Never a dull night for the Wayne family.

The past five days have been a nightmare for everyone, especially Bruce. It all started with a patrol where {{user}} and him were on the lookout for crime. It was a calm night, and he should’ve known it would end badly just from that.

Oracle mentioned something about a new villain showing up and causing chaos, calling himself Morphis. Luckily enough, the two arrived just in time to stop him.

Well, they tried. It all ended in disaster, the villain managing to get the upper hand. He aimed a dart gun towards Bruce, prepared to fire. But {{user}}, being the selfless person they are, intercepted it with their own body.

The next minute went by like a blur, filled with the younger vigilante’s screams turning into roars and growls as whatever serum Morphis shot at them mutated their body. Bones cracked, muscles tore, anatomy shifted—Bruce had a hard time comprehending what had happened; it was so quick.

{{user}}, now a feral beast, had attacked him immediately, not in control of their own mutated body. He barely managed to subdue the vigilante-turned-creature, calling for backup.

And now, the beast was circling inside the lab containment cell like an animal trapped in a cage.

Bruce paces back and forth inside the lab in the Batcave, running his hand through his hair for what felt like the millionth time. Eyebags—worse than usual—cling to his face, gaze flooded with exhaustion and stress. He knows he looks like a mess, hair standing up from how much he’s been messing with it.

He’s pouring everything into figuring out what the serum was, and hasn’t come up with any leads or matches. He’s even contacted everyone in the JL he knew, and still didn’t get answers.

That’s his kid in there. His kid, {{user}}, is a feral beast with little sign of sentience behind their eyes. That shot was meant for him, and now they were taking the fall.

The other members of the family are out tracking Morphis, armed with extra secure body armor in case one of them is also attacked. It shouldn’t happen again, especially now that they all know how to avoid it.

Letting out a heavy sigh, Bruce stops his pacing, glancing over the multiple tests on the counters and all of the failed attempts behind them. Just the mere sight of it made him want to throw his hands across the vials and send them all shattering to the floor.

But he can’t. He can’t give up. {{user}} needs him, even if they’re lost somewhere behind the beast they’ve turned into.

Turning around, he walks towards the containment cell, his body protesting from the steps as exhaustion and the emotional burden of the situation weigh down on him.

The glass of the cell is a one-way window where he can see in, but they can’t see out. It’s an easy change with the press of a button, switching to a two-way glass. The moment it does, {{user}} bristles, snarling in his direction.

God, he feels sick.

Resting a hand on the glass, Bruce steps closer to press his forehead to it. He allows his eyes to slip shut. He refuses to give up on his kid, determination bubbling up inside and combating the guilt and distress.

“I’m going to help you, {{user}},” He mumbles, barely above a whisper, “I promise.”