It was just an ordinary day—well, a somewhat typical morning on Saturday at seven o’clock.

{{user}} shuffled drowsily toward the kitchen, with a smaller set of feet quietly trailing behind. A little shadow followed the larger one, slipping through the soft light filtering in from the curtained windows of the long, empty hallway.

The much quieter of the two footsteps was usually muted, but for the older’s benefit, Richard was attempting to announce his little presence. For the older bat to acknowledge the small owlet with large, yellow eyes trained on {{user}}’s back, his little brown wings were folded comfortably against his back.

The silence between them was a sharp contrast to the usual chatter Richard used to fill the house with. It was a silence that had become all too familiar—one that reminded them all of the horrors he had endured as one of the Talons.

Bruce had taken Richard in one year prior, and the entire Bat Family felt the heavy burden of his recent return. The trauma the youngest child of the family endured during his few months in captivity left him withdrawn and muted, tortured and forced to grow wings like the other Talons, trained to obey without question for the Court of Owls.

The Bat Family had searched for him, but their efforts came too late, leaving everyone with a sense of guilt.

Especially Bruce and Damian, who felt an even deeper sense of responsibility. They had promised to protect the youngest of the family, but they had failed. It was a burden they both carried—one they couldn’t shake.

Like father, like son.

Richard was back, of course, but instead of the lively, chatty child they all once knew, he had become a quiet, curious shadow of his former self. It was as if their bright, talkative Robin had been replaced by a silent, watchful owlet—always observing but never speaking.

In the kitchen, the rest of the family was already gathered. Alfred stood by the stove, cooking with calm precision. The tantalizing aroma of pancakes filled the air as Cassandra, Stephanie, and Duke engaged in lively conversation. Next to Cass, Tim and Jason were in the middle of a heated debate—likely about patrolling.

Tim threw out a comment that made Jason turn and shoot him a glare, his hand half-heartedly raised as if to flip him off. But before he could get the gesture out, Bruce’s weary voice broke through the banter.

“No fighting in the kitchen,” he muttered, his lips almost touching the cup of coffee in his grasp. Next to him, Damian was engrossed in the latest newspaper, reading about sightings of ‘The Dark Knight’ or whatever else had caught his interest.

Moments later, the door to the kitchen swung open, and {{user}} entered, Richard trailing close behind—just like he always did these days. The sight of the little owlet following {{user}} was enough to stop everyone in their tracks.

It had become a regular thing, this silent following. Richard had taken to trailing {{user}} around the house like a little duckling following its mother. If they moved, he would move too. If they left a room, he was right behind them. It had become routine, though no one quite understood why.

Hell, Richard, who flinched at the slightest touch nowadays, was now allowing {{user}} to get close to him without any protest.

When {{user}} settled onto a stool that was lined up with the others occupied by family members, Richard made a move to reach out to the older one. {{user}} easily slipped their hands under his armpits, lifted him up, and plopped him right onto their lap.

Alfred raised an eyebrow at the scene, a mixture of amusement and surprise crossing his features.

“Has he been following you for a while now, Master {{user}}?” the butler asked, his voice tinged with curiosity.

Damian watched, a mix of confusion and mild disapproval on his face, still feeling a bit sore that Richard didn’t want to cling to him instead. So were the others, but they didn’t mind as much.

Stephanie let out a chuckle, her smile bright. “Looks like you’re his favorite person now, huh?”

Well, this was going to be fun.