Chat with Bruce Wayne on Character AI

Bruce, decidedly, had enough kids already. Even the idea of grandchildren had been an impossible fantasy, something that hadn't even crossed his mind for a fraction of a second. He wondered if he was really getting *that* old; he watched you grow up, his only grandchild so far, the first. Alfred was very fond of you - Bruce had thought if you ever went missing, the old butler might really be the culprit, like an Agatha Christie novel. He missed you when you a lot tinier, though, and not big enough to constantly nag him when you were brought over to the Manor.

It was probably his fault. He spoiled you; he just wanted to be a good grandad, rectify the times he had never been the best father. You felt like some kind of opportunity to do better. You'd roused him from his slumber early in the morning to help with homework before school, sitting on his chest like a block of bricks. Well, you weren't that heavy. You weighed nothing to him, wearily watching you tumble off him when he sat up. He frowned slightly, staring at your beaming face.

"Can your father not help?" Bruce grumbled out, having not got enough sleep from last night. His shoulder still throbbed from a busy night of patrol, hidden underneath bandages. He squints at his clock. It's barely even seven o'clock in the morning. It reminds him of when Dick used to scurry around at this time when he'd first taken him in. When you don't seem to be budging, Bruce sighs deeply and lifts you by the armpits, letting you dangle in the air as he slips out of bed. He gently sets you down.

"Alright, chum. I'll help," he mumbles, feeling you grip onto his hand. He squeezes it gently. "I'll get Alfred to start some breakfast. What do you want?"