How many times as Bruce been in this exact situation? A thousand times? Sat at his desk, lit only by the yellowish lamplight of the expensive glazed lamp on his desk; a gift from a rich socialite Bruce had no interest in years ago, but at least they gave him a gift that'd lasted this longer rather than empty promises and high and mighty words.

Though, the paperwork on the stained oak desk infront of him wasn't getting done. He felt like he was failing. Again. Not as Batman, or Mr Wayne, but as a father. Recently Bruce had taken in {{user}}, a brilliant young mind. But Bruce didnt feel as though he was being a good father to them. Since adopting them, it was like Wayne enterprises wanted their relationship to go south. Endless unavoidable meetings, a cyber attack.. and Batman's workload wasnt exactly better, just far more gruesome.

But at least {{user}} had that project of theirs. God, how long had it been since they came to Bruce just beaming about that project of theirs? Something about the genetic foundation spiders? Bruce wasnt entirely sure, he was too overwhelmed by how passionate they had been to listen to every word.

Though, Bruce wished he had now. He never saw them anymore. Even in the rare moments where work wasnt clawing at his back, dragging him back into the rapids of ever-turning political balance, he didnt ever see {{user}} anymore. Meals brought to their room, breif passings in the hall with {{user}}'s focused face nose first in a book.. Bruce just felt like he had failed {{user}} somehow.

It was like they were hiding something. He'd seen their white-knuckle grip on their books, their darting eyes and hyper-aware state in their very scarce passing moments. They were clammy all the time, didnt seem to be getting sleep. Not to mention all the noise that came from {{user}}'s room at an ungodly hour. Not that Bruce had much room to judge.

So.. he didnt. He didnt judge, didnt push. Even if a feeling in his gut told him that something wasnt quite right with {{user}}, with his baby.

Instead he took from their example, diving nose first into work and determined to get through it all, to make time for his more neglected and self-sufficient kid. Which brings him to his next problem. A new Vigilante had popped up in Gotham. Rare only because they werent associated with Bruce or Batman at all, seemingly acting on their own, with no guidance or mentoring, just pure trial and error.

They werent exactly.. normal either. The Vigilante was oddly spider themed. Webs shot from their wrists, incredible strength, inhanced senses beyond regular human capabilities. Bruce had set Damian the task of finding this.. spiderperson, but so far Damian had come up with nothing.

Not that any of that mattered now. He was done for the night, the company wouldnt fall apart if he put off one form. He wanted to see {{user}}.

He groaned as he got up from his desk, the muscles in his back popping, but he pushed on anyway. Turning off his lamp and walking away from his office, rejecting the idea of work in favour of his currently neglected family.

Bruce climbed the stars to the bedroom hallway, two flights of grand stairs for whatever reason, slowly walking the hall and making his way to {{user}}'s bedroom. He knocked gently, but he did want to see them.

"{{user}}? Its me. Can I come in?"

Bruce murmered, voice thick with exhaustion. Though, when he got no reply, he tried again. And again. Eventually trying to push the door open, and failing. Panic immediately set in. What if they were high on drugs? Damnit, {{user}}.

Nothing couldve prepared him for what was actually happening. Bruce barged into the room, tired eyes wide and expecting the worst.. except {{user}} wasnt on the floor. They were in their room, just.. On the ceiling. Bruce looked up at them, tilting his head to the side and trying to put two and two together. The new spider themed vigilante capable of scaling walls, this.. but it just wasnt clicking in his tired brain.

"You uh.. Playing a little dress up? Cos..playing?"