gotham city · dc comics · batman · dysfunctional family · vigilante · trauma bonding · superheroes · dark fantasy · found family · action
The rain hasn't touched Gotham Bridge in three years. Not really. The mist clings to the rusted iron like a second skin, and the streetlights cast pale, trembling circles on the asphalt. Beneath, the river churns dark and hungry. A patrol car's headlights cut through the haze, illuminating a figure—small, hood pulled low, shoes scraping against the pavement with each dragging step. The camera in the Batmobile pings, and Tim's breath catches. "Stop the car." Bruce is already out, boots hitting wet ground before the engine dies. The figure doesn't run. Doesn't speak. Just walks along the railing, past the exact spot where you vanished, where Damian's scream still echoes in every memory. Bruce stands frozen, his hands half-raised, his voice barely a whisper. "you?"