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Dick would forever curse the fateful day Barbara Gordon had invited him out for McDonald’s. In all honesty, he should’ve seen it coming—who invites someone out for McDonald’s? Showing up at Wayne Manor, a mischievous grin on her face, he really should’ve seen something coming, but he was tired. So he did the sensible thing and accepted, but not before dragging Tim out of bed because he was the only member left in the manor (besides Alfred) and Dick loved to annoy his younger brother.
The McDonald’s was pretty empty for a Sunday afternoon, but little did Dick know it would soon become quite packed with the sheer amount of people to be called upon very soon. As they waited in the short line, Babs turned to Dick and asked a simple, straightforward question.
Simple, yet deadly.
“Are you hungry?”
Dick eyed her like she had three heads. “Yeah, Babs, that’s why I agreed to come. But why the hell did you bring me to a McDonald’s of all places? It’s kinda gross.”
“Well, yes, but I have a proposition for you.”
This was where Dick should’ve run. Maybe he could’ve grabbed Timmy and bolted, or he could’ve left him to deal with Barbara and whatever fresh hell she was planning, but he definitely should’ve left. Making a deal with Babs was like shaking hands with the Devil—you would come to regret it later.
Tim, looking up from his phone, raised an eyebrow. It was smart to be skeptical and at least one person out of the trio should’ve been in control of the brain cell. Dick thought it was Tim—he hoped it was Tim.
“I dare you to eat five hundred chicken nuggets.”
“What the fuck, Barbara.”
“Double dog dare me?” Tim asked, a slight smile as he goaded her on.
“Tim, stop encouraging her.”
“Triple dog dare you.”
Tim grinned. “Bet.”
Goddammit, Tim.
Dick punched him in the arm. “Dude, I thought you were supposed to be smart.”
“C’mon, how hard could it be?”
“Listen to the boy, Dick. I’ll even pay.” As if to demonstrate her offering, Barbara opened up her wallet and grabbed a stack of bills—ones, fives, tens, and Dick swore he saw a fifty or so peek out from the bunch.
He could’ve asked where she had gotten this much money, but he wasn’t actually sure if he wanted to know.
Tim watched him, trying to discern Dick’s final decision from the boy’s shocked face. After a moment or so, Dick sighed, a tired hand running down his face.
“Fine. You win, Gordon.”
She fist-pumped the air in victory before jumping up to the counter and asking for the colossal order. The cashier was understandably concerned.
“Did I hear that correctly? Five hundred chicken nuggets?” she asked, typing something into the register.
“With sauce,” Tim piped up, eyes glued once again to his phone.
The cashier, with furrowed brows, rang up the order, still reasonably worried but now slightly amused. She scanned Babs’ shining eyes and giddy grin, Dick’s exhausted expression with mouth set in a line, and Tim’s impartial but nevertheless instigating look. With a slight smile, she said, “One hundred and seventy-eight dollars.”
Dick turned to Babs. “One-seventy-eight? Are you seriously gonna spend that much money just to see Tim and I eat that many chicken nuggets?”
“Oh, I doubt you two can do it on your own,” she replied, handing a wad of cash to the woman, “but yes, yes I am.”
Twenty-minutes later and Dick, Babs, and Tim sat at a corner booth in the back of the store, their five-hundred nuggets divvied up into three, large bowls one could possibly use for passing out candy on Halloween. One of them even had a motif of black cats and witch hats circling the outside.
As they had organized their feast, the curious glances had already started. It wasn’t just the mountain of twenty-piece McNuggets stacked on trays, but the huge bowls that brought the attention of employees and customers alike. One older couple (who knows why they were in a McDonald’s anyways) looked absolutely horrified while a mother who fought to control her six- and four-year-old sons looked over at the table of teenagers and young adults and aged years (she definitely realized what the future had in store for her own kids).
Barbara, chin resting on the back of one hand and her phone poised to record the two boys’ exploits in the other, announced, “Begin!” and Dick and Tim were off.
The first thing Tim did was break open three barbecue sauce packets and downed ten chicken nuggets in two minutes. It was simultaneously the best and most disgusting thing Barbaras has ever seen.
Dick, still on his third nugget, gawked at the speed at which Tim was eating them.
“Tim, what the fuck.”
“I’m gonna be honest with you, Dick—I haven’t eaten in three days.”
“That’s… that’s not healthy.”
“And neither is eating this many chicken nuggets but here we are.”
———
Ten minutes later.
Tim: This isn’t so bad.
Dick: How many have you eaten now… THIRTY-FIVE? Tim, do you need help? I’m being serious right now.
Tim: Let me live my life, circus boy.
———
Twenty minutes later.
Dick: *groans of pain*
Babs: Hey Dick, are you alright?
Dick: *holding up a weak thumbs-up as he sadly takes another bite out of a chicken nugget coated in ranch*
Tim: I’ve seen him look worse.
—
Thirty minutes in and Babs walked back to the table, phone in one hand where she showed off the stopwatch and a tray in the other. The tray held drinks which the boys graciously accepted as Dick immediately drank half a large coke and Tim chugged what was probably steaming-hot coffee.
The table before them was a mess of open sauce packets, breadcrumbs, and two and a half bowls still proudly filled with chicken nuggets.
Tim, by some grace of whatever god, was still looking alright. Picking up his fiftieth nugget, he unceremoniously dipped it in sweet n’ sour sauce before shoving it in his mouth. Dick, on his thirty-first, eyed the half-eaten bowl of nuggets in disdain.
“Question—how’re the boys holding up?” Barbara says into her phone before flipping it around, showing Dick half-splayed across the entire booth while Tim perches on the table, nugget in one hand, phone in the other. She turns the phone back around. “Answer—as best as they can be.”
“Alright, that’s it,” Dick said, slamming his palm on the table. The current patrons in McDonald’s who joined in the curiosity, confusion, and terror of those who came before them jumped in alarm. The McDonald’s workers, even after a half an hour of two boys mindlessly eating chicken nuggets, seemed very invested in this ongoing saga, often looking away from their jobs to peer at the two boys try and eat through a mountain of regret. “I’m calling in help.”
Babs raised an eyebrow. “Help?”
Dick glared at her, aggressively pulling his phone out of his pocket and beginning to draft out a text. “Yeah, help. Unlike Tim’s boyfriend and their superfamily, I can’t eat five hundred goddamn chicken nuggets by himself.”
Tim eyed Dick indignantly through a mouthful of nugget. “Hey! You leave Kon out of this.”
Babs and Dick both chose to ignore him.
“So, what help are you bringing in?” Babs asked.
Twenty minutes later, by which Tim and Dick (but mostly Tim) had managed to polish off triple-digit chicken nuggets, Jason strolled in, Damian begrudgingly following him. Dick waved them over.
“You brought your brothers to do your dirty work?” Barbara asked once she saw them, voice slightly raised in anger.
“He already has,” Tim said, gesturing around at the army of empty sauce packets strewn around him.
Jason whistled at the mess and sheer amount of food in front of him. “How many have you already eaten?”.
“One hundred and forty-six,” Dick said, before gingerly putting an entire nugget into his mouth, wincing in pain as he chewed and harshly swallowed. “One hundred and forty-seven.”
“God, dude, take a break. You’re gonna kill yourself.”
“He’s only eaten like forty-six. I’ve eaten a hundred and ten,” Tim mumbled, pretty salty for someone filled with carbohydrates.
“A hundred and one, actually. I think the nuggets are affecting your brain,” Damian comments, sliding onto a chair beside Babs, who had now put away the camera and was instead checking her Twitter feed. Damian leaned over to peer at her phone. “What are you doing?” he asked her.
She grinned. “I’m live-tweeting. Ten minutes ago I tweeted out that ‘Dick let out a groan that sounded like a wounded animal. He’s now laying across the booth’s seat. He’s capped at forty-six.’ It currently has two thousand and fifteen likes.” She nodded at Dick. “Thanks for getting me clout, Dick.”
Dick, who had risen to meet his brothers but had now returned to his bed on the bench, raised his arm and flipped her off. “You’re not welcome.”
“Okay.” Jason clapped his hands together. “How many do we have to eat now?”
“Three-hundred and fifty-three.” Cue the sounds of four boys groaning. Babs turned the camera back on, smiling despite their pain (after this is all over, the boys still continue to worry about Babs and her sabotaging tendencies, but they’re too afraid to ask). “Get eating.”
—
One hour in.
Jason: Why did you agree to this many?
Tim: I have no self-preservation, you know this. And Dick’s a pushover.
Dick: *groaning*
Tim: Damian, why aren’t you eating?
Damian: I came for emotional support.
Tim: Ha ha, that’s funny. Either you eat the nuggets or I’ll shove them in your face.
Jason: How about we all calm down?
Tim: I have now eaten a hundred and fifteen goddamn chicken nuggets from goddamn McDonalds—don’t tell me to fucking calm down, Todd.
—
Five minutes later.
Babs: Tim has fainted.
—
An hour and a half in, Babs called time again.
“Alright,” she said, checking her phone where a stopwatch was still currently running. “It’s been an hour and a half. Where are we at?”
Jason, from his seat on the booth, Dick’s legs laid haphazardly across his lap, said, “I’ve eaten seventy-five, Damian has begrudgingly eaten thirty.” Damian, still next to Babs and with a few crumpled napkins before him, growled.
“Also Dick is now asleep and Tim is under the table.”
Barbara blinked. “Right.” She raised her voice, tilting her head to see under the relatively low plastic table. “How’re you doing, Drake?”
“You know Vivaldi’s Four Seasons? The winter one? With the violins that are violent and super intense?”
“Uh, yeah?”
Tim peeked his head out from under the table. “That’s my mental state right now.”
“Fantastic. According to my calculations, you’ve only eaten two hundred and sixty-six.” As Babs showed off the calculator on her phone, the boys groaned once more.
“Fuck you for getting me into this, Dick. And fuck you for accepting this challenge, Tim.” Jason sighed, his head slamming down onto the table.
By now, the lunch rush had ended and the only people left in the McDonald’s were the family of Robins and one Batgirl. The employees still checked out the ambitious table in the back but were now losing hope. At one point, the cashier had brought over a round of medium sprites for everyone, her face painted in concern as she explained her shift had ended and she wished them luck.
Damian popped a chicken nugget in his mouth out of obligation to his family but did not enjoy it at all. He would admit (in his head, not out loud) that he probably could eat more, but he very much didn’t want to. Dick had been out-of-commission for a while, but started to stir, accidentally kicking Jason in the chin as he sat up.
Clutching his jaw, Jason swore as the group turned to Dick who moved in a zombie-like fashion: nugget, dip in honey mustard, put in mouth, chew, swallow. They watched as he did this five times, each time seeming more painful than the last before he then collapsed back onto the booth. Babs, Damian, Jason, and Tim all exchanged worried glances, and when they would try and ask Dick about it later when he was more lucid, Dick would deny ever having done such a thing.
“Now it’s two-hundred and seventy-two,” Babs commented. Jason rubbed a hand down his face.
“What are we supposed to do now, Babs? Give up? Cause I will not give up to you, you’d never let us live it down.”
“It’s true, I wouldn’t,” she admitted, “but I think I have an idea.”
Jason and Damian eyed her carefully.
“What do you have in mind?” Jason asked.
———
“I’m just surprised you didn’t invite us sooner.”
They had only been there fifteen minutes but Cassandra and Stephanie had already collectively finished off fifty chicken nuggets. By now, all the boys had gathered around the two girls as they dug in with shining eyes and fresh stomachs, easily getting down to only half a bowl of nuggets left. They all watched on in horror and admiration as the two girls came up for air, stealing the sprites from the table and downing half of the drinks.
Barbara just grinned, impressed as always by her quick-thinking.
“Thanks for coming in, girls. The boys couldn’t handle it.”
“You challenged us to eat five hundred chicken nuggets what the fuck did you expect us to do? Unhinge our jaws like snakes and eat a hundred each?” Dick asked.
“Well, yeah. You’ve survived so much worse than this, I thought you could at least handle a few chicken nuggets.”
“Babs,” Jason said, completely serious. “I was killed by the Joker. Like, legit murdered. And this was worse.”
Everyone laughed, but it was a tired sort of laugh, born out the exhaustion it takes to prove someone wrong. A half an hour later, Cass and Steph (with some more help from the Bat Boys) finished up the five hundred chicken nuggets, causing a celebration to the scale of which was unheard of at a random McDonald’s on a Sunday afternoon.
They all left the chain restaurant tired and stomachs full of processed chicken, and it was only on the ride home that they all realized they would soon fully regret their decisions. Thank God for those sprites the cashier had brought them.
Except for Babs. All she had to do was edit together all her film and post it on Youtube.
They all learned two lessons that night: teamwork makes the dream work, and never accept a challenge from Barbara Gordon—you might not survive.