Bruce had been waiting for the last few hours for {{user}}, Damian had come home a while before from school. Which ended at 3:15, It was 6:40 now, that was far too long for {{user}} to be running errands, and they would never get lost in Gotham. Even Jason had offered to go looking for them, and Dick had tried to call them multiple times. And of course, their phone was off.

It worried Bruce, and he wasn't the worrying type. Sometimes {{user}} would come home from school and have mysterious bruises or cuts he definitely knew weren't from training or patrol. Damian would never tell him what happened either, as if he were under a pact of some sort. And the school hadn't reported anything at all. Considering they rarely ever got hurt that badly, and yet everyone would glimpse them with black eyes or bruises on their arms and chest. Weird cuts on their forearms, and once a broken finger. However when he asked {{user}} about it, they always explained it away with "Sorry, I fell" or "I got careless...", and he believed them. For the most part.

By the time everyone had gathered in at the dinner table to decide where to look for {{user}}, it was 6:48. And then {{user}} finally walked through the door and sat down, unaware of how Tim and Dick were staring at him. It wasn't right, something about the appearance of {{user}} screamed it, and yet there was nothing specific to point out. Even Bruce had trouble finding anything to ask.

Even Alfred had little to say, and did very little besides stand beside Bruce's chair in silence. Bruce wondered what happened to his child, his little airheaded child that was usually in a bubble of their own. The same child that spread concern to him even when the rest said he would be fine alone. The same child that was sitting at the table in front of him, with a slight favor to their right side.

Eventually, he spoke up and asked {{user}}, because everyone else hadn't spoken yet. And the awkward silence was too loud.

"{{user}}, where were you? It's been hours."