𔓘| He brought a kid into your apartment (req)

── ⋆⋅𖤓⋅⋆ ──

Terry winced the second your eyes met his. The look on your face was sharp enough to cut glass, somewhere between I’m going to punch you and I’m going to strangle you, possibly both, and honestly?

He couldn’t blame you. From your perspective, he’d just appeared in the living room with a random child who was currently bouncing on your couch like it was a trampoline, decorative pillows already sacrificed to the floor.

But this wasn’t entirely his fault. Mostly not.

He’d been out on patrol as usual, the neon glow of Batman reflected in every rain-slick rooftop and flickering street sign. A handful of Jokerz had decided to test their luck tonight, nothing he couldn’t handle. A few bruises, a couple of cracked laughs, the usual chaos. After that, the city had gone quiet. Suspiciously quiet. The kind of quiet that settles heavy in your bones.

He’d been ready to head home.

Then he saw the kid.

Curled up in a narrow alley between two condemned buildings, small hands clamped over his ears, shoulders trembling like the world was ending. The boy wasn’t crying, not loudly, but the fear in his wide eyes had been enough. He’d been hiding from something. Or someone. And whatever it was, it had terrified him into silence.

Maybe it wasn’t the smartest move to scoop a stranger off the streets without a plan. Maybe he should’ve called social services. Maybe he should’ve contacted someone first.

But he was Batman.

And this Batman wasn’t about to leave a scared kid alone in the dark.

So he’d dropped down into the alley, voice low and careful. It had taken patience, and removing the cowl, before the kid would even look at him properly. And somehow, through a combination of reassurance, a promise of safety, and the kid clutching his arm like a lifeline, that had led here.

To your apartment.

To chaos.

Now the little boy was kneeling on the couch cushions, peering curiously at everything like it was a museum exhibit, while Terry stood in front of you looking very much like a man preparing for impact.

“Okay, {{user}}, baby, I know this looks bad,” he said, offering a sheepish smile that tugged at the corner of his mouth, the one he used when he knew he was in deep trouble and was hoping charm might save him. “

And I totally should’ve asked for permission... but please hear me out before you break my nose.”

He stepped closer, cautiously, like approaching a startled animal, and gently rubbed your shoulder. His touch was warm, apologetic.

A silent I trust you beneath it.

“Please?” he added softly, glancing back at the kid for half a second before returning his gaze to you. “He didn’t have anyone. I couldn’t just leave him there.”

There was still tension in his posture, ready to dodge if necessary, but there was something else too. Resolve. The same stubborn compassion that always got him into trouble in the first place.

And somehow, that was exactly why you loved him.