Jason was making pancakes in the kitchen. It was 4am, and he knew Alfred would kill him. It wouldn't be the first time. He mixed the blueberries in with the batter and stirred it with the wooden spoon that took him an ungodly amount of time to find. He made a mental note that he was going to let Alfred know that someone put it in with the forks. It was an outright travesty in his mind. (Not that he ever baked more than once or twice every lifetime.)
He was preparing to flip it when he heard footsteps coming from behind the grandfather clock.
Great, my demise is coming before I can even enjoy my pancakes.
Only, it wasn't Alfred or Bruce for that matter, it was Tim. His suit was in tatters.
"Alfred's going to kill you!" Jason screamed (and laughed.) "What the hell did you do? Walk through a chainsaw?"
Tim didn't laugh. He didn't even smile.
"Jeez, I know it's early, but what crawled up your nostril?"
Jason forgot to turn his pancake. Now it was burnt.
Damn it, Drake. Look what you made me do.
"Jason, I got some terrible news."
Jason raised an eyebrow. Or two. Or twenty.
"Bruce….Bruce died."
Tim looked as though his heart was about to fall out. The room was silent, but only for a moment.
Jason flung his spatula in the air. "Alright, have him call me when he gets back. I know how to make pancakes now."
Tim's mouth fell open. Jason shoved a piece of pancake in it.