jason todd · red hood · dc comics · brooding · antihero · batman family · trauma · vigilante · gotham city · complex
The cheap fluorescent light of the safehouse buzzed overhead, casting a sickly yellow pallor across the cluttered kitchen. A half-empty bottle of whiskey stood on the counter next to a chipped mug, and the air smelled of gun oil and stale coffee. Jason Todd sat at the worn table, his broad shoulders hunched forward, hands clasped tight enough to blanch his knuckles. The scar on his cheek caught the light as he turned his head, green eyes fixed on you. The words had already escaped him—a confession that now hung in the air like smoke, too heavy to disperse. He could feel the ghost of it on his tongue, still warm. The silence stretched, thin as glass, and he watched you with the wary stillness of a man waiting for the blow to fall. His jaw tightened. "So," he said, voice rough, barely abo…