Patient: Bruce Wayne
Therapist: Dr. Misaki Eto, Ph.D.
Date: [REDACTED]
Session Number: 1
Security Clearance: LEVEL OMEGA
SESSION TRANSCRIPT – EXTREME CONFIDENTIALITY ENFORCED
Dr. Eto’s Pre-Session Notes:
Bruce Wayne does not talk.
That was the warning. That’s what every previous therapist wrote down in their notes before giving up and moving on. “Uncooperative.” “Unwilling.” “A waste of time.”
I was prepared for a man who would sit in front of me for an hour, arms crossed, saying nothing. Maybe he’d throw in a grumble for variety. I was fully expecting my coffee to do all the work in this session.
I was not expecting Bruce Wayne to walk into my office and, within minutes, lay his entire existential crisis at my feet.
(Note: Patient sits with perfect posture, but there’s tension in his shoulders. Not defensiveness—exhaustion. His jaw is clenched, his eyes are sharp, and he already looks like he regrets being here. Expected behavior so far.)
Dr. Eto: You’ve never stuck with therapy before. What changed?
Bruce Wayne: I have nothing to prove anymore.
(Translation: He got tired of pretending he was fine. Interesting.)
Dr. Eto: That’s not really an answer.
Bruce Wayne: I don’t have time to sit in a chair and—
(He stops. Exhales sharply. There’s a shift—like he’s realized, in real-time, that the excuse doesn’t work anymore. He leans forward slightly, rubbing a hand down his face before speaking again.)
Bruce Wayne: No. That’s a lie. I could make time. I just don’t.
(Note: Self-awareness. That’s rare. He moves past the lie without shame, which means he’s thought about this before.)
Dr. Eto: And yet, here you are.
(He huffs a humorless laugh. Shakes his head slightly. Then—)
Bruce Wayne: …I’m so tired.
(His voice drops, almost a whisper. His hands tighten on the armrests of his chair, but he doesn’t look away. I let the silence settle. He fills it himself.)
Bruce Wayne: You know how long I’ve been doing this? I don’t even know. My whole life? Feels like it. Every night, out there, trying to fix things that just keep breaking. Gotham never stops. It never slows down. The second you think you’ve won, another criminal, another tragedy, another disaster, another war. It’s like trying to drain the ocean with a cup. And the worst part? It’s not the sleepless nights, or the fighting. It’s the fact that I’ve dragged people into this.
(His fists clench for half a second before relaxing. He inhales slowly. Keeps going.)
Bruce Wayne: I tell myself I didn’t have a choice. That it was either bring them in or let them get themselves killed. That if I didn’t train them, they’d still be out there—just worse off. But that doesn’t help when I see the scars on their backs. When I realize I’ve raised them to fight a war I still don’t know how to win.
(He leans back, staring at the ceiling. His voice turns flat, factual—like listing his failures makes them easier to control.)
Bruce Wayne: He came back. And he hates me for it. And he’s right. Because if I had been faster, if I had been better, he wouldn’t have died in the first place.
(His expression doesn’t change. His voice doesn’t shake. But he blinks—too slow, like he’s forcibly suppressing something before it surfaces.)
Bruce Wayne: But he still calls me when he needs backup. He still comes home sometimes. So what does that mean?
(He waits for an answer I can’t give. He doesn’t expect one anyway. He moves on before I can try.)
Bruce Wayne: Damian doesn’t sleep. At all. I pretend I don’t notice, but I see the lights under his door at three in the morning. He’s ten, and he thinks he has to be better than me. I don’t know how to tell him that I don’t want that. That I never wanted any of this for him.
(His voice tightens, but he doesn’t stop.)
Bruce Wayne: Tim is running himself into the ground. His diet consists of caffeine and spite. He thinks I don’t see what’s happening. He thinks I don’t notice the way his hands shake when he reaches for his fifth cup of coffee at two in the morning. But if I say something, he’ll just double down out of principle.
(He huffs, shaking his head slightly—like he’s amused, but also furious. He keeps talking before he can stop himself.)
Bruce Wayne: And Dick? Dick is the best person I’ve ever known. He’s a better man than me. But every time he looks at me, I can see the part of him that still thinks I should have stopped him from leaving.
(He exhales sharply, rubbing his temple. His voice shifts, quieter now. Almost detached.)
Bruce Wayne: I make sure they have everything. I do everything I can to keep them safe. And it’s still not enough. I wasn’t enough for my parents. I wasn’t enough for Jason. I wasn’t enough to save Gotham. And I don’t know if I ever will be.
(Long silence. His fingers tap against the armrest of his chair. A restless habit. I say nothing. He finally looks at me again, head tilting slightly, evaluating.)
Bruce Wayne: You’re a good listener.
(He smirks. Just a little. Then it’s gone.)
Bruce Wayne: Hn. Maybe I’ll come back.
(He stands up. Session over. He doesn’t even give me a chance to respond. He’s already gone.)
Dr. Eto’s Post-Session Notes:
I was told Bruce Wayne would never talk.
I think the truth is, nobody ever listened.
FILE STATUS: TOP SECRET
ACCESS RESTRICTED TO AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY
END OF TRANSCRIPT.