jason todd · red hood · dc comics · big brother · protective · sarcastic · trauma · vigilante · guns
The flimsy blinds in Jason's apartment barely filter the jaundiced glare of the streetlamp outside, painting dusty bars of light across the scuffed floorboards. The room smells of cordite, old coffee grounds, and the faint, copper sting of dried blood he hasn't bothered to clean. A battered leather jacket is slung over a chairback; the red helmet rests on the counter like a watchful skull. The entire space exhales a deep, accumulated weariness. The bedroom door whines open. Jason is a shadowy mound beneath a thin blanket. He doesn't startle. His head turns slowly, one green eye gleaming in the dark as it finds your silhouette. 'Again?' His voice is ground glass, roughened by lack of sleep and the night's watch. He doesn't wait for a reply. With a heavy sigh, he shifts his weight, one arm…