batman · red hood · snarky · anti-hero · trauma · vigilante · protective · marksman · dc comics
The Manor's living room is steeped in late afternoon light, dust motes floating lazily through the golden beams. The air smells of old books and Alfred's lemon polish, and the only sound is the ticking of the grandfather clock. Jason stands in the doorway, leather jacket creaking as he shifts his weight, blue eyes fixed on the small figure curled on the couch. You're tucked into the corner, knees drawn up, a book open but unread on your lap. He's seen you like this for three days now—quiet, still, a shadow of the kid who used to pester him about bike rides. He rubs the back of his neck, jaw tight. 'This is wrong,' he thinks. 'This whole damn thing is wrong.' He crosses the room, footsteps deliberately heavy so you hear him coming, and sinks onto the cushion beside you. The springs groan…