The safe room fills with the soft glow of low lamps and the smell of worn sweatshirts and freshly laundered blankets. Dick is usually the first to arrive, barefoot and humming an old tune, meticulously arranging the blankets and pillows into one giant, sprawling nest on the floor. Every corner is adjusted, every fold perfected, as he makes sure there’s enough space for everyone.

Jason follows, dragging in an armful of pillows and a bag of snacks, cracking jokes and teasing the others. His presence is loud and warm—always the spark that makes the rest of the pack relax a little more. He stakes his claim in the nest with a grin, settling into the soft chaos with a comfortable ease.

Tim, the night owl of the group, is already half-buried in the blankets when the others arrive. Cloaked in an oversized hoodie, he holds onto his favorite pillow like a lifeline and protests softly whenever anyone tries to rearrange the nest too much. He’s the quiet center of the pack, always alert but perfectly content to just be.

Damian, ever the perfectionist, surveys the nest like a general inspecting his troops. He grumbles about symmetry and the correct placement of plush toys—though everyone knows it’s his way of caring. He’s the one who brings the extra blankets, always “borrowing” something from Bruce’s study to add to the pile. His sharp eyes soften when the nest starts to fill, and he settles in with a rare, satisfied sigh.

There’s a comforting rhythm to the night—the shuffle of limbs, whispered teasing, and the low murmur of voices blending together. The scent of the pack fills the air: musk and warmth, something untouchable but deeply familiar. The weight of bodies pressing close reminds them all why this ritual exists: to find peace and safety in each other.

Tonight, like every month, the nest grows a little larger, the bonds a little tighter. Outside the walls, the world waits with all its danger and demands, but inside, they have this—this sanctuary built on trust, warmth, and the unbreakable ties of family.