Title: baking mishaps
A/N: For Third Time's the Charm, a Tim Drake zine! I wanted to do something fun and fluffy for him, considering all the pain he's gone through.
Summary: It was a simple idea: bake Barbara a sweet treat as a thank you for all the times she'd helped Tim, Stephanie, and Cassandra. They had all the resources in the Wayne manor, Alfred's cooking know-how, and their finely tuned skills. Just how had it all gone so horribly wrong?
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In hindsight, Tim should have expected this. As much as his family was known for their preparation, their strategies equally often went awry. It was a fact of life in Gotham; there were far too many unknown variables for anything to go according to plan.
Tim had been fine with making a simple treat to thank Barbara for all that she'd done to help him. It was something he could do. It was something he had done.
The only thing he hadn't accounted for was the unpredictable Stephanie Brown. The second she'd rung the Wayne Manor doorbell, her purple apron and mitts in hand, all of his plans went into the trash bin. 'Overly ambitious' was Stephanie's middle name, and what had been a single cake transformed into souffle and cookies, transformed into all sorts of complicated treats. What was supposed to only take an hour turned into a whole day.
He should have anticipated that. Things always went off the rails whenever Stephanie appeared. Instead of frosting a cake, they were now pressed against each other as they peeked into the oven. On the top rack, a small tin filled with what looked like a brown cake remained as flat as a cutting board.
"It's not rising," Tim whispered, resisting the urge to sigh. Every time they snuck a look at their baked confection, it had stubbornly refused to change.
"That's—" Stephanie caught herself in time. Lowering her voice, she whispered back, "It just needs more time! Baking is all about patience."
"You're not an expert baker." Tim rolled his eyes. And here he'd thought Dick was confident, but Stephanie managed to take it to another level. "You only make waffles."
"Extremely delicious waffles, thank you very much," Stephanie retorted. Resting a hand on her hip, she glared. "You don't even bake."
Behind them, Cassandra cleared her throat. Tim tried not to jump; sometimes it was too easy to forget she was there. Even though she spoke more now, she hadn't entirely lost that fluid grace that had made her a living weapon when they'd first met. "It's been…thirty minutes."
"Thirty." Stephanie winced. Rubbing the back of her neck sheepishly, she tried to laugh it off. "Well, you know, they say it depends on the oven. Maybe the oven here…"
"Sucks?" Tim guessed when she trailed off. He grinned when she flushed, her ears red. "You going to say that about Alfred's oven?"
"No!" Stephanie hissed, crossing her arms. "It's…too advanced. The timing isn't right, or we did something—"
"It's supposed to take…twenty," Cassandra pointed out. She patted Stephanie's shoulder comfortingly. "It will not rise."
Stephanie glanced at the oven before sighing. "Fine. Our souffle failed."
"Why'd we even try?" Rubbing his forehead, Tim sighed. There was an easy answer to that, he knew. Stephanie was oddly charismatic when she put her mind to it. Thank god she and Dick didn't often do things together; who knew what chaos they'd cause. "We should have stuck to a normal cake."
"But we're trying to do something special for Babs," Stephanie argued, not bothering to lower her voice anymore. "A cake is too ordinary."
"Is it?" Cassandra cocked her head as she raised a brow. "It would have been made."
"And something is better than nothing," Tim added. As off-the-wall Stephanie could be, Cassandra was a much more steadying presence and he was glad she was here too.
Stephanie flinched. "It's not going to be nothing."
"I do hope not, considering how long you have all been in here," Alfred commented as he entered the kitchen. His voice was as dry and crisp as autumn leaves and he regarded them all with bemused eyes. "I believe I left you first thing in the morning, and the only difference is that the kitchen is messier now." He paused, wiping his gloved finger on the kitchen island. Sticky chocolate batter stained his usually immaculate gloves and he frowned. "Much messier."
"That…" Tim couldn't argue. Even the most cursory inspection of the kitchen was more than enough to prove Alfred's point. They'd all gotten so caught up in the baking that they'd ignored the flour-covered counters, batter-coated bowls, and assortment of measuring cups and spoons that lay scattered across the kitchen.
"We should have…cleaned," Cassandra admitted, shamefully scuffing her slipper on the marble floor.
"I trust your big surprise went well, at the very least?" Maybe it was because he was British or a butler or just Alfred, but his brow arched perfectly judgmentally when they didn't reply. Heading to the oven, he clicked his tongue. "Come now, it cannot possibly be that—" He opened the oven. "I see the problem."
Stephanie stepped back, shocked. "That quickly?"
"It's Alfred," Tim replied, giving her an exasperated look.
"He knows…everything," Cassandra agreed, still looking a little ashamed.
"Not everything," Alfred corrected, closing the oven door and cancelling the heat. "Though I can tell what a souffle should look like."
"But you can tell it is supposed to be a souffle," Stephanie tried, grasping for straws. "So not bad for a first try."
"Are you seriously trying to Jack Sparrow this?" Tim groaned. And here he thought he was the nerd.
"Jack Sparrow?" Cassandra stared at him blankly.
"Miss Brown, it does not take Batman to deduce what you were trying." Alfred pointed at the open recipe book on the counter, still flipped to the instructions for their disaster. He smiled wryly. "Would it not have been simpler to make cake? Or even waffles?"
"Not you too!" Stephanie pouted, her cheeks puffing like a chipmunk's.
"You love waffles," Cassandra added. "They would be…easier."
"I always make Babs' waffles! Shouldn't we do something special for her?" Stephanie pleaded, turning to Tim. "After all she's done for us?"
As usual, she knew how to hit him. He'd never been able to handle her puppy eyes, all big and wobbly, and that had gotten them into more trouble than they should have over the years. Knowing better than to fight it, Tim gave in immediately.
Not that he had to think too hard about it in the first place. Tim knew how hard it was to juggle his secret identity with his real life, how difficult it was to balance time between the Teen Titans, Bruce, and Cassandra and Stephanie. Babs didn't only have her Birds of Prey missions, but also all of her duties as Oracle. And on top of that, she had to look normal for her dad. Sometimes, Tim wasn't sure if James Gordon was really as oblivious as he appeared; how could anyone look at Babs' clock tower and think of it as anything but a secret hideout?
"It'd be nice to surprise her," Tim admitted, rubbing his arm. "She's been helping us a lot lately…"
"I imagine you want to surprise her with something edible, and not food poisoning." Alfred sighed, his expression softening. "Very well then." Carefully, he pulled off his jacket and draped it on the only clean kitchen chair. "I have been concerned about Miss Barbara's eating habits as of late."
"What are you doing?" Stephanie asked, staring at him blankly.
"Assisting you," Alfred explained simply as he rolled up his sleeves. "I would also like to show my appreciation for Miss Gordon and I can see you need the help."
Tim hung his head sheepishly. "Yeah, we definitely do."
"Now, I do have some croissant batter prepared in the fridge. Miss Cassandra, if you could retrieve that, I will walk you through the next steps. Finesse is required, though I have no doubt you will manage that handily." Alfred walked over to a drawer next to the oven as he spoke, pulling it open to reveal several notebooks. Selecting the second one, he turned to Tim. "I did have plans for those croissants this week, so Master Timothy, you will have to create the next batch of batter."
"Next batch?" Tim asked, standing next to Alfred and peeking at the notebook. It was a recipe book, filled with small, neat cursive outlining all of Alfred's dishes. "Wow, what is this?"
"I prepared this for those times when I am not around to cook." Flipping through the book, Alfred stopped halfway through. At the top of the page, Croissants was underlined several times. "Croissants is a two-day recipe. It is certainly not a simple one." He glanced at him. "I assume that will be special enough, Master Timothy? Miss Stephanie?"
"Definitely!" Stephanie pumped her fist excitedly. "What should I do?"
"The dishes aren't cleaning themselves," Alfred replied, smiling. Tim felt a chill run down his spine and honestly, even the Joker couldn't handle a mad Alfred. "The counters and floor also require a scrub."
"Cleaning…" Stephanie deflated slightly. "Isn't there something…else I can do? Something with actual baking? Like—"
"Miss Stephanie, how are we to create the croissants if we do not have any bowls or trays to work with?" Alfred raised an eyebrow questioningly.
Stephanie flinched, like she'd been shot, before reluctantly nodding. "I'll clean up."
"Excellent." Alfred handed over the recipe book, chuckling. "The instructions are fairly precise. I trust you can handle that?"
"Got it." Tim nodded, quickly skimming over the different flour and butter ratios he had to put together. He barely paid attention as Alfred headed over to Cassandra.
It was a very precise recipe, but science had always been Tim's favourite class and this was no different than a class experiment. There were just two big steps to his part: making the dough and laminating it. The first one was easy enough; he'd done that already for their failed souffle. Setting down the recipe on the counter, he headed to the fridge.
The others were hard at work as he retrieved the yeast, milk, and butter. Cassandra slowly rolled out the prepared dough on a kitchen isle, scrunching her nose as she concentrated. Alfred occasionally checked on her progress, praising her, before helping Stephanie with the cleaning. Despite his cold demeanor earlier, Stephanie had always been a favourite of his and Tim wasn't surprised to see him laughing as Stephanie chattered away, her hands only sometimes remembering to wash the dishes.
"I'll take that." Tim plucked a newly cleaned steel bowl, grinning as Stephanie shot him a grumpy glare.
"You're cleaning that one," she growled.
"Didn't expect otherwise." Whistling, he went through the cupboards, carefully pulling out sacks of flour, sugar, and salt. Slowly, he started to measure and mix together all the dry ingredients, setting aside the butter in order to work with the dough. Since he couldn't let the dough get too warm, he used a hand whisk as he poured in the milk.
It took time and patience, something Tim had in spades. It was how he ended up Robin, after all. As he mixed, the sticky clumps slowly gave way to a smoother mixture, the colour turning a more consistent tan.
"Good job, Master Timothy." Alfred startled him out his deep concentration as he inspected the contents of the bowl. "Don't forget to ensure that the butter and dough are the same temperature when you add them together."
"I won't." Tim glanced at the clock and almost dropped the whisk. It'd been thirty minutes since they'd started. "I can't believe that took so long."
"It is surprising how long simple tasks can take." Alfred smiled, pulling out a tray. "As rewarding as cooking is, it's very time-consuming."
Tim glanced at the recipe book. He wasn't even a third of the way through. "I can't believe you do this every day."
"I have a few tricks up my sleeve." Alfred winked. "You don't run a household as long as I have without them."
Before Tim could ask what they were, Alfred thrust the tray into his hands. On it was the dough, all flatted out and squared up. Immediately, he glanced at the now-empty bowl. "When did you—"
"Like I said, Master Timothy, every butler has his tricks." Alfred chuckled. "Now, set that in the fridge while you work on the butter. I have to double check the croissant shapes."
Tim peeked over his shoulder. The rest of the kitchen sparkled, thoroughly cleaned by Stephanie. She leaned against her mop, sighing tiredly. Cassandra's furrowed her brow as she set the last of the croissants onto the tray. "More butler tricks?" he asked, raising a brow.
Alfred merely grinned, patting Tim on the shoulder before returning to Cassandra's side.
Somehow, the second half of his work passed as quickly as the first half. He beat the butter, softening it until he could mold it into a flat sheet the same size as the dough. After combining the two sheets together, he folded it once and put it into the fridge to chill overnight.
Another half an hour had passed. Tim stared at the clock, feeling off-put by it all. Just where had the day gone? They'd spent all morning on the failed souffle, and now all afternoon on the croissants.
Behind him, Stephanie's phone buzzed. "They're done!" she sang, hoping off the kitchen chair. Cassandra followed more slowly, tugging on oven mitts as she did.
"Where's Alfred?" he asked, looking around.
"He had…other things to take care of," Cassandra replied evenly, pulling open the oven. Immediately, a warm, buttery scent flooded the room and she sighed. "That's nice."
"Really nice," Tim agreed, taking another breath.
"They look good too." Stephanie waited impatiently as Cassandra pulled the tray out of the oven and onto the stove. The croissants were golden brown, and surprisingly big and fluffy, considering how flat they were when Cassandra had put them in.
"We made that." Cassandra smiled, puffing her chest slightly.
"We can give them this evening." Tim tapped his cheek, considering it. "We'll just have to get a bigger box, but everything else can stay the same."
"And—ouch—we're all still—ouch—free," Stephanie added, flinching as she picked up a piping hot croissant. She juggled it between her hands as she talked. "Just need to—ouch—check—"
"What are you doing?" Tim asked, hand on his hip as he raised a brow. "You know those are for Babs, right?"
"Yeah, but, you know…gotta taste test. Like a true chef." She smiled weakly.
There was a small crunch and Tim snapped his head to find Cassandra already eating one. When he looked at her, she shrugged. "Not poison."
"Of course it isn't poison," he grumbled, pulling out a Tupperware and stuffing the others in before Cassandra and Stephanie's sticky fingers took anymore. "We'll leave the other ten—"
He heard another crunch as Stephanie ate hers. She moaned slightly. "So good."
"It is," Cassandra agreed.
The room still smelled of croissants and his mouth watered. Giving in, he took one out before closing the lid. "We'll leave the other nine for Babs."
He had to make sure they weren't too dry, after all.