In Theodore's mory, his forr adoptive father, Stanley, was allergic to peanuts.
Since Wayne was almost identical to Stanley in other configurations, practically like a biological brother from different parents, perhaps Wayne would also be allergic to the things Stanley was allergic to.
Otherwise, why would the peanut butter jar in the kitchen be so new, looking almost untouched?
At this thought, Theodore's eyes lit up.
A hopeful smile appeared on his lips, and with a joyous and uplifted heart, he generously scooped out several large spoonfuls of peanut butter from the jar and viciously added them to the batter.
Wayne better be allergic to peanut butter!
God forbid, Wayne absolutely must be the type who gets allergic even from contact with peanuts!
In that case, Theodore would carry a jar of peanut butter with him every day, and whenever Wayne got close, he'd just splash the sauce on his face!
When dinner was served, Theodore truly couldn't contain his excitent.
The slight elation in his expression naturally didn't escape Bruce's eyes.
Seeing his new adopted son's happy expression, Bruce's brow relaxed.
Tim truly was a reliable child; he had only spent a short ti alone with Theodore and had already resolved his new brother's emotional knot.
Look, Theodore had indeed distinguished those absurd accusations and even cast a hopeful gaze towards him.
What rapid progress!
Bruce smiled, took a sip from his coffee cup, and leaned back slightly, allowing Alfred to place the dinner plate in front of him.
The old butler lifted the silver cover from the plate and very solemnly announced, "Today's cream soup and maple roasted pancakes were both made by Theodore."
Hearing this, Bruce's eyes widened.
Tim also looked at Theodore with surprise.
Look at the inviting creamy white color of the cream soup, and then look at the golden reflection of the syrup on the maple pancakes.
Finally, Bruce, who was so unknowledgeable he could put a shelled egg in the microwave, and Tim, who only knew how to use a coffee machine, canceled each other out. This household welcod a new mber who could take control of the kitchen!
Bathed in everyone's gaze, Theodore lowered his eyes slightly, smiling a little shyly, his smile tinged with a few uncertain anxieties.
"I wonder if it suits your taste."
Bruce was very obliging, imdiately picking up a spoon, and Tim also speared a large piece of pancake and put it into his mouth.
The next mont, both their movents froze.
eting Theodore's bright, sparkling eyes, Bruce took another spoonful, unsure.
"Uh, this taste... did you add peanut butter?"
Judging by the richness of the peanut flavor, this wasn't cream soup at all; calling it peanut butter soup would be more fitting!
Tim also smacked his lips in confusion: "You put peanut butter in the pancake batter too?"
It's almost overpowering the maple syrup!
Theodore innocently clasped his fingers: "I'm sorry, is it not good? I really like peanut butter... Maybe I used too much, I'm really sorry..."
The butler stood by the dining table and bowed slightly: "It's not your fault, Young Master Theodore. It's regrettable to say, but Master Bruce has always been overly picky about food."
—In short, Batman is a picky eater.
—Why is the peanut butter jar in the kitchen so full? Because Bruce doesn't like peanut butter.
This statent, which was actually very true but sounded quite polite, obviously couldn't comfort a young, anxious heart that thought he had done sothing wrong.
Theodore mumbled and lowered his head, poking at the mushrooms on his plate with his fork.
Seeing his adopted son's happy smile about to disappear, Bruce took a deep breath.
Batman doesn't eat peanut butter.
But Gotham Baby can do anything!
With the perseverance Bruce showed while chatting and laughing at banquets, and the determination to sleep through every company eting from start to finish, Gotham Baby maintained a perfect smile and spooned another mouthful of thick soup into his mouth.
He just put the spoon in a bit too deep, as if he wanted to bypass the taste buds on his tongue and transport the soup directly into his esophagus.
Bruce praised against his conscience: "How could it be? The flavor is very unique, haha."
It's not that it's bad, it's just a very strange combination.
It's as strange as an Italian seeing pineapple on pizza!
Theodore lowered his eyes regretfully, forcing a smile at the corner of his mouth.
What a pity, Wayne isn't allergic to peanut butter.
It seems he'll have to think of other thods.
This unnoticed interlude should have ended there.
However, that night, Batman and Robin encountered a small accident during their patrol.
Batman kicked out viciously, grabbing the drug dealer by the collar and pinning him against the wall, his masked face close to the drug dealer, letting his deep, dark figure reflect in those cloudy, fearful eyes.
His interrogation sounded as terrifying as if it ca from hell.
"Tell , what is Black Mask planning?"
The drug dealer stared wide-eyed at Batman, and a dry, rattling sound suddenly ca from his throat. It didn't seem to be out of fear, but rather like physical discomfort, an acute symptom flaring up.
Under the Kevlar mask, Batman frowned slightly, subtly loosening his grip.
The drug dealer slid softly to the ground and collapsed into a heap against the wall, like a rubber man whose bones had been removed.
Robin sensed sothing was wrong, approached and prodded the man a couple of tis, quickly realizing the situation was unusual.
The young man suddenly jumped back a distance, raising the long staff in his hand defensively: "B! He seems to have taken poison!"
The man on the ground writhed in pain like a maggot, his face turning purple at a visible rate, and the ten fingers constantly scratching his throat were swollen like two bundles of baby carrots.
In this hellhole called Gotham, even ordinary citizens are accustod to various mutants/biochemical agents/mass-produced syringe warriors...
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