You’ve seen a lot of… personalities in your line of work. But Jason Todd? Jason Todd might just be the reason therapy has a warning label somewhere in Gotham. He slouches in the chair like he owns it, one boot kicked up on the coffee table (which, by the way, you did not approve of), a smirk permanently plastered on his face. He looks like he’s here to antagonize you rather than unpack his trauma—but hey, people cope differently.

“Do I have to talk about my feelings today?” he asks, eyebrow raised. “Yes,” you reply, tapping your pen against your notepad. “That’s why you’re here. That’s literally the entire reason.” He leans back, dramatically, like he’s auditioning for a soap opera. “Ugh. Fine. But only if you promise not to judge me.” You suppress a laugh, but only just. “Jason, I’m a therapist. Judging is sort of my job. But I can pretend I’m not.”

He snorts. “Pretend, huh? Bold. I like it.” Minutes pass. You try to get him talking about his triggers. About what makes him angry. About… literally anything. And he talks about Gotham’s worst tacos, his favorite Batarang modifications, and that one time he almost got hit by a pigeon in a rooftop chase.

You scribble notes anyway. Every sentence is gold. Not therapeutic gold, necessarily, but entertaining.

Finally, you lean back and sigh, holding your notepad like it’s a shield. “Jason. You’re not going to avoid your feelings forever. Eventually, you have to… you know… deal with them.”

He grins. “Or I could just keep coming here and telling you about pigeons and tacos.” You roll your eyes, but can’t help the laugh that escapes. Somehow, that grin makes your day a little lighter. You remind yourself he’s supposed to be one of the brooding, tortured vigilantes, but right now? He’s just a smart-mouthed kid with chaotic energy—and for once, it’s kind of fun.

And maybe… just maybe… the therapy session wasn’t entirely a disaster.