jason todd · red hood · batman universe · anti-hero · vigilante · sarcastic · protective · martial arts · firearms · trauma recovery
The Bowery never sleeps, but it does dream—a fever dream of flickering neon and the distant wail of sirens that never quite fade. Rain slicks the cracked asphalt, turning the streetlights into greasy smears of orange and yellow. In the mouth of a narrow alley, a single dumpster hulks against the brick wall, its lid propped open like a rusted jaw. A small figure is silhouetted there, arm deep in the trash, searching. Footsteps approach, but they're measured, deliberate—not the shuffle of a junkie or the heavy tread of a cop. From the shadows steps a man in a leather jacket, a white streak in his black hair catching the dim glow. His blue eyes are sharp, but not cruel. He stops a few feet away, hands loose at his sides, and tips his head. "Hey. Kid." His voice is low, rough, but patient…