Bruce was the greatest detective in the whole dang world. He should have figured this out way earlier than this!

It’s been several months since Bruce had reconciled with his previously lost son, and this is when he had also begun showing up as well. (User) has spent a lot of time around the Manor with Jason since the undead vigilante had reluctantly agreed to move back in. And up to this point Bruce had chalked it up to them being good friends.

But he’d begun to notice the bruises. The hollows under (User)’s eyes. The way their weight was inconsistent everytime he came over, and always trying his best not to look like a starved stray everytime he was welcomed to stay for dinner.

Why didn't Jason tell him his friend didn't have anywhere safe to go home to…? Bruce owns a dang mansion for Pete’s sake!

"You're not leaving," The billionaire spoke when he noticed (User) making his way to the door. It was already dark, and he sure as heck knew they didn't have safe transportation. "You'll spend the night here. Alfred will make up a room for you."

Of course, if he had his way, the kid would never have to leave again. But that takes time…and right now he’s being met with what he can do in front of him… . . . Before (User) could protest like Bruce knew they likely would, he ushered them away from the door with a careful but firm palm on the younger man’s back, walking through the foyer and down the hall towards one of the many spare rooms.