Work Text:
There was a heavy sigh from behind him. "Alfred, why is Bruce so mean?"
Alfred turned and raised an eyebrow as Jason flopped himself artlessly across the kitchen counter, frowning so severely Alfred really did think that one of these days they should put the boy on a stage. "And what has Master Bruce done this time to cause such strife for you, Master Jason?"
"What hasn't he done?" Jason gave a deep, long-suffering sigh. "Well, to start with..."
And he was off. Alfred listened with half an ear as he moved about the kitchen. Most of the complaints were familiar ones, some embellished as Jason tended to do in the name of good storytelling. Whenever he caught one that was a blatant falsehood Alfred turned and gave the boy a look. Jason grinned widely each time before continuing the list of grievous slights against his person.
When he was done he heaved another sigh and lay his head down on the counter, the very picture of dejected thirteen year old.
"Alfred," Jason said, after several minutes of silence between them. "I am being repressed."
Jason had recently been introduced to British comedy. It appealed to him in a way that it hadn't to Dick before him and meant that now Bruce was developing a twitch whenever Monty Python was quoted at him.
"That is quite terrible, Master Jason." Alfred opened the fridge and began taking out ingredients. "Would you like to be repressed over here and assist me with dinner?'
The stool Jason had been sitting on scraped against the tiled floor as the boy hopped to his feet and hurried over.
"Yes," Jason said, with a deep satisfaction that meant he'd been angling for an invitation all along.
Alfred glanced down at the boy, raising an eyebrow at him. The look caused Jason's face to break out into the cheeky grin it always did whenever he had done anything that might remotely be construed as 'misbehaving'. "I shall warn you only once that this time you are not to sabotage Master Bruce's meal."
The grin widened and Jason giggled. "That wasn't on purpose, Alfred. I just messed up the measurements. Metric is weird."
Alfred continued to stare down at the boy, who suddenly found the clock on the wall much more interesting to look at. "Perhaps this time you will ask for assistance instead of guessing, Master Jason?"
"Of course, Alfred." Jason bowed his head quite solemnly, and if Alfred couldn't see his shoulders shaking ever so slightly he might have even thought it was sincere.
"'A pinch' is not a metric unit of measurement," Alfred added, putting one hand on the boy's shoulder and directing him to the counter to chop vegetables. "Certainly not one that can be misconstrued as 'several tablespoons', and most definitely not with paprika."
"He's the World Greatest Detective," Jason muttered. "I was just testing him. You should both thank me for keeping him on his toes."
"Yes, because the world really needs Master Bruce to be more paranoid." Alfred shook his head. "What have I told you about digging holes, Master Jason?"
"Say hi to China when I get there?" Jason suggested.
Alfred could not help the twitch of his lips. Jason beamed up at him, triumphant, and then turned to his task with renewed vigor.
"One day I'm going to make you laugh so hard you snort," Jason promised. "Where will your lauded British stoicism be then?"
"A worthy challenge, Master Jason."
***
Once dinner was prepared and cooking, Jason went back to slouching against the counter top. He frowned at the oven.
"That's a lot of food," he observed, deeply suspicious in a way that several years of living in relative luxury had not cured him of. "Are we expecting company?"
"Master Dick is here for the weekend," Alfred replied. "He arrived while you were still at school."
Jason's face pulled into an exaggerated grimace. "Oh boy, is it Fight Night already?"
"Master Jason," Alfred chided gently. "Don't be rude."
"All they do is bitch at each other," Jason muttered, sullenly. "It's like watching two tomcats in an alley."
"Language."
Jason sighed and slumped even further, as if at any moment he might fall to the ground in a sullen puddle of little boy. "Is the Queen going to keel over and die if I say some bad words?"
"Perish the thought," Alfred replied. "However, a certain young man might find himself banned from my kitchen if he continues with such talk."
"This is censorship, Alfred," Jason insisted. "My rights are being infringed."
"Such is the hardship of the young."
A quiet huff and then Jason straightened up in his seat. "Why's Dick here, anyway? He hasn't visited since Easter, and it's not another holiday."
"No, however this Sunday is August 16th."
Jason froze, screwed up his face in an expression of deep disgust, and then hopped down off the stool and turned to leave. "I just remembered something I have to do. It's going to take all weekend. I'll be back on Monday."
"Master Jason."
The boy stopped walking, shoulders hiked up to his ears. "Why'd you gotta do this to me, Alfred?"
"We are celebrating the day of your birth, not sacrificing you on an altar." Alfred walked over and took Jason by the shoulders, gently turning and directing him back to his seat. "We may share a love for theatrics but there is a time and a place, young sir."
"I'm old, Alfred." Jason put his arms down on the counter and buried his face against them. "Why are we celebrating another year closer to shuffling off the mortal coil?"
Each of the boys he'd had a hand in raising in this manor were as dramatic as each other. Yet Bruce still occasionally looked at his two sons as if wondering where they'd got it from, like dressing up as a bat and fighting criminals every night was a hobby that encouraged restraint.
"And how old do you think I am, Master Jason?"
"Twenty-six," Jason answered promptly, because he was far from a stupid boy and had not an ounce of shame in him. Jason sighed again. "Life is suffering, Alfred."
"And we will celebrate surviving that suffering with cake."
"The French had cake once, Alfie," Jason muttered, ominous like a threat.
"I believe Master Dick is sleeping upstairs if you require assistance staging your revolution," Alfred suggested.
Jason slid off his stool, thoughtful. "Okay, I'll go bother Dick. But I won't be happy about it."
"i wouldn't dare ask it of you," Alfred replied.
Jason scampered out of the kitchen, loud footsteps echoing as he trampled up the stairs to where his unsuspecting brother was sleeping. Alfred turned back to the fridge and the chocolate cake he needed to prepare for Sunday. There was a high likelihood that it would serve as ammunition instead of food, but the effort had to be made nonetheless.
For all his complaining, Jason had enjoyed every birthday he'd spent in the manor since he'd joined them and Alfred saw no reason for that trend to stop now.
***
Several years later
There was a scraping sound as a stool was pulled away and two hundred pounds of sullen boy flopped down, upper body collapsing across the counter. Jason glared at him, resting his chin on top of his arms and puffing out a breath to blow the curly wisps of too long hair out of his eyes. "You got me a birthday card."
"I did."
Jason's glare deepened. "You know how much I hate birthdays."
"I do," Alfred agreed. "That isn't going to stop me expressing how much I appreciate that you exist, Master Jason."
The boy grumbled under his breath.
"I'm glad to see you were so offended that you came over to express your disapproval in person." Alfred turned his attention back to the bowl in his hands.
"Your master plan worked," Jason muttered, because he wasn't a stupid boy. Not then and certainly not now. "Are you making cake?"
"Two," Alfred replied. "I learned my lesson. One to eat, one for you to throw at Master Dick and start a food fight. I'm sure your siblings will all enjoy it."
Jason huffed out a breath and relaxed against the counter. "Fine. I'll stay the weekend—but just for the cake."
Alfred smiled. "Of course, Master Jason."
They lapsed into silence, as comfortable between them as it had ever been. And then:
"Hey, Alfie. Need a hand?"