So, I love Jason Todd. So sue me! (Please don't!) This story was written a long time ago during my great Writer's Block time. I don't know where I got the inspiration from, but here it is! This is about him living on his own as Redhood. It is around the same as "Under the Redhood" (maybe a little later). I'm really proud of this, simply for the fact that I love the description that was used for his home! The entire time I wrote it, I was imagining what my worst fear for a home would be (I'm a slight Mysophobic [fear of germs]). Well I hope you enjoy this! Please review and share! I own nothing except the crazy idea!
After a long night of work, a seventeen year old Jason Todd returned home hitting the light switch on, and illuminating the warehouse.
"Honey, I'm home!" he shouted to no one, as he pried his helmet off, and tossed it to the side. He slammed the door behind him, as he dropped his bag of various weapons on the other side of him. He grunted for no particular reason and walked over to the area that he designated as the kitchen.
The kitchen was simply a beat-up old stove with two broken burners, and a microwave. There were also a few counters or tables that were stacked with dishes. The piles of dishes were so high, that a few of them were almost as high as Jason's head. The floor was covered with food, and broken plates, and what Jason thought was either a colony of bugs, or the food had come alive, making the floor walk at times. He stomped on part of the moving floor for good measure.
Jason lifted a plate off of the large pot of food and peered inside. As suspected, the spaghetti that he had made a few nights ago was still there. He looked around and grabbed a fork from the few remaining clean dishes he had, and started dumping the food on top of the plate that was previously a lid.
He looked around, and saw that his table was covered in guns that needed repair, or reloading was taking up the table and chair; with no room for him to sit and eat his dinner comfortably. Grunting again, and deciding he was too lazy to take the short eight steps to his couch, he knocked one of the larger piles of dishes off the nearest counter, and onto the floor. He promptly sat on the counter, and started shoving large amounts of spaghetti into his mouth; ignoring the shattering of the plates, cups, and clattering of silverware.
In between shoving bites of food into his mouth, he looked around the warehouse he had been calling home. It was a large square room, with various large boxes that could easily fit a human being in it. Across the room, a mere eight steps from his kitchen, was a beat up couch, a recliner chair and a TV that he had to replace twice that month because he kept getting angry and throwing things at it and breaking the screen. Jason tried not to smirk at his own ingenious behavior for buying the recliner chair, remembering that all famous men had a recliner that only they could sit in and no one else. Only problem was that he had no one to yell at for sitting in his chair.
Rather than continue that line of thought, Jason shoveled a large bite of noodles into his mouth, and as he chewed, he piled more of it on his plate.
After eating a few more plates of the expired food, Jason took another clean plate, and set it on top of the almost empty pot of spaghetti. He hopped off the counter, set his now dirty plate on top of a pile of dishes, and took the dreaded eight steps that he had been avoiding earlier, swiped the remote of the arm of the couch, and sat down in his recliner, pulling the lever and crossing his legs as he started channel flipping.
It wasn't long before he fell asleep, snoring loudly. He slept for the rest of morning, and well into the afternoon. By the time he woke up it was about three in the afternoon. He yawned and stretched his arms. Lazily dragging himself to the kitchen and looked inside the pot of spaghetti again. He looked at the plate in one hand, and the pot of food on the stove, then back at the plate. He shrugged his shoulders, and dropped the plate with a loud clatter on the stove top, and carried the pot of spaghetti with his last clean fork back to the couch. He sat down on the couch, and turned the channel a few more times before setting to work on the food. He dug the fork in, not even thinking about heating it up, and started shoveling the food into his mouth, with the pot in between his legs. He saw a rat on the table in front of him, looking at him as if asking for a bite. He looked back at the rat, lifted his leg, and with one of his heavy boots, he kicked the rat off the table, and set his legs on the table.
After he finished eating, he carried the pot back to the kitchen and set it down on the stove. He then walked to the one room in the warehouse, the bathroom. Normally, Jason avoided it at any and all costs. However, his kitchen sink was completely full, and he had dried blood and spaghetti on his hands, face and shirt. He knew the red on his face must be spaghetti because his helmet protected him from blood, but he didn't know about his hands and shirt. The reddest and freshest red must have been spaghetti, but the dried red, he wasn't so sure.
He walked in and shuddered slightly at the sight in front of him. The entire bathroom looked as if it had been copied from the world's dirtiest gas station bathroom, then Jason got a hold of it and made it even worse. The walls were covered in graffiti, blood, and various other bodily fluids. There were clothes, bandages and wraps creating an inch layer on the floor, and what little bits of floor that were visible were covered in garbage, and more bugs. Jason stomped on a cockroach with his heavy boot before he took a definite step in the bathroom. He looked around, and felt a small pang of guilt and shame thinking how Alfred Pennyworth would react if he saw this atrocity. Then Jason shrugged his shoulders, as he caught sight of the bathtub, he had killed guys less disgustingly than this, and Jason was known for his brutal murders. The entire thing was black; Jason actually couldn't remember a time when it wasn't a dark shade of gray or brown.
Pushing these thoughts aside, he went to the sink and turned the water on; ignoring the dark brown shade the water was, with a small hint of green. Jason stared at the water for a moment, wondering why the hell his water was slightly green. He shook his head, and pulled his gloves off, and threw them on the ground, on top of the cockroach that he had smashed earlier, but was still sniffing around. Jason started splashing the brown water in his face, relieved that the green was no longer in the water. He cupped the water and took a small sip of the water before spitting it out. He started wiping his tongue on the back of his hand.
"Ew! Ugh, that's some fucking nasty shit!" he yelled to no one in particular. Jason shut the water off, satisfied that at least most of the spaghetti was off his hands, the blood could wait for later. As he turned to leave out of the corner of his eye he saw a dead cockroach next to his old socks.
"Huh… Guess they can die…" he said interested and with his sadistic tone. He smirked at the cockroach's demise before he left, and firmly shut the door.
Jason lazily dragged himself to his chair and started working on his guns, adding various bullets to some, or adjusting the eye piece on others. He leaned over the table and switched on his stereo, turning on his loud rock music, he sang along with the lyrics, loudly, head banging slightly.
"They stuck me in an institution, said it was the only solution to give me the needed professional help, to protect me from the enemy, myself." He screamed these lyrics, loudly, thinking of Bruce and how he still tries to get Jason the help he didn't need. "How can you say what MY best interest is? What are you trying to say? I'M crazy? When I went to YOUR schools, I went to YOUR churches; I went to YOUR institutional learning facilities? So how can you say I'M crazy?" He screamed these lyrics louder, screaming into a gun that he was using as a microphone and pointing at the air in front of him every time he sang "you". When the song finished, he cocked his gun and fired it at the wall in front of him as he laughed with "Mikey", the singer.
Jason laughed a little more before he strapped some guns onto his body, singing along with the next rock song. He looked outside and noticed that it was finally starting to get dark.
His stomach started growling so he thought that he might as well get more spaghetti. He walked over to the kitchen, and looked inside the empty pot. He sighed, as he realized that he'd have to make more. Jason started looking in the cabinets, pulling various things out. He poured some water into the pot, and dropped the noodles into the pot, before turning the stove on. He rummaged through the cabinets looking for more things to add.
After a few hours and a very disgusting looking pot of spaghetti Jason decided it was time to prepare for the night. Jason pulled out his newly loaded guns out of the large box, and turned the music up more on his stereo, head banging along with another loud rock song. He strapped a gun to his leg and another to his other leg. He continued strapping guns, knives, bombs, and various other sharp objects to his body as he looked over a file concerning a drug crime lord that he'd been following for some time now. He had him trapped, he knew where he'd be tonight, and almost everyone would be there, like ducks taking a nap on a shooting range. Jason smirked to himself as he grabbed his helmet and pulled it over his face as he ditched his apartment, and the stove that was still on with the burning pot of spaghetti.
Please review? I am considering expanding this, I have a rough idea of what could happen next, but I could most definatly use a friendly nudge from a lovely review to give me a reason to expand it. Other wise this will stay a lovely oneshot! - Piratechicka, out!