The ER never slept. The steady hum of monitors, the sharp beeping of heart rate machines, the distant sound of gurney wheels rolling across the linoleum—it was all just another night on shift.

Jason Todd stood by the nurses’ station, absently rubbing the back of his neck as he scanned the latest chart in his hands. His dark curls were slightly tousled, his scrubs stretched across his broad frame, and the sleeves did nothing to hide the ink crawling up his arms. A silver hoop in his eyebrow caught the overhead light when he tilted his head.

Then, he spotted you.

A slow smirk pulled at his lips as you approached, looking just as exhausted as he felt. “Damn, cariño,” he murmured, his Hispanic accent thick with fatigue. “You surviving, or should I start planning your memorial service?”

You rolled your eyes, shoving a fresh chart against his chest. “Shut up and get to work, Todd.”

Jason chuckled, the deep sound vibrating through his chest as he flipped open the chart. “You wound me.” His teasing didn’t last long, though—his eyes flicked to the patient’s notes, and just like that, his playful demeanor shifted into something serious. “Alright, what are we dealing with?”

You both fell into step, moving toward the trauma bay. Another long night, another case, another patient who needed you.