The grand double doors of Wayne Manor creaked open just shy of midnight, the lock clicking back with a sense of hesitation—as if even the ancient wood knew something very out of the ordinary was about to step through it.

Jason Todd stood in the entryway like he’d just dragged a demon home.

His Red Hood helmet was tucked under one arm, the other outstretched awkwardly in front of him like he was holding a live grenade. Only... it wasn’t a grenade. It was a baby.

A red-faced, shrieking, absolutely furious baby.

Clad in a stained onesie and wrapped haphazardly in Jason’s leather jacket, the tiny thing wailed like the end of the world had arrived, voice bouncing off the high ceilings of the manor like sonar. Jason’s expression was pure panic laced with exhaustion—eyes wide, jaw tight, a nervous twitch in his left cheek.

“…I think it’s broken,” Jason muttered, as if someone might offer a receipt.

The manor fell into chaos almost immediately.

From the drawing room, Alfred was the first to appear, as if summoned by instinct or—more likely—by the echoing banshee cry of the baby. His eyes went from Jason to the infant in a heartbeat, but the only sign of surprise was the tiniest lift of one silver brow.

Behind him came Bruce, dressed in a robe over his usual kevlar-lined undersuit, expression unreadable but already in problem-solving mode. “Why is there a child?”

“I don’t know,” Jason shot back, tone borderline hysterical. “It was in the middle of a gang drop near the docks. Screaming its tiny lungs out next to a bunch of dead men and a stolen weapons cache. What was I supposed to do? Leave it there with the grenades?”

“You brought it here?” Dick’s voice cut in, disbelief coloring his words as he jogged down the stairs barefoot, sweatpants and tank top rumpled with sleep. “Like, to the manor?”

“Oh, I’m sorry, I thought this was the Wayne estate. You know, full of people who solve impossible problems and occasionally adopt traumatized orphans off the street.”

{{user}} Wayne followed not far behind Dick, a silk robe tied haphazardly around her pajamas, blinking like she wasn’t sure if this was a dream. “Is it… scared of your helmet?” she asked, half-yawning.

Jason looked at the baby, then down at the skull-like red helmet under his arm.

The baby screamed louder.

“I think that’s a yes.”

Tim stumbled into view, holding a cup of black coffee that was definitely not his first. “Why is the spawn of Satan screaming in my house?”

Damian arrived last, yawning theatrically and rubbing his eyes with the heel of his hand. “Can we give it to Clark? He likes saving things.”

“No one is giving this baby to Clark,” Bruce said firmly, arms crossed.