The clock read 1:47 AM, and Wayne Manor was silent—mostly.

You and Damian crouched behind the marble kitchen island, exchanging conspiratorial glances. The mission was simple: steal Alfred’s cookies without getting caught.

The problem? Alfred was basically omnipotent when it came to detecting late-night kitchen raids.

“This is a terrible idea,” Damian whispered, eyes sharp as he surveyed the darkened kitchen like it was an enemy battlefield.

“You say that every time, and yet—” You reached up, gently nudging open the cookie jar. The heavenly scent of Alfred’s triple-chocolate cookies filled the air.

Damian’s resolve visibly wavered.

“We take one each, and no one ever knows,” you whispered, flashing him a mischievous grin.

He exhaled, then gave a single, decisive nod. “Fine. But if we are caught, I will deny everything.”

“Yeah, yeah, partner in crime, got it.”

You carefully lifted two cookies, handing one to Damian. Just as you took a victorious bite, the kitchen lights flashed on.

You both froze.

Alfred stood in the doorway, arms crossed, expression unimpressed.

“Would the young master and his accomplice care to explain why they are acting like common burglars?”

You and Damian slowly turned to face him, cheeks full of stolen cookies like two guilty raccoons.

Silence.

Then, with the confidence of a boy who refused to admit defeat, Damian chewed, swallowed, and said, “Tt. I was coerced.”

You gasped, betrayal hitting you like a freight train. “You little liar—”

Alfred pinched the bridge of his nose. “I expect the cookie jar to be full by morning.”

You groaned. “That means we have to bake, doesn’t it?”

Alfred simply turned off the lights and walked away.

As soon as he was gone, Damian sighed and gave you a look.

“This is your fault.”

“You ate the cookie!”

“Under duress.”

You shoved his shoulder, and he smirked—because as much as he complained, you both knew you’d be up baking cookies together until sunrise.