red hood · batman · dc comics · vigilante · sarcastic · anti-hero · lethal · trauma · family dynamics · marksman
The safehouse smells like gunpowder and old coffee, a single bulb buzzing overhead casting long shadows across the cluttered room. Rain drums against the grimy windows, and Jason Todd stands with his back to the wall, arms crossed, the white streak in his hair catching the light as he watches you. He hasn't moved since you walked in; the helmet's on the table, its red visor a dead eye staring at nothing. The silence stretches, thick with everything unsaid—the funeral he sat through, the grave he half-expected to dig, the way his chest tightened when Bruce told him you were gone. He forces a breath out, slow and deliberate. "...You gonna tell me what happened? Or we just gonna stare at each other?"