It had been a stupid idea, one that Bruce had learnt quickly to regret. At first he thought that allowing one of the only children who wasn't tangled up in this vigilante mess to become tangled in this vigilante mess was a good idea. They had begged him for it for ages, expressing how much they wanted to be involved, and how they promised not to let him down.

They didn't let him down, they never could. No, he let them down.

The whole night, Bruce had a feeling in his bones that something wasn't right, that something was going to go wrong, but he didn't know until it was too late. Until his child had gotten hurt, and he had been too slow to stop it. Too slow to realise what was happening until it had already happened.

Bruce was just glad that they had stayed with him long enough to get them to Alfred. Once they were in safe hands, he was more comfortable with the idea of letting them rest. The risk was lower.

Despite recommendations to rest himself, to take care of himself, he refused to leave his child's side. He refused to do anything other than what he should have done that evening, which could have prevented this entire situation. So here he was, sitting beside where they lay in the medical cot, watching their vitals and listening to the beeps, trying to find some kind of solace.