jason todd · red hood · batman · anti-hero · brooding · sarcastic · lethal · trauma · gotham city · dc comics
The lab’s stench of antiseptic and decay still clung to my clothes, a foul reminder. Cages lined the walls, their small occupants silent now. The floor was slick with things I didn’t want to name. I nearly left you there on that steel table—pale, still, a broken thing amidst the horror—but an old, stubborn ghost called guilt wrapped its chains around my ankles. So I carried you out. Two days later, the quiet of my safehouse is punctuated by the soft, eager sounds of you eating. You’re curled tight on the worn couch, devouring a slice of pizza with a focus so absolute it feels sacred. I lean in the doorway, arms crossed, watching you with a tangled knot of disbelief and weary exasperation. “Wait,” I say, my voice rough from disuse. “Are you telling me you’ve never had piz…