ephemeraltea prompted: Cooking show AU with Cass, Steph, Tim, Dick, and Jason. Damian and Alfred for bonus cookies.
Batman and related properties © DC Comics
story © RenaRoo
Justice Desserts
With one delicate finger, Stephanie disrupts Cass' agonized over icing pattern. She drags through it, lemon scented goodness wafting through the air all the while, and then plops the obtrusive member into her own mouth.
Cassandra, finishes the last flower pattern on the other side as the laugh track makes her astutely aware that shenanigans are afoot.
She gives her best friend an affronted look.
There's yellow icing on the corner of Steph's sweetly smiling mouth. Feigned innocence is not a look that works well for her.
They turn to face the camera, Cass with a less than amused face as the theme blares across the speakers. Stephanie's better at introductions - Cass is the best cook. Everything's a sacrifice one way or another, particularly when it's their turns on stage.
"It's that time again! Hello, hello!" Steph calls out, wrapping an arm around Cass' shoulders to pull the lean chef into a smothering embrace. "It's time for Justice Desserts! Tonight we're your ever lovely hosts - Stephanie Brown and Cassandra Cain! The main entree will be given to us by head chef and hottest buns around, Dick Grayson, and our losers on second course tonight are Jason Todd and Tim Drake!"
Cass smiles coolly into the camera as Stephanie gives her shoulder a prompting squeeze.
"And remember," Cass says softly in comparison to her bombastic friend, "we're live."
Jason's irritation is palpable. Which is Tim's excuse for continuing to chop onions and peppers without sending more than an apologetic glance his partner's way.
The camera's concentrated on Dick's roast which is most certainly not what Dick's pre-show meal had been and thus not what Jason's second course preparations were for.
Really, after over a year in syndication, Tim's not exactly sure what his peer expects from Dick-let's-make-this-salad-into-a-cornish-hen-Grayson at this point in their skyrocketing careers.
"I'll kill him," Jason hisses as he looks at the pastas simmering. "It's too late to make a hash. Fuck. What am I supposed to do with these? I'll rip his tongue out if he makes one comment about the second course not matching."
Tim sighs and slides the rest of his chopped vegetables into his bowl. "You could always increase the salt and I could run out real quick and get a bag of potatoes from the back - some carrots, maybe. We'll make it a pot roast."
The look Jason gives him could kill children.
"We don't have time for a fucking pot roast, Tim. We've already made our meal."
"You are so cranky today," Tim mutters, a little louder than his original intentions. The sound of his own voice makes him flench.
He looks up just in time to have a handful of half made guac shoved into his face.
The cameras shift at the oohs and laughter of the crowds just as Tim, calmly, pours the vegetable oil over Jason's head.
Dick and Cass barely stop the brawl from last season from reoccurring.
"This is utterly uncivilized," Damian huffs, lips curled, his feet drawn up onto his chair.
He's willing to bet that if his father's network had not taken the man's attention so much, he would have watched enough of these cooks' antics to wise up and fire them all on the spot. Like Damian has been attempting to do for months now.
Beside him, the network's other primetime chef and world expert, Alfred Pennyworth, merely sits stoically.
A pan clatters as Dick and Jason narrowly avoid being pelted by it.
"You always, always, always ruin my turn to host!" Stephanie screams to the delight of the crowds. "Hurry up and finish the appetizers or I swear I'll show you how hard that baking brick is!"
"Hard," Tim states from the corner without any hint of facetiousness.
The crowds roar.
"They are the finest chefs I have ever trained," Alfred sighs. "But only when they're working with each other."
Damian frowns but says nothing.
He wouldn't know. They don't cook vegan friendly. One of the many reasons to have them fired. Immediately.
If only he was not ten.
Dick laughs, jovially, as he and Cass hold each other up, knocking wine glasses together as the others lay around the set, defeated and exhausted. And full.
Nothing makes a meal quite like utter chaos.
"This has been," Dick begins before he and Cass lean in, harmonized, "Justice Desserts!"