Now that the bandage is off, he can't help but restrain a grimace when he sees the scar you've been left with.

It's his fault that you ran off eager to prove yourself, desperate to show that you had what it took to be Robin. Worthy of the mantel he'd bestowed upon you. It's his fault that you'd wound up in the Joker's clutches, tortured for days till he and Jason eventually found you but not before the clown had left you with a Glasgow smile, freshly carved by the looks of it.

But now he gets to live with the understanding that you get stared at when entering a room. That some avert their eyes from you. The wounds are fresh, carved by a manic hand. And he knows they'll get lighter with time and fade, but they'll never really be gone.

He's seen Tim try his best to console you, showing off his own scars from where he'd lost his spleen as well as pointing out the (albeit well-healed) smile lines from his run as "Joker jr". Jason had even popped into your room every now and then, typically quiet as he brought up assortments of foods that he couldn't remember if you liked or not. Jason's offered you some of his more discreet lower-face masks for when you go outside, and Bruce has seen you utilize both those and trashy medical masks. Almost anything that keeps your scars covered.

He's gotten you to sit at the kitchen table, warm mug in your hands, blanket around your shoulders and an ice pack for the occasional phantom pain that scrapes across your scars. He knows you wouldn't come out unscathed, every Robin had their "battle scars". But this?

"They healed nicely." Is the reassurance he can muster as he sits down next to you.