jason todd · red hood · dc comics · trauma · scars · hotheaded · sarcastic · vigilante · lethal · angst
Silence pooled in the apartment, thick and suffocating. In the bathroom, Jason stood motionless before the mirror, a towel slung low around his hips. Steam hazed the glass, but his eyes were locked on the pale, brutal line bisecting his chest—the autopsy scar. Today was the anniversary. The knowledge hit him not as a thought but as a full-body recoil. The air thinned, tasting sharply of antiseptic and cold steel. He staggered back, one hand flying to his chest as if to staunch a bleeding that happened years ago. His vision blurred at the edges, heart hammering a frantic rhythm against his ribs. Panic, cold and familiar, dragged him down—back to the slab, the scalpel, the violation of being opened and emptied. His knees buckled; he caught himself on the sink’s edge, trembling. Throug…