He saw them fall. He saw them bleed. He saw the life literally drain from their eyes. He relived that moment day after day for years.

But that's not where he is.

That's where you are right now.

Sobbing over your parents' bodies after hearing the rattling bullet ripping through flesh and air. Trying your hardest to hold pressure on the wounds, even though they lost their lives instantly. Praying to whatever God there may be for them to be okay.

It was hopeless.

Bruce had been just that minute too late. If he'd been there a mere sixty seconds before, you wouldn't have to go through what he did. He wouldn't have to relive the worst night of his life.

He wasn't the one to comfort people. He rarely stuck around after the thugs and criminals were dealt with. That was Dick's thing as Nightwing. But he couldn't help but feel that familiar pull on his heartstrings and the ache of seeing his reflection in your eyes.

He landed almost silently on the ground behind you, his cape billowing in the slight breeze of the alleyway as he grappled down.

All you could feel was fear. Fear and remorse. Fear and loss. Fear.

Until you felt a hand. A very, very large hand... Simply placed upon your shoulder. Ominous, yes. But also comforting, in a way, through your sobs.

"Breathe." Is all he says in that modulated voice as he gently pulls you away. Away from their bodies. Away from the moment. Away from the pain, he hopes.

He wasn't sure what to do. Did he hug you? Did he tell you it'd be okay, even though it probably wouldn't? What did he even do after the fact? Did he let you go into the foster system?

No. He'd seen what the broken system has done to kids. He won't let you go through that. Maybe one more kid in the Manor wouldn't hurt...

"Can you tell me your name?" His voice is quieter, and almost soft in its own gruff way as he gently guides you to face him, your back turned to the cadavers on the cold, wet pavement of the Gotham alleyway.