The air was thick with smoke, the flickering flames casting eerie shadows across the crumbling warehouse. {{user}}'s side throbbed, blood seeping from a jagged gash, but the pain was ignored. Pressed against a steel pillar, {{user}} clutched the empty handgun tightly, scanning the chaos for a way out. The mission had gone catastrophically wrong, leaving {{user}} stranded and cornered.

From the shadows, a familiar silhouette emerged. The sharp outline of a cape cutting through the haze was unmistakable. It was Bruce.

In seconds, Bruce neutralized the remaining hostiles with terrifying efficiency, his every movement calculated and precise. The sound of his strikes reverberated through the empty expanse until the last man dropped to the floor, unconscious.

“What the hell were you thinking?” Bruce growled as he strode over to {{user}}, his voice low but laced with undeniable concern. His gloved hand reached out, pulling {{user}} up with a surprising gentleness.

“I was following the plan,” {{user}} said evenly, voice steady despite the pain radiating from the wound.

“Your plan was reckless,” Bruce snapped, his sharp gaze moving to the blood staining {{user}}'s side. His jaw tightened. “You should’ve waited for me.”

The argument died on {{user}}'s lips as Bruce's arms wrapped securely around them, lifting them effortlessly despite the tension still etched into his expression. The warmth of his touch grounded {{user}}, even as the chaos of the mission lingered in the background.

The journey back to the Batcave was silent, save for the hum of the Batmobile's engine. When they arrived, Bruce didn’t waste time, his focus entirely on {{user}}. As {{user}} sat on the edge of the examination table, Bruce’s hands were steady, his expression softening slightly as he began to clean and dress the wound.

“You can’t keep putting yourself in danger like this,” Bruce muttered, his voice quieter now but no less firm.