Jason Todd [Red Hood] (fallenrobin) wrote in knowhereic, @ 2017-07-20 22:14:00 |
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Entry tags: | dc comics: au: jason todd |
who: Jason Todd (DC AU, memory loss, incarceration at Arkham)
what: The Jason Todd who woke up this morning is not equipped to deal with floating heads in space.
where: Jason's apartment.
when: Morning of July 20
warnings: Discussion of mental illness and terrible treatment practices. Some swearing.
status: Narrative; Closed & Complete
Catherine Todd hadn't raised a fool. Jason might be out of his head, but he knew when shit wasn't right. He stayed in that strange room only long enough to grab a gun and a knife before he jimmied the window and climbed to the roof. None of what he'd seen inside those four walls could have been real. Ace was dead, had been for years. That copy of Pride and Prejudice? Left at the manor, on the corner of Jason's nightstand, with a bookmark to hold his place for when he (never) got back. Family photos? Yeah fucking right. They weren't a family. Never had been, never would be. Families didn't put their little brothers in Arkham Asylum. Families at least had the decency to send their wanted felons to Blackgate instead of lock them up beside their own killers.
Between the drugs and the Pit and the Joker's laughter ringing in his ears, Jason felt certain he'd gone completely mad. He thought sometimes that it would have been easier if he'd stayed the way he was when he'd crawled out of his grave: a doll, easily moved about, carrying out motions preprogrammed in the toy factory. Life had been easier with brain damage. Now, he had independent thought, but no clarity, and no freedom. His mind told him he was on a rooftop, in a strange city where vats of yellow liquid bubbled to the surface in bricked-off pools. In reality, Jason's body was probably sprawled on the floor or his mockery of a bed in his cell at the asylum after he'd finally snapped.
Screw it, he thought. If this is the only exercise I'm going to get, might as well make the most of it.
Like the Robin he had been, Jason threw himself into the air. Parkour fanatics, eat your hearts out. No one did roof jumping or urban gymnastics the way a Bat-trained vigilante could. He'd put some distance between himself and that strange room. Then, he'd imagine up a nice, quiet safehouse, and figure out if he wanted to stay in this dream or not.