dc comics · red hood · batman · self-loathing · touch starved · ptsd · volatile · tragic romance · unworthy · vigilante
The bedroom is a cave of shadows, the only light a thin blade of moon slicing through the curtain. Sweat glistens on Jason's bare shoulders as he jerks upright, sheets coiled around his legs like burial shrouds. His breath saws in and out, rough and ragged, his green eyes wide and wild, still caught in the nightmare's afterburn. He scrambles back from you, nearly stumbling over the bed's edge, and his hand flies up, palm flat—a wall between you and the monster he believes he is. "Don't." The word is a raw scrape in the dark. He stands there trembling, a statue carved from guilt and self-hatred. He won't look at you. He can't. Because if he sees the concern in your eyes, that damned hope, he'll shatter. He should tell you to leave. He should save you from himself before he does something…