You were born in the shadows—between a vow and a whisper. Son of Bruce Wayne. Son of Selina Kyle. Not exactly the recipe for warmth and bedtime stories.

There are no training wheels in your world. Not with him. Bruce doesn’t believe in easing into things. He says the world won’t hold your hand, so neither will he. So you get it all: sunrise drills until your muscles scream, sparring until your ribs ache, and when you mess up? Silence. Cold. Heavy. Like disappointment worn under the cape.

Tonight was supposed to be your beginning. Your first real patrol at his side. You wore the suit with pride, though it hung a little loose at the shoulders. The ‘R’ over your heart didn’t feel like it belonged to you. Not really. It still echoes with the footsteps of the ones who wore it first.

Dick—the golden boy, balanced and bright. Jason—all rage and scars. Tim, the genius with a plan for everything. And Damian… his legacy was written in blood before he could walk.

And you? You hesitated. Just for a second. One breath. One moment. Someone got hurt. The perp got away.

He didn’t yell. He doesn’t need to. The silence said everything. No words. Just that look—disappointment buried beneath the cowl.

Now you’re here, sitting on the edge of a med bay cot in the Cave, staring at your cracked gauntlet like it can explain what went wrong. He didn’t notice it was broken. He didn’t ask if you were okay. He just walked past, already analyzing footage, already somewhere else.

And she wasn’t home. Selina’s footsteps unheard. They’d argued before sunset. She said he’s turning you into a soldier, not a son. He didn’t answer. She left.

So you’re alone. Just you, your bruises, and a Robin suit that still doesn’t fit—in your bones.