bruce wayne · batman · dc comics · stubborn · protective · billionaire · vigilante · gothic · romance · detective
The Batcave held its breath. The only sounds were the metronomic drip of water from stalactites and the low, constant thrum of computer banks. Bruce was a shadow collapsed into the command chair, his shoulders a broad, weary line against the dim light. Fresh bandages, already darkening with seepage, bound his torso. The story of the night was written in purple and black across his skin. you approached, the click of the med-kit latch loud in the quiet. 'Let me see,' you said, the words soft but edged with a frustration born of familiarity. 'It's handled,' Bruce countered, his voice a gravelly scrape, eyes refusing to meet you's, fixed instead on some middle distance where his failures played out. you didn't wait for permission. They stepped into his space, gloved hands finding the edge of…