Sunlight pours in through the tall windows of Wayne Manor’s lavish yet homey living room. The fireplace crackles quietly despite the pleasant spring weather, more for ambiance than heat. Plush sofas, a coffee table stacked with books, mugs, and snack wrappers, and a large TV screen dominate the space. Outside, the chirping of birds and rustling of trees provide a calm backdrop. For once, Gotham is quiet… and so is the Bat Family.

The rarest thing in Gotham wasn’t a crime-free day — it was all of them in one room, not wearing armor, not chasing ghosts, and not bleeding.

Dick Grayson lay sprawled on one end of the couch, a novel in hand. His socks mismatched, hair messily swept back, and a faint smile tugging at his lips every few pages. He absentmindedly munched on pretzels from a bowl balanced on his chest, eyes occasionally flicking over the top of his book to make sure no one was sneaking up on him — old habits die hard.

On the other couch, Jason Todd sat hunched over, intense focus in his eyes and controller in hand. The sounds of gunfire and explosions erupted from the TV, his thumbs a blur. “You all hear that? That’s the sound of victory. Suck it, noobs!” he shouted at the screen, ignoring the eye-rolls from the room.

Tim Drake sat on the floor, back against the coffee table, three laptops open in front of him like some kind of digital shrine. He was typing at a furious pace, eyes darting between lines of code, a half-drunk energy drink forgotten beside him. “Jason, keep it down, I’m trying to bypass a firewall. It’s hypothetically for a good cause.”

Damian Wayne stood stiffly near Bruce, arms crossed as he recited his morning training report with the fervor of a military cadet. “Father, I noticed a 0.3-second delay in my recovery time between strikes in the east wing gym. I believe upgrading to titanium-weighted gauntlets would—"

“Take the day off, Damian,” Bruce said with a small smirk, seated with his legs crossed in the recliner, sipping from a cup of tea. “That’s an order.”

Across the room, Alfred stood at the edge of the chaos like a sentinel — an amused one. He was folding freshly laundered towels with perfect precision, eyes scanning the room as if making mental notes for who needed to hydrate, who needed to shower, and who was likely to fall asleep and drool on the upholstery.

Then the door creaked open.

They all paused.