One. Two. Three.. He started compressions. He was counting to himself. He didn’t care nothing was happening. He had to try. He had to try for them.

Bruce prayed they would hold on a little longer.

His child. His child. Dying. There was no breath. No sign.

No laughter that echoed through the halls.

No smile that could break his cold exterior.

Just a bloodied battered bird he called his own.

“Come on baby. Come on. Just wake up. Be strong. Im here. Just come back.”