A/N: It's been a long time since I've tried writing a story in first person, so if I slip up, you know why. Anyways, this just stemmed from the idea that Wally seriously has some messed up relationships, so why don't I just write about his thoughts about them? Sounds like fun, right? Obviously, I don't own Young Justice. Also, fair warning, you may not agree with the way that I see Wally's relationships. Specifically who he sees as a villain, an uncle, and his cousins. I'm pretty sure we can all agree on the 'dad' and 'brothers' chapters, so I think we're set there.

Wally's P.O.V.

When I was younger there was a favorite game that the kids at school used to play during recess. The game was called Heroes and Villains. The rules were simple. Some kids were supposed to be the villains of the story, the bad guys, and some others were the heroes that had to try to save the citizens, who were played by the remaining children, from the villain. Everybody loved the game, and many of the kids joined in the fun every single day.

There was no assigned group of kids who were always the hero, and no set villains. It wasn't just the popular kids vs. the weirdos. We always used to take turns to make the game more fair. Despite that guideline though I was almost always a villain. Not because I was forced to be, no, I always volunteered for it.

Everybody played the game different ways, and some kids had a different style of playing a certain part than everybody else. I was just fine with that. I actually loved how much freedom we were allowing each other to have. But the thing was, I just didn't like the way that most of the other kids played villains. They weren't good enough.

Meaning they weren't bad enough.

Whenever almost anybody else was a villain they copied a bad guy that they had seen on tv or in a cartoon or something, because that was all they knew. Wally had fun laughing at the goofy way that the kids played the bad guys, but he always used to feel sick to his stomach when he remembered that this was what other kids saw as villainous. Most of them were all still completely oblivious to the evil that was in some people's hearts.

I often envied them.

Because I didn't want to feel bad about all the other kids still having an innocence about them that I had long since lost, I began to volunteer to play the villain more and more. There were occasionally a few kids who complained about me playing the same part so much, but for the most part everybody was more than fine with it. All of the other kids seemed to agree that I made the best villain for our game.

Unlike everybody else who threatened to kidnap all the girls, take over the playground or make school last through the weekend, I actually played a true villain. Not a real one though, because it was all still just a game, but I played somebody a lot more villainous and scary than anybody else did,, and for some reason all of the other kids went crazy for it.

One of my favorite schemes to play out, and one that the rest of the kids certainly enjoyed just as much, was something that I liked to call 'disappearing act'. Me and the rest of the kids who were supposed to be playing villains that day would lie low for a few minutes and then, when everybody else was least expecting it, we would strike. One by one we would lure the other kids away and basically hold them captive. There were so many kids that people barely noticed when one went missing in the middle of the game. Nobody knew who was going to be taken next, or just how many of them would end up missing until they were all found and saved. Everybody loved the thrill of the game.

The thing with that game, and all the other versions I played the villain as, I always lost in the end. Unlike everybody else, I didn't fight tooth and nail to win the game so I could have bragging rights for the day. Even though I always put on a good show and made sure that everybody had fun while also trying to scare them, in the end I always let the good guys win.

The other kids used to ask me all the time why I would do that. My only answer was that the heroes should always win. And that was that. Nobody ever asked for more of an answer, and nobody ever bothered to ask why I made such a good villain. Even if someone had asked, I probably wouldn't have answered.

How could I possibly tell anybody that I actually knew a real life villain and that's where my inspiration came from? Even if I did, why would anybody believe me? Heck, I probably wouldn't have believed me. In fact, for years I lived in denial of the truth. I tried to tell myself that I was just being to emotional about everything, making a big deal about something that didn't really matter. I had convinced myself that it was my own fault, not his. I didn't want to hate him, so that was how I thought.

It took me years to finally accept that my father, Rudolph West, was a villain.

Now, that wasn't to say that he was a super villain, because he wasn't. He never threatened to destroy entire cities, and I doubted that he had ever even laid eyes on a superhero, let alone fought one. Still, I knew that my father was a villain. I had to think of him as a villain, or else I might go back to blaming myself for everything, and that wasn't okay.

After all, nothing that my father had done had been my fault. It took years for my uncle to convince me of that, and I wasn't about to go back to how I was before.

I would never go back to how I was before. I refused to be so terrified all the time. To be that defenseless kid who hated himself, because why should I like who I am when my own father seemed to despise me? I didn't want to have to lie to all of my teachers, friends and relatives all the time. I didn't want to pretend that I was happy and everything was okay when that couldn't be further from the truth.

I wouldn't let myself be put into that situation ever again. I wasn't going to let anybody hurt me the way that my father used to.

I would never let myself be abused again.

My childhood had been absolutely terrible. I can admit that now, since I'm no longer living in those circumstances and have no reason to pretend anymore. Every single day I would wake up and wish that life would just stop, that I wouldn't have to deal with it anymore. The only reason I forced myself out of bed every morning was because at least if I went to school I would be given at least a few hours out of the house. A few hours away from him.

My dad had been a jerk. Not that I had ever told him that to his face, I wouldn't have dared to, for fear that he would kill me. That wasn't just an unfounded fear, my dad really would probably kill me. Or, at the very least, hurt me so badly that I would wish that he had killed me.

I always felt like I was walking on eggshells around my dad, or maybe walking on broken glass would be a better phrase. I was never good enough for my dad, he made that much clear. Everything I did seemed to be wrong in his eyes. Even just the fact that I had red hair seemed to infuriate him more than was reasonable. I couldn't count the number of times that he had punished me for having the wrong color of hair, for being such a freak of nature.

His words and beatings, as well as the fact that I was the only redhead in the entire school, had convinced me that he was right, that I really was a freak of nature. It wasn't until I got older did I actually realize that my aunt Iris, my dad's sister, also had red hair, and he never called her a freak of nature. It was around that time that I begun to realize that my dad was just looking for faults. He was looking for a reason to hate me, an excuse to beat me until I couldn't move.

He was trying to rationalize what he was doing, but it didn't matter what excuses he came up with. It was still wrong. I know that now. It is never okay to hurt a child, or anybody. Especially not to the extent that my father did.

Now, I would never go as far as to say that my father was inherently evil. I don't actually believe that anybody is truly evil. Some people are just bigger jerks than others. But, if I had pick somebody to be the villain in the story of my life, I would definitely choose my father without thinking twice about it.

I don't hate him, I don't think I could ever truly hate anybody. I haven't forgiven him for the hell he put me through, and I probably never will, but that doesn't mean that I hate him. After all, he is still my father, even though I desperately wish that he wasn't. Still, I can't decide who I'm related to, nobody can, but I can decide how I feel about it and who I see as my family. And even though this may seem kind of harsh to some, I'm going to say it anyways; My father is not a part of my family. Not even close.

My father's name is Rudolph West, and he is my own personal villain

A/N: I seriously have no idea how understandable this was. Hopefully it made sense. Coming up next: Dad.