A little one shot i came up with kinda spur of the moment. I hope you guys enjoy. I promised my readers i would try to make more one-shots so that you guys have to wait for forever for updates to stories.

The Bite: Afterlife, The Tutor, The Enemy's Heart have all been updated RECENTLY so if you haven't yet, check those out. Also, got my first Gargoyles Elisa/Goliath one shot up called From Here. Please check it out!

Sweet reading everyone!

Little Toy Guns

What had awakened her in the middle of the night wasn't the drizzle of rain or low rumbling of distant thunder and flashes of lightning that exploded the night sky with beautiful yet mesmerizingly frightening flashes of white. It was the voices – the murmured voices that suddenly raised in hostile anger. Max's brown eyes stared up at the ceiling rotating with lighted stars that normally would ease the girl into a peaceful stupor. Yet not even the constellations could soothe the eight year old girl. They were fighting again.

"I'm so sick of your BULLSHIT!" screamed a feminine voice, making Max's sight blur with water. Why couldn't her sister have stayed instead of going to a friend's sleepover? Now Max couldn't hear the comforting words from the elder sister that would calm her emotions when this happened.

"If ANYONE should be sick it's ME" came her father's heavy voice then; Max winced. "Can't nobody tell your ass a damn thing-!"

There was a sudden rush of loud sound, crashing, like that of a large vase shattering into the wall that separated the bedrooms. The youngest Gibson jumped, sitting upright swiftly with fear of the unseen drama as an immediate pause followed. "Did you just-?" her father questioned in disbelief – before disbelief shifted into unquestionable rage. "You're insane, bitch!"

A second crashing echo answered with the accompaniment of footsteps. Mama hollered wildly, "Bitch? Bitch?! GET OUT OF MY HOUSE!"

"THIS IS MY HOUSE!" Max cupped her hands over her ears – trying to block out the sounds that left her trembling beneath the covers.

"Kiss my ass you lying mother – what are you-?" demanded the Gibson wife as her voice grew choppy and there was sharp movement battling back and forth. "GET YOUR FUCKING HANDS OFF OF ME!" They were obviously struggling with another in a game of tug of war of pride and anger as the hollers grew louder and the words less intelligible.

Max threw off her covers, grabbed something off the dresser, and made a dash for the bedroom closet throwing open its doors as her whines grew desperate with an internal need. Clothes and shoes and a hundred other things were sprawled about the floor and blocking Gibson's path as she furiously gripped anything in the way and chucked it about the room until a spot had become clear enough. With the tussle and indication of bodies slamming against the walls Max dived inside and pressed back against the wall with tears flowing; tucking herself almost invisibly between the coats and clothes in the closet. Little Max fingered the heart shaped locket in her hands that held a picture of what others assumed to be the perfect and most flawless family. She clutched the article tight to her chest and drew up her knees: they had no idea how things really were. In the outside world the Gibson's were the epitome of what "happiness" was…behind closed doors they were really the prime example of hell. Her parents were professionals at masking everything and pretending to be something they were not…but as the months passed it became harder to maintain their composure outside – and the fighting at home seemed to get even worse. At the drop of the faucet the Gibson parents could lose all sense of control. They used to keep things "monitored" for their daughters – but lately the arguments would get so heated Max and her sister were sure that their parents forgot about even the existence of their children.

"I'm so fucking through!" came the screams of the mother at the echo of the front door opening. Max clamped her little hands about her ears and squeezed shut burning eyes while chanting to herself, "I wish words were like little toy guns. Words are just like little toy guns," over and over again to block out the catastrophic hollering going on in the front yard. She wished that all of this was simply a game for play like Shoot 'Em Up Cowboys, or Cops and Robbers. If it were possible to wave a white flag of surrender to this frightening chaos Max would charge into the line of fire right now…but there was no defeat for this "game" that the little girl couldn't fully understand. Already she suspected the neighbors were probably absolutely terrified at the confusing commotion going on…Max knew she was. Mom and daddy just wouldn't stop it – how she wished they would stop it.

The rift in the house was so blatant it made the air suffocating with discomfort. Max feared the possibility of a bitter split – divorce – but... Every child naturally wants their parents to stay together even when it was obvious they shouldn't, but even this back and forth was becoming too much to bear. Despite wanting the Gibson household to meld into calm and happy times that were almost impossible to remember, she hated their selfishness: hated the way the two became so engulfed in rage that she and her sister were void. Didn't mom and daddy have the slightest idea just what all this strife was doing to the kids? All Max wanted to do was pack her things and disappear – maybe it would bring her parents closer…maybe it would just set her free from this agony…especially when the fights shifted towards the kids. Hearing them debate back and forth over the girls' future and what they thought the daughters were like made Max feel like purchased property, not the birthed result of what used to be love. She wanted it all to stop…

Max didn't know where the time had went; she couldn't remember exactly when her mother had started the car and gone flying out the drive, nor when her father had come home and started talking on the phone wearily. She'd heard the bedroom door finally open an hour after hell woke, but didn't have the strength mentally or physically to answer her father's voice when it frantically called for her before commencing its cries outside. Max had no more energy left as the tension seemed to suck all life from the child. Sadness, weariness, and fear compelled her into a misty world that did not acknowledge anything outside of the safe space that could threaten to hurt her. Until the bubble busted…

"Max?" a soft voice from the darkness cooed. Max stiffened, trying to shake away the unwanted disturbance. "Max…" Something wet but soft and warm touched her cheek and Gibson's heavy red eyes fluttered open to stare into the icy blue eyes of her best friend.

Wait. Best friend? "Terry?" Max asked in disbelief, rubbing her fists against her lids and finding him still there, much to her surprise. So it wasn't a dream after all. "Wha-what are you doing here?" He wore a pair of gym shorts and a large T-Rex t-shirt…and he was dripping from head to toe. Terry McGinnis.

Terry fidgeted, relieved that she seemed ok as he finally let out the breath he'd been holding. She wasn't dead…or gone Arkham crazy. Great! "Your dad called my dad and said you were missing. I figured you were hiding here. You always hide in the closet. You big baby." He tugs at her ear, which earns him a soft giggle, and he grins in faint relief. "I crawled in the window. You always leave it open for me, remember? Everyone's looking for you."

Everyone? Somehow she wasn't sure if she should like that. But he was here, with her. Max was safe under the protection of her dearest little buddy; in his presence there was no sadness or fear or screaming and cursing and broken vases-. Max's brows arched with a sudden flare of emotion as her eyes began to water all over again. If she was in her closet, and if Terry was here reconciling her, then that horrid experience earlier was no dream either. The memory of it was enough to nearly make the girl revert. "There were fighting," she whispered in reference to her parents. Terry's lips turned down into a hard line, knowing what the severity of those words meant to Max. "It was real bad this time. Terry, I'm scared. I don't wanna be split up."

Little Terry McGinnis narrowed his brows and grew quiet as she pulled herself tighter in a ball and wept. McGinnis hesitated – he wasn't good with stuff like this: tears and emotions and crap. But even still…Max was his best friend, and despite the possibilities of catching cooties he cared deeply for her on an indistinguishable level – and watching her cry into her nightgown hurt him a lot more than he'd openly state. He figured she needed comforting… "Here…" Max looked up from her sorrows with a sniffle and gasped. Terry was red with his face turned away from her; but he held out in his hands a large two-foot plushy of his favorite hero: Batman. Max gasped, knowing how much this plushy meant to him. Yet before she had time to interject Terry snorted. "You need him more than me. Besides, this way if you ever get scared, you won't have to be because I'll always be with you too." He burned redder. "Come on. I tucked him under my shirt so he wouldn't get wet. Take it, dummy."

Max sniffed, hesitating for a brief moment before reaching out and taking the special object and holding it tight to her chest and inhaling its surprisingly soft scent. "Thank you."

McGinnis shrugged, scooching himself further inside until he was sitting right next to her. "You're my best friend," he stated matter-of-factly – simply. Terry moved his arm over, staring ahead with a gulp as Max looked down to the upturned palm on her knee. As awkward and imbecilic and a complete Neanderthal as Terrence McGinnis could be, he was also undisputedly the best kid out here; always there when she needed him most – even when Max didn't want him to be. She was so glad to have someone like him in her life. Gibson grinned softly and took his palm into her own hand.

"You're my best friend too…"

Almost two hours had passed and the adults in the insane and frightening situation were just about to call the Gotham Police when there was a cry from Max's sister and her friend who had cut their sleepover short to search for the younger sibling. Everyone immediately dashed into the bedroom where the two girls stood, gawking in disbelief into the closet. When the Gibson's and the McGinnis' finally found the two kids, they hovered about, staring down at the closet floor and the two kids who were leaning against one another with held hands…peacefully asleep.

When Max opened her eyes it wasn't the drizzle of rain or distant murmur of thunder that had awakened her. She had had another nightmare – this one reminiscent of the saddest day of her life, second to the day her mom and dad signed their divorce papers. Gibson had been jolted awake and struggled under the faint yet painful impression of that day when a pair of arms, muscular, soothing, and unblemished wrapped around her from behind and pulled the girl back against a defined chest with a sigh.

Terry McGinnis – her best friend and idiot who currently was failing high school home economics – even in the deep world of slumber was able to sense her momentary pain and sought to quell it. After a night out as Batman here he was in her bed, sleeping his injuries off under her comforting presence. But Max guessed his purpose here was actually the opposite reversal – that's how it always seemed: she patched up his body, he patched up her soul. Max relished his compassion and allowed herself to melt into the young vigilante's grip. "It's okay," he murmured drowsily with a sigh. "Always here."

Max's soul ached. He had always been there, and because of it she desperately and secretly wanted more…so much more. But until then the girl would be content with his touch like this. Max shifted a little and Terry's grip instinctively intensified – even allowing the arm he'd tucked under her to find the young woman's fingers and link together with his own. He'd gotten good at this. She enclosed their hands together and sighed as he hummed and pressed himself further into her before nestling his head into her shoulder. "Love you," he whispered before drifting back into the world of sleep. Max's eyes fell on a large Batman plushy sitting in the corner watching over them protectively. Terry had kept his word – he and Batman were always with her now. Always.

THE END