Chapter Text
Baby Bruce sat on a stool at the ripe age of 4, chin on the table head slightly tilted with curiosity and awe in his eyes. His arms stretched out in front of him, laying flat “Alfie how do you make cookies?” he said with such wonder that it made Alfred want to laugh as he pulled the cookies out of the oven and set them on the table.
“Is it a question on how I make them or how to make cookies in general?” Alfred queried gently. Bruce hummed for a second, then said “Well, both of them, I guess”
“Well for starters, the basic process for baking cookies involves creaming butter and sugar, adding eggs, mixing in dry ingredients, and baking but that's not too specific or helpful if we went into specifics. You would have to: preheat the oven: set the oven to the temperature specified in the recipe. Cream the butter and sugar: When you do this, it incorporates air into the batter, which helps cookies rise and become lighter and fluffier. Add eggs: eggs help bind the ingredients together. Add dry ingredients: which can be a combination of flour, baking soda, and baking powder with wet ingredients. Next would be scooping and rolling: which is portioning the dough into balls or rolls. Then bake: which you do by placing the cookies on a baking sheet and baking for the specified time. Then, last but not least, cool them by: using a cooling rack to allow air to circulate and cool the cookies quickly.” As Alfred finished his little lecture on cookies, he turned to face Bruce. Bruce's eyes were blown wide with wonder and awe as he was leaning over the counter, his knees on the stool hands on the counter.
“Then how do you make them!” Bruce said his eagerness was clear in his tone and eyes. Alfred gave a very slight smile before answering “I use a recipe from my mother's book. She gave it to me when I was, but a wee child.”
“Wow.” Bruce said with fascination that only a child could give. “Can I make some cookies!” Bruce said with a gleeful smile so wide it made Alfreds cheeks hurt from looking at him. Bruce was now standing up on the table, still leaning forward with his slightly pudgy hands on the table. Before Alfred could answer, Bruce tapped his feet rapidly on the stool, clapping his hands. “Can I make my own recipe!?”
Alfred chuckled, lightly stifling it with his hand and coughing slightly. “Perhaps when you are older Master Bruce.” Bruce frowned, crossing his arms and plopping back down in his feet with a pout. “Okay, Alfie... Can I have a cookie now?” Alfred smiled slightly, wrapping a cookie in a napkin and handing it to him. Bruce munched on it lightly, trying to eat it whole.
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April 26th, a day Bruce won't forget for many reasons.
First of all he watched a movie with his parents: Zorro, a really good movie he must admit something that even he in his 8 years of age could appreciate.
Second of all, Alfred offered to let him make cookies when they came back from the movies. Now that he was a bit older, of course, he would still need adult supervision.
Third of all, the blanket they gave him wasn't even warm, which means it offered no comfort. Despite what they called it ‘trauma blanket’
It had been a week, two, three? He couldn't remember. Most of the time, he was just curled up in a ball, knees to his chest in the corner of his room. He'd only go out when Alfred asked him to eat or take a shower. All he could think about was the gunshot, the thud, the clattering of pearls, the pooling blood, and their cold bodies as he wept.
Bruce didn't want to make cookies anymore; he just wanted his parents back. He kept wondering what in the world he or his parents ever did wrong. It was like he did something wrong because his parents were never bad people, but if it was him that did something he did wrong, why couldn't they punish him instead of them? He'd much prefer it that way.
But maybe it wasn't him or his parents (as if it could have ever been because of them). Maybe it was simply all that guy's fault. Was this happening to other people as well? That wasn't right. Was someone putting a stop to this? Well, they hadn't caught the guy who k- who made his parents go away. Someone needed to put a stop to this. Well, someone wasn't trying to do anything already, maybe he-
“Master Bruce” Alfred announced as he knocked on his door gently or if it was just an Alfred thing. Bruce didn't know if it was, so he didn't alarm him, but he appreciated it because it did startle him slightly.
“Would you like to finally make cookies? Perhaps you could also make your own recipe?” Alfred said gently, his voice slightly hoarse. Maybe it was because he was hoping Bruce was finally going to come out.
Bruce an hour ago wouldn't have wanted to, but now he felt a bit bolder. He felt he had more of a purpose per se. He sniffled and wiped his tear stained cheeks, getting up for the first time in a couple of hours. He gently opened the door and peeked outside a little bit before nodding.
He felt warmth again since that night when he saw Alfreds eyes soften and a tiny smile creep onto his face.
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Alfred watched as Bruce made a batch of cookies writing down the steps, measurements, and ingredients in a notebook as he hurriedly went on to step after step. He didn't pay too much attention to Bruce's measurements and steps. He just made sure the lad didn't injure himself. He was relieved that Bruce was finally doing something other than basic necessity. Bruce had been given a month off school since he was already a gifted student, and the school didn't care if filthy rich people didn't go to school empathized with their loss.
Alfred was too deep in his thoughts to even notice Bruce was going to begin placing the cookies in the oven. “Allow me Master Bruce.” Alfred said eloquently. Bruce turned around and held up the tray of cookies that were in tiny balls with what seemed to be a third of the tray with dark chocolate, a third milk chocolate, and a third white chocolate He had such a determined little face for an 8 year old that Alfred was lost on whether to laugh or be a little (just a little) intimidated.
Nevertheless, Alfred grabbed the tray of cookies and slid it into the surprisingly preheated oven. “Next time Master Bruce, inform me when you are going about preheating the oven” Bruce nodded with the same little determined face “Yes, Agent A.” Bruce said using the nickname he had come up with for Alfred when he was 6 finishing his sentence with a tiny salute.
Alfred still couldn't help but find it funny. Just a little bit.
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Bruce waited on a stool patiently for his cookies to bake. He looked intently at the cookies he was waiting for them to rise and hopefully predict when they could be taken out of the oven.
This was strangely helping him. He squinted at the cookies, focusing all his energy on them.
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Alfred was having a rather stellar time, watching Bruce. He seemed to be focusing his little brain on when cookies were supposed to be fully baked. It was rather cute. The lad seemed to be having a better time right now he still seemed sad like that fractured little piece in his heart. Same like Alfred. Just a fracture in his heart that would never heal.
“Alfred can you take them out now?” Bruce said, looking at him scribbling furiously in his little book.
Alfred chuckled behind his hand, attempting to hide it, and went to take out the cookies from the oven. He slipped on the mits gracefully, opened the oven gently, and then slid the cookies out.
He set them on a rack in the kitchen and put away the mits.
Bruce looked extremely excited. He wasn't smiling, but Alfred could see it in his eyes. Since Bruce wasn't, Alfred did.
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Bruce wasn't expecting much when he tried his cookies that he spent about maybe 2 hours? Time was relative. He tried them after they cooled, and they were still warm, but as he tried to taste them, they tasted like him, which is to say trashy.
He frowned. Alfreds tasted better.
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Alfred also tried the cookies he popped one in his mouth. immediately he knew what it tasted like it tasted like Bruce in a weird sense.
They tasted sweet with some much to give, a bit salty which translated to rough around the edges, it was warm, and it tasted so-
-familiar a bit like vanilla extract or vanilla bean ice cream.
Bruce looked up at him, and Alfred looked down at him; they both wore different expressions.
“My cookies taste bad Alfred, can you make me some of yours?” Bruce said, holding the cookie like it was an offending item with a frown. Meanwhile, Alfred raised a brow
“My word, these are immaculate, even better than my own. But to each their own if you wish so Master Bruce I will make you some cookies.”
“I'm never baking again if my baking sucks this much” Bruce pouted a bit
“Master Bruce, one bad bake is no reason not to try to bake again.” Alfred said gently
“It's too hard to put this much effort in any way for a bad result” Bruce said, frowning deeply
Alfred sighed, knowing it was no use arguing with Bruce over something like baking, especially when Bruce had barely started to actually do things again willingly
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Bruce was in a pickle. Alfred was gone on vacation, and no one else was here, so he couldn't justify ordering takeout by going ‘hey are you hungry?’ to a very clearly hungry baby and saying ‘I'll get you your favorite’ because said hungry babies were busy and away on missions. In addition, he needed sustenance pronto to make it the league meeting, so he couldn't wait for the hungry babies
He frowned, his eyebrows creasing together furrowing. He scratched his head as he looked at the kitchen.
He could always stick to the basics and make a salad. It was simple.
Bruce walked over to the fridge, opened it a little too hard, and broke the door off (the hunger mystve enhanced his strength. Which then knocked a candle down, which made a dry rag that hadn't been used in a hot minute to burn.
He'll admit it wasn't his best moment, but he, the Batman, panicked at how mad Alfred would be. He turned around to run for something to put water in, grabbing some Tupperware while making the stupid mistake of looking back at the growing fire. He filled it with water slipping a little bit on some water that splashed in his hurry then doused the fire in water putting it out but not without leaving the rag in a burnt mess and the wood counter slightly burnt and a little damaged by the fire it had started to catch on fire but it hadn't progressed greatly. He sighed.
Bruce thought for a moment and thought how it was miracle the smoke detector hadn't gone off-
BEeEeP! BEeEeP! BEeEeP!
Bruce jumped up and grabbed it, then proceeded to crush it.
He sighed deeply and grabbed his phone to order some takeout before the meeting. Some Asian cuisine would be nice.
Bruce looked in the fridge briefly and threw the lettuce that had started to go bad. Boy, he was glad he caught that before he even began to make the salad.
He quickly fetched some tools to repair the fridge door, leaving it in good enough shape so it would still work but not good enough that it wasn't noticeable. But what could he even do? Alfred was probably going to notice by a squeak the door made or something like that. Plus, his food arrived, and the meeting was in like 30 minutes.
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Bruce took back everything he ever even thought. How the hell was he the world's greatest detective he should've known the punishment would be severe: he was sentenced to be banned from the kitchen for 18 years, with very specific parole that only Alfred knew.
God, he sure was going to get made fun of by his kids a lot for 18 years. Even worse, it looked like he burnt the kitchen trying to make a salad because he threw away the lettuce when it was all just a series of unfortunate events.
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What the FUCK! How were they supposed to even make something for a sick Alfred!?
It was literally impossible.
Dick suggested they make him a sandwich, cereal or Mac and cheese but obviously Alfred deserves better.
Duke suggested a quesadilla which was something but not good enough.
Cass didn't know and suggested soup but she didn't know how to make some or which to choose but it was fine since she's the best.
Damian suggested a fried rice but admitted he didn't know how to make it so that was off the table
Steph just shrugged and suggested cookies which aren't healthy.
Tim also shrugged and said to just order takeout but how in the world could they trust Alfreds nutrition in the hands of a random employee?
Babs wasn't there since she was busy at the library.
Kate wasn't there either but she probably wouldn't know much either.
Jason was just laughing at their attempts. His shoulder was worse for wear. It had gotten a bit scratched up by some knives that stabbed him and then he'd gone and dislocated which wasn't at all good.
“Alright step aside noobs” Jason said, rolling up his sleeves with a smirk. Then Bruce came in and put a hand on his shoulder “You'll hurt yourself Jay” Bruce said gaze narrowing “I'll just do it” Bruce said with a sigh.
Then they all said in unison “You burnt the kitchen making a salad and you're bad at cooking” Bruce looked slightly offended “I didn't get to the salad making part when it burnt plus I'm excellent at cooking” he said slightly indignant
They all sighed standing at the ready for when he inevitably burnt something what was the worst that could happen?
The thing is it never happened- he started making what looked like an Asian dish…?
Damian identified them as Pho, Chicken Congee and Wor Wonton Soup.
But it didn't really matter since goodness it smelled immaculate-! Their mouths were watering but Bruce smacked their hands away since it was for Alfred. Jason couldn't even help but look interested.
He also ended up making what Damian identified as pu'er tea which seemed good in all honesty.
Then Bruce brought it to Alfred and when Alfred tasted it all they could see him melt like pudding as he tried visibly relaxing as he tried it all. Bruce ushered them out so as to not bombard Alfred.
“When’d you learn how to cook” Jason said with utter bewilderment “and can we try…?” Dick said hopefully with a slight smile
Then Bruce smiled kindly “I'm Batman and you made fun of me for supposedly not knowing how to cook and as Batman I am vengeance.” He did not run he did not jog he simply walked away
“I regret everything” Dick said with sorrow
“Maybe that was a fluke” Tim said having been nearly silent the whole time
They all wanted to believe it but they knew it wasn't