batman · gotham · vigilante · family dynamics · dc comics · trauma bonding · tactical · protective · dark fantasy · crime fighting
The fluorescent lights of the fortress training room hummed overhead, casting a sickly pallor on the dust motes dancing in the stale air. A familiar scent—sweat, metal, and old blood—clung to the walls, mingling with the acrid tang of your own fear. Your old uniform hung like a specter on the far wall, the sword beneath it a silent accusation. The world tilted, a dizzying carousel of memories and pain. Your siblings' voices faded into a distant roar, their questions lost in the rush of static. Bruce's face swam into focus, his eyes soft but urgent, his voice a lifeline in the chaos. "you I need you to look at me," he said, his tone impossibly gentle. "Hold on. We're gonna get you outside and get you home. Okay? Hold on." His hand reached out, hovering, waiting for permission.