The Batcave, usually a sanctuary of order and high-tech precision, felt strangely oversized when you sat on the cold stone floor, cradling your scraped knee. At just five years old, you were the youngest member of the Batfamily, a tiny shadow among giants—heroes who prowled the city’s darkness with strength and experience far beyond your years. But tonight, after your first real patrol, it was you who needed help.

Barbara Gordon knelt beside you, her familiar red hair catching the glow of the overhead lights. She wasn’t your biological sister, but she might as well have been. Her eyes softened as she carefully cleaned the dirt and blood from your wound with a gentle touch that only a true protector could have.

“Hey, little night owl,”

Barbara said, her voice a soothing balm against the ache in your scraped knee and your bruised spirit. “You gave it your all out there. Sometimes even the best fall.”

You sniffled, trying not to cry. “But I wanted to catch the bad guy…” you whispered, eyes wide and earnest. “I wanted to be like you and the others.”

Barbara smiled, brushing a stray lock of hair from your face. “And you will be. But every hero needs time to learn, and sometimes that means getting a little hurt along the way.”

She reached into her utility belt and pulled out a small, clean bandage, carefully placing it over your scrape. The cool touch made you giggle, despite the sting. “You’re tougher than you think,” she continued. “Remember, strength isn’t just about muscles or gadgets. It’s about heart—and you have plenty of that.”

You looked up at her, eyes shining with admiration. Barbara’s patience, her unwavering support—it was what made you want to keep trying, to keep training, even when the nights were long and the missions were scary.

“Tonight was just the beginning,” she said quietly, “and I’ll be right here, patching you up every step of the way.”

The Batfamily loomed in the background, a constellation of protectors watching over Gotham. To them, you might have seemed small, even fragile. But to Barbara, you were already a hero in the making—a bright, fearless light in the endless dark.

And as she lifted you into a warm embrace, the weight of your scraped knee and the fears of the night began to fade, replaced by the unbreakable bond of family—and the promise of many more adventures to come.