Batfam: Stolen Snacks

Batfam: Stolen Snacks

This sounds like something my brother would do. Likewise, it also sounds like something Damian Wayne would do.

-

Tim had long ago learned to trust his instincts. Yes, there was plenty of other training that went into him becoming a nighttime vigilante, but when it came down to it, if you planned on living to see the light of another day, you let your instincts be your guide.

After being holed up in his room for nearly forty-two hours, trying to catch up on the aspect of life known as college dissertations, Tim’s instincts were telling him to follow his nose and eat the source of that tantalizing smell. Never mind that the scent told him it was popcorn and the salt content would be counterproductive to his overall work schedule. More salt meant more water. More water meant more bathroom breaks. More bathroom breaks meant more chances for him to lose his train of thought. But right now, his stomach didn’t care.

The light coming in through the windows was slated, indicating it was either early morning or early evening. Tim wasn’t worried, though. He had set his alarm to warn him when he had four hours before the paper was due.

Creeping quietly into the kitchen, his eyes zeroed in on the black microwave snuggled up next to the fridge, the words ‘YOUR FOOD IS READY’ scrolling across the display screen.

All higher brain functions switched off as Tim practically stumbled forward, yanked open the microwave door, and tore into the bag with a dignity that was more an instinct for self-perseverance when in Alfred’s kitchen.

The popcorn tasted of a brand of pure heaven that had Tim moaning and licking his fingers after each bite. He even went as far as to suck on each unpopped kernel to get the most of the salted, buttery taste. When he thought back over his years in college, he would remember this as the most defining of moments. Nothing would ever top this. Nothing could bring his happiness down right now.

“Don’t start the movie yet, I need to get the popcorn.”

“The popcorn beeped five minutes ago. It’ll be cold and stale. You need to make a fresh batch”

“It was the last bag, Damian. You’re just going to have to deal if you want any popcorn at all.”

Tim’s eyes widened. He lied. His happiness disappeared pretty fast at the sound of his little brother’s voice. Damian’s vice for popcorn during movies was an anal one that none of the boys dared to try and break him of.

Trying not to panic, Tim looked around, trying to think of the best way to dispose of the evidence. He decided on the path of pure denial and quickly reclosed the bag and stuck it back in the microwave, dashing out of the kitchen via the back hallway entrance.

He was already up the stairs and nearly to his room when he heard Damian’s angry voice demanding an explanation from Dick.

He was softly shutting and relocking his bedroom door when the bangs and crashes began.

Eleven hours later, Tim’s warning alarm went off and he printed out three copies of his paper, then emailed one to Bruce, one to Dick, and one to his professor. Two hours later, Tim was gathering up his belongings feeling well-rested and ready to face his class.

Until he opened the bedroom door.

There, pinned to the varnished wood with a modified Batarang, was the popcorn bag from the other night, with the words ‘I KNOW’ scribbled in dark, angry pencil lines. Eyes widening and good mood vanishing once more, Tim’s gaze darted up and down the hall where he swore he saw a sliver of light disappearing from Damian’s bedroom door as if it were being shut.

Not taking any chances at this point, Tim pulled out his phone as he headed down the stairs and sent a text to Jason, asking if he could come visit for the next few days.

…Or weeks.

THE END.