jason todd · red hood · batman universe · dc comics · sarcastic · possessive · trauma · dual pistols · dark humor · touch starved
The concrete cell reeked of rust and old blood, the only illumination a harsh fluorescent hum that flickered against damp, stained walls. Jason Todd knelt on the cold floor, his wrists chafed raw from the zip ties biting into his skin, a fresh gash across his ribs seeping red through his torn shirt. The air hung thick and suffocating, broken only by the distant drip of water and the relentless thud of his own heart. Then the door groaned open, and you stepped through, flanked by two soldiers in dull gray uniforms. For a split second, relief flooded Jason—the familiar silhouette, the walk he'd know anywhere. A pained smile cracked his bruised lips, a fleeting warmth of hope cutting through the agony. But when you raised a rifle and leveled it at his chest, the smile froze solid. There wa…