Notes: Urgh. Lots of angst ahead guys, but with all the foreshadowing you probably saw this coming.

Warnings: Angst, Violence, some gore. Possible trigger warning for domestic abuse.

wineandwhiskey – this chapter should answer that question of yours. ^_~


Chapter 9: An Unfortunate Accident


"I hate him, Sam!" Robin cried and punched his bedroom wall so hard that it bruised her hand and dented the cheap sheetrock. Sam didn't seem to mind, he was just grateful she'd missed his autographed Led Zeppelin poster by all of two inches. "Why won't anyone help? Why is it okay for him to treat her – us – like that?" She fell to her knees and dissolved into tears. Sam knew who she was talking about. She'd ran to his house in the middle of the night more times than either of them could count to escape the beatings. Sam's mother was a kind woman who did everything she could to help Robin. Once she'd even stitched a horrendous cut in her forearm. She'd acquired it from the man coming at her with a knife because she'd gotten in the way while they were skinning a deer in the garage. It left an ugly almost six inch long scar. Robin had worn long sleeves ever since, even in the middle of summer, so she wouldn't have to look at it. But Sam's mom wanted no part of getting involved otherwise. Sanctuary and first aid was all she was willing to provide.

"It's not okay, but I can't do anything about it. Don't they have shelters for this sort of thing, no questions asked?" He suggested, running his fingers through his mousy brown hair in frustration. He wanted to help her, but he couldn't go against his mother's wishes. Robin knew that, and she hated doing this to him. But she had nowhere else to go. No one wanted to hear it. No one else believed her. Her stepfather was a cop. Yeah he owned an antique shop, but that was a hobby. He made his real money on traffic patrol with the state police. Cops were good people who upheld the law. They didn't abuse their wives and daughters. Robin must have been telling lies to get attention.

"My mom won't go, and what good is it at all if I can't protect her! It's not about me, Sam!" Robin sobbed, crawling into a fetal position. He kicked aside some dirty clothes on the floor as he knelt beside her and put his hand on her shoulder soothingly.

"It'll work out somehow. Have you ever just tried talking to him? Everyone has some good in them. You have to get along sometimes, right? When you're not fighting why don't just tell him to stop?" Sam said, trying to give her some options. How naïve he could be. But he only meant well and Robin knew that.

"There is no good in that man. He's a monster. He has no heart, if he does it's a fucking ice cube." Robin cried and got to her feet. "I have to go Sam. We're going hunting and he'll just use me for a punching bag if I'm late. Who knows, maybe he'll pester a bear and he won't come back this time." She added through gritted teeth.

"Everyone has good in them, Robin. Don't say things you know you'll regret." Sam said as she stormed out of the house. She could feel him watching her through the window as she waded through the snow and disappeared through the small patch of woodlands that separated the roads they lived on.

Robin seethed with hatred as she squirmed into her camouflage hunting gear, and shoved her long copper curls into a bright orange earflap hat that she tied beneath her chin. As she slipped her hands into her matching camo gloves, Robin realized that he was going to die that day. It wouldn't be an accident. But no one needed to know that. She would protect her mother. Sam could say whatever he wanted, there was no good in that man. And Robin was nothing if not an excellent actress. This would be easy. She cracked her knuckles and grabbed her compound hunting bow from the rack on her bedroom wall. She wasn't going to use it to kill him, but she did a quick check to make sure the pulley system was in good shape. She hadn't used it in a while, but she didn't want to take her traditional recurve longbow that she favored. It had been a gift from Sam's family when she'd turned sixteen. She usually hunted with that, but the last thing she wanted to be thinking about when she murdered her stepfather was Sam. With a resigned sigh, she grabbed her quiver of aluminum hunting arrows and headed down to the garage.

"I'm ready to go, Jack." She said with a confidence that surprised even her. It filled her with the oddest giddy feeling to know that after today, she would never be beaten again. And the things he'd taught her would be his own downfall.

"Dad. I'm ready to go, Dad." He hissed at her as she closed the door that led to the kitchen and went down the wooden steps. He was a big, burly man with a lot of muscle and beady black eyes that seemed like they were too close together. Everything about him was intimidating. He was a police officer, so some of that came from his training, but not all of it. He was cold, ruthless and he looked every inch of it. Robin watched him boredly as he stuffed his camo beanie on his bald head and smoothed his mustache that had long since gone grey.

"You aren't my father." She said coldly. "And you never will be. Nothing can change that." Her reward was a rough backhanded slap that sent her sprawling hard onto the concrete floor. She didn't make a sound. She only crawled to her feet and glared at him defiantly. It took much more pain than that to phase her and he knew it. He was toying with her. We'll see who's doing the toying later. Robin told herself and followed him out to his old, beat-up red Chevy pick-up that he used specifically for hunting. He threw his rifle behind the seat and Robin stowed her bow there as well.

"Why are you using that? Don't you like that old piece of wood better?" He asked with a sneer as she buckled her seatbelt.

"The longbow can't take down a black bear." Robin replied. She'd already rehearsed this entire conversation in her head several times.

"It ain't bear season yet, kid." Jack answered and revved the engine of the truck to give it some gas so he could get the old piece of junk to start.

"Who cares? No one will know." Robin lied smoothly and locked her emerald eyes to his beady black ones. You're gonna die today, bastard. She added mentally. If the venomous stare unsettled him, he didn't show any signs.

"You sure you ain't my daughter? We think alike enough." Jack said and punched her upper arm in a way that was playful for him, but Robin knew it would leave a bruise. She ignored it. He'll never hit me, or mom, again. She reminded herself as she ignored Jack's comment. They rode in silence until they got to the woods where they hunted. It was a good three hours from where she lived. A friend of Jack's owned the property, so Jack didn't have to worry about trespassing - or getting caught hunting out of season illegally. Not that it mattered, he would get out of it anyway. The first thing Jack did when he hopped out of the truck was push Robin face-first into the snow as she checked over her bow again. She pushed herself up, and wiped the snow off her face. At least there was no blood. Blood would not look good later when she got to phase 3 of her plan. She watched until Jack was well into the woods before going back to the truck. They hunted separately, making it easier to cover more ground.

Jack made a lot of things easier for her – like the fact that none of his rifles were registered, except for the one that he was carrying. And that he wore only camo, and none of the bright orange to make him visible to other hunters. Making sure no one was around to see her, Robin pulled one of these unregistered rifles from where she had hidden it under the seat the night before. She had been thinking about this for a lot longer than just today. That was how she'd known to hide it there when no one was home to see it. Jack wouldn't notice anyway, he never looked in the gun safe in the attic. He wasn't stupid enough to hunt with an unregistered gun, and he kept the registered ones in a separate safe. Well, she hadn't thought about it all that much longer.

It had only been about a week since her mother had finally been released from the hospital after Jack had nearly beaten her to death. Quickly, Robin hid under a huge pine tree near the truck and checked over the scope and made sure everything was in working order. She had no idea when the last time he'd fired this rifle was, and a misfire would not end well. Especially since guns weren't really her thing, even if she did know very well how to use them. Once she was satisfied that it was safe to shoot, she dug in her pocket for the ammo and loaded it. It was a good choice. Standard ammo that most rifles used, they would have a hard time identifying what it was shot from, and if they did, the gun wasn't registered. They'd be looking at all the wrong people and it would be a long ass list, especially here in the boonies where everyone had a gun, if not ten.

Robin emerged from under the tree and slung the rifle over her shoulder with its carrying strap. She was very careful to keep to the brush. There were other hunters around and she could not risk being seen with the gun which would be damning evidence. Luckily, Jack hunted in a secluded area that she knew well. She very carefully covered her trail with fresh snow, making it look like no one had walked there. Another trick he'd taught her – so other hunters wouldn't think there was anything worthwhile in that area if no one had bothered to go there. She'd worn her old boots that had the soles worn off them, too. So that if she did miss a spot, a footprint would be hard to identify. Following his trail was easy, and she was careful not to disturb it while she edged closer to him. The adrenaline was pumping through her veins and she thought for a moment that she liked this. It was new, exciting, and exhilarating. They always did say that humans were the most dangerous prey.

When she found Jack, he was kneeling in the snow, loading his rifle quietly. A buck was grazing in front of him about thirty feet away. Excellent. The perfect opportunity to make it look like an accident. Another hunter might not see him without the orange and accidentally shoot him while aiming for the buck. At least that was what it would like when they found the hoof prints. Robin sucked in a deep breath of chill winter air, surprised to note that she actually felt aroused. Never was there a single second thought as she brought the rifle up to rest in its place while she found Jack through the sight. She took a moment to aim and landed the crosshairs on his right temple, just as he turned to switch off the safety on his own gun. And then she pulled the trigger, and grunted from the recoil. That was the thing she hated about guns. But it didn't matter. The shot rang through the woods and found it's mark. Jack had only managed to let out a startled gasp as Robin saw a patch of red explode in her vision through the scope. She lowered the gun and observed his still form, blood leaking from his shattered skull stained the snow beneath him red in rivulets as it poured from him. She didn't have to go look to know he was deader than a doornail. And no one would care about the sound of the gunshot. It was hunting season. Triumphantly, and with the strangest feeling of euphoria, she progressed to stage 2 of the plan: get rid of the gun. That was the easy part.

She knew these woods like the back of her hand. There was a small cave nearby, and for some reason it always stayed relatively warm there. Whatever the case, if you didn't know where to find it, odds were you wouldn't. Jack didn't even know it existed, and he had been hunting here since he was seventeen. Again, keeping out of sight and hiding her trail well, Robin reached the cave. Getting to the bottom of the narrow tunnel took her nearly half an hour. She pulled a gardening trowel out of her waist pouch and dug a hole in the only slightly frozen earth where she buried the gun, and the extra ammo. She couldn't be caught with it on her. She was a little worried about this tactic, but with no trail leading there and it being far enough away from Jack, it was unlikely they'd look for evidence there. Carefully she replaced the dirt and patted it down evenly. Then she used the trowel to smooth out her tracks all the way back out of the cave. The trowel, she hid under a pile of rocks further down the path. Time for phase 3: Play the innocent lost little girl who can't find her daddy. This was the hardest part.

She found her way to the meadow, after making her trail lead from the truck, and around a few places nowhere near Jack's body as she did. She took care to disturb the underbrush and make big sloppy, obvious footprints. There'd be no way the clumsy girl that had made that trail had so flawlessly committed a murder. The scary thing was, she had done just that. In cold blood, carefully premeditated, and didn't regret it all. She was happy, happier than she could ever remember being. She could feel herself smiling like a lunatic, and suppressed the urge to burst out into a fit of insane laughter. When she reached the meadow, she slumped down near the big tree at the middle and sighed in pure exhaustion. Then she waited, and at quarter past three, tried to call Jack's cellphone. When she got the voicemail, she left him a message.

"Dad? Where are you? You said to meet in the meadow at three." She made sure that voice sounded snippy and a little irritated, but not guilty. It was easy. She had learned to be an excellent liar to say things that pleased Jack to keep him from hitting her. And she didn't feel guilty at all, as an added bonus. Another valuable lesson he'd taught her that would lead to his demise. She called again at three forty five, but didn't leave a voicemail. At four o'clock, she left another one, sounding a little panicky, but not guilty. "Dad? We were supposed to meet an hour ago. Why aren't you answering?" Then, at four thirty, she called again but did not leave a voicemail. Satisfied, cold and wet to the bones from sitting in the snow, she got to her feet for the second part of phase three: find help.

"Dad!" Robin howled as she trudged through the woods in a way that was carefully made to look random and blind. "Where are you? Someone help!" she screamed. It took her about another hour, but another hunter finally heard her screams. He was the perfect example of an upstate hick. He was dressed in a combo of camo and a red plaid overcoat with an orange beanie shoved on his head. He had a thick beard and a cigarette hanging out of his mouth that was missing half its teeth.

"What's the matter kid?" He asked, his voice gruff from smoking a pack a day.

"I can't find my father! He said to meet him in the meadow down there at three but he never showed. I called him like ten times but he wouldn't answer. My phone battery died and I need to call the police or something. I don't know what to do!" She said, sobbing into her gloves. Making herself cry was easy, she just had to think of all the painful things Jack had done to her mother. Of how she'd been the only one the visit her in the hospital. The tears were very real, even if they didn't apply to the actual situation. Her phone battery actually had died. She'd carefully made sure to keep the charge low enough to die after making a few calls but high enough to pull it off. Robin had thought of every scenario and left nothing to chance.

"Ok, calm down kid. We'll find him and if we don't I'll get ya back to my place and we'll call the cops. I don't bring my phone huntin'." Perfect, Robin though. Even better than she'd planned. That way, when they found the body, her footprints would only be going there once, but his would be twice which would be incriminating evidence that this man might be the killer. She examined his rifle when he wasn't looking. She bit her lip to keep from smiling when she realized it took the same ammo as the round lodged in Jack's skull. Perfect. But how would her prints only go there once? Well, he was just going to have to carry her back. And who would the cops believe? The scared young woman whose father was murdered, or the hick who had the same gauge gun and made the only footprints. It took some time to find the body. Robin followed blindly, flawlessly acting very much the ignorant novice hunter as not to look suspicious. Eventually, they came to the exact spot where she'd shot him.

"Oh, that ain't good." The hunter said, looking away.

"What?" robin asked, cocking her head curiously as she climbed up the little ledge beside her to get a look.

"No, don't look kid." He said and tried to stop her, but it was too late. Robin saw her "father" and the blood pooled beneath him. She clapped a hand over her mouth and shook her head violently. "Hey, he might be alive. I'll go look and I - Oh shit come on! Really?" He swore as Robin let all the muscles in her body relax and limply fell to the ground in an awkward heap. It was another lesson from Jack. She'd learned early on that if she faked passing out, he'd stop hitting her because it wasn't any fun if she wasn't screaming. She had gotten very good at this. Sometimes Jack would sit in the room for hours waiting for her to come to. It was a battle of wills she knew well, and she could remain utterly motionless for an entire day – even with him prodding at her or shaking her. Robin was nothing if not patient. As such, she didn't respond at all when the hunter grabbed her by the shoulders and shook her. Her head lolled listlessly to the side, and he gave up with an aggravated sigh. He went to check the body, but came back far too quickly for Jack to possibly be alive. Robin remained still and limp as he threw her over his shoulder in an undignified manner and carried her. Robin was nervous about trusting the man, but what other choice did she have?

After about an hour of walking, he dumped her on the couch in what must have been his house. She didn't dare open her eyes. The only thing she was aware of was that it smelt faintly of firewood and mildew. That, and the sound of him on the phone with the state police, explaining the situation. When he hung up, Robin waited a few minutes and 'woke up' with a moan.

"Hey, cops are on their way. Want some coffee or something, kid? I checked him. He's dead, sorry. Looks like someone shot him aiming for a deer since there tracks near him. He should have been wearing somethin' that stood out." He said. Robin fell into another sobbing fit and retched, feigning nausea. "Ugh, never mind. Just stay there 'til the cops come." He said and left her. And so he went outside to wait. But something strange happened then, the door opened again and Jack walked in. Robin paled and looked at him. There he was, blood dripping from a hole in the side of his skull as he stared her down. His breath came in ragged gasps.

"You'll pay for this, bitch. I'll see you in hell." He said and vanished. "Robin." She heard his voice wheezing. "Wake up damn it, princess of thieves!" Her eyes snapped open and she panted. With a startled cry, she backed away from Clint who was standing over her and fell clean over the back of the chair she'd fallen asleep in next to Loki. Clint blinked at her in surprise and helped her to her feet. There were tears in her eyes as she backed away from him and slumped against the wall near the door. She never regretted what she did, not once, but she'd never dreamed about it before either. No specter had come while she waited for the police that day, it was just the dream. And what a nasty dream.

"Jesus fucking Christ. Are you all right? Don't tell me you're stoned, too." Clint said in exasperation. But he knew better, he knew that look in her eyes. That haunted, guilty vacant stare. He saw it far too often in Natasha's eyes, and even his own when he looked in the mirror. She'd killed someone, not regretted it in the slightest, and was living with that guilt. No remorse, just guilt. And nightmares. And you know, it didn't surprise him for a second. Robin was smart. Smart enough to get away with murder. And he knew it wasn't the bank robber. He wasn't dead, she'd just knocked him out cold.

"Just a nightmare." She said, composing herself. Loki looked at her with a frown. He wasn't hallucinating that he was in Asgard anymore, and was completely aware of what had happened. He told Clint it was too painful to talk. He was mostly sure Loki just didn't want to talk to him. Clint knew he recognized that vacant stare, too. He'd seen it in Loki's eyes long enough to notice – and surely Loki had seen it in every mirror he looked in, just as he had. For Clint not to have noticed it before, Robin must have been damn good at hiding it. Or maybe she really didn't care about she'd done. He made sure no one was nearby and closed the door.

"Who'd you kill?" Clint asked quietly so that no one outside could hear. Her eyes widened just slightly, and had Tasha not taught him how to basically be a living lie detector, he wouldn't have noticed. Loki murmured something, not really capable of talking but apparently offended by his asking her that.

"I have no idea what the fuck you are talking about. I didn't kill anyone." Robin replied smoothly rubbing sleep from her eyes and letting her long reddish hair obscure most of her face. Damn, she was good, Clint couldn't help but admit.

"I've gotta hand it to you. You are one hell of a liar – you could give Loki a run for his money, but I know that look you had in your eyes. Tell me, and if I think they deserved it I won't turn you in." Clint said. Checking again to make sure they were alone.

"My stepfather." She whispered and closed her eyes. "I regret nothing." Loki gasped and struggled to say something but he couldn't. Robin squeezed her eyes tight fighting back tears. She wondered if he was awake enough to be able to remember this later. She hoped not.

"Why?" Clint asked, straight to the point.

"He married my mom when I was ten. He beat the shit out of me every day of my life since then. My mother, too. Once, he beat her nearly to death and she spent a month in the hospital. He told the cops it was a break-in. That he found her like that. It was a lie, I saw the whole thing but I was too scared to do anything. She didn't want to press charges, and I couldn't get her to go to a women's shelter. It was the only way I could protect her. The only thing I regret is how much I hurt her. Because even though he hurt her so much, she still loved him unconditionally. I enjoyed killing him, though. It was exhilarating. If I was a guy, I would have had a boner." Robin said, balling her hands into fists. Absently, she rubbed at her sore shoulder. For having been shot, it didn't feel much worse than the one time Jack kicked her down a flight of stairs and she ended up with a broken collar bone. Whatever the case, Clint saw no indication that she was lying. Shaking, robin took her sore arm out of the sling, pushed back her sleeve and pointed a long, jagged scar on the back of her forearm. Then she choked on a sob and threw her head back against the wall.

"What is that from, and how did you do it?" Clint asked.

"I got in his way while we were gutting a deer after a hunt when I was seventeen. He came at me with his knife. My friend's mom stitched it up, since I ran to her house crying and bleeding all over the fucking place. That was Sam's mom, if you can hear me Loki. She always let me run there when I needed to escape. But she never did anything to help aside from give me bandaids and cookies." Robin said choking back tears, luckily she was able to keep her voice quiet enough not to draw attention. "As for how I did it… Agent Barton, you're the better archer, but I'll bet I'm the better hunter." Clint didn't need her to elaborate, nor did he doubt it in the slightest.

"There's nothing to turn myself in for. I framed someone flawlessly, and lied and bullshitted my way through the whole thing like a boss. He'll be rotting in jail for the rest of his life. The only one who ever suspected me was my friend, Sam. But I even managed to convince him that I was innocent. The one person I'd never been able to lie to. And he's dead now, too. Loki killed him in the invasion." Robin told Clint. He let out a low whistle and shook his head as he tried to make sense of it all.

"This isn't the first time you've been shot, is it?" Clint asked, wincing. He was sure he already knew the answer to that.

"No. Jack shot me in the foot once because I was whining that he was hurting me. I was twelve years old. That was worse than this. I couldn't walk for two months. I couldn't run away." She replied miserably. Clint was glad this man was dead, or he might have done the deed for her.

"Sometimes, you have to kill someone. Sometimes it's the only way. It doesn't make it right, but just because we aren't animals doesn't mean it isn't survival of the fittest. We have to defend ourselves, and the people we care about." Clint said meaningfully. "Your secret's safe with me. He sounds like a real bastard." Robin tried to smile, but couldn't. She got off the floor and took her seat back in the chair.

"Leave me alone for a while then, please." She said and Clint nodded and left. She sat in silence with her face in her good hand while she cried quietly. If she felt guilty, it was for framing an innocent and hurting her mother, not for getting away with murder. She'd made eye contact with Loki once, but she saw only sympathy in his tired eyes, which somehow made it sting even more. She was a murderer, but no one held it against her. Sam probably would have, but he wouldn't have turned her in, either. But that didn't mean he'd ever speak to her again. He would have disowned her. The fact that she'd gotten away with it so easily was what haunted her. It was not regret. It would never be regret. Nothing could make her regret killing that man. She'd said when she saved Loki that she didn't have it in her to kill someone. In a sense, it was true. Jack wasn't human in her eyes. He had hurt her too much for that.

Loki understood, she knew. The way she'd killed Jack to stop the beatings was no different than what he did to New York to escape being tortured by the Chitauri. But unlike Loki, she hadn't gotten caught. She'd also been able to kill the person responsible, not innocent people who got in the way. Except for that other hunter, she reminded herself. She might as well have shot him too, he was given three consecutive sentences of life in prison. If everyone hated her for it, maybe she'd be able make amends like Loki was. But no one knew. The only amends she could make were to her own prideful selfishness. Admitting to her mother that she'd done it now wouldn't do any good. Maybe before she might have forgiven Robin, but not six years later knowing that she'd been lying all that time.