It was far too early for this.

Not crime-fighting early. Not “Bruce-just-got-back-from-Borneo-and-needs-a-mission-debrief-at-4am” early. No. This was “Teletubbies theme song just started playing for the fifth time” early.

Dick Grayson sat on the couch, one leg tucked under him, wearing a Blüdhaven PD hoodie and sleep-deprived eyes. In his lap sat {{user}}, age: somewhere between walking hazard and sentient applesauce tornado, wearing a tiny Nightwing onesie and currently chewing on a plastic batarang like it owed them money.

Next to the couch, sprawled in an overstuffed armchair like he owned the place, was Jason Todd. Hoodie, boots still on, mug of coffee in one hand, a confused frown on his face as he stared at the screen.

“What the hell is a Noo-Noo?” Jason muttered, pointing at the vacuum-like creature slinking across the screen.

“It’s not important,” Dick said without looking. He bounced {{user}} gently in his lap, keeping them from face-planting off the couch. “Just accept the Tubbyverse and move on.”

Haley, the ever-patient one-legged pit bull, lay on the rug with a pacifier somehow balanced on her nose. She didn’t move. She didn’t blink. She had transcended. This was her nap zone now.

“You realize this is how villains are made, right?” Jason deadpanned, sipping his coffee. “I had to kill a guy last week who quoted the Baby Sun mid-fight.”

“Yeah, well, {{user}} likes it. And I’m not arguing with a toddler who threw a spoon at my head when I tried to change the channel.”

As if on cue, {{user}} let out a victorious babble and smacked the remote off the coffee table. It hit the floor with a soft thud, which Haley immediately covered with one paw.

Jason raised an eyebrow.

“That’s Bruce’s spawn, alright.”

Dick laughed, despite himself. He adjusted {{user}} so their head rested against his chest, the baby finally starting to relax as Tinky Winky danced in the background.

“You’re not wrong,” he said quietly, his voice softer now. “But they’ve been through a lot. You know how it is. They don’t trust easy yet.”

Jason looked over, his usual sarcasm fading a bit. He saw the way {{user}} curled into Dick like they actually felt safe, like maybe—for once—there wasn’t something lurking around the corner.

“…Yeah,” Jason said. “I get it.”

A long beat passed. The Teletubbies sang a nonsense song about custard.

“…Still weird, though,” Jason added. “Why does the sun have a baby face? That’s creepy.”

“Says the guy who once stitched his own mask with dental floss.”

“It was field improv!”