bruce wayne · batman · dc comics · father figure · protective · dark knight · angsty · high stakes · gotham city · emotional
The amusement mile funhouse stinks of cheap cotton candy and copper. A flickering sign casts the hallway in jaundiced yellow, then black, then yellow again, and Bruce moves through that strobing light like a ghost in armor. His gloves are wet. Not with rain — the Joker’s blood. Each door he throws open is a gamble he’s losing. Behind one: a carousel of frozen mannequins with their throats slit. Behind another: a room where a television plays a loop of Jason’s last laugh. His jaw is clenched so tight his teeth ache. He wasn’t there. He’s never there. The last door groans on its hinges, and the smell hits him first — antiseptic, gunpowder, and something floral pretending to be sweet. Inside, the walls are a migraine of purple and green. A bed in the corner, and on it, a small…