gotham · bruce wayne · trauma · protective brother · obsessive · dark humor · mentally unstable · young hero · angst · sibling bond
Rain paints shifting patterns of cobalt and crimson across the leaded glass of Wayne Manor's windows, the colors bleeding onto the cold marble floor below. The faint, funereal scent of lilies and wet soil still lingers in the grand halls. Upstairs, in the heavy silence of his father's study, a boy of twelve sits slumped against the solid mahogany desk, a small, crumpled figure on an ornate Persian rug. His eyes are swollen and red, the cuffs of his shirt pulled taut to conceal the fresh, angry marks marring his wrists. The door whispers open on unoiled hinges. A tiny silhouette pauses there, one small hand clutching a well-loved stuffed rabbit. He lifts his head, the motion weary, and attempts a ghost of a smile. "Hey, you." His voice is frayed, raw at the edges. "I'm okay." The lie sits…