Chapter Text
The ambient hum of the Watchtower’s life support systems was usually a comforting baseline, a reminder of the sheer engineering marvel keeping Earth’s greatest protectors alive. Today, however, Clark found himself tuning into it just to drown out the sound of Bruce’s rhythmic, monotonous tapping on the glass table. A global security brief was laid out between them, glowing in cold holographic blue, yet Batman hadn't looked at the data once. "If we adjust the satellite rotation, we can cover the blind spot in the Pacific," Diana murmured, her finger tracing a trajectory line. She paused, her dark eyes shifting toward the shadowed corner where Bruce sat, entirely still save for his gloved fingers. "Bruce. You’ve been silent for an hour. Is Gotham's grid compromised?" Bruce didn't blink. He simply reached down, his gauntlet catching the edge of the heavy briefing table as he stood up in one fluid, imposing motion. "No. The grid is fine. But I have an update regarding operational security."
Clark leaned forward, propping his chin on his hands, a faint smile touching his lips. "An update? Did you finally decide to share your encryption codes, or—" "This is Robin," Bruce interrupted, his voice dropping into that deadpan, unyielding bedrock tone. "My new crime-fighting partner." From behind the heavy blast doors, a blur of neon green and blinding primary red practically vaulted into the room. Clark’s breath caught, his eyes widening as his x-ray vision instinctively flickered, registering a heartbeat that was entirely too fast, bones that were entirely too small. He looked from the hyperactive child currently climbing onto the back of an empty council chair, to Bruce, who looked as unmoved as a gargoyle. "Bruce," Clark said, his voice dropping an octave, a sudden, heavy dread settling in his chest as he rose from his seat. "That... Bruce, that is an actual child. You let a child—?"
"You try to stop him," Bruce replied, his voice completely flat, cutting off Clark’s spiraling panic before it could truly gain momentum. The Dark Knight didn't even turn his head as the brightly colored child transitioned from the back of the chair into a flawless, silent handstand directly on top of the sleek conference table, his small green boots pointed perfectly toward the ceiling. "Would you rather he try to murder a grown man with a wire? Because that was his alternative plan for the evening." Diana’s hand dropped from her tactical map, her posture freezing completely as she stared at the boy, her warrior's instinct clashing violently with the domestic absurdity unfolding on the glass surface. Hal Jordan let out a sharp, choked sound that was half-laugh and half-gasp, leaning back so quickly his chair scraped loudly against the floor. "A wire? Bruce, what kind of parenting is—he's wearing a cape, Bruce! He looks like a sentient traffic light!"
The boy in question didn't seem remotely bothered by the sudden influx of legendary heroes staring at him with varying degrees of existential dread; instead, he smoothly flipped out of his handstand, landing on his feet with an agile bounce that didn't make a single sound against the table. "Hi! I'm Robin! It's super cool to meet you guys, Batman talks about you sometimes, well, he doesn't talk talk, he mostly just grunts while looking at monitors, but I know who you all are!" Dick chirped, his words tumbling out in a breathless, hyperactive rush as he immediately began pacing the length of the table, his white-masked eyes locked onto Barry Allen’s lightning-bolt insignia. Barry blinked, looking up at the kid who was now leaning over the edge of the table to get a closer look at his cowl. "Uh. Hi, kid. Bats, seriously, where did you find a circus performer in Gotham? Is this a kidnapping? Do we need to stage an intervention?"
"He is an orphan, and he is perfectly capable of making his own decisions," Bruce stated, stepping forward just enough to block Clark’s path as the Man of Steel tried to move closer to the table, his expression a mix of profound paternal concern and absolute bewilderment. The cape of the Dark Knight swished aggressively, a silent warning that anyone attempting to remove the child from the room would have to go through him first. Dick, entirely oblivious to the silent standoff between the world's finest heroes, had already moved on from Barry and was now standing directly in front of Diana, tilting his head back to look up at her with a bright, fearless grin. "Your lasso is so cool! Does it really make people tell the truth? Can I try it on Batman? He won't tell me where he hid the leftover Alfred-made cookies."
Clark looked at the kid, then at the immovable wall of black kevlar that was Bruce Wayne, feeling a massive headache forming right behind his eyes as he realized this wasn't a joke, a hallucination, or a temporary lapse in judgment. "Bruce, we are having a serious conversation about this later," Clark murmured, his hand coming up to pinch the bridge of his nose as he slowly sat back down, watching the new Robin successfully convince a bewildered Wonder Woman to show him the balance of her sword. Bruce merely gave a single, imperceptible grunt, adjusting his gauntlets as if a hyperactive eleven-year-old taking over a high-level security meeting was just another standard Tuesday in his ledger. "The boy stays. Now, back to the satellite rotation in the Pacific."