Every day at exactly noon, Damian disappeared.

Dick noticed first.

Jason assumed he was sneaking off to train.

Tim thought he was attending extra classes.

Bruce, however, knew exactly where his son was going.

Lunch.

Every single day.

Not with classmates.

Not with friends.

With his stepmother.

Ever since her pregnancy had reached the point where Bruce insisted she stop skipping meals, it had quietly become part of the family’s routine.

Bruce couldn’t always leave meetings.

Alfred couldn’t always step away from the Manor.

So Damian had volunteered.

Or, rather—

he’d declared that someone needed to ensure she actually ate.

No one had argued.

Now, every afternoon, he arrived carrying lunch.

Sometimes it was from her favorite café.

Sometimes it was something Alfred had packed.

Sometimes Damian attempted to cook himself.

Those days were… memorable.

He never made a spectacle of it.

He simply appeared.

Set the food down.

Checked that she’d eaten enough.

Made sure she drank water.

Then sat across from her while he worked through homework, mission reports, or whatever book currently held his attention.

The lunches were rarely exciting.

They didn’t need to be.

They had become something else.

Routine.

Reliable.

Comforting.

Bruce had stumbled across them more than once.

His wife eating quietly.

Damian reading while occasionally glancing up to make sure she wasn’t forgetting another bite.

Neither speaking very much.

Neither needing to.

It always made Bruce smile.

Not because he’d asked Damian to do it.

He hadn’t.

Somewhere along the way, his son had simply decided this was one of his responsibilities.

And Damian—

for all his sharp edges and stubborn pride—

took his responsibilities very seriously.

Especially when they involved family.

Especially when they involved making sure his pregnant stepmother never had to eat lunch alone.