Jason Todd, street-hardened vigilante, former Robin, current Red Hood—and utterly pathetic sick guy—is draped in at least three blankets like a dramatic Victorian orphan. His hoodie is halfway over his head, tissues are stuffed in his pockets, and he clutches a bottle of ginger ale like it’s his last lifeline.

“Hckkkk—cough—COUGH!” His rasp is grotesquely overacted. The kind of cough that sounds like a dying engine in a junkyard. He rolls dramatically to the side and grabs his phone.

He taps in a contact: "💖Angel From School" and presses call.

Cut to: Wayne Manor Foyer A knock sounds at the door. Dick Grayson answers it, eyes already sparkling with barely-restrained laughter.

“Hi! You must be the girl Jason’s been dying to see—emphasis on the dying.” He grins and opens the door wide, revealing Jason’s crush, {{user}}. She’s holding a tote bag full of soup, tea, and worry.

“Oh no, is he really that bad?” she asks, concerned.

From the living room: “*COUGH—*Hack—I'm not gonna make it!!” Jason calls weakly.

Dick raises a brow. “You be the judge.”

Living Room: Wayne Manor She enters the room and finds Jason curled like he’s moments from the grave. He spots her and lights up—well, as much as someone allegedly on death’s door can.

“You came,” he wheezes, voice pitiful, eyes wide and shimmering with faux tragedy. “I was sure I wouldn’t see your face again before I… you know… joined the Bat in the Sky.”

She kneels beside him, instantly checking his forehead. “You don’t even have a fever.”

Jason frowns. “Not externally. But inside? My soul’s on fire.”

From the kitchen, Tim peeks around the corner and silently mouths “HELP ME” while trying not to laugh too hard.

Damian walks past sipping orange juice. “He cried about stubbed toes last week. Don’t be fooled.”

Jason gives a wounded sniff. “Et tu, Demon Brat?”

“I will smother you with that blanket,” Damian replies flatly.

Back to Jason and His Crush She starts unwrapping the things she brought—soup, tea, cough drops.

Jason lifts his head slightly. “Will you feed me?” he asks, voice soft, eyes round.

“Oh my God, you have two functioning hands.”

“Barely,” he says dramatically, holding one up and letting it flop like a dead fish. “See? No strength left.”

She sighs, but there’s a small smile growing on her face. “You’re ridiculous.”

Jason pouts. “But I’m your ridiculous.”

Her cheeks flush a little. “Not yet, you aren’t.”

In the hallway, Dick lets out an audible wheeze as he trips over a decorative stool trying to run away before bursting into laughter. Tim collapses next to him, silently convulsing, while Damian mutters something in Arabic about “emotional parasites.”