Puppet Strings

Chapter Five

Probably way OOC characters cause I don't know Tim that well...

Alfred walked around the kitchen, setting the plate of warm pancakes down on the table. A small smile graced his face. It was the calm before the storm, in multiple ways. Dick had stayed the night at the manor, as well as Tim. Jason would be arriving shortly, as he wanted to hear about the kid. Once they all gathered, chaos would ensue.

Alfred had a feeling, that this boy, would pull the entire family into disarray while they rushed to stop him.

"I suggest waiting for the others, Master Jason." Alfred turned around, leaving the eggs and bacon sizzling on the stone as he eyed Jason, who stood there like a child who just got caught with their hand in the cookie jar. Slowly Jason took the pancakes out of his jacket and placed them back on the table, sinking into his usual spot with a look from the butler.

Alfred finished just in time. Placing down the last plate of food as Bruce entered the room, taking his seat at the head of the table, a sign for the kids to dig in. Alfred couldn't help but smile at the disaster.

"Hey! That's mine!"

"Nuh I got it first!"

"OW! Get that fork out of my hand!"

"Stop taking stuff from my plate!"

"It's in the middle of the table."

"No, it's not."

Bruce cleared his throat, a small smile on his face as he watched the boys slowly sit back down, munching on the food they managed to gather, while Alfred placed a bandaid on Jason's bleeding hand.

"Does it have to be hello-kitty?" Jason asked with a sigh, a snicker from his brothers followed at the shake of Alfred's head. Jason grumbled, before turning towards Bruce. "Care to share about the child murderer and how we stop him from killing more kids."

"It's not a child murderer, the kid is the one doing the killings." Damian chided, taking a bit of his waffle, which was currently drowning in whipped cream and syrup.

Jason choked, sputtering out his drink onto the table. "What?" He demanded once he was able to catch his breath. "How long has this been going on?" His eyes seemingly take on a green tiny at the thought of a kid taking other's lives. He highly doubted the kid was doing this willingly, and if he was... Jason was going to kill someone

"About four years," Brue said, setting down his newspaper. "We didn't know it was the kid until last night when Damian and I ran into him on patrol."

Jason set down his mug, his hands trembling with anger. "How old." Fingers clenching and unclenching as he tried to slow down his pounding heart, the last thing he needed now was to let the pit take control. He had been doing fine lately and didn't need the anger to stir up even more trouble.

"I believe between the age of 15 and 17," Bruce said, with a frown. "We have yet to get an actual look at his face, making it harder to determine an age. He has the skill and has racked up a body count of 102."

"That we know of." Dick input softly, he was picking at his eggs, seemingly losing his appetite. "I found him four years ago crying over a body. He disappeared before I could get there, but it had the same burn on his chest as the other victims."

Damian slid a photo over to Jason and Tim, one of the most recent victims. Catherine Doplien, a woman in her early thirties. She looked almost peaceful, asleep even if it wasn't for the bloodied throat. "He has a tendency to try to chat us up," Damian grumbled, taking a bite of his crunchy bacon goodness. "Insisted that Mister Whiskers was a good name for a cat."