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Jason opened his fridge.
His food was gone. Again.
Enraged, he closed it a little too hard, making the glass bottles inside clatter against each other.
“This is it,” he said, to no one in particular.
This was the third time someone had stolen his dinner. Not the first or the second time.
He had come home, tired and hungry, just to find that his leftover risotto he had made with so much love for himself was gone.
Nada, nothing, vanished.
It was exactly what had happened to his chicken pie last week and his pasta the one before that.
Jason just knew it was one of the bats. Who else would enter his apartment, perfectly avoiding his security systems and taking his food? The thief had even taken the liberty of cleaning the glass container the soup was in.
Why the fuck were they eating his food?
They all had food to eat and takeout places nearer than his apartment!
“But nooo, they have to come to my house and take mine,” he hissed to the cucumber he started cutting, like the vegetable was the one responsible for his problem.
Enraged, Jason placed bread slices on the toaster.
He was going to catch whoever was doing this. Next time, he was going to be ready.
And they were going to pay.
—————————
Friday night
Jason’s helmet displayed a notification.
Sensor 03 activated.
Jason felt a spark of victory. His trap had worked. After yesterday’s intrusion, he had placed hidden pressure sensors on every entry. The intruder could not have realized.
He was just ten minutes away from his apartment. If he hurried, he should catch the food thief in the act.
In his hurry, he was in front of his bedroom’s window in barely seven minutes. Ignoring the new notification indicating another of the sensors had been triggered, he quickly and quietly disabled his own security locks, and slipped into the room.
His bedroom, like the entire apartment, was totally dark. However, there was someone else there. Jason knew it.
Soundlessly, he tiptoed towards the small kitchen. It was empty.
However, there was a small, clinking noise, followed by what sounded like a stifled sob, followed by another one.
Now alarmed, Jason made his way to the only eating table in his small apartment, and switched the lights on.
The intruder was sitting at the table.
It was Tim.
Tim flinched violently, clearly surprised, and he blinked several times against the sudden light while hastily wiping away tears from his face. There was a bowl with onion soup in front of him.
He wasn’t even in costume.
Of all things Jason expected, a mid-breakdown Drake eating his food at one a.m. was not on the list.
“What the fuck?” Jason hissed.
In other circumstances he may have been more merciful—everyone was having some rough months, but this was the fourth time this happened. He deserved some answers.
Tim cleared his voice. “I—uh— hi.” He guiltily glanced at the bowl of food in front of him.
“You are the one stealing my food?” Jason took out his helmet, and tossed it aside. “Why?”
Tim gulped, glancing at the window at the other side of the apartment. He seemed to be considering making an exit that way, so Jason made sure to walk that way, blocking that escape route. Tim seemed to realize he was effectively caught, because after a deep breath, he said, “I’m sorry. About the food. I won’t do it anymore.”
“You’re damn right you won’t.” Jason crossed his arms.
Tim nodded, and reluctantly carried his bowl to the kitchen.
But Jason was not letting him go that easily. “We are not finished. Why did you come here in the first place?”
Tim shrugged. “I was near and got hungry.”
Jason did not fall for it. “You’re lying. Why are you here, eating my food? You have food at your place.”
He didn’t mean to phrase it as a question, but it ended up sounding like one. Why was Tim crying at his apartment? Did he not have food? Why hadn’t Bruce heard of it?
Tim set his bowl down on the kitchen counter and rolled his eyes. “Yes, I have food at home.”
“Then why the fuck eat mine? And why do you look like shit?” Jason asked.
Tim inhaled shakily. “None of your business.”
“My food, my business.” Jason did not budge.
Tim’s face went blank, like he did every time he was dealing with a crisis, containing whatever emotion he was feeling. Jason had not dwelled on it before, but now, the sudden change creeped him out.
It reminded him a little of how Tim had behaved at Alfred’s funeral.
Oh.
Oh.
Jason pinched the bridge of his nose. “It’s the food, isn’t it. Alfred’s recipes.” Jason looked at the ceiling for a second before facing Tim, his anger all gone.
Tim nodded. “I tried following some of them, but my cooking is not the same.”
Jason had been the only one in the manor Alfred trusted not to burn the kitchen down, and after his young self showed interest in cooking, Alfred had been more than happy to teach him.
Now, those peaceful afternoons cooking together felt so much more valuable than they had seemed at the time.
Jason was hit with a sudden wave of grief.
It wasn’t fair. He had been doing better. It still hurt, it would always hurt, but he had been doing better lately.
Except he hadn’t. Now that Tim brought it up, he realized that unconsciously, he had been cooking Alfred’s recipes that he knew from memory, rotating them for at least a month.
“Jason?”
Jason snapped out of his thoughts.
“Sit down. And give me your bowl.”
Tim frowned. “Why?”
Jason chose to answer the easier of the questions. “Because your soup is already cold. And let me guess— you used the microwave to heat it up.”
Tim bristled and crossed his arms, but let Jason take the soup. “What is wrong with using the microwave?”
Jason tutted as he shook his head. “Everything is wrong with using the microwave,” he answered. “Now sit down, brat.”
Surprisingly, Tim obeyed, even if he flipped Jason off when he turned around.
Jason sighed.
All right.
He placed the pot with the rest of the refrigerated soup onto the stove. While that was heating up, Jason cut slices of bread and placed it on the toaster. After that, he spent the next minutes next to the soup, stirring it with a wooden spoon until it was hot enough. When it was ready, Jason poured soup into two bowls and placed the bread and the cheese on top, as it should be.
“Here.” Jason slid the bowl and a spoon to Tim.
“Thanks.” He mumbled.
Jason exchanged the bright kitchen lights for the softer, warmer one of a reading lamp in the living room. The light was enough to see in the small apartment, but not too bright.
Jason sat down at the table and started eating his soup. He allowed himself to fully take in the rich flavors of the dish, slowly munching the bread and the cheese.
A memory pulled at him, almost out of reach in his mind, but Jason gripped it tight.
——-————————
Jason sat down at the manor’s dinner table, wearing one of Dick’s old sweaters, crying.
Everything had gone wrong on patrol. Batman was down at the Cave, patching himself up. Jason should have been better. He had failed, he should have—
A warm hand came to his shoulder.
Jason braced himself to be scolded.
Alfred placed a plate of soup in front of Jason. “Young lad, do not concern yourself anymore. Master Bruce will be all right. Vigilante work is dangerous and exhausting; you should eat now.”
Alfred did not sound angry with him.
He didn’t even sound angry at all. For some reason, that made Jason cry a little harder.
“Oh, my boy.” Alfred softly stroked his back, “Do not cry. You did nothing wrong.”
Jason tried to stop crying, but he couldn’t. Alfred didn’t get angry. Instead, he stayed next to Jason until he was calm enough to start drinking the soup.
Suddenly, things didn’t seem as bad.
——————————-
After Jason finished eating, he leaned back and closed his eyes, ignoring the tears that seeped out of them.
It’s fine.
A part of Jason scoffed at the thought. It would never be fine.
But maybe that was how it was meant to be.
After an undetermined amount of time, Jason opened his eyes again, and despite his aching neck, he sat upright. The apartment seemed the same, but early sunrays were coming from the living window, so it must have been a while. And Tim—
Tim was gone. On the clean bowls he had left beside the sink, there was a sticky note:
Thank you.
I’ll come with Steph next week.
Also, you snore.