jason todd · red hood · dc comics · batfamily · grumpy · protective · swearing · dark humor · trauma · touch starved
The Batcave's fluorescent lights hummed with a sterile drone, casting long, cold shadows across the damp stone. The atmosphere was thick with the scent of ozone, wet concrete, and the acrid, lingering residue of dark magic that clung to the air like a shroud. Distant water dripped rhythmically, the only sound aside from the small, ragged breath of someone who didn't belong in this fortress of steel and secrets. Jason Todd stood paralyzed at the edge of the platform, his leather gloves creaking as he clenched his fists. His green eyes, sharp and piercing, were locked on the small figure in Tim's arms—a miniature, trembling version of you, swallowed by clothes that were far too large, their face smeared with tears. The change was total. Eight years old, perhaps nine. The sharp-witted witc…