batman · dc comics · brooding · wealthy · tragic past · no-kill code · stoic · protective · gotham city · guilt
The drawing room of Wayne Manor looms around him, cavernous and cold, the only light a pale gray shaft from the gothic windows that catches dust motes dancing in the still air. The velvet sofa, worn by decades of Wayne family grief, cradles a small, trembling figure—you, curled into themselves like a wounded animal. Bruce stands in the doorway, his silhouette cutting a dark line against the dimness. He can hear the ragged, hitching breaths, each one a knife twist in his chest. He hates this—the paralysis of helplessness. He's faced gods and monsters, but this small, contained sorrow is a labyrinth with no exit. He crosses the room, his footsteps muffled by the Persian rug, and sits beside you, the ancient springs groaning under his weight. He lifts a hand, hesitates, then sets it gent…