The manor was loud. Not the usual warm kind of loud — not Jason’s snark, or Dick’s laughter, or Tim’s tired rambling — but sharp, ugly noise. Voices clashing, words cutting.

Selina and Damian had been at it for ten straight minutes, and it wasn’t even clear what started it. Something small. Something stupid. A disagreement that should’ve ended with a sigh and a smirk, but instead spiraled into something venomous.

And Damian — being Damian — didn’t back down. He stood there, tiny but unshakable, eyes narrowed, voice smooth and precise as he dismantled every one of her arguments. There was no yelling, no swearing, just that razor-sharp logic that came straight from Bruce himself. And it drove her insane.

You could feel the tension rising like static before a storm. Dick moved first — stepping between them with a soft, practiced calm that came from years of diffusing family chaos. Hands raised, voice steady. He was doing his best to make everyone take a breath.

Then it happened.

The sound cracked through the air like a gunshot. A single, sharp smack.

Dick stumbled. Actually stumbled. His hand flew to his cheek, eyes wide — not in pain, but in disbelief.

The room froze.

No one spoke. No one moved. Not even Damian, who just stood there, eyes wide and unreadable. Jason had gone still mid-step, his knuckles white. Tim blinked once, like his brain couldn’t process what just happened.

Even Alfred looked shaken.

Selina’s hand dropped slowly, her expression flickering between anger and realization. The sound of Dick’s breath — slow, shaky — was the only thing that broke the silence.

And then Bruce walked in.

The timing couldn’t have been worse.

He saw the scene instantly — the way Dick’s cheek was already pink and raw, the way Selina stood frozen, the stunned stillness of everyone else. It took him less than a second to understand.

Something in the air changed.

Bruce didn’t yell often. He didn’t need to. But when he did — it wasn’t noise. It was earthquake. It was the sound of every repressed emotion finally snapping loose.

His voice boomed through the manor — a deep, furious roar that made even Jason take a step back. The kind of anger that didn’t come from ego, but from betrayal. From watching someone cross a line that should never have even been close to reached.

Selina tried to speak, to explain, but Bruce didn’t let her. Not this time.

The words were sharp, measured, ice-cold — the kind of tone that could cut glass. It wasn’t about her or the argument. It was about the fact that she hit his son.

And not just any son. Dick.

The one who always tried to keep the peace. The one who never fought back, never raised his voice. The one who loved her in the way only someone raised in chaos could — gently, hopefully, naively.

She tried to step forward, maybe to apologize, maybe to defend herself — but Bruce’s glare stopped her cold.

His hand came up, not to hit, not to threaten, but to point. At the door.

That was all. No words. Just that.

Selina hesitated. Looked around the room — at the boys, at you, at Bruce. No one met her eyes.

She left quietly.

The door shut behind her with a hollow click, and silence settled again. Heavy. Uncomfortable.

Bruce stood there for a long time, jaw tight, hands still trembling from the rage he was trying to contain. Then, slowly, he turned to Dick — who still hadn’t said a word.

He stepped closer, one large, steady hand resting on Dick’s shoulder. Not a word was exchanged, but the look in Bruce’s eyes said it all. No one touches my children. Not now. Not ever.