Dick Grayson was excited. This was not an unusual occurrence, but Dick was happy because it was Sunday. And on Sundays, Alfred always bought donuts.

Dick's sudden appearances had not lessened, and now he was a frequent visitor. Bruce often remarked that Dick lived here now more than himself. Climbing through an open window on the second floor (it was far more fun than using the front door), Dick padded down one of the long corridors of the estate and made a beeline for the kitchen. The tradition had started years ago, back when Dick had still held the title of the Robin. Every Sunday Alfred would provide the vigilante and his sidekick with the fresh breakfast treats, and the tradition still held to this day. Dick thought of it as the highlight of his week.

Shoving open the doors to the kitchen, Dick sighed as the smell of the beloved pastry wafted towards him. He made his way to the table, when he suddenly noticed a figure hovering above the donut box.

"Jason?"

The man in question's head shot up. A donut was in his hand, and white powder was smeared across his face. The sight made Dick giggle, but Jason's murderous glare caused him to try and stifle it. Jason grumpily finished off his donut and reached for another. Dick cheerfully walked up to the box to grab his own. When he peered in the box, it was empty.

Jason blinked in confusion. One moment he had the donut in his hand, the next it was gone. Glancing up at his adoptive somewhat brother, he saw the item in question. Jason extended his arm, trying to snatch it back. "Dude, give it."

Dick stubbornly shook his head, stepping just out of his opponent's reach. "No way. You ate them all. At least give me one!"

Jason lunged at the flying Grayson, who narrowly missed the grabbing hands. "It's mine!"

"It's mine. You ate nearly a dozen by yourself. Don't be greedy."

"I got it first!"

Thus began the chase for the last donut. Dick took off sprinting down the hallway, turning sharp corners and taking what passageways he thought were most unfamiliar to Jason. After a quick minute, Dick lost sight of Jason behind him. He slowed his pace, about to indulge in his favorite breakfast, when Jason leapt out from the corner. The donut was now in his possession, and he took off like a madman. Dick was hot on his heels. The two continued like that, chasing each other as the donut switched possession.

Dick, who now had the donut, turned the corner. He was met with a dead end. Turning fearfully, he supposed he would have to fight Jason for the prize. Was breaking your brother's arm over a donut a bit too extreme?

Nah.

Jason started towards Dick. Dick had his fist protectively set before him and the hand holding the donut high above his head. Just before the two collided, the window beside them shattered. Dick and Jason tumbled apart, dodging broken glass and the young man who broke it.

Tim smirked triumphantly as he snatched the donut from an unsuspected Dick's hand. "It's Sunday! And if I have to kill you two to get this, then so be it!"

Tim ran down the hall. Jason and Dick exchanged a knowing look. If we can't have it, he can't have it either. The team of two began to track down their younger brother.

It wasn't hard to find him; anywhere the donut went, it left a trail of powdered dust. Alfred would have their heads for ruining his carpet. In the living room, the trail of dust stopped. Dick and Jason went into stealth mode, silently tracking the third Robin. Jason looked back at Dick, shrugging. Dick was about to forfeit their mission when he noticed Jason's hair. The top of it was seemingly lighter—and he was positive it wasn't his signature grays near his hairline. It was as if something white had fallen on his head. . . .

Dick tilted his head, looking to the ceiling. Timothy Drake was there, curled up around one of the rafters, the donut clutched in his hand. He let out a scream as Jason scaled the wall. Tim was in the action of putting the donut in his mouth when Jason slapped it out of his hand. They watched helplessly as the donut tumbled to the ground. Dick, in all his agile and athletic glory, reached his hand out to catch it. It bounced off the tips of his fingers, and tumbled out the window.

An eerie silence fell about the room. Jason and Tim dropped from the rafters, landing at their brother's side.

Dick pouted. "God dammit, Jason."

Jason was about the retort when Tim held up a hand to silence the two. They each listened to the sounds from outside the window; birds chirping, a light breeze swaying the leaves.

"Is that . . . laughing?"

A gleeful, maniacal laughter filtered into the room. Racing to the window, they could see the youngest Batchild, donut in hand.

"Damian!" Dick shrieked. The three brothers tumbled headfirst out the window.

Bruce got out of his car, eyes set on the front door of Wayne Manor. He always made sure to schedule meetings on Sunday morning. Usually by the time he got home, the chaos would die down a bit. Eager to change from his business suit into a far more important one, he grabbed his briefcase and closed the car door. About halfway to the door, his youngest came tearing down the lawn, a mushy, powdery donut in his hand. He ran straight past Bruce, never stopping, but shouting a quick, "Father, they're trying to murder me!"

Bruce sighed. It seemed he got home a bit too early. Tim came next, his face red and his hair windblown. "Get back here, you little twerp! You stole my donut!" He left as quickly as he had appeared.

Before Bruce could move, another son appeared. Dick looked more worried than anything else. He skidded to a stop, grabbing Bruce's shoulders and positioning his father like a human shield. "I pushed Jason out the window and he fell in a bush. Hide me!"

As Jason came into view, Dick gave a yelp and hid behind Bruce's car.

"Good morning, Jason," Bruce said in a calm yet warm voice.

Jason looked worse for wear. He had leaves and twigs crowning the top of his head. His hair and face were coated with powder. To top it all off, he was limping. He grunted in response to Bruce's greeting. "It will be when I get my hands around Grayson's neck."

Bruce watched as the angriest of his sons hobbled off. He couldn't quite tell if Jason was joking or not.

Alfred chose that moment to emerge from the car, his groceries in tow. "Shall I tell them I purchased another box for breakfast, Master Bruce?"

Bruce smiled brightly, shaking his head. "Wait just a little longer. They amuse me."

Hey guys! Hope you liked it. Now I really want some donuts. . . .

A/N: No I don't own Batman. If I did this would all be canon.

Anybody got any ideas for future chapters?

~palmtreedragons