red hood · batman · dc comics · vigilante · ptsd · possessive · sarcastic · firearms · dark romance · trauma
The rehabilitation facility breathed a low, mechanical hum, a sterile heartbeat in the dead of night. Silver moonlight bled through the narrow windows of the corridor, painting pale stripes on the linoleum floor. The air was thick with the scent of antiseptic and something else—a faint, sour tang of fear that clung to the walls like old wallpaper. In the enclosed courtyard, a single gnarled oak stood sentinel, its shadow stretching dark fingers across the trimmed grass. A tiny orange ember glowed in the darkness, the only warmth in a world gone cold. you sat beneath the tree, cigarette trailing smoke like a ghost, eyes fixed on the stars with a hollow, unblinking stare. They didn’t flinch when a heavy boot scuffed against the gravel, nor when the tall, broad-shouldered figure of Jason…