A/N So, I've been off-site for a little while. Hate writer's block, don't you? Of course, lack of chocolate isn't helpful, either.
I decided to continue this, because everyone who reviewed asked me to! Here goes...
Disclaimer: I do not own Artemis Crock or Young Justice.
I'm Artemis Crock. I have secrets. Dangerous secrets. Ones that people would kill to rid themselves of. Even if they had to kill themselves.
I never lived a normal life, or, rather, life as most of the world lives. My mother was in prison for a decade, my dad is an assassin, and my older sister can be described only as an enigma. Then there's me, little girl Artemis. The blonde-haired, gray-eyed, innocent baby of the family. Innocent, my foot. I'm just as much of an assassin as Cheshire. I just don't make it common knowledge.
Then again, how was I supposed to know that when I left the apartment that night, weapon in hand, it would lead to joining a superhero team, and learning to be a good guy for once in my life? I wasn't. Point made.
The Team. There's Kaldur'ahm, tall and dark, yet also patient and inviting. M'gann M'orzz, a friendly martian and the only other girl. Robin, with a mystery ID and a smirk on his face, even when he wasn't planning something. Connor Kent, the Superboy, who was practically a born hero, had he not grown in a test tube. And of course, the unforgettable Wally West.
And me, Artemis Crock, secret assassin.
When I joined this team, I thought I knew what to expect as I became a hero. Risk your life, save the world, catch the bad guy, and repeat the next day. And really, I was absolutely right. But there were a few things I didn't count on, and they didn't involve being a hero. They involved the real me, the person without the mask.
Acceptance, for one. It took them a while to accept me, especially when they were expecting Red Arrow to be the archer that joined. But I showed them my skills, my stuff, and my sass, and they accepted me, all of them, even the uber-annoying speedster. And it felt nice to be accepted. After all, I was rejected most of my life.
Except, the Artemis they accepted wasn't the real Artemis. It was almost as if they accepted a clone, programmed to behave similarly to the way I do, but not quite the same. Because they accepted a tough-as-nails, never-back-down archer, with a heart and eyes of steel.
The real me has a secret sensitive side. A side that really cares. But assassins don't care about anyone but themselves. To quote my sister, "In this family, it's every girl for herself." So I lock away the feelings, and never let them see the light of day. I can't let them see the light of day, because everyone will look at me and know my every lie and secret. And I can't let that happen.
There are a few moments, though, when my emotions surface. Megan is surrounded by fire, and she can't stay conscious. Conner is struggling to stay upright as kryptonite is shoved into his face. Kaldur smashes into the wall and falls motionlessly, and Robin is suffocating in a super-strength choke hold. Wally realizes he's out of food and out of fuel, slowly starving to death because of the one thing that makes him special.
And I care. I start panicking because they're dying, and they need help, and I have to help. So I shoot a fire extinguishing arrow at the flames, knock the kryptonite away, shield the prone form, paralyze the monstrosity, and shove an energy bar into his hands. It seems like little stuff, just things any teammate would do, but it's almost like my secret form of communicating. A silent reminder at I care about them, and that I've got their backs.
It makes me seem like a worrying old woman sometimes. But I really don't care. They're like the family I never had. They showed me acceptance. My relatives showed me rejection. They showed me the meaning of friendship. My relatives showed me betrayal. And when my family hated me, they loved me.
It sounds so corny, but it's true.
My dad is a supervillain. It seems like something it of a movie. A movie about a ninja girl whose ninja dad tried to make her kill her ninja boyfriend because he was from a rival ninja clan. He taught me nearly everything I know, give or take a few archery tips from Green Arrow. They say Green Arrow is my mentor. The irony is, he isn't. My dad is my real mentor, as much as I hate to admit.
The thing is, he would kill the Team if he could. Not the Team. My Team. My friends. My real family. And even if he isn't a dad to me, I share half of his DNA. And that scares me.
What if I'm more like Sportsmaster than I think I am? What if something were to happen? What if I went rogue? What if I do go rogue? The Team would be first target. I just know it. What if, one day, I wake up, and they're all dead? Killed by the things I tried to protect them from? Killed by the inside job?
Killed by me?
I'm an assassin. It's what I'm trained to do. And even if it's just my parents and sister who are bad, they say the apple doesn't fall far from the tree. I'm more of an assassin than anyone gives me credit for. No, I'm more of an assassin than anyone realizes I am. I don't want credit for being a killer, even if I am one.
Some days, I'm just waiting. Waiting for that moment when I snap. When something pushes my buttons for the final time. When I lose control, and when I finally finish, everything I worked for is gone. My confidence. My strength. My determination. My family.
That moment hasn't come yet.
I pray with every fiber of my being that it never will.
The whole hero thing has its perks, of course. Don't get me wrong. It's not all gloom and doom and killing your friends. There's an upside.
You save a civilian, and they're thankful. When you're on the dark side, the civilians are on their knees, sobbing, wailing, and crying at your feet, begging for mercy you're not allowed to show.
You save a bunch of civilians. They're celebrating, being joyous, and reuniting with their wives, husbands, children, parents, cousins, and grumpy old grandpas. As an assassin, you watch as the families are ripped apart, member by member, piece by piece.
You save the world. The world thanks you, practically worshiping you, and praising your efforts. A killer's only praise is from her master, telling her that her work of dooming entire countries was satisfactory.
As a hero, you're appreciated in a way that's special. It puts you in awe of the world, knowing how big it really is, and realizing that you, one tiny person out of seven or eight billion, helped to save it. And it amazes me. I'm never speechless, yet when we save the world, I can't find it in me to say a word.
And yeah, it's dangerous. If it wasn't dangerous, what kind of heroes would we be? But it's the danger that brings us together. It makes us unite and fight. It shows us to be strong and brave in the face of destruction. If the bad guys are the epitome of injustice, then we are justice. We bring about peace and happiness where there is none.
Sounds corny again, but it's still true.
There's very little that can taint that kind of happiness. But I suppose, that of there's anything that could, it's guilt, because every victory comes with a price.
I can protect my Team as much as I want. As much as I can, rather. As much as is physically possible for one person. But it'll never be enough. There will always be a price, no matter how low, or high, it may be. Any price, from a small bruise to a broken bone to a gunshot wound to someone's life.
It doesn't matter how small or how big the price is. I swore I'd protect them, and every time the price is paid, I feel every prick of pain that the injured one does. I shouldn't. But I do.
It's almost as if I'm trying to make up for all my past mistakes. Every wound I've inflicted, every mind I've broken, and every life I've ripped away.
I can't help but worry.
In archery, there's always a very high percentage chance that you'll miss. Sometimes, even a millimeter off target can mean the difference between life and death. My worry is that I'll miss by just that one millimeter, and everyone pays that price. My Team pays that price.
I've already got more lives on my head than I cant count. I'l die if I have to bear the responsibility for their death, too.
Or maybe, it's because they're my family.
Kaldur's the big brother. He leads us and sets an example, never erring in speech or action, because he's the one who shows us which way to go. He feels responsible for all the younger ones and watches over them as well as he can, even going so far as to sacrifice himself for their well-being.
Conner's the second oldest brother, frustrated and angry because he doesn't like to take orders. But at the same time, he knows better than anyone that he can't lead. He's the one who would be mad at the oldest for sacrificing himself, and shows him every day that the others can't work without him.
Megan is the sweet, innocent older sister. She watches out for the others in ways that the oldest never could, taking care of the simple things, and offering her gentle affection at the very moment her sibling needs it the most.
Robn is the spoiled baby brother. No one sees him come or go, but no one can miss the devastation he leaves. In spite of it all, he never gets lectures, and lives to troll another day. Every prank he plays brings a smile to someone's face, even if it's just his own.
Wally is like the troublemaking brother who never fails to fill a room with energy. He's always getting into the something new, though the others try time and time again to make him stop. But in all honesty, they never want him to. He's the only one who can cheer up Megan when she's devastated, the one to make Kaldur drop the guilt trip, the one to make Conner smile, the one to un-bore Robin, and the one who, despite it all, manages to put butterflies in my stomach when he's around.
And me. The assassin who's going to kill them all.
I fear for their lives. But as much as I want to tell them my secrets, I can't. Because I worry, and I can't deal with losing my family. My real family.
I'm Artemis Crock. I have secrets. Dangerous secrets. Ones that people would kill to rid themselves of. Even if they had to kill themselves.
A/N Okay... that got scary. Then fluffy. Then scary again. Then angsty. Hope it met your expectations. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to go get a shovel or something to knock down that brick wall known as writer's block. Until later, then!