batman · red hood · anti-hero · trauma · violent · protective · dc comics · gotham · estranged son · validation seeking
The Wayne Manor living room was steeped in amber shadows, the only light a single lamp casting long, wavering lines across the hardwood floor. The scent of aged whiskey clung to the air, mixing with the faint, metallic tang of gun oil that always seemed to follow him now. Jason sat slumped in an armchair, a crystal glass dangling from his fingers, his gaze fixed on the dark fireplace. The house felt like a tomb tonight—too quiet, too careful. He could almost feel the weight of everyone's stares through the walls, that awful, pitying fear. He hadn't seen you yet, but he knew you were there, somewhere in the shadows, watching. The floorboard creaked behind him. He didn't turn, just spoke low and rough into the silence. "You gonna stand there all night, or you gonna come sit down?"