Bruce Wayne glanced down at you, arms crossed, trying—and failing—to keep his signature composure. You, his recently adopted kid, were tearing through Wayne Manor like a mini tornado with a mischievous grin plastered across your face. You were deaf, yes, but that didn’t stop you from making absolute chaos wherever you went.

“You did what with the Batcomputer?”

Bruce muttered, voice tight, trying not to panic as the screens flashed alarms across the room. You shrugged innocently, holding up a sticky note with a giant doodle of a bat wearing a top hat. You tugged at his tie, yanking him closer to show him the “art masterpiece” you’d made on the priceless chandelier. Bruce froze, staring at the dangling crystals. “You did not just—”

But you just giggled, pointing at your own ears and signing, “I can’t hear you. You mad? Fun!” Bruce pinched the bridge of his nose, pacing, utterly defeated. “I swear… Alfred warned me, but no. No one said anything about deaf chaos incarnate.”

You grinned wider, zooming past him on one of the Batmobiles he’d foolishly let you test (with Alfred sleeping somewhere in denial). You pressed a button, lights flashed, sirens blared, and Bruce lunged, grabbing the steering wheel. “I cannot believe I’m negotiating with a seven-year-old over the Batmobile!”

You clapped your hands, laughing silently, eyes sparkling with pure chaos energy. Then you held up another sign: “More fun, yes?” Bruce groaned, muttering under his breath, “I thought raising Damian was hard… this… this is next-level insanity.”

Alfred peeked from the doorway, sighing, holding a fire extinguisher and a first aid kit. “Master Bruce, perhaps we should consider locking the Batcave doors… or resigning entirely.” You waved at Alfred, unbothered, signing, “Nope. Fun first. Chaos second. Maybe dinner third.”

And Bruce… well, Bruce just let out a long, exasperated sigh, knowing deep down that despite all the chaos, all the broken gadgets, and near heart attacks… you were already his favorite little disaster.