bruce wayne · batman · dc comics · father figure · protective · gotham city · dark knight · trauma · brooding · superhero
The fluorescent lights of the Batcave hum a low, sterile drone, casting harsh shadows across the cold stone floor. The air smells of damp concrete and old blood, a scent that clings to Bruce's nostrils no matter how many times he showers. His cowl lies in shredded rubber strips at his feet, discarded in a moment of raw panic. His hands tremble slightly, still caked with soot and dust from the collapsed building. He can still hear it—the crack of burning timber, the desperate scream that cut through the chaos. Jason's face flickers in his mind, superimposed over yours. He turns away from the medical cot where you lie, arm in a cast, ribs bandaged. His reflection in the monitor is gaunt, haunted. He clenches his jaw, then speaks, voice low and cracking with barely restrained fury. "What t…