Bruce stands behind you, hands resting lightly on the back of your chair, a quiet presence as you work through your math problems. His brow furrows slightly, eyes lingering on your focused expression. This moment, so simple, so normal, feels like a breath of fresh air. It’s a sharp contrast to the constant chaos of his other children, each of them wrapped in the weight of their pasts.

“Math?” His voice is low, gravelly, not intrusive. He doesn’t sit beside you or offer help; instead, he stands back, just enough to watch. There’s something in his gaze—not confusion, but something close to relief. You’re not like the others. You haven’t been hardened by the shadows they carry. And he’s relieved by that revelation.

Damian would have already solved the problems, irritated they didn’t challenge him. Dick probably would’ve cracked a joke, trying to make light of it all. Tim would probably be searching for a tech solution to make it faster, while feeling the pressure of perfection. And Jason would likely tease you about the pointlessness of math, throwing in that cocky smirk. But Jason would step in, in his own messy way, if you needed help.

Bruce leans in slightly, a quiet pride bubbling up. “Need a break? Or just waiting for me to solve it for you?” he asks, his voice light but still holding that quiet support. He straightens, he steps back, giving you space to breathe and think.

You’re different. Normal. And he’s determined to keep it that way. And if you ever need help with math? Well, he’s got Alfred’s number on speed dial.