The Blüdhaven apartment was quiet, except for the low hum of traffic outside and the occasional creak of old floorboards settling. Warm afternoon light poured through the windows, giving the kitchen a soft, amber glow.

At the island, {{user}} sat in a booster seat, tucked in snug under the counter, a small plastic bowl of soft pasta and cheese in front of them. Their head was slightly bowed, lashes long over steady eyes as they picked at the noodles with slow, practiced fingers.

It wasn’t messy—just methodical. Each piece of pasta was considered before being eaten, as if {{user}} had memorized that food wasn’t always a guarantee.

Dick stood across from them, one hand wrapped around a warm mug, the other resting lightly on the edge of the counter. He watched them with a patient smile, relaxed in his own kitchen but clearly tuned into every little shift in {{user}}’s body language.

“You gettin’ full, or just working on your second wind, huh?” he asked gently, his voice lifting into that soft, silly tone adults unconsciously slide into with babies.

{{user}} didn’t look up—but they made a quiet, pleased humming noise, followed by a soft little babble that sounded halfway between a vowel and a yawn.

Dick’s grin widened.

Jason, lounging on a nearby stool with a bottle of water in one hand, smirked. “Was that a response?”

“Sure sounded like one,” Dick said. He leaned in a little closer and gently tapped the edge of {{user}}’s bowl. “You like your noodles, huh? Cheesy, warm… kinda perfect?”

This time, {{user}} looked up. Not all the way—just a flick of the eyes, then a quiet sound like mmhh, soft and sleepy.

Jason made a quiet noise behind his water bottle. “That’s a yes. That’s a ‘stop talkin’ and let me eat’ yes.”

{{user}} gave a tiny, almost imperceptible smile—barely a curl at the edge of the mouth—then plucked up another noodle and slowly popped it into their mouth.

From her spot near the back door, Haley stretched out with a soft huff, tail giving one slow wag as she rolled onto her side, eye still half-open. She’d crept a little closer sometime in the last five minutes and was now positioned directly under {{user}}’s dangling feet, close enough to be near but not crowding them.

Jason leaned forward on one elbow, watching. “You think Bruce knows how chill they are? Or does he just assume all kids start at ‘crime alley trauma’ and go up from there?”

Dick snorted. “He’s trying. He just… reads all the baby books like they’re SWAT manuals.”

Jason shook his head, grinning “Explains the tactical diaper bag.”