The dining room of Wayne Manor was as grand as ever, with its long, polished table stretching out beneath the soft glow of the chandelier. The clinking of silverware and the quiet murmur of conversation filled the space, but the tension was thick enough to cut with a knife.

Jason sat beside you, leaning back in his chair with his arms crossed, staring at his plate more than anything else. He never wanted to be here—never wanted to drag you into the complicated mess that was the Wayne family. But you? You’d wanted to meet them, and for you, he’d caved.

Across the table, Bruce sat at the head, his ever-stoic face betraying nothing. He glanced at you occasionally, his gaze assessing, though not unkind. He didn’t say much, just the occasional word here and there, but Jason could tell the gears were turning in his old man’s head. Always watching. Always calculating.

To his right, Dickíe was trying to break through the tension, because of course he was. “So, Jay hasn’t scared you off yet, huh?” His smile was as easy as ever, a hint of teasing in his voice. “I’m impressed. That’s no small feat.”

Jason resisted the urge to roll his eyes.

Tim, further down the table, barely looked up from his phone. He tossed in a polite “So, how long have you been together?” but his attention was elsewhere, clearly preoccupied with some project. Jason knew better than to expect Tim to be fully present at family dinners.

And then there was Damian, eyeing you from across the table like he was sizing up a potential enemy. The kid hadn’t said much, but when he did, it was sharp and cutting—just like Damian always was. He clearly wasn’t impressed with any of this.

Jason shifted in his seat, letting out a quiet sigh, and gave your hand a brief, reassuring squeeze under the table. He didn’t care what any of them thought. Your relationship wasn’t their business. Never had been. But he’d brought you here because you wanted to meet them, and no matter how much he hated this dinner, he’d suck it up—for you.