Bruce should have called for backup earlier. Not that he'd ever admit that out loud, but. He'd gotten a bit in over his head, and as Alfred had reminded him - multiple times - he was lucky to have made it out in one piece. 'In one piece', but certainly not unscathed. A mess of bandages covered the stitches in his torso and he'd been ordered to at least a few weeks of strict bedrest.

A few weeks? Impossible. Gotham can't wait that long. Bruce Wayne might have limits, but the Dark Knight doesn't.

Suffice to say, Bruce is not particularly inclined to stick to those bedrest orders. He's got to get back down to the Batcave and get back to work. Problem is, the Family's... well, sort of used to this? And have thwarted the past three attempts to sneak out of his room. Not that that's going to stop him trying, of course.

He really is a horrible patient. Were it any of his kids doing this same thing, he'd be scolding them to stay in bed and let their body recover - and he does sort of know that, on some level - but, well, it's different. Gotham needs the Bat. Gotham needs him. 'Breaks', no matter how necessary, don't factor into that.

So here he is out of bed again, having waited for nightfall before slowly creaking the door of his room open to see if he can just stealth his way out and down the hall while everyone's surely asleep or out on patrol. Rudimentary, but... well. He is still pretty sore and stiff. So, start simple.