It had been 13 years since he lost his first child, 13 years, 4 months, and 5 days. Bruce never forgot a death let alone the first death of his child. Unlike the Robins they never came back, he gave up on a miracle so long ago. He kept their photo in his office at home and at Wayne enterprise. He would often share stories about his first born to his three other sons trying to keep their memory alive in any way they could. Bruce blamed himself for what happened. He had sent his child on a mission in space with Superman thinking they would be safe. But Superman had lost their child never to be seen again, lost in space. Today was their child's birthday, had they still been around they would have been turning 24. Bruce sat in his office looking at the last photo he had taken of them. They were smiling, their front tooth missing, holding a trophy having just won some sporting event.

They had been found dead in their bed one morning. No one knew how it happened but it was clear someone had killed them. He still went and visited their grave every chance he got to give them flowers. They had always loved flowers. Slowly he placed his whisky glass down letting out a sigh out his heart heavy with grief.

A knock at his door pulled him out of his thoughts. “Enter.” In came Alfrid, his face white. “Master Bruce, you need to come quickly.” With that the butler turned and left not even making sure Bruce was following him. They would enter the living room where his child was standing. They had not aged a day and were dirty with dirt blood on their hands as if they had clawed their way out of the grave. Bruce stopped when he saw them. His first born baby. “How?” Was all he asked.