I'm trying my hand again at first person, so forgive me if this leads you to try and probe out your eyes so you won't have to read something this bad again. I'm really going to try though because that's a feat of mine I need to establish. It will be out-of-character and the situations may be a little far-fetched, but I crave torturing my babies to pay them back for that new episode, so let me have my fun with this.

Disclaimer: I don't own any of the mentioned characters.

Bart's POV:

When I came too, it was like being stuck in a room made of fogged up mirrors. I could see faint colors moving in slow-motion all around me, but I couldn't tell you if it was a tree or a person if I tried. I wasn't trying of course, but if I had, well, you get the point. The only thing I was really sure of was that my head was throbbing and I really wanted it to stop. It was getting kind of annoying.

I really should've been used to it now though. I couldn't begin to tell you how many times that I'd felt this before; this… radar-like surge that gave off a ping every time it passed over where I'd been hit. I couldn't even tell you the last time, mostly because 1, it was the last time and 2, spoilers.

So far, it's been pretty hard to know what to consider a 'spoiler' or not because some of the things that I think are too much to say they get mad at me for holding back but other stuff I get hit for saying. Like calling Nightwing Dick. That's his name. People have names for a reason. A reason that does include me using it for addressing him. Tim was weirded out by it too, but he didn't hit me over it and scold me for an hour on the importance of secret identities. Secrets aren't fun. I hate them. I make them though. Does that make me a hypocrite? No? Yes? I don't care either way, just thought I'd ask. Another title to add to my collection.

Speaking of spoilers, I was really hoping one of the blurs around me would let me in on the one explaining where I was and what was going on. And what hit me. I'd like a swing at it, that's for sure.

It took me a second to realize there was someone holding me up and that my arm wasn't just pressured, so I turned weakly and looked up at them. Who was it? Martian? Lots of eyes. Lots. But then again, there were a lot of human-noses on the face. And frowns. Human. Definitely a human. I was just really dizzy. Dang, what got me hard enough to clone the world in my eyes?

The last time I had been looking at such an abundant world, I had been hunched over a trash can spitting blood with Nate beside me trying to set my shoulder back in place. To be safe, I raised my hand and wiped at my mouth. I pulled my hand back, tensing as I saw all the red before I realized it was just my gloves.

I should really get new colors. But then again, it makes me look good. Anything that hides my skin makes me look good, who am I kidding? I'm an Allen. We've got gorgeous in our genes. Who could resist me?

Another ping in my head and I couldn't help but groan in pain. I guess I had gotten a little used to the good life back here in the past. Gone a little soft. Squishy even. Like a peach. I hate peaches. Fiery burning hatred for peaches. Fruit can't be furry. That's just gross. How dare you call yourself a fruit? Just go and be a cat or something.

I looked up through the one eye I didn't have scrunched up, recognizing the color set that I knew wasn't unfamiliar with my spoilers. Black and light blue. Here birdie, birdie, birdie.

"Di…" I started to call, choking on the words as soon as I started them, unable to hold back the cough.

Once one started, they had to ride themselves out, so I gave it my all to the point I purely depended on the person holding me up to keep me from collapsing. If I wasn't wearing bloody lipstick now, I was sucked dry.

"Ni… Night…wing," I gasped out after I thought the coughing was done, proven wrong before I could even finish the title.

The colors blurred quick whenever I opened my eyes until the gray of the floor became a dark black and the arms around me held me different. I was being held like a princess. Or a bride. Or a baby. None of which I really desired to be, except maybe a princess. If you factor out the dress, you get a guy with tons of cash, TV fame and all the free food you want. That sounds great. Princess Bart. I could live with that one. That tiara had better be made of pure gold, or I swear, I will slit the throats of all my peasants and bathe in it.

The hollow of my stomach stung, sending out a near blood-thirsty howl, but it wasn't anything I hadn't heard before. I was starving. Nothing new there. I could probably make it another two days before I collapsed for good. Jimmy made it almost a month before he dropped out.

I put my hands over my eyes exhaustedly as my head pinged again, knowing it was Nightwing who was holding me from the father-like aura he gave out. Guy was destined for great things. Wanted to tell him, because I knew his breakdown wouldn't be too far from now, but spoilers.

"Where… 's… Blue?" I tried to say, my voice coming out like a dying frog, letting myself go limp in the guy's arms, "He… o… okay?"

I tried to be patient for an answer, but when I can make the world zoom by at fast forward, it's not exactly my greatest virtue. And silence has always bothered me. Quiet. Quiet was painful, painful was fear and fear was home. Home was no better than quiet. All it held was blood, tears and unanswered prayers, three things that bothered me even more. I had to make it go away.

I reached up, surprised to find even that incredibly hard, grabbing at what I could of Dick's-, er Nightwing's—collar. When I tried to tighten my fist though, it… it didn't work. It felt like the nerves to my hands had been cut off almost. I screwed up my eyes and desperately tried to make a tight fist, but I couldn't even make a fist in general. What had hit me?

I heard a small whimper of sympathy, another thing I was bothered by as Dick—er Ni—you know what, no, I'm calling him Dick. That's his name. Technically Richard, but that bothers me too. Well, basically, he grabbed my hand and held it like I was a kid. That wasn't going to work. I was a Princess. Peasants will bow or submit their throats for my amusement.

"We uh, we haven't found Blue yet," he saved his blood for another bath time, voice hesitant and slow, "He must've been stored somewhere else. Soon as we drop you and the others off in med. bay, we're coming back for him."

They hadn't found him. How could they not?! Did they not understand how dangerous it was for him to be out in the open with the Reach on the move?! They could snatch him up and turn him dark side any second! I took a deep breath, or at least I tried, puffing out my cheeks frustratedly.

"I… wanna… go," I formed slowly, trying to sound as stable as I could.

If the Reach managed to tamper with the scarab, not only would the human race be lost, but Jaime would be too! Coming back, I honestly had intended to just kill him. I didn't want anything to do with him, unless it involved stopping him. But then, he kind of… well, he became my scarab. He crawled in under my skin and I… I couldn't kill him. Not even if I tried. He kind of became my best friend. I wasn't going to lose my best friend to a bunch of alien freaks. I wonder how their blood would be to bathe in. Maybe I'd get that honey glow from it. I'd definitely have to try it when I saved Jaime.

"Bart, you're in no shape to—," Dick started to say, and I could feel the paternal instinct in his expression.

It was enough to snap open my eyes and wash that annoying fog from all those mirrors so I could actually see straight, or more specifically, the murder written into my glare that reflected off the panes in his mask. Like window panes. Could be easily broken. Eyes bleed too when broken, right?

I couldn't believe he'd even suggest that I couldn't save my best friend. Just because I was a little dizzy?! Who did he think he was? Nightwing, obviously, but who did he see that guy as? A god? If he was a god, why had the future happened? No god would allow that to happen. Not even one with this bad of a track record. Nuking every other thing he touched? Nice. Very Satan of you, sir.

"I've done more in worse shape," I had to clench my fists as tight as I could manage them which still wasn't much, but it was enough to help me get my point across, "I don't know what you call scars, but to me, they're motivation. Motivation to finish what I came back to start. I'll die before I become a damsel in distress."

What was his idea of worse shape? This right here was probably just a concussion, mixed with the hunger. Try dealing with two broken ribs that you stay up all night holding in place, sobbing from pain into your pillow to keep the 'reapers' from coming in and effectively 'silencing' you. How about having to tie the belt you carry around specifically for this purpose around the leg you have to drag around for the next four hours with a bullet lodged in it?

Before, I wouldn't tell you how often I had felt that kind of throbbing, but right now, I can tell you how many nights I outlived the moon just praying to die. Every night. From the moment I could think for myself, I wanted nothing more. I would've given my life for anything, so long as someone hurried to take it. Nobody wants to hurt a twelve year old though. They can watch me suffer like a man three times my age, but they won't kill me to stop that hurt. Makes sense, right?

Oh wait, spoilers. Guess I'm not supposed to say everyone's still a dick in the future. Too late, so you might as well now. They're all still dicks. Fear changes people, but not for the better.

I tore my eyes away from his mask when I noticed his arm shift, squinting at a thin object he pulled up and held close to me. A ball? Did he think I was a dog now? He never stopped insulting me, did he?! But then, a thick smoke shot up and the darkness pulled me under. Bark.

Alright, how was that? I have two more chapters in mind, if you're interested. I know this is really out-of-character, but it was just something to kill some time. Review if you want, or give me tips to improve my first person. I know the fragment sentences are awful. I just figured when someone's thinking, it's not full thoughts. There's just little bits and pieces, and stuff, but if that looks bad, tell me so I'll stop using it.

-F.J. III