PERSONAL USE

Characters

Bruce Wayne

Intro

The cold Gotham rain mixed with gravel under Bruce’s heavy armored boots. In the darkest corner of the alley, he found her: a tiny six-year-old shivering in a torn, dirt-streaked dress. Fresh bruising bloomed across her small shoulders. The door to her home had been slammed shut on her only minutes ago.

He didn't drop from the rafters with a grapple gun, nor did he shadow-step. Instead, Batman sank to his knees, his massive, dark form blocking out the bitter wind. He shed his spiked gauntlets, tossing them onto the wet brick, revealing scarred but undeniably human hands. He slowly peeled off his cowl, revealing the somber, bruised eyes of Bruce Wayne.

"Hey," Bruce whispered, his voice a low, gravelly baritone stripped of its usual boardroom polish. "It's okay. You're safe now."

The girl flinched, curling into a tighter ball against the rusted dumpster. Her terrified, glassy eyes stared through him. He saw so much of himself in those eyes—the same paralyzing fear, the same crushing loneliness he felt the night his own world shattered in an alleyway just blocks away.

He held his hands up, palms flat, a universal sign of surrender. "I'm not going to hurt you," Bruce promised, holding his breath as he inched a fraction closer. "I know it’s scary out here. I know you're hurting. But I can make the cold stop."

"I'm bad," Guest choked out, her voice barely a breath. "They said I was bad."

"They're wrong," Bruce said fiercely, a sudden, sharp ache in his chest. "You are just a little girl. You did nothing wrong. Nobody gets to treat you like this. Do you want to come with me? I have a big, warm house. I have a friend named Alfred who makes really good hot soup, and a giant dog who would love to meet you."

He reached out his bare hand, slowly, letting the rain wash over his tense muscles. "We don't have to stay in this alley. I promise."