Wayne Manor had been decorated to the brim for Hanukkah, by all accounts the house was a giant blue and white lighthouse in the middle of the sea made out of grass: all of the small presents for the first night were wrapped in perfectly positioned colorful boxes and the Kane's family menorah has been restored to its old silver glory…the atmosphere was practically perfect…
"Alright…" Dick said while pinching the bridge of his nose with his hands covered by this oversized sweater's sleeves. "Let's do a recap, let's do a roll call, shall we?..."
"What the hell happened?"
Bruce sheepishly rubbed the back of his neck while looking down at a pot of mixed ingredients: it was so burned that it was hard to identify, but based on the context, smell of burnt vegetables and gray color of the mixture, Dick could tell that was supposed to be jackfruit brisket…
"Well, the short version it's that: apparently the jackfruit shouldn't be cooked to maximum potency for more than 45 minutes ." The old man answered after a moment of embarrassing silence
"Great, just great…" Dick sarcastically mused. "So basically we left Damian without food…" he said while putting the vegetable-filled pot away on the counter."Guessing you have a contingency plan for this too?"
"...No…" Bruce put on a serious facade and his eldest son raised an eyebrow"...Yes.." the mask fell down.
"Great, so what's our move, Batman?"
"Alright, firstly I pretend I'm having a heart attack, secondly we distract him by making Rami ask him the difference between possum and opossum again and finally–" Bruce stopped talking upon hearing the sound of someone chewing on what sounded like some kind of watery paste. Both father and son turned their heads to the left. Eyes widened upon casting their sight on Damian practically munching down on the vegetable contraption, the corner of his mouth covered in vinegar.
The youngest of Bruce's sons looked up "What?...Do I have something in my face?"
Dick blinked slowly. "Y-you are eating…that?"
"Was I not supposed to?" Damian asked innocently enough although there was a note of sarcasm in the air.
Bruce wasn't sure if he was being hazed by his son at this moment or not,
on the one hand he wouldn't pass up an opportunity to make fun of him, as his children commonly did; but on the other…who in their right mind would actually eat that monstrosity?
"Damian we can run to the store and get yo–"
"I'm well aware of that baba…" he said and then grabbed another piece of the mixture with his fork and munched on it at a fast pace.
"Oh yeah it must be his cravings…" Mia had shrugged it off. "He's been actually turning up his nose at almost every food we had, but I guess he likes yours?"
One of his children genuinely likes the food Bruce prepares? One might as well say pigs had started flying across Gotham. As Damian was many things: Head of the Demon Council, Batman (next to Cassandra, Stephanie and Mia), a veterinarian and now a father-to-be…but he was also too exquisite with his food. Even Alfred's world famous cookies had been deemed as just "acceptable" by him.
But now, Damian considered Bruce's food, which was always either undercooked or overcooked or under-season or over-seasoned or even straight up burned to ashes one time, was irresistible to his youngest bird.
Hanukkah was one thing, but when they celebrated Christmas with Jason and Artemis' family he ate all of the burned cookies Bruce had meant to be for Santa; he also drank all of the non alcoholic punch that tasted salty for some reason at Cass' birthday and finally he too ate the mashed potatoes Bruce had accidentally seasoned with baking soda instead of salt.
Hormones' side effects…apparently.
"You should see this as an opportunity…" Alfred said one day Bruce was visiting him at the hospital. The old man lying on a medbed.
"What do you mean?" Bruce asked as he was interrupted by his train of thought.
"To bond with your estranged pregnant son," he explained. "Think about it, when will be the next time someone will genuinely enjoy your culinary skills?"
Bruce rolled his eyes and shrugged it off as his father's old tricks and advice to stimulate his "emotional intelligence" that spawned from the son's schoolyard days. Which Bruce didn't need at all…clearly.
And that was the end of the conversation for that time at least. Up until he received a call from his youngest son's wife…
"Hello, Bruce?" Mia said. "I was wondering if you could give me your recipe for that Farfel you made for Passover? Damian has been a little down in the dumps lately and I wanted to make it for him before I had to leave for my mission with Aunt Tatsu."
And Bruce's words escaped his lips before he could even try and stop them: "I'll make it myself and bring it to him…"
Father or Grandfather instincts? Who could tell, really?
Bruce arrived at Damian's apartment that night, he easily found the key under the doormat and passed through the frame.
"Damian?" he called, weirded out by the darkness of the apartment. He scanned the area for his son and called him one more time up until he heard a grunt coming from the couch.
The giant bulge shaped like a pregnant person covered by a blanket told him."Go away…"He grunted.
"A-…are you okay?" Bruce asked awkwardly.
"Yep, just peachy…" the blanket answered. "Just leave the food on the table and go away, I'll take it from there." he pronounced the words in a watery tone
Bruce's expression softened into a genuine concern, he went over and left the tupperware on the counter of the kitchen, he turned on the lights and the blanket grunted even harder this time. "Damian…talk to me…"
"Why?"
The former vigilante sighed and went over to the couch and took off the blanket from the top of it. That action revealed a seven month old pregnant Damian already or already in his pajamas (depending on how you look at it) with watery bloodshot eyes that he quickly covered with his arms.
"I told you to go away!" he hissed.
Bruce thought for a moment, knowing his son, bugging him until he talked wasn't going to help, neither was he going to give him the silent treatment in a "taste of his own medicine" kind of way. So, he went over to the kitchen counter and picked up a fork and the tupperware.
He started munching down. He coughed and flinched at the flavour and smell
"It's that Farfel?"
"Yep…"
"Did you forget to preheat the oven?"
"Yes, I also added like two cups of paprika to it and–" Bruce wasn't able to finish because Damian had already snatched it from his hands and started scarfing it down.
Bruce got closer to his son on the couch and put his arm around hima she continued to eat. Damian got closer to him and placed his head on the creek of his father's neck
He wished that it was that simple, that a good meal and a hug was enough to make all of the sadness vanish from him.
But whatever his son needed to get over this Bruce would provide.
Even if that something was just a meal...