I stare at the house you were brought up in
Jason Todd slowly opened his eyes, feeling a dull ache in his head. He tried to sit up, but was met with a sudden wave of dizziness. He groaned, bringing his hand up to his forehead to rub at the pain.
As he looked around the room, Jason realized that it seemed eerily familiar, but something felt off. It was his room, but it was slightly more modern and less dilapidated than he remembered. He rubbed his eyes, wondering if he was still dreaming.
He got up from the bed and moved towards the wall where he kept his weapons, but as he got closer, he stopped in his tracks. The weapons that he had framed on the wall were gone. He rubbed his eyes in disbelief, not quite processing the reality of the situation.
What the hell? Jason thought to himself as he stared at the empty wall where his weapons should have been. He furrowed his brow in confusion, trying to make sense of the situation. Where did all his weapons go? Had someone broken in and taken them?
Jason looked around the room in disbelief. The room looked nothing like how he remembered it. The grimy, worn down walls were replaced with modern gray paint, and the old and worn out furniture was replaced with sleek and modern pieces. Not only that, but there was a new air conditioner installed as well.
Who the hell did all this?
Is this some sort of prank?
He walked around the room, looking for any other changes.
As he walked over to his bookshelves, Jason's eyes widened in bewilderment. The shelves, which used to be filled with a few worn out books, were now packed with shelf after shelf of new fiction books. There were titles he had never even heard of, and the spines of the books looked too clean and new, as if they had never even been read.
Where did all these damn books come from?
He ran his hand over the spines of the books.
Just as he was surveying the bookshelves curiously, he stopped in his tracks as he heard footsteps approaching the door. He tensed up, suddenly on high alert, wondering who could possibly be on the other side of the door.
He looked around the room frantically, searching for anything he could use as a weapon. He quickly spotted a nearby lamp and grabbed it, holding it like a makeshift club. But as he did so, he noticed something even more off about his appearance.
He was wearing pajamas. He never wore pajamas.
He stood there in disbelief, looking at the pajama-clad body he was currently in. He racked his brain, trying to remember how he got into this state.
There's no way in hell he went to bed wearing pajamas, his brow furrowed in confusion. He either went to bed in his costume or in his boxers.
There was a gentle knock on the door, followed by Dick's voice asking, "Littlewing, you up?"
Jason froze in place, his heart suddenly hammering in his chest. What the hell was going on?
Jason's mind raced as he tried to make sense of the situation. How the hell did Dickwing know where he live? And since when does he knock on his door like this?
Last night they had a huge argument at the cave, and Jason had stormed out angry and frustrated. Now, here Dick was, knocking on his door like nothing had happened.
Jason reluctantly put down the lamp and hesitantly opened the door, peeking through the crack to see Dick standing outside with a small smile on his face.
"What the hell do you want?" Jason grumbled, his irritation clear in his tone.
Dick's expression almost turned into a whine at Jason's rude tone. "Come on, don't be like that," he said, holding up a bag of takeaway food. "I brought food for us since we have nothing to do today. And I wanted to finish that detective-romance movie we watched the other night. Don't say you're not interested."
Jason stood there, flabbergasted at Dick's cheerful and casual attitude. That's what he's here for? To watch a damn movie and eat food with him? He thought, still bewildered by the situation. Despite his confusion, he found himself stepping aside and letting Dick in.
As Dick walked into the room, he didn't seem surprised or confused at all. Instead, he casually looked around the room before turning back to Jason with a smile.
Jason couldn't help but feel puzzled and suspicious.
"Did you...did you do this?" Jason asked, gesturing to the modern furniture and clean walls. "And how the hell did you know where I live?"
Dick looked at Jason in confusion, his smile fading into a look of concern. "What are you talking about?" he said, his voice puzzled. "We literally hung out two days ago. I recommended this apartment to you, remember? And we watched that movie on your old crappy couch."
Jason was taken aback by Dick's words. What the hell was he talking about? He thought. Jason haven't hung out with him outside of the cave in months, and he definitely don't remember him recommending this apartment to him.
Jason gripped Dick's collar and slammed him against the wall, his anger flaring up. "Bullshit!" he yelled, his voice filled with frustration and disbelief.
Dick seemed genuinely startled and confused by Jason's outburst. He tried to gently pull Jason's hand away from his collar, his expression filled with concern. "Jason, calm down," he said, his voice firm yet soothing. "You're acting crazy right now. What's the matter with you?"
As Jason was about to respond, he caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror and did a double-take. He saw his reflection - it was still him, but he looked different. He was still muscular, but not quite as buff as he remembered. And strangest of all, the white streak in the center of his front hairline was gone.
Jason felt a sudden chill wash over him as he stared at his reflection in disbelief.
Jason's mind raced with a million questions, but the words that came out of his mouth were simply, "What the hell."
--
Jason Wayne slowly opened his eyes, his head pounding with a familiar headache. He sat up with a groan, rubbing his forehead in an attempt to soothe the pain.
He reached out to his left to find his ibuprofen on his bedside table, but to his surprise, the table was empty. And not only that, it didn't feel as smooth and clean as he remembered. It felt worn down and old.
Jason furrowed his brow in confusion as he looked around the room, trying to piece together what was happening.
He jerked forward, nearly falling off the bed, as he saw all his weapons neatly mounted on the walls like a shrine. They were his guns, his blades - all the weapons he had always kept hidden, now on display for anyone to see.
Jason swallowed hard, feeling a strange sense of unease settling in his stomach. Something was definitely wrong here.
Despite the confusion rushing through his mind, he couldn't deny the fact that this was definitely his apartment bedroom. The layout and structure were almost the exact same. However, the once-pristine walls were now a faded salmon color, and the entire place was a stark shade of glaring red.
He got out of bed with a groan, his headache still pounding, and moved over to his empty bookshelves. His heart sank at the sight. The shelves that used to be filled with his collection of fantasy and sci-fi novels were now bare, leaving nothing but empty space.
Despite the disappointment of his empty shelves, he felt a sense of relief when he saw the collection of crime and prejudice-themed books on the adjacent shelf. At least he had those, he thought to himself.
Jason walked over to the shelf, taking in the familiar titles and covers. He ran his hand over them, the sense of familiarity bringing him a little bit of comfort.
He looked down at himself, noticing the layers of clothing that were making him uncomfortable. The brown leather jacket, the red Nightwing suit under it, and the jeans with gun holsters. Who wears this shit to sleep?
Jason's mind raced as he tried to make sense of why he was dressed this way. He had never worn anything like this before, and the feeling was definitely odd.
He searched the room for his long mirror, but it was nowhere to be found. With a frustrated sigh, he made his way to the bathroom, hoping to get a clearer look at himself in the mirror there.
Once inside the bathroom, he stood in front of the mirror and looked himself up and down, taking in the strange attire he was wearing.
His gaze was immediately drawn to the white streak that ran through his front hairline. It stood out in stark contrast to his otherwise dark hair.
He also noticed that his body was incredibly toned. He flexed his arms, feeling the solid muscle beneath his shirt. It was like he had been lifting weights every day for hours on end, his physique was so defined.
He couldn't help but murmur a soft "damn" under his breath as he took in his appearance. He had to admit, he looked pretty badass.
The leather jacket, the suit peeking out from underneath, the muscular physique - it all made for an impressive image.
He walked out of the bathroom and started to explore the apartment, feeling uneasy. As he walked around, his attention was drawn to a red helmet sitting on a small table.
Jason walked over to the helmet, his curiosity piqued. He picked it up, feeling the weight of it in his hand. It was strange, he had never owned a red helmet before.
He took a deep breath and sat down on the bed, trying to calm himself. His therapist's words echoed in his mind, guiding him through the process.
He closed his eyes and focused on his breathing, feeling the rise and fall of his chest with each inhale and exhale. He tried to push away the confusion and the strangeness of his surroundings, centering himself in the present moment.
He exhaled slowly, finally feeling calm enough to analyze the situation. The more he thought about it, the more it made sense. The unfamiliar apartment, the strange clothes, the different appearance - it all pointed to the possibility of being in an alternate dimension.
And if that was the case, that meant this was an alternate version of himself.
Despite the fact that everything pointed to the possibility of him being in an alternate dimension, he still couldn't be certain without confirming it.
He stood up from the bed, the weight of the situation beginning to settle on him. He needed to find some kind of proof or evidence to confirm his theory.
He looked down at his clothes, hesitating for a moment before deciding to move forward with his plan. He picked up the helmet, his adrenaline pumping, and put it on his head.
Then, without further hesitation, he pushed open the window and grabbed his grappling hook with a confident grip. With a swift motion, he launched himself out the window and onto the roof.
He soared through the air, the wind rushing past him as he grappled from building to building. There was a sense of exhilaration coursing through his veins, and a sense of purpose driving him forward.
His destination was clear in his mind - the Wayne Manor, specifically the Batcave.
--
Jason pinned Dick against the wall, his expression full of anger and frustration. "So, I gave you a key to my apartment, huh?" he asked sarcastically. "Bullshit."
Dick was clearly alarmed and confused by Jason's accusations, trying to diffuse the situation, "Yeah, everyone has a key."
Jason, growing more irritated, tightened his grip on Dick's collar, his voice turning into a snarl. "Who's everyone?" he asked, his eyes narrowing.
Dick listed off the names, his voice strained under Jason's grip. "Me, Tim, Damian, and Bruce."
Jason's fingers dug into Dick's jacket when he heard the last name. "Bruce?" he repeated, his voice laced with disbelief and anger.
Dick nodded, sensing the tension in Jason's grip. "Yeah, Bruce."
Jason's jaw tightened, the mention of Bruce's name bringing up old feelings of resentment and betrayal. "Why would he have a key to my apartment?" he asked, his voice almost a growl.
Dick tried to explain, his voice calm, "He worries about you. We all do."
Jason scoffed, his grip on Dick's jacket not loosening. "I don't need anyone to worry about me," he retorted, his voice sharp. "I can take care of myself."
Dick tried to reason with Jason, "What's up with you today? Can you please just let me go? This is getting insane."
Jason's grip didn't loosen an inch, and his eyes were locked onto Dick's, his expression fierce. "Why should I? You all keep sticking your noses in my business, acting like you know what's best for me."
"How did you all manage to makeover my apartment? Did you drug me and toss me into these fancy ass pajamas for shits and giggles?" Jason let out a bitter laugh, the grip on Dick's collar growing tighter. "You think you're so damn smart, don't you?"
Dick's eyes widened in surprise, completely puzzled by Jason's remarks. "Hold on, what are you talking about?" he asked, his voice tinged with confusion. "We didn't do anything to your apartment. And trust me, we have better things to do than dress you up in fancy pajamas."
Jason stared at Dick for a long moment, his gaze intense and cold. There was an unfamiliar hardness in his eyes, a calculated distance that Dick had never seen before. It was like looking at a stranger.
Dick's heart sank as he witnessed the change in Jason. It was as if the man he knew had retreated, replaced by someone he didn't recognize.
Dick's concern grew, and he asked softly, "Littlewing, are you okay? Is there anything you want to talk about?"
Jason's expression didn't soften, but his grip on Dick loosened a fraction. It was as if the nickname and the concern had momentarily cracked the cold exterior he was displaying.
Jason let out a humorless laugh, his voice laced with bitterness. "You think you can just waltz in here and ask if I'm okay, like you actually care? Save your sympathy, Dick. I don't need it."
Dick tried to reach out, to bridge the growing divide, but Jason rebuffed his advances. It was a back and forth, a constant push and pull.
Dick attempted to step closer, his voice pleading, "Please, Jay. Just talk to me."
Jason, however, took a step back, his expression hardening once again. "I don't need your pity, Dick. Leave me alone."
Dick persisted, unable to give up. "It's not pity, Jason. It's concern. We all care about you and want to help."
Jason scoffed, his voice sharp and cold, "Help? Yeah, right. You all just want to meddle and control my life. I don't need that, and I don't need you."
Dick sighed heavily, realizing that he was getting nowhere with Jason in his current state.
He turned to leave, his voice tinged with frustration and heartache. "Fine," he said. "I'll give you space, but damn you, Jason. Eat the damn breakfast."
With that, Dick slammed the door behind him, his departure echoed with a sense of finality, Jason sat down on the bed, his anger slowly fading into a sense of confusion and bewilderment.
He ran a hand through his hair, trying to gather his thoughts and make sense of the situation.
Jason clenched his fists, his jaw tight as he berated himself internally. "Pull it together, Jason." he muttered to himself, his voice harsh.
He took a deep breath, trying to rein in the chaotic mix of emotions swirling inside him. He knew that losing his cool would only make things worse.
Despite his attempts to stay in a state of anger, Jason couldn't help but recall the sight of Dick's warm smile earlier. It was a stark contrast to Jason's current mood, and surprisingly, it made him feel a pang of regret for the way he had treated his brother.
Jason closed his eyes, the image of Dick's smile etched into his mind. He couldn't help but compare it to his own cold demeanor, and it only made him feel worse.
As Jason reflected on Dick's smile, a pang of regret grew stronger within him. He realized that it was indeed rare for Dick to smile at him without that hint of pity or guilt.
But earlier today, something had been different. There had been a certain warmth and sincerity in Dick's expression, something that Jason couldn't quite place. It was as if for a moment, Dick had truly seen him without the burden of their painful history.
Jason let out a string of curses as he began to piece together the puzzle in his mind without succumbing to a spiral of negative thoughts. He realized, "Shit, this isn't my life, is it?"