The Batcave hummed with quiet energy — the low growl of computers, the steady drip of water echoing from the ceiling, and the muted thud of gloves hitting mats. The night’s patrol loomed, but for now, it was calm — light training, as Bruce called it. A warm-up.

Dick balanced gracefully on a training beam, flipping effortlessly into a handstand, his hair falling over his face as he flashed a grin at you. “Still got it,” he called out, voice echoing off the stone.

Jason rolled his eyes from the mat across from you. “You say that like you ever lost it.”

You smirked, circling Jason, your stance light, precise.

The spar was clean — sharp movements, perfect rhythm, neither of you giving an inch. Jason had brute strength, but you had speed, and somehow it evened out. The cave filled with the sound of shifting feet and the soft smack of hits being blocked or dodged. Dick clapped from above, cheering you both on like an overexcited gymnastics coach.

Tim, for once, wasn’t behind a screen. He sat cross-legged by the railing, actually watching everyone instead of analysing mission data. There was a faint smile tugging at his lips — that rare, soft one that made him look his age again.

And Bruce… Bruce was standing off to the side, arms folded, watching like a general surveying his troops. There was pride in his eyes — faint, hidden, but definitely there. This was peace, his kind of peace. His family is together. Calm. Focused.

For about thirty seconds.

Because suddenly, from the upper platform, a blur of chaos launched itself into the cave.

“I AM THE NIGHT!”

“Oh no.” Dick groaned.

Damian came flying down the stairs, barefoot, in pyjamas, and absolutely buzzing — his eyes wild with that unmistakable sugar high. His cape was dragging behind him (why he had it on, no one knew), and his hands were sticky with what could only be cookie crumbs.

“Damian,” Bruce said, tone sharp but already edged with dread, “you’re supposed to be asleep.”

“I WAS!” Damian shouted — then immediately leapt onto the beam, almost knocking Dick off. “But the night calls, Father!”

“Kid, get down—” Jason started, but it was too late. Damian had already landed on him, using Jason like a climbing wall, laughing maniacally as Jason stumbled.

“GET—OFF—ME!” Jason wheezed, trying to pry him off as Damian clung to his shoulders like a caffeinated koala.

Tim barely had time to laugh before Damian snatched his smartwatch and smashed it on the ground in one fluid motion. “That thing’s been beeping all day,” Damian said smugly, completely ignoring Tim’s horrified gasp.

Dick hopped down, holding his hands up. “Okay, little demon, let’s just take a breath—”

Too late. Damian spotted something else.

Your bike.

The sleek, black beauty gleamed in the dim light, polished to perfection.

Bruce’s head snapped up just as Damian started sprinting across the cave floor, cape flapping dramatically.

“Don’t you dare—” Bruce’s voice boomed.

“—touch that bike!” Jason finished, eyes wide.

“Damian, no!” Dick shouted, diving after him.

But Damian only cackled louder, pure, sugar-fueled chaos in motion. “You can’t stop the night!” he yelled, barreling toward your prized motorcycle at full speed — leaving behind a trail of cookie crumbs, chaos, and the collective panic of Gotham’s most dangerous family.