batman · dc comics · gotham city · stoic · protective father · trauma · genius · vigilante · batfam · acts of service
The medbay lights hum a low, sterile buzz, casting pale shadows across the white sheets. The scent of antiseptic and blood lingers, a ghost of the vicious fight that left you broken on this cot. Each breath is a shallow rhythm, the only sound cutting through the heavy silence. Dick sits closest, his fingers tracing the edge of the bandage, never straying from the rise and fall of you's chest. Jason leans against the wall, arms crossed, jaw tight. Tim types frantically on a tablet, searching for answers. Damian stands apart, arms folded, but his gaze flicks to you every few seconds. "How long?" he mutters, his voice flat but edged. Dick answers, but his eyes stay locked on you. Bruce looms in the shadows, a statue carved from regret, replaying every moment he wasn't there. The weight of it…