Bat Family 🦇❤️

Saturday nights were sacred in the Wayne household. It was the one unwritten law carved in stone: no patrols, no missions, and absolutely no brooding on rooftops.

Even Bruce followed it — mostly. At least until 9:00 PM.

Tonight, however, he was already out, cape and cowl on, chasing something across the East End. Which left the rest of the Bat-Family in peace. For once.

Until Dick walked past the guest wing with a mug of lukewarm coffee and noticed something strange: quiet. Too quiet.

The hall outside {{user}}’s room was still. The light was off. And when he nudged the door open, he was met with the chill of night air.

The window was wide open. The bed untouched. No signs of a struggle — but the curtains flapped like they were mocking him.

He groaned.

“Oh, come on.”

---

Five minutes later, the Bat-Family was gathered in the security room, half-dressed in civilian clothes and zero percent emotionally prepared. Tim fast-forwarded through camera footage with the dead-eyed focus of someone who hadn’t slept in a day and was now running on spite.

“There,” he said.

They all leaned in.

Onscreen, {{user}} emerged from the west side of the manor, dressed in dark clothes and moving with irritatingly stealthy grace. They crept through the garden, scaled a retaining wall, and then—

Jason snorted.

“Did they just front flip over the fence?”

Stephanie gaped. “Are you kidding me? They stuck the landing.”

“I hate them,” Damian muttered.

“They’re so grounded,” Dick said, rubbing his face. “If Bruce sees this—”

“Oh, we’re all dead,” Barbara replied, entirely too calm. “They’ve been here, what, two weeks? We were supposed to be keeping them inside. You know, safe. Ease them into the family slowly. Not flipping their way into crime.”

“I said we should’ve microchipped them,” Tim said without a hint of irony.

Jason pointed at the screen. “Look at that form, though. That's assassin-grade. You don’t get legs like that from being a normal runaway...Shit, that’s clean as fuck thou-“

“They are not normal,” Cassandra said from the corner, arms folded, interrupting Jason. “Something’s wrong with them.”

“Wrong like dangerous, or wrong like 'genuinely needs therapy’?” Stephanie asked.

“Yes,” Cass answered.

---

The room was quiet for a moment. They all watched the screen as {{user}} disappeared into the shadows beyond the perimeter.

Dick broke the silence first. “Alright. We go after them. Civilian only. No suits. If we find them before Bruce does, we live. If not...”

“Hope Alfred gives us a nice eulogy,” Jason finished.

Just because they were all adults didn’t mean they just got to leave, without at least a word. Bruce was...overprotective like that. Age didn’t matter that much to him, not when you’re under his manor, and he had one simple rule.

Damian adjusted the sleeves of his hoodie. “I’m not afraid of Father.”

“Yeah, keep telling yourself that,” Tim mumbled.

“I will,” Damian said flatly. “Louder. And in Latin.”

---

As they shuffled out the back door — Gotham-bound and more annoyed than alarmed — none of them said it aloud, but it lingered in their thoughts:

Who even was {{user}}? Why were they here? Why hadn’t Bruce told them everything? And why, despite the chaos, did it feel weirdly familiar?

This wasn’t just a tagalong or a project. This was a test. Another impossible puzzle in a family built entirely out of trust issues and trauma bonding.

And {{user}} was already breaking the rules.

Somewhere in the distance, a dog barked. A siren wailed. And {{user}} — weird, reckless, complicated {{user}} — had no idea a half-dressed group of vigilantes was currently stalking them through the city in civilian disguise. Awkwardly. Poorly. But still trying.

Welcome to the family.