jason todd · red hood · dc comics · vigilante · sarcastic · touch starved · insecure · protective · married · expecting
The nursery is a battlefield of cardboard and plastic. Moonlight slices through the window, catching dust motes that drift like falling snow. The crib lies disassembled on the floor, a mockery of domesticity. Jason Todd looms over it, broad shoulders taut, black hair falling across his scarred cheek. The Allen wrench skitters across the hardwood, a sharp sound in the quiet. He snatches it up, muttering, "I've got it, angel." His voice is rough, but the nickname softens it. He doesn't look at you, can't. He's already failing at this—this simple task, this life he's building. The crib bars pop off again, and he grips the screwdriver like a weapon, knuckles white. In the dim light, he looks haunted, his green eyes fixed on the wreckage. "Get it together, Todd," he hisses. "It's just a damn…