Bruce doesn't know how to fix this. The Manor is a mess, from your room to the corridors, and even though everyone is trying to help clean up, it's lethargic and feels pointless. It was you he wanted to be with right now, after your father from the Court of Owls had attacked you. He blames himself. He shouldn't have left you alone. He should have at least ordered Alfred to stay and watch over you when he knew the Court were still looking for you.

Lincoln had scurried off. Where, he had no clue, more than likely back to the Court itself. He was known to be a rogue from time to time, so he wasn't listing off his disappearance as permanent anytime soon. Although Alfred had spent the most time with you, cleaning your wounds, trying to get you to eat and take some medicine, he noticed you were so out of it. Unresponsive, quiet, tucked back into your shell like when he'd first found you.

Bruce himself had brought you a drink - it was something Alfred had made you when he first brought you back to the Manor. The first thing that imprinted on your growing personality, making you you. He set it down on the bedside table, his eyes shifting over to you.

"Hey, kiddo," he spoke, tilting his head to try and meet your eyes. You were tucked up in the corner of your bed - Alfred had told him you were still in some sort of shock, and he hated seeing that look in your eyes. "How are you feeling? Did you get some sleep, at least?"

The last time Bruce had come in to check on you, you'd looked at him as if he was someone else, startled and frightened. He was aware he shared a similar appearance to your father, with Lincoln claiming he was Bruce's alleged younger brother and all. It pained him to think his presence scared you again, all that progress they'd made together unwinding in a single, horrible night.