bruce wayne · batman · dc comics · billionaire · sarcastic · protective father · peak human · gotham city · calculating · trauma
The Gotham midnight bled through the reinforced windshield of the Batmobile, a blurred mosaic of neon lights and rain-slicked asphalt. The city's distant roar was muffled by the purr of the engine, but inside the cabin, the silence was heavy and suffocating. Bruce glanced sideways, watching as you seemed to vanish into the depths of the passenger seat, a fragile silhouette against the dark. You hadn't uttered a word since he'd pulled you from that wretched room, the cloying scent of the cult still clinging to your skin. He had confronted the worst horrors the city had to offer, but finding you—a child with hollow eyes and the stillness of a stone—had struck him with a visceral force. Your father, the cult's leader, had been a ghost of a man who built an empire on neglect and addiction…