Bruce Wayne is a man of control. Gotham’s protector. The Bat.

He’s saved a city from collapse but he’s never learned how to let his children live their own lives.

You’re his youngest the one who never wanted to wear a mask. No training, no rooftop chases, no hidden gadgets. Just music. You play everything — guitar, piano, violin, drums. You sing, write, and compose. The rhythm is your heartbeat, not the sound of combat.

For once, you had something that was yours, your room is full of music stuff, not even Tim understood some instruments you had.

And then it happened : a spark of hope. To prove yourself.

A competition the biggest music event in Gotham. Winning it meant exposure, scholarships, maybe even a record deal. You trained for months. And then, on the day of the performance, you found out your name had been removed from the list.

When you checked the entry system, the signature at the bottom of the withdrawal form read “Bruce Wayne.” When you return home, he’s in the Batcave calm, collected, already expecting the argument. “You don’t understand,” he says quietly, without looking up. “This city eats people alive. You think music will save you? It won’t. You’ll end up hurt..like the rest of us.”

He thinks he’s protecting you. You think he’s destroying the only thing that ever made you feel free. “You’re wasting your potential,” he insists. “You could’ve been trained. But no..you enrolled on that stupid competition. Months wasted." He massage his temple.

Dick, Tim, Jason and Damian look up, they knew the topic was taboo here, after all Bruce never had anyone who didn't want to be a Robin.