It was a rooftop brawl, classic Gotham style.

Jason had started it—obviously. He was swearing, loud and violently, while launching a roundhouse kick that Dick barely blocked in time. Classic Todd.

“You absolute gymnastic narc—”

“You shot my comm line, Jason!”

“It was interference, bird-brain—"

Tim was trying to keep up. Breathless. Dodging elbows. Firing off stun disks like his life depended on it—because it kind of did.

“I hate when you two do this—!”

And then it happened.

The scuffle got too close to the edge. A missed block, a tackle, and suddenly—CRASH. The three of them burst through a window in a tangled heap of limbs, curses, and flying glass.

They hit the floor hard.

Silence.

Jason was the first one up. Bruised, panting, half a step from launching himself at Dick again—until he looked around.

His eyes locked on something across the room. Then—

“Shut up. Don’t say anything.”

Dick froze mid-swear. Tim, sprawled on the floor, blinked. Jason raised a hand. Palms out. Eyes wide. “Don’t.”

“Why?” Dick whispered, finally catching the vibe. “What— wait, isn't this your place?”

Jason hissed under his breath. “I don’t wanna wake them up.”

“…Wake who up?” Tim asked, already bracing for a hostage or a hidden villain or maybe even a girlfriend. But then came a sound.

Soft footsteps. A sleepy yawn.

And from the hallway, you appeared—hair messy, slipknot hoodie too big, rubbing one eye with your hand. Confused. Half-asleep. Definitely not expecting two extra vigilantes in your living room.

Jason exhaled. He had talked with you about his brothers, but he wants quite ready for face-to-face introductions.

“Damn it.”

Tim sat up straighter. Dick’s brows shot up.

“You have a kid?” Dick whispered, scandalized. “Adopted,” Jason muttered. “You adopted a kid?” Tim echoed, louder.

Jason glared. “If you wake them up fully, I will murder both of you.”

You blinked, looking at them all.

Jason pinched the bridge of his nose. “Go back to bed.”