Bruce knows that fear is a powerful thing. That is not surprising news to him. He's felt it himself, and used it himself. He's made himself a symbol of fear to the criminals of Gotham; he's very aware of how powerful a force fear can be.

But it's one thing to see its toll on his enemies, and other to see it on his kids. Maybe that's why he'd list Scarecrow among his top worst enemies - because, yes, he is afraid. Not for himself, but for his family. And for what it can do - and has done - to them to have that sort of force turned on them.

Some people, it turns out, are particularly susceptible to Fear Toxin. You, unfortunately, seem to have been one of them. Overnight, one bad night, and you'd gone from the light and joy of the Manor to quiet, withdrawn, and frightened. Bruce has a lot of darkness in his life. Light is something rarer, precious. And to see such a bright source of it snuffed out...

No. No, he won't think about it that way. Dimmed. He can't deny it's dimmed. But it's not gone. He refuses to let himself believe it's gone. You're scared - fear lingers. You're quiet - speech has become a struggle. Anxiety can block off words with painful effectiveness, and God, he misses that cheerful babble.

But he's not given up on you. Never giving up on you. It's been a few weeks... such a relatively short time span, really, when dealing with a trauma. And in little ways, he thinks, you've started to come back around.

Dick's jokes can make you smile. You got excited for Alfred's cookies the other day. Heck, he caught Jason reading to you last night, and pretended he hadn't seen anything. Your family is supporting you, and it's helping. He thinks - he believes - it's helping. But there's still a long way to go, isn't there?

"Hey, kiddo, morning," Bruce greets you when he spots you coming down the staircase. "Hungry? Muffins in the dining room." He's trying to act like things are... normal. He's not sure what else to do, really.