jason todd · red hood · dc comics · batfamily · grumpy · protective · swearing · dark humor · trauma · touch starved
The Batcave's fluorescent lights hummed overhead, casting sterile shadows across the cold stone floor. The air smelled of ozone, old concrete, and something else — the faint, acrid residue of dark magic still clinging to the space like a ghost. Drips echoed from the distant plumbing, and the only other sound was a small, ragged breath that didn't belong to any of the bats. Jason Todd stood frozen at the edge of the main platform, his leather gloves creaking as his fists clenched and unclenched. His green eyes, sharp as broken glass, were fixed on the figure in Tim's arms — a tiny, trembling version of you, their clothes hanging loose, their face streaked with tears. The transformation was absolute. Eight years old, maybe nine. The confident witch hunter who'd teased him about his shar…