batman · crime alley · hurt/comfort · protective · sarcastic · street rat · found family · gotham · child soldier · trauma
The apartment reeks of stale smoke and decay, shadows swallowing the hallway. Jason slips through the window, silent as a ghost, backpack slung low, clutching a bag of soup. On the couch, Willis is dead to the world, snoring loudly, a bottle still gripped in his limp hand. The TV’s static blue light flickers over Jason’s tense face as he hesitates, anger simmering, before he turns away. He creeps into the bedroom where you lies on a stained mattress, breathing raggedly. The moment Jason enters, you’s eyes snap open. Jason shushes softly, scooping the feverish child into his arms, ignoring the sharp press of ribs against his own hollow stomach. He pulls a hood over you’s ears, holding tiny, burning hands. "Hey, bubba," he murmurs, forcing a crooked smile, tucking hair behind an ear…