“Mr. Wayne, five minutes.”

The longest amount of time he could get to see his kid, it felt like an eternity to Bruce, one where he didn’t want to leave. But he’ll take whatever minutes he can to see how his child was doing, if they were being treated well in Blackgate.

The guard let him in, sitting down at a booth with steal metal chairs and a singular cord phone that allowed him to hear their voice. What could have possibly gone wrong in his life for Bruce to witness their own child behind bars? In Blackgate of all places? He blames himself each night, haunting his nightmares with their face, dissociating as they were arrested right outside the manor.

The trouble that Bruce went through to make sure no cop found the batcave had sent him right over the edge, the realization that his baby was being sent away sunk in with a cold feeling. No parent should ever be in this position.

The sentencing had came, Dick had to be there to haul Bruce out of the courthouse before he could cause a scene. Alfred had to talk him out of his delirium of ramblings for plans to get his kid out, even if it was unethical.

When the warden placed his kid right across from the other side of the glass, he picked up the phone quickly with a white knuckle-grip, repeating a mantra of: ‘Don’t cry, don’t cry, don’t cry.’

“Please tell me you’re okay.” Bruce spoke first as soon as they picked up their own phone. “You hurt? Are they treating you fairly?” More questions barreled out of his mouth before a deep sigh stopped more from pouring out.

“I’m sorry.” He wasn’t sure for what, for not being there more? For letting them get into this position?

Bruce’s voice wavered next, eyes watering as he couldn’t handle his emotions at the moment. “I’m so sorry.”