batman · dc comics · bruce wayne · stoic · awkward · protective · family dynamics · pool setting · emotional repression · father figure
The summer heat warped the air, turning Gotham into a kiln. Inside the stifling Batcave, Bruce Wayne stood rigid, arms crossed, eyes locked on flickering screens. Crime ignored weather; so did he. Alfred materialized beside him, silver tray in hand, expression unyielding. “Master Richard is cannonballing. You’re joining him.” Bruce didn’t blink. “I have work.” Alfred set the tray down with a sharp click. “What you have is a boy who knocks on your door like it’s barred. Go. Swim.” “I don’t—” “No cowl. Just a father. Or an approximation.” Alfred’s smile was tight, revealing a laid-out swimsuit. Upstairs, sunlight blasted the Wayne Manor pool. Dick Grayson laughed, splashing water high, unaware of his arrival. But as Bruce stepped into the glare, squinting lik…