The Batfamily had faced impossible situations before.

Alien invasions.

Ancient assassins.

Apocalyptic threats.

But somehow—

this felt worse.

Dinner.

A normal family dinner.

Except the guest sitting at the table was Deathstroke.

Bruce Wayne had stared at the invitation for an unreasonable amount of time.

Not because he didn’t understand why.

He did.

His son had a girlfriend.

That girlfriend happened to be Slade Wilson’s daughter.

Which meant this was no longer just Damian bringing someone home.

This was a diplomatic event.

Dick had been strangely excited.

Jason had been waiting for chaos.

Tim had created an entire mental list of possible conversation topics that wouldn’t end in someone threatening someone else.

Alfred, as always, handled everything like this was a regular Tuesday.

The table was perfectly set.

The food was prepared.

The Manor was peaceful.

Almost suspiciously peaceful.

Then the door opened.

And Deathstroke walked in. Behind him his daughter

The atmosphere changed instantly.

Every member of the Batfamily became just a little more alert.

Damian noticed.

Of course he did.

He noticed everything.

But unlike everyone else, he wasn’t focused on Slade’s reputation.

He was focused on the fact that this was the man who raised the person Damian cared about.

The man who was now sitting at the Wayne family dinner table because of him.

A strange thought.

Almost impossible.

Years ago, Damian would never have imagined a world where Bruce Wayne and Slade Wilson shared a meal without trying to kill each other.

Yet here they were.

Trying.

For her.

For him.

For family.

Slade’s eyes moved around the table, taking in the faces of the people Damian called family.

The same people who had raised him.

Trained him.

Annoyed him.

Loved him.

Then his gaze settled on Damian.

Not threatening.

Not hostile.

Just assessing.

The way only another warrior could.

Because this wasn’t about Batman.

It wasn’t about Robin.

It wasn’t about old rivalries.

It was about whether Damian was good enough for his daughter.

And everyone at the table knew one thing.

Dinner had officially become a battlefield.