He has his strengths.

Anyone that’s died within the last few millennia could tell you he’s an expert at shepherding souls, tallying up a death count not seen since the likes of Raven the Unrepentant. His scythe became the stuff of legend, mortals and immortals alike trembling at the mere mention of his name. He was the Grim Reaper, and he was pretty damn good at it. And while he may’ve put that all behind him, as he embraces the idea of becoming a baker, he’s also found his strengths amongst the cuisine. He’s grown rather confident in his spinwheels and brownies, and though they’re far from perfection, he likes to think he’s getting better at making eclairs.

But there are some things he’s not so good at. When he was a reaper, he always struggled with portaling. As a baker, there is nothing that makes him unravel faster than the prospect of making bread.

“Family, I have returned from the bowels of hell!”, Banshee calls out in a singsong voice, kicking the door shut behind her before she flies over to where the twins are asleep in a pile of pillows in the living room. Or rather, unliving room. She presses a kiss to their foreheads before striding into the kitchen. 

With a heavy breath, Grim swipes the back of his arm over his skull before asking, “Did they have them?”

“Uh huh.” Banshee brings her tote bags to rest atop the counter. When at last she pulls out the carton of phoenix eggs, he can’t help but let out a heaving sigh. “But it wasn’t easy. I had to trade my can of worms for ‘em.”

Grim lets out a remorseful sigh. “Your sacrifice is greatly appreciated.” He hurries to crack open the eggs, drawing his head back at the scorching plume of smoke that pours out amidst the smoldering yolks.

“Well, I’m glad to hear it”, Banshee says after a moment. She then shrugs off her cloak, silent for a moment before she clears her throat. “Dirge called again.”

Banshee’s hands go still for a moment. He looks at her out of the corner of his glowing eyes, then shakes his head at himself. He reaches for the jar of yeast and muses, “Oh. Did he…did he say what he wanted?”

“Same thing he always wanted.” She brings her scythe to rest on the coat rack before bringing her elbows to rest against the counter. She worries at her lower lip, then runs a hand through the feathers lining her head. “He says your bodycount’s down again, and the freelancers are picking up the slack.”

An uneven breath escapes Grim. He grabs his spoon begins to mix. If he had a heart, it might’ve begun to beat faster. “Forgive me if I fail to see the problem here. The souls are still going where they need to go.” 

“Hey, I’m on your side”, Banshee says with a snort. “But he’s gonna find out eventually, and when he does, it really should come from you.”

He takes in a deep breath before he cedes, “I know. And I-I will. I just need time”. Banshee just stares at him, her avian eyes full of doubt, so he looks away, focusing on his mix.

When at last he pulls his loaf of banana bread out of the oven, the devilspawn have woken, standing with eyes full of awe as he cuts them each a slice.

“It tastes funny.” Demona pulls a face as she stares down at the slice in question.

Boo doesn’t quite meet his stare, his ghostly hands clinging tightly to his plate. “It, um, it-it tastes better than the last one.”

“Yeah, bread is definitely not your specialty”, Banshee says with a shudder.

Grim lets out a breath, then looks to Doughboy, who simply shrugs before waddling away. Glum, he can only say, “What a perfectly good waste of phoenix eggs”.

“I been practicing making spells with Momma.” Demona brings her hands to rest on her hips, turning a toothy smile upon him. “Maybe I can help.”

Banshee smiles fondly at her daughter. “Maybe we all can help.” She stands beside him at the corner, her eyes sobering ever so slightly. “Promise me you’ll talk to him.”

“I will”, he assures her. “I promise.”

In all fairness, it’s a promise he intends to keep, he swears it. It’s just that as the weeks flicker by at cooking school, well, he finds himself too busy fill in his brother on ihs change in profession, that’s all. It’s not because he’s scared. The Culinary School of the Arts is an institution that’s been baking its way into the hearts of people for centuries. It’s renowned from the underworld to the overworld, admitting all kinds of students with the hopes of being a part of the future of cooking. Even Dirge, who strains to see the merits of anything that isn’t murder, would have a hard time downplaying it.

On the day of the school’s quincentennial, Angela lets out a thoughtful hum before musing, “If that’s the case, then why haven’t you told him yet?”

“Cause he’s scared.” Tanner snickers, shrugging off his jersey as he settles behind his favorite table. 

Angela scowls and flicks some flour at him. “Don’t be mean.”

“No, no, he is correct. I am actually quite terrified of him finding out”, Grim interjects, then hums quietly to himself, his stare growing dubious as he considers the syllabus before them. The syllabus which just so happens to state that to honor the school’s anniversary, they are to bake five hundred cakes for the entire campus. “This appears to be neither a practical endeavor nor a sanitary endeavor.”

Tanner just lets out a snort, happily clapping his hands together before he slides his white hat atop his head before he retorts, “Who cares so long as we’re getting extra credit?” A wide grin stretches across his face as he looks over the ingredients laid out before them. “Now. What kinda cake are we gonna make?”

“...I was thinking it’d be nice to make a bundt cake.” Grim tilts his head to the side. “I always enjoy making them.”

Angela’s quiet for a moment before she hums lightly to herself. “I do love a good bundt cake.” Her eyes brighten considerably. “Can it be a caramel bundt cake?”

“Can you be more predictable?”, Tanner says with a snort, yet he’s already begun to pull the bottle of caramel from the pile. 

Angela lets out a scoff, crossing her arms over her chest before she sneers, “That’s rich, coming from the guy that literally chooses the most basic bake every single time”.

“...Well, not every time.” The two turn to look at him, but Grim just shrugs, grabbing hold of the bundt pan. “The key lime pie we made was actually his idea.”

Angela’s silent for a moment before she looks away. “Oh. Well, that…wasn’t too bad actually.” She bites her lower lip. “My mistake.”

“It’s cool. I mean, Jolly Roger here basically forced me to do something different”, Tanner remarks. He clears his throat, then turns his stare upon a pumpkin. “Maybe we could make a pumpkin cake with some caramel glaze.”

Grim hums and cedes, “Caramel can be a bit overpowering on its own”. At the look Angela gives him, he bites his lower lip. “But still a very admirable flavor.”

“...Yeah, you’re not wrong.” With a huff, blowing her browning bangs out of her face, she then turns on the faucet. When at last her hands are clean and dry, she then turns back to the group. “Okay, I’ll get started on the glaze.”

Tanner nods. “I can make a mean pumpkin puree.” He wavers at the sight of the phoenix eggs Grim brought from home, raising his ginger eyebrows at him. “I’ll just assume those are yours.”

“They’re phoenix eggs”, he explains and wavers as he turns between them and the chicken eggs they have on hand.

Angela pauses, her eyes incredulous when she repeats, “Phoenix eggs?”

“Yes.” When they just continue to watch them, he finds his confidence faltering considerably. “I find them to have an infinitely greater flavor than griffing eggs. B-But only if you aren’t watching your waistline.”

Tanner just snorts. “Well, I definitely ain’t watching mine. Make with the eggs!”

“...All right then”, Grim says, and they fall into a sort of rhythm. Between the three of them, they manage to whip up a pretty good pumpkin mix. They’re just about ready to bake their pumpkin masterpiece when Angela goes to the oven and finds it isn’t working.

She rises from her squat, her eyes narrowed as she murmurs, “It’s sabotage”.

“What makes you say that?”, Tanner asks with a scoff, only to then trail off at the sight of several broken pieces of the oven scattered across the floor. “Oh.”

Grim simply hums to himself before reaching into one of the pockets of his cloak. Holding a bottle of hellfire in one hand and a vial of underworld salt in the other, he simply stares at his two companions. “I think I may have the remedy for that.”

“Well, that’s one way to make a bundt cake.” Angela’s begun to add whipping cream, brown sugar, and butter to a saucepan. When at last the bundt cake is finished cooking, she waits for it to finish cooling, then applies the caramel before she takes a step back to admire their creation. “Man, I’d love to know who ruined our oven.”

Tanner simply tosses a lock of hair over his shoulder before confidently remarking, “Someone who’s jealous”.

“And for good reason”, Chef Coco says as he helps himself to some of their cake and affords them a wide-grinned smile. “As all around. I don’t think we’re gonna hit that, uh, five hundred cake thing, but I have opened the class up to the campus on a first come, first served basis.” With that, he bids them all a nod and wanders off to another table.

And as promised, by the time he’s made his rounds of the class, a line’s begun to form outside. More than a few students stop to sample their cake, and within just a few minutes’ time, it’s been happily devoured. Tanner just fist-pumps the air before lifting a hand in high-five towards Angela. When she just stares at him, he grins even wider. “Come on, don’t leave me hanging.”

“All right.” She rolls her eyes and high-fives him, and the two then mimic the gesture with Grim.

Afterwards, he stares down at his hand, smiling to himself when Tanner tosses an arm around them both and shouts, “We should celebrate. I’m buying…Within reason”.

“...I could stand to use a celebration.” Grim nods, then turns to Angela.

She just shrugs and offers a tiny smile. “Yeah, okay. That sounds like fun.”