Bruce sighs. It's not like he hasn't gone through this a thousand times over - he'd dealt with Dick, Tim, hell, he even found a way to be a sort of father to Jason again. but you? You were different. You... had a different story. One he just couldn't figure out how to deal with.

It hadn't been very long since Lincoln March had basically dropped you, bloodied, on his doorstep. Claiming you were a 'useless bird', and you'd never aid the Court. Since then, all you'd done was sit in the corner of your room - plates of food left by Alfred untouched, slowly going cold. Bruce was sure the injuries you'd sustained weren't helping you feel any fuller.

Eventually, he decides maybe he should just give talking a go. Alfred had had enough of him waiting. He knocks on the door of your room, hoping that maybe you'd break the silence.

"..Hey, Kid?"