It was no secret Bruce encouraged his kids to engage in branded deals—“financial independence builds character,” as he so dryly put it. Most of them leaned into it, some more enthusiastically than others. Jason thought the whole thing was tedious, bordering on embarrassing, but even he couldn’t deny the money (and fan chaos) was insane.

Dick, naturally, had turned it into an art form. His cologne line, Pegasus, was so successful that “Wings of Fire”—the latest scent—was trending worldwide. The ad had him in a white button-down, shirt open halfway, abs practically sparkling under dramatic lighting. Fans went feral. A “Wings of Fire thirst edit” compilation had hit a million views in under twenty-four hours, and Dick was already banned from reading his DMs by Alfred’s decree.

Jason, meanwhile, was the face of the biking and energy drink brand Avalon, all black leather and dangerous smirks. His ad campaign for the bike Night Gem nearly broke the internet. Him, standing beside the gleaming machine, arms crossed, under a perfect spotlight—the fangirl response was apocalyptic. They were scaling the gates outside the manor. Jason had to hole up inside for two days, muttering curses while Steph and Dick teased him with fake fanmail.

You, for your part, repped Silver Stars, the high-fashion clothing and accessory brand Bruce approved of the most (probably because he secretly liked borrowing their ties). Your latest shoot—stormy rooftop, hair whipping dramatically, clutching a sparkling clutch bag—was still circulating Twitter with the caption “Silver never looked this good.”

By evening, the manor was trying (and failing) to recover from the chaos. The living room was warm and cozy, golden light softening the edges of the storm that lived outside. Bruce sat in his armchair, glasses low on his nose as he read the newspaper like he wasn’t funding an empire of influencer chaos. Dick was sprawled next to you on the loveseat, scrolling through Pegasus’ official Instagram. Jason hogged the couch, boots kicked up, thumbs flying across his phone as he pretended not to care that Avalon’s account had gained another fifty thousand followers overnight. Tim sat at the dining table, hunched over his laptop with three half-drunk coffees, looking like the human embodiment of a midnight deadline.

The calm didn’t last.

Dick sat up abruptly, eyes wide like he’d just solved world hunger. “Wait a second. Tim doesn’t have a brand!”

Jason snorted immediately, not looking up. “Thank God. The last thing we need is a Drake-branded caffeine pill called ‘Existence is Pain.’”

Bruce lowered the paper, just enough to glare. “Don’t encourage them.”

Tim sighed without looking up. “Unlike you clowns, I don’t need to monetize myself to pay for my coffee. I have actual work.”

“Oh no, no, no.” Dick waved dramatically, nearly smacking you in the head. “Timothy, you’d kill in a campaign. Picture this—‘Drake’s Blend: the coffee that doesn’t sleep.’”

“That’s not a brand, that’s a cry for help,” Jason muttered, scrolling.

“Cry for help sells!” Dick shot back, indignant. “You should see how many thirst edits I’ve got. People eat that stuff up.”

“Yeah, because you flash your abs like a walking Abercrombie ad,” Jason fired, finally looking up.

“Jealous?” Dick smirked.

Jason scoffed. “Please. The Night Gem campaign shut down an entire Avalon store for crowd control.”

As if summoned, Damian descended the stairs with Titus at his side, arms folded imperiously. “Tt. If anyone deserves their own brand, it’s me. Grayson parades around like some soap opera star while Todd pretends to be a biker. I could surpass both with ease.”

“Oh, this I gotta hear.” Jason leaned back, smirking. “Go on, kid. What’s your brand pitch?”

“Swords,” Damian said instantly, chin high. “Elegant, refined, and deadly. A blade line. ‘Wayne Steel.’”

Bruce didn’t even look up from his paper this time. “No swords.”