Author's Note: Here's a little something for those of you who have been waiting so patiently for more Batman from me. This is set during Bruce's 'dead' time, after Damian assumes the Robin mantle and Tim goes off on his own. Expect bro-cuddles and a mildly disgruntled Alfred. Happy reading!

Alfred's first indication that he was facing a long, laborious day came when he attempted to rouse his elder charge for work. "…Master Dick?" he queried from the doorway. "It's nearly seven."

"Uugh…"

That was a far cry from the bleary-but-bright response his wake-up call normally garnered, and Alfred frowned. "Did you sleep poorly, young sir? I could let you have another half hour or so, provided that you're willing to eat your breakfast in the car."

"Umm…" A beat passed. "No."

"…'No,' Master Dick?" Confused, Alfred approached the bed. "I'm afraid I don't know what you're saying 'no' to. Could you clarify?"

"No car. No breakfast. Just…bed."

"I see." He thought back over the previous evening, trying to pinpoint a cause for the younger man's uncharacteristic laziness. Nothing stood out as a likely source, so he inquired further. "Is there a particular reason you wish to stay abed?"

Dick finally opened his eyes, and Alfred instantly judged the truth from their feverish glaze. "…I feel like crap."

"…Ah." This was the most inconvenient day of the week for one of the boys to be sick, but as his charge sniffled he found himself unable to hold his illness against him. Indeed, he supposed that he ought to count himself lucky that it was Dick who had fallen ill rather than Damian. The former might be left home alone for a few hours so that the most essential of the day's errands could be completed, but the latter was still too young and ornery to be trusted with an empty house. "What are your symptoms, then?"

"What aren't my symptoms?" A weak cough sounded. "I'm stuffed up, my throat hurts, I have a headache, I'm exhausted, I ache everywhere, I think I have a fever…" Dick paused, and a faint grin arched his lips. "…And I'm whiny, too."

"With all of the physical ailments you just listed, young sir, no decent person could blame you for that." Leaning down, he placed the back of his hand against a heated forehead. "You are rather warm."

"Which is funny, because I'm freezing under here."

"Hmm…I'll fetch you some medicine after I call your secretary. I'll bring your breakfast up, as well; there's no point in making you go all the way downstairs just to eat."

"Thanks, Alfred." Dick was already snuggling back down beneath his covers, and his eyes closed again as Alfred watched. "Tell Dami no patrol tonight, would you? I know he'll be upset, but somehow I don't think strenuous physical activity is within my capabilities right now."

"Quite right. I will relay the message." He paused. "Master Damian will have to be taken to school. Do you mind if I complete a few small tasks while I'm already out? I can come straight home if you would prefer-"

"It's okay," Dick cut him off in a whisper. "I don't want to mess with your day. So long as I have medicine in my system and the promise of chicken and noodles for dinner, I'll be golden."

Alfred felt a smile steal over his face. He had hovered over a pot of his mother's sickness-banishing soup so many times in this house that it was now its own tradition, and Dick's request came as no surprise to him. "Oh, I think I can see my way clear to making you a little comfort food," he agreed. Patting his charge's duvet-covered hand, he withdrew. "Get some rest, Master Dick. I'll be back before too long."

"Mmkay…"

Damian, Alfred knew, wasn't going to be half as nice about waking up as his cold-stricken elder brother had been. "Master Damian," he called out firmly as he knocked at another door. "It's time to get up, please."

There was no answer, but that was normal. After thirty seconds of continuous tapping the butler turned the knob and let himself in. Wary of projectiles – it wouldn't be the first morning that the boy had chucked something at him in a bid for more sleep – he advanced into the room. "…Master Damian," he repeated when he stood at the foot of the bed. "You must get up, young sir. It is now after seven o'clock."

"Go away."

There was a trace of misery lurking behind those two words, but Alfred was too familiar with Damian's school avoidance tactics to give the tone much credence. "I advise you to tread carefully today, Master Damian. I do not have time for any extra delays." Preparing Dick for several hours alone was going to add at least fifteen minutes to his usual routine as it was. If the pre-teen decided he wanted to be difficult on top of that then things might grow unpleasant very quickly. "I'm going to leave the room now," he announced. "I will return in a quarter hour. If I do not find you out of bed and dressed at that time I will be extremely displeased. Do you understand?"

"…Whatever…"

Alfred didn't appreciate the boy's irreverence, but he pressed his lips tight and let it go. He had enough to do without stressing over adolescent rudeness. With that in mind he barreled through his extended task list, becoming so caught up in his work that he lost track of the time. "Oh, hell," he muttered under his breath when he caught a glimpse of his watch and read seven-thirty. They needed to walk out the door immediately if Damian was to make it to school on time, but the boy had yet to appear downstairs. Very well, he thought as he straightened his shoulders and prepared himself for conflict. The youth had been warned, and he would have to face the wrath he'd invited.

But first there was Dick to be tended to. "Here are your food and medicine, young sir," he announced hastily as he entered his elder charge's room again. "Your secretary is rescheduling your meetings as we speak. I must ask that you ignore any raised voices that you hear coming from Master Damian's…" He trailed off, blinking hard at the second lump that had appeared in the bed during his absence. "Master Damian? What on earth are you doing? I hope you don't expect Master Dick to save you from being punished for this morning's petulance."

Damian just glared and pulled the blankets over his head.

"Aw, don't punish him, Alfred," Dick interceded. "He's sick, too. Same garbage I've got, I think." His weak grin reappeared. "At least he's not upset about patrol, though."

Guilt rose in Alfred's throat. He hadn't even considered that Damian's worse-than-usual attitude might have been the result of illness. Once he stopped and thought about it, though, it made perfect sense. The pair spent enough time in close quarters that anything one of them was exposed to was likely to be passed to the other without much delay. For the pair to have come down with the same bug at the same time was almost bound to happen, in fact, and he should have realized as much before he'd threatened the boy.

"…I sincerely apologize for my harsh words earlier, Master Damian," he said now. "Had I known that you were feeling unwell I wouldn't have been so hard on you. Although in my defense it would not have been the first time you attempted to cut class by faking sickness."

"'M not faking," came from beneath the covers.

"He's really not," Dick verified as he pushed himself into a sitting position. "You should have seen him when he came in."

"Well, if he looks anything like you do this morning then there can be no question about the state of his health." Sighing, Alfred looked down at the tray in his hands. "I'll call the school and fetch up another plate. I assume you have no plans to return to your own bed in the near future, young sir?"

The boy peeked out just enough to send a querying look towards his brother. Dick smiled and waved back at him. "Hi, bunkie. You want to keep on being miserable together?" Damian retreated back into his cave without speaking. "…I think that means he's staying here, Alfred."

"Very well." Having them both in one room would make things slightly easier to manage, if nothing else. "Thank goodness it's Friday. With any luck you'll both be recovered enough for your usual tasks come the start of the week."

"Yeah…a whole weekend of lost patrol, though," Dick lamented.

"Gotham survived before the advent of Batman, young sir. I'm sure it can manage a weekend on its own." A beat passed. "I can put in a call to Mister Kent, if you'd like. I'm sure he'd be happy to check in on the city while you're indisposed."

Relief spilled across the sick man's pallid features. "Would you? That would be great. Tell him I owe him one."

"Why don't I just arrange to pay him back in the form of spareribs when you and Master Damian are feeling well enough to host him for dinner?" Clark never turned down an invitation to Wayne Manor, and Alfred knew that the prospect of spending a civilian evening with his 'uncle' would do as much for Dick's emotional wellbeing as a course of cold medicine would for his physical health. Since Damian didn't seem to mind the Kryptonian's presence on occasion, it seemed like the perfect solution.

"That's per-eeer -fect," Dick yawned. "…Sorry."

"There's no need to apologize. But," he directed as he placed the tray atop his charge's outstretched legs, "I must ask that you try to eat. I left the eggs softer than usual out of regard for your throat; get them down with your medicine if nothing else, please. Master Damian, I'll bring your food in momentarily."

"Okay. But Alfred?"

"Yes, young sir?"

Dick glanced down at the hill that denoted Damian. "…Are you still going out? You said you had errands, right?"

"I do, but with both of you ill I thought I would postpone them." The delay would make for a very busy next week, but he would deal with that then. For now he had not one but two sick boys to tend to, and they had to be his top priority. "Why do you ask?"

"Well…"

"Ice cream," Damian popped out to demand. "We want mint chocolate-chip ice cream."

"And we won't get it if we ask for it like that," Dick tacked on gently.

"…Please."

Alfred caved despite his usual prohibition on processed foods. "All right. I'll go ahead to the store, then, but I'll wait on everything else." Ice cream, extra soup vegetables, more medicine…his list grew in his head as he watched Damian's hand creep towards a piece of his brother's toast. Anxious to bring in the child's food before he ate all of his brother's, Alfred turned away and headed back towards the kitchen.

It was going to be a long day, but he could think of plenty of worse people to spend it with. Better still, he no longer had any reason to lecture Damian. Considered like that, things didn't seem so bad after all.