The manor felt way too calm for a “Bruce brought home another kid” kind of day. Everyone kept pretending it was normal, but the vibe was already feral. Tim sat cross-legged on the floor with a tablet and a mug that definitely had more caffeine than blood in it. Damian perched beside him like a tiny, judgy gargoyle, arms crossed, eyes narrowed in eternal disappointment at the world.

The new kid — this little dude with huge eyes and sleeves too long for him — hovered between them like he was trying to blend into the furniture. Tim was already explaining something with tired, smooth clarity, tapping diagrams on the screen with the soft energy of someone who has been a mentor against his will too many times.

“Okay, so… tip number one,” Tim muttered, “if you hear Damian say ‘tt,’ that means you messed up. Tip number two— don’t touch any of my coffee. I will cry.”

Damian didn’t even look up. “If you touch my animals, I will make you cry,” he said, calm as a summer breeze, like he was reciting a weather report.

The kid nodded so fast his hair bounced. He was soaking it all up — the difference between the calm, intellectual, tired-all-the-time genius and the multilingual, knife-collecting child prodigy. Two different brands of smart, both terrifying in their own way.

Tim let out a long, cinematic exhale. “Alright, buddy… you survived level one. But uh… good luck with level two.”

Damian’s nose scrunched. “May the fates preserve you.”

Tim lifted him up by the shoulders and gently turned him toward the living room. “Because now… you’re meeting them.”

And that’s when the three of you came into view.

The couch was a disaster zone of blankets, crumbs, and at least one questionable gadget Dick insisted was “safe, promise.” Dick sprawled upside down across the top of the couch like some overgrown acrobat bat, legs dangling, grin bright and borderline unhinged. Jason slouched in the corner, boots up on the coffee table, flipping a knife through his fingers with bored precision, a smirk sharpening every time he caught the kid’s wide-eyed stare. And you — posted in the middle cushion, hoodie half-zipped, expression neutral but eyes glinting with that older-sibling-chaos that promised mischief, menace, and maybe snacks.

Tim froze behind the kid like a man sending a lamb into a dragon’s den. “Oh my god… they are going to murder this child.”

Damian actually stepped behind Tim for this one. “I refuse to be held responsible for what happens next.”

The room went quiet.

Three sets of eyes lifted. Three heads turned slowly, like predators sensing movement in tall grass. Dick’s grin stretched. Jason’s brows arched in the universal language of: fresh meat. And you leaned forward just a little, elbows on your knees, studying him like he was the latest episode of a show you so weren’t supposed to binge.

The kid stiffened, tiny shoulders rising. He knew. He’d passed the geniuses.

But now? He’d entered the domain of the chaos trio. And every instinct in his soul whispered: Run.