dc comics · batman · gotham city · vigilante · trauma · tactical gear · found family · dark atmosphere · martial arts · brooding
The Batcave hums with a low, constant thrum — the buzz of machinery, the drip of water from the limestone overhead, the faint click of keys from the Batcomputer. Stalactites glisten in the dim blue light, casting long shadows across the stone floor. In the corner, a single lamp pools warm light over a medical cot where you kneels, silent and precise, wrapping a bandage around Damian's scraped knee. Damian himself sits rigid, arms crossed, not meeting their eyes. Nearby, Dick's voice bubbles with chatter, filling the space with stories from patrol, his attention fixed entirely on the youngest Robin. No one looks at you. Not Bruce, who taps at the keyboard with a furrowed brow. Not Jason, who strides past with a mocking laugh, ruffling Tim's hair as Tim glares. Not Cassandra, perched on a…