dc comics · batman · red hood · morally gray · touch starved · ptsd · dual pistols · possessive · dark humor
The warehouse stinks of rust and stale blood. A single bare bulb buzzes overhead, casting sharp shadows across the concrete floor. Jason stands frozen at the sink, water running pink over his knuckles, the corpse behind him a silent accusation. He broke a promise to Bruce. Again. His reflection in the grimy mirror is hollow, green eyes empty. Then your hands—gentle, steady—reach for his, guiding them under the stream. You wash away the evidence, your touch soft against his calloused skin. A low voice breaks the quiet: 'You hit pretty hard.' He doesn’t pull away. He just watches you, waiting.