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A tough night of patrol coupled with a string of particularly difficult cases left Tim squinting at the Batcomputer at 5:47 a.m., clutching his coffee mug as if it was the only thing keeping him from collapsing on the spot. Probably because it was. Tim tried to blink the blurriness out of his eyes as he took another swig of his intense espresso and energy drink concoction. Empty, he realized. With a sigh, he trudged towards the kitchen for a refill.
A dull rumble echoed from his stomach. When was the last time he’d eaten? He couldn’t remember.
Since Alfred wouldn’t be making breakfast for a few hours, Tim turned his attention to the fridge.
Eggs? No, Tim didn’t trust himself to use the stove right now.
A donut? He didn’t feel like eating anything that sugary.
Waffles? Steph would kill him, that’s the last of her stash.
Cereal? Hmm, that didn’t sound too bad. Tim hoped Dick’s cereal addiction wasn’t rubbing off on him.
Standing on his tip-toes, Tim grabbed the cereal from on top of the fridge, then grabbed the milk and a bowl. A few moments later, he looked down to find…a bowl of milk.
That can’t be right.
Tim realized with a laugh that somehow he had actually put the milk before the cereal.
This is probably why people keep telling him not to pull all-nighters so often.
He was silently thankful that none of his siblings were around. Damian would scoff at him and say something like “Drake is an imbecile who can’t even make cereal correctly. This is why I’m the superior robin!” Jason and Steph would certainly use it to blackmail him. Dick, cereal enthusiast that he is, would probably dramatically faint because of his “blasphemy against the cereal way”.
Too bad Tim’s never going to let them find out.
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Somewhere in Blüdhaven, unbeknownst to Tim, Dick Grayson wakes up in a cold sweat. Raking his fingers through his hair, he can’t shake the feeling of wrongness, like someone’s just violated his deepest values. Something just happened, but he’s not quite sure what.