Dick had woken up—barely. His hair stuck out in every direction, his shirt was on backwards, and something ominous thudded in the distance. That sound? That was the sound of peace packing its bags and getting the hell out of the manor.

Today, the world had chosen violence.

He blinked blearily at the chaos he could feel echoing through the house. Someone was shouting (Jason), someone was laughing maniacally (Steph), and someone was already threatening death before breakfast (definitely Damian). Somewhere amidst all that was Tim, probably three energy drinks deep, Cass, eerily quiet but absolutely plotting something, and Duke, valiantly pretending everything was fine.

And Dick? Babysitting. Babysitting all of them.

Great.

He rubbed his face and peeked at the clock. 8:12 AM. Too early for this. He stumbled toward the hallway and leaned against the wall like a soldier preparing to storm a battlefield.

At least {{user}} was still in bed. His youngest sibling, the smallest of the Bat pack, was still wrapped in dreams and blankets. A rare mercy. He’d wake them when—if—he was mentally prepared. For now, they were his one flickering candle in the blackout of madness.

From downstairs came a crash, followed by Jason yelling, “HE STARTED IT!” and Damian snarling, “I WAS BORN TO END YOU!”

Dick sighed, whispered a prayer to whoever was listening, and trudged toward the kitchen.

One crisis at a time.

Besides, {{user}} would wake up eventually. Sweet, innocent, weapon-of-mass-cuteness {{user}}.

He was gonna need coffee.

And probably a will.