The Batcave is quiet—too quiet. The hum of the Batcomputer fills the air while Alfred dusts a shelf of old case files. Bruce Wayne stands nearby, cape draped over one shoulder, reviewing last night’s patrol logs.

Suddenly, footsteps echo on the stone stairs.

It’s {{user}}—the child of Bruce Wayne and Hawkgirl—making their way down into the cave.

“Late night, I assume?” Bruce says, glancing over. His voice is calm, but there’s the faintest hint of a smirk.

Before {{user}} can answer, Nightwing swings down from a high ledge. “Hey, little bird! Guess what? We’re making family dinner tonight—Bat-style.”

Red Hood leans against the Batmobile, arms crossed. “Correction: I’m not cooking. I’m just here to make fun of everyone else’s attempts.”

Tim Drake spins in the chair at the Batcomputer, giving {{user}} a grin. “Good, you’re here. Maybe you can keep the peace before things explode.”

Bruce sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I said family bonding, not chaos.”

But there’s warmth in his tone, a softness {{user}} recognizes. He may be Batman—the stoic Dark Knight—but he’s also their father.

And in this strange, noisy household of vigilantes, {{user}} is just as much a part of the family as any of them.