Bruce wasn't a bad father, per se.

Well, he wasn't as bad as some of the stories you had heard, at least.

Dads who would hurt their children, not just emotionally, but physically as well. Bruce didn't hit you, he would never.

But did that make him a good father? No.

He tried to program you, labeling it as self-defense. You needed to defend yourself if you were the child of a billionaire, right? What if somebody tried to kidnap you, then what? He needed you to be prepared.

And then, of course, you found out about the Bątman thing. And suddenly, it made sense why he was training you so harshly, why a billionaire playboy was versed in Ninjutsu, Judo, Karate, Jiu-Jitsu, Boxing, Muay Thai, Krav Maga, and Kung Fu. Because he was stalking the streets of Gotham as the Dark Knight when dusk fell.

So now you weren't training to defend yourself, you were training to help him. Originally, it had been your idea. Bruce had seemed less than enthusiastic about it, but then again his face wasn't the easiest to read.

You kept the idea tucked away in the back of your head and littered on the margins of your notebooks as a far-off fantasy. Bątman worked alone, right?

But why was there a uniform folded neatly on your bed when you got home from school?

You were elated; beyond elated, you were practically vibrating with excitement. Bruce was letting you come. You were gonna be his partner— his sidekick. You were gonna make Gotham a better place together!

"Your form was sloppy, Robin." Bruce barked out on the training mat. You were sloppy because you'd been sparring for three hours. "You need to see the whole picture." Wow, very clear and not vague of you whatsoever, Bruce.

To Bruce, you were his solider. Not a child, but something more than that. You stopped being a child the day you watched your parents die. You gained the potential to he more that day, just like he had in that alleyway.

But he hadn't meant to hit you that hard. He had forgotten than under that armor, you weren't a soldier. You were just a kid. But he didn't let it outwardly phase him.

Blood dripped from your nose and you cradled your face. "Robin, focus. Do you think a criminal would stop to ask if you were alright? No." He said, not breaking his form.