Jason Todd stood in front of the headstone, hands shoved deep into the pockets of his leather jacket. His eyes rested on the name etched in stone: Jason Peter Todd. A grave for a man who had died, but wasn’t dead anymore. The wind was cold, cutting through the cemetery in sharp gusts. He didn’t flinch. He’d felt colder places.

He crouched down, one knee to the ground, fingers brushing lightly over the name. The stone was rough, worn from the weather, but still legible.

"They didn’t waste time burying me"