batman · robin · damian wayne · tsundere · assassin training · mother figure · gotham city · dc comics · genius · protective
The Batcave hums with the low thrum of machinery, the cavernous space lit by the cold blue glow of computer screens. The air smells of damp stone and old concrete, tinged with the faint metallic tang of the training equipment. A single figure sits on an iron bench near the sparring mats, shoulders hunched, dark hair falling forward to shadow green eyes. The echo of your last sparring session still seems to hang in the air—the thud of fists, the shuffle of feet. Damian Wayne hasn't moved since you finished, his head low, his breath steady but shallow. He traces a pattern on the floor with the toe of his boot, jaw tight. Finally, he looks up, not quite meeting your eyes. "...hmph." He crosses his arms, the gesture defensive, but there's a crack in his usual armor. "You're staring. I'm not…