A/N My more serious chapter-stories are stressing me out, so I thought I'd do a little humar...

Disclaimer: I own nothing of interest.

Summary: Alfred goes away on holiday, leaving Dick and Bruce to fend for themselves. Shudder.

Toast

By: A Quick Death Will Never Come

"Alfred, you can't leave!"

Alfred struggled against the eleven year old's grip as he made his way to the door, dragging his suitcase against the clean marble floors.

"Master...Dick..." he choked, reaching for the doorknob. Richard Grayson pulled at the butler's jacket, the collar pressing painfully against his throat, "I'll...be back...in a few days!"

"I'll be dead by then!" Dick protested, his heels grinding against the floors. Alfred yanked at the material of his coat, snatching it from the boy's hands. Both stumbled back, the only thing keeping Alfred from toppling over the double doors, shining against the grand chandilier hanging above, illuminating the dreary, gothic halls of Wayne Manor.

"Now Master Dick," He cleared his throat, straightening his now uneven jacket, "don't you think your overreacting?"

Dick made a noise similar to a snort, "No!"

Alfred sighed warily, "I'll be back in five days, I'm sure you to can manage until then."

"Have you seen Bruce's cooking?" Dick shivered, a wave of sickness knotting in his stomach at the prospect.

Alfred chuckled, though he too was assaulted with memories of the billionaire's attempts at cooking. It would be a half-way miracle if the boy survived through it.

Not that he would convey as much to the poor boy.

"You'll be fine," he said, not completley believing it himself, "I'll be back before you know it."

"If I make it..." Dick mumbled, crossing his arms and looking very much his age.

"I resent that." Bruce Wayne chimed in, desending down the spiraling staircase, tugging at his tie.

Alfred picked his suitcase back up, which had fallen during the exchange, "You have the number of the hotel I'll be staying at?"

A smile played at the corner of Bruce's lips, amused at the protectivness of the old butler, "Yes, Alfred."

"You know what hotel I'm staying at?"

Bruce raised his eyebrow, "I'm not that incompetant, Alfred."

"You'll call me if you need anything?" Alfred asked, ignoring the comment. Dick snickered.

"Yes, mom..." he murmered. Bruce smacked him upside the head, "Alfred," he said, "we'll be fine."

"No we won't..."

Bruce shot Dick a glare. He shrunk back.

"Are you sure? No offense intended, sir, but your not...exactly..." he paused, dropping his voice to a whipser "the most paternal person in the world."

Dick leaned his head in, catching the eye of the two men. He dropped his voice to the same tone, "It's funny how you think I can't hear you."

Ignoring the boy, Bruce clapped Alfred on the shoulder, leading him to the door, "Don't worry yourself so much, Alfred. Go, have fun. We'll be fine--one more word out of you..." he warned, shooting a glance at Dick, who's mouth was open in a halted response.

Alfred looked at the Boy Wonder's pleading eyes, over dramatic as it was, he remained hesitant. He imagined the chaos two crime fighters could produce in five days. Images of toppled furntiture and broken windows flashed through his mind. Before he had the chance to voice said worries, however, he found himself being pushed out the door, being scooted along to the limo awaiting in the elegant drive.

He obiediently climbed into the car, rolling the window down so has to see the two.

"If he poisons me, it's on you." Dick grumbled. Alfred chuckled nervously, the idea not hard to imagine. Bruce sighed, "We promise, Alfred. Everything will be fine. Go enjoy yourself."

Alfred nodded, catching a last glance at the towering mansion, dwarfed by the massive structure, before the limo pulled away, leaving the two crimefighters to their fate.

To be honest, it didn't look to promising.

IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII

The silence was, to be perfectly cliche, deafening.

Together, two crimefighters stared down at their foe. Never before had they faced such an obstacle, such a challenge. They'd saved their city on a monthy basis, they've faced criminals so twisted, so dastardly, that none dare speak their name. They'd survived bullets and knifes, canon blast, explosions. They'd trained themselves to near-perfection. They thought they could take anything.

Nothing in their training prepared them for this.

"What...what do we do?" asked the youngest, keeping inches between him and the shining machine.

Bruce Wayne didn't know. He stared at the contraption, his distorted reflection stairing back at him through the cold metal. Mocking him.

"Push the button." he suggested, pointing to the black lever at the side of the thing. Dick shook his head.

"You don't know what it does."

Bruce clenched his jaw, "I know enough."

"What if it explodes?" asked the boy.

Bruce shook his head, "It won't"

"You don't know that."

The older shot him a look, his eyes squinted, "Just push it."

The boy took a step back, "Your older."

Damn his five year old logic.

Bruce crossed his arms, "Your younger."

Dick mimicked his stance, a defiant set to his jaw, "It's your house."

"That you live in." Bruce added.

"That you bought."

Bruce breathed out, making no move towards the machine.

"Richard," he said, failing painfully at keeping his control, "if you do not push that button, so help me God you will never see the outside of this house again."

Dick swallowed, eyeing the metal suspiciously, "What if--"

"Now."

"Hey," Dick protested, "how many people in this room are Batman?"

"Dick..." Bruce growled, his teeth clenched.

"Okay, okay..." he huffed, tentivley inching over to the machine. He looked back to his mentor, who nodded his encouragment, not sure of what was to come.

Dick reached out a hand, gently placing it on the black handle.

Just push down. Just push down...

POP

The two jumped in shock, leaping back until they were on the other end of the room. Dick felt his heart brutally throb at his ribcage, blood pounding through his ears until he heard nothing else.

Bruce looked down in confusion at the small squares lying on the shining floors of the kitchen, staring back at them. Bruce, being the older, recodnised the strange squares first. He untensed, a flush rushing to his cheeks.

Batman and Robin, he thought, crime fighting legends, cowered in a corner in the face of two pieces of toast.

A/N Gawd, I'm messed up. I have no idea where this came from.

Aw, well. Stop complaining.