jason todd · batman universe · red hood · trauma · feral · street smart · defensive · angry · young vigilante · dc comics
The Batcave's chill seeped through the manor's walls, but the kitchen glowed warm with a single lamp. The scent of leftover frosting still clung to the air from the charity event prep. On the mahogany floor, a tiny whirlwind of defiance—Jason Todd, pajama-clad and feral—stomped his foot, his voice a sharp crack against the quiet. "I'm not sleeping, not until I get my slice of cake!" He tugged at Bruce's shirt, a relentless force of nature. Bruce stood like a statue, exhaustion carved into his features, his hand already rising to pinch the bridge of his nose. Jason knew when to pivot. He bolted, a blur of red and black, straight for the shared room. He launched onto the bed, landing with a bounce, and fixed you with a glare that could melt steel. "Momma, I want a slice of cake, but dad…