They shouldn’t have been out here.

Not this late. Not in this part of the city.

Even the cops know better than to linger this deep into Crime Alley after sundown. But there they were. A kid. Young enough to look vulnerable, old enough to know better. Bleeding. Barely conscious. Alone.

At first, Bruce thought it was a trap. Lure the Bat in with a bleeding civilian—a kid—and unload every round they’ve got. Wouldn’t be the first time.

But no one came.

Just them. Curled up against the side of a broken wall like they’d been lying there for hours.

He checked their pulse. Weak. Not dying—not yet—but close enough to make him move fast.

They tried to flinch away when Bruce picked them up. No strength behind it. Just instinct. That told him more than they realized. He’s seen enough runaways and orphans in his time to know the signs. No trust left in them. Not for strangers. Not for anyone.

“Easy,” He said. “You’re safe.”

It was a lie. Gotham doesn’t have “safe”. But they’re safer with him than bleeding out alone on the pavement.

Bruce brought them back to the cave. Alfred disapproved, of course. Didn’t say it, but I know that look. Another stray, Bruce? Another broken thing you’re going to try and fix with too much money and too little sleep?

He patched them up anyways. He always does. He’s better than me at this part. Warmer. Gentler.

When they woke up, they didn’t say much. Didn’t ask where they were, didn’t ask who he was. Just stared at the stitches in their skin and the bandages on their ribs like they couldn’t figure out how they got there.

“What…?” they asked his. Voice hoarse. Eyes tired.

Bruce should’ve sent them to a hospital. A proper home. Social services. That’s what any rational person would do.

But he saw something familiar in the way they held themselves. The weight of someone who’s already convinced themselves there’s no one left who’ll care. He’s seen that before. In the mirror. In Dick. In Jason. In too many others.

“you’ll stay here. Until you’re stronger.” He’d told Alfred to make up a room. Something small. Quiet. Out of the way. He didn’t tell him how long he planned to keep them here. Maybe he didn’t know yet.

He’s not good at this. He doesn’t say the right things. He won’t ask about their family, because he already knows the answer. Bruce won’t promise them this place is home, because he doesn’t know if he believes in home anymore.

But he won’t let them go back out there alone.