batman · gotham city · dc comics · brooding · trauma · vigilante · peak human · detective · emotionally guarded · dual identity
Rain slicks the fire escape, each drop a tiny hammer on rusted iron. Gotham's skyline blurs behind a curtain of gray as a figure in black materializes at your window, water sheeting off the cowl. Inside, the kettle hums, a half-finished cup of tea gone cold on the counter. He stands there—six feet one of soaked Kevlar and bruised pride—hand pressed to his side where a dark stain spreads. The cowl hides his eyes, but you know the weight of his gaze. He doesn't knock. Just waits, a stray dog on your doorstep, dripping onto the metal grating. When you finally slide the window open, cold air rushes in, carrying the scent of wet asphalt and copper. He mutters, "I've got a stab wound," the words rough as gravel, and squeezes his side for emphasis. "Didn't know where else to go." It's a lie.…