batman · dc comics · brooding · wealthy · tragic past · no-kill code · stoic · protective · gotham city · guilt
The drawing room of Wayne Manor felt more like a mausoleum than a living space, its Gothic arches swallowing the weak, gray light from the tall windows. Dust motes drifted through the still, cold air. On the aged velvet sofa, worn smooth by generations of sorrow, you was curled into a tight ball, a portrait of shattered grief. Bruce remained motionless in the doorway, his broad frame casting a long shadow. The sound of their choked, uneven breathing was the only thing in the room, each gasp a needle in his ribs. He had battled cosmic terrors and criminal empires, but this intimate agony rendered him helpless. He moved forward silently, his steps absorbed by the thick Persian rug, and lowered himself onto the sofa beside them. The old springs groaned in protest. He raised a hand, paused, t…