Alfred Pennyworth, Operations Manager
By 9:42 PM, the manor was awake.
Not naturally, of course. Nothing about the people living inside Wayne Manor functioned naturally. The grandfather clock in the foyer had barely finished chiming when the sound of cabinet doors slamming echoed through the kitchen, followed by the unmistakable noise of someone swearing at the espresso machine.
“Master Jason,” Alfred said calmly from across the kitchen, “threatening the appliance will not improve its performance.”
The espresso machine hissed aggressively in response.
At the long kitchen island, Tim Drake cracked open his third energy drink of the evening with the solemnity of a man preparing for war. The tab snapped loudly.
Alfred’s eyes narrowed immediately.
“You will have coffee like a civilized human being.”
“You say that as though it excuses this.” Alfred looked at the can like it had personally insulted him. “This beverage contains enough caffeine to resuscitate the dead.”
Tim took a sip. “That’s the point.”
Next to him, Damian Wayne was already dressed for patrol in full uniform except for the domino mask, calmly eating toast while reading case files on a tablet.
“I fail to understand why Drake consumes those radioactive concoctions willingly,” Damian said. “Father once confiscated one and it dissolved a penny.”
“That’s fake internet science,” Tim replied.
“It melted through the cup holder in the Batmobile.”
“That happened one time.”
“It happened twice,” said Dick Grayson, walking into the kitchen with wet hair and the exhausted expression of a man who had spent his evening breaking up an argument between three different vigilantes before patrol had even started.
Behind him came Bruce Wayne, already dressed in black, reading reports on his phone while somehow radiating disappointment at everyone simultaneously.
“Jason threatened the espresso machine,” Alfred answered immediately.
“It threatened me first,” Jason Todd muttered.
“Master Tim is attempting to replace his internal organs with synthetic caffeine. Master Damian sharpened three knives at the dining table despite repeated instructions not to. Master Dick skipped dinner because he was ‘too busy.’ And you, sir, have not slept properly in four days.”
Bruce looked mildly offended. “I slept.”
“You lost consciousness in the cave chair for twenty-seven minutes.”
“No,” Alfred said flatly, “it does not.”
The kitchen fell into the sort of silence unique to people who had collectively fought homicidal clowns but still feared disappointing their butler.
Alfred clapped his hands once.
“Right then. Briefing begins at ten. Patrol assignments have been organized. Meals are to be eaten before departure, not during patrol, and absolutely no one is permitted to survive entirely on caffeine and spite.”
Tim raised a finger. “Hypothetically—”
“You didn’t let me finish.”
Jason snorted into his coffee.
Alfred turned sharply. “And you, Master Jason, are on east-side patrol tonight with Master Dick.”
Dick immediately groaned. “Why am I being punished?”
“Because you encourage him.”
“You bought him a motorcycle-mounted grappling launcher for Christmas.”
Jason pointed accusingly. “In fairness, that was mostly the Penguin’s fault.”
“Fifty percent your fault is still too much fault,” Dick said.
Damian looked up from his tablet. “Why must Grayson accompany Todd? Todd works better alone.”
“That is because Master Jason considers ‘stealth’ to mean shooting the lights out.”
“It does not,” Bruce said without looking up.
Meanwhile, Alfred had already begun setting plates down in front of everyone with military efficiency.
Actual balanced nutrition for Bruce.
Toast and fruit for Damian.
Something resembling enough calories to sustain a small nation for Jason.
“I don’t think you understand. I physically require the energy drink.”
“You are twenty-two years old. Your body requires water and a reasonable sleep schedule.”
Tim looked genuinely confused by the concept.
Jason leaned over. “Careful, Replacement. He’ll start scheduling mandatory naps next.”
“I already have,” Alfred replied.
Dick froze mid-bite. “You what?”
Alfred pulled a folded paper from his pocket.
An actual printed schedule.
10:00 PM — Briefing
10:30 PM — Patrol departure
1:15 AM — Mandatory meal break
3:45 AM — Return to manor
4:00 AM — Medical checks
4:30 AM — Bed
The table stared at him in horror.
“You can’t schedule vigilantism,” Bruce said.
Alfred looked him dead in the eyes. “And yet I have.”
Damian examined the paper thoughtfully. “There is color coding.”
“There are contingency slots for emergency situations,” Alfred agreed.
Tim looked halfway between terrified and fascinated. “Is… is there a spreadsheet version?”
Alfred slid a tablet across the counter.
“You made a shared patrol calendar?”
“Integrated with everyone’s devices.”
Bruce pinched the bridge of his nose. “Alfred—”
“It also syncs automatically if one of you is injured, concussed, kidnapped, or presumed dead.”
Jason burst out laughing so hard he nearly choked on coffee.
“That’s happened enough times to automate?”
Alfred gave him a long look.
“…Fair point,” Jason admitted.
Dick was already scrolling through the calendar. “Wait, why do I have mandatory ‘socialization hours’?”
“Because if left unattended you adopt strays.”
Bruce slowly looked up from his phone.
Everyone at the table looked at Dick.
Dick frowned. “Okay, statistically maybe.”
Tim suddenly sat straighter. “Hold on. Why do I have ‘screen-free decompression time?’”
“Because last week you attempted to answer emails during a car chase.”
“I was being productive.”
“You drove into a fountain.”
“It was a decorative fountain.”
Damian, without looking up, said, “Drake also answered a text while being shot at.”
Tim pointed at him. “And I still answered it correctly.”
“Gentlemen,” Alfred interrupted, “if we could focus. Tonight’s patrol routes are already assigned.”
Jason leaned back in his chair. “What if we don’t follow the schedule?”
It was the smile that had once made hardened criminals confess to things they hadn’t even done.
“Then,” Alfred said pleasantly, “I begin enforcing bedtime.”
Bruce cleared his throat. “We’ll follow the schedule.”
Jason looked betrayed. “You folded immediately.”
“I know he means it, but you’re Batman.”
Honestly, that explained everything.
