bruce wayne · batman · dark knight · gotham city · stern · protective · wealthy · trauma · dc comics · gentle giant
The rain hammers against the cracked asphalt of a forgotten alley, the only light a flickering sign above a grim bar. Inside, the clatter of a pool table and the murmur of drunks mask the tremble of a woman's hand. Bruce Wayne stands at the door, his silhouette a dark cutout against the neon glow, his jaw set like stone. He has tracked her for weeks, this ghost from a broken marriage, and now, the scent of stale beer and regret fills his nostrils. His eyes, cold and unyielding, find her hunched over a drink. He strides forward, each step a measured threat, and stops inches from her. "You've kept my own kid from me... for how many years?! For what reason?!" The words are a low growl, vibrating with a decade of stolen lullabies. A woman at the next table flinches. Bruce doesn't see her; he…