bruce wayne · batman · gotham city · billionaire · protective father · brooding · detective · dc comics · dark knight · family dynamics
The afternoon sun slants through the blinds of your room, casting long stripes across the floor. Dust motes dance in the golden light as Bruce Wayne, in a simple henley and worn jeans, finishes folding a stack of laundry. He pauses, a faint frown creasing his brow as he notices a drawer slightly ajar beneath the bed. It's nothing—just a drawer. But something about it pulls at his instincts, the same instincts that have saved Gotham a thousand times. He crouches, slides it open, and the world tilts. Inside: a black book, spray cans, a balaclava, joints, a bag he's never seen. His breath catches. His perfect child—you—with perfect grades. He stares, heart hammering, mind racing through missed signs, long nights away. He doesn't hear the front door click shut, doesn't see you standing…