The metallic clang reverberated through Wayne Manor, followed by Jason’s enraged roar. “Outch! What was that for, you demon brat?!”
“And where did you get those pans?” Tim’s voice followed, laced with curiosity.
Bruce, roused from his comfortable chair in the study, grumbled a response. He moved to locate the source of the commotion. The kitchen, predictably.
He walked in to find a scene that even years of Batman training hadn’t prepared him for. Dick was filming Jason, who lay groaning on the floor, a nasty bump already forming on his forehead. Damian and Tim were locked in a heated argument.
Damian clutched a bright red frying pan in his grip.
“Why did you knock him out? He was just making breakfast,” Tim snapped, frustration evident in his tone.
“He was obstructing my path, Drake. A more discerning mind would have avoided interference,” Damian retorted, holding his head high.
Dick squeaked, sounding remarkably like a fangirl. “He was like Rapunzel!”
“You still haven’t answered my question,” Tim pressed, wresting the pan from Damian’s hands. “Where did you get it?”
The pan was a vibrant red, gleaming as if freshly washed.
“Hey! Isn’t that George?” Dick snapped out of his trance, snatching the pan from Tim.
“So it is,” Tim confirmed.
“Grayson, cease assigning patronizing names to inanimate objects,” Damian commanded, his attention now focused on Dick. “And relinquish the weapon.” He lunged, retrieving the pan from a startled Richard.
Bruce stared in disbelief. Naming frying pans? Then another clang! Tim crumpled to the floor beside Jason, groaning in pain.
He should intervene.
But then he thought better of it. Nah, I’ll just deliver their punishments later.
Damian swung the pan back and forth, testing its weight. “Hmm… this kitchen implement is not entirely useless. I shall retain it.”
“Not favoring your katana anymore?” Jason taunted, his voice muffled by his face-first position on the floor.
*Whack!*
Bruce inhaled sharply.
That impact would leave a mark. Jason was now fully unconscious. As Damian marched off with his newly acquired weapon, Dick cried out. “Nooo! George! Don’t get promoted and leave me all alone!” He dramatically collapsed to his knees.
It wasn’t until a minute later that they all noticed Bruce standing there, observing the chaos. “Damian,” he nodded to the boy as he walked off to brood in his room. “Jason, no more taunting. Tim, stop being needlessly aggressive. Damian… just don’t hurt anyone. And Dick, stop naming pans, and please, for the love of all that is holy, don’t watch *Tangled*, or show it to anyone in this household.”
Bruce scolded, his tone weary. “It will give them ideas.”
He sighed as he walked away, anticipating the next disaster.
*God help me if it’s the Little Mermaid,* he thought.
“I should have stopped at one,” he muttered under his breath.