I don't know where this came from, nor do I think this even makes any sense. First YJ fic, so hopefully I didn't completely butcher anyone's characters. Apologies in advance if I did. Forgive any mistakes too; currently un-beta'd.

Don't own anything.

.Never Too Old.

Alfred could remember the days when Master Richard would come home to the Manor battered and bruised, obviously needing a nice, long bath, and a good night's rest. He would be in the Batcave just moments before the Batmobile would roar into place, a welcoming smile present for his charges. Wounds would be mended, baths prepared, and the Englishman would usher his young master up to bed even before Master Bruce could get the words out.

Young Master Richard would protest, even at the age of nine, that he was fine and that he was able to take care of himself. It didn't matter if he had just had a near-death experience or a boring night of petty thefts. But even if he was fine, battered or bruised, patrol or not, he would ask every night, without fail, for some of Alfred's cookies.

Bruce would tut in disapproval but ultimately wouldn't say anything against it. If Richard got his cookies, it could only mean he could get some as well.

Alfred's cookies were the best; there was simply no other way to put it.

x-x-x

"Will Master Richard be coming home tonight?"

"He will."

"Very well, I shall be sure to greet him when he does."

"Thanks, Alfred."

"Of course, Master Bruce."

And later that night, Alfred stood dutifully beside the zeta beams, a small smile on his face as the form of Robin materialized from the light. He looked worn, exhausted, and practically asleep on his feet.

"Welcome back, Master Richard."

Dick gave the butler—more like his grandfather-figure, really—a tired smile, peeling the mask off his face. "Good to see you, Alfred."

"Shall I prepare a bath for you?"

The acrobat let out a yawn, somehow remembering his manners and covering his mouth despite his exhaustion. "I think I'm just gonna hit the hay, Alfie. I'm spent."

Alfred could feel the traces of a smile tug on his lips as he nodded, following his young charge up the stairs. "Very well, sir." He stopped just a few steps behind the bird, who turned to him with that look on his face that could make anyone give him anything he asked.

"Can you make cookies?"

He couldn't help but smile.

"Right away, Master Richard."

x-x-x

"Alfie, I really don't think I need this many. You must have spent hours baking these!"

Dick's voice was almost muffled by the mountainous stack of containers in his arms. Alfred merely chuckled and shook his head, reaching over and setting one last one atop the pile.

"Nonsense, Master Richard. I do believe this is just enough, considering Master Wallace's appetite. He is still eating as much as he does, yes?"

"Well, yes, but—"

"Then there is no problem."

"But you—"

"If I had made less, I am sure that you wouldn't have enough for yourself, nonetheless your friends."

A short laugh escaped the Boy Wonder, shifting the weight in his arms without making them fall. "Okay, okay, point taken. But even if that happened, you could always make more for me when I got back, right?"

Alfred smiled. "But of course."

Dick rolled his eyes and although those baby blues were hidden behind his shades, Alfred knew the action. He maneuvered his head around the mountain, sending the butler a smile. "Thanks again, Alfred."

"You're welcome, Master Dick."

x-x-x

"Master Bruce, your coffee, sir."

Bruce looked up from his morning paper, smiling at the man he considered family. "Thank you, Alfred." He folded the paper, setting it down on the table in front of him before reaching out and taking the cup of coffee. A content sigh escaped his lips as the oh so familiar taste warmed his throat. "Perfectly made, as always."

"Thank you, sir." The butler turned around and headed back into the kitchen, returning a moment later with a platter of cookies in hand. "Cookies, Master Bruce?"

The man hesitated, raising a brow at the elder male. "You're offering them to me before Dick? What did he do to deserve that punishment?"

Alfred chuckled. "Am I to assume you don't want any?"

"Hey, I didn't say that…"

x-x-x

It had been a while since Dick had been at the manor. Since he had shed the title of Robin and donned the black and blue of Nightwing, he had taken to staying at his residence at Bludhaven rather than Gotham. It took him a while, but Alfred had gotten used to change and had therefore taken the empty space Dick had left behind in stride.

Soon enough, another child was taken in, another child to love and dote upon, to continuously bribe with his cookies—and all too soon, ripped away. Yet another child was brought in, this time more cautious, another to don the brighter contrasts of the Dark Knight. It had been too long since Alfred had seen Dick express so much concern for someone outside of their immediate family—outside of them, his Team—to see him protest against someone taking up the mask.

It was time to break the tension in a way that only he could: "Cookies are ready."

Alfred didn't miss the varying expressions of relief that crossed Master Richard, Master Timothy, and Master Bruce's face.

x-x-x

"Will you be staying the night, Master Richard?"

"Don't think so. I should be heading back to Bludhaven. Maybe I can get a few hours of patrolling done before heading to the Cave."

Alfred frowned, stepping forward and standing in between Nightwing and the zeta tubes. He didn't need to see his eyes to know the surprise that etched the young man's face.

"Alfred?"

"It is three in the morning. I strongly suggest that you retire for the night and get some well needed rest."

"But, Alfred—"

"Do not argue with me, Master Richard." As soon as Dick opened his mouth to protest again, Alfred spoke once more. "I shall make cookies if you stay."

A combination of a whine and groan left Dick's lips, his hands lifting and pulling at his hair. "You can't do that, Alfie! That's bribery!"

It wasn't a smirk on Alfred's lips—Alfred does not smirk. Nope.

"I shall get started working on those cookies, then."

"Those better not just be for him."

Dick and Alfred looked toward the voice, just as the familiar form stepped out from the shadows.

"I thought you went to bed, Tim." Dick scowled, arms crossing his chest.

"I was, but if Alfred's making cookies, I'm staying up." Tim mirrored the movement, jutting his chin out in the few instances of being childish.

"No way, you have school in a few hours."

Finally—always—the big brother.

"Don't you have class too?"

Smart-aleck.

"Not a morning one."

Two could play at this game.

"Well—"

"Now, now, enough of that." Apparently not. "Out of the Batcave, you two, and get ready for bed. Your cookies shall be done in a few moments. Move along." Alfred ushered the two upstairs, smiling softly at the minor bickering between brothers, brought on by lack of sleep and stress and the weight of the world on their too young shoulders.

x-x-x

"Alred?"

"Yes, Master Bruce?"

"Take care of them while I'm gone, would you?"

"Of course."

"Thank you."

"They shall be fine. You shall be fine as well. Come home safely, Master Bruce."

"Alfred…"

"Here. For your trip. There's enough to share, I'm sure."

"You didn't have to do this."

"Are you saying you don't want them?"

"Alfred, no one can deny your cookies. It's a given fact."

"Is that so, sir?"

"Of course. Ask anyone in any age: in the League or on the Team. No one can ever be too old for your cookies, Alfred. Thank you. And take care of yourself, too."

"Very well, Master Bruce."