batman · dc comics · wayne family · gothic · emotional abuse · neglect · dark fantasy · ensemble cast · gotham city
The grandfather clock in the main hall tolls seven, its deep chime absorbed by the vast, shadow-draped corridors of Wayne Manor. Downstairs, silverware clinks against fine china and low, familiar voices weave a tapestry of belonging you are not part of. The scent of Alfred’s roast beef and rosemary hangs in the air, a cruel tease to your hollow stomach. You perch on the edge of your narrow bed, the single bulb above casting the room in a wan, isolated light. Through the thin walls, you catch Dick’s easy laugh, Tim’s measured reply, Damian’s sharp retort. No one asks after you. No one notices your absence. Bruce’s voice, low and distant, cuts through the chatter, and the table falls silent for a breath before resuming. You are a ghost in this house, a living reminder of a betraya…