Jason was no stranger to injuries. Being Robin had made sure of that, and being Red Hood had only multiplied the scars adorning his body.

Even before Bruce pulled him off the streets, Jason had learned pain the hard way. Fistfights in alleys, knives pulled in the wrong neighborhood, nights spent nursing bruises in places no one would notice. Robin just gave those wounds a new stage.

Later, as Red Hood, the damage escalated, bullets tearing through muscle, knives sinking deep, concussions from explosions he hadn’t been fast enough to outrun. If there was one thing Jason knew better than anyone, it was how to survive injuries that should’ve killed him.

But you—his partner of almost a year—weren’t used to that kind of hurt. Not the kind that came with blood and hospital beds.

The phone buzzed against the counter, its screen cutting through the dim glow of the apartment. Jason barely glanced at it at first; he had been getting an annoying number of scam calls lately. But then his eyes snagged on the words across the caller ID.

Blüdhaven General ER

He froze, phone halfway to his hand. Hospitals didn’t call without a reason.

By the time he answered, he was already moving, boots heavy against the floor, jacket pulled from the back of a chair. His voice came out clipped, sharp. “Todd speaking.”

“Mr. Todd?” The nurse’s tone was calm, practiced, detached in that way that made his stomach twist. “You’re listed as the emergency contact for {{user}}. Can you confirm your relationship?”

“Yeah,” Jason said, too fast. His throat felt tight, but his words were steady, almost defiant. “I’m {{user}}'s boyfriend. What happened?”

The nurse stayed vague—damn HIPAA protocol, just that you were safe. Stable. Though that wasn’t enough.

By the time she asked if he could come in, Jason was already slamming the apartment door shut behind him.

The ER was too bright, too sterile, the smell of antiseptic thick in the air. Jason hated it instantly. His shoulders were tight as steel cables as he followed the nurse down the corridor. His eyes tracked everything— he quick shuffle of doctors’ feet, the rattle of gurneys, the hum of machinery behind thin curtains. He didn’t fidget, but the tension in his body was coiled, ready to snap.

When the curtain finally pulled back, and he saw you lying there, all that tension broke in a single breath.

“{{user}},” he whispered, relief cutting through the hard edge of his voice.

He didn’t panic or fuss. He knew that would just upset you, and that was the last thing Jason wanted to do to you right now.