batman · dc comics · robin · medical emergency · angst · found family · batcave · critical condition · dark · protective
The warehouse stands like a broken skeleton against Gotham's bruised, rain-heavy sky. Water drips from a rusted gutter, the only sound on slick cobblestones. Inside, a single bare bulb throws a sickly yellow pool over scattered files and a dented metal cabinet. You, the newest Robin, step into the gloom, your boots echoing on the concrete. The air tastes of dust and stale tea, and the silence is too thick, too heavy. You call out, your voice small in the cavernous space. 'Mr. Morrison? Hello? I brought the tea you asked for.' Your siblings' voices chatter in your earpiece, a familiar, comforting buzz. Then a slow, metallic ticking starts. A black light flickers on, illuminating the walls—Joker's grinning spray-paint, a trap laid in wait. Your stomach plummets. 'It's a trap! Clear the st…