Title: the beast upon your back
Word Count: 1,250
Characters/Pairing: Artemis/Dick
Rating: T
Disclaimer: Young Justice does not belong to me; I'm just here for the paranormal AUs apparently
Summary: "You're just a kid," she blurted, so shocked she forgot to train her crossbow properly. The oversight hardly mattered though, because it was true: rather than a fully grown werewolf, savage and deadly, all she found was a pale and scrawny boy, naked as the day he was born.

Note: Requested by anon—Traught Robin is a werewolf and Artemis is hunting him. I'll have you know, sweet anon, that this fic absolutely CONSUMED my brain. I hope to expand this at some point, but in the mean time here is my answer. Super special thanks to superblys for patiently answering my many questions about flesh wounds. Any accuracy with regards to the treatment of them is due to her, and all mistakes are my own. Please do point them out.

"Don't let the other one escape!" her father screamed, but Artemis hesitated—the werewolf he was fighting was massive, inky black as the nightmares it was made of, and had proved alarmingly clever in the weeks they had spent tracking it. "Go!" he growled, not taking his eyes off the hulking, snarling beast in front of him; she turned and gave chase through the underbrush.

Behind her, there came a bone-chilling howl; Artemis ran faster.

Her watch read only a few minutes before sunup, but that was fine—the smaller were had been the one to trip their trap in the first place, and was leaving a blood trail a mile wide for her to follow. She would not fail.

The dark red splotches grew larger and closer together; she was getting close. Just as the first rays of the sun touched the leaves above her head, she found the creature tucked between the roots of a tree, only—

"You're just a kid," she blurted, so shocked she forgot to train her crossbow properly. The oversight hardly mattered though, because it was true: rather than a fully grown werewolf, savage and deadly, all she found was a pale and scrawny boy, naked as the day he was born. He couldn't have been more than twelve.

It was definitely her wolf though—if the unnaturally glowing yellow eyes hadn't given it away, the nasty gash on his left calf would have. She stood, torn. On the one hand, here was a monster just like any other she had spent her life hunting; on the other, here was a hurting child. She recognized her father's handiwork, and it had to be beyond painful. Still, the kid made a show of it, growling weakly and crouching as though to lunge at her.

(If she were feeling honest, this was what finally made up her mind.)

(She never meant to hurt anyone.)

Slowly, making no sudden movements, Artemis unloaded her crossbow and lowered her weapon to the ground. She reached for the pouch at her belt, but stopped when he snarled, lips curling menacingly to reveal unsettlingly long canines.

"Look kid," she said softly, in the same voice she used to coax alley cats with scraps of food. "I know you've got no reason to trust me, but I want to help you okay? That wound isn't going to treat itself." As she spoke, she pulled out her emergency bandages, hoping it got across her intent.

For a few minutes they stood in stalemate, but even from seven feet away she could see his arms and legs trembling with the effort of it. Finally he collapsed, panting heavily, and she took that as her permission—though she remained alert, in case she was wrong. He eyed her distrustfully, but allowed her approach.

Carefully, she crouched down and touched his leg, trying to discern the extent of the damage. It was as bad as she'd thought, and more than she could treat properly with what she had on hand, but the least she could do was to stem the worst of it and try to prevent infection.

Artemis continued talking in the same tone of voice. "I'm going to wash it off and keep it clean, at least for a little while, and I can wrap it up tight." With gentle hands, she brought his leg into her lap, soaking a cloth with her water bottle and pressing it to the wound. He hissed, but otherwise did not react; nor did he remove his direct, unwavering gaze from her person, flicking briefly to her hands before resting again on her face. Though his expression had turned less hostile, more curious, she was oddly unsettled, and directed him to hold the cloth down while she began fashioning a tourniquet with one of her arrows.

"What's your name?" he asked, breaking the silence abruptly. Her hands paused in their work.

"Really? That's what you want to know?"

"Yes," he replied simply.

Well—in for the penny, in for the pound.

"It's Artemis." He snorted, and her temper flared; she glared at him. Of all the ungrateful little… "What, you think my name is funny?"

"No, I just think there's a certain poetic irony in being hunted by the goddess of the moon, is all."

"She's the goddess of the hunt too, you know." Her eyes slide sideways, and she began wrapping his leg. "And…the protector of children."

He said nothing at first, but then:

"Is that why you're doing this?"

Now it was Artemis's turn to snort.

"I'm not actually a goddess, so no, that's not it. But," her fingers tightened without meaning to, "I couldn't capture you. You're just a kid."

He growled again, but when she looked up sharply in alarm, his eyes danced playfully back at her—bright, robin-egg blue now, she noticed with a start, rather than gold. "I'll have you know, I'm fourteen. Not a kid at all." She raised a brow that spoke eloquently of her disbelief. "Okay," he amended, "almost fourteen. But still. Definitely not a kid."

This managed to draw a small but genuine smile from her, which made the wolf boy grin in reply, pleased with himself.

"And what's your name, anyway?" she asked. She couldn't just think of him as 'wolf boy.'

His eyes grew intent again, and for a moment she thought he wouldn't answer at all.

"Richard," he said finally. "I'm Richard. But…my friends call me Dick."

Quietly, she tied off the bandages, checking to make sure everything was tucked and tight, and all around avoiding his gaze.

"I don't know that we can be friends," she told his leg.

"I think that we can, Artemis." He placed his hand over hers; her eyes snapped to his face. Dick smiled, confident beyond all sense and reason. It made her want to believe him, against her own better judgment.

"Maybe someday, wolf boy," she allowed, then helped him stand. He stumbled, but managed to stay upright. Still, it was cause for concern. "Will you be able to walk?"

"Yeah, I'll be fine. Bruce will find me."

Artemis assumed he meant the other werewolf, and privately, she had her doubts. Her dad was very good at his job.

She didn't say that though.

"Head north—we're camped in the opposite direction, and you need as much distance as you can get."

He made no move to leave, eyes dark and serious suddenly. "Artemis, what will the other hunter do when he finds out you let me go?"

She kept her face carefully blank. "I'll deal with him later."

It seemed for a moment as though he wanted to say something else, eyebrows furrowed and mouth pursed; then he signed noisily and reached up on tip toes, pulling at her shoulder until he could press their cheeks together.

"Safe travels," he said, rubbing gently. For a fragile spanse of time they stayed just like that, and she listened to the sound of his breaths. "I hope we meet again someday."

"I hope we don't," she replied, smile brittle.

His smile, on the other hand, remained undimmed as he pulled back, and he winked at her before he turned and limped away, until he was just one more shadow slipping between the trees.

As it happened, this was not the last time she would see her wolf boy. Not by a longshot.

But in the meantime: she needed to speak with her father.