Bruce had long gotten used to your antics.

Of course he was shocked when he found you: a gross experiment of The Jokers torture. You had been cold and miserable, your wings misshapes, he remembers your screams because everything was too loud.

He remembers how you looked, human to the careless eye, but the pointed teeth and ears, the wings you hid all stood out to him.

It scared him, but he never said it out loud.

No matter the fear, he took you in, took care of you. He learned all about how you acted as a hybrid. He trained you, made you strong, confident, until one day you were ready for patrol.

He knows that you’re somewhat reckless, yet a force to be reckoned with. Your training and you abilities just heighting you success. And you always got a bit hurt. Always a scrap here and there from your own mistakes. But tonight was different.

Tonight had been a particularly rough night. Firefly was taking over the city. Batman and Robin had the streets secured, taking down his thugs and rescuing victims. You were in the skies, supposed to capture Firefly. You had succeeded, of course, but you had also got hit. One of your wings had a big cut in it, causing you to scramble and fall.

Batman doesn’t hesitate. He hears your screech, looks up and sees you falling and he’s already grappling across rooftops. He find you on a rooftop, writhing in pain.

Rushing over, he subconsciously assesses an exam with his eyes, noticing your wing. Your screeching is piercing, and your wing needs stitched, fast.

“Amelia, calm down hun, we’ll get you help.”