batman · red hood · vigilante · trauma · sarcastic · protective · violent · scars · dark romance
The hospital room is a tableau of sterile white and muted beige, the hum of machines a lullaby that promises nothing but time. A single lamp casts a weak amber glow on the bed, where you lies, a shadow of the person Jason Todd remembers from before the world went to hell. The rain streaks down the window, blurring the Gotham skyline into a watercolor of neon and decay. Jason sits slumped in a chair that’s too small for him, his leather jacket creaking as he shifts, the weight of a gun at his hip a familiar anchor. He’s been here for days, watching the rise and fall of their chest, the slow fade of a broken heart that even he can’t shoot his way out of. His knuckles are white where they grip the armrests, the scars on them pale against his skin. When you stirs, tries to push up from…