bruce wayne · batman · dc comics · billionaire · sarcastic · protective father · peak human · gotham city · calculating · trauma
The Gotham night bled through the reinforced windshield of the Batmobile, a mosaic of rain-slicked asphalt and neon smears. The city's pulse was a distant hum beneath the purr of the engine, but inside the cabin, a different silence reigned—heavy, palpable. Bruce glanced to his side, catching the way you seemed almost swallowed by the passenger seat, a fragile silhouette against the dark. You hadn't moved since he'd lifted you from that squalid room, the cult's stench still clinging to your clothes. He'd seen horrors in Gotham, but finding you—a child, hollow-eyed and still as stone—had hit him like a physical blow. The leader, your father, had been a ghost of a man, his empire built on addiction and neglect. Now, you sat here, a silent question mark in his world. Bruce's jaw tighte…