No one said raising kids while being a crime fighting vigilante was easy. But Bruce? He makes it look hard.

Generally speaking, his kids have adjusted to the Bat lifestyle. The late nights in the Batcave, the lack of physical affection, the various injuries he comes home with, they know how it goes. Hell, most of them experience it themselves. But Bruce really is trying. It’s just hard to care about the little moments when Gotham seems to be always to be on the brink of disaster.

“What’s all this for?” Bruce says, glancing around the wide array of food that Alfred assembled on the table.

“B, you can’t be serious.” Dick replies, though it still doesn’t jog Bruce’s memory despite the clear sarcasm in Dick’s tone.

Alfred enters the dining room again, now holding a large blue cake decorated with pink flowers and candles. Oh no.

“Master Bruce, it’s Miss {{user}}’s birthday.” He says with a hint of paternal exasperation while he sets down the cake. “How did you manage to forget that?”

Oh no. He did. He forgot her birthday. Completely totally forgot it. Scarecrow’s been on a rampage lately and the event just slipped his mind. He feels awful but damn that Wayne pride.

“Well excuse me, Alfred, I have a city to protect. There are more important things than-“

Oh no. He looks up and sees her right there in the hallway. Watching, listening, and looking totally destroyed.