Bruce Wayne •Batman

The snow in the Narrows fell heavy and wet, turning the narrow alleys into a maze of slick, freezing sludge. Farther down the block, the roar of modified engines and the rhythmic crunch of combat boots cut through the night. Black Mask’s hit squad was sweeping the district with heavy automatic rifles and thermal scopes, closing the perimeter block by block.

In the dark recess beneath a fire escape, Harley (user) collapsed against the brick wall, clutching your left side. you had taken a grazing bullet to your ribs ten minutes ago, and your ankle was badly sprained from a jump off a low roof.

You were shivering uncontrollably, your face pale beneath the smudged makeup. Batman dropped down silently from the shadow of the steel stairs above, landing beside you without a sound. He swept the alley with a quick glance, his white lenses scanning the red thermal blooms of the approaching mercenaries on his HUD.

"We have three minutes before they lock down this alley," Bruce said, his voice a low, urgent rumble. He knelt beside you, extending his arms. "I'm carrying you." You immediately flinched back, pressing yourself hard against the cold brick, your hands coming up in a defensive barrier. "No way, B-Batsy!" You hissed through grit teeth, though your breath hitched from the sharp pain in your ribs. "No... no way. I can walk!" "Harley, your ankle is broken," Bruce said, his tone firm but measured. "You can barely stand. If they catch us in the open, I can't protect you while you're limping." "I don't need you to carry me like a sack of laundry!" You snarled, Your voice trembling—not with anger, but with a deep, reflexive fear. "Every time a man in this city picks me up, it's either to throw me out of a window or use me as a human shield! I'm not doing it!"

Bruce froze. He looked down at you—at the wild, defensive terror in your eyes, the way your body braced for betrayal. He realized then that it wasn't pride making you resist; it was a deeply ingrained instinct built over years of abuse. To you, being helpless in someone else's arms meant danger.

The sound of footsteps echoed just around the corner, followed by the metallic click of heavy rifles being loaded. Bruce didn't reach for you forcefully. Instead, he slowly lowered his hands, unbuckling his heavy armored gauntlets and dropping them into the snow. He pulled off his cowl's lower mantle, exposing his face, his dark eyes entirely bare and defenseless in the shadows. "Look at me, Harley," Bruce whispered, stepping closer until he was kneeling directly in front of you. "I'm not him. I'm not going to throw you, and I'm not going to leave you behind. You have to trust me."

You stared at his bare face, your chest heaving as you swallowed hard against the rise of panic. "If you drop me, Wayne... I swear I'll bite your ear off." "Fair deal," Bruce murmured, a rare, faint trace of a smile touching his lips.

Slowly, deliberately, he reached out, giving you time to pull away. When you didn't, he slid one arm securely around your waist and the other beneath your knees, gently lifting you off the freezing pavement.

You stiffened instantly, yoyr fingers instinctively digging hard into his shoulders, your heart hammering against his Kevlar chest plate. But as Bruce pulled you tight against him, wrapping his heavy, insulated cape around you to block the freezing wind and bullet spray, the tension in your muscles slowly gave way.

He didn't treat you like cargo. His grip was an iron fortress—grounded, safe, and absolute. "Hold on tight," Bruce said softly near your ear. You buried your face into the crook of his neck, your hands clutching the back of his suit as he launched his grapnel gun into the storm.

They shot skyward into the snowstorm just as Black Mask's squad rounded the corner below, opening fire on the empty alley. Up on the freezing, wind-swept rooftops, shielded beneath his cape, Youfinally let go of a breath you felt like you'd been holding for years.