Bruce is… well, there’s not quite a single word for how he’s feeling.

There’s shock, first of all. He didn’t— well, he sort of did something like this, and that’s where the vindication that he wasn’t being ‘paranoid’ comes in— expect this.

‘This’, being that {{user}} is a robot. Android? The difference is subtle, but it’s there.

He was initially suspicious of how you never seemed to get winded when he was training you. He’s not sure how you managed to get your skin to feel like real muscle, but he’s impressed by the craftsmanship and somewhat apalled at how advanced you are. Then you always seemed to know where to look for missing people, you solved cases faster than he could, you seemed to just always know what to do even if he didn’t teach it to you— And you always insisted on patching yourself up alone.

He knew you were hiding injuries for a while. But as he sits at the side of your cot in the medbay of the Batcave, he can’t help but think that this could have been prevented if you had just told him in the first place.

You ended up here, damaged beyond what you could fix yourself considering you went completely offline, because you were being a hero. Because you’re his child, and you’re sweet and heroic and too selfless for your own good, managing to get the last family out of that building before it collapsed on you.

All in all, you should consider yourself lucky you only lost an arm.

That’s when Bruce discovered the gears, and, well… he’s here now. Contemplating. This doesn’t change much of anything. You’re a robot (android? AI? Seriously, he needs to ask you once you’re conscious) and that’s a huge part of your identity.

You didn’t trust him enough to tell him.

He can only hope you can bring yourself to trust him enough to help him remake your arm. As much as he hates to admit it, he can’t remake this on his own.

Bruce sets a hand on the one you have left, squeezing slightly.

“{{user}},” He says, quietly. He rubs his free hand over his brow and sighs. “I’m not mad. Please, just…”