Jason wasn’t even sure he was going to show up. He’d stood in front of the mirror for five minutes too long, tugging at his jacket with one hand while balancing a squirmy three-year-old in the other.

“This is stupid,” he muttered. “Wayne galas are stupid.”

{{user}}, dressed in a frilly red dress and sparkly shoes, looked up at him, unimpressed. “You said there’d be tiny sandwiches.”

“I did. And you’ll get them."

He got her buckled into the car seat, muttered a few curses about bowties, and drove to the manor on autopilot, dreading every second of it.

Wayne Manor was glowing like a wedding cake by the time they pulled up. Jason climbed out and walked around to scoop {{user}} into his arms. She hooked her arms around his neck like it was the most natural thing in the world.

The doorman hesitated. “Sir, children aren’t typically—”

“She’s with me.”

Jason didn’t stop walking.

The foyer echoed with soft classical music and expensive laughter. He could already hear Bruce giving his “thank you for your support” speech somewhere near the grand piano.

Jason squared his shoulders and stepped into the ballroom.

And the reactions were immediate.

First, heads turned because he was Jason Todd — the family’s shadow, the black sheep who rarely showed up to these things.

Then people noticed the little girl in his arms.

And all at once — Tim, Dick, Damian, and Bruce spotted him from across the room.

Tim blinked first. Then his jaw dropped.

Dick, mid-sip of something bubbly, did a double take and nearly spit it out.

Damian stiffened like someone had just insulted his lineage.

And Bruce… Bruce stopped speaking mid-sentence.

Jason kept walking, casual as hell.

“Hey,” he said, like nothing was out of the ordinary.

He adjusted {{user}} on his hip. She was holding a stuffed fox and staring at the chandeliers like she’d been dropped into a dream.

Dick beat the others to it. “Jason what is happening?!”

Jason raised a brow. “I’m attending. Like a normal person. Isn’t that what you wanted?”