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The first step of breakfast is potatoes.
They take the longest to cook, but Alfred is of the opinion that they are most essential — rather than just pure protein, they’re filling enough to get the children through the day. Today he’s decided on hash browns — baked in the oven, so he can get the rest of breakfast in order while they cook. He starts with the onions, slipping each one out of its brown jacket to reveal the clean, pale flesh underneath, and then chopping them into thick chunks. Afterwards, he moves onto peeling and shredding a small mountain of russet potatoes. The children are always hungry, and that includes Bruce. It’s one thing to feed a single teenager, but feeding multiple teenagers that expend an incredible amount of energy with their work is a task that Alfred takes most seriously.
Duke will be the first one awake. He arrives just as Alfred shuts the oven door on the hash browns. He’s already dressed in his school uniform, and he flashes Alfred a smile as he sits at the kitchen table.
“Hash browns?” He asks, hopefully.
“Of course, Master Duke.” Alfred replies, and enjoys the grin that spreads across Duke’s face at that.
Duke pulls a truly massive textbook out of his schoolbag, and sets about reading it while Alfred busies himself with the rest of breakfast. It’s something of a ritual for the two of them— enjoying the quiet of the morning, unwilling to disturb it with unnecessary chatter. Alfred appreciates the presence of another soul in his kitchen, the knowledge that neither of them need to talk in order to enjoy this time together.
Breakfast used to be served in the dining room, back when Bruce was a boy, and then later when it was just Bruce and Alfred. However, once they welcomed children into the house it was clear that they preferred the kitchen— Dick liked to chat with Alfred while he waited to eat, and Jason liked to help cook. Lunch and dinner is still typically done in the dining room, but family breakfast is the domain of the kitchen. Alfred still remembers when Tim was welcomed into the family, and Bruce decided that they would need a bigger kitchen table.
Alfred sets about cutting up fruit, and just as he finishes slicing up the melon Damian appears in the kitchen door. The boy is also dressed in his school uniform, a smaller version of the one that Duke sports. Titus pads in after him. Damian stops by to peer into Alfred’s bowl. It’s almost summer, which means that the fruits are a riot of colors — fresh, golden apricots mix with strawberries from the garden, and watermelon and blueberries that he’d picked up from the market the other day. Damian nods in approval.
“Good morning.” He announces as he climbs into his seat. Titus slumps down next to Damian, resting his massive head on the boy’s lap.
“‘Morning.” Duke says, barely looking up from his book.
“Good morning, Master Damian.” Alfred says. He places a glass of orange juice in front of the boy, and then sets the kettle on the stove for tea.
“Thank you.” Damian accepts the juice. He’d complained, initially, about the flavor of the juice when he came to the manor. Too strange, he’d said. Alfred had realized that Damian was likely used to the flavor of fresh-squeezed juice. That was the juice that Alfred preferred as well, but the manor had switched over to grocery store juice when Jason had joined the household. At the time, Jason had been put off by the fresh stuff, and unwilling to drink it.
It wasn’t a problem to keep two types of juice in the refrigerator these days. There were enough mouths to feed that it all got consumed — Damian, Tim, Duke, and Dick all preferred the fresh-squeezed jug from the speciality store. The grocery store brand was favored by Jason, Stephanie, and surprisingly, Bruce. Cass had never seemed to have a real preference, and would happily drink whichever one was presented to her.
The kettle starts whistling, and Alfred quickly turns off the heat and starts brewing a pot of tea. Damian and Cass both have a strong preference for mint, and Alfred has already had his morning cup of earl grey, so he plucks the tin of mint tea from the cabinet. Damian’s ideal tea is some variety of chai that Alfred has apparently repeatedly failed at getting right, to the point that Damian will no longer entertain his experiments.
The next to arrive is Cass. Sometimes she is the first to arrive, sometimes the last. Sometimes she doesn’t show up at all, hiding away until later in the afternoon. Some mornings, she shows up with Bruce, betraying that she’d slept in his room that night. All the children have done it a few times, except for Duke, who arrived too old and too closed-off to ever take advantage of the option. Alfred is sure he has his fair share of nightmares, but he’s never discussed them.
Cass flits silently over to the table where Duke is studying and Damian is drinking his juice and absentmindedly stroking his dog’s head. She gently runs a hand through Damian’s hair (“Hey!” Damian protests), and sits down beside Duke to look at his textbook over his shoulder. She’s still not entirely adept at reading, but she’s fascinated by books. Duke shifts the book over so Cass can more easily look on.
Alfred turns on the coffee maker. He’s not one for coffee (he has always preferred tea), but the family practically runs on the stuff, and all of the remaining arrivals will want a steaming mug of coffee to accompany their food.
Alfred pours three cups of tea, and places them on the table with the sugar bowl. The children chorus their thank-you’s, each grabbing their cup of tea. Cass dumps a few heaping spoonfuls of sugar into her tea, then passes the bowl to Damian who drops a much more respectable half-spoon into his.
When he’s done serving the tea, he pulls a large brown-paper package from the refrigerator and opens it on the counter. Pink bacon spills out, and he sets it on another large baking sheet and slides it into the oven alongside the hash browns.
The smell of brewing coffee is filling the kitchen when he hears two sets of footsteps in the hall, and knows that the quiet morning has come to an end. Jason and Dick are play-fighting when they tumble into the kitchen, and there’s a dull thunk as Dick’s shoulder makes contact with the doorframe from where Jason has shoved him into it.
“Boys.” Alfred scolds, and Jason at least looks a little guilty.
“Sorry, Alf.” He says.
“Good morning.” Dick announces cheerfully. He rounds the table to plant a kiss on Damian’s head. Jason makes a beeline for the counter to pour himself a cup of coffee, just as the machine announces that it’s done brewing.
Jason opens the cabinet and pulls down a dark green mug.
“Grab one for me, little wing?” Dick asks hopefully.
“Not on your life.” Jason shoots back. His hair is still wet from his shower, and when he turns to his brother the drips of water flick across the kitchen.
“Master Jason.” Alfred scolds, and Jason cringes again.
“Sorry.” He repeats. Appropriately chastened, he grabs another mug for Dick, intentionally avoiding the blue set that Dick favors.
“I want cream in mine.” Dick says from where he’s draped himself over Damian, who is desperately trying to escape his oldest brother’s weight.
“You’re crushing me!” Damian protests.
“You’re fine.” Dick says.
“Put cream in your own damn coffee.” Jason snaps.
“But I’m tiiiiired,” Dick says, and as if to punctuate it puts more of his weight on Damian. Damian reaches up, slapping wildly at Dick as if that’ll loosen him.
“Master Dick,” Alfred says, “If you must torture your brother, please wait until after breakfast.”
Dick heaves a great sigh, and pulls himself off of Damian. “Alright, alright.” He says.
Jason’s finished pouring his own mug of coffee, and then switches over to Dick’s, which he fills so much that it nearly spills over. He tops it off a few times until it wiggles dangerously, and then smiles, satisfied with his work.
Alfred sighs. There’s only so much he can do to prevent the boys from antagonizing each other.
“Thanks!” Dick says, grabbing the more reasonably-filled green mug.
“Hey, wait—“ Jason protests, but Dick is already dancing over to the fridge with the mug. Jason looks over to Alfred, as if expecting him to referee the fight, but Alfred just raises an eyebrow.
Jason sighs heavily, looking down at his dangerously full coffee.
“Is that for me?” Tim is still in his pajamas, and in the chaos crept into the kitchen and appeared at Jason’s side. He only ever shows up after the coffee has been brewed.
Jason looks at him. “Uh, yeah.” He says.
“Thanks.” Tim takes it to the table with him, not spilling at drop. Jason looks after him, and then shrugs and pulls down yet another mug for himself. Alfred hands Jason a large, brown loaf of bread. Without asking, Jason pulls a knife from the drawer and starts cutting thick slices it, the knife making a quiet, rhythmic thunk as it meets the butcher block counter. As he finishes each slice, he drops it into the bright red toaster beside him.
The last to arrive is Bruce, just as Alfred starts cracking eggs. The eggs are from Damian’s chickens, with a thick brown shell that crackles as Alfred splits them. The yolks are bright orange, and they slip neatly into a bowl. When Alfred starts whisking them, the contents of a bowl turn an even sunshine yellow. He cracks fresh pepper into it, and then a bit of cream and salt.
Bruce is fully dressed in a suit and tie, his hair combed back, his face freshly shaved. Bruce only ever comes down to breakfast in pajamas if he’s been injured, and even then it’s usually something serious enough to merit him eating breakfast in his room.
Bruce doesn’t announce his arrival the way some of the other children do, but he’s noticed immediately.
“Good morning, Father.” Damian says.
“Good morning.” Bruce says easily, and leans down to press a kiss on his head. He does the same for Cass. Tim and Duke both get a squeeze on the shoulder.
Bruce walks over to get himself a coffee. Dick gets his hair ruffled as he walks by with his milky coffee, which he places at the table next to Damian.
“Good morning.” Bruce says quietly to Jason, who’s leaning against the counter next to Alfred, sipping his coffee while he waits for the bread to finish.
“Hi.” Jason says.
The two of them still have a rocky relationship, and Alfred does his best to let them figure it out and not intervene, even when it’s painfully obvious that they both just want to be close to each other.
As Bruce pours his coffee, Jason leans gently against him. Bruce pauses in pouring his coffee and tilts his head, letting his cheek rest against his son’s dark hair.
When Alfred looks over, Bruce’s eyes are closed, as though he’s savoring the moment.
As quickly as it happens, it’s over. The timer for the potatoes beeps, and Titus barks, and the moment ends. Bruce resumes pouring his coffee. Jason keeps sipping at his own, but his shoulders have relaxed. Dick and Duke are chatting about a diagram in Duke’s science textbook. Damian is more awake now, and even Tim is paying attention.
“Books off the table, please.” Alfred calls over his shoulder, sliding the eggs from the pan onto a serving platter. The toaster dings, and Jason turns around to snatch the hot toast from the toaster and drop it onto another plate in a stack. Dick goes to the refrigerator to get jars of various butters, jams, and honeys, and drops them onto the table. Duke bookmarks his page and puts it back into his schoolbag.
“Master Dick, the oven? Master Damian, the table?”
“Got it.” Dick goes to the oven and shuts it off before pulling out the tray of hash browns, and the second tray of bacon — both perfectly crispy, just the way they like them. Damian slides off of his chair and gets a precarious stack of plates, forks, and knives. Cass smoothly slips in behind him and takes about half the plates. There’s a mess of clattering as the children set about distributing the silverware and plates, and then more as Tim hands everyone the deep blue cloth napkins that Dick had picked out as a boy.
“It’s hot!” Dick warns as he brings the trays to the table, and Cass slides in two trivets right before Dick sets them down. Jason places the toast next to it, and Alfred the eggs, and Bruce brings the heaping bowl of fruit to the table.
Dick starts distributing the hash browns with a spatula, making sure to place the largest portion on Duke’s plate first. The eggs and fruit and bacon are passed around, and greedy hands snatch the toast from the serving plate. Dick hands the jar of honey to Damian without being asked, and Tim distributes the raspberry jam to Jason, the apricot to Duke, and the strawberry to Dick.
“Thank you, Alfred.” Bruce says, and the children join in in a chorus of overlapping thank-you’s, nearly drowned out by the clatter of silverware as they dig in.
This is the second quiet part of his morning — the first few minutes as they dig in, everyone falling silent as they enjoy the food. The eggs, Alfred notes with pleasure, are particularly good this morning. They mixed perfectly with the butter, so each curd of egg is creamy and soft as it melts on his tongue. The bacon crackles as he bites into it.
A good breakfast, all around.
Alfred, as he always does, briefly stops eating to look around at the children, all engrossed in their food. Something warm blooms in his heart as he looks at his family gathered around the table as the morning sunlight filters in through the windows, casting everyone in a cheerful glow.
Bruce catches his eye, and gives him a smile as well, and he knows they’re thinking the same thing. How lucky they are to have this family. That perhaps it is not perfect, whole but not healed, messy in a million small ways.
Alfred would not change it for a thing.