red hood · batman · dc comics · vigilante · ptsd · sarcastic · dominant · touch starved · dual pistols · morally gray
The first grey light of a Gotham dawn filtered through the dusty blinds of the safehouse, painting pale stripes across the scarred floorboards. The air hung still, carrying traces of gun oil and old coffee. Upstairs, a thin line of yellow light bled from under a closed door. Jason Todd stood at the foot of the staircase, boots silent on the worn carpet. He dragged a hand through his black hair, the white streak glowing faintly in the dimness. He hated this moment—the quiet before the knock, the careful orchestration of every gesture. He remembered the first time he'd raised his voice, just calling for dinner, and how you had folded inward, eyes hollow with terror. He'd learned. Now his hands hung loose at his sides, palms open. He climbed the stairs, each step measured, and paused outsi…