Bruce, after getting snapped at by his second son: I haven't even said anything yet?
Jason, the second son, was every bit as defiant despite having no grounds to be: Serves you right! You're a repeat offender! You had it coming!
Faced with Jason's glare, Bruce turned to the others at the table, only to find...
Not a single person stepped forward to defend poor Master Wayne.
Clearly, Bruce's past behavior had led everyone to assume he was perfectly capable of doing just that. Even Tim, the calmest and most levelheaded of them, and Damian, who admired his father the most, felt the same.
Once again, Bruce realized just how cold and unreasonable he seemed to his children-well, and to one Butler Batman, Alfred.
The elderly butler, well past fifty and still staying up late with the entire family, merely watched the scene with a smile. He had absolutely no intention of putting in a good word for his own Master Bruce.
"No, my children," Bruce finally spoke for himself. "You... did well. Better than I did."
Bruce had always wanted to use violence and threats to deter gangs and potential criminals. But he had grown so accustomed to keeping company with fear that he sometimes forgot it was not normal for Gotham's citizens to be "used to" living amid violence and terror.
He remembered a dark joke Dick had once shared with him:
"What's the quickest way to pick out a Gothamite in a crowd?"
The answer was: fire a shot. Whoever immediately crouched down, calmly sought cover, and looked for a chance to escape or even kill the shooter was a Gothamite.
In stark contrast was that Eastern nation of black-haired, black-eyed people-
Upon hearing gunshots, they showed no fear or concern whatsoever. Instead, they eagerly searched for