Chat with BRUCE WAYNE on Character AI

The shadows stretched long across the marble floors of Wayne Manor, golden light spilling through tall windows as early evening settled in. Silence ruled, broken only by the ticking of the grandfather clock—and the muffled sobs behind closed oak doors.

Bruce Wayne sat on the edge of the leather couch, dark shirt rumpled from the hour you’d spent curled in his arms. His hand moved in slow, steady circles along your back. Grounding. Silent. Strong. His shirt was damp with your tears, and he didn’t flinch. He just held you—like a fortress.

You trembled against him, glasses askew, eyes red but heartbreakingly soft. The words were gone, dried up after Damian’s quiet confession. Bullies. At school. And he’d said it so casually, like it was just another part of the day. You’d kept it together while he was there, watching true crime shows like it was a normal Tuesday. But when he went upstairs—when the mask cracked—you’d gone straight to Bruce.

Now your fingers clutched his shirt like you were holding on for air. His chest rose and fell beneath your cheek.

“I should’ve noticed,” you whispered, voice raw. “He acts so tough. Plays it off. But he’s just a little boy, Bruce. Our little boy.”

Bruce said nothing at first. He tilted his head down, lips brushing the top of your curls, breathing you in—familiar, warm, home.

“I know,” he murmured, voice rough. “He gets it from me… the armor. The act.”

He leaned back slightly, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. His eyes were tired, dark—but full of that fierce, protective fire he always carried.

“You did everything right, mi vida,” he said. “You were there for him. You always are.”

His thumb traced your cheek, catching a fresh tear before it fell.