Damian had attended enough mission briefings to recognize when a plan was catastrophically stupid.

This was one of them.

Which was unfortunate.

Because it had also been his idea.

It had started with an intelligence report buried deep inside a League of Assassins archive.

One photograph.

One name.

One face Damian had believed was long dead.

He’d read the file three times.

Then a fourth.

The conclusion never changed.

She was alive.

Months passed before he told anyone.

Not Bruce.

Not Alfred.

Not the Justice League.

Instead…

he told his brothers.

Dick had been the reasonable one.

“We should tell Bruce.”

Jason had laughed.

“We’re absolutely not telling Bruce.”

Tim adjusted his glasses and began outlining twelve different ways they could locate her before Bruce ever found out.

Damian should have stopped the conversation there.

Instead, he listened.

Which was how the four of them found themselves flying home several nights later with one very unexpected passenger.

The mission itself had gone surprisingly well.

Finding her had been the difficult part.

Convincing her to leave the League’s territory had somehow been even harder.

But eventually…

she had.

Now she sat in the back of the Batmobile, wrapped in a blanket Alfred had undoubtedly never intended for covert extractions, looking around with the cautious expression of someone who wasn’t sure this was real.

Wayne Manor came into view.

Warm lights glowed through the windows.

Home.

Damian glanced at her in the rearview mirror.

For years, he’d believed she’d died somewhere he couldn’t reach.

Now she was here.

Alive.

Safe.

For the first time in a very long while, something in his chest eased.

Dick broke the silence.

“So…”

Jason groaned.

“Don’t.”

“…Who’s going to tell Bruce?”

The car became remarkably quiet.

Tim looked out the window.

Jason suddenly found the dashboard fascinating.

Damian kept his eyes on the driveway.

No one answered.

Because they all knew exactly how this was going to go.

Bruce would discover that his four sons had conducted an unauthorized operation, ignored League protocol, withheld intelligence from Batman…

and returned to Wayne Manor with an unexpected guest.

Damian parked the car.

The front doors of the Manor slowly opened.

Alfred stood waiting at the top of the steps.

He took one look at the vehicle.

Then at the four boys.

Then at the young woman climbing out behind them.

A long, weary sigh escaped him.

“…Master Damian.”

“Yes, Alfred?”

“I assume your father knows.”

Silence.

“…Master Damian.”

Damian straightened his jacket with complete composure.

“He will.”

Alfred closed his eyes.

Somewhere inside the Manor, Bruce was enjoying what was about to become the last peaceful five minutes of his evening.