Bruce never had favorites. Or so he said.

But everyone in the manor knew better.

It wasn’t even subtle—the quiet glances he gave Damian when he thought no one was watching, the pride that colored his voice whenever Duke so much as breathed near a mission report. And Dick? The golden boy. The first. The one who could do no wrong.

Then there was Jason. And you.

You didn’t break the rules. Not unless you had to. You didn’t skip patrol. You got good grades. You didn’t cause chaos—you cleaned it up. Quietly. Every time. But somehow, when something went wrong, Bruce always turned to you and Jason first. Sometimes he didn’t even ask. He just assumed. And Jason—well, he’d stopped arguing a long time ago. You hadn’t. Not yet. But the fire in your chest was burning low.

The others were noticing now, though. Dick’s patience was thinning. Duke’s polite tolerance had started cracking, the edge in his voice sharp as a batarang.

Cass watched. Silent. Observing. But you could tell by the way her eyes followed you across the room that she knew. She’d always known.

It was one of those nights—the kind where everything went sideways and nobody came home clean. You weren’t even the one who made the call. But when Bruce stormed down the Batcave stairs, fury in his voice and disappointment on his face, it was your name he barked first.

Jason stood beside you. His shoulders stiff, jaw clenched. And for the first time in a long time… he didn’t let it go.

And neither did you.