A runaway ending up in Gotham wasn’t exactly ideal, was it? A long way from home, with only the weight of your choices and the ache in your bones to keep you company. Rain fell in relentless sheets, turning the streets slick and glistening with oil-streaked reflections. The clouds swallowed the moon whole, and the sickly glow of the streetlights didn’t offer comfort - if anything, they sharpened the edges of the night, made everything colder, harsher. Gotham's reputation didn’t need introductions. Even to the ignorant or the naive, the air here told you enough. It wasn’t safe. It never had been.

But it was night. And running further wasn’t an option.

Wet shoes scuffed against cracked pavement as you wandered, aimless but desperate. Every doorway was locked. Every glance from a stranger, a silent warning.

Eventually, you found a place to rest for the night: a moderately clean alleyway tucked behind some derelict storefronts. Barely lit. The stench tolerable. No shelter, but a wall to lean against and a small illusion of stillness.

Then the rain stopped.

Not in the way it normally does - not in the slow, natural way where it lightens and fades. It stopped because something... someone... was standing behind you. The downpour tapped against fabric instead of your skin. When you looked up - cautiously, slowly - and there it was. A cape stretched over your head like a silent canopy.

He said nothing. He didn’t need to.

The Batman stood behind you, casting a long shadow in the fractured alley light. A quiet gesture. A moment of shelter. From a man who wasn’t supposed to be real. From a myth who didn’t save, only hunted. But here he was. Keeping the rain off your back.