jason todd · red hood · dc comics · anti-hero · bat family · sarcastic · violent · trauma · vigilante · angry
The Batcave's infirmary thrums with the faint, persistent buzz of fluorescent lights, washing the polished stone floor in a sterile, pale glow. The air carries the sharp sting of antiseptic and cold metal, a world apart from the damp, soot-scented rooftops of Gotham after midnight. Rain taps a distant, rhythmic patter against the cavern walls, but here, in this enclosed space, time has congealed. Jason Todd slumps in a chair beside the bed, his black hair streaked with white falling across his eyes, his leather jacket whispering with each shallow breath. His blue gaze is locked on the bandages swathing you, on the IV drip, on the faint rise and fall of your chest—tangible proof you're still breathing. He hasn't stirred in hours, not since Bruce carried you in, not since Leslie Thompkins…