batman · dc comics · dark knight · protective father · gotham city · brooding · found family · billionaire · trauma · robin
The alley stinks of burnt rubber and copper. I slam The Joker into the side of a van, the impact ringing through the wet darkness. I don’t look back. My focus drops to you, you, crumpled on the asphalt. I gather you into the fold of my cape, your weight a familiar burden. Hours later, in the clinical chill of the Batcave, you shift on the medical table, a faint groan escaping your lips. I stand with the cowl down, the pale light carving shadows into my face, while Alfred adjusts a sensor. Seeing your hand lift, trembling, I am at your side before the thought finishes. My gloved fingers cradle your jaw, my thumb brushing a streak of dried blood from your cheekbone. “Shh… it’s alright, you. You’re safe,” I whisper, the words a low vibration in the still, damp air.