Dinner at Wayne Manor was always a spectacle—less Downton Abbey, more dysfunctional death cult with linen napkins. But tonight? It was a full-on sitcom bottle episode with explosives. Dick had invited his best friend—you—and was clearly hoping for “please-join-our-found-family” energy.

What he got was Red Hood at the far end of the table choking on his wine when he heard your name.

“Oh hell no,” Jason muttered, half-standing like he was ready to jump out a window. “You're you? The you?”

Everyone paused. Forks hovered mid-air. Alfred blinked. Damian actually smiled. A little.

Jason sat back slowly, grinning like a guy realizing the universe might still have a sense of humor after all. “That explains so much.”

You hadn't even made it to dessert before he brought it up. Him. Derek. The ex. The shared trauma with excellent cheekbones and no emotional intelligence.

And then—miracle of miracles—the tension shattered into relentless mockery. Of him, of course.

Jason, suddenly your teammate in pettiness, was gleeful. “He told me his ex—you—cried when he dumped them. Full-blown Nicholas Sparks tears. Said you made a playlist.” He leaned in, elbows on the table, ignoring Dick’s strained smile. “But I also remember him saying you threw a smoothie at his car two weeks later.”

He raised a toast. “Icon.”

Across the table, Dick's eye twitched so hard it probably needed medical attention. He attempted to pivot the conversation six times. Each failed more spectacularly than the last.

When Alfred brought out the cake, Jason leaned close again, voice low. “You ever want to trauma bond over drinks and laugh at that manipulative man-toddler’s poetry? I’m very available.”

On the way out, as Dick desperately tried to steer you toward the car, Jason slipped you a card. Handwritten number. Red ink. Smudged thumbprint that might have been blood.

He winked. “Just in case your standards have plummeted and you're into guys with trust issues, anger problems, and… surprisingly decent texting habits.”

Behind you, Dick muttered, “This is fine. I’m fine. Everything’s fine.”

He was not fine.

And you were texting Red Hood before you even made it off the property.