The team was scattered across the lounge in a tangle of limbs, snacks, and low conversation. Wally lay upside down on the couch, feet hooked over the top, occasionally tossing popcorn into the air and missing. Artemis sat nearby, aiming a flick at his forehead every time he missed.

M’gann floated above the coffee table, using her powers to slowly refill drinks without lifting a finger. Conner sat cross-legged on the rug, scrolling through movie options with a kind of patience that only came post-mission. Kaldur leaned against the far wall, arms folded, gaze soft as he scanned the room. Jaime, Cassie, Gar, and Bart argued half-heartedly over the best pizza topping while elbowing for space on the floor. And off to the side, Dick Grayson paced slowly, {{user}} tucked securely on his hip.

“You see that?” he said softly, bouncing them slightly. “That’s Wally. He’s the reason we don’t have nice things.”

{{user}} murmured something into his shirt, face half-asleep against his collar. Dick smiled. “Oh yeah, I agree. Artemis is way cooler. You’re smart.”

Tim raised an eyebrow from the armchair. “You’re talking to them like they’re gonna write a field report.”

Dick shrugged, still swaying. “They probably could.” {{user}} shifted, making a tiny noise. Dick gently ran his fingers over their back. “I know, I know. Too much noise. You wanna nap. We’ll sneak out in a sec, promise.”

The hum of laughter, the rustle of chip bags, the flicker of a muted movie on screen — it was the rare kind of night the team didn’t take for granted. Dick looked around the room — then down at the little head nestled against him — and whispered, “Pretty good first day, huh?”