- sharing twin sheepish expressions as Alfred burst through the double doors.
Martha had globs of white frosting trickling down her shirt and one giant chunk covering her eye making her resemble some sort of Goosebumps pirate. Her lips curled into a sheepish smile as she waved Alfreds rifle down.
Thomas looked no better, a layer of cake batter having taken shape instead of his usual chocolate brown mustache and his shoes resembling frosty the snowman.
Assured they were safe, he had the time to take in the disaster that had become of the antique kitchen. The walls and ceiling coated in what looked to be an explosion of white and vanilla so strong it made his eyes sting.
It would have been horrific had he not been slightly impressed how they managed such a feat. Twas also one of the few times Alfred refused to clean their mess entirely by himself.
But even with the absurd amount of cleaning chemicals to get the kitchen spotless once more. The vanilla smell remained.
Even after they were long gone.
A screech snapped Alfred out of his reminiscing and he turned his gaze over to the far side of the kitchen island.
“Jason get your grimy hands off my pan!” Stephanie continued to screech, her hands shooting out to guard the cookie tray that laid on the counter.
“They’re too thin and going to burn if you don't fix it-you’ll waste the batter,” Jason argued, parrying her strikes with a whisk. “Just let me help you you little sh*t!”
“Language Master Jason,” Alfred interjected, pausing in his repetitive motions rolling out a large sheet of pie dough over the kitchen island.
“Sorry Alfie,” Jason chirped, but did not cease in his harassment.
Their continued bickering faded into the background as Alfreds apron was tugged at. He turned and had to look down to catch the sharp green gaze of his youngest ward.
Damian held up a crimson bowl high above his head. “Alfred- does my batter seem suitable?”
Leaning down to look it was… at the very least edible this time around. “Very good young master, though you are meant to mix the powders before adding in the eggs.”
“Why?” Damian raised a thick brow “It all goes in the same place”
“That it does, but unlike cooking- baking is a science,” Alfred hummed. “Every step relies on chemical reactions that allow most baked goods to come to life.”
“Getting the steps out of order or changing a few things won't always be detrimental, but before you break the rules you must understand what each does lest you ruin it.”
Damian looked to mull his words over for a moment before nodding. “Your wisdom has become of use once again Alfred, I shall trash and remake once more following your advice.”
“No need for unnecessary waste, set it in the fridge and we shall find another use for it.”
Damian did not respond but quickly turned heel and crossed the kitchen, dodging an oven mitt flying and past his siblings towards the fridge, bowl in hand.
Alfred hummed and returned his attention to what he'd been trying to work on. With a quick check the dough seemed to be just the right thickness, not sticky and yet holding together wonderfully.
Lifting the dough above the pie crust and with a practiced hand gently pressing curves into the side as the edges began to take shape, waves that hugged the tin barrier.
He looked over to the spare dough already running through dozens of designs, it was a gift after all so it was an opportunity to put some extra zest that hopefully the boy would appreciate.
CLICK, CLICK, CLICK,
A familiar pattern echoed across tile flooring just outside the kitchen. The sound of Barbara's cane tapping on the floor between sets of steps.
She entered his line of sight, half her weight balanced on the embellished black cane and in her other hand balancing a glass case dome.
“I got the dish you asked for, I hope it's big enough I couldn't get to the other one,” Barbara called out, her glasses half falling off her nose as she entered the kitchen. “Big pain day so I was not about to risk using the step stool.”
Alfred took a half step to go assist but something made him pause and instead he smiled in greeting. “Ah perfect timing Ms. Gordon, please take a seat you must rest when your body demands.”
“It seems my body demands more and more everyday.”
“Sometimes that is simply what it requires, however vexing that may be,” Alfred paused. “Speaking of, I myself am a bit vexed that you did not hail for someone to come fetch you.”
“Why Alfred even if I am a lady does not make me in constant need of aid.”
Alfred raised a brow as Barbara reached inside the kitchen itself and braced her shoulder against the entryway- but being a gentleman he did not push the matter.
She always did get touchy around questioning her capabilities even before her incident. “Many things you are, a lady is debatable.”
Barbara let out a small snort, her glasses falling victim to gravity’s pull and clattering onto the tile floor. “Ah lovely, this is what I get for misplacing my chain.”
At her laugh Alfred watched a head of black spikes pop up from behind the counter. Damian, his eyes lighting up the moment he registered her presence.
As insightful as always he took only a moment to take in the scene before a scowl made its way onto his face and he whipped his head over to address his siblings.
“Todd, Brown- cease your childish bickering and aid Gordon!”
Jason and Stephanie froze, her hand gripping a large chunk of brown locks and Jason half holding her in the air. They took a moment to process his words before scrambling over to offer aid and arm in turn.
Steph locked arms with Barbara and escorted her to the island seating, black cane
now hanging off the crook of her wrist.
Damian swiftly picked up and carried the glass dome over to the counter, setting it down with a small clink.
Jason hovered just a few feet behind in the middle of the kitchen, seeming more focused on shuffling over to "fix" Miss Brown's cookie tray.
Though right as Barbara seemed to be ready to shoo off the extra attention, Steph had spotted Jason's not so subtle advances.
Her hand shot out and grabbed a wooden rolling pin as she took a half step forward. But pausing when Alfred cleared his throat.
Stephs shoulders hiked and she slowly turned with wide eyes.
They kept each other's gaze until she sighed and swapped out the pin for a plastic spoon instead.
Alfred gave her a small nod in approval before turning back to his work.
Though he had grown accustomed to the chaos of the manor, he really did need to focus on the task at hand.
All that was left was to cut and design the topping and finish the filling. But of course that had to wait since several someone’s had decided that the “cinnamon challenge” was a worthy training exercise and had drained his entire stock.
As the instigator he did not hesitate to task Master Dick of refilling said stock.
A loud scream from Jason followed by shouts from Damian and Steph and guffawing laughter from Barbara cut away at any change of continued focus for the time being.
Now only if Master Dick would hurry back with the cinnamon.
Dick could feel his hands shaking, his thoughts racing as he desperately searched the recedes of his mind for answers.
In both hands fingers wrapped tightly around the glass bottles, eyes darting between them as if somehow it would click any moment now.
An impossible choice, between cinnamon sticks, or the ground kind. Not to mention the dozens of brands and types laid before him. He didn't know what to do.
Both he'd picked out were the same brand, “Simply Organic” as if it was mocking him. This was far from simple.
His Pitamahah deserved nothing but the best for all that he’d done for him over the years- add salt to the wound he knew he was far too polite to say anything if Dick picked wrong.
But this wasn't his “add from the heart” seasoning, this was baking- apparently a “delicate art akin to science” that Alfie took so much pride in.
Dick could not mess that up just because he couldn't figure out which was the “correct” one.
“You’ve been starin pretty hard there, need any help?” A sweet voice snapped Dick out of his spiral.
Right next to him, a box of yellow cake mix in hand was a girl about a foot shorter than him with a short blonde bob and big doe brown eyes looking at him with concern and maybe a bit of amusem*nt.
She looked, normal? Which in Gotham was kind of terrifying.
He almost hesitated to answer until his eyes trailed down to a friendship bracelet, made of a rainbow of glittery beads that somehow clashed with themselves. But hung on the end was clearly a bottle of pepper spray.
Now that was more like home.
Dick realized he must have been quiet for a bit and cleared his throat. “Ah well-My grandfather sent me out for cinnamon, but I'm out of my element here.”
He helplessly gestured to the mountainous shelf of options as if to help give plausibility to his entire debacle. God Jason would give him so much sh*t for this. But it was deserved.
It felt a bit embarrassing, a grown ass man struggling to pick out cinnamon. But he always ordered his spices imported or from local markets instead of a grocery store.
The girl's expression lifted into a smirk, but not a judgemental one. She took a half step, spinning to face him and examining the jars with interest.
“Hmm, good brand choice- and well priced, what is he making?”
“Oh um- apple pie.”
“In that case.” She plucked the jars from his hands and put them back on the shelf.
Dick watched in awe as she stood up on her tiptoes and grabbed another bottle of ground cinnamon and presented it to him. He took the bottle in hand and looked down at the label.
“McCormick, I swear by it really- maybe a tad pricier but I assure you it's worth it.”
"Speaking from experience then?"
"Yup! I help bake for the cafe I work at, so lots of trial and error with ingredients." She gestured to the box in hand. "But sometimes store quality beats any fancy imported stuff."
Dicks shoulders dropped and he clutched the bottle like a lifeline. “Thank you Ms..?”
“Parkins, Gwen Parkins-” She said without hesitation, either he gave some reason to seem trustworthy or she did not see him as a threat by name alone.
“Thank you, really, I'll find some way to repay you.”
Gwen didn't seem to take his words seriously but within a beat her eyes sparked and she met Dicks gaze with a totally innocent expression as she reached into her jacket pocket.
Oh god was he going to be robbed by some girl in the bakery aisle? Babs still hadn't let it go since the incident in the deli.
But instead of pulling out a weapon or even uncapping her pepper spray she pulled out her phone. It was a clear case, but with dozens of little stickers, paper doodles, and a ripped dollar bill? all tucked inside.
The screen was shoved in his face showing, well, a cafe. One smashed between several faintly familiar brick buildings. Narrows then.
It had blue awnings and the outside actually had furniture, metal from the looks of it but painted all kinds of colors half chipping away.
‘The Sleepy Kitten’ was scrawled above in semi cursive turquoise lettering. It was honestly pretty nice looking for a place in Gotham.
Dick glanced down at the store front once more and yeah he had mostly looked just to be polite, now he was genuinely curious. He used to know just about every store in Gotham by their blueprint.
Of course now he had his own city to meticulously memorize, so it's not a surprise he'd overlooked a few things. Besides who was he to deny the opportunity of discovering a secret gem before any of his siblings.
He had a reputation to uphold as the cool older brother, and he couldn't do that if he wasn't in the know of cool older brother things, like the newest place to hang or whatever Damian had called it, vibe?
“This is the cafe I work at-”
Oh okay- not being robbed, just being solicited. Would he prefer being robbed though?
“-and we're hosting a fundraiser in a few days, this saturday to be specific, it's in collaboration with the Gotham branch ASPCA to help funding for the Gotham shelter to turn into a no kill shelter.”
“Oh that’s-” Dick trailed off.
“Seriously no pressure about the whole ‘making it up’ stick, I’m advertising to just about everyone who doesn't try and mug me within ten minutes of chatting.”
Honestly pretty sound qualification.
“No no I was just a little surprised is all, but I'm always open for some charity- do you have a flyer or anything?”
She did in fact have a flyer, and a pretty nice one at that.
It looked like it had been hand drawn at some point and then copied over a billion times.
Dick thanked her before heading to the checkout with his prize in hand, though he did make the extra effort to fold the flyer neatly so it wouldn't be crushed or crinkled on the ride back.
A ride that turned out to make him regret not talking Bruce into borrowing one of the cars instead of sticking to his bike. Gotham was always just above freezing. Regardless of how many layers you threw on there was still that chill that seeped in.
Even during sunny days, the streets didn't absorb the heat enough to last more than a few hours after the sun went down. After so many years Dick had never gotten fully comfortable with it.
Sure it wasn't half bad for vigilantes in specially engineered suits built for beyond sub zero temperatures.
But right now he wasn't Nightwing, he was Dick Grayson in sweats and a leather bomber fighting for his life with the clouds looking moments from giving in and pouring half of gotham harbor on his head.
Add onto that, he could feel the phone buzzing in his jacket, probably both Jason and Steph spamming him on Alfreds behalf.
The GPS predicted a little over ten minutes to the manor.
Following road rules and all, as he should.
Especially as a former cop, esteemed leader of his own hero group, and eldest of about a half dozen impressionable kids.
The light flicked yellow, he pulled up just a few feet away, plenty of time to do the responsible thing and slow to a stop to wait.
…
But then again- patience had never been his forte.
Dick revved his bike, tires squealing as he was launched forward and zipped across the lane and down the street. He wove through cars, each movement perfectly executed.
Well outside him skirting a tad too fast around a corner enough that he felt the balance shift. Only sheer experience and a performer's balance to thank for the fact he hadn't started sliding into an alleyway.
The zip of adrenaline was well worth it though. Besides Alfred did tell him to “hurry back” which is basically a seal of approval as far as he's concerned.
Ten minutes turned into four and a half as Dick zipped up the driveway and around the large stone fountain. He kicked out his bike stand after coming to a skirting stop and didn't hesitate to gather his bag and hop off.
The manor was, for a fun comparison, a maze. Not including the twisting tunnels below ground where the birds and bats nested.
Dick had always been used to never being quite familiar with his place, he was a traveling performer afterall. Locations changed constantly, and there was some fun in always having some new place to explore.
But over the years the manor had become that place he could traverse even if he was stripped of all his senses. Speaking from experience, he still gets sh*t from Steph about breaking her “third favorite vase”.
He moved with practiced ease, a small grin on his face as he heard the chatter from down the hall, and a bit of bickering from the sound of it.
Dick shot through the double doors and down the final stretch of hallway, having abandoned his shoes at the entrance he angled as soon as he made contact with tile instead of hardwood and slid the final distance into the kitchen.
“Honey I'm home!” Dick shouted, bag rustling as he shot his hands in the air.
The kitchen was a mess.
Dozens of trays of cookies and other sweets covered just about every inch of available counter space.
Except for the island where Babs gave him a small wave in greeting, sipping at a water bottle.
Damian was seated next to her, his legs dangling off the stool as he stared him down, slowly blinking like a cat instead of a hello.
Steph and Jason were side by side, aprons on and rolling out what looked to be yet another batch of cookies. Did they even have any more trays in the manor?
“What no hello for your f a v o r i t e older brother?” Dick teased as he dropped his bike helmet by the entrance and strode closer.
“I may owe you my kidneys, but not my respect,” Steph said without looking up from the table.
“I- okay?”
“And what about you little wing?”
Jason looked up just long enough to gaze him over. “I'm just surprised you didn't get lost in the supermarket so congrats on finding your way home.”
“You did actually get to the supermarket, right?”
Dick huffed, brushing a bit of hair out of his face and holding up the plastic grocery bag as evidence as he waltzed over to the little free counter top where Alfred stood.
The man lit up as Dick came into view, his face wrinkling just slightly as he smiled. “Ah Master Dick, you are back sooner than expected- I hope your mission was successful?”
Dick reached around to pluck the container from his bag and placed it on the counter for Alfred to inspect.
He raised a brow “McCormick? Can't say I'm familiar with the brand.”
Well, too late to go back and change his mind now.
“Someone recommended it.”
“Ah then I suppose it's worth trying”
Babs smirked “Because we all know taking kind advice from strangers in Gotham always goes swimmingly.”
Dick brushed her off and quickly walked over to the fridge. Reaching inside his bag he felt around for the slip of paper and quickly pulled it out. The Flyer for the Sleepy Kitten Cafe that was still folded into a square but fairly undamaged.
He plucked one of the fridge magnets off, careful not to knock off Damians painting of the gargoyle over on 8th and put the flyer still folded on top. Unfolding it would mean covering Damians painting, so he'd deal with it later.
Satisfied he stepped away and moved to join Babs at the table, taking the seat that Damian had seemingly abandoned to go mess with something else.
She gave a small nod and then held out a glass of water that he happily accepted and chugged down with ease, the unpleasant awareness of his own throat quickly vanishing.
“You sped over here, didn't you?”
Dick hummed, pulling the cup just a half inch away from his lips. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
Babs raised a brow, looking amused. “You do have an idea how many security systems I'm in- correct?”
“Ghora piśācī, that's why I make such an effort to stay on your good side."
Babs’ raised brow melted into a small smile as she shook her head. “At least someone in this family has self preservation.”
The kitchen continued to stay busy for the next hour it took for the pies to finish, in the meantime Alfreds famous chocolate chip cookies had been up for grabs for all to partake.
“This should last at least a week,” Steph said while holding a cookie in both hands. “Might need to make more though.”
“Brown this is twenty five batches.”
“She said what she said.” Jason backed up, his words muffled from the cookies in his mouth.
Well Dick was already on his 6th cookie, so maybe a week was a bit optimistic. They did agree to slow down just a tad after a strong side eye from Alfred.
But soon enough with the pies finishing and Steph having dragged Babs into another room to rest and watch Criminal Minds.
Because apparently the rest of them got “too invested” but Dick just couldn't stand the procedural inaccuracies and absurd amount of obstruction.
"Woah Alfred you really have outdone yourself,” Jason whistled, half leaning on the counter and finishing off his… actually Dick had no idea how many cookies he had eaten so far.
Damian shoved him aside to get a view and nodded approvingly at Alfreds creation.
It was a marvel of an apple pie, golden crust of interwoven strips and braids of dough into a beautiful pattern. Not to mention it smelled delicious. The scent of cooked apple mixed with nutmeg and cinnamon was to die for.Manohara indeed.
“How soon until we can dig in?” Dick asked, already salivating a little at the spices that lifted up and stung his senses.
“If you boys would like a pie then I would be more than happy to make another, but this is for a gift I intend to deliver as soon as it has cooled.”
Dick picked up one of the last cookies set out, the other twenty one batches having been stored away for any hope of lasting until the end of the week at the rate they were going.
“So who is it for exactly- must be special since you rarely make something so intricate.”
“Didn't he make those fancy lemon cakes like last week?”
“Yes but that was for the gala which was a wonderful event and-” Dick was cut off by Damians loud huff.
“You mean that disaster of an event,” Damian huffed. “A ruin to Alfred’s good planning due to someone else's idiocracy.”
The implied “someone else” Dick could practically sense Jason's slight sneer at even alluding to the guy. But something else caught his attention at that moment.
Alfred being hard to read is like saying coffee is bitter, sure you can add stuff to it to make it sweet but that bitterness never quite goes away. He raised Bruce after all.
But the boys having grown up with the man it was hard to ignore the way his expression tightened just slightly.
Jason was the only one brave enough to ask, “Alfred- who is it for?”
“It's customary for get well gifts especially with those you are on good terms with.”
Dick clasped his hand on Jason's shoulders, silently demanding he calm down before he ends up arguing with Alfred. Said man ignoring the metaphorical steam out of Jason's ears as he began to pack away his apron.
Unfortunately needing two hands on Jason meant that he had no hands to spare to grab at Damian as he wound up like a spring, brows pushing together.
“You and Timothy Drake on good terms?” He spat the name like a curse.
“I have no reason not to be- besides it would reflect on the Wayne name to have failed as hosts and then not checked on the young lad.”
Dick sent a glance to his brothers, reminding them of the “evidence” in the cave they weren't supposed to have found. Not that he'd be surprised if Alfred already knew.
Alfred slid the glass container Babs had gotten closer to his side, pulling out bright blue oven mitts as he lifted the lid and set it down with a clink. With grace he picked up the masterpiece of a pie and sealed it inside.
“But if you are all so very concerned I could use someone to hold the glass while I deliver it- tis quite a ways drive.”
“He's our next door neighbor?”
“Next door in Bristol is wildly different than next door in literally anywhere else.” Jason lifted a brow, arms crossed over his chest.
“My next door neighbor back in Pakistan were nomads within the mountains whose distance fluctuated thr-”
Dick cut his brother off as he placed a hand on his shoulder. “So you want to go- right now?”
“I can wait however long it takes you to debate who, if any of you, will accompany me, but I'd prefer to be back before the night fog rolls in.”
Alfred produced a small golden pocket watch and hummed “That being said I should go change into more.. suitable attire.” He didn't wait for a response before setting the glass lid over the pie and quickly leaving the kitchen in silence.
Leaving Dick, alone, with his two brothers.
The silence lasted about ten seconds.
“I for one would rather go deal with the girls’ wrath crashing their binge night than step foot in that asshole’s estate.”
That was- about what he expected from Jason honestly. Not that he felt any different though, he’d seen the guys yacht before and the amount of gold embellishments made his eyes burn.
“You fool,” Damian spat, “Do you not realize the opportunity presented to us!?”
Jason raised a brow as if staring would present the answer itself. Damian rolled his eyes with way more force than necessary and gestured to the table.
“The.. pie?”
“YES!” he snapped. “An opportunity to infiltrate the Drake estate and see first hand if his life is truly as perfect as he presents to be.”
“Oh oh sh*t- I kind of forgot we were investigating that guy.” Jason admitted, earning a scathing glare from Damian.
“Wait- how”?
“I admit I may have been a bit tipsy”
“You aren't even-” Dick cut himself off and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Icchati Kṣānti, you know what nevermind just- Damian just what are you planning”?
Damian changed his stance, and it was as if watching the invisible mask seal over his face, his brother fading to Robin.
“We must accompany Alfred of course to ensure his safety in enemy territory-”
“Okay first off? enemy is a bit much.”
“No no it isn't.”
“Jay are you seriously do-”
Damian slammed his hand on the table or well- his foot since he'd apparently climbed on top of the counter to stare down at his brothers. “Cease your interruptions at once!”
Jason looked far too pleased as he waved him on. “The floor is yours baby bat.”
Damian's eye twitched but he continued, “One of us may accompany Alfred, while a duo can come up with a clever ruse to further infiltrate the estate and gain as much information about Timothy Drake.”
“No offense Dami but the estate is almost as big as the manor, and that's just from the outside- no way we can get more than a base infiltration, add that rich people in Gotham means ridiculous level security.”
God did they really need to use the word infiltration?
“Sounds like a cowards complaint to me.”
Jason froze and, oh god he had that glint in his eye. “Run that by me again you little sh*t?”
Dick moved to grab Damian and at the very least pull him off the counter top but Damian pulled out a flash of metal that made Dick freeze in his tracks.
It- was he being threatened with a f*cking whisk!?
“We are Waynes, and beyond that- we are Robins, to see such things as limits instead of minor obstacles to overcome is cowards’ speak.”
Oh great he was pulling out the unity speech, bravo, god why did he have to be so cute?
He could have told Bruce “no more kids” and been done with it. But nooo- he didn't want to be an only kid and now he's stuck with these heathens.
“-it's settled then!”
Dick blinked, pushing the whisk aside and stepping between the two. “I’m sorry, what exactly is being settled here”?
Damian scoffed, folding his arms and- yeah that was enough. Dick reached out and plucked his brother up by under his arms and deposited him on the ground.
He looked none too pleased, but did not thrash or shout so it was a win.
“We don't have time to get floor plans so we can simply request a tour of the estate, and if something appears of interest then we can implement the ruse.”
Dick blinked, and blinked again. Looking at Jason who also had his arms folded with a sh*t eating grin and oh god they were serious, and even worse, it wasn't that bad of a plan.
“Alfred will kill us if he finds out we used his attempt at hospitality for one of your stalking trips.”
Jason stepped forward, swinging one arm out and tugging Dick over to his side. “I think you mean our stalking trip.”
“Besides I’m sure Alfie will be plenty distracted with all three of us to keep track of.”
Speak of the devil, a few clicks on tile and Alfred entered the kitchen, his flour covered clothes now replaced with a sensible beige trenchcoat and a new pair of white gloves to boot.
“Have you decided which one of you will be joining me”?
Jason pulled Dick in closer, meeting his brother's eyes with a small nod. Damian shifted closer to his other flank, but making it clear he was staying silent.
“About that-”
Why couldn't he have stayed an only child?
