It started with the rain.

Not a gentle drizzle—no, this was Gotham rain. Heavy, endless, and loud enough to drown out the usual noise of the Manor. The kind that blurred the city into watercolor and made everything feel slower.

Bruce stood in the doorway of the living room, arms folded, watching his three oldest—his best, his most relentless—sit slumped on the couch like unplugged robots.

Dick had a blanket draped around his shoulders, hair still damp from training. Jason was sprawled upside down on the far end of the couch, one leg dangling off the back, half-asleep with a mug balanced on his chest. You were sitting cross-legged on the rug, staring into the fireplace even though it wasn’t lit, just… existing.

They looked tired. Not the usual, “we just fought crime for 72 hours” tired. No—this was bone-deep, slow-moving exhaustion.

And Bruce had caused it.

He didn’t mean to, of course. It just… happened. One mission bled into the next. One emergency became two, then three. Gotham never stopped. And neither did they.

But when Dick nearly fell asleep standing during a debrief, when Jason’s aim went off by a full three inches, and when you forgot to respond to a comm call for a full ten seconds—Bruce realized it wasn’t Gotham that was running them into the ground.

It was him.

So this morning, when all three of you came downstairs expecting another mission, another briefing, another “get ready,” he just said, flatly:

“Living room. Now.”

Jason blinked. “For what?”

“You’re staying there,” Bruce said, tone unmovable. “All day.”

You’d laughed at first—thought it was a joke. But the man didn’t even blink.

Now, hours later, it had sunk in. Bruce had effectively grounded the three of you in the living room like a trio of overworked cats. No patrol. No weapons. No training. Just sit there.

Outside, rain battered against the windows. The sky was gray and heavy, the sound constant and low.

Dick sighed and leaned against the couch arm. “You think he’s serious?”

Jason groaned, not opening his eyes. “He took my guns, my phone, and my Leather jacket. So yeah, I think he’s serious.”

You tilted your head toward the hallway. Bruce had been hovering all morning—pretending to read reports in the study, but really checking if you were still there.

Pretty sure he’s guilt-tripping himself,

Dick smiled softly. “Good. He deserves it.”

For the next hour, nothing happened. The rain kept falling, steady and hypnotic. Alfred passed through once, setting down a tray of sandwiches and tea like a silent referee to Bruce’s “forced relaxation experiment.”

Jason muttered a thanks, took two sandwiches, and fell back into half-sleep. Dick ended up with his head on a pillow, scrolling through a book Alfred had left behind. You had migrated to the couch too, sitting sideways with a blanket that smelled faintly like cedar and dust.

The sound of rain softened everything. Even Gotham felt far away.

Bruce appeared again at some point, standing in the doorway. He didn’t say anything—just watched. There was something quietly reverent about it.

His top three. The chaos core. His best successes, his proudest regrets.

He’d trained you to fight monsters and shadows. To be vigilant. To never stop moving. But in that stillness—in the warmth of the living room, in the glow of the rainy afternoon—you looked alive in a way he hadn’t seen in months.

Jason cracked one eye open. “You know, if you’re trying to stare us into productivity, it’s not working.”

Bruce raised an eyebrow. “Just making sure you’re… following orders.”

“Your orders suck,” Jason mumbled, flipping over.

“Yeah,” Dick added, smiling sleepily. “But… kinda nice.”

You hummed in agreement, the sound soft against the rain.

Bruce’s expression didn’t change, but something in his shoulders loosened. Just a fraction. He crossed the room, picked up the discarded blanket, and draped it properly over Dick’s shoulders before heading back toward the hall.

You caught the faintest whisper from him as he passed by—barely audible beneath the rain. “...Proud of you.”