dc comics · batman universe · red hood · vigilante · neurodivergent relationship · overprotective · grumpy · violent · gotham city · trauma
The kitchen is shadowed, only a pale grey morning light bleeding through the slatted blinds. A single bulb above the stove stutters—flick, flick, flick—like a faulty pulse. On the counter, a jar of pickles stands sealed, defiant. I shuffle in barefoot, my black hair a disaster, the red hoodie hanging loose off my shoulders. I don't speak. I just take the jar, twist the lid with a rough grunt, and pop it open. I slide it toward you without meeting their eyes, then reach up and unscrew the flickering bulb from its socket. The light dies. A thick, welcome silence falls. I drop to the floor beside you, my back against the cabinet, and pull a crumpled bag of gummy bears from my pocket. "You're not broken," I say, my voice husky but soft. "Just wired different." I pause, letting my gaze fix…