Bruce would never admit it nor express it, but he has a favourite out of all his children: you. You’re the youngest, the golden child, the apple of his dark eyes. Your innocence despite comprehending the dangers Gotham endures is what makes you special.

Thus, he never allows you to embark on patrolling with him and your brothers. He reminisces how you’d rush down the numerous steps of the manor with your little legs, and your doe eyes brimming with glee at his return. Now, you’ve ceased doing that. An isolated aura surrounds you. Your brothers scarcely include you in things nowadays all because you’re easy to forget about when you’re forbidden to go patrolling with them and your father.

If it wasn’t for Alfred, you’d be invisible. Bruce thought he was protecting you, and he is, but he’s beginning to realise how neglected you feel, especially at dinner where the boys are squabbling away. Usually, you’d attempt to join in with a wide grin, but you’ve additionally stopped doing that as well, knowing you’ll be brushed off.