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Tim woke up smelling something burning.
He immediately became alert.
The clock struck seven, and all kinds of hypotheses entered his mind.
A gas leak.
An arson.
A Rouge had discovered who Batman was and had come to kill Bruce.
Jason would say he was paranoid, but if you wanted to stay alive in Gotham, paranoia was needed.
Without hesitation, the boy got out of bed, grabbed his skateboard and prepared to defend himself.
When he opened the door, he didn't find a Joker minion. There was his brother.
"Tim, what the hell are you doing?!" Jason asked, surprised.
"We are under attack!" he exclaimed. "I wanted to help."
Jason laughed, "Put that thing down, little bird. We're not under attack."
"But there's a fire!" Tim yelled.
"It's not a fire. It's Bruce."
"Bruce?"
"Come on, I'll show you."
Tim hesitantly followed the teen, still holding onto his skateboard. You could never be too careful.
They went down the stairs and into the kitchen. There they found a battlefield, with eggshells everywhere and black smoke above their heads.
Tim gulped, "Did Killer Croc stop by?"
"No, dumbass. It's just Bruce trying to cook."
"Huh?"
He heard someone cough, and Bruce came out from behind the counter, wearing a worn MCR T-shirt and his face smeared with flour. As soon as he saw them, he said, "Why are you awake?"
"Dunno old man, maybe it's because the kitchen is on fire. How many pans did you burn this time?" Jason asked him.
The man muttered, "Only two."
"You are improving."
"Ehm...I'm not sure I understand what's going on," Tim said.
"Today is Halloween," Jason explained.
"And?"
"And Alfred usually makes a special breakfast for everyone," Bruce added. "When I was a kid, he'd make ghost pancakes, then we'd carve pumpkins to put outside. I didn't like trick-or-treating, but it became part of the tradition when Dick moved in."
"And it's a tradition that has continued with me, and now with you, Timbo."
Tim's eyes widened, "Me? Why?"
The question didn't please Bruce, who looked like he was about to collapse. Jason was more matter-of-fact, "Duh, you're part of the family. Of course, this tradition is also for you."
"But it's a lot of work..."
"Like I said, you're family. And family is worth it."
Tim could have understood better. He was just the weird kid who tried to blackmail Batman into returning Robin, and who found himself taken in by Bruce Wayne because he lived alone.
As if it were a problem. He was ten years old, he was able to take care of himself. Too bad no adults seemed to believe him.
However, he could have been more important. Jason and Bruce thought differently.
"Why isn't Alfred cooking?" Tim asked. Surely the butler would not have allowed such a mess.
"I wanted it to be a surprise for him too..."
Jason looked around, and commented, "He'll be surprised."
"I guess he'll have to do it all over again..."
"Hell, no," the teen interrupted. "We'll do it together. Zero risk of killing someone."
“I got confused with the ingredients once, and you'll never let me forget it.”
Jason retorted, "You can get confused between sugar and salt. Don't put Ivy toxin in place of cinnamon."
Bruce bit his lip, "I had a concussion."
"You don't have it now, but you still cook like shit. Maybe if we help you, Alfred won't die for cringe."
Bruce sighed, "Your brother is ten."
"I can use a knife! And I can crack eggs!"
Jason smirked, "He can already do more than you. Come on old man, it'll be fun. We'll do it together as a family."
This finally made Bruce give in.
It was a surreal experience to be in the kitchen cooking with them, but Tim supposed it was better than waking up alone and pretending that his parents were back to take him to trick-or-treat.
“This is fun,” Tim said, as Jason helped him mix the ingredients in a bowl. "Could we do this more often?"
The child expected rejection. Instead, Bruce nodded, "Sure, but with Alfred's supervision. Just in case."
"Supervision is for you, Bruce. Not for us. Tim and I are doing just fine."
Bruce ignored Jason's comments and continued to…honestly, Tim didn't know, and he felt like it was best that it stayed that way.
Although the result was a far cry from Alfred's pancakes, the flavour was good.
They tasted like love.