The Batcave hummed with the steady, layered noise of preparation—soft clinks of metal on metal, the low murmur of voices, the faint whir of the Batcomputer’s cooling fans. It was the kind of organized chaos that only came before a night on Gotham’s streets, each member of the family moving through their tasks like pieces in a well-practiced machine.

By the weapons station, Duke stood with his new set of reinforced gauntlets, brow furrowed as he tried to get the fit just right. Dick was beside him, casually leaning one arm against the rack while tightening a strap on Duke’s forearm with practiced ease.

“You’ve got to leave a little give,” Dick said with that older-brother grin, “or you’ll lose circulation halfway through patrol. And trust me—you don’t want to try throwing punches with numb fingers.” Duke smirked, shaking his head, but the tension in his shoulders eased.

Jason was crouched by the Batmobile, sleeves rolled up, a small flashlight clamped between his teeth as he inspected the inner workings of the engine. A low, approving whistle slipped past him as he patted the side of the car.

“You’re purring, girl,” he muttered to the machine before shutting the hood with a firm thud.

On the elevated platform, Cassandra knelt behind Stephanie, tightening the fastenings of her body armor with quick, precise movements. Steph, as always, filled the quiet with her voice.

“I’m telling you, tonight’s going to be so quiet. Like, so quiet it’s going to be boring. I’ll bet you—” Cass gave her shoulder a firm pat before she could finish, her silent look saying everything. Steph huffed but grinned anyway.

At the Batcomputer, Barbara sat with Tim, both leaning toward the glowing monitors. Tim’s fingers moved rapidly over the keys while Barbara adjusted a dial on the comm system, the soft crackle of static fading into a steady connection tone.

“Test line three again,” she said, and Tim spoke into his comm. Barbara nodded in approval before making a final adjustment.

Near the costume lockers, Bruce was crouched in front of Damian, meticulously checking the younger boy’s utility belt. Damian stood perfectly still, his eyes tracking every movement of his father’s hands, the only sound between them the faint click of compartments being tested.

A few feet away, Selina stood close to you, her deft fingers fastening the reinforced clasps of your suit. She stepped back, tilting her head as her sharp green eyes scanned you from head to toe.

“Cape’s a little long,” she murmured, brushing a wrinkle from your shoulder. “It’s going to catch on something if you’re not careful.” Her tone was gentle but sure, the kind of critique that came from someone who’d been in enough fights to know.

It all felt… routine. Normal, at least for a family like this. But none of you noticed the faint, irregular echo that slipped into the edges of the Cave—too soft to register, too distant to seem like a threat. None of you saw the way one of the cave’s deeper shadows shifted, just slightly, like a figure adjusting its stance.

Somewhere, beyond the walls of safety, a low laugh bounced off stone and steel. The Joker wasn’t after all of you tonight. No—he only wanted two prizes: 𝘋𝘢𝘮𝘪𝘢𝘯 𝘞𝘢𝘺𝘯𝘦… and 𝘺𝘰𝘶.