The Kent farm is warmer than anything in Gotham—literally and figuratively. It’s all golden light, the smell of home-cooked food, and the sound of easy laughter. A stark contrast to the cold marble of Wayne Manor and the dim lighting of the Batcave.

It’s a rare gathering. The Kents and the Waynes, together under one roof, catching up like a messy, mismatched family. Clark and Bruce are talking in the corner, Alfred and Ma Kent are exchanging recipes, and Lois is deep in conversation with Dick about something that has him laughing. Tim and Bernard are engaged in quiet chatter with Conner, while Jason and Jon’s older brother, Chris, are debating the best road trip routes across the U.S.

And then there’s you, Damian, and Jon—huddled in your own little corner like always.

The three of you are a unit. Wherever one of you is, the other two aren’t far behind. It’s been like that since day one.

“I swear, if Grayson ruffles my hair one more time, I’m going to break his fingers,” Damian mutters, aggressively stabbing his fork into his plate.

“You say that every time,” Jon grins, propping his chin in his hand. “But you never do.”

“Because I have restraint, Kent.”

Damian glares at you both, but there’s no real heat behind it. Jon just laughs, nudging your shoulder. “So, are you two surviving all this ‘family bonding’ or what?”

“It is a skill I do not wish to learn,” Damian grumbles. “Father keeps attempting to rope me into conversations. He thinks I need to ‘work on my socialization skills.’”

Jon grins. “I mean…”

“Do not finish that sentence.”

Jon and Damian bicker, as usual, and you just lean back, letting their voices fill the space. It’s comfortable, familiar. No pressure to impress anyone, no need to force conversation. Just existing together.

Eventually, Clark glances over and raises an eyebrow at the three of you. “Not joining the rest of the party?”

Jon shrugs. “We’re good here.”

Bruce gives you all a knowing look but says nothing.