[ It was supposed to be easy. One chocolate cake from a box. Mission: Feed Wally.
He’d stressed himself out so much while Dick was gone — more than Dick had worried for him, and a part of him wondered whether that meant Wally was just a better friend than he was. That, on top of Wally tracking him down in Europe — he’d put Wally through a lot. He was too cold sometimes, too analytical. It smacked of all the things he’d started hating most about the role he’d fallen into.
So this was his attempt to be different. Better. More… open. Grateful. He’d never baked before, but how hard could it be? People did it all the time. He was a genius. He could handle a cake.
But it didn’t rise right, even when he left it in the oven for 20 extra minutes — just hardened and smoked, an uneven mess with lumps rising to the surface. There’s a first time for everything, he’d tried to tell himself as he scraped the remains down the sink.
The second one he’d started from scratch, from a recipe he’d found on the internet. But the ingredients hadn’t mixed right, or he’d done it in the wrong order, or added too much or too little of something. The batter hadn’t looked right, but he didn’t exactly have a wealth of culinary experience. Maybe it would fix itself in the oven. Maybe.
He remembers his dad cooking for his mom on the tiny stove in their train car. Was it her birthday? Their anniversary? He can’t remember, but he remembers the way Dad had told him that you can have all the fancy ingredients in the world, the most expensive kitchen, but what really made food delicious was love. Dick had wrinkled his nose in eight year old disbelief. ‘One day you’ll see,’ Dad had said.
The third cake sets off the fire alarm, and the fourth splits right down the middle, the center of it a molten, unbaked chocolate disaster.
Dick’s trying his best, but each failure chips away at his self-confidence, and the harder he tries the worse it gets. Because it’s not about the cake anymore; not really. Robin’s a super-genius ninja superhero, and Dick Grayson is a mathlete and a spoiled rich kid and a former circus freak, and he needs to believe that maybe somewhere in the middle there’s still a normal teenager. He can hack into spy satellites, he can swing from skyscrapers, he can do advanced calculus in his head, so why can’t he bake Wally one stupid cake?
The fifth and final attempt is in the oven when Wally gets home. Dick’s perched on the counter next to the stove, phone still in hand and legs dangling off the edge. Bags of ingredients are depleted around him, sugar and batter streaking the counter and flour on his designer jeans. The kitchen is a disaster area. He looks up at Wally apologetically as he enters the kitchen. ]
ACTION - or, a brief novel about cake batter and existential despair.
He’d stressed himself out so much while Dick was gone — more than Dick had worried for him, and a part of him wondered whether that meant Wally was just a better friend than he was. That, on top of Wally tracking him down in Europe — he’d put Wally through a lot. He was too cold sometimes, too analytical. It smacked of all the things he’d started hating most about the role he’d fallen into.
So this was his attempt to be different. Better. More… open. Grateful. He’d never baked before, but how hard could it be? People did it all the time. He was a genius. He could handle a cake.
But it didn’t rise right, even when he left it in the oven for 20 extra minutes — just hardened and smoked, an uneven mess with lumps rising to the surface. There’s a first time for everything, he’d tried to tell himself as he scraped the remains down the sink.
The second one he’d started from scratch, from a recipe he’d found on the internet. But the ingredients hadn’t mixed right, or he’d done it in the wrong order, or added too much or too little of something. The batter hadn’t looked right, but he didn’t exactly have a wealth of culinary experience. Maybe it would fix itself in the oven. Maybe.
He remembers his dad cooking for his mom on the tiny stove in their train car. Was it her birthday? Their anniversary? He can’t remember, but he remembers the way Dad had told him that you can have all the fancy ingredients in the world, the most expensive kitchen, but what really made food delicious was love. Dick had wrinkled his nose in eight year old disbelief. ‘One day you’ll see,’ Dad had said.
The third cake sets off the fire alarm, and the fourth splits right down the middle, the center of it a molten, unbaked chocolate disaster.
Dick’s trying his best, but each failure chips away at his self-confidence, and the harder he tries the worse it gets. Because it’s not about the cake anymore; not really. Robin’s a super-genius ninja superhero, and Dick Grayson is a mathlete and a spoiled rich kid and a former circus freak, and he needs to believe that maybe somewhere in the middle there’s still a normal teenager. He can hack into spy satellites, he can swing from skyscrapers, he can do advanced calculus in his head, so why can’t he bake Wally one stupid cake?
The fifth and final attempt is in the oven when Wally gets home. Dick’s perched on the counter next to the stove, phone still in hand and legs dangling off the edge. Bags of ingredients are depleted around him, sugar and batter streaking the counter and flour on his designer jeans. The kitchen is a disaster area. He looks up at Wally apologetically as he enters the kitchen. ]
I don’t think I’m cut out for this.