Everyone looked at Tim. How had they never known he could cook?
Tim spoke calmly, choosing his words precisely. "I just looked up some recipes. Some dishes aren't complicated to make. It's simply a matter of controlling the temperature, the proportions of seasoning, and the exact timing..."
"You?" Leaning back in his chair, Jason finally spoke, an amused smile curling his lips. "Your coffee wakes people up better than a Batarang. Cooking? Just don't mistake the salt for sugar."
Recalling his past attempts, Tim quietly shut his mouth. After all, he'd been born into wealth, and after coming to Wayne Manor, he'd had Alfred and the servants to take care of things. Forget cooking-the young master had never even brewed his own afternoon tea.
They reached another impasse. In the sprawling manor, the kitchen had suddenly become a place no one dared enter lightly.
Damian abruptly clenched his fists, his chest heaving. The boy's voice rang with anger and pride. "A bunch of useless idiots! I'm the heir to the League of Assassins and Batman's son! Something as trivial as cooking is child's play to me!"
He started charging toward the kitchen, but barely got moving before Bruce, Dick, and Tim joined forces to haul him back.
"What are you doing?! You can't do it yourselves, and now you won't let me try?"
"It's not that we don't want someone to cook for us. It's just..." Dick didn't know how to put it.
"You're Bruce's biological son. You two really are far too alike-" Tim glanced at Bruce and cleared his throat. "In your looks, and in your aptitude for certain things..."
Damian choked on his words. Remembering his earlier attempt to make dog food for Titus, a flicker of guilt crossed his handsome little face, so like his father's.