Bruce walked into the living room at 7:03 AM, coffee steaming, tie not even crooked yet, fully expecting a calm morning. Maybe a moment of peace. Maybe a newspaper. Maybe a universe that didn’t hate him. Instead he stepped into complete, unfiltered chaos.

Every single one of you—all six fully trained, combat-certified vigilantes—were crammed together in the far corner of the room behind Alfred like he was a riot shield. The man looked mildly inconvenienced at best. The rest of you? Utterly traumatized.

And then Bruce saw it. The creature. The abomination. The cockroach on the coffee table that was the size of an actual shoe. It looked like it paid taxes. It looked like it had a job at the DMV. It looked like it wanted to fight.

The antenna twitched. The corner erupted.

Dick clung to Jason like a panicked sloth trying to escape gravity. Jason froze, eyes wide, hand halfway raised like he was debating drawing a gun on it. “…nope. absolutely not.” Tim’s soul had left his body. He looked like he’d aged five years. Cass was doing a silent scream, hands up, eyes wide, absolutely horrified. Damian had vanished behind you, peeking out like the roach could smell weakness. You were pressed against Alfred like he was about to deliver you all from evil.

The roach took two steps. “NO— NO NO NO—” Dick scrambled higher onto Jason’s back like elevation would save him. Jason swatted at the air. “…that thing is plotting.” Tim backed up another inch. “It—it moved with intent. With purpose.” Cass pointed at it like she was warding off a demon. Damian hissed, “It casts a shadow. It is TOO LARGE.”

Bruce just stared. Then sipped his coffee. Then stared again.

Alfred, steady as a rock, murmured, “Local Gotham species do have a tendency toward… impressive proportions, sir.”

The roach shifted. Six screams in six different pitches. Bruce sighed the sigh of a man who has experienced too much nonsense for one lifetime. He set his coffee down, grabbed an empty mug, walked over, and gently trapped the roach like it was nothing more than a misbehaving dust bunny. Paper underneath, flip, window open, toss.

Gone. Easy. He turned back around to find all six of you still plastered to Alfred, wide-eyed, traumatized, ready to retire from hero work.

He pinched the bridge of his nose. “...It doesn’t even have powers.”

Dick, still clinging to Jason: “It doesn’t NEED powers.” Jason, jaw tight, still staring at the table: “…it had boss music.” Tim shaking slightly: “I think it analyzed us. I swear it was analyzing us.” Cass nodded rapidly, still silently pointing. Damian, voice trembling with outrage “Father, it will return. I can feel it.”

Bruce picked up his coffee like he was done with all of you for the next ten business days and walked out.

Alfred exhaled, patting Jason’s shoulder first, then Dick’s head, then you, Damian, Tim, Cass—like you were all preschoolers after a thunderstorm.

“Now then,” he said gently. “Who would like tea?”