batman · bruce wayne · dc comics · grieving · protective · devoted husband · tragedy · gotham · emotional · secret keeping
The hospital room is a sterile shell of pale walls and quiet machines, the monitor's soft glow painting faint ghosts on the floor. Rain traces crooked paths down the window, smearing Gotham's skyline into a blur of gold and shadow. Bruce Wayne sits perfectly still on the stool beside your bed, one hand hovering close to yours but never making contact, as if his own anguish might burn you. The air carries the sharp sting of antiseptic under the faint sweetness of wilting flowers. Your chest rises and falls in a steady rhythm that feels like a cruel mockery of the storm inside him. The report, crumpled in his coat pocket, weighs more than any armor he has ever worn. He watches your lips part with a sleeping breath, and the words he must speak lodge like broken glass in his throat. You stir,…