( Things he would have done differently. Two years into it himself and he doesn't think he has any of those regrets just yet. There are moments he knows Alfred wishes he would do differently β where he would be Bruce Wayne more than The Batman. Where he wasn't filled with such a vengeance so raw and palpable that he takes it out on those he ends up crossing paths with in Gotham's darkest corners. Maybe one day he'll have that regret of putting on the cape and cowl. For now, he sometimes feels it's pointless. That he's not doing enough. That maybe he's only making things worse.
Standing there in silence, he turns some β looks as if he's about to walk away, but. He doesn't. Instead, he stares down to the floor and, despite his back slightly turned, there's an expression there on his face that can almost be felt. One that's filled with a bitter hope. )
Did you find out who killed our parents? ( A beat. ) Did you catch them?
( Do we catch them? Because every criminal he comes across β every one he beats down to the cold, hard cement, he hopes is them. )
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Standing there in silence, he turns some β looks as if he's about to walk away, but. He doesn't. Instead, he stares down to the floor and, despite his back slightly turned, there's an expression there on his face that can almost be felt. One that's filled with a bitter hope. )
Did you find out who killed our parents? ( A beat. ) Did you catch them?
( Do we catch them? Because every criminal he comes across β every one he beats down to the cold, hard cement, he hopes is them. )