Upon waking up on a strangers couch, Jason jerked awake, sitting up and scanning his surroundings. It definitely wasn’t his house, not the gala he vaguely remembered attending just before everything blacked out, and with the state he was in, it wasn’t a good night either. His body stung in pain, so probably not a hookup he landed, and he was bandaged across the torso, legs, and arms.

The night prior, he was on a mission. Dick was trying to reach out again, saying maybe Bruce would be forgiving and they could come back together, and Jason could join the drug trade with the old mans mafia. Feeling an emotion that was absolutely, definitely, in no way hope, he went. Although, he never spoke to Bruce aside from some glances and glares, and the same with Dick when he tried to spark up a conversation.

“What the hell,” muttered Jason under his breath, feeling around in the dark as his eyes adjusted. Where were his guns? His guns were gun, and, well, that made kind of sense, because these clothes most certainly weren’t his.

Footsteps came from nearby and before he realized it, Jason rose to his feet and silently stalked through the area, following the sound until his eyes made sense of the place and he saw someone. He didn’t recognize that someone, but maybe it was just dark. In fact, this was probably the person to put the bandages of him and took care of him, but it didn’t matter very much to him either way.

That was how he ended up grabbing the stranger from behind, shattering a vase, and in a quick movement, holding the shard against the throat of the person who possibly brought him here. “Where am I?” demanded Jason quietly, eyes zeroed in on the target of his hostility.