Tim Drake stood at the foot of the platform, the new Robin suit hugging his frame like a second skin. It felt heavier than it looked. Not in weight—Batman tech was cutting-edge—but in meaning. Every stitch, every color, every buckle carried legacy. He looked up at the others gathered around: three people who knew exactly what that weight meant.

Dick Grayson—the first Robin—was perched casually on the edge of a workbench, arms crossed, dressed in his Nightwing blues and blacks. His expression was neutral, but the intensity in his eyes was hard to miss.

Jason Todd—leaning against the rock wall, clad in his civilian gear—wore a faint smirk that didn’t quite reach his eyes. His presence was like a loaded gun, not threatening, but impossible to ignore.

And then there was {{user}}, dressed in their own gear, not quite a sidekick, not quite just an ally—something in between. Trusted. Known. Part of the family. They stood with quiet, anchored confidence beside Dick, watching Tim with a gaze that could burn and comfort all at once.

“Nice boots,” Jason finally said, voice dry. “Shiny. Bet you haven’t even scuffed ‘em yet.”

Tim tried to smile, but it faltered. “Not yet. But I’m planning to. Fast.”