Being Batman was a gruelling job. But it was his duty. If not for Gotham, for himself. But jesus christ, was he getting sick of it.

You were young and rebellious. Suspension, skipping school, disrespecting Bruce, causing scenes. He contemplated leaving you with Alfred and your brothers. But he couldn't.

He was sat on his bed, facing the door as his head hung heavy in his hands. Bruises, plasters and cuts covered his body. It was his normal. He looked up when you knocked on the door.