Raising Robins

Alfred's Promise

A/N: I was going to leave Alfred as just the butler, but I got a request for him to spank one of the boys and in reading the comics again, I realized- he would totally discipline them. Good thing Daddy Bats is there to comfort his son!

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The next morning, everyone was busy running around and getting ready. Dick had slept in, and he usually got his brothers up in the morning, though he reasoned that "it shouldn't be my responsibility."

Regardless, Bruce had a concussion and asked Dick to get his brothers up and bring them to school. His cowl only protected so much.

"Where's father?" Damian asked.

"He got a concussion." Dick said, casually.

"And how do you know this?" Damian inquired.

Dick shrugged. "I got to go out last night. Late shift. I didn't get back until an hour or so ago."

"NO FAIR!" Damian stomped.

That got Alfred's attention. He cleared his throat to get the child's attention. "Master Damian. If you want to act as a... as your father would say... 'brat', I will discipline you into an obedient boy."

"And why's that?" Damian asked.

Alfred set down the last tray of breakfast and got onto Damian's level. "Because that's what I do."  He clapped his hands. "Now, breakfast."

"I'll show YOU brat!" Damian muttered as Alfred walked away.

"Yeah, and Alfred will show you the wooden spoon." Dick said.

Damian's picky eating continued at breakfast without Bruce to stop him and make him eat.

"Little D, you need to eat." Dick said, scooping fruit onto a plate and handing the youngest a slice of toasted bread with jam.

"No."

Jason snorted. "Hey Demon Wayne. I think Alfred wants to see you in the kitchen."

Tim had just sat down. He was on the computer almost the whole night.

"Wooden spoon?"

Jason laughed and Dick rolled his eyes. Alfred waved for Damian to come over.

"Awwwww FuCk ThIs!" Damian yelled.

Dick picked his brother up and brought him to the kitchen.

After lathering a bar Damian's specific soap, he sunk his teeth into the previous marks and gagged. He held it in for the required 71 seconds (one minute and one extra second per year) and spat into the sink.

"Now I really don't want breakfast!"

Alfred fetched a wooden spoon and crossed his arms. "And now I really want you to behave." He sighed. "But I guess your bottom needs a good thrashing. Trousers south, Master Damian."

Damian hid behind Dick and shouted. "Hey! You can't paddle me! I'm only eleven!"

Dick picked up his squirming brother and lay him halfway across the counter.

"Hey! Moron!" Damian said, now crying. Dick pulled down his little brother's trousers and Alfred gave a three hard swats before Dick let his brother down.

Damian sputtered and then ran off, up the stairs, to where Bruce was sleeping.

"Alfred swatted my bottom, father!"

Bruce woke up, confused, and laughed. "Yeah. He swats hard."

Damian blinked back tears and fervently nodded before crawling on top of the bed and laying next to his father, hiding behind a pillow.

"He struck you, too?!"

Bruce laughed again, lightly. "Yep. Made me the man I am today."

Damian frowned. "Then he didn't hit you hard enough."

Bruce laughed, which hurt his head. His childhood friend-now-neurosurgeon was coming over to check it out.

Jason appeared and pointed with his thumb over his shoulder. "School time, squirt."

"I'm too sick to go." Damian frowned.

Bruce sighed and finally got up. It was time to, anyway. One can only sleep for two hours at a time with a concussion.

He put a hand on his son's back and led him towards the door. "Be. Good."

"Why?" Damian asked, annoyed.

Bruce knelt down. "Because Alfred has a collection of spoons."

Damian's eyes went wide and he ran to get his backpack. "Goodbye, father!" He shouted.

Alfred was coming up the stairs and watched Damian slide down the banister. He would have reminded the boy to walk down the stairs, but he was trying not to sound amused.

"How bad was he?" Bruce asked, rubbing his forehead.

"No worse than you at that age, Master Bruce."

"Oh. Good." Bruce said, absent-mindedly. He paused in thought. "Hey!"

Alfred laughed. "All is well, Master Bruce. He has a strong will... and a sore bottom."