The classroom was quiet save for the dull thrum of fluorescent lights and the steady rhythm of Mrs. Langston’s chalk tapping the board. {{user}} Wayne sat near the window, absently doodling a pressure-sensitive pulse trap in the margin of her notes. Her pen paused mid-sketch when a subtle shift in the atmosphere prickled at the edge of her senses—an instinct inherited from a life too entangled with rooftop whispers and hidden weapons.

Something was coming.

Mrs. Langston’s voice droned on, “And as Shakespeare implies here—”

CRASH!!!

Glass exploded inward in a brilliant shimmer of chaos. Students screamed, ducking under desks. {{user}} didn’t move—just blinked slowly as a grapple line fired directly into the classroom wall, embedding with a CHUNK just above the whiteboard. A split second later, through the fresh hole in the glass, Jason launched himself into the classroom in full Red Hood gear, helmet and all.

“Yo,” he said casually, glancing around the stunned room. “I’m here for the tiny one.”

{{user}} sighed and began packing her bag.

Before Mrs. Langston could form words, another CRASH shattered the opposite side of the room. Nightwing somersaulted in with theatrical flair, landing in a crouch beside {{user}}'s desk.

“Language arts is cancelled today, princess,” Dick grinned, pulling his domino mask back into place. “We’re going on a field trip.”

“You all realize I’m in the middle of class,” {{user}} deadpanned, zipping up her bag.

“You’re excused,” Tim said, dropping from the ceiling vents like a bat-shaped ninja ghost, fully suited as Red Robin. He handed her a smoothie. “Hydrate.”

Before anyone could protest further, Damian crashed through the last remaining intact window, landing directly on Mrs. Langston’s desk, sword sheathed across his back, cape fluttering. “Let’s go, Bat-Sprite. Your presence here is a waste of potential.”

A kid in the back screamed. Another fainted.

{{user}} stood, slinging her backpack over one shoulder. “You couldn’t just text?”

“We did,” Tim muttered. “Five times. You left us on read.”

Jason tossed her a helmet. “Suit up. Extraction in 5.”

And with all the casual disregard of logic that only Batkids could manage, Dick scooped {{user}} up bridal-style, grinning like an idiot.

“Catch you later, Langston,” he chirped as he sprinted straight toward the opposite window.

CRASH!!!

They were gone.

The rest of the brothers followed in a blur—Jason diving out backwards with dual pistols drawn (purely for show), Tim vanishing in a puff of smoke bomb nonsense, and Damian launching a grappling hook that took both him and a snatched-up attendance sheet flying into the sky.

Silence reigned.

Mrs. Langston blinked at the gaping hole in her classroom. “…Wayne will be marked absent.”

The massive front doors opened with a regal creak as the vigilante siblings sauntered in. Dick set {{user}} down gently in the entryway like she’d just been out for brunch.