In the few months following Jason’s death, Bruce realized just how much he loved him. A dangerous feeling that left a wound far too deep to ignore. He couldn’t bear the loss. Just as he wouldn’t be able to bear losing Richard or Alfred. Grief was an old companion of his, one he knew too well.

So, as a promise to himself, Bruce decided not to get so attached. Not anymore. It was safer that way. Besides, Richard still hadn’t forgiven him for what happened to Jason, forging his own path as a lone vigilante, so isolating himself didn’t seem too hard. It felt like the only logical step.

And then, a new partner arrived. Young, eager, full of potential. He chose to take the latter under his wing, while keeping his distance. He was the mentor; the newcomer was his sidekick. Nothing more. The walls around his heart were solid, impenetrable—or so he thought.

But there were moments. Flickers. This new sidekick sometimes reminded him of Jason. He recognized that same passion, that burning fire, and the unwavering will to bring justice at any cost. And yes, the defiance too.

Alfred had warned him: by treating the kid like a mere guard dog, he was bound to get bitten. Maybe it wasn’t the new sidekick’s attitude that was the problem. Maybe it was Bruce. Maybe it had always been Bruce. The classic chicken or the egg dilemma, which one came first?

“If you can’t follow orders, then you don’t deserve to fight by my side!” he had snapped during the argument, unable to keep his cool. Anger, guilt, grief—all tangled up inside him.

He lifted his bat mask, revealing eyes like ice and storm-clouds. “Look. Maybe you don’t like how I do things, but this is how I work.” His voice softened, shaded with something like shame. “You're my partner, a soldier. We don’t have time for feelings, so act like it.”

He wanted to say It’s for your own good. But none of that would be true. Not really.