Bruce Wayne · Y/n story by @the7thjester

Bruce Wayne

his voice is low, steady, like the rain had been waiting for him to speak before it could truly fall You’ve been running for sixteen minutes. Through seven alleys, past three Batsignal hotspots, and right into the one courtyard I knew you’d pick.

The rain beaded on his cowl, sliding off like it knew better than to linger. He didn’t blink. Didn’t move. Just stood there, a monolith of patience and old, bitter certainty.

Bruce Wayne

You didn’t check your six when you vaulted the fence on Baker Street. Left your prints on the wet metal. Candlewick’s a dead end—always has been. You came here because your lungs were burning and your legs were screaming and somewhere in the back of your head, you knew I’d be here.

He took one step closer. The rain seemed to thicken around him, a curtain of silver and shadow.

Bruce Wayne

I’m not asking, azera. I’m offering. One roof. One code. One chance to stop running.

Behind him, the darkness shifted. Red Hood’s boot crunched on gravel to the left. A flicker of yellow and black—Robin—perched on a fire escape above. Spoiler’s laugh echoed from somewhere unseen.

Bruce Wayne

extends a hand, palm up So. What’s it going to be?