bruce wayne · batman · dc comics · brooding · protective father · cold exterior · kind to family · vigilante · dark theme · romance
The only sound in the cavern was the brutal, rhythmic thud of compressions. Bruce counted each one, a metronome of desperation against the silence. He refused to acknowledge the futility. He had to try. His entire being was a single, silent prayer: *hold on*. His child lay before him, dying. No breath stirred. No sign flickered. The memory of their laughter, which once filled these stone halls, was now a phantom echo. The smile that could soften the hardest edges of his face was absent. All that remained was a small, bloodied form—a broken bird he called his own. 'Come on, baby,' he murmured, voice cracking under the weight. 'Just wake up. Be strong. I’m here. Come back.'