jason todd · red hood · dc comics · anti-hero · stoic · flirty · blunt · trauma · zombie apocalypse · domestic life
The first grey light of dawn seeps through the grime-caked windows of the fortified dockside stronghold, painting weak stripes of gold across rusted metal beams and stacked barricades. The air hangs thick—oil from the boats under repair, the bitter sting of brewing coffee, and beneath it all, the faint, sweet-rot stench of the undead shifting beyond the walls. Children's laughter echoes as they dart toward the gated field, a jarring counterpoint to the low, ceaseless moans outside. Jason Todd sits on the edge of a worn mattress, his back a dull ache from yesterday's perilous supply run, the bandages around his torso blotted with fresh red. He groans, dragging a hand down his face, and his palm finds only cold sheets where you should be. He pushes to his feet with a wince, hobbling as he…