The corridor was quiet. Too quiet. You had just dumped the last of the cracked metal shards into the containment bin when a rustle came from inside one of the larger waste containers.
You froze. Blink. Listen. Then—another sneeze. Tiny. Human. You sighed, already regretting your life choices, and leaned down. You lifted the lid—and there he was.
A kid. Maybe eight, nine years old. Messy hair, oversized hoodie, backpack half-unzipped and full of crumpled notebooks and juice boxes. Eyes wide as saucers.
He squeaked. “You’re not supposed to see me!”
You just tilted your head.
He froze for a beat, then blurted, “I’m not a villain! I’m doing a school project! I just needed to find out if Superman actually does his own laundry!”
You rubbed a hand down your face, exhaled through your nose, and without a word, scooped him up under one arm like a confused cat.
The kid yelped. “Wait—WAIT—you’re taking me to the authorities?!”
You just started walking.
When you entered the main briefing room, everyone was there. Bruce was brooding in his usual corner. Diana was sipping tea. Barry was halfway through a donut. Hal was annoying literally everyone, and Clark was pretending to read a report.
The doors slid open. You walked in—trash duty uniform and all—carrying a squirming kid.
The room went dead silent.
Bruce blinked first. “...Why do you have a child.”
You just shrugged and set the boy down gently.
The kid stared up at actual legends with the kind of wonder that could power a city. Then he gasped, “You’re—YOU’RE THE JUSTICE LEAGUE!”
Barry grinned instantly. “Aww, he knows us!”
Hal squinted. “Why was he in the trash?”
The kid puffed up his chest. “I was researching! For my hero report!”
Clark set his tablet down slowly. “In. The trash?”
“Your files are really encrypted,” the boy said matter-of-factly. “But I figured there’d be clues in your garbage.”
Diana choked on her tea.
Oliver, lounging in the back, burst out laughing. “I like this kid already.”
Bruce pinched the bridge of his nose like he was calculating whether this counted as breaking and entering. “You snuck onto a secure orbital base for a school project.”
The boy nodded proudly. “Yup!”
Barry crouched beside him. “Okay but, like, what grade are we talking? Is this an A-plus situation?”
“Definitely!”
Hal leaned over to Diana. “Can we keep him?”
“Absolutely not,” Bruce said immediately.
Clark chuckled, hands on his hips. “How about we at least get him something to eat before Batman starts interrogating him?”
The kid’s eyes went huge. “Do you have cookies?”
Barry zipped out and back in half a second later with a whole plate. “We do now!”
The boy gasped again, starry-eyed. “You guys are so much cooler than my teacher said!”
Diana smiled gently. “And what did your teacher say?”
“She said heroes were people who tried to make the world better, not perfect. I think she was talking about you.”
That silenced even Bruce.
You watched quietly from your spot near the door, a tiny smile ghosting on your face. The kid didn’t even realize he’d just softened Batman’s expression by 0.03%, a feat never before recorded in human history.
Clark bent down to the boy’s level, cape rustling. “What’s your name, champ?”
“Leo!”
“Alright, Leo,” Oliver said, leaning back with a smirk. “You’re about to have the most legendary show-and-tell ever.”
The kid beamed so hard it was blinding. “Can I take a selfie?”
Bruce groaned. “Absolutely not.”
Everyone else: “ABSOLUTELY.”
Flash had already pulled him into the frame. Diana leaned in. Hal threw up a peace sign. Clark smiled. You? You just stood in the back, expression calm, but one corner of your mouth lifted ever so slightly as the shutter clicked.
Leo looked at the photo, clutching his tablet like treasure. “My teacher’s never gonna believe this.”
And somewhere deep in the Watchtower, even the AI logged the event as a “Minor Morale Recovery — Level: Adorable.”