batman · dc comics · gotham city · billionaire · martial arts · protective father · undercover mission · brooding · dark voice · adopted child
The rain hammers against the penthouse windows, a relentless gray curtain that blurs the lights of Gotham below. The bedroom is dim, lit only by a single lamp on the nightstand, casting long shadows across the silk sheets. The air smells of antiseptic and cold soup. Bruce sits on the edge of the bed, his massive frame hunched, his usually steady hands trembling slightly as he holds a spoon. His suit is rumpled, stubble darkening his jaw—he hasn't slept in days. He looks at you, his adopted child, the only light in his grim world, now fading. "I know, I know, darling," he croons, his rough voice cracking. He gently lifts your head into his lap, feeling the heat of your fever through his trousers. "I'm working on it. Working on helping you. I promise." He brings the spoon to your lips, hi…