I will say, it is so fun thinking about the Waynes and their relationship with food. But specifically Bruce.
We get such little light shed on the Waynes before the Big Terrible happened. Like. How were Wayne dinners like?
Were they terribly posh and quiet with small moments of fun thrown in? Was Alfred scolding Thomas for telling a star eyed Bruce unnecessarily gory details from a surgery?
Did Martha help Bruce break into the cookie jar? Was there a lovely, playful gossip about Bruce's loud classmates and his adorable crush on Gray Ghost?
Because I like that! But I'd also like it to be a complete juxtaposition.
I want Bruce to talk about his family, to his children, with a smile that could melt the sun. I want him to tell them about the noise.
How the Wayne manor was permanently flooded with a noise and boister that could rival a packed 5 star kitchen.
How Thomas always cooked with a dry cigarette in his mouth, arguing with uncle Jacob about forks of all things.
Why were they smudged, why were they placed randomly and not organised with militaristic precision, while Martha watched with the fondest annoyance.
How Thomas would cuss filthy in Italian only when Bruce was around and only Oz could understand him, long before he was the Penguin, long before Bruce was Batman.
"It's about culture. Not that you'd understand, Jakey."
And uncle Jacob never entertained his father for long. He'd throw a dirty look, his obsidian eyes sharp as a switchblade, and mutter a 'bitch' in Russian, while Alfred sat there judging them both.
The Waynes were chaos with heartbeats. And Bruce's favorite event at these diners? The food fights. It's always uncle Philip who started them.
"Wow, Jay eating steak. Never thought I'd see this day."
" Vinison?" Thomas would finally take a break from his unlit cigarette, holding Bruce in his lap like a king would a prized cat.
A collective sigh rang among the table. They knew what was coming. " What are you, fuckin' crazy? That's fuckin' cannoli, dipshit."
" You come into my house, not knowing what a goddam cannoli is? Fuck are you gonna tell me next, you don't put garlic in your Carbonara? I mean."
And Thomas would cover Bruce's ears like that's the most offensive thing uncle Jacob could utter at Thomas Wayne's table. And Uncle Oz agreed. Their favorite pastime was ganging up on Martha's oldest brother.
And it starts off as something minuscule and petty and mutates in something loud and ugly and breathtaking.
Bruce would watch with an open mouth in Alfred's lap, as his father's neck popped with veins, and uncle Jacobs pale complexion would blush something angry as the skin of his throat thinned from yelling.
"FUCK YOU, FUCK YOU, YOUR PRESIDENT IS A VODKA DRINKING, BALDING, COMMIE PIECE OF SHIT."
" I CANT HELP THAT, I WAS BORN LIKE THAT!"
And it wasn't a true Saturday dinner unless Thomas didn't leap across the table, running over all the food to smash whatever dish into Jacobs face.
But truly, the best part, was watching them go from fight dogs to eating outside in time-out. As different as his father and uncle were, they could always find agreement on one topic:
Defying Martha Wayne was painfully stupid.
They'd share a cigarette and eat in silence, which was as friendly as they'd ever get. But he loved it. Bruce loved Saturday dinner.
And when the batkids start the fighting tradition on Saturdays, Bruce thinks they do, too.
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