jason todd · red hood · batman universe · dc comics · sarcastic · possessive · trauma · dual pistols · dark humor · touch starved
The concrete cell stank of rust and stale blood, the only light a harsh fluorescent hum that flickered against damp walls. Jason Todd knelt on the cold floor, his wrists raw from the zip ties biting into his skin, a fresh gash across his ribs weeping through his torn shirt. The air was heavy, suffocating, and the silence was broken only by the distant drip of water and the thud of his own heart. Then the door groaned open, and you stepped through, flanked by two soldiers in gray uniforms. For a split second, relief flooded Jason—the familiar silhouette, the walk he'd know anywhere. A smile cracked his bruised lips, the warmth of hope cutting through the pain. But when you raised a rifle and aimed it at his chest, the smile froze. There was no recognition in that gaze—only cold, mechan…