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“Keeping Up With The Waynes!” Was displayed in bright text over the screen. Duke grimaced as he snatched the popcorn off his side table, thinking briefly that it was something Bruce definitely shouldn’t have done. Yes, the program pressured him to do it because of the amazing rating on other reality TV shows, but Bruce still should not have done it.
When the first few introductions ended and the actual scenes began, Duke was reminded on the many reasons why.
Tim entered the kitchen, feet dragging behind him and eye bags seemingly enhanced. Damian popped out from behind the counter, making Tim jump five feet into the air.
“Ah-H,” his voice cracked unpleasantly.
Damian smirked evilly. “How womanly, Drake,” he quipped.
Tim growled under his breath, dragging his feet once again to lead his body to the coffee maker. The footage, surprisingly, continued for a few more seconds until Dick entered the kitchen, humming off-key to a Britney Spears song. “Hey, Dami!” He greeted.
Tim turned around as he hunched his back, strongly imitating the fictional character, Igor. Dick blinked quickly when he noticed Tim, then placed a wider smile on his face. “Hi, Tim,” he said underwhelmingly.
Tim grunted monster-like, then returned back to staring at his brewing coffee in wonder and amazement.
Dick turned back to Damian, a wider, more welcoming grin on his expression. “Do you know where Alfie is?”
“-tt-. No, Grayson,” Damian replied curtly. Tim scoffed loudly.
And Damian pulled out a whole ass sword.
Duke, still watching, didn’t mean to flinch when it happened, but hated himself more when his bowl of popcorn flew into the air, thus scattering the pieces across the entire couch.
Duke blinked at the disorganized mess, then lazily turned his head back to the TV screen.
Dick didn’t seem fazed at all. In fact, he simply asked Damian, “Have you seen Alfie at all today?” Damian narrowed his eyes dangerously in Tim’s direction, the sword glinting under the artificial lights and completely disregarding the existence of his oldest brother.
Tim, with his eye bags, somehow managed to appear just barely threatening. The two stared for what seemed like hours, their glares unblinking. It was only after Damian blinked first that he bared his teeth angrily.
“You win this time, Drake.” He slammed his sword back in its sheath on his hip. “I shall defeat you in our next battle. I shall prove my dominance over you,” he declared.
Tim rolled his eyes. And the last few frames the audience saw was Damian launching at Tim with the sword out of its sheath.
Bruce was talking with Dick, head in his hands. “This is the sixth time I’ve told you, Dick,” he said, exasperated, “Alfred is gone in England currently. Until Wednesday. He’s visiting Julia.”
Dick sighed depressingly. “Oh yeah,” he recalled. “I remember now,” he sulked.
Bruce lifted his head, blinking at Dick’s sudden sadness. “I’ll make dinner for the whole family tonight,” Bruce stated. “Don’t worry, chum.”
Oh, Dick looked very worried.
“I...don’t think that’s a very good idea, Bruce.”
Bruce furrowed his brows, his expression looking similar to a Dark Knight’s. However, Dick didn’t seemed to mind it at all. “Mind telling me why?”
Dick grimaced—more at the question than his father’s expression. “Well...you’re not a...very good...” he paused, searching for the right word.
“Cook?”
“Yes!” Dick yelled, his smile and tone fake. He had obviously wanted to say something more, but decided to avoid hurting Bruce’s feelings. “Anyway,” he laughed awkwardly, “I can cook.”
Bruce threw him a flat expression. “Dick,” said man flinched, “you know how to make cereal. That’s all.” Dick seemed constipated. “I can provide dinner tonight. End of story.”
The scene ended with Dick slamming his head into the counter, a groan echoing after that while Bruce left the room, texting on his phone.
Cut to the next scene: Bruce with his back to the stove texting someone on his phone with an earnest expression. “Stupid Metropolitans...” Bruce muttered uncharacteristically to himself, continuing to furiously text on his cell.
It was only after the fire alarm began to go off, the sound reverberating off the walls, that his attention broke from his phone.
Bruce turned around, the sight causing his eyes to widen greatly. The fire was small, but nonetheless blazing and growing by the second. There was no doubt that the pasta was burnt to a crisp. “F*ck,” the program censored out the curse word.
“Father!” Damian was standing at the doorway, his stance defensive.
Bruce, with his limited knowledge, took a dishtowel and knocked it around the flames, which only served to fan them, and thus make the fire grow. By that time, Dick rushed downstairs as well, not even looking shocked. Only disappointed.
“Bruce. Stop,” Dick ordered.
Bruce scowled. “Quick what’s the number for 9-1-1?”
“Father.”
“Did you just-“
“Dick I don’t have time for trick questions! What is the number!”
“I...I wish for a new father, Grayson.”
“Me too, Dami,” Dick replied as he called 9-1-1, looking the most tired he’s ever been. “We should’ve had cereal,” Dick pouted as he placed his phone to his ear. Bruce continued to fan the flames, cursing out someone named ‘Clark’.
Duke wasn’t surprised when the program was cancelled by the fourth episode. There was too little viewers, as most of the demographic was the city of Gotham. Although he had to admit Bruce acting as a dumb bimbo was the most hilarious aspect of the entire show’s short run.
Dick had said they put up a front in order to reinforce their public identities, but Duke really wanted to believe a small part of Batman was able to act sincerely brain-dead for the show. It was a funny thought.
The whole show had genuinely given him joy, for the short time that it was running. For that, Duke was grateful.