#have ya'll read the comic version of how jason todd died?

[ravenclawshermione]

New Chapter - Mother's Day

“You know, I’m not sure what I expected, but it wasn’t this,” I said, shooting Jason a wry smile. 

He’d taken us to the mainland, to the fancy stretch of Gotham where the truly elite have their fancy sprawling manors. We were at an estate that one of Jason’s brothers apparently owned, out on the grounds in a dirt field, standing under a well lit metal pavilion.

There were tables covered in breakable objects, some that looked ridiculously expensive, others that were from the dollar store. Off to the side of the pavilion were various pieces of furniture and an old beat up car, all lit up with floodlights that made it nearly bought as day. To the other side there was an area paved with asphalt that had a large concrete wall in the center, lit up with more floodlights.

The table next to me held some safety gear, several gallons of paint, a box of what looked like spray paint, a few baseball bats, some metal rods, a blow torch, and a crowbar with a pink bow stuck on it. Jason had rolled his eyes at that last one. 

“Best therapy there is,” he said, grinning, “First, you break shit until you break down or until the feelings aren't so loud. Then, you make some art.”

“That ‘you’ had better be a ‘we’,” I said, inspecting the bats.

“Oh absolutely,” he agreed, picking up one of the metal rods and twirling it like a baton, “Breaking shit is what I’m best at.”

I didn't agree, but I didn't have the energy to argue the point. Opting for one of the metal rods, I let him take the lead, following him to one of the tables of breakable objects. He set down his rod and pulled a cardboard box out from under the table. 

“Alright, load this up with anything that looks like it might be fun to break,” he said, getting to work adding things in. 

I picked at random, avoiding anything that looked too expensive. If it was here I was sure that it was probably okay to break, but the idea of destroying something worth more than one of my paychecks felt weird. When the box was full, he carried it over to the wall and set it at the far edge of the asphalt, next to a pedestal.

Jason pulled a fancy vase out and set it on top of the pedestal, “Now there’s obviously no rules on how to break the shit. Steph likes to chuck it at the wall. Personally, I prefer this.”

He took a swing at the vase, shattering it, sending shards flying in the direction of the wall. I felt a strange sort of anticipation as he gestured for me to take my turn. I dug out a ceramic statue of what was probably supposed to be a mom and daughter hugging and set it where the vase had been.

“Here goes nothing,” I said, taking a deep breath. 

The moment the rod made contact I felt the same rush that I’d felt that night at the cabin, when I’d made a bullseye with my first arrow. It was incredible, the sense of freedom and power the action gave. The dissociative fog that had settled over me was still there, but as ceramic shards went flying I felt a hint of something that wasn’t just the pain I’d expected. Something almost like anger.

“Better than state therapy?” he asked, his voice light and teasing. 

“Hell yes.”