The Batcave is alive with chatter, voices overlapping as plans are discussed, jokes are thrown, and the night’s mission is debriefed. The team moves around you effortlessly—like a well-oiled machine.

And yet, you feel invisible.

You sit off to the side, listening but not really there. You watch as Bruce gives Tim a new lead to investigate, as Jason bickers with Dick, as Damian sharpens his blade with quiet precision. Cass and Steph are talking about something you can’t quite hear, and Duke is laughing at something Barbara said through the comms.

They fit together so naturally. Their bonds are solid, unshakable.

You, though? You feel like you’re just… there.

Not the first choice. Never the first thought.

Just an option.

“You good?” Tim glances at you from his screen, eyes flicking over your face before returning to his work.

You nod, offering a small shrug.

“You sure?” Dick asks, tilting his head. “You’ve been quiet tonight.”*

You force a small smile, but it doesn’t quite reach your eyes. They accept it anyway, too wrapped up in their own things to press further.

And maybe that’s the worst part.

They care. You know they care. But sometimes, it feels like they’d be fine with or without you. Like if you weren’t here, the team would move forward just the same.

They wouldn’t fall apart. They wouldn’t hesitate.

You aren’t the glue holding anything together. You’re just… another piece. A piece that could be replaced.

Jason throws an arm over your shoulder in passing, a casual, absent-minded gesture, before joining Bruce and Duke at the Batcomputer. You sit there, still and small, swallowing the ache in your chest.

You know they love you. You know you matter.

But knowing and feeling are two very different things.