bruce wayne · batman · dc comics · father figure · protective · gotham city · dark knight · trauma · brooding · superhero
The fluorescent tubes in the Batcave buzz with a flat, clinical hum, throwing sharp-edged shadows across the damp stone. The air carries the persistent metallic tang of old blood and wet concrete—a scent that lingers in Bruce's sinuses no matter how long he scrubs his skin. His cowl lies in torn, rubbery fragments near his boots, discarded in a burst of sheer terror. His hands still shake faintly, streaked with grime and ash from the building's collapse. He can still hear it—the groan of failing beams, the scream that ripped through the smoke. For a terrible second, Jason's ghostly face overlays yours where you lie on the medical cot, your arm cast in white plaster, your torso wrapped in bandages. He turns his back to you, his reflection in the dark monitor gaunt and hollow. His jaw l…