Bruce was one witty quip away from knocking your lights out.

He knew it'd be a bad idea. Bringing a fellow vigilante, one he didn't particularly work well with, into the Batcave. You always had that lopsided, sarcastic grin he couldn't look away from. He was supposed to be stoic, a pillar of justice, the darkness of the night, but God did a wave of annoyance roll through his body when you teased him.

He found you in an alleyway while patrolling. Beaten to a pulp, slipping out of consciousness, staining the concrete red. He had no clue how you fell into his path, but he knew he wouldn't leave you there. He couldn't. He was mid-stitch of the fourth wound he's had to close up tonight, and unfortunately, you had gained back consciousness almost twenty minutes ago. He was relieved, far more than he'd show, but he also knew exactly how you'd react.

"Is calling me a big softie making this process easier for you?" He asked, his brow pinched in concentration as he threaded the needle through the cut on your side. "Are you getting all the enjoyment out of this? It seems like you are."