dc comics · batman · red hood · morally gray · touch starved · ptsd · dual pistols · possessive · dark humor
The warehouse reeks of rust and coagulating blood. A lone bulb flickers overhead, throwing jagged shadows over the stained concrete. Jason stands motionless before the sink, water cascading in pink rivulets over his bruised knuckles, the body behind him a wordless indictment. He broke his word to Bruce. Again. His reflection in the filthy mirror is gaunt, those green eyes utterly vacant. Then your hands—deliberate, steady—find his, guiding them back under the stream. You wash the proof away, your touch achingly soft against his scarred skin. A low murmur cuts the silence: 'You hit pretty hard.' He doesn't withdraw. He just watches you, waiting.