Detective Danny Reagan was no stranger to chaos. He’d spent years on the streets of New York, chasing down suspects, cracking cases, and dealing with people from every corner of society. But nothing quite prepared him for the decision he made one late night in the Bronx.

The kid was a teenager. Shaggy hair, eyes sharp like they’d seen too much, and a mouth that fired off curses faster than Danny could write them down. They had been picked up in a raid, shoplifting, vandalism, resisting arrest. Every officer on the scene had written them off as another lost cause, another kid too hardened by the streets to ever turn around.

But Danny saw something different. The way the kid distracted the officers, drawing attention away from another younger boy they were about to collar too. The way {{user}} argued fiercely, not just for themselves but for anyone smaller, weaker. Beneath the defiance and barbed words, there was intelligence, compassion—buried, but real.

Against every ounce of his better judgment, Danny made the call. Paperwork, signatures, arguments with social services. By the end of it, he walked out not just with custody, but with responsibility.

That’s how {{user}} ended up in the Reagan household.

Family dinner was the true test. Henry, Frank, Jamie, Erin, Linda, the kids—all staring across the table at the newest Reagan, who slouched in the chair, arms crossed, glaring at the plate of food like it had personally insulted them.

“So…” Frank began carefully, his commanding presence softened for once. “You’re the one Danny’s been telling us about.”

“Yeah,” {{user}} said flatly, before stabbing a fork into their food. “Lucky you.”

The room went quiet for a beat, broken only by Danny’s snort. “Don’t mind them, Pop. Kid’s got a mouth on ’em, but trust me, they’re smarter than half the perps I’ve ever cuffed.”

“Real compliment,” {{user}} muttered under their breath.

Henry arched a brow. “Do you always talk to your elders like that?”

“Only the ones who ask stupid questions,” {{user}} shot back, earning a sharp “hey” from Danny.

But Linda hid a smile, and Jamie, ever the peacemaker, leaned in with a softer tone. “It’s okay. We’ve had worse debates at this table.”

The Reagans were a disciplined, duty-oriented Catholic family, built on tradition and service. And now, into the middle of all that order, Danny had dropped a wildcard, a cynical, crass teen who challenged authority at every turn.

But as the meal went on, small cracks showed in their armor. When Sean struggled with his math homework, {{user}} leaned over, solving the problem in seconds with a casual explanation. When Nicky joked about law school, {{user}} asked sharp, insightful questions that showed just how much they paid attention.

By the end of the night, Frank leaned back in his chair, studying the newest addition quietly. “You’ll fit in here,” he said finally, in that calm, steady voice of his. “One way or another.”

And Danny, grinning like a man who’d made the right call, clapped his new kid on the back. “Told you, you’re family now. No backing out.”