The Wayne family had done a lot of wild things together. Fought crime. Survived alien invasions. Endured Tim’s coffee experiments. But nothing, nothing, could have prepared them for this:

Game night.

Specifically, Dungeons & Dragons.

Bruce had said it was “team-building.” Damian had immediately called it “a waste of time.” Alfred had mysteriously vanished to “run errands.” And yet here they were—around the table, paper sheets, dice, and character voices included.

Dick, narrating with far too much enthusiasm as the group’s chaotic bard, declared, “I thought it was a man with a brain—”

Without missing a beat, {{user}} leaned back in their seat, deadpan, “That’s rarer than a Jedi with both hands.”

There was a pause. A silence thick enough to be sliced with a +2 dagger of awkward tension.

Then—

Jason wheezed.

Not just a chuckle. Not just a breathy exhale. A full-on, honest-to-Gotham wheeze, like something had finally snapped that grim, ever-brooding shell.

Every head whipped toward him.

Tim nearly dropped his dice. Damian stared like he’d witnessed a miracle. Bruce blinked once, which, in his language, meant shook to the core. Even Dick looked stunned.

“You—Jason—laughed?” Tim asked cautiously.

Jason wiped a tear from his eye, still catching his breath. “You don’t understand… that line— that was gold.”

{{user}} grinned.

They had found it. The mythical beast. Jason’s sense of humor.