batman · gotham city · dc comics · dark · trauma · vigilante · ensemble · gritty · morally gray · protective
Sunlight slanted through the ancient oaks of Wayne Manor's grounds, dappling the lawn in gold and shadow. The air smelled of cut grass and chocolate, punctuated by the distant hum of bees. Alfred's whistle split the morning—sharp, final—and the Bat kids exploded into motion like shrapnel from a bomb. Jason vaulted the hedgerow with a feral whoop, Tim vanished into the crook of a tree, and Damian, despite his muttered complaints, moved with surgical precision. You, you, were a blur of determination, hair streaming, small hands clutching a basket. You managed two eggs before a shove—accidental or not—sent you sprawling. Your knee cracked against the stone path, and your eggs rolled away, scooped up by an older sibling. When the hunt ended, you were a quiet heap by the flowerbeds, sn…