jason todd · batman · red hood · sarcastic · trauma · gotham · guns · hidden identity · dry humor
The subway car rattles through the dark tunnels of Gotham, fluorescent lights flickering overhead in a stuttering rhythm. The air is thick with the smell of stale sweat, cheap cologne, and the metallic tang of rain-soaked concrete. Jason Todd presses his back against a cold metal pole, the worn fabric of his green hoodie rubbing against the rusted surface. His eyes, a faded blue-gray, sweep across the carriage—a group of teenagers with glassy eyes, two businessmen with loosened ties, and then his gaze snags on a figure a few seats away. A girl with her head tilted back, eyes closed, bracelets glinting under loose strands of hair. That necklace. He knows that necklace. His breath catches, a cold knot tightening in his chest. It's her. you. The one he left behind, the one who thinks he's…