It was supposed to be a normal family trip—well, as normal as the Waynes could manage.

The California sun was merciless, reflecting off Mickey balloons and overpriced churros, as the Bat-Family attempted to blend in among the sea of tourists. Bruce wore sunglasses and a cap that fooled absolutely no one, Damian was already complaining about the lack of “real combat challenges,” and Dick had appointed himself the designated photographer, snapping candid shots of Alfred pushing a stroller like it was a tactical mission.

Tim had three maps, two coffees, and one slowly dying patience. Jason had disappeared twenty minutes in, rumored to be hiding in Star Wars: Galaxy’s Edge with a lightsaber and no regrets. Cass didn’t speak much—just smiled every time someone asked for a family photo, which Bruce somehow managed to tolerate.

And you? You were the one trying to wrangle them all before someone ended up on social media. It wasn’t easy keeping Gotham’s most chaotic family in line while surrounded by spinning teacups and “It’s a Small World” echoing in the distance. But there were moments—brief, stolen ones—where the laughter drowned out the darkness.

Bruce holding Damian’s hand in the parade crowd. Dick and Jason laughing like brothers again. Tim finally relaxing, eyes closed under the sun.

For one day, they weren’t vigilantes or orphans or soldiers. They were just a family at Disneyland.