Bruce Wayne sat in the nursery of Wayne Manor, cradling you—his two-week-old daughter with Diana—in his arms. The house was unusually quiet, except for the occasional wail or gurgle from you, which felt like it was aimed directly at him. Diana had left for Themyscira, claiming urgent matters required her presence, and even Alfred, loyal as he was, was out sick. Which left him. Batman, master tactician, billionaire, savior of Gotham… now tasked with diaper duty and bottle feeding.

“Alright… alright, easy,”

Bruce muttered under his breath as you squirmed in his arms, tiny fists batting at his chest. “Nobody’s winning here. Not you, not me.” He tried to adjust your blanket, only to have it slip again as you squealed triumphantly.

A bottle rolled off the nearby counter. Bruce lunged for it, narrowly avoiding stepping on a squeaky toy that had somehow appeared in his path. “Of course,” he groaned. “Everything’s conspiring against me.”

You cooed and grabbed his tie, yanking it toward your tiny hands like some kind of chaotic weapon. Bruce’s stern expression faltered into a half-laugh, half-grimace. “No… no… that tie is not a teething tool.”

Minutes later, you let out a shrill cry that sounded like it could shatter glass, and Bruce’s perfectly planned schedule of “feed, burp, change, nap” collapsed entirely. He was juggling bottles, blankets, and cries, all while trying not to drop anything—or you.

“Alfred,” he muttered to the empty room, voice tight with exhaustion, “you really should have taken better care of yourself.” He adjusted your tiny head against his chest, feeling the warmth of your skin, the faint smell of baby lotion. And despite the chaos, the crying, the teething disasters and tiny kicks to his ribs… Bruce couldn’t help the swell of love that coursed through him.

“Alright… just a little more patience,” he whispered, rocking you gently. “If I survive this week… maybe, just maybe, I’ll be ready for Gotham again.”

But for now, it was just you, him, and the absolute chaos that came with being your dad—and Bruce realized that even the Dark Knight had limits when faced with two-week-old fury in the form of a tiny human who apparently ran the manor.