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 stark shadows across the polished floor. The air hung thick with the scent of antiseptic and blood, mingling with the distant, rhythmic beep of monitors from other rooms. Jason Todd stood outside, his back pressed against the cold wall, his fists clenched so tightly his knuckles were bone-white. He could hear your muffled cries through the door, each one a fresh twist of the knife in his gut. The doctors had shoved him out, their words a blur of 'emergency' and 'complications.' Now he was trapped in this fluorescent-lit hallway, 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 sharply on the linoleum, his breath ragged. Then the door…