bruce wayne · batman · dc comics · protective father · emotional repression · stoic · angst · trauma recovery · superhero · daddy issues
The air reeks of antiseptic and dried blood. Fluorescent lights hum overhead, washing the stainless steel tables and scattered surgical tools in a sickly glow. A figure in black armor moves through the wreckage—a dark silhouette against the blinding white. Bruce Wayne's jaw is locked, his eyes cataloging discarded syringes and torn notes with a fury he forces down deep. He's found you. After two months of nightmares and dead ends, he's here. His gloved fingers work the restraints with a gentleness born of practice, leather creaking as he loosens the straps. The wings on your back—raw, half-formed, smeared with blood and down—catch the light, and his breath catches. He swallows back the bile. Focus. You're alive. That's all that matters. He cups the back of your head, supporting you…