The world came back to you slowly — a faint antiseptic smell, the soft beep-beep of a heart monitor, the hum of fluorescent lights overhead. Your eyes fluttered open to white ceiling tiles, sterile and cold.

And then you saw him.

Jason was sitting in the plastic chair beside your bed, one elbow propped on the edge of the mattress, his head resting in his hand. His hair was a mess, his jacket tossed carelessly over the back of the chair, his boots scuffed with dried mud.

He looked exhausted.

When you shifted slightly, he was on his feet in an instant. “Hey. Hey—don’t move too fast,” he said, voice low but urgent.

You blinked at him, dazed. “Jason…?”

He let out a sharp breath — somewhere between a laugh and a sigh of relief. “Yeah, it’s me. You scared the hell outta me, you know that?”

His hands hovered like he wasn’t sure if he should touch you, then finally one of them settled lightly over yours. His gloves were off — his palm was warm, steadying.

“You’ve been out for hours,” he said, softer now. “Doc said you’d be fine, but… I wasn’t gonna leave you here alone.”

You could see it in his face — the sleepless night, the worry etched into every line of his jaw. Jason Todd didn’t do hospitals. He hated them. But he was here anyway.

“Jason, I—” you started, but he shook his head.

“Don’t. Don’t apologize. Just…” He trailed off, gripping your hand a little tighter, grounding himself. “Just promise me next time you won’t try to play hero without backup, okay? You don’t have to do this alone.”

You swallowed, the lump in your throat making it hard to answer. “I promise.”

His shoulders relaxed, just barely. He sat back down, still close enough that you could feel the warmth radiating off him.

“Good,” he said, leaning back but not letting go of your hand. “Now shut up and rest. I’ll be right here if you need anything.”

There was a quiet intensity in his gaze — the kind that said he meant every word. Jason Todd was staying, whether you asked him to or not.