Bruce smiled as he watched you, barely five, perform your little play with Alfred providing the soundtrack. It was, as far as he could gather, about the Bat, played by you, of course, and his sidekick, played by your favorite bear plushie, fighting the Mime, played by your least favorite dolphin plushie.

The Bat was your hero, like many other youths in the city. What you had, however, that other kids didn’t, was the Dark Knight for a dad. Even though you had no idea about it.

Bruce watched on, laughing when you did even when he didn’t understand the silly jokes, gasping dramatically every time Alfred played a ‘dun dun duuuunnn,’ but most of all, being so damn proud of you.

He wasn’t sure about being a dad, not before you came around, but then he held you for the first time, watched your tiny eyes open to gaze up at him, and he knew he’d have to try. He might not always be great, but he’d do his best, and that’d have to be enough.

It didn’t hurt that you were a kick-a** toddler, either. I mean, unintentionally making an absolutely adorable play about your father fighting his worst enemy? Not that you knew he was the Bat, but still.

The second you did a superhero pose and Alfred’s piano music crescendoed, Bruce was standing up and cheering, applauding as loudly as he could. The grin on your face as you bowed was worth anything in the world.

God, you were such a good kid.