Okay, so this is probably the darkest and most intense thing I have ever written. Multiple warnings for mentions of rape, drug use, death and swearing

Disclaimer: I don't own Young Justice

OoO

The streetlights slide past above me, like angels that are flying over us; but are obviously too busy to be concerned with the saving the little people.

It's not fair, I could really use some help right now.

Don't cry.

The majority of the drug's affects worn off, at least I'm mostly coherent, but my limbs still feel heavy, and my head light, and I know there's no way in hell that I'm going to be able to fight or run my way out of here anytime soon.

Don't cry, don't cry.

And it's not just me that I need to get out of here. The girl with me, Sarah, also needs help.

But I don't know if I'm able to give it to her.

Some hero I am.

Don't fucking cry.

I roll my head back to the front and glare at the two bodies in the front seats. The driver meets my eyes through the rear view mirror. "Well, well, well," he says, dragging out his words. "Looks like one of them decided to wake up." The venom in his voice and his absolute despise of us sends a chill down my body. I look at Sarah, still passed out on the seat next to me. There's no way in hell that this is just a leisurely detour.

The other body, a twitchy and nervous guy in the passenger seat, twists around to look at me. He seems almost as afraid as me. "Should I give her more?" he whispers.

"Nah, she's not going anywhere, are ya kid?" I bite my lower lip to hold back any whimper or insult that wants to slip out from my mouth. "Besides, we want to have her active enough for at least a little fun, am I right?" The other guy shifts uncomfortably and turns back to face the front.

I can feel my heartbeat pounding in my chest, stomach and throat, and my fingers are beginning to twitch with adrenaline, but I can't do anything, and I hate it.

I faced super villains, I know criminals, I've been put in life threatening and dangerous situations before, but somehow, all of that, is nowhere near as terrifying as this moment.

You'd think that facing some of the most powerful and dangerous super villains in the world would be the most terrifying thing a person could face, but I don't think that's true. It's not the real villains that are frightening; the unpowered, 'normal' people are the most terrifying.

For example these guys, or more so, the driver. Hanging around at a party full of teenagers, managing to drug at least two girls and coercing them to get in his car, promising to take them home safely. You hear about stuff like this all the time, in the news, from your parents or teachers, but you never really imagine what it's like to actually be in that position.

And the fact that I, of all the girls at that party, ended up being one of these horror stories, is just embarrassing.

A tear slips out from the corner of my eye. I want to brush it away but my hand feels too heavy to move.

Fuck.

I focus my attention on trying to get Sarah to wake up until the vehicle finally starts to slow down. I try to look outside to see where we are. We're way out of the city, and from the amount of trees on the side of the road and the smell of smoke and gas, I figure we must be somewhere around the factory district.

The driver yanks the car off the highway and onto a dirt road, jolting all of us. We only go a short way before he breaks hard and turns off the car. "Get out," he growls to the other boy, who I realize, now that I can see him properly, is only about my age. He obliges quickly and silently, and I vaguely see him stand by a tree, folding his arms, not in a powerful pose, but more like it's the only barrier he has between himself and his dangerous friend.

You'd think I'd be relieved that he's almost as afraid as I am, but really, it just makes me feel worse.

The driver gets out of the car himself and yanks open the door next to me. I can feel the bile ready to burst from the back of my throat as he gazes at me coldly. "Get out," he hisses. I don't move. He growls and grabs my arm, dragging me out of the car.

I end up on the ground, the world spinning and bright lights dancing in front of my eyes. Obviously the drug's affects haven't gone away as much as I thought. "Get up," I hear vaguely, and attempt to push myself up onto my feet. The dark trees twirl around me as I stand up, holding myself up with a hand on the car.

I'm pushed towards an old, corrugated iron shed, my knees ready to buckle at anytime. With one last shove, I stumble inside, tripping onto my hands and knees. It's even darker inside the shed as outside, and the air inside feels damp and cold.

He doesn't bother to tell me to stay where I am, probably figuring that I won't be able to go anywhere. I lower myself to the ground, resting my cheek on wet soil and closing my eyes, while he leaves the shed.

I need to get out of here. I have to try think of a plan. Dammit Artemis! Get out your funk! My head, once feeling like it was floating, now feels unbelievably heavy, and the rest of me is too tired to do anything other than give up.

Come on, Artemis. Do something!

There's not much point anyway, as he soon comes back, dragging Sarah with him. She moans as he pushes her to the other side of the shed, and I watch him pull the door of the shed closed. The smile on his face makes me want to throw up.

I can hear the car start again, and listen to it pull out and drive away. The other guy has left, the only person that might have been able to help me right now, gone.

My gaze falls to my captor. What did he say his name was? Dave? Damian? He's stretching and looking at me with twisted pleasure. "Now it's just me, you and your friend over there," he hisses, stepping towards me.

I can't believe it's only now that my body decides to move. I sit up and push myself away from him, as far as I can before my back hits one of the shed walls. He doesn't adjust his pace, but merely snorts at my fear and continues to walk slowly towards me, undoing and taking off his belt.

As he gets close enough, I strike out, aiming for his throat. Unbelievably, I miss, barely brushing his shoulder. He laughs and catches my wrist in an iron grip, pinning it to my other wrist and holding them above my head. His other hand slaps over my mouth, pushing my head back so it hits the wall and the world flashes for a moment. "Now, now slut," he hisses, "why don't you make this easy and I promise it'll hurt less."

He lowers himself onto me and brings his face close to mine. "Okay," he whispers. His breath smells like beer. "Are we going to co-operate here?" I hold my breath and meet his eyes. "Are we?" his grip tightens on my wrists.

It goes against everything I've ever been taught and all the things I've told myself, but I nod silently and relax under him. I slow my breathing and he removes his hand from my mouth, and everything starts to become clearer. My sight sharpens, and I realize, it's not as dark in here as I thought; there's a section of roof that is missing, and the light from the exposed new moon is shining through it. I can hear better also. It doesn't feel I'm hearing everything underwater anymore.

And I bet, if I tried to strike him again, I wouldn't miss.

He finally loosens his grip on my wrists and works on loosening his pants once again, keeping his eyes on me. I hold his gaze, waiting for an opening; just one little slip of his concentration...

His fly is stuck. He curses and focuses down on the zipper, pulling against it roughly.

Bingo.

I use his distraction to push him backwards, using the momentum to slip myself out from underneath him and somersault over the top of him. I land off balance, and the shed is still spinning around me, but I go with it. I have to do this, drugged or not.

He rolls over and clumsily dives at my feet, pulling me down. "You fucking bitch," he growls. His hands grasp at my shirt. "You little fucking bitch." His hands claw over my chest, and he's grabbing, pulling, tearing, and I'm screaming, punching and kicking.

And then, I don't know what happens next. Or maybe I do, and just don't want to admit it.

A snap sounds through his grunts and my screams and leaves the shed in a dead silence. He goes limp on the top of me, and I'm left breathing heavily underneath him.

I finally look at him, my hands placed on his chin and in his hair, his head twisted in an odd upward direction.

His eyes are still open.

His body is heavy as I slip out from underneath it, but still warm; it's going to be warm for a while.

I push myself up and step away from the body, my legs shaking from adrenaline. My knees are ready to buckle at underneath me at any moment, so I lean back against the wall of the shed and let it take my weight.

It's not long before I can feel the bile crawl up my throat, and I double over, letting it stream out. All the food and alcohol from the night splashes onto the ground, and even once I know my stomach is empty, I continue to heave, vainly hoping that everything will come out; all the blood, all the memories, every black, twisty, bad thing inside me. It's an acquired habit of mine; no matter how many dead bodies I've seen, there's no way in hell I'm ever going to get used to it. I won't let myself.

I wipe my mouth and steal a glance at the guy, just to be sure he's gone. I regret it almost immediately . His face glows pale in the soft light, and his moonlit eyes stare at me with a startle expression, mouth slightly open.

There's no way I can call accident on this one.

I turn away again, but really, it's no use. He's not dead, not really. He's going to be alive forever, living amongst the other ghosts in my mind; the ones that come to me in my dreams, and ask me, "Why? Why did you do it Artemis?"

My hands are shaking uncontrollably as I pull my phone out of my jeans. It slips between my fingers as I try to swallow down my sobs. "Fuck," I whisper, "Fuck, fuck, fuck." I fumble in the dark, knowing that swearing to nothing but the cold night air doesn't help anything, but at least it distracts me from crying. Don't be scared. Don't be sad. Be angry. Angry is safe.

Crawling on the ground, I really want my mom. I want to be eight years old with her brushing my hair and telling me stories. I want Jade to be helping me out and promising that she'll always be there for me no matter what.

But Jade isn't here, and there's no way in hell I'm going to call Mom. If I can prevent it, she's not going to find out at all. For a fleeting second I think about calling someone from the team, but they're out. I can't bring heroes to the scene of a murder, that I've committed, and honestly, I don't even know if I'll be able to face them after this. It was bad enough before, but I've done this after meeting them. So much for being a hero.

My hands finally grip the phone and I close my eyes. I know I'm going to regret this later, but there's only one person I can call. I focus on the ringing tone, which offers a semblance of warmth to the cold and dead shed.

"Artemis?" I used to love listening to his gruff voice, as he told me and Jade about stories of his 'job', or while he taught me how to use a bow. Nowadays though, I hate it; I can pick out the arrogance laced through his words, the mocking tone he so loves to use.

Right now though, it's that same gruff voice which I'm praying on to get me out of this.

"Dad," I whisper, "Um..." I breathe in, cursing the shakiness of my voice and tightening my grip on the phone. "I-I need your help. I-" my voice cracks into a whimper, and I mentally kick myself for letting him hear. "I did something." I can't stop thinking about the look on the dead guys face, the complete shock he felt as I killed him, and I start to become extremely conscious of how dark and cold it is. Hot, unwanted tears start slipping down my cheeks and my breath becomes ragged. I sob for ages, trying to keep as quiet as possible, but I know he can hear it all.

"Where are you?" He demands, and I give him sketchy details of the surrounding area. "Stay there, and don't do anything, got it?" I close my tired eyes in relief.

"Okay."

~o~

It doesn't take him long at all to get here, which raises the question of where he originally was and what he was doing, but I don't care. As soon as he pushes through the shed door, I launch myself at him, burying my head into his chest. I could almost laugh at the absurdity of the idea of me hugging him, it's definitely not the usual father-daughter greeting for us, and I can tell he also feels uncomfortable with it, from the way he awkwardly pats my shoulder.

"What happened?" I tell him, trying to skip over as much of the unneeded details as possible. I don't look at him while I tell him, but it's easy enough to feel him getting pissed. He finally nods and pushes his hockey mask into my hands. "Check on your friend," he mutters, "I deal with the body."

While I crouch over Sarah, who seems mostly fine, despite still being unconscious, I watch as Dad stands over the body. I don't really need to watch him to know what he's doing, I've seen the process plenty of times, but I watch anyway.

He bends over, pulls out a knife and brings it to the guy's fingers, scraping out any trace of clothing, skin or dirt from under his fingernails. He then rubs mud and soil on the face, in particular the areas I had my hands on to break his neck, destroying any chance of fingerprints.

He starts to walk back over to me, just as I look away. "Come on," he bends over to pick up Sarah, "Let's get her in the truck." He carries Sarah outside and I help him settle her in the backseat, before we both go back inside the shed.

I try not to look at the body as Dad heaves it up and half-drags, half-carries it out of the shed. I instead focus on my job, following behind him to mess up the soil and get rid of footprints and drag marks. We go far enough into the woods before Dad drops the body into a thick bush, and double around back, still getting rid of footsteps.

We stay silent throughout the entire walk, and even once we get into his car we don't say anything. I have no idea where he's driving to, but I'm too exhausted to be bothered asking. I curl up in the passenger seat and focus on the road as Gotham's tall buildings start sliding past us once again.

We're in the midst of the city when he finally speaks to me. "There's a bag behind your seat," he mutters lowly, "Bring it to the front for me." The bag is filled with clean clothes and money. I pass him a shirt and jacket as he pulls up in a parking lot. As he gets changed, I look around and realize we're sitting in the parking lot of Gotham General Hospital. I give him a puzzled look as he gets out of the car and opens the back door.

"What's her name?" He asks, picking Sarah up from the backseat.

"Um…Sarah – Sarah Beckman."

"Does she have any ID with her?"

"I-I don't know."

"Okay." He passes another bag toward the front. "Stay here and put another shirt on. I won't be long."

I had no idea that Dad still had some of my stuff in his car, but right now, I'm grateful for it. I dig through the bag and pull out a soft, clean shirt, and quickly swap it for my current torn up one.

As I see him walking back, I know that this is the point when he's going to begin talking, start berating me for all the "should have"s and "shouldn't have"s; the list of things I did wrong, and what I need to do better next time. Not that I'm planning on having a "next time" in this situation, but he won't believe that. To him, it's once a criminal, always a criminal.

No loopholes.

He slams the driver's door and puts his keys in the ignition, the truck rumbling to life. "So you want me to take you home?"

What, no punishment? No ordering me to shoot at a target for the next three hours? I'm so tempted to throw those questions at him, but I'm too tired to argue with him right now, and I just want to curl up in bed and forget that this whole night ever happened. Instead of asking what's on my mind, I nod silently, and he drives off.

It's another silent drive; me waiting for him to pick apart my actions, and him glaring at the road. It feels like an agonizingly long time before he finally pulls up in front of our apartment building and shuts off the truck.

"Look," he sighs, staring out at the road. "Nothing should be traceable back to you, but if anything comes up, you call me, alright?" He finally looks at me and I nod. "It'll probably be a good idea if your mother doesn't know anything about this too." He stares out at the building. "Do you know what you're going to tell her in the morning?"

"I'll figure something out."

"Good girl." I undo my seatbelt and move to open the door. "Just-" his hand lands on my shoulder and I turn to face him.

His dark eyebrows are furrowed low over his eyes. People always say that I look like him. I used to love it when they said that. "Be careful, okay Artemis?"

His hand squeezes my shoulder. "Okay Dad."

"I love you, you know that right?"

"Yeah Dad," I push open the door and step out, "I know." I close the door and quickly walk to the building, pushing through the old door. It's only once I'm inside that I hear his truck drive off.

Mom, thankfully, is asleep when I walk inside our apartment, leaving only the light in the kitchen on. I flick it off and go straight into my room, stripping off and curling up under bed covers.

I close my eyes and hug my pillow, a habit I picked up after Jade left. With my eyes scrunched shut and my mind closed off from everything else, I imagine I'm six years old, Dad's sitting on the end of my bed, telling Jade and I about one of his jobs, and Mom is standing by the doorway smiling at us. It's the middle of the night and I'm tired and him and Mom are both dirty and sweaty, but in that moment he's the strongest and most powerful and the best man in the world.