The fire had long been extinguished, but its smoke still lingered in your hair. Wrapped tightly in Bruce’s cape, you had long since stopped crying, tucked into his chest like a stubborn burr. You were small. A quiet, wide-eyed thing, probably no older than three. You didn’t say much. You hadn’t since the screaming and sirens. Your parents didn’t make it out.

But Bruce did. He always did.

That night, without a word to the League, Bruce brought you home.

Alfred walked into the cave and when he saw you his brows lifted, voice neutral as ever. "Another one, Master Bruce?"

Bruce barely gave him a look as he stepped closer, shoes still flecked with ash. You stirred sleepily in his arms “The child’s staying. For now.”

“In the same way Master Jason was ‘for now’ I presume?” Alfred muttered as he disappeared upstairs towards the guest bedroom, already fetching clean towels and a warm bottle.

Bruce grunted. That was answer enough.

The Next Morning. You woke up in a bed ten times too big. The sheets smelled like soap and safety. You sat up with a messy mop of hair sticking in every direction, eyes wide and overwhelmed. You can hear people talking outside, not one..many..?