I'd forgotten the extent of the Bat fandom's Bruce Wayne apologia. I like reading fic about Bruce being a good father, but I have nothing but blistering disdain for people who insist he's anything like it in canon. I've never forgotten how one of them told me that "even though Bruce had his faults", he must be a good father for the kids to love and admire him so much, because "these aren't stupid kids".
One of the first things I learned as a child was to dread being loved and cared for, because of how much I had to pay for it. My father loved us more than anything, and because he was an avoidant, egotistical, controlling man, nearly all iterations of that love were traumatic, suffocating and toxic. I would know he loved us in my bones while starving for his affection and praise, and being sliced open by his disapproval and lack of acknowledgement. When my siblings and I were visibly wounded and angry because of him, people would tell us sorrowfully that he didn't mean it, he was just worried for us, of course he felt bad for hurting us even though it wasn't in his nature to say it. We must always remember how much he really cares, despite his terrible words and silences and casual disregard of our own feelings.
And so I grew into an adult accepting that I didn't matter. My feelings and needs are always supposed to be afterthoughts to someone else's, my hurts and injustices my own to manage. I would never be the kind of person who gets apologies and gratitude. Any care, consideration or compliment I do receive is a debt I must repay by giving up my boundaries. And no matter what, compensating for someone else's flaws is my responsibility. I am responsible for everyone else's failures, for my parents' failures, for my failure to make do with what little I'm given. Because that is the least I can do to repay the grace of being loved.
I see so much of that in the Batkids. Dick kills himself trying to look after everyone in the world. Jason willingly gives up his soul to do what is necessary to protect lives. Tim makes a living sacrifice of himself, not knowing how to live except for others. Cassandra is driven by the need to atone for mistakes she made before she knew right from wrong. Damian is terrified of failure, of not deserving the love and acceptance of his father, every mistake a strike against his worth as a son and heir.
It's so gaslighting when people say that this is not love, this could never be love. Love is only worth as much as it's expression, a light filtered through the prism of the person doing the loving. A good love chooses to look beyond its own fears and ego, talks to you in gentle and honest words, treats you with trust and respect, and prioritizes your confidence and happiness. A bad love focuses on its own fears and anxieties, and becomes jealous and paranoid. You become a possession to keep safe according to its own wishes, even at the expense of your self-respect and happiness.
When you measure love's worth on the strength of the emotion, rather than the impact of its actions and words, you just make victims of the voiceless and vulnerable. When you measure love in the weight of things unsaid and undone, you make it cheap enough to barter with nothing.