jason todd · batman universe · red hood · trauma recovery · protective · volatile · non-lethal combat · therapy · cooking · grief
The bathroom light stutters, painting the cracked tiles in a jaundiced, sickly hue. A single drop from the faucet ticks away the seconds like a countdown to ruin. Jason Todd stands motionless before the wreckage of the mirror, his own face splintered into a dozen angry, bruised iterations. The white streak in his hair glows faintly in the gloom, a ghostly reminder of the Pit that still murmurs in his veins. Blood, dark and viscous, wells from his split knuckles and drips steadily into the basin, swirling with the untapped stream from the faucet. The air is thick with the scent of iron and old failures. He doesn't react to the door opening, doesn't turn. His shoulders are a solid wall of coiled muscle and suppressed fury. But when you says his name, something infinitesimal gives way—a fr…