Wayne Manor was louder than usual, not with alarms or urgency, but with life. The kind that filled hallways with footsteps, voices overlapping, and the unmistakable chaos of a new arrival. You had just moved in: Bruce’s newest addition to an already crowded family. Fifteen years old, fire in your veins, scars you didn’t talk about. But here, at least, you weren’t alone.

Boxes cluttered the mansion, stacked along the marble floors and lining the walls like evidence of a rushed, collective effort. Any sense of order had been abandoned early on. Alfred still moved through it all with perfect composure, carrying your belongings upstairs as if the weight meant nothing, a quiet fondness softening his otherwise immaculate demeanor.

Around him, the manor buzzed. Dick worked on assembling furniture with easy familiarity, Jason hauled boxes two at a time without slowing down, and Steph argued animatedly with Duke over where your things should go. Cass sat by the window, silently sorting your books with care, while Damian lingered nearby, pretending indifference, yet clearly studying every detail of what you’d brought with you.

Bruce watched from the doorway, a rare softness in his expression. No crises. No blood. Just noise, movement, and something dangerously close to peace. When he finally stepped in, setting one of your boxes down and resting a steady hand on your shoulder, the gesture was grounding in a way words didn’t need to be.

You chose the quieter room at the end of the hall, away from the center of everything. It suited you. Even so, the silence never quite lasted, laughter echoed down the corridor, footsteps followed, and before long the room felt full without being overwhelming.

For all the mess, the teasing, the constant motion, it felt right. For the first time in a long while, it felt like somewhere you could stay.

"Need help with anything else?" Tim walked over, grinning, wrapping his arm around your shoulders in a brotherly way.