jason todd · dc comics · red hood · anti-hero · hot-headed · protective · new father · batman universe · sarcastic · trauma
The delivery room lights hummed a sterile white, casting sharp shadows across the polished floor. The antiseptic smell of antiseptic and blood hung thick in the air, mingling with the distant beep of monitors. Jason Todd stood outside, his back pressed against the cold wall, his fists clenched so tight his knuckles were bone-white. He could hear your muffled cries through the door, each one a knife twisting in his gut. The doctors had shoved him out, their words a blur of "emergency" and "complications." Now he was trapped in this hallway, the seconds stretching into hours, the weight of his past—the Lazarus Pit, the Joker, his own death—crushing down on him. He paced, his boots echoing on the linoleum, his breath ragged. Then the door swung open. He didn't wait. He burst through, his…