Empty takeout containers are scattered across the central console. The scent of Alfred’s late-night tea service—Earl Grey and shortbread—mingles with the faint, ever-present smell of damp stone and ozone. The giant T-Rex looms in the shadows, a silent, absurd party guest.

Dick is perched on the edge of the Batmobile’s hood, nursing a beer, his smile easy. Jason is slouched in the big leather chair by the Batcomputer, boots propped up, a half-empty bottle of something stronger in his hand. Tim is tucked against Kon-El’s side on a low couch, Kon’s arm slung casually over his shoulders, his other hand gesturing as he recounts some Metropolis mishap. Damian sits stiffly in a chair nearby, arms crossed, but his eyes are fixed on Jon Kent, who’s animatedly describing a new alien species he and his dad found. Steph and Cass are sharing a blanket on the floor, Steph giggling at something Babs just said from her wheelchair, a rare, full smile on Babs’s face.

Clark Kent stands near the entrance to the cave, leaning against the stone wall. He’s changed out of the suit into a soft-looking flannel and jeans, holding a mug of tea. He watches the room with a quiet, fond expression, the red and blue of the Kryptonian crystal displays casting a soft glow across his features.