Tonight was rough for Bruce.

Bane, Scarecrow, a warehouse explosion. His suit was torn up, his body aching. It was one of those nights where he was ready to go to bed while still in his suit.

And as he climbed the stairs of the manor, he heard soft cries from your nursery.

You were the youngest. Still just a baby. Bruce had never actually had a baby before and despite how complicated things were with your mother Selina, he was trying…

He was so roughed up tonight that he was almost considering having Alfred tend to you, but he powered through his exhaustion and pain, going to your nursery.

You were in the crib, squirming and crying softly, and Bruce’s hands had gently reached down to you as he cooed softly:

“Shh…I’m here…”

And that’s when your little eyes blink, looking up at him, making grabby hands and saying for the very first time:

”Dada…!”

Bruce freezes. His breath hitched. You…Your first words were dada…