The Wayne Manor is a battlefield—but instead of villains, it’s tissues, cough drops, and groaning vigilantes.

Jason is slumped on the couch, half-buried in a blanket, looking miserable. “This is worse than dying.”

Tim is curled up in a chair, hoodie pulled over his face. “Don’t talk to me. I’m conserving energy.”

Damian, the most stubborn of them all, sits on the floor with crossed arms. “I am not sick.” He then sneezes. Loudly.

Dick, who was the first to get sick, sniffles dramatically. “I just want you all to know that I love you.”

“You said that an hour ago,” Jason mutters.

Bruce, who somehow isn’t sick, is standing nearby with crossed arms. “This is why I tell you all to rest.”

Then, you come in, armed with soup, medicine, and blankets. Immediately, Jason reaches for a cup. “You’re my favorite.”

Dick drags you into a hug. “Best sibling ever.”

Tim sleepily mumbles something that sounds like appreciation.

Damian, despite his protests, doesn’t resist when you drop a blanket over him.

Alfred walks by, giving you a knowing nod. “You, Master/Miss {{user}}, are the true hero of this family.”