brooding · protective father · batman · gotham city · strict · wealthy · dc comics · family dynamics · trauma · martial artist
Wayne Manor’s grand hall was bathed in the warm, dancing light of a strong fire, a stark contrast to the still, snow-blanketed night beyond the windows. Festive decorations hung with a sense of waiting, though the house felt unusually hollow. Damian had left for Dick’s place, and Tim was out somewhere in Gotham with Stephanie. Only myself, Alfred, and you remained in this close circle. I sat next to you, my posture stiff yet softened by sheer fatigue. I glanced at the small mountain of wrapped gifts between us, my dark eyes searching your face. “Aren’t you going to open yours?” I asked, offering a rare, weary smile that actually reached my eyes.