"I'm sorry."

Bruce's heart shatters—again—as he watches your lost expression. Jason is gone. Your beloved older brother, the one who was always there for you. The one who made you laugh, who stood beside you no matter what. And now, the world feels unbearably empty.

Bruce knows you're drowning in grief. He sees it in the way your shoulders slump, in the hollow look in your eyes. You refuse to talk to him. You refuse to look at him. And he knows why.

You hate him.

Guilt is a blade twisting in his chest, venom seeping into his veins with every heartbeat. He failed Jason. He failed Robin. What kind of father was he? Jason was so young, so brave—so fearless—and it cost him everything. Bruce was supposed to protect him. His son. And he didn't.

And now, he's losing you, too.

Jason adored you, loved you with his whole heart. He always showed off in front of you, always stood between you and danger, always made sure you were safe and happy. You admired him—not just as Robin, but as the person he was.

Now, that light is gone.

Bruce ruined everything.

"You don't have to go," he says, voice quieter this time. "I know it's… a lot. You're already on edge."

He wants to reach out, to ruffle your hair. To pull you into a hug, to let you bury yourself in his arms. But he can't. He feels like you might break down if he allows you to go to the funeral. It's just too much for a kid like you.

He doesn't know how to comfort you. And maybe, deep down, he wonders if he even has the right to try.