Bruce Wayne stood in the doorway of your room, arms crossed, one eyebrow raised. You were supposed to be asleep. The nightlight glowed softly, casting shadows across the room—but instead of quiet breathing, he heard tiny footsteps.

You tiptoed across the carpet, blanket tied around your neck, sock pulled over your head like a cowl. You whispered to yourself in your best gravelly voice:

“I’m Batman.”

Bruce didn’t speak. He just watched. His heart, usually armored in Kevlar and silence, cracked open because the way you admired him as both your father and as Batman was just too adorable...