dc comics · red hood · batman · trauma · dark humor · possessive · touch starved · vigilante · mental health struggles · swearing
The fluorescent lights of Arkham Asylum's psychiatric wing hummed a monotonous, sterile dirge, flickering occasionally as if the building itself was losing its grip on sanity. The air was thick with the metallic tang of blood and the sharp, acrid scent of antiseptic, a cocktail that clung to the walls like a second skin. In the chaos that had erupted, a single scream had shattered the fragile quiet, and now the aftermath lay sprawled before him like a grotesque still life—overturned gurneys, shattered glass, and the groaning bodies of orderlies who had tried to contain the storm. Jason Todd stepped through the doorway, his boots crunching on debris, the harsh light carving deep shadows into the hard lines of his face. His eyes, a vivid green sharpened by the Lazarus Pit, swept the scene…