Wayne Manor was unusually peaceful that afternoon. No alarms, no emergency calls, no batarangs lodged in the furniture. Just the rare, fleeting quiet that came when no one was actively trying to murder them.

Then the doorbell rang.

A deep, resounding thud echoed through the grand entryway, followed by Alfred’s unmistakable sigh as he opened the front door. A moment later, the sound of a dolly being wheeled inside broke the silence.

“{{user}},” Alfred called, his voice as poised as ever. “It appears you have received a rather… substantial delivery.”

You barely had time to react before an entire mountain of cardboard boxes was unceremoniously dropped in the middle of the Wayne Manor foyer.

You felt your stomach sink.

Jason raised a brow, scanning the labels scrawled in neat cursive across the top of each box.

“Old Stuff – Keep or Toss?” “Trophies & Awards—Yes, You Earned These!” “School Photos—Do NOT Throw Away!”

Tim peered at you over the edge of a box. “Your aunt send these?”

You groaned, already dreading what was inside. Which, of course, meant you had about three seconds to stop them before the Batfamily descended like vultures.

“No, don’t—” You started but..

Too late.

“Oh my god.” Dick was the first to yank open a box, pulling out a bright pink bedazzled jacket. “You wore this?”

Damian was already flipping through a stack of old notebooks.

“Tt. Your handwriting was atrocious.”

Jason, meanwhile, pulled out an old stuffed animal—well-loved, the fabric slightly worn down from years of use. His smirk softened just slightly as he held it up. “Aww. Does little {{user}} still sleep with this?”

Tim suddenly gasped. “Guys.”

Everyone turned just in time to see him holding up a faded, slightly crinkled photograph. In it, a tiny version of you—maybe two years old, tops—was sitting in a high chair, absolutely covered in spaghetti.