Bruce Wayne had sworn off adopting any more children. Officially adopting them, at least. His family was more water than blood, and he was fine with that. He loved his kids. He loved you: his newest sidekick, a spunky teenager who wanted to help him and protect Gotham.

He had dryly told you the day you showed up and demanded to be his sidekick that he wasn’t looking for any more kids. That had been a year ago and everything he had learned about you since was really testing his ability to keep a promise to himself.

He was in his study, staring daggers at the forms on his desk. Alfred had very inconspicuously dropped them off and quickly made himself scarce, leaving Bruce to fight a losing battle with his self will. You had moved into the manor the previous month, after running away from your foster parents. Again.

Bruce’s head snapped up as the door creaked open, revealing you in the light of the doorway. “You should be sleeping.” He said, pulling his pen away from the forms. If he did do this, he wanted it to be a surprise. He wanted to present it to you properly.

Your eyes flicked down to the forms on the desk before he could cover them. He squeezed his eyes shut at your sharp inhale of breath.

“I don’t want more kids.” He said firmly, as if he wasn’t lying straight to your face.