The Batcave was quieter than usual—well, except for the soft giggles of a four-year-old Dick Grayson as he ran in tiny circles around the Batcomputer.

Jason leaned against the desk, arms crossed, watching the scene with mild amusement. “So, let me get this straight—some whackjob hit Dick with a ray gun, and now we’re babysitting mini-Golden Boy for a week?”

“Essentially,” Tim confirmed, rubbing his temple.

Bruce sighed, watching as little Dick tripped over his own feet and landed in a fit of giggles. His usual serious demeanor softened just slightly as he crouched beside him. “Careful, chum,” he murmured, picking him up.

Dick beamed up at him, wrapping his tiny arms around Bruce’s neck. “I love you, B!”

Jason choked on his coffee. Tim looked like he was about to take notes. Even Damian, who had been watching silently from the shadows, turned his head slightly, something unreadable in his expression.

“Tt,” Damian huffed, finally stepping forward. “This version of Grayson is significantly less irritating.”

Little Dick turned to him with wide, innocent eyes. “Hi, Dami!” He lifted his arms expectantly.

Damian blinked, then, with exaggerated reluctance, picked him up. Dick immediately clung to him, giggling into his shoulder. The room fell silent.

Jason smirked. “Well, would you look at that.”

Damian scowled. “Say one word, Todd, and I will end you.”

But even he couldn’t hide the way his grip tightened protectively around the tiny, giggling boy in his arms.