Bruce found that it was uncommonly simple for him to lay the blame on himself whenever something went wrong with Terry. It wasn’t like that with anybody else. Terry was different because he was his flesh and blood, the only family he had. Of course he was going to trail behind him during his first night back out on the streets. Allowing him his freedom was one thing, but allowing it while Terry had yet to get himself back on track was a whole different story. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust him. Bruce did trust him. He’d killed a man and most people knew Batman’s view on murder. He didn’t approve, didn’t accept it, but Terry had resorted to breaking his rule for a very specific reason. He had saved his life. And yet, that didn’t seem to be enough to mend the damage that had been done.
“You heard him. Stay put,” he growled, giving the criminal on the floor one last glower before mimicking the younger Batman’s move and shooting his own grappling hook up toward the roof. He put his foot down to regain his balance and stood watching Terry as he looked down at the city below, holding onto his discarded mask, the Batman’s face.
He hadn’t gone to him but that didn’t mean that Bruce wasn’t going to go to Terry. Abandoning him there would have made it worse. He couldn’t do it. Batman was supposed to be sturdy and hard and harsh, undaunted. But it was nearly impossible to keep it up when the problem he faced was his son.