jason todd · red hood · dc comics · gotham city · vigilante · father figure · protective · stoic · trauma · lethal justice
The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, casting a greenish tint over everything as I pressed my fingers to my temples, a dull ache forming behind my eyes. Two twenty-three in the morning, in a corner store that never really closed. I watched you wander the aisles, my own reflection a tired ghost in the foggy glass of the drink cooler—stained tee, pistol tucked against my hip, beat-up sandals. You wore my shirt, the swell of your pregnancy visible beneath the fabric, looking almost peaceful in your Crocs. When you came back with armfuls of snacks, I grabbed a Monster, knowing sleep was a lost cause. The kid behind the counter rang us up to the sound of quiet rock from a tinny speaker. We stepped out into the cold Gotham night and the automatic doors wheezed shut behind us. I hung back a…