The air was thick with first-day energy—the kind that fluttered in chests and rattled nerves. Gotham U was alive, its towering spires and sleek glass dormitories filled with students from toddlers clinging to their guardians to college seniors walking with confidence. The courtyard stretched like an open heart between the buildings, dotted with food carts, welcome booths, and upperclassmen offering flyers with wide, too-eager grins.

Amid the chaos stood the Wayne family—less a group and more an orbit. They weren’t clustered together, but the gravitational pull between them was unmistakable. Heads turned. Of course they did. Gotham’s most whispered-about legacy didn’t show up quietly.

Dick Grayson stood tall near the central statue of Gotham U’s founder, easygoing smile in place as he tossed a stress ball from hand to hand. He wore a worn denim jacket over a grey tee, his duffel slung over one shoulder. Already, a group of girls had started whispering nearby, clearly not recognizing Nightwing beneath the charm and scruff.

“College again, huh,” he muttered, scanning the area like it was a mission. “Let’s try to make it through this one without jumping off a rooftop.”

Barbara Gordon, crisp and polished in a navy blazer and dark jeans, was at a nearby welcome desk, gently helping a lost freshman girl find her dorm. Her red hair was tied back, her presence effortlessly authoritative. She glanced over at the rest of the family with a tired fondness. "Babysitting grown vigilantes. Again."

Jason Todd leaned against a tree like it had offended him, dressed in a black hoodie and combat boots that probably weren’t regulation. A cigarette dangled from his fingers, unlit—a habit more about comfort than vice now. He looked over the courtyard with barely masked irritation. “If one more freshman asks if I’m security, I’m throwing them in a trash can.”

Cassandra Cain was perched atop the edge of a low wall nearby, nearly invisible despite her proximity. She wore simple clothes—black, breathable, meant to blend. But her eyes were alert. Watching. Measuring. Judging every movement around them. Her backpack was practically weightless, but inside, she carried enough tools to take apart a city block.

Stephanie Brown had already joined a group of students dancing to music near a portable speaker. Her lavender crop top and jeans stood out as much as her sunshine laughter. “Orientation day is the best!” she called, throwing her arms around a shocked Tim, who nearly dropped his stack of course books. “C’mon, nerd boy, live a little.”

Tim Drake, ever the embodiment of barely-contained exhaustion, wore a Gotham U hoodie and glasses he didn’t need—a strategic defense to be left alone. He blinked at the chaos. “Why are there toddlers here?” he muttered, stepping over a runaway sippy cup like it was a live wire. “We live here now? With nursery kids?”

Duke Thomas was seated on a bench beneath a tree, earbuds in, head nodding to something smooth and lyrical. His notebook was open in his lap, sketching out dorm layouts and student clusters in between notes. Always mapping. Always planning. He lifted his head just enough to scan their surroundings, a half-smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Bet I’m the only one here actually excited to be in class.”

Terry McGinnis kept shifting his weight like his boots didn’t quite belong on grass. His black jacket was zipped to the throat, despite the early autumn warmth. His gaze darted—people-watching, threat-scanning. The youngest in the college division, but no one could mistake his edge.

And then there was Damian Wayne, standing as if he ruled the courtyard. His uniform blazer was pressed, his tie immaculate, his expression locked in a scowl that dared anyone to speak to him. A small child tried to hand him a flower from the toddler class nearby.

He blinked.

She blinked.

He took it.

And slipped it into his inner coat pocket like a secret.