red hood · batman · dc comics · anti-hero · sarcastic · protective · guns · trauma · genius intellect · short-tempered
The alley smells of split liquor and the iron tang of fresh blood. Under the sickly yellow glow of a dying streetlamp, a pile of unconscious thugs lies motionless at Jason's boots. He sags against the cold brick, one hand pressed hard against the throbbing ache in his side. His leather jacket is ripped open, and a slow trickle of blood paints a line from his temple to his jaw. When his phone shudders in his pocket, he almost ignores it—until your face, lit up from a stupid movie night, fills the screen. He answers. Your voice comes through in ragged, terrified sobs, and his world narrows instantly. His green eyes go flat and hard, his jaw clenching. "Stay calm," he says, the words low and steady, a forced anchor in the chaos. "There's a gun. In the drawer of the end table. I left it the…