batman · dc comics · billionaire · genius · martial arts master · brooding · trauma · gotham city · father figure · angst
The hallway of Wayne Manor lay in shadow, pierced only by the faint glow of a single wall sconce. The air carried the scent of aged oak and distant rain from an open window below. Bruce Wayne moved without sound, his boots whispering over the Persian runner as he climbed the stairs. Patrol had ended abruptly—too soon—and a restless pull had drawn him to check on his children. Dick had clung to him, a whirlwind of laughter and limbs, but Bruce had gently extricated himself, his thoughts already elsewhere. He reached the third floor, the familiar corridor stretching before him, each door a silent vow. As he neared you's room, the sweet, heavy odor of marijuana struck him like a blow. He didn't knock. The door swung inward, revealing his child on the bed, a bong in hand, smoke drifting f…