Chapter Text
Dick is beaming when Tim enters the Manor. That, in itself, is not a suspicious thing. Dick has never been stingy with his smiles, and on some memorable occasions, it’s been joked that Dick has stolen the family’s entire supply of smiles. So yeah, the smile isn’t anything new.
It still gives Tim a bad feeling when Dick waves him over.
The older man has a hand behind his back, hiding something.
Tim thinks desperately about the date, wondering if it’s his birthday or some holiday. He comes up empty when he realizes that his birthday still isn’t for a few months.
“Guess what,” Dick says to him, practically bouncing with pleased excitement.
“You won Gotham’s Most Eligible Bachelor instead of Bruce,” Tim guesses hesitantly, feeling a little taken aback at how excited Dick seems to be.
“What?” Dick gives him an odd look before he shakes his head. “No. Jason gave me cookies!” As if to emphasize his point, Dick’s hand comes out from behind his back to shove a small Ziploc bag filled with what appears to be chocolate chip cookies into Tim’s face.
Tim leans back at the action. “He went out and bought cookies?”
It’s not that Jason doesn’t go out, but ever since Jason finally agreed to start therapy, he hasn’t exactly been in the mood to cherish the greater world. Tim barely even sees Jason sometimes, which is fine with him because they’re still not exactly on the best terms. Though Jason’s hostility has lessened greatly.
“He baked them,” Dick clarifies, smile widening enough that Tim has to wonder if it hurts.
Tim thinks he’s misheard for a moment before he realizes that Dick’s expression is decidedly very serious and not at all joking. His brain crashes. “He bakes?”
Dick nods cheerfully. “Therapy thing,” Dick explains. “Alfred’s been trying to get him to express himself more, and with how Jason doesn’t like eating food he didn’t make himself, he decided on cooking and baking.”
Well, it’s a pretty understandable move if Tim considers Jason’s trauma. But still. Baking?
Tim has never thought about what Jason does in his spare time that isn’t reading. And considering everything that’s happened, Jason as a baker is the furthest image from Tim’s mind as humanly possible.
“Oh,” Tim says faintly.
“I’d give you one, but this is mine,” Dick continues, utterly oblivious to the shock that Tim is currently experiencing. “They’re delicious. I feel like I should stay in Gotham just for Jason’s baking.”
“Oh,” Tim repeats, just as faintly as before. Then his brain reboots itself as Dick’s wording registers in his mind. “Wait, what do you mean yours?”
“He baked cookies for everyone,” Dick answers, opening his bag and pulling out a cookie. He starts munching on it. “Yours and Babs’s should be in the kitchen,” he says after a swallow. “I think Jason went to go give Bruce his bag.”
“Uh, right,” Tim manages to say. He’s still a little confused over the idea of Jason baking. “I guess I’ll go get ours right now.”
Dick nods absently, still munching on his cookie. He’s eating through his bag at a fast enough pace that he looks like he’ll run out of cookies in the next few minutes. “Oh, hey, wait. If you see Jason, ask him to add more chocolate chips to mine next time.”
Tim doesn’t want to talk to Jason at all regarding anything about baking. He’d rather talk to Jason about the heat death of the universe than baking. At least then, Tim doesn’t feel like his brain will melt. Still, he nods and agrees.
He heads towards the kitchen, where he finds the place empty save for two bags left on the kitchen island. They’re labeled ‘BG’ and ‘Tim’ in neat sharpie so it’s clear which bag is which.
Tim opens his, picking out a cookie, and inspecting it with the same intensity he reserves for his most challenging cases.
Dick’s already said that the cookies are delicious, but Tim feels like he needs a second opinion. It’s not that Dick has weird taste. It’s just that Dick is known to be a little biased when it comes to trying to help Jason.
Finally, deeming that the cookie seems to be perfectly normal in every way, Tim takes the plunge and bites down on the cookie. Almost immediately, as he’s chewing, his face twists.
Salty. Incredibly so. So much so that Tim wonders if Jason had decided to dump an entire container of salt into the cookie mix.
Tim drops the bag and the cookie on the counter and rushes to the fridge to grab a drink. He gulps down the apple juice to wash away the saltiness, and even after the taste is gone, he feels like he needs to wash his tongue.
This is what Dick described as delicious?
Tim thinks he needs to reevaluate Dick’s taste buds and the man’s definition of delicious. He’s never thought of Dick as delusional before. Maybe he should rethink that.
He glances at his open bag and then at Barbara’s bag. He hesitates. As her boyfriend, he feels obligated to protect her from terrible food. He’ll just buy some cookies from the store and pretend that Jason made them.
Jason’s going to owe him for this.
Tim’s just preparing to throw the two bags into the trash discreetly when he hears a noise behind him and then Alfred’s aghast and disapproving voice snaps at him.
“Master Drake! What do you think you’re doing?”
“Fuck,” Tim curses quietly. Jason’s rubbed off on him apparently. He turns around with a smile, hiding the bags behind his back like he’s not about to dump the cookies into the trash. “Hi, Alfred.”
Alfred’s face is thunderous. “Master Drake, I hope that you’re not about to do what I think you’re trying to do.”
Tim winces. “I wasn’t. Really,” he adds weakly, nearly wilting as Alfred’s unimpressed expression continues without letting up. He glances around for a moment. “Uh, Alfred, look. I know everyone wants to support Jason’s baking, but don’t you think it’s a little wrong to make people eat it?”
Alfred’s disapproval grows the more Tim speaks. There’s disappointment practically radiating off the elderly man. “Master Todd’s pastries are a result of his hard work,” he says, voice pointed. “I will not have you insult his efforts and attempt to throw away perfectly good food. Especially when one of those bags is not yours.”
“Perfectly good food?” Tim repeats, stunned and incredulous.
Dick, Tim can reluctantly understand. Sometimes, it feels like Dick can subsist on nothing but cereal and quick, cheap food. But Alfred?
Tim suddenly feels like the world’s gone a little wrong. Has he somehow been transported to an alternate reality where these incredibly salty cookies are apparently the best tasting thing in the whole world?
“Something wrong?” Jason’s voice asks as he comes into view. He crosses his arms and looks at Alfred and then Tim. His eyes narrow when he catches sight of Tim near the trash can. “Throwing something away, Tim?”
Tim will never get used to Jason using his first name, but he’s been told to not point out how awkward Jason sounds. It’s supposed to get Jason to connect with people easier if he calls people by their first names rather than their last.
Tim sees Alfred’s eyes stare at him almost threateningly and immediately folds. “No,” he says quickly before the wrath of the elderly butler can rain down upon him. “I was just telling Alfred how good your cookies are.”
“Really,” Jason drawls with enough disbelief to drown a man.
Tim forces a smile onto his face. “Yeah, really.” He takes the half-eaten cookie he had earlier and braces himself as he shoves it into his mouth.
The saltiness of it nearly twists his face again, but Tim manages to get his expression under control as he chews and swallows. He feels like dying.
“See? Delicious,” Tim comments weakly, desperately trying not to showcase how close he is to running to the sink and blasting water down his throat.
Alfred looks at him and nods in approval, but Jason merely leans against the entrance of the kitchen, lips curling.
“Eat up, Tim,” Jason says, and the way he says it has Tim twitching. “I made those specially for you.”
Realization dawns on Tim, and outrage spreads across his face. “You,” he begins, only to be interrupted by Alfred.
“Master Drake,” Alfred warns.
Tim debates for a few seconds on facing Alfred’s wrath before he sullenly mutters, “Thank you, Jason.”
“You’re welcome,” Jason replies with what might almost be a smile.
Tim hopes he stubs his toe and steps on a Lego.
Tim watches as Barbara eats her cookies and promptly slides her bag out of his reach. The look on her face indicates that she’s not up to sharing.
“Can I have one?” he asks almost timidly anyways.
“No.”
At the next family dinner, Jason comes out of the kitchen with dessert. He places bowls of strawberry cobbler in front of everyone before he steps back and watches.
Tim stares at his bowl.
Across from Tim, Dick has already dug in enthusiastically. Barbara is doing the same, clearly savoring the dessert. Alfred takes bites in a pleased but neat manner.
“This is wonderful, Master Todd,” Alfred praises in delight.
“It’s really good,” Barbara agrees.
Dick lifts his head up from where he’s been licking the bowl. “Can I have seconds?”
“Sure,” Jason says and takes Dick’s bowl back into the kitchen.
Tim hesitates for a moment, remembering the chocolate chip cookie incident before he decides that maybe Jason won’t mess with it this time. He picks up his spoon and bravely digs in. He regrets it immediately.
Why is it spicy? Strawberry cobbler is very clearly not meant to be spicy.
Tim mourns his taste buds. Sorry, taste buds, he’ll remember to not trust Jason’s food next time he’s handed some.
Jason comes back, handing Dick his bowl. “Not eating, Bruce?”
Tim looks from where he’s been staring blankly and enviously at Barbara and Dick to Bruce who has only picked up his spoon. He notices that the man’s bowl is still filled with the cobbler, showing no sign of being eaten at all.
Bruce’s hand tightens around his spoon. He looks like he’s bitterly gathering his courage.
Tim recognizes that look, having had it on his face just a few minutes ago. He looks between Bruce and Jason.
Surely not… Surely Jason wouldn’t…
Jason absolutely would.
Tim wonders what Bruce has done now to earn Jason’s wrath. Knowing Bruce, it might be something like being a little too overbearing. Knowing Jason, one of his therapy sessions might’ve brought up some bad memories and associations.
Bruce quickly digs his spoon into the dessert. He eats like he’s not even tasting the food. “It’s great,” Bruce says when he finishes. He does an admirable job of not showcasing whatever the flavor is doing to his taste buds.
Sympathy permeates Tim’s very being as he looks on. At least Tim can escape Jason’s pettiness. Bruce can’t.
“That’s good,” Jason responds impassively. “There’s more in the fridge if you want seconds.”
Bruce winces.
Tim quietly sinks into his seat, hoping that Jason won’t turn his gaze to him. Unfortunately, the movement seems to have attracted Jason’s attention.
“Full, Tim?” Jason asks mildly.
“I had a snack before dinner,” Tim excuses.
“Shame,” Jason says, sounding wholly regretful, and Tim breathes a quiet sigh of relief when Jason doesn’t press.
Tim goes to bed thinking about how that damn strawberry cobbler had looked so delicious despite its taste. His stomach mourns for what could have been as he recalls Alfred, Dick, and Barbara’s expressions when they dug into their normal cobbler.
Tim encounters Bruce holding a croissant as he makes his way into the Cave. He eyes the man for a moment as Bruce stares blankly down at his croissant.
“Jason?” Tim eventually asks sympathetically.
Bruce nods absently.
Tim considers the situation for a moment before he glances around just in case Alfred is lurking nearby. He lowers his voice to a whisper. “I can throw it away for you.”
“No, it’s okay,” Bruce answers with a rueful smile. “Thank you.” He takes a bite of the croissant, chewing slowly.
Tim holds back for a few seconds before he has to ask. “What’s it taste like?”
Bruce’s response is a little late. “I think he’s trying to drown me in cinnamon.”
“Oh.”
“I’m getting used to it, honestly,” Bruce confesses then, looking so utterly at peace and serene. It’s the picture of someone who has accepted his lot in life.
Tim is almost horrified at it. How many times has Bruce had to eat Jason’s revenge baking? Will he end up like Bruce if it continues on like this?
He takes another look at the croissant and decides to not accept anything Jason offers him. Well, as best he can at least. He thinks he’ll be better off if he just accepts that he will never be able to taste Jason’s pastries and desserts.
Tim has lied.
He doesn’t accept it.
Why is it that only he and Bruce are the only ones who can’t eat Jason’s normal, apparently amazing pastries and desserts? This is discrimination based on Jason’s mood, and Tim knows that he will probably never fall into the ‘good’ side of Jason’s mood. Meaning Tim is effectively never getting to taste Jason’s baking.
He might be able to gloss over it all, assume that everyone is just exaggerating for Jason’s sake. He can just reassure himself that he’s not missing out on much.
If it isn’t for Dick.
“Look!” Dick exclaims, clearly showing off to Tim as he holds up a brownie up to Tim’s face. The crumbs around his mouth indicate that he’s already eaten far more than the container he’s holding implies. “Cream cheese filled. You sure you don’t want some, Tim?”
Tim’s stomach growls just looking at and smelling it. “Yes,” Tim says through gritted teeth. “I’m perfectly fine.”
The tone of his voice apparently doesn’t get through to Dick because the man sighs dramatically. “I don’t get you, Tim,” Dick says, eyebrows furrowed like he’s honestly worried over Tim’s refusal to eat anything Jason’s made. “Everyone in this family loves Jason’s food.”
Tim thinks back to Bruce’s face every time Jason hands him a pastry and wonders how Dick can possibly say that with a straight face. Then again, Dick is always absorbed in eating when Bruce has to deal with Jason’s tricks, so maybe he doesn’t realize that Jason has been creating terrible things in the kitchen.
“Is it really that good?” Tim asks dryly.
Dick’s answer is a very emphasized, “Yes.” Then, as if that isn’t enough to prove his point, he goes on to say, “Honestly, I think he should start selling them or something. They’re that good.”
Tim’s lips thin. He stares at the brownies sullenly. He decides that if he wants to finally taste some of Jason’s amazing pastries, he’s going to have to go to drastic measures.
There is really only one person that Tim can steal from. Bruce is already out of the equation by the fact that he too is a victim of Jason’s targeted discrimination. Barbara is a big no, considering she is his girlfriend and Tim very much does not want to sleep on the couch or the floor or get kicked out. And Alfred is Alfred.
By the process of elimination, Dick is the only person that Tim can steal from without suffering too many consequences.
If anyone attempts to tell Tim that he’s only doing this because he’s petty that Dick keeps unintentionally taunting the perfectly good pastries in his face, Tim will immediately call them out for slander. Maybe.
Tim starts spending a lot of his time at the Manor. He lingers around the kitchen, trying to figure out Jason’s schedule and Dick’s sudden appearance whenever Jason’s done with his latest venture. He learns that Dick apparently has some sort of internal clock when it comes to Jason finishing and the pastries cooling.
He can’t tell if it’s because Dick just instinctively knows and has some sort of weird meta ability only relating to this or if he’s asked Jason to text him.
What he does know is that the time frame between Jason leaving to give Bruce his food (sorry, Bruce, but Tim is not getting involved in that) and Dick showing up is in literal seconds. Seconds.
Jason gives him a dirty look when Tim hovers by the entrance to the kitchen for the nth time this week. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you’re stalking me, Drake,” Jason drawls.
Last names. Jason’s getting upset.
“I’m not,” Tim says hastily.
It’s true. He’s not stalking Jason. Technically, he’s stalking Dick. Somehow, that doesn’t make it sound at all better in his mind.
He’s doing this for the cookies, Tim reminds himself as he gazes at the cooling snickerdoodles on the tray.
Jason eyes him suspiciously. He must apparently decide that Tim’s telling the truth because he just settles on scoffing. “Yeah, whatever.” He refocuses on bagging the cookies and labeling them.
The moment Jason’s set off to ruin Bruce’s taste buds yet again, Tim is immediately stepping foot into the kitchen. His hand is halfway to Dick’s bag.
“What are you doing?”
Tim stares down at the bags in mournful disappointment.
How is it that today is the day that Dick decides to come early? Has his pastry-sense warned him about Tim’s attempt today? Is he just that tuned into the pastries that he felt the need to arrive at the kitchen just a few seconds early?
Tim plasters on a smile as he turns to face the suspicious man. “Nothing.”
Dick stares at him. Then his eyes flicker down to behind Tim. “Were you trying to do something to the cookies?”
“No.”
“Oh, good,” Dick says, sounding unconvinced. “Because it’s not like you’re trying to steal cookies or anything, right?”
Tim lets out a little nervous laugh, trying to keep his composure. “Why would you think that? I was just grabbing my bag.”
“Your bag,” Dick repeats. He arches an eyebrow at Tim. “You mean the bag you’ve been refusing for nearly two weeks now?”
Tim’s smile cramps. “Has it really been that long?”
Dick ignores him. He mutters to himself. “You can’t take Bruce’s. Babs and Alfred are off-limits. So…”
“Wait, Dick, we can talk about this,” Tim interrupts as Dick’s eyes start to bore holes into him. He raises his hands in surrender.
“Jason was right,” Dick says. His eyes and expression are deadly serious.
“Wait. Jason?” Tim suddenly has a bad feeling about this whole thing.
Why had Dick immediately gone to the idea that Tim is trying to steal rather than some benign reason?
“You thief!” Dick accuses in outrage, advancing on Tim. “I should’ve suspected you from the moment my bags started having less than the normal amount and you started hanging around the kitchen. I trusted you, Tim. How could you do this to me?”
Tim has no idea what Dick is talking about. He hadn’t even been aware that Dick is keeping track of the amount of food he’s getting.
“Wait, Dick,” Tim says again, trying to calm him down. “I think there’s a misunderstanding here. I think Jason’s set me up.”
Dick doesn’t let up. “Tell me honestly, Tim,” he demands dangerously. “Were you planning on stealing my cookies?”
Tim makes the split-second decision to grab Dick’s cookie bag and run. An outraged yell sounds behind him just before he gets tackled to the ground. The two of them scramble for the cookie bag.
Tim resolves himself. If he’s already going down for this, he’s at least going to taste that damn cookie. He tears open the bag.
Dick slaps it out of his hand. The cookies spill onto the floor.
“No!” Dick yells, mournful and heartbroken.
Tim realizes that there’s only one cookie still left untouched in the bag. He quickly reaches for it. He’s just about to bite into it when a hand covers it and Tim bites into Dick’s flesh instead.
“Dick, what the hell?” Tim yelps.
Dick’s eyes are the burning type of determination that has Tim feeling like he’s absolutely made a mistake with the way he went about things. “This is my cookie,” he tells Tim. “Let go.”
They get into a tug-of-war over the cookie. This is not how Tim imagined his Saturday going, but here he is.
They must put too much pressure into their tug-of-war because the next thing Tim knows, the cookie has crumbled to bits in their hands.
Dick lets out a mournful wail and sits up to stare at the crumbs on the ground and his hand.
Tim feels vaguely guilty about it all.
Footsteps come up behind them. “Should I ask what’s going on?” Jason’s voice asks dryly.
“My cookies,” Dick whimpers, still looking sadly at the cookie bits.
“This is your fault,” Tim accuses Jason as he turns around.
Jason gives him a skeptical look. He crosses his arms, leaning against the wall. “My fault that you two apparently started a playground fight over cookies?”
Okay, when Jason puts it like that…
“That’s not what I meant,” Tim says. He lets out a frustrated noise. “You know what I mean.”
Amusement sparkles in Jason’s eyes. “I really don’t.”
Tim mutters a curse, multiplying the number of Legos that he wishes Jason will step on. “You set me up. With all the bad cookies and food. When I started hanging around the kitchen, you started to lessen the number of cookies Dick got. And then when I finally decided to”—Tim glances at Dick for a moment and decides not to say the word ‘steal’—“do what I did, you told Dick that I was up to something. You blamed me for it all and set me up.”
Dick looks up at Jason. “Is that true?”
Jason rolls his eyes. “You gonna believe him just like that?”
Dick is silent, staring at Jason and then Tim.
Jason huffs. “Fine. I’ll be right back.”
“Where are you going?” Tim questions.
“To grab something.” Jason doesn’t listen any further as he disappears into the kitchen. He comes back soon after and tosses Dick another bag of cookies.
“This is Tim’s,” Dick says, looking at Jason.
“Yeah,” Jason confirms, crossing his arms once more. “Have at it.”
“Wait,” Tim starts before he subsides to Dick’s blank stare. “Never mind.”
If Dick wants to try out one of Jason’s terrible-on-purpose cookies, who’s Tim to stop him? If it gets Dick to believe him and Tim gets some revenge for Dick immediately blaming him, well, Tim’s just being resourceful.
Dick hesitates for a moment before he takes a cookie and bites into it. He chews slowly.
Tim’s anticipatory smile fades the longer it takes for Dick’s face to express any sort of disgust. He looks between the cookie, Dick’s face, and Jason’s not-so-subtle amused face.
“Well?” Jason asks airily.
“It tastes delicious like normal,” Dick mutters sullenly. “But it’s not the same. My cookies were mine. These are Tim’s.”
Tim’s mouth drops. “You’re joking.” He attempts to grab a cookie but is met with resistance when Dick promptly hides the bag behind his back.
“So, you still think I set you up?” Jason questions.
“Tim,” Dick starts with a disappointed sigh, “if you just wanted more cookies, you could’ve asked. You didn’t have to do this.”
Tim stares at Dick for a full five seconds before he turns his gaze to Jason, whose mouth twitches in that motion Tim recognizes as amusement. He wonders how many of the cookies in the past week were utterly fine cookies that Tim could’ve just eaten without fear of being subjected to a weird taste or texture.
Bastard, Tim mouths at him.
Jason lets out a snort. “Well, I won’t be making anything for the next week,” he says.
“What? Why?” Dick immediately asks, looking like it’s about to be the end of the world.
Jason shrugs. “Gonna go get a dog,” he answers. “I’m not gonna have the time.”
“But you’ll have time after that, right?” Dick practically begs.
Jason rolls his eyes. “Yes,” he sighs. “I’ll have time after that.”
Tim looks sourly at Jason, knowing that Dick will now be extremely careful over pastry thefts and that Tim’s own pastries will resume being terrible-on-purpose.
Jason’s lips curl at him.
He’s right.
The next batch of cookies is sour to the point of twisting Tim’s face.