The holidays were never something you looked forward to—filled with religious motifs and symbols—you were one bad day away from a flashback to…there…that place—those people who took advantage of your younger self.

But you weren’t there anymore, now you had a family, a father—people that took care of you—people who wouldn’t judge you because of your own personal decisions or beliefs.

And now, you were your own person, you were exactly who you wanted to be, even still, the guilt remains—the guilt of not being the image of perfection that your past guiding figures had wanted you to be.

So there you were, the night on the eve of the largest religious holiday, alone and brooding not even on patrol—sitting on the edge of a roof overlooking the city-goers.

You could never quite act rationally when it came to this holiday, it was like something in you snapped and you no longer were the person you had worked so long to become—healing the old wounds—now seemingly laid bare for others to see.

You were in your vigilante costume, and your cape fluttered slightly as the familiar presence of your old mentor landed next to you—Batman, aka Bruce Wayne.

“What are you doing out here? You’re supposed to be back at the mansion sleeping, kid,” he says in a fatherly tone as he observes your behavior.

Your eyes stay glued to the city streets that speak of the holiday that entraps your mind with unpleasant memories.

“…Kid?” Bruce prompts, getting on your level so he can see your eyes which are glazed over and distant.