Hi! This is my first fan fiction, I read them all the time, so I decided to start writing them ;)
If you think I suck, tell me why; reviews are wanted!
Since this is my first, I'm not sure of the updating schedule yet, but I'll establish it soon after these first few chapters.
I'd like this to be a long story, so please comment and tell me what you guys think would be cool or interesting.
(characters belong to the creator and producers of Young Justice)
~LILAC~
Green eyes fluttered open, iris's fixating, the emerald fear scanning the floor. It was stained with oil splotches and gasoline rivers, in which he felt pouring into his red sun-kissed hair. He turned his head sideways, grunting in pain as lightning seemed to strike his head at the slightest movement, and saw a pick-up truck. The Ford 1980 he so possessed and obsessed over. His eyes searched the other side of the garage, the gasoline, to his unimaginable relief, came tumbling out of a fallen red container; harmless unless lit. The oil smudged on his arms came from the floor. He was lying on a desert of engine oil. Then the Crimson coloring came tumbling down his face as he pushed his right arm out and up, supporting himself and heaving his lean teenage body up on all fours. The crimson came first in droplets, starting a match of fear like the cigarettes in his white rolled up sleeve on his left shoulder, but as soon as he shifted to his knees-hitting something hard above him, it came rushing down like a waterfall as he screamed. A bucket, now empty, rolled on the table above him. Blood, glory and all, painted his back and his hair. A wet sob burst out of the 16 year olds lips. His hands shook, to horrified to move. In the moment, Wally West was very confused, but as he looked up and saw the dead body hanging from the bike racks of his dad's garage; he knew what had happened.
There was no waiting, no time to stare at the dead victim. Wally pushed up with his sore legs, almost slipping in the blood and gasoline as he rushed to the front of the garage by the closed doors. He bent down, grasping the handle and flung the wooden garage door open. The first instinct was to check for witnesses, to see if any little kid with a doll was standing outside his house with deadly eyes. There was no one, Central City was as if in the middle of a apocalypse. He jumped into his Ford, not bothering to close the garage door as he flung out of the driveway onto the black road. At times like this, Wally was grateful that his parents had moved the Central City when he was young instead of staying in Blue Valley. This gave him easy access to his Uncle Barry's and Aunt Iris' house. His parents' oblivion to his powers and his job as Kid Flash forced him to buy a car, which he learned to fall for, and only had it to drive to school and to work. But, now during summer, he had to drive his truck to Barry's house, leave it there in the one car garage as his Aunt and Uncle parked their cars outside their town house, and run to Mount Justice for missions and to see the team. His parents, Rudy and Mary, thought he had an all day job at the gas station in the country where they lived before you enter the pure city. It's not a lie, he dose work there for the night shift, but he doesn't spend his day putting cars back together; he spends it running and fighting.
The tall city buildings were getting closer and closer. He cursed at the farness of his house from the Flash's. The attacks started happening a few months ago, and had started with the boy wonder; Robin. He was Dick Grayson at the time, entering his bathroom at the Gotham mansion to shower, only to see a skinned man hanging from the diamond chandelier above. Apparently he had screamed bloody murder, Bruce came running up...and, well, that's how it started. The same thing happened to Artemis at her school in Gotham in the locker room, but the thing that struck Batman's confusion was that it was a women and she had been beheaded; a different murder, a different gender. At first they thought that it was only because Robin and Batman have high, desired secret identities, but then it happened to Artemis. Then it was the thought of Gotham students, but the coincidence of being two team members was enough for the League to say that this murderer was targeting the team, the Young Justice, through the other life lived; their identity's.
Now it was Wally's turn. To see a dead man, bones broken into a disturbing runner's position, was enough, but to now be forced to flee like a coward didn't feel too good either. That was batman's rule: if you are targeted, to run.
Wally's Ford zoomed through the city, speeding passed the other town houses until he saw his Uncle's sharpen into few; the one that was a few shades redder than the others. The drive way was small, but Wally didn't care as he pulled up halfway onto the grass. He yanked the keys out, jumping out of the truck with his torn jeans still on, oil stained shirt, and as he saw in the car mirror; black oil attacking his face as well. The blood still soaked through the back of his white shirt and his now even redder hair. He slammed the door, already running. He skipped steps of the concrete stairs, tripping suddenly, with the heavy dark green door catching him. He hoped that had counted as a knock.
The Knock a the garage door made him jump, almost screwing up his work in progress. It was his father, most likely; he didn't like when he stayed in the garage all day. "Yeah one second, Dad!" Wally yelled as his hands wrapped around tools, his face stuck in front of an old motor he's been wanting o fix up for weeks.
"Young man? I heard you can fix up cars!"
Wally froze at the strangers voice. Paranoia is survival, it's a brave fear.
"What do you want? Who are you?" Wally let go of the tools in his hand, softly placing them on the wood table. He walked slowly to his left, when turned around to face the garage door. He reached up and wrapped his tan fingers around the metal baseball bat.
"Look, boy, my car broke down a half mile or so down. I've seen you working at the WT gas station! I figured you could get my truck running again, yeah?"
Wally walked towards the garage door. "No! I can't help you, I'm sorry!"
He won't help the man, he won't help anyone while not working at the station. Not while there's a murderer running around.
"Wally? What are you doing here this early..." Barry Allen trailed off. Wally imagined he saw the state and condition his nephew was in as Barry scanned his face. "What the hell happened?"
"It happened, he went after me. We need to get to the cave, now."
A quick goodbye to his wife, Barry grabbed Wally's arm and ran.
As uncle and nephew walked into the cave, Batman groaned. It was bad enough that Barry was here, but Wally wasn't supposed to be here today with the rest of the team, Monday's were his work day's at the WT station. Though, Batman found it odd that the young speedster worked so much for his age, he was grateful that there was something to keep him busy, unlike coming here all the time.
"What do you need, Flash? Kid?" he asked, not moving his masked eyes from the monitor.
"Bats, we have a problem."
Wally watched as the dark knight turned hesitantly, as if he was scared, which scared Wally even more than he already was. Then his eyes landed on him, studying the oil stains and the blood painting.
"There's another body...and a problem."
"Come on, kid, please! I have to get to my sister's wedding!"
Wally peaked through to windows on the top of the garage door; the man was in a suite, a tux. He looked about mid 20's, considerably recognizable, and held innocent eyes. Wally sighed, and bent down, opening the door.
"Show me your car."
"What?! You were targeted?!" Batman shouted with concern. He rushed down the steps, his black cape flowing behind him majestically.
Wally bit the inside of his mouth. "But there's a problem."
"Kid this is already a prob-."
"No, you don't understand...I saw him."
He cursed as he made his way back to house. He blamed Batman's protectiveness and Robin's fear for making him this on edge. The man was true, all Wally had to do was restart the engine and he was off to the wedding with a big thank you. Wally walked into the open garage, flinging his red tool box on the oil stained floor. The engine oil was always everywhere, and Wally always had to clean it before his mom freaked. Wally looked up from the ground and froze; hanging on the once empty bike racks was a man in a distorted position, as if running.
And then it was in that moment when he realized he was the next target, when he opened his mouth and released a blood curling scream.
Wally had never screamed so loud, with so much fear. But then his voice of help was cut off, muffled by a hand.
His hand, his hand. The hand that killed this man and broke his bones, the hand that cut off a woman's head and skinned a human being.
Wally panicked. He shoved his elbow backwards into the attackers gut and ran. He didn't get very far; he tripped over an open red can of gasoline. He slammed to the ground as the oil painted the floor, traveling like a river. He hoped that his cigarettes wouldn't magically catch it on fire. He sifted, painfully moving himself on his back.
He looked open, gasoline drenching his hair and dripping into his eyes, squinting.
T
he man stood above him, a black and gold, hard, masquerade mask covered his eyes and nose. In his hand, the metal baseball bat Wally had left on the wooden table by the old motor he deserted.
In an instant, the weapon came down towards him, offering darkness.