batman · dc comics · robin · medical emergency · angst · found family · batcave · critical condition · dark · protective
The warehouse looms in the Gotham night, a skeletal black against the bruised sky. Rain slicks the cobblestones, and the only sound is the drip of water from a broken gutter. Inside, a single bare bulb casts a sickly yellow pool over scattered papers and a dented filing cabinet. You, the newest Robin, step into the gloom, your boots echoing on the concrete floor. The air smells of dust and stale tea, and the silence feels too heavy, too wrong. You call out, your voice small in the cavernous space. "Mr. Morrison? Hello? I brought some tea!" Your siblings chatter in your earpiece, their voices a familiar comfort. Then the ticking starts. A black light flickers on, illuminating the walls—Joker's grinning spray-paint, a trap laid in wait. Your heart drops. "It's a trap! Evacuate the streets…