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Gotham’s nights were unpredictable, and this one was no exception.
The Batfamily had just wrapped up yet another exhausting mission, battling a rogue group of Gotham criminals. The kind of day that stretched into the night, one too many injuries, one too many close calls. But as they made their way toward the diner, all of that seemed to melt away with each passing block. The need for rest, the hunger gnawing at their stomachs — it was a rare moment when they allowed themselves to take a step back from their dark, vigilant roles.
The diner, an old relic in the heart of Gotham, had been serving up greasy meals for decades. It wasn’t fancy. It wasn’t glamorous. But it was familiar. And tonight, that was all they needed. As the group entered, the jingle of the doorbell was almost comical in the silence of the nearly-empty diner. The place was lit with that warm, flickering glow of aging fluorescent lights, and the smell of fried food and coffee hung in the air. It was quiet, save for the low hum of the refrigerator and the soft clinking of silverware.
But the four men in costume, each one a vigilante in his own right, made an odd spectacle. Batman took the lead, moving with that silent, imposing grace, his cape trailing behind him like a shadow. Nightwing followed right behind, his posture easy and relaxed, his blue suit still perfectly tailored. Red Robin came next, his face unreadable as he scanned the diner with the practiced precision of someone used to assessing threats. And finally, Red Hood rounded out the group, his red helmet under one arm, looking like he couldn’t care less about what anyone thought of him.
The waitress, a woman in her early twenties with dark circles under her eyes, paused mid-sip as she caught sight of them. She blinked once, twice, before slowly setting her coffee cup down. She had clearly seen her share of weird things in Gotham, but this was a new one.
"Uh..." she began, fidgeting with her notepad. "Can I help you guys?"
Nightwing flashed her a smile, his voice light. "We’re just here for some food. You know, a nice, quiet meal after saving the city and all that."
Red Hood snorted. "More like 'trying to survive the city.'"
Red Robin didn’t even look up from the menu, but his voice was sharp. "We’re not exactly regulars here, so... we don’t have a 'usual.' We’ll just take a look."
The waitress hesitated for a moment before nodding and grabbing a stack of menus. "Okay, take your time. I’ll be right back."
As she walked away, the quiet hum of the diner returned, and the four of them slid into the booth. Batman took the seat at the head of the table, always the leader, always the one who kept his composure even in the strangest of situations. Nightwing slid into the booth next to him, his body language as relaxed as ever, while Red Robin took the seat across from Batman. Red Hood, unsurprisingly, didn’t bother with sitting. He leaned against the wall, arms crossed, looking like he was ready to bolt at a moment’s notice.
"How long do you think we can go without someone recognizing us?" Red Hood muttered, looking around at the sparse crowd of diners, some older folks in the corner booth, a couple of tired office workers in the back. “Gotham never changes.”
“You know," Nightwing said, his eyes scanning the menu as if he was considering all the choices, "I think the bigger question is: how does this place still stay open? It’s practically a relic at this point."
Batman, whose attention had been focused on the menu for only a second, lifted his gaze slightly. “Gotham’s heart beats in strange places.”
"Yeah, well, that’s a bit on the nose, B," Red Hood quipped. "But I’m just here for food that won’t make me want to punch someone in the face.”
"Here’s the thing," Nightwing said, leaning in toward Red Hood with a conspiratorial grin, "We’re all getting burgers. No arguments."
Red Hood scoffed but didn’t argue. "I’m getting extra bacon though."
“Surprise, surprise,” Red Robin muttered, though there was a small smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. He knew Jason’s preferences by heart at this point.
“Alright,” Nightwing said, looking at the others. “Cheeseburger. Extra pickles.”
“I’ll have the same,” Red Robin agreed, still focused on the menu, though his voice was quieter, less lighthearted. "Hold the pickles."
Red Hood gave an exaggerated sigh. "You’re too predictable, Replacement. But fine. I’ll get the double bacon burger. With extra bacon. Because I’m not a coward."
Batman, ever the last to speak, glanced at his menu for a moment before finally looking up. “Turkey club. Sweet potato fries.”
The waitress returned then, her footsteps quick and cautious, and she set the drinks down on the table with a slight glance of concern. She had already sized them up and realised they weren’t your average group of dinner-goers.
“Uh, so you’re all sure you want to... order?” she asked, voice laced with uncertainty.
“Yeah,” Nightwing said, leaning back in the booth with a grin. “We’ll have the usual."
"Except we don't have a usual," Red Robin added dryly.
"Right." The waitress quickly scribbled the order down as they each spoke. “Coming right up.” She gave them an uncertain nod and left, still not quite sure what to make of the whole situation.
As soon as she was gone, Red Hood leaned in toward the others with a grin. "You know, this is probably the weirdest thing I’ve done all week."
“That’s saying something,” Red Robin replied, his eyes still on his menu. “Considering we just dealt with a bunch of experimental bombs.”
"Yeah, but none of that comes close to sitting here in a diner, dressed like... well, like this,” Red Hood said, waving a hand over his armoured suit.
They hadn’t spoken much after they’d placed their orders, just the occasional quip here and there, but now that the food had arrived, there was a sense of ease in the air. As they dug into their meals, the conversation began to flow more naturally. The weight of the mission, the tension of their roles, all of it seemed to fall away as they sat together like a family.
Nightwing took a long sip of his soda before breaking the silence. "This is... nice. Can’t remember the last time I ate a meal without someone trying to kill me in the process."
Red Hood snorted, his mouth half-full of bacon. "You say that it doesn’t happen every day. This city’s a mess, you know that, right?"
"I think we’re the ones who make it a mess," Red Robin replied dryly, his eyes flicking up from his salad to meet Jason’s. “We’ve got a habit of making things worse every time we try to fix them.”
Nightwing leaned back in his seat, his blue suit creaking slightly as he stretched. "I mean, we do clean up the messes, but Gotham’s a bit of a sinking ship, isn’t it? Still, every now and then, it’s nice to pretend that a meal like this could be the new normal.”
“I’ll take it,” Red Hood said with a grin. “A meal where I don’t have to shoot anyone — I’m all for it.”
Batman, sitting at the head of the table, watched them with a quiet expression. He didn’t often show it, but moments like these meant something to him. The laughter, the banter, the rare moments where they could just exist without the shadows of their nightly battles looming over them. He knew they had earned this. In a world where chaos never slept, these fleeting seconds of peace were treasures.
"Yeah," Nightwing continued, dipping a fry into his ketchup. "We don’t get enough of this. Gotham might be a mess, but sometimes it’s worth it just to... be here. To be normal, even for a second."
Batman looked down at his sandwich, his hands still. He wasn’t someone who often spoke of “normal” or “peace,” but tonight, in the comfort of his family, he allowed himself to be still. He’d never admit it aloud, but he was glad they had this moment. “Sometimes, normal doesn’t exist,” he said quietly. “But you make the best of what you have.”
Red Robin glanced at Batman, his voice softer now. "It’s true. It’s hard to imagine a world without all the... complications. But I think that’s what makes this family work, right? We’re all messed up in different ways, but we’re still here.”
Nightwing shot a playful grin at Red Robin. “Hey, speak for yourself. I’m perfectly fine.”
Red Hood snorted. “Yeah, perfectly fine. You mean ‘more messed up than a Gotham street corner on a Friday night’.”
Nightwing feigned hurt. “Ouch, man. That was cold.”
“I don’t know,” Red Robin mused, a small smirk tugging at his lips. “I think Wing’s ‘messy’ is just part of his charm.”
Nightwing threw his hands up in mock indignation. “Hey, I’m charming, I’ll have you know! I might be a little chaotic, but I’m still a good guy.”
“I’ll second that,” Red Hood said, popping the last of his burger into his mouth. “Good guy. Terrible fashion sense, though.”
“What?” Nightwing raised an eyebrow. “This is top-tier fashion, Hood. I’m a walking, talking icon of style.”
Batman couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at his lips, though he kept it hidden behind his glass. The back-and-forth between Nightwing and Red Hood was a familiar sight, one that had played out countless times, but it never lost its charm. He found comfort in their easy camaraderie, in the way they teased each other and bickered like siblings. They had grown up together in ways no one else could understand.
Red Robin, however, wasn’t as relaxed as the others. He was still picking at his side salad, barely touching the food. He had always been the more serious one, even when they were all in high school together. There was a constant weight on his shoulders that never seemed to lift, even in moments like this. He could joke and tease with the rest of them, but sometimes the burden of his responsibilities as a former Robin lingered in the back of his mind.
Nightwing noticed Red Robin’s subdued mood and nudged him with his elbow. “You okay, Red?”
Red Robin looked up from his plate, his expression unreadable. “Yeah, just... thinking. You know how it is.”
“Yeah,” Nightwing said, his voice softening. “We all do.”
Batman spoke up, his tone steady. “You don’t have to carry it alone, son. We’re a family.”
Red Robin nodded, a small, appreciative smile tugging at his lips. “I know. Just... sometimes it’s hard to let go.”
“Yeah,” Red Hood added, looking over at him with an uncharacteristic seriousness. “We’ve all been there. This job’s tough. But we don’t have to do it alone.”
The words hung in the air for a moment, a rare moment of sincerity from the usually sarcastic Red Hood. The bond they shared wasn’t just in the fighting, in the chaos, or even in the missions they undertook together. It was in the quiet moments like this — the shared understanding that they were all in this together, for better or worse.
Nightwing clinked his glass against Batman’s, a grin returning to his face. “To family,” he said, his voice warm.
“To family,” Batman echoed, raising his glass. The others followed suit, each of them silently acknowledging the unspoken promise that they had each other’s backs, no matter what.
Just as they were about to dive back into their meals, the diner’s doorbell jingled, followed by the low, heavy sound of footsteps outside. For a moment, no one noticed — the diner was still empty, save for a few patrons quietly finishing their meals.
And then, suddenly, the flickering glow of the Bat-Signal filled the window, casting a stark, bright silhouette against the darkness outside. The symbol was unmistakable, its harsh light cutting through the diner like a beacon.
Nightwing sighed dramatically. “Well, there it goes. So much for a peaceful night.”
Red Hood groaned and stood up, shoving his last half-eaten burger into his mouth. "Gotham can never give us a break."
“We’re not here for breaks,” Batman said, his voice low and calm. "We’re here for Gotham."
Red Robin was the first to push away from the table, his gaze fixed on the Bat-Signal. “It’s time.”
They all stood, the mood shifting instantly from relaxation to readiness. Batman reached into his utility belt and pulled out a few hundred-dollar bills, neatly folding them into a stack. With a quick glance at the table, he placed the stack down — a tip that was far beyond the expected amount for a simple meal.
Nightwing shot him a knowing look. “You sure that’s enough?”
“Leave it,” Batman said, his voice firm but not unkind. “Let them have a good night.”
As the Batfamily made their way out the door, leaving the waitress in a state of stunned confusion, they didn’t look back. In the end, the tip would probably be the strangest part of the night, but they didn’t care. Gotham had its guardians, and it always would.
The night called to them, as it always did.