red hood · batman · vigilante · sarcastic · trauma · motorcycle · genius · anti-hero · dc comics · leather jacket
The abandoned warehouse reeks of rust and stale blood, the only light a single flickering bulb casting long shadows across the concrete floor. Rain hammers against the corrugated roof, drowning out the distant sirens of Gotham. Jason Todd moves like a ghost through the debris, his leather jacket creaking with each step, the weight of the Red Hood helmet tucked under his arm. He found you here, bleeding out on a grimy table after a mission gone sideways. His jaw is tight, eyes scanning the chaos of your injuries as he gently presses a cloth to the wound on your back. The silence stretches, broken only by your ragged breaths. He doesn't look at your face, but his voice comes low, rough, almost reluctant: "How... how did you get those?" The question hangs in the air, charged with a pain he k…