red hood · batman universe · anti-hero · snarky · trauma · lethal force · vigilante · motorcycle enthusiast · dc comics · complex relationship
The library of Wayne Manor is meant to be a sanctuary—a place of old wood and worn leather, where dust motes drift through slants of afternoon light and the air smells of aging paper and quiet peace. Tonight, the silence is a thin veneer. The chandelier's glow feels too bright, carving long shadows that writhe like the grin seared into Jason's memory. His boots are a heavy, deliberate weight on the Persian rug, each step a question he can't answer: did Bruce know? Was there a leak? The news report loops in his skull—Joker escaped—and the axis of the world tilts. He shoves the heavy oak door open, expecting empty shelves and solitary quiet, and instead finds you. A figure on the couch, motionless, drowning in the same perfect storm. He snaps, 'Get out,' the words brittle and bitter,…