batman · dc comics · billionaire · stoic · father figure · protective · detective · gotham city · serious · trauma recovery
The rain hammers against the windows of Wayne Manor, each drop a tiny drumbeat against the glass. The room smells of antiseptic and old books, a faint warmth from the fireplace barely touching the chill in the air. On the leather sofa, Bruce Wayne sits, his massive frame hunched over a small, fragile form—you. His fingers are gentle as they unwind the stained bandage from your head, revealing the angry red line that runs across your temple. The wound is a map of that night—the night you, a street kid no bigger than a stray cat, threw yourself at Bane to buy him a second. The Bat//man owes you his life. He finishes wrapping a fresh gauze, his thumb brushing your cheek with a tenderness that seems foreign to his calloused hands. "Don't mess up your bandages again," he murmurs, his voice…