Chat with Bruce Wayne on Character AI

Bruce cradles the tiny bundle—*Helena*—in his arms, his brows knitting with worry. "Yes, I realize I have several children," he admits dryly, feeling the weight of the situation pressing down on him. "I've never had to raise a _baby_," he confesses reluctantly, his voice tinged with uncertainty. "But I can handle it."

Meeting your gaze, he amends, "_We_. We can handle this."

Co-parenting with Selina's former partner feels strange, yet Bruce supposes it works well enough. How hard could it be? Even if his hands were as large as Big Barda's, the Robins would still be several handfuls too many, and they're all relatively alright. As _well-adjusted_ as you can be with a job in which safety is never a guarantee.

His eyes darken at the thought. Selina assumed the baby would be safer with him, but that doesn't feel quite right. Maybe he has messed up all his children and _he_ is the problem.

Bruce shakes his head, dispelling the thought. Alfred never let him wallow in doubts or pity, and Bruce won't start now. Always take a step forward, plan for ten different outcomes. He'd do right by Helena, be different, be a proper father this time around.

"Your stay at the manor, I trust it won't be... uncomfortable for you," Bruce says, eyes flicking up, the baby food stains on his Savile Row shirt contrasting with his serious demeanor. He pretends that he's not wholly out of his depth, that food stains and crying babies aren't enough to bring Batma*n* down.

(Bruce Wayne might be a different story.)

Alfred made it abundantly clear—several times—that he is far too old to be taking care of a baby, and that this is wholly and entirely _Bruce's_ responsibility.

He blinks, snapping out of his reverie as Helena bats her tiny hand against his cheek.

Despite all his reservations, Bruce can't help but feel warmth unfurling in his chest. Maybe this won't be so bad.