Batman oneshot
Title: Laundry Day
Characters: Alfred, Damian, Dick, Jason, Tim
Word Count: ~1,050
A/N: Writing this story just landed me a potential job as a ghost writer if I decide to take it! 8O! I probably won’t because I’m a lazy s.o.b. but it’s a nice thought to start my morning. That aside, allow me to shamelessly advertise this fic by saying the the mental images it will (hopefully) give you make it completely worth reading.
Summary: Laundry day is something to be treated as an Olympic challenge at Wayne Manor…
Laundry Day
Living in a household with four boys, never mind that most of them were young men, had turned laundry day into something that was to be treated as a challenge of near-Olympic proportions. It was something that had left Alfred confused at first - sheets were being swapped, clothes buried and hidden in the oddest of places, and there were even a few occasions when one of the boys tried doing their laundry themselves.
Seeing as how he didn’t grow up with nearly as many siblings, or in such unique circumstances, Alfred chalked it up to being a byproduct of being raised by Bruce and simply didn’t question it as he went about his weekly quest of hunting down, reorganizing, and returning everyone’s clothing to its rightful owners.
It was during one of these weekly hunts, as Alfred was returning to the laundry room with an armload of frilly panties that he highly doubted actually belonged to Tim despite being found in his room, that he found Damian staring at him wide-eyed and guilty with what looked like a vast majority of Dick’s missing clothes, frozen in the process of being shoved in the washer.
The moment of staring stretched on for several seconds before Alfred simply continued on his way to the counter to deposit the pile of feminine lingerie.
“Pennyworth.” Unspoken threats and suspicion laced the greeting.
“How kind of you to help me, young master. With the odd games you boys play, laundry day has come to be such a chore.” Alfred surveyed the various piles he had sorted everything into so far and did a quick mental inventory. “Any chance you would happen to know where Master Jason’s leather jacket has disappeared to this time around?”
There was some soft shuffling as Damian slowly resumed his previous movement. “Behind the refrigerator.”
Alfred’s questioning gaze was met with a stubborn frown as the young boy refused to give up any further information.
“Hey, Alfie, have you seen Dami-aahhh Tim. Tim’s, uhm, thing?”
There was a thump as Damian slammed the lid to the washing machine closed and scrambled away from any incriminating evidence.
With a silent sigh, Alfred turned back to the counter. “You’ll have to be a bit more specific, Master Dick. Because unless ‘Tim’s thing’ is how you’re referring to the lady’s undergarments I discovered in his room,” he held a pair up in example, “I can’t say I know what you are talking about.”
“Uh…” Dick’s gaze darted to Damian and back to the panties. “You know what, never mind. It wasn’t that important. Not compared to the panties, anyways.” He crossed his arms and turned to fully face Damian. “How the hell did you get all of those into Tim’s room without him noticing?”
“What makes you think it was even me who put them there?” Damian demanded, instantly on the defensive. “For all you know, Todd has him dressing up and parading around-”
Whatever else he had to say was cut off by muffled shouting and stomping loud enough to rattle the shelves and cupboards against the walls.
“Don’t try to tell me this was the little shit’s fault! It has Dick’s stink all over it!”
Ah, yes. Alfred’s favorite part of the Laundry Olympics. The decathlon.
“You have no proof-give me back my shee-”
There was a loud crash followed by almost rhythmic thudding as something was physically hauled down the stairs.
Dick calmly stepped aside to make room for Jason to enter, dragging a large bedsheet that appeared to contain a naked Tim behind him.
“Jason! Jason, I told you-!”
“HA! I finally found you!” Dropping the sheet, Jason darted forward and grabbed Damian by the waist as the boy made a mad dash for the high window, his head and shoulder already on their way to freedom. “Did you seriously think you could hide from me forever? What did you do with all of my left shoes, you little punk?”
“Get your filthy hands off me, Todd! I’ll kill you!”
Tim finally managed to disentangle himself from the sheet and stood, wrapping the fabric tightly around his waist.
“Didn’t his left shoes go missing last week?” Dick asked as he leaned back against the wall, nudging the mop aside with his shoulder.
Tim sighed and mirrored Dick’s position, thumping the back of his head against the wall. “I don’t know. You wouldn’t happen to know where the rest of my clothes are, would you?”
“OW! He bit me! You little fucking troll! I can’t believe you-”
A loud war cry was sounded as Damian dropped out of Jason’s hold, only to turn right back around and tackle him into a pile of dirty sheets.
“So he knows it was me who tie-dyed all of his tightie-whities?” Dick asked conversationally, reaching over to snag one of the frilly panties Alfred was meticulously sorting through for a closer examination.
Tim was quick to snatch it away and dropped the sheet in favor of actually putting it on. “Only because the concept of tie-dye completely eludes Damian.”
“Ew! Oh my God, that was a slimy wet spot!”
“Stop trying to touch me with it!”
Tim did a bit of a double-take as he noticed Dick staring not at the fight, but at him. “What?”
“You’re wearing women’s underwear,” Dick stated as eloquently as possible, wincing at as various detergents came crashing down from one of the shelves as Damian was slammed into them.
Cursing, Tim was in the process of trying to hop back out of the underwear when Alfred finally snapped and grabbed a broom off the opposite wall.
“That is it. Out! Get out! All of you!”
A yowl that sounded suspiciously like a cat issued from someone’s mouth as the broom was smacked down, its bristles looking highly threatening as they were brandished like a weapon, successfully chasing all four boys out of the room. Alfred continued to run after them halfway up the stairs, yelling threats until their footsteps were mere echoes from elsewhere in the manor.
With a weary sigh, he turned and headed back to his duties, shaking his head at the disaster that was now the laundry room. And here he thought, given who his employer was, laundry would be the easiest of all his tasks.
He was definitely getting too old for this.
The End.