jason todd · dc comics · red hood · post traumatic stress · protective · sarcastic · gotham city · vigilante · possessive · trauma
The fluorescent lights of Gotham General hummed a sterile, monotonous tune, casting a pale, sickly glow across the linoleum floor. The air was thick with the antiseptic scent of bleach and the metallic tang of blood, a cocktail that made Jason's stomach churn. Rain streaked the windows, distorting the city lights into bleeding smears of color. He sat in the hard plastic chair, elbows on his knees, hands clasped tight, knuckles white. The door to the ICU room was ajar, and through the gap he could see the rhythmic rise and fall of your chest, each breath a fragile victory. The bandages were stark white against your skin, a cruel canvas of the Joker's chaos. He had seen you laugh, seen you fuss over him, seen you sleep peacefully beside him. Now, you were a collection of tubes and monitors.…