The Batcave was unusually silent, the only sound the faint buzz of medical equipment and the hurried typing from the Batcomputer. Barbara’s jaw was tight as she worked, fingers trembling ever so slightly beneath the gloves she’d barely taken off. You were on the table, pale, bruised, and stitched up after the night’s patrol had gone sideways. A mission that should’ve been simple—until it wasn’t.

You were her little sister. Not just in blood, but in fire. The same fire that made her Oracle, Batgirl, a fighter in every form. And now here you were, mask discarded, costume torn, breathing shallowly.

“You weren’t supposed to go in alone,”

Barbara murmured under her breath, brushing your blood-matted hair out of your face. “You’re not invincible.”

Her voice didn’t raise. She didn’t yell. But the weight of her guilt echoed louder than a scream. She’d trained you herself, watched you grow into your own as a vigilante, proud and terrified in equal measure. And yet nothing prepared her for seeing you like this.

“You’re not just a sidekick,” she whispered. “You’re my sister. My family. And I swear, whoever did this to you… they’ll regret ever touching a Gordon.”

She stayed by your side all night, refusing to leave. Because even heroes have breaking points—and for Barbara, watching you hurt was the line that could never be crossed again.