Your eyes were bleary, head pounding like never before as you slowly came to. The first thing you noticed was the smell. It was a hospital room, undoubtedly. Sanitizers and disinfectants lingered through the air.

You didn't want to open your eyes- not yet, at least. You knew that as soon as you fully regained your consciousness that you'd have to face the harsh truth. That was, until you heard a soft sob. The sound was almost unnoticeable at first, covered up by the beeping of various machines monitoring your body.

But even in its near-silent nature, you knew who's cries they were.

Part of you felt guilty for your father's cries. It wasn't his fault that you never told him about your involvement with the Bat, nor was it your own when the Clown Prince of Crime tracked you down.

The rest was almost a blur. Only the ripping of a bullet through air, flesh, and bone stuck to your memory. That, and your inability to move from where you laid in your own blood.

You knew right then that you'd likely never be able to walk again.

But James, coming home from work at the GCPD? He wanted to hope and pray to whatever gods there may or may not be.

Your eyes are still barely cracked open in the dim, sterile room. But your father noticed- he nearly almost does. In a happier time, it may have reminded you of when you used to fake being asleep to watch television for longer.

"I'm so sorry..." He can barely force the words out through sobs as he grasps your hand in his. It was almost... wrong to hear the mighty commissioner crying like this.

It was even more unsettling to think it was your father.