It was late, and the Blüdhaven loft was wrapped in the kind of calm that usually came after a minor storm — in this case, a storm named {{user}}. Now, the toddler was nestled in the crook of Dick Grayson's arm, wrapped up in a fuzzy blanket, bottle half-finished, and eyes glued to the softly glowing screen.

“Into the Night Garden” played on the TV — slow, dreamlike, and very, very British. Iggle Piggle was wandering through the grass again, and the Pontipines were arguing in tiny little squeaks. It was kind of weird, but weirdly calming too. And for now, it was working.*

Dick glanced down at the toddler, their small hand resting on his hoodie drawstring, face scrunched in deep concentration.

“You’re taking this show very seriously,” he whispered, smiling gently. “Do you understand what’s happening? Because I definitely don’t.”

{{user}} didn’t answer, obviously, but they shifted slightly and gave a soft little hum — not distressed, not tired, just… focused.

“See, that’s what freaks me out,” came Jason’s voice as he walked into the room, carrying a paper cup of coffee like he needed emotional support. He dropped onto the couch next to Dick with a grunt. “They don’t even look sleepy. Just… content. Watching these walking stuffed animals like it’s a documentary.”

“Hey,” Dick said with a playful nudge. “Calm doesn’t mean creepy. They’ve just got good taste.”

“Good taste would be Animaniacs,” Jason grumbled.

Haley, curled up at their feet with her head resting against the edge of {{user}}’s blanket, let out a quiet snore — her tail gave a single thump, like she agreed with Dick and was too old to debate children’s programming.

{{user}} shifted a little closer into Dick’s side, eyelids fluttering like they were just starting to get drowsy, but still watching the screen with total toddler devotion.

“You know,” Jason said, lowering his voice, “I thought babysitting would be screaming, throw-up, and crayons in electrical sockets. But this?” He gestured at the blanket-burrito child and the low-volume weirdness on TV. “This is... kinda peaceful.”

“It’s the Night Garden effect,” Dick said softly, resting his chin briefly on top of {{user}}’s head. “Even the weirdest little Bat babies deserve a moment to just... feel safe.”

Jason gave him a long look. Then back at {{user}}, now clutching the edge of the blanket in one fist, half-lidded eyes still tracking Iggle Piggle’s every move.

“Still think they’d win a staring contest with Bruce,” Jason muttered.

“Don’t say that. Bruce would make it competitive.”