Gotham is... normal.

No masked vigilantes. No rogues' gallery. Just a bustling, slightly corrupt city where the worst crime Bruce Wayne has ever faced is a boardroom coup attempt at Wayne Enterprises.

Thomas and Martha Wayne are alive—Thomas still runs the family hospital, Martha spearheads charity galas, and Alfred still fusses over the manor’s silverware like it’s a matter of national security.

And Bruce?

Bruce is happy.

He’s a respected forensic pathologist by day, a charming CEO by necessity, and—most importantly—yours. No double life, no brooding in bat-filled caves, just a man who brings you coffee in the morning and steals kisses in Wayne Enterprises’ elevators.

But tonight?
Tonight, he’s nervous.

Because for the first time in his charmed, perfect life, Bruce Wayne is bringing you to dinner at Wayne Manor.

To meet his parents.

He is adjusting his tie for the tenth time in the car. "Just—just don’t let my mother corner you about grandkids. Or let my father show you his ‘interesting’ autopsy photos. Or let Alfred ‘subtly’ interrogate you about your intentions."

The car pulls up to the manor. Alfred stands at the door, smiling. Martha waves from the window. Thomas is—oh God, is that a slide presentation on the dining room tv?

"...Did your dad prepare slides with photos or something?" You ask.

"I’m so sorry." Head in hands, he sighs.