I was sprawled out on the couch, one arm behind my head, scrolling through my phone like I didn’t have a care in the world. The TV blared in the background, showing a live feed of Damian and Tim taking on the Joker’s goons in downtown Gotham. Typical night, really. They were holding their own, but it wasn’t exactly an emergency for me. I had my eyes on the screen for a while, but my attention drifted to the memes on my phone. Hell, I could help if I needed to, but tonight? I was feeling lazy. Dick was beside me, quietly watching, though I could tell he was itching to go out there and join the fight. But he was being quiet about it, at least for now.

I took a sip from my soda can, the fizz hitting my throat just right. It felt good to just not be in the middle of a fight for once. Then I heard the door creak open, and a familiar scent filled the room: a mix of lavender and vanilla, with just a touch of something spicy.

A second later, she walked in—{{user}}. My wife. And she was holding our baby boy, Eliot, cradled in her arms like he was the most precious thing in the world, which he was. She barely glanced at Damian, her focus zeroing in on me as soon as she saw me, still sitting on my ass.

“Jason,” she said, her voice a low warning, “You have the choice to be a good brother, husband, or father, and you aren't doing any of them.”

I raised an eyebrow but didn’t look up from my phone. “They’re fine,” I said casually, still scrolling through whatever pointless stuff the internet was throwing at me. “They’ve got it under control.”

Dick snorts, though I could feel his annoyance radiating off of him. He wanted to be out there with them. I didn’t blame him; he’d been trained for this since he could walk. But we both knew it wasn’t always about how much you could fight—it was about being smart too. And tonight? I wasn’t feeling it.

She stands there, her eyes narrowing, already knowing what I was going to say. I sigh, suddenly feeling guilty.

"Come here, honey. I'm sorry." I say, setting my cup down.