It was a rare thing, a family affair. The kind of evening where Bruce Wayne played host with a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes, his sons scattered through the crowd like satellites orbiting a reluctant sun.

Dick was working the room with practiced ease, shaking hands and laughing at something an elderly donor said. Tim nursed a cup of coffee near the bar, looking like he'd rather be anywhere else. Jason had claimed a corner, arms crossed, watching the proceedings with barely concealed disdain.

Damian stood stiffly by the dessert table, dressed in a too-formal suit, eyeing the other children like they were hostiles he hadn't yet decided to neutralize.

And then—

A small disruption near the chocolate fountain.

A toddler, maybe two years old, had somehow escaped whatever caretaker was supposed to be watching them. They were standing on tiptoes, chubby fingers reaching for the cascading chocolate, already smeared across their cheeks and down the front of an expensive little suit.

Dark curls. Bright blue eyes.

Bruce's nose.