Yes people, you've read it right, this is me, Marshmellowtime making another story when I already have five on my plate. But I just coudln't resist the temptation. This story will take place during Robin's childhood, and will progress along. This is my first Young Justice fanfiction,a nd I really hope you all enjoy it, I'm sorry for it not being that long, but the chapters will be longer later on, so without further ado...
I do not own Young Justice...
Taking Chances
By: Marshmellowtime Productions
Chapter one: First Meeting
Eight-year-old Dick Grayson, or rather, Robin, happily walked down the busy street of Gotham city. One hand clutching his vanilla ice cream cone, while the other was resting in the hand of Bruce Wayne, aka, Batman.
The two were peacefully making their way down the streets of Gotham, their destination? Back home to Wayne manor after a little visit to Al's Ice Cream Shop. After a promise form Bruce that if the boy got straight A's on his report card, he would get a treat.
So the two calmly walked down the street, nearing the place they called home. When all of a sudden, Bruce's phone rang. The billionaire promptly took the phone out of his pocket and answered. His eyes narrowed slightly and he looked down to his charge.
"Dick, I have to take this, wait here for me okay? I'll be right back?"
"Sure! I'll be fine." The boy smiled up at his adoptive father and the corner of Bruce's mouth twitched upwards.
With a last glance at the boy, Bruce walked down around the corner, disappearing from sight. Dick casually sat down on a bench and looked at his finished cone regretfully. With a sigh he tossed the trash into a nearby trash can and swung his feet back and forth. Waiting for Bruce to be finished with his call.
Dick watched with wide eyes as suddenly several boys- mist likely a year or two older than him past by on their skateboards, giving whoops and shouts of joy as the did tricks and flips, before passing down a corner. Dick got up to see if Bruce was done when suddenly, something barreled into him, flattening him to the ground.
Dick slowly opened his baby blue eyes that promptly widened when meeting with eyes the color of cat-like amber, with maybe the faintest hints of red. The pair of these amber eyes widened and the person quickly scrambled of the poor boy.
"Oh my gosh! I'm so sorry, hey are you okay?" the stranger asked, helping the boy up.
Dick looked the other boy up and down. He looked to be possibly a year older than him, with unruly black hair that seemed slightly spiky and stuck out in random places, it was cut a bit below the ear, and he wore a simple black t-shirt with black boy shorts, and a black with a single white stripe beanie resting atop his head.
He had the typical skater boy look, which was easily confirmed by the black skateboard lying to the side.
"Yeah..." Dick answered slowly, not quite sure what to do. Not many kids chose to talk to him at school due to his background, so this was definitely a first for the young boy.
"Who are you?"
"Elliot! Pleasure to meet you." He grinned, with a wide smile, "What's yours?"
"I'm Dick." He answered shyly.
"So whatcha doin' out here by yourself Dick?" Elliot asked, looking curiously at the boy, "Little kids like you shouldn't be out here alone."
"I'm not little!" Dick protested, a light blush dusting his cheeks, "I'm eight!"
"Eight huh? Well, then that means I'm older than you since I'm nine, so that makes you little!" the other boy proclaimed proudly, with a smirk, to which Dick pouted.
Dick's eyes trailed back to the forgotten skateboard and he looked at it with wide eyes, "You can skateboard?"
"Huh? Oh! Yeah, I'm really good at it to, one of the best at my school." The boy proclaimed proudly, picking up the skateboard and holding it like his own child.
"Do you think you can teach me?" Dick asked, his shyness returning.
"Dude, if you're going to speak, you've gotta speak up." Elliot grinned, giving the smaller boy a light punch on the shoulder.
"Do you think you can teach me?" Dick restated, this time a little louder.
"Heck yeah! Of course I can-"
Suddenly the boy's eyes trailed over to the black clock standing at the top of a pole that rested beside the bench. His eyes slightly narrowed and he looked apologetically at the younger boy.
"Sorry dude, but it looks like I've got to get home right now, but don't worry," he added at the younger boy's crestfallen face, "Meet me here tomorrow okay? I'll teach you then, so for now, see ya!" the boy grinned before taking of on his board.
Dick stared after the boy, and then slowly and excited smile made his way to his face. Bruce came from around the corner and looked down at his adoptive son.
"Sorry about that, are you ready to go back?"
"Yup!" the young boy chirped and Bruce gazed at him curiously.
"What's got you so excited?"
"I'm met this boy while you were gone and he was really nice! His name's Elliot and he said he'd teach me how to skateboard tomorrow!" Dick said happily then looked at Bruce hesitantly.
"...Can I meet him here again tomorrow?"
Bruce's eyes narrowed, he certainly did not like the fact that his son had just talked to some stranger, let alone made plans with this said stranger... And all Bruce had to go on was a name. He did not like this at all... but maybe he could find out more about this boy...
"Alright, I'll let you go, but I'm coming as well." Bruce said stiffly, and his façade threatened to break at Dick's excited squeal- I mean shout.
I took a deep breath before turning the knob that lead to my apartment home. Upon opening the door, the smell of alcohol quickly invaded my senses; I scrunched up my nose in disgust and took a last breath of the cool afternoon air, before shutting the door behind me.
I surveyed the living room area, noting that empty beer cans littered the floor all around, as well as contaminated needles. With a sigh, I made a mental note, to come back down and clean up.
I quickly dashed up the stairs, and noted that my mother- most likely passed out from all the injections- was on her bed, appearing to be dead if not for the uneven rise and fall of her chest. My father was currently nowhere to be seen, and I gave silent thanks, before leaving my board in my room.
I took out a pot and filled it with water, setting it on the stove to boil. While waiting I grabbed a large garbage back and pulled on a pair of gloves, and set to work on cleaning up the living room. I was extra careful when picking up the used needles, and breathed a sigh of relief when I had somewhat made the place look decent.
I added noodles to the pot, and brought out some leftover sauce form the night before, once the noodles were done, I dried them and transferred them to a plate and set the sauce on it.
Leaving it out on the counter for my father- whom I suspected would be back any second, drunk and wasted, and set to work on my mother's dish, that would be stored away for later when she finally got some sense to get up and eat.
I was about to make my way back up to my room, when the front door opened and quickly slammed shut.
A man of around his mid-thirties stumbled in, he had blonde hair and snake like green eyes, which were currently glazed over, his business suit rumpled and stained- with what I didn't want or wish to know.
He mumbled something incoherent, and I flinched when I heard glass smash on the wall. Noting that I'd have to clean that up later, I went upstairs to check on my mother.
But before I could do that, the angry shout of my father calling for me, hit my ears and me reluctantly make my way to the kitchen. Where my father stood, glaring at the me with undeniable hate and disgust.
"What the hell is this crap?" he slurred, pointing to the plate of pasta sitting innocently on the kitchen counter.
"It's pasta." I replied emotionlessly, all to use to this man's treatment.
"The hell it is! Don't get smart with me you piece of shit!" he shouted taking a few steps towards me.
I inwardly flinched, but didn't give the man the satisfaction of seeing me afraid.
"But it is." I pressed on and my father's face turned red with rage.
Without a second's hesitation or ounce of guilt, the man, brought a hand up and straight out slapped me. I kept a blank look as the left side of my face started to flare up in pain. The man did not stop there and he grabbed a fistful of my hair and slammed me against a wall.
I bit my lip to keep from crying out in pain, and took all the hits and kicks my father sent at me. With his lip curled in disgust the man gave me a final good kick to the gut- no doubt leaving a bruise. Before turning away and sitting down on the couch, turning on the T.V and letting the sound of football talk fill the room.
This was nothing new to me, things like this had been going on since I was five, at first...it had hurt... I felt the pain and betrayal from being hit by the man I had thought loved me, and being ignored by the woman who gave birth to me. But finally, at the age of seven, it all started to mean nothing.
Whenever he hit me, I felt the pain, but only physically, when she ignored me, or called me a worthless piece of shit, it no longer left a scar on me. It was numb to my mind and heart. The only thing I felt was the physical pain, of being wounded- tossed around like a sack of potatoes.
You must be feeling pretty bad for that sack of potatoes right now huh?
I let myself lay there awhile before slowly getting up, using the wall for support, I carefully inched my way up the stairs, making my way towards my mother's room.
The woman lying on the king sized bed looked to also be somewhere in her mid-thirties, with ebony black hair that reached her mid-back- currently greasy and tangled- and cinnamon brown eyes. She had a sickly pale complexion, and I sighed, getting a wet cloth and washing her face, before disposing of any left over needles, and pulling the covers up over her head.
I went up to my own room, cleaned myself up, and looked over my new wounds. Luckily the swelling on my face had gone away, and this time left no bruise for me to cover up and make an excuse for, though new bruises were splattered all over my abdomen like ugly spots, somewhat covering, and reawakening the old ones. I sighed, and added some ointment onto them.
I staggered into my room and fell face flat onto my bed. Groggily, I reached over to my nightstand and pulled out a pair of headphones and my IPod, setting the later into shuffle mode, and slipping on the headphones.
I closed my eyes and let the weariness seep in, the loud blaring of "Move Along" by "All American Rejects" turning to a faint whisper as the feeling of sleep started to overtake me.
A sudden flash of the raven haired blue-eyed boy from earlier flashed through my mind and I smiled.
At least I had something to look forward to.
So? How was it? Once again I apologize for the shortness of it, but it'll get longer, I promise, I understand that more of Elliot's character has yet to be shown, and will be soon enough. So thank you, for "taking" a "chance" and trying out this story, I hope you all liked it, and all I ask is for reviews! So please review and tell me what you think!
Marshmellow-
-OUT!