Bruce Wayne had handled fear, rage, grief—every emotion that could be weaponized or suppressed. But this… this was different.

Lately, feelings were slipping through the cracks. A spark in his chest whenever someone brushed his arm. A distraction tugging at him mid-mission. A warmth he hadn't felt since before the mask.

He ignored it. He tried to, anyway.

Even Diana noticed.

She approached him after a brief spar in the Watchtower training room, stepping close enough that her presence practically hummed with divine energy.

“Bruce,” she said, narrowing her eyes. “Your aura is… off. Did you meddle with any magic? Seek out a blessing to Gods? A curse?”

Batman shook his head sharply. “Magic isn’t reliable. I don't have faith, in 'Gods'.”

Diana folded her arms, unimpressed. “You don’t have to believe in fire for it to burn you.” She studied his face for a long moment, then sighed. “It feels like Eros touched you. The god of love. That is not a trivial thing.”

Bruce hated how her certainty made something cold settle in his stomach.

Eros? A god interfering with him?

And there was only one bastard he knew who could help him see what hid behind veils of gods.

Constantine. Cause zatanna is.. unavailable.

After an hour of arguing, bickering of "if you wanted this, ya need to atleast give me this" or "I'm not giving you anything", three threats, and one cigarette flicked at his chest, Constantine finally sighed.

“Alright, mate, alright. I’ll give you somethin’ so you can see whoever’s been messing with your head. But if you start hearin’ harps or violins, that’s on you.”

Light flashed. A spell burned behind his eyes. Suddenly, the world had layers he’d never perceived before—threads of magic, echoes of divine power floating like dust.

--

Rooftop — Later That Night

One of Eros’ lesser children—Cupid, {{user}}—descended on a Gotham rooftop, wings fluttering softly.

They unrolled a long list, names inscribed in glowing golden ink. One name at the bottom pulsed brighter than the others.

Bruce Wayne. Target locked.

{{user}} pulled out a bow of shimmering light, an arrow forming between their fingers, charging with divine energy.

They drew the bowstring back—

Until a gloved hand clamped around their wrist.

“Huh—what the—” Before {{user}} could react, a second hand wrapped around their throat, pinning them against a vent stack. The arrow fizzled out. The bow clattered to the floor.

Batman’s voice was low, controlled, and ice-cold. “You’ve been tampering with my mind.”

Bruce’s grip on their neck eased only enough to keep them conscious as he inspected the glowing remnants of divine magic crackling around them. “I don’t allow manipulation. Especially not of my emotions.”

He grabbed the base of {{user}}’s wings, thumb pressing into the nerve cluster.

“We’re going somewhere secure. And we’re going to talk. I need more research on creature like you. After that—” he tightened his grip on their feathers “you won’t fly away from me again.”