Chapter 6
Before
Sometimes, when he’s at his worst, Bruce hates Gotham.
It’s not something he’ll ever admit outloud. He can’t afford to.
Bruce Wayne is Gotham’s favorite son. Beloved by high society, beloved by the public. He’s ditzy and charming. He’s richer than God, with the charity work to prove it too.
Bruce Wayne has funneled billions into Gotham. He’s set up countless homeless shelters, created scholarship funds, opened public parks, and employs half the city through Wayne Enterprises.
In a Daily Planet headline that trended on Twitter for weeks, and later became the slogan of at least four mayoral campaigns, Bruce Wayne was quoted as saying,
‘Giving up on Gotham would be giving up on humanity.’
Batman has given everything to Gotham.
He is its silent protector, an almost mythical figure. Batman is something to look up to, dependable and strong.
Batman has given everything to Gotham. His time, his money, his body, his sanity, and eventually, he’ll give his life.
He just never expected to give his children too.
When the city first whispered to his little boy, Bruce refused to let him listen. He barricaded Dick in his room, dragged him back each time he escaped.
But Dick was precocious, and as stubborn as a mule.
It’s ok, Bruce soothed himself, he’ll grow out of it, I’ll watch over him, I’ll keep him safe. This is temporary.
Somehow, years had passed in the blink of an eye. Somehow, another child joined his crusade, and while Barbara wasn’t his daughter, she became family in every way that counted.
Somehow, his little boy had grown into a man, and somehow his little boy, because that’s what he would always be, had almost died. A single night gone wrong. Two-Face, a man Bruce had once called a friend.
Bruce had been so terrified, so angry, and Bruce had driven him away.
That’s when he started to hate Gotham, just a little bit. He knew rationally that the city wasn’t to blame for his own shortcomings. But it certainly hadn’t helped.
Now, Batman was how he had started off. Alone.
Bruce still bought the cereal Dick liked, still found himself eyeing every chandelier he walked past for a pair of dangling feet. He’d help Alfred set the table, and without fail, grab three plates.
Life was quiet. Bruce thought he liked the quiet. He was wrong.
Then, as quickly and unexpected as the first, another little boy entered his life. Jason was a hurricane of mistrust and anger, of kindness and bravery and so much love.
When the city came again to take his child, he had been quicker to give in. He learned from his mistakes, he knew what he’d done wrong. He would be better.
In the end, it didn't matter.
Jason died, far from the streets of Gotham.
He hadn’t died in the city, but he died at the hands of a monster it bred.
Bruce had screamed, he’d cried and begged, but his child was still dead. He’d torn through the streets with a vengeance. He wanted the city to see what he’d become, what it had made him.
He hated Gotham.
He hated that on every corner he turned, there was someone in pain. He hated that for every person he saved, four more were lost. He hated that in every alley he walked down, he still expected to see a string of broken pearls lying on the ground.
People noticed. How could they not? In the first week after the death of Robin, Gotham General had received a man, beaten within an inch of his life. 14 broken bones. CPR had been performed at the scene by an anonymous bystander. His crime? He robbed a liquor store with a fake plastic gun. He’s still in a wheelchair to this day. Wayne Enterprises quietly pays all of his bills.
Batman’s increase in violence was noted.
It was talked about by most, frowned upon by some, but no one cared, not really. Gotham corrupts. It’s a simple fact. When its citizens saw their once infallible hero break, they just sighed. Most were surprised he lasted as long as he did.
He thought no one cared. He was wrong.
A child appeared on his doorstep. She was tiny, black hair and blue eyes. She carried a folder full of concerning pictures, a powerpoint on a USB stick, and one of the world’s best kept secrets.
She was timid and shy, and he thought he could push her away. He was wrong.
Bruce Wayne might’ve been an unstoppable force, but Theadora Drake was an immovable object. That 11-year-old girl refused to leave, no matter how much he’d screamed, insulted, bribed. No matter how horribly he treated her, she stayed.
She demanded to be made Robin. He refused. He refused to allow another child soldier into his war. He refused to care about her.
So he ignored her insistence that Batman needed a Robin. He ignored her inquisitive nature, her rare smiles. He ignored the way she started to settle into his heart.
The horror that overtook him when Robin first followed him out on patrol was a feeling he was intimately familiar with.
Not my child.
Later that night, when he’d tried once again to protest, he was told in no uncertain terms that Robin would be patrolling with or without Batman.
So Bruce had trained her. He’d been harsh, and more vicious than he ever had been before. At the very least, if he couldn’t convince her to quit, he’d make damn sure she was prepared for anything this awful world could throw at her. He owed her that much. He refused to fail her.
He’d even sent her to Europe to train with renowned martial arts master Rahul Lama. He was skilled, wise, and peaceful. An excellent mentor.
Of course, Thea proceeded to give him a heart attack by instead training with Lady Shiva, who is decidedly not peaceful. Somewhere along the way, while training with an actual assassin, Thea also managed to make a life-long enemy of King Snake.
But when she returned, when Robin once again became a permanent fixture at Batman’s side, Thea taught Bruce how to love Gotham again.
Dark corners no longer held violence and pain, but hope and resilience. With Thea by his side, he started to hate Gotham a little less. He still couldn’t save everyone. But maybe, just maybe, he was making a difference.
Thea started making calls. A lot of them, actually. Dick, his very first little boy, came back to him.
Soon, after fights and tears and shock and blood and joy, the second one did too.
Six months after Jason attacked Thea in Titan’s Tower, her parents were targeted while overseas. Janet Drake was killed, and Jack Drake fell into a coma.
Thea’s parents, in Bruce’s opinion, had never done anything to deserve that title. She had always been tight-lipped about them, defensive to a fault. Bruce didn't push, he’d made that mistake with his first two children. But he could read through the lines. It didn’t take much digging, and he’d found the flight logs, the halted nanny payments, the missed Halloweens and Thanksgivings and Birthdays and Christmases.
He certainly wasn’t glad when Thea’s parents were attacked. He knew firsthand the pain of becoming an orphan. He wasn’t glad, but he was relieved. She had always been a part of the family, but now he could make it official. She wouldn’t have a reason to go back to that empty house ever again.
The fake uncle situation (funkle, as Jason had called it) was certainly a road bump. But he smoothed it out as best he could.
Yes, she needed an actual adult to watch over her. (God, who in their right mind would leave a child all alone?)
No, it had nothing to do with the fact that she was Robin. (He’d prefer it if she wasn’t, if she was just his daughter and not his soldier)
Yes, he was taking her in because he wanted to. (Please come home)
When the dust settled, he had his three children, and he thought he couldn’t be happier.
He was wrong. Two more girls entered his life. One became his daughter, and the other became something else entirely.
Steph and Thea dated for a time, before deciding that they would be better off as friends. Bruce didn’t quite understand what had happened. Steph claimed that it was because they had incompatible Zodiac signs, whereas Thea said it was because she wanted to date Poison Ivy. Bruce was reasonably sure that they were both joking. Probably. Things between the two girls stayed almost exactly the same.
Although they did stop making out in the living room, to his eternal relief.
Cass grew more comfortable in the family, and quickly became close with both Thea and Steph. When they weren’t sneaking around the house, the three of them would often go out together, terrorizing local paparazzi with their antics.
Bruce still has a framed newspaper in his office that reads “Wayne Daughters and Friend Shop While Dressed as Batman”
The accompanying picture being of course, all three dressed in Party City versions of his uniform. Steph was flipping off the camera.
The manor was filled with life it had never had before. A far cry from Bruce’s youth, the echoing hallways and lonely silence. The estate boomed with cackling laughter, nerf gun fights, karaoke and movie nights. The months bled together, a haze of joy and anger and sadness and bliss. But it didn’t last for long. Nothing good ever did, not for Bruce. Gotham started to rumble. The city’s underworld started to shift and groan.
Gotham came for Thea.
During
The night stood starkly in Bruce’s mind, as clear as his parent’s wedding crystal.
It had been busy, and the Bats had spread thin. Two gang wars on opposing sides of the city, and an Arkham escape to boot. Scarecrow, Firefly, and Joker all roamed the darkened streets.
It started when Firefly attacked an apartment complex. Nightwing, Spoiler, and Robin had all worked to capture him. Someone needed to stay behind and coordinate search and rescue. When Robin volunteered, almost everyone objected. No one liked leaving the youngest member of the family alone, especially Jason.
Especially not during an Arkham breakout.
But Thea, freshly 15, had insisted. I’m old enough, she said. I’m trained, I know what I’m doing. This isn’t a two person job. You’re all needed elsewhere. It was true. She was more than capable, and there were countless other issues around the city. Spoiler and Nightwing had to find the Joker. Red Hood and Black Bat were working on stopping the gang wars, or at least minimizing the casualties. Batman was already tracking Scarecrow.
So they let her. They let her work alone.
Thea responded for the first two check-ins, spaced 30 minutes apart, reporting that she’d saved 12 people.
The third check-in was met with radio silence. Her tracker hadn’t moved. Barbara kept trying to contact her, and Jason went to find her.
Bruce had kept his rising panic at bay, and focused on wrapping things up with Scarecrow. The rogue wasn’t putting up much of a fight, he hadn’t had time to reach his supply of fear gas before being found.
Bruce told himself that Thea was fine. It was just an equipment malfunction. Maybe she was in the middle of something, she couldn’t talk.
Thea was fine. Jason would find her. He’d give her an extra comm, or lecture her on not responding.
Jason found her tracker on a rooftop, along with a discarded bo staff, a smashed comm, and a green box topped with a purple bow. It was welded shut.
Bruce didn’t wait for the police to arrive. He’d left Scarecrow unconscious and zip tied to a pole, and tore through Gotham like a bat out of hell. He met Jason at the cave, and Steph soon joined them. Alfred was waiting when they arrived, a creased brow the only indicator of worry in the otherwise unflappable man.
Black Bat and Nightwing continued to prowl the streets, twin blades of lethal fury. They kept searching for their sister.
Jason had already begun cutting into the box with a power saw. Moments later, the lid popped off. He shoved the box towards Bruce, who easily grasped onto it. Inside was a simple flash drive.
“What the fuck is that?” Jason spat. He was angrier than Bruce had ever seen him, his eyes glowed a shade of poisonous green. For once, it didn’t seem to be directed at him.
Bruce didn’t answer. He grabbed a laptop unconnected to his servers, in case of a virus, and plugged the flash drive into the side.
The drive brought up a black screen, and nothing else. He clicked around, checked for an IP address or hidden code. Nothing. It looked like a livestream that hadn’t yet been activated.
He called Barbara, asked her to come to the cave and help track the video. His own computer skills were limited, and they couldn’t afford anything less than the best. Not when Thea was in danger.
Alfred began to reorganize the medical supplies, a nervous habit of his that had last appeared three months ago when Steph had been injured in a shoot-out.
Jason started to assemble his guns, and messaged his second in command. Red Hood’s men started tracking down leads.
He also started calling in favors. Almost every mercenary in Gotham would soon be looking for Robin.
Bruce sat at the Batcomputer, plugged in the flashdrive. Steph looked over his shoulder, and together, they sorted through security footage from the area where Thea was taken. Nothing. She was in a blind spot when it happened.
Barbara arrived later. Alfred greeted her, and quietly explained what they had learned so far. She quickly took Bruce’s spot next at the Batcomputer, and he watched her go through the contents of the flashdrive.
After a few minutes, Barbara leaned back in the chair, took off her glasses. “I can’t trace it,” she murmured.
“What do you mean you can’t trace it?” Bruce had asked, his voice rough and desperate.
“The code, it’s too simple. The drive receives data, it doesn’t transmit. If it did, then maybe I could…”
Steph shook her head. “Try again.”
Barbara glanced up. “It’s not a matter of skill. It’s just not possible with the code.”
Jason listened in, but didn’t say anything. He paced, continuously assembling and reassembling an assault rifle.
During this time, the comms stayed open. Normally that would’ve been a distraction. But normally, Bruce didn’t need to hear every grunt, curse, punch, breath as proof that Steph and Dick were still alive.
The computer’s speakers crackled as Nightwing’s voice sounded from the comm system.
“There’s no sign of her. It’s been an hour and a half since we last had contact and there’s no sign of her. Please tell me we have something.”
“There’s a flash drive with a livestream that hasn’t started yet. We can’t trace it,” Bruce’s voice sounded monotonous, even to him.
“And what? No other camera footage? No records of where they might have taken her?”
Bruce shook his head, he couldn’t quite bring himself to talk. Although Dick couldn’t see him, the silence was telling enough.
Jason threw his gun down, and stormed over to where the rest of them stood. “Jesus Christ, have you even been trying?”
Steph whirled on him, speaking for the first time since arriving at the cave. Her eyes were bright red from crying, her voice scratchy and raw. “Oh, like you’ve done anything?! You’ve just sat there on your fat fucking ass, polishing your stupid guns!”
Jason snarled. “Listen here, blondie-”
The pair began to trade harsh words, hurling accusations and below the belt insults. Dick, the usual peacekeeper, wasn’t there to break them up. Bruce probably should’ve stepped in, but it wasn’t him to finally put a stop to it.
Barbara interrupted them with a pointed finger at the screen of the Batcomputer. “There’s a video.”
Bruce turned to face the computer. The black screen had disappeared, and was replaced with a single image of a chair in a nondescript room. Something inside him screamed.
The cave fell silent. They watched as the video showed two men wearing plastic clown masks drag an unmoving body into the room. It was Thea. God, Bruce knew it was Thea. His little girl. They shoved her into the chair, secured her with ropes. Ropes that she should have been able to escape from. She didn’t. Thea lifted her head with a groan. Someone behind Bruce gasped. He didn’t see who, he didn’t turn away from the screen.
In the video, Thea’s face was bruised and bloody. Her domino was still in place, but her uniform was hanging from her haphazardly. Parts of it fluttered around her in jagged strips. It looked like it had been cut.
One of the clowns grabbed the ends of several winding cords from somewhere offscreen. The wires, with sticky pads attached to the end, connected to Thea’s chest and head, with little resistance from the listless girl. The clowns left the room, leaving Thea by herself.
“Barbara…” Bruce rasped. “Please. Trace it. Try again.”
Barbara didn’t protest, even though she knew it wasn’t possible. She turned her attention back to the code.
The audio was slightly tinny. Bruce clenched his hands into a fist. Half the Justice League was offworld. Superman was with them, something about a Kryptonian delegation needed. He’d brought Kon along. Clark confessed to Bruce beforehand that he’d wanted to use this trip to work on their rocky relationship. Several of the League’s heavy hitters had remained on Earth, per the protocol Bruce himself had created. But none had the locating abilities that came with super hearing or x-ray vision. There was no one to help them.
Bruce forced himself to analyze the room surrounding Thea. It was dark and barren, walls made from a crumbling stone that he didn’t recognize. It looked like a basement of some kind. There were thousands of basements in Gotham, but if he could just-
On the livestream, a door could be heard slamming. Thea flinched slightly.
The camera was grabbed by pale hands, laughter echoed through the cave’s speakers.
The picture on the screen was taken up entirely by the Joker’s face. An unflattering angle, displaying bleached white skin and a glasgow smile filled with yellow teeth.“Batsy! How kind of you to leave a little birdie out all by herself. Just for me!”
Thea jerked slightly when the camera was shoved in her face. “Fuck… fuck you…”
The Joker laughed again. It was a high pitched, grating noise. No one in the cave made a sound.
Without warning, the Joker pressed a pin on his suit in the shape of a daisy. Thea convulsed. Screams tore through her. Bruce’s eyes darted to the wires connected to her body. He stumbled backwards slightly. She was being electrocuted. In the corner of his eye, he could see Jason grasp a table for support.
Steph clasped a hand over her mouth.
“I’m going to be sick…” she whispered. Alfred, wonderful Alfred, was by Steph’s side in seconds with a bucket.
She didn’t throw up. But she also didn’t let go of the container. It was affectionately named the Bat-bucket, and sported two massive googly eyes with an absurd amount of glitter. Thea and Steph had gone through a DIY phase, after Steph had been benched a few months previously for a broken wrist. Jason told the pair he would aim for the googly eyes the next time he threw up.
On screen, Thea went limp in the chair. Thea, who should’ve been safe at the cave, should’ve been planning her next arts and crafts project.
“B-Batman?” she mumbled.
It was happening again. This monster was hurting another one of his children. But he wouldn’t take her from him, he wouldn’t let another child die. Thea would be ok.
On the Batcomputer’s second monitor, Bruce pulled up a massive database he’d been compiling for years. The algorithm contained information on a substantial number of Gotham’s people and properties. He began to systematically eliminate potential locations based on what little they had from the scene and the video.
The Joker cackled from behind the camera. “It’s just you and me Robin. It’s been too long since one of your kind strayed from the nest. But a birdie’s gotta spread her wings, isn’t that right!”
At this point, he turned the camera away, and pointed it back at his own twisted face.
This time, his voice was clear and calm. He almost sounded sane.
“Batman.” Bruce looked up from the computer, his hands stilled on the keyboard.
“Sidekicks aren’t even funny. What we had was special, and you threw it away for some child. I thought I fixed the problem when I dealt with the second birdie, but these pesky little brats just keep popping up like weeds.”
He flipped the camera around. Thea was slumped over, eyes closed. For a second, Bruce thought… but the rise and fall of her chest told him she was still breathing. She was still alive.
Off-camera, he could still hear the Joker’s voice. It took on a sing-song lilt. “Don’t worry Batsy, I’ll never let you go.”
Bruce heard the gun go off before he saw it. His first instinct was to look down. He must’ve been shot. There was no other explanation for the pain he was in.
His eyes lazily made their way up to the computer screen, and focused on the sight in front of him. Thea’s chair had been knocked over, she was lying on the ground. The feed went black.
“...Batman?” Cass’s cautious voice called out from the speakers of the comm system. “What was that?”
Bruce could hear Steph beginning to wail. He should’ve gone to her, he wasn’t her father but she was still his child.
His child.
He remembers falling out of the chair and onto his knees. He remembers Jason staggering towards him, drunk on both rage and grief, and punching him in the jaw. He remembers Alfred pulling him away, before the pair collapsed onto each other. His father and his son, both sobbing.
He remembers when Dick started to scream. The voice from the speakers echoed in the vastness of the Batcave.
“Bruce, what the fuck was that?!”
After
Life went on. It shouldn’t have, but it did.
They never found her body. Not that they didn’t try. The media was told that she died during a rogue attack. For months, it was all anyone could talk about. Two children had died in Bruce’s custody. The official news outlets questioned his parenting skills. The blogs and podcasts speculated that he did it himself. Somehow, both were right.
The funeral was on a Thursday. It was private, only friends and family allowed. Clark and Diana both showed up. Jason didn’t. Later, Bruce would learn that the Red Hood killed 23 men that same day. He couldn’t bring himself to care.
Dick left town. Nightwing appeared on the news once or twice with the Titans, but otherwise stayed quiet. Barbara refused to tell Bruce his new address.
Steph stayed far away from Wayne manor. Bruce checked in with her occasionally, but their conversations were clipped and shallow. Spoiler rarely worked with Batman, preferring to rely on Oracle and Black Bat. Surprisingly, she was seen once or twice with Red Hood.
Initially, Cass stayed with Bruce. It wasn’t something he deserved. Her, Alfred, and Bruce were Wayne Manor’s only residents. But as time passed, the girl wandered. A few weeks after Thea’s death, Cass left for Hong Kong. She sent a few postcards, but she never called. Alfred visited her twice. Bruce should have gone too. But he didn’t. Black Bat stayed in Hong Kong for six months. When she returned to Gotham, she was withdrawn. Cass had always been quiet. As a child, she was nothing but a shadow. But when she came to live at Wayne Manor, she’d always had a way of making her presence known. Bruce suspected it was a reaction to her upbringing.
Now, if he didn’t have eyes on her, he had a hard time convincing himself that she was real.
Bruce floated. It wasn’t like when Jason died, not at all. He couldn’t blame the Joker, not truly. It was Bruce that let Thea become Robin. Bruce trained her, encouraged her, allowed her to go off on her own.
Batman wasn’t angry. Batman was hollow. Anytime he felt the familiar flame of rage spark inside of him, he was reminded of Thea, why she became Robin in the first place. Losing himself in his grief would be a betrayal to her.
Most of his rogue gallery knew what had happened. The Riddler offered his condolences. Harley Quinn told him she would kill the Joker if she came across him again. Killer Croc even pulled his punches a few times. The absurdity of it almost made him laugh. But he didn’t. Because his child was dead.
He never found the Joker. God, did he look. So did every single one of Gotham’s vigilantes. Red Hood even placed a two million dollar bounty on the man’s head. As in, the actual severed head. But it was like he’d simply vanished. Occasionally, there would be a bombing or some other mass casualty crime that fit the Joker’s signature style, but there was never any concrete evidence. Bruce wasn’t quite sure what he would do if the rogue resurfaced. Secretly, he prayed that he was already dead.
Damian arrived on his doorstep eight months after Thea died. He first put on the Robin costume two days later. Bruce’s ten-year-old was traumatized, he was stubborn, and he was skilled. Nothing he did worked. Batman would be two hours into patrol, fighting a rogue, and Robin would swing into the fray. Bruce was Batman. He wasn’t powerless. But God, did it feel like he was. It was the same cycle, repeating itself over and over again. His children, on the front lines of a war he’d chosen to wage. Dying over and over again.
With Damian, the pattern repeated. Batman suffered from his own failures, and a new Robin swept in to save the day. His heart broke all over again.
Damian, same as Thea, brought the rest of the family closer. Dick returned to Gotham immediately after hearing about the new Robin. He and Bruce had screamed themselves hoarse over the topic. Dick tried to stop Damian, and Bruce held out hope that his son would succeed where he had failed. But Robin only missed a single patrol before once again flying through the cityscape.
Jason didn’t talk to Bruce about the new Robin. Rather, Red Hood tackled Batman on patrol right before breaking three ribs and his nose.
Dick must’ve spoken with Jason after that, because while he still wouldn’t talk to Bruce or step foot in the manor, he stopped by the cave a few times. He and Dick would even take Damian out for ‘bonding activities’.
The girls kept their distance at first. The idea of a new child, a new Robin so soon after Thea was painful. Bruce could relate. But with time, Cass started to spar with Damian. They patrolled together a few times, and often talked about their shared experiences in the League of Assassins.
Barbara and Damian rarely crossed paths. They met a few times in the cave, when Oracle installed software updates. Bruce knew they talked sometimes, Damian mentioned learning computer skills from her.
Steph… her behavior towards Damian swung like a pendulum. On some days, it was like she thought he was the greatest thing in the world. She’d train with him, tease him, and take him out for ice cream in an effort to help him ‘be a real person’. On other days, she could hardly stand to be in the same room with him. During those times, Spoiler and Robin stayed on opposite sides of town.
Bruce tried his best to help his son adjust. The League of Assassins had decimated Damian’s childhood, and their beliefs ran deep. The first time Damian mentioned Thea, it was an off-handed remark, one filled with malice and sneer. He’d been working on a case, and was explaining his findings to Bruce.
“Grandfather said Drake was a sufficient detective, but I doubt that girl would have been able to solve this.”
Bruce had gone very, very still. He’d found it hard to breathe.
Dick pulled Damian aside, patiently and firmly explained to him that what he said was wrong. Bruce should’ve done that. He was Damian’s father. But like always, his children were doing his job for him.
After that, Damian never spoke about Thea again. At least not to Bruce. When his other children thought he wasn’t listening, he’d hear them mention her in off-handed remarks.
“Thea loved this song.”
“Oh, the bo staff was Thea’s specialty, I’m no good at it.”
“Thea was right, Penguin does have a mole with the feds.”
Bruce wished he had that. To be able to speak about his daughter freely, keep her memory alive and give her the respect that she deserves. But he couldn’t even say her name.
He still thought about her, every day. There’s a moment in the morning when he first wakes up. He doesn’t remember that his child is dead. He found himself thinking, I wonder what Thea’s doing today, before it hit him all over again.
The first time anyone mentioned Thea to him was also the first time Jason spoke to him in 14 months.
Now
“Dickiebird got fucking dosed with something, and I had to drug him so he didn’t try to jump in the goddamn river. Is that what you wanted to hear, old man? Or d’ya wanna hear about how he started hallucinating Thea?”
Jason hadn’t stormed out of the cave after his tirade, but it was a near thing. He stiffly offered to drive Barbara home, something she took him up on.
Bruce and Damian are left alone with an unconscious Dick. Damian awkwardly mutters something about needing to be ‘well rested for the upcoming day’ and shuffles out of the cave.
Bruce moves towards his oldest son. Places two fingers on his neck, and feels his steady pulse.
He’s ok. He’s just sleeping, which is probably something he needed anyways. Bruce sees the dark circles framing his eyes, and he knows Dick’s patrol and work schedule. Even while he was benched, he’d still worked himself to the bone. Solving cases, working comms, spending time with all of his siblings and his friends.
Bruce knows Dick. He gives his all to everyone and everything. He just never saves enough for himself.
Bruce leans in close, kisses the top of his head.
He should stay. He should be with Dick until he wakes up, to help him deal with the emotional fallout of what he saw while dosed with fear gas. He should go upstairs to the manor, tuck Damian into bed, and read him a story because despite how much his son might claim to hate it, Bruce knows better. He should go after Jason, and do… something.
But he doesn’t. Instead, he turns towards the Batmobile, and pulls back on his cowl.
He drives.
Fear gas is deceptive, but it doesn’t create hallucinations from nothing. All it does is twist what’s already there.
He arrives at Kensington Bridge. Peers over the edge.
More likely than not, someone was here. Someone who jumped.
It wasn’t Thea. It couldn’t be. But whoever it was likely died in the waters below, so Bruce fits his rebreather over his mouth. Recovering the body is the least he can do.