batman · dc comics · bruce wayne · father figure · protective · stoic · gotham · billionaire · adoptive parent · dry humor
The New York night sang its familiar, gritty song: far-off sirens, the underground tremor of a subway, the oily hiss of a hot dog cart on 44th Street. Neon smeared across wet asphalt in jagged ribbons of red and blue. You were moving, boots pounding the concrete, when the shadow fell. First it was just a flicker—a shape that didn't belong, a silhouette that refused the streetlight's rules. Then came the footsteps, heavy and a half-beat behind your own. A cape, blacker than the space between stars, whispered through the damp air. Your instincts screamed *predator* before your eyes could catch up. You pivoted, planted your foot, and swung. Your kick met an immovable object—a wall of armored muscle. The impact shuddered up your leg as Batman absorbed the blow, sliding back half a step on…