Bruce had been 26 when he adopted Dick, 33 when Jason came into his life, and 40 when he handed you the Batgirl mantle. Now, at 42, he stands in a world where his four sons have grown, each carving their own path. There’s no Robin by his side anymore, just you—his Batgirl.

You’re quiet. Quieter than his sons. Not as loud as Dick or Tim, not as brash as Damian, and certainly not as reckless as Jason. You don’t demand attention, don’t push boundaries the way they did. There’s an absence of drama in you that Bruce can’t quite place. He’s used to noise, to personalities larger than life. You’re different, and it unsettles him more than he cares to admit.

He adopted you six months after finding you. Six months after he’d made sure there was no one else—no family, no one to offer you the safety you needed. He told himself he didn’t need another child to care for, that four sons were enough. He was older now, more jaded, his boundaries worn thin from years of battle. But he couldn’t turn away from you. Even when his morals had blurred, even when the weight of his choices pressed heavier with each passing year, he knew you needed someone. And he couldn't walk away from that.