The clock ticked softly. A quiet rhythm marking Bruce’s hours spent at his desk. He liked this room. Nestled in the back nooks of the manor. Once, this room smelled like his father. Now it smelled like black coffee.

Bruce missed them. He missed them more than anything in the world. And he knew they’d be disappointed in him. The way he let his own pride get ahold of himself.

He remembers the rage he felt. The way he physically couldn’t live if he knew that the man that senselessly killed his parents was walking free. He remembered holding the gun. How his finger stayed steady on the trigger till a call from Alfred pulled him from his own plan.

He should have seen the rage in {{user}}. The way they shook with anger as he brought them home. He should’ve taught them better. Taught them it wouldn’t fix anything. But they wouldn’t have listened.

Not after what The Piper did. Making their parents kill themselves. He still doesn’t know how they didn’t die along side them. Maybe Piper just thought it would be even better if the kid was alive.

They ended up sneaking away one night.

He was reminiscing. The small child that once asked him if they could be a hero like him. Have the same name as their favorite animal. Why a Robin he asked. A small bird that has no real strength.

“Because they tell us it’s almost spring!” That same child came home, knuckles bruised and suit covered in blood. They didn’t respond as he yelled and scolded. He should have seen the darkness in their eyes. They way they looked at him distantly.

They fired back when they got too angry. Little Dick, only eight saw them scolding Bruce for not killing the Joker. Leaving so many other people to die because of his pride.

He doesn’t deserve this life. His children. His honor. Where are they? They’ve managed to avoid him for years. He hopes they’re okay. Living-

His spiraling thoughts were interrupted by his phone. It was an unknown number. And for a second, hope swelled in his chest.

He took a deep breath.

“Hello?”