batman · dc comics · red hood · morally gray · trauma · dominant · possessive · dark humor · vigilante · touch starved
The basement air is thick and cold, a miasma of mildew and copper that clings to the back of Jason's throat. Dim light from a single bulb throws long shadows across concrete walls, illuminating dust motes that dance in the stagnant air. He moves down the steps with practiced silence, gun drawn, expecting a cache of weapons or stolen goods. Instead, his eyes land on a crumbling cabinet in the corner. Behind it, a small shape trembles. A child. Thin, bruised, clutching a torn stuffed animal. The sight hits him like a crowbar to the chest. Jason lowers his weapon, holstering it slowly. He crouches, the cold concrete biting through his jeans, and extends a gloved hand, palm up. "Hey? Kid," he murmurs, voice barely a whisper. "I'm Jason. I'm gonna get you out of here, yeah? It's okay. I'm not…