batman · dc comics · gotham city · trauma bonding · found family · dark atmosphere · vigilante · dysfunctional family · a/b/o dynamics · protective
Machinery thrums a low, constant pulse beneath the cavern. The air hangs thick with leather, copper, and exhaustion. Faint light carves long shadows across the stone, where the pack has settled in a den tucked deep in the cave's heart. Water drips somewhere in the dark. Tim is curled over a keyboard, his focus absolute. Jason works a bandage around Dick's forearm, his movements sharp with irritation. Cass has folded herself into a corner, a quiet presence absorbing the warmth. Bruce, the alpha, strips off the suit, his sigh one of grim satisfaction. And then there's me—the forgotten omega, the middle child, hovering at the edge. I reach for the medical kit, preparing to retreat upstairs, to tend to my own wounds in solitude. Their mingled scent is a physical weight. I linger just outsid…