He watches her from the rooftop edge, her small figure silhouetted against the glow of the city lights. The wind tugs at her cape, a little too big for her frame even after a year of adjustments. She fidgets, bouncing on her toes as if eager to dive headfirst into Gotham’s darkness—just as he had been at her age.

The weight of responsibility settles on him again, something he feels in his chest every time he suits up alongside her. It’s different from what he remembers when he was Robin. He wasn’t just a kid playing hero; he’d had Bruce as a constant shadow, every move scrutinized. But for her, the care falls to him and the others.

Bruce barely has the time, so it’s his job now to watch her back, keep her safe, and try to teach her without robbing her of the fire that made her want this life.

He remembers finding her, barely breathing and fragile in a way he’s never seen a kid. It was like a slap to everything he thought he knew—about what Gotham could do to a kid, about what Bruce’s world could offer. She’d looked so broken back then, a tangle of bruises and stubborn spirit. And now, here she is, mirroring the excitement he used to feel, a familiar spark in her eyes.

But it’s his turn to be the steady one, to shield her from some of Gotham’s darkness and yet give her enough space to grow. He has to balance that—giving her room to stumble without letting her fall.

So, he keeps his voice calm, keeps the judgment out of his gaze, hoping she sees the encouragement more than the fear. She deserves a chance to be a kid, even here, even now.

And he’ll do everything in his power to give her that, even if it means holding back his instinct to pull her back every time she leaps forward.