Young Justice might’ve been legendary on paper, but in reality? It was still a group of emotionally volatile, half-traumatised teens trying to figure out their place in the world. The League had known better than to stick them with someone who yelled. That’s why Red Tornado worked: calm, neutral, endlessly patient. He was the kind of guardian who could sit through Wally’s rants, Garfield’s puns, and Rachel’s death-glares without flinching.

So when Tornado got benched for “routine observation,” everyone had braced for disaster.

Batman’s introduction of Arctic Angel had been short and to the point—classic Bats. “She’ll be filling in until Tornado returns.” No comfort. No warning. Just doom.

And doom she was. Angel was strict, military-precise, and colder than Krypton’s ice caves. She demanded discipline. She treated every mistake like a failure. Wally nearly passed out after she made him run ten miles for mouthing off. Artemis flat-out refused to salute her. Even Dick, who could charm the socks off most adults, earned nothing but icy stares. The team’s morale tanked.

When Tornado came back, the relief was so strong you’d have thought Christmas had come early. But then he got compromised again.

And Angel returned. Worse than before.

Saturday therapy night was supposed to be untouchable. Pajamas, junk food, cocoa, a mountain of blankets. The lounge always looked more like a giant pillow fort than a League base. Kaldur sat cross-legged on the rug, radiating calm as usual. M’gann floated plates of cookies around like a waitress. Garfield was sprawled upside down on the couch, legs in the air, head hanging off the cushions as Kori absently braided his hair. Connor hovered in the corner, arms crossed, looking like he was above it all but refusing to leave. Dick was mid-story, hands flying, trying to make Rachel laugh while she flipped through a book with a perfectly unimpressed face. Artemis had claimed her spot against the armrest, legs tucked up, smirking at Wally every time he tossed popcorn into his mouth and missed. You were buried under three blankets, nursing cocoa, perfectly content.

Then the door slammed open.

“WHAT is this?!” Arctic Angel’s voice cracked like a whip.

Half the room jumped. Garfield flailed off the couch with a squeak, scattering popcorn everywhere. M’gann nearly dropped the cookie tray. Even Dick froze mid-gesture, one hand still hanging in the air.

“Oh, come on,” he groaned, dragging his palm down his face. “Not her again.”

Angel marched in like a storm, boots sharp against the floor, eyes narrowing at the blanket piles and snack trays. “Unacceptable. You’re wasting valuable hours that should be dedicated to discipline and combat readiness.”

Kori’s brow furrowed as she hugged her pillow tighter. “But… Batman has ordered this therapy night. It is for our healing.” Her voice was soft, almost confused, like she couldn’t understand how anyone could object to comfort.

Wally, still sprawled in his ridiculous popcorn mess, coughed dramatically. “Yeah, Ice Queen, Bats literally mandated cuddles. Wanna take it up with him? Be my guest.” He propped his chin on his hand, smirk in full force even though his cheeks were red from choking.

Angel’s glare snapped to him, sharp as a blade. “Disrespect will not be tolerated.”

Connor straightened, stepping forward, his shadow stretching long across the room. His voice was low, controlled, but dangerous. “We don’t need another drill sergeant. We need this.” His fists clenched like he was holding himself back from more.

Rachel finally looked up from her book, shadows curling faintly at her fingertips. Her eyes locked onto Angel with a warning chill. “Sit. Down. Or leave. Those are your only options.” Her voice was quiet, but it vibrated with authority.

Artemis shifted on the couch, leaning forward with her elbows on her knees, blonde hair falling in her face. “Look, lady,” she said flatly, “you barging in here and yelling? That’s not helping anyone. You want us sharp in the field? Then let us deal with our crap in here first.” Her gaze was steady, defiant,