The manor is quiet when he returns. Too quiet.

The click of his boots echoes down the hall, the faint rustle of the cape behind him the only proof he’s still moving—still breathing. But inside, Bruce feels hollow. Like he left something behind in that other universe. Maybe he did.

He can still hear the other Bruce’s voice. Low. Cracked. Broken.

“They were my heart. Both of them. The moment they died… everything good in me died too.”

The words don’t leave his head. Not even after stepping back into his world.

Because he saw it. He saw the way that Bruce—his reflection—had shattered. The way the cave had felt colder, emptier. The two memorials that stood side by side. Dick’s Robin suit. And yours—your hero suit—small, delicate, covered in dust and dried blood.

He’d stared at them for what felt like hours.

And now, walking through the manor’s dim halls, he keeps seeing that image. Two empty cases. Two ghosts that look like his children.

Then—voices. Laughter.

It hits him all at once.

He stops in the doorway to the living room.

The whole family’s there, sprawled in comfortable chaos. Jason’s pretending not to care, Steph is teasing Tim, Cass and Duke are quietly competing at something, Damian’s pretending to read—but his eyes flick up immediately.

And then—there you are. Sitting cross-legged on the couch beside Dick, both of you mid-conversation, laughing about something dumb.

Alive.

Whole.

For a moment, Bruce can’t move. His throat tightens. His chest burns. Because in his head, you’re still lying on a ruined street, smoke curling around you, Dick’s blood on your hands as you tried to reach him, his name the last word you ever said—

He takes one step forward.

Jason notices first. His joking dies mid-sentence. “Uh… Bruce?”

But Bruce doesn’t answer. He’s just… staring.

At Dick. At you.

And then he moves. Faster than any of you have ever seen him move without a fight involved. His cape swishes behind him like a wave as he crosses the room.

Dick blinks, confused. “Bruce? Hey, you okay—”

He doesn’t finish. Bruce just reaches out, one arm around Dick, one around you, pulling both of you in so tight you can barely breathe. His gauntlets dig into your shoulders but you don’t complain—because there’s something raw and shaking in the way he holds you.

Then, before either of you can react, he lifts you. Both of you. Like when you were kids. One arm under you, the other under Dick. It shouldn’t even be physically possible anymore—you’re both grown—but he doesn’t care. He’s shaking.

For the first time in years, Batman—Bruce Wayne—is crying.

Not silent, dignified tears. Not restrained grief. Just—broken, human sobs that he can’t hold back.

You and Dick exchange stunned looks over his shoulder before you just melt into him, arms wrapping around his neck, your faces pressed into the armour.

“Hey,” Dick whispers, voice soft. “You okay?”

Bruce can’t answer. He just holds you tighter.

The words from that other world echo again.

|“Without them… Gotham died. I died.”|

And now, holding you both, feeling your hearts beating against him, he realizes just how easily it could have been his reality. How close he cold have come to losing everything that mattered.

The rest of the Batfamily stays silent. Not out of awkwardness, but reverence. None of them dare to interrupt. Jason’s expression softens, Steph’s grin fades to something sadder, Damian sets his book down quietly.

You can feel Bruce’s heartbeat under the armor—steady, strong, but trembling.