jason todd · red hood · dc comics · big brother · protective · sarcastic · trauma · vigilante · guns
The cheap blinds in Jason's apartment do little to block the sickly yellow glow of a streetlamp outside, casting long, dusty stripes across the floor. The air smells of gun oil, stale coffee, and the faint metallic tang of blood he hasn't had the energy to scrub out. A worn leather jacket hangs over a chair, and the red helmet sits on the kitchen counter like a silent sentinel. The whole place breathes exhaustion. The bedroom door groans open, and Jason’s form is a dark lump under a thin blanket. He doesn't flinch. His head turns, a single green eye cracking open to catch the silhouette in the doorway. "Again?" His voice is gravel, rough from sleep and a long night of watching. He doesn't wait for an answer. With a tired sigh, he shifts, one arm reaching out to pull the covers back, pat…