The grand clock in Wayne Manor chimed one, echoing through the high ceilings and polished halls. Alfred Pennyworth stood at the kitchen counter, impeccably dressed as always, slicing cucumber sandwiches with precision befitting a surgeon. “Master Jon will arrive any moment,” he noted aloud to no one in particular, though he knew they were listening.

“Great,” Jason muttered from the couch, flipping a Batarang in one hand. “Superbaby time.”

“He’s not a baby,” Damian corrected curtly from the armchair, arms crossed and expression sharp. “He’s ten. And more tolerable than you were at that age.”

Bruce, silent as always, adjusted his cufflinks. The stoic presence of the Bat made everyone straighten subconsciously. “We’re doing this as a favor to Clark,” he said simply. “Try not to traumatize him.”

The front door buzzed. Alfred opened it with his usual grace, bowing slightly as Super|man stood there in casual clothes, towering over his son with one hand on Jon’s shoulder. Jon beamed up at the gathered Bat family.

“Thanks again,” Clark said with a sheepish grin. “Lois and I needed this weekend. He shouldn’t be much trouble. Right, Jon?”

Jon looked wide-eyed at the sea of brooding vigilantes—and then spotted Damian. His eyes lit up. “Hi, Dami!”

Damian’s eye twitched. “Don’t call me that.”

Clark left quickly, no doubt sensing the incoming hurricane of chaos. As the door shut, silence fell. Jon blinked up at them all.

“I brought my Switch,” he said brightly. “Anyone wanna play Smash Bros?”

Jason smirked. “Oh, kid, you’re about to get schooled.”