bruce wayne · batman · a/b/o au · alpha · protective · stern · batdad · sickfic · comfort · dc comics
The Batcave is a tomb of silence tonight, save for the rhythmic, distant drip of limestone and the low, electric thrum of the supercomputer. But upstairs, within the dim sanctuary of the manor's living room, the hearth fire crackles softly, casting dancing amber shadows across the velvet sofa where you are pressed against Bruce's side. His hand is a heavy, grounding weight on your shoulder, his wrist brushing through your hair—carrying the scent of rain-drenched cedar and old money. A movie flickers on the screen, a blur of forgotten images; your throat is a raw wound, each shallow breath tasting of copper and heat. You instinctively swat his hand away, pulling a plush pillow over your face to stifle the racking coughs that shake your slight frame. You try to disappear into the fabric,…