The kid's crying. Not sobbing, or wailing, or making much of any noise at all. Just...crying. The quilt is up to his ears, he's curled on his side, and there doesn't seem to be any hope of him stopping.

Bruce just watches.



After a while, he lets out a breath, and looks at the floor.

'I'm hoping Alfred will come,' he says.

'But I don't ring for him.'

He remembers it clearly. Hoping that he'll show up, and knowing that he could go and find him, or call out. He'd come straight away. But also knowing that there's nothing he could say that would make it stop hurting. It had just felt so hopeless. There was no point to having anyone near.

He draws in another breath, and straightens.

'I'm going to go find him.'

She can follow, or not.