D/C: I don't own Young Justice or anything else mentioned throughout the book. No copyright infringement is intended. Enjoy!
"Stop! Thief!"
Wallet in one hand and an apple in the other, Richard Grayson sprinted past various buildings while being chased by a very angry, red-faced man with a bald spot bigger than his fist.
Okay, this was ridiculous. He'd stolen hundreds of wallets before, Why was he just now getting caught?
He didn't have time to further reflect on this question, as the man was most definitely coming closer. Okay, note to self, stick to the overweight upper class that scream bloody murder about their social standing rather than men that could easily be former marines.
Still, he didn't stand a chance catching the most infamous street kid on this side of Gotham.
Looking for options and knowing he was running out fast, Dick weighed the thought of letting his prize go and risk going hungry for another week. On one hand, he'd starve. On the other, he risked getting put in jail, which meant-
Who was he kidding? He'd dealt with greater odds.
Sidestepping into the alleyway, he knew (read: hoped. That guy was really gaining on him) he'd easily lose the muscular menace in the backstreets and alleys of Gotham, something Dick knew like the back of his hand.
Slowly but surely gaining distance in the confusing twists and turns, Dick finally was far enough away to used his acrobatic skills to successfully maneuver the latter system spreading up the side of a nearby building, watching with a grin as the angry man stripped of his wallet ran past the rooftop he was hiding on.
"Score!" He shout-whispered, smirking to himself as he walked to the other side of the roof. Stupid decision or not, the pay would be well worth it. This guy easily had-
As he opened the wallet, his eyes widened. This guy had five bucks? Seriously? His eyes scanned the wallet and landed on a gleaming credit card. Not even a debit. People didn't pay crap for credit, and he didn't really want to get into the card-selling business anyway.
He sighed deeply, running a hand over his face. It felt warm from all the running, which certainly hadn't helped with the late afternoon heat he was currently feeling, setting sun or not.
Not that it would be warm for much longer, approaching October and all.
Turning to face the sun creeping behind the thousands of skyscrapers littering Gotham's skyline, Dick sat criss-cross in the edge of the rooftop, biting into the apple with a loud crunch. It would be getting dark soon. He should really make way towards his hole in the ground he called a home.
Like now.
But getting up took so much effort.
Oh well. Another questionable decision wouldn't kill him, right?
Biting his lip, he settled on five more minutes and stared at the sun. Well, as much as he could without burning his eyes out, anyway.
The streets below were gradually beginning to clear as families and singles alike were afraid of what came in Gotham's night. Batman or no Batman, the city was too dangerous to be out after dark. Something Dick knew all too well.
He watched a kid skip next to his parents, who was tugging his hand and saying something along the lines of, "Come on, Johnny, it'll be dark soon. We have to get home."
The pleasant look on his face dropped into a sad one, watching as the couple and their boy turned a corner out of view. What he wouldn't give to be pulled somewhere by his parents one more time. Feel his mother's soft hand from all the moisturizing required after the trapeze while his father ruffled his hair with slightly tougher hands and laughed his deep, hearty laugh.
Dick Grayson hadn't always been a street kid. He'd had a life, once. A long time ago, he remembered feeling distantly happy, overjoyed even. Still filled with childish happiness and wonder, still believing the world was good and the people in it were good too. Oh, how naive he was.
Everyone had darkness inside them, something Dick Grayson himself had discovered on a smoggy winter's night just like this one a long time ago.
He shook his head, forcing the memories away. That was for another day, a different day where he could be strong enough to deal with the past.
He glanced around the rooftop, where the alleyway was long since deserted. Feeling up to moving once more, he got up and started shimmying with natural grace down the ladder and quietly heading the street, all the while glancing over his shoulder for signs of the Gotham scum.
He arrived at his destination not too long after, lucky to be not disturbed on his way home.
His "home" consisted of moving a dumpster bin behind a drug store next to May's Antiques, which revealed a hole big enough for him to crawl through. It led to an abandoned subway section, closed off years ago due to structural issues.
It was dry and kept him warm through the winter months. Most bad guys couldn't fit through the small hole; making it safe for him to stay away from the dangerous streets. As long as he wasn't the unfortunate victim of an earthquake collapse, he saw no fault with the place.
He was surprised the other street kids he'd run into hadn't found this place first. He was fortunate he didn't have to compete for territory like he used to. Even with the fighting skills he'd learned throughout the years of being a street kid, he didn't want to go into fights he could avoid. Picking a fight was dangerous enough, gaining a reputation? He'd be signing up for his very own spot in the graveyard.
The battery powered light glowed dimly in the space, the only source of light during the nighttime. During the day small holes in the ceiling that connected to who knows where made it light enough to see. Sometimes, anyway. The smog the affected his daily life certainly had more than a few drawbacks.
There was a part of the small section that had, fortunately, not been completely closed off. Or, at the very least, had collapsed. It led to an abandoned building a few blocks from here. It was much too dangerous to climb, but he'd managed to drop things such as a thin mattress he'd found stashed in the dumpster outside the hole, as well as worn out blankets and even the battery powered light that, after some tinkering, was perfect when the place became pitch black.
Overall, he knew he couldn't stay here forever. Eventually someone would figure out the secret place and he'd be forced to flee. But it made a nice temporary shelter he could get the next five or six months out of before having to move again.
In the sound of silence, Dick started thinking about how much he missed his family and friends back at the circus. Was it even worth thinking to hope he may be able to go back someday? Right now he didn't ever think he could go back and have a normal family. Or even have friends.
The truth was, Dick Grayson was forgotten. Faded into the background and minds of everyone. The life of a street kid was a lonely one, that's for sure.
He wished he had real friends.
The was something degrading about watching your father mumble incoherently while watching the Chiefs, only made worse as he drank his, what felt like, hundredth bottle of beer.
Wally sat shyly on the stairs, waiting for his father to summon him. This was decidedly normal, as it was best to wait for his father to need him instead of risking upsetting him by being upstairs.
Wally winced as his arm brushed the railing, a reminder of the last time his father's one too many beers and Wally risking hanging out in his room instead. To say his father got angry would be an understatement, shoving him harshly into the banister he now leaned against and sending him to his room. His father had never outright hit him, but his grip while forcing him down was strong.
"Wallace! Get down here!" His father barked from the chair, causing Wally to sprint to his father's side. "Go get me another one from the fridge."
Wally cringed. "Are you sure that's a good idea, Dad? You've already had so many-"
"Did I ask for your opinion boy?" Rudolph growled, effectively silencing his son. Wally shook his head. "Good. Now go."
Wally bit his bottom lip and nodded, rushing toward the fridge and mess of a kitchen. He'd have to clean it later, when his arm didn't hurt so bad. Or, of course, when his father made him. He bet the latter would come first.
Grabbing a beer from the fridge, Wally took a moment to rest his head against the door. He could deal with this. He could. He had five more years 'till he could move away and never come back.
Life hadn't always been like this. Back when his mother was still here and not off, last he heard, somewhere in California with a new boyfriend, life had been different. Happier. He had gone to family outings, had parties, his dad even still had a job at the bank instead of being forced into construction to meet ends meet. His dad had still enjoyed a good beer or two, but it didn't drink this bad until his mom decided she was too good for her family.
His dad took it the hardest. He'd resulted to being borderline, if not completely, alcoholic. He was always stressed about bills and financials, and occasionally taking out his frustrations on his son.
Wally took it without too much fuss. It wasn't often enough to call it real abuse, and his dad needed some sort of outlet. He'd take it over his dad putting another hole in the wall, or worse yet his co-workers, any day.
"What's taking so long, Wallace?"
Straightening, Wally sighed. "Sorry, Dad. Coming."
To say he was a Flash enthusiast was an understatement.
Had it been up to Wally, his room would be decked out with Flash posters, action figures, and pictures printed from Central City News.
Of course, that were if it was up to him. It wasn't, because his dad had a rather big say in what was 'up to him'.
Instead of staring at passions as he lay quietly on his bed, such as science and the Flash, Wally was staring at a full wall dedicated to the Chiefs. They didn't have a home office, instead that took place in the center of the living room, so his father had deemed Wally's room his Chief sanctuary.
His mother had been much more tolerant with his love of the Flash. While Wally still had football knick-knacks here and there, it wasn't nearly as bad as this. He'd actually been allowed to indulge with science posters and flash plushies. Those had been thrown out ages ago, now.
Actually, it was his uncle Barry that had gotten him so obsessed. He'd brought him a signed picture as a gift one year, still hidden in the back of his closet and away from the eyes of his dad, and that's when he knew he loved uncle Barry. Wally hadn't seen his aunt or uncle in a little over three years, since his mom left. His aunt and dad got in a huge fight over something. Maybe the alcohol. Maybe the smoking. Who knows at this point?
But anyway, as much as he told his dad he loved his room, he really didn't like it. He was nerdy, and therefore sports were not his thing. His father had wanted a football star like he had been before injuring his knee in college. Instead, he'd been given a geeky, superhero-loving, science weirdo.
He supposed, in the end, it didn't matter. He still had his autograph, and he still had his memories. Those were two things irreplaceable, and not so easily taken away.
The sound of a boom suddenly struck the house, and Wally's attention turned to the thunderstorm outside. It was really raining now, and part of him wanted to see what it was like outside.
But how? His window looked right into a tree, and if his dad caught him in the living room he was dead for sure.
Well, his room was right next to the attic, and there was a huge window up there. He could probably get a good view of the storm from up there.
Making a decision, Wally quietly tiptoed out of bed and out the door. He heard the low mumble of the TV and the quiet snores of his father, asleep on a chair in the living room. It seemed more of a bed now, his father hadn't slept in his bed in nearly three years.
Quietly pulling down the rickety old latter, Wally climbed up and entered the attic. It's been months since he'd been up here, looking for an old football to play catch with at his neighbor's request. That was back when he still dedicated his life to making his father proud.
Well, that wasn't the point. He was here to watch the storm, something he would do on those rainy night at Uncle Barry's house, all those years ago.
Did he still think about him? Did he ever wonder about him, worry about him? It didn't seem like anyone ever did. The bruises the crawled down his arms and up his neck from the too-harsh grabs and shoves, the bullying from his science mind and nerdy freckles...
He doubted Uncle Barry even remembered him. That would be too good for Wally, and Wally didn't deserve that. Not after making his mother leave.
Shoving an old box aside, Wally was surprised to hear the sound of glass. Curiosity peaked, he carefully opened the box to reveal.. glasses of liquids?
Not just any liquids, chemicals.
Eyes widened, Wally lifted the flap to read the box. No way! Property of Barry Allen: Dangerous, Keep Out. This must have been where uncle Barry stored some of his home chemicals before moving! He moved right before the argument.. could they not come back to get them?
Wonder filled Wally's eyes, reading over the interesting liquids. So many long names, so many things to do with them, if only he could-
Boom
Lightning struck the house, or maybe near it? Whatever happened, the boom was deafening. Wally felt the chemical he was holding slip from his hand in the confusion, one labeled Pyrophoric
Pyrophoric. As a liquid, explodes at contact with Oxygen in five minutes or under. And with the box of chemicals...
Oh no.
He didn't remember much, to be honest. He heard his dad, felt him actually, shaking him. Wait, was that his dad? He didn't feel any hands..
No, it was definitely him shaking. No, vibrating. Why was he vibrating?
"What- son - hear- boy-"
He heard the slap before he felt it, a groan echoing from his mouth about his burnt cheeks. He was hurt? Burnt, even? Why?
"Don't- me- vibrate-"
In a rush, as that was all Wally could think to call it, he opened his eyes and gasped.
The world slowed down, visually slowed down. He lifted his hand at normal speed, but his father was moving slowly, mouth opening comically into a shocked expression. What.. what was happening. Was this-
Was this super speed?
His father, now blinking incredibly slow, barely moved. How.. how did he stop it? Was the world stuck like this?
All at once, the world rushed back to him, pushing him to the floor once again as his father returned to normal speed.
"You're-" Rudolph blinked, slowly but not like he was slowed down, and drew back. "You're healed."
Wally's hands flew to his face, previously having received third degree burns and now feeling perfectly fine. Had.. had that rush he felt increased his healing ability? Was it a one time thing?
It had to be.. even the Flash couldn't heal that fast.
Oh my god, was he the Flash?
A grin spread onto his face, turning to his father. "Dad, I'm-"
"A freak"
His heart stopped, grin freezing in place before slowly morphing into confusion. He.. he what?
"You're a freak. There's a mutant freak in my house." His dad sounded horrified, and that's when Wally remembered. His dad hated mutants.
"No, dad, it's not, I'm not a-"
He didn't have time to finish, a hand slamming into the side of his face with an audible crack.
"I will not have a freak for a son!"
Another hand slammed into his nose, surely breaking it as Wally fell back to the floor.
He had to get out of here. His dad was going to kill him, hisdadwashoingtokillhim, hisdadwashoingtokillhim-
With all the force he could muster, Wally pushed himself off the ground and fled. Down the latter, through the halls and living room and out the front door in record time.
Was he using super speed? He wasn't sure. He didn't care. He had to get out-
Suddenly, Wally slammed into a man, taking a midnight stroll with his dog. The rain was now at a sprinkle, how much time had passed? He wasn't sure.
"Woah- ouch. Kid, you okay? Hey, what's-" The man stopped for a second, eyes going wide as he got a look at Wally's face (still bruised, still broken. It was a one time thing...). "Kid, who did this to you?"
"Wallace!"
Wally looked back toward the house, terrified. "Don't tell him which way I went, please." He begged, then turned toward the forest and fled.
"Kid, wait-!" The man yelled, shuffling his hands for his ID. "I'm a cop! I can help you!"
But Wally was long gone, headed towards an unknown location with tears streaming down his face. This was it. He had no family, no friends, no where to go. He was all alone.
"Green Arrow has once again stopped the villain known as Sports Master. In his plan to kill the mayor, Sportsmaster was arrested by the Star City Police and-"
Roy clicked the channel button, rolling his eyes at the stupidity of it all. Green Arrow was all anyone talked about these days.
"Hey! I was watching that!" Exclaimed a voice from behind, Roy turned to see Chase, a nine year old recently put in here. "Don't you want to see the footage of Green Arrow?"
Roy raised an eyebrow. He was new, so of course he didn't know about his rather out-there hate for the hooded hero. "No. Now get out of my hair."
The boy pouted for a moment before retreating out of the room, fourteen year old Roy Harper sighed and turned to where a weather broadcast was being showed.
He remembered, sort of fondly, of a time where he also loved Green Arrow, Star City's own superhero. Roy himself was advanced with a bow, so not only did he have hometown advantage but his weapon of choice was something he could relate to. Maybe even hope to someday be his rescuer.
He was too old to have any hope of saving, though. Stuck in this hell hole they called "Star City Boy's Home" for the last six years put a damper on any of his dreams.
Roy eased into the couch, looking toward the clock. 6:08. He should get going, or he'd be late.
Shuffling his feet, he stood up and grabbed his jacket at the front. The lady in charge didn't care, as long as he was back before child services showed up.
Time to go shoot some things.
Roy stood atop one of the many run down apartment buildings that ran across the city. It was his favorite place on the account of it being secluded from the city street.
Taking a deep breath, Roy squinted one eye closed and picked up his bow. Immediately, any anger and sadness he felt drained from his body as he raised the at bow at the target.
Zip, zip, zip.
Three perfect hits, dead center of the target. A smile curved his lips, the first real one in days.
A low whistle pierced the air. Roy tensed, his grip tightened on his bow. He swung around to see-
Green Arrow?
Dread filled Roy's body. Somehow this was worse than any criminal trying to recruit him.
"You're quite a sharp shooter there, kid." Said the man, masked eyes looking at him fondly.
Roy frowned, "don't call me 'kid'."
Green Arrow, looking slightly taken aback by the hostility, raised an eyebrow at him. "Geez. Sorry to offend you," he suddenly grinned; "when I heard there was a fourteen year old boy being asked by several criminal organization to join for his work with a bow and arrow, I was a bit skeptical. But seeing is believing, am I right?"
Misreading the intentions for an accusation, Roy bit back a sharp reply and asked, "what do you want?"
Green Arrow must have seen him tense, as he held up his hands as a sign of peace and smiled. "Nothing. Just came to see the new kid on the block. You have to admit, knowing there's another bow and arrow wielder out there is intriguing." He answered, shifting to the other foot. "Come on, most kids would think it was cool to meet a hero. What's up with you?"
"Well, I used to think so, but.." He admitted, pausing as his thoughts drifted. When did he stop? When his dad died? When he was thrown out by several foster families? When he was put in a boys hone, never to be adopted because he was too old?
"But?"
He considered what he had thought about, all them both too complicated and too personal to explain. Instead of voicing his thoughts, he settled for, "But then I grew up."
Green Arrow nodded solemnly, almost as if he understood. But that was ridiculous. How could a masked vigilante relate to him? "You seem a bit young for using that phrase, but I suppose there's no age limit, huh?" A pause, then, "what about your parents?"
Roy scowled. "What about 'em? They're dead."
It then occurred to Roy that he was sharing information about himself with a complete stranger. A hero stranger at that. It was oddly cliche. It also made him want to gag, which was a very unpleasant feeling.
And so, he quickly tacked on, "but that's not any of your business."
Green Arrow laughed. "No. It's not." He stared at him for a moment, a smile dancing on his lips. Roy wanted to shoot it off his green-loving face. "How do you feel about a little competition?"
"Competition?" Roy asked skeptically, but couldn't hide the interest in his voice.
Green Arrow grinned.
"It's easy. We take turns shooting the target, and whoever shoots the most accurate the farthest wins."
It sounded simple enough, but it was getting a lot harder. Roy and Green Arrow, so far, were neck and neck, but he could tell Arrow was holding back.
It made him angry that the hero was treating him like a child. He was fourteen and capable of taking care of himself, thank you very much.
"You're even better than the rumors."
"And you're more annoying. Care to comment?"
In the end, Roy lost. He could tell Arrow was very impressed, but he didn't care about impressing a hero. He definitely didn't feel a swell of pride in his chest. Nuh uh.
When Roy finally returned home, he collapsed into his bed. It was well after midnight, and as usual nobody cared to check if he was still alive.
But that didn't matter. Roy was practically an adult. He could manage. He always did.
He next morning was.. odd. To say the very least.
First of all, everyone in the boy's home was forced into the nicer clothing they wore on inspection day, and it definitely was not inspection day. At least he didn't think so.
What he meant was, while the speech of "be on your best behavior or else" was told, which was normal for inspection day (and Roy usually tuned it out), the part about "a considerable amount of money" and "incoming cash" was definitely abnormal.
He really wished he had been paying attention.
"What's happening?" Roy whispered to Chase, who happened to be standing next to him. "Is the mayor coming for a visit or something?"
That could be. The mayor usually showed up for his re-election campaigns. People loved seeing poor kids being talked too by an old rich man. Although he wasn't expected for many more months, and usually the inside wasn't this clean, as the mayor only stood outside for pictures and handshakes.
"No, it's-"
A hush fell over the boys as a man walked in with a very expensive suit. Roy squinted his eyes at the mysterious man, trying to figure out who it could be. He looked oddly familiar, like he had seen him on a billboard.
Oh. My. God.
He had. He had seen him on a billboard. There stood Oliver freaking Queen, the millionaire himself. What was he doing here? Was he here to donate money? Was that why they were so dressed up?
"Hello boys." The millionaire-turned-apparent-charity-lover said, flashing a dazzling smile. Roy wanted to puke.
"Boys, this is Mr. Queen." The head lady, Margaret, said in a sing-song voice she saved for special occasions. Roy was surprised she could manage that with all the yelling she did. "He's here to talk to one of you. Won't that be fun?"
A few grumbles of "yes m'am" echoed through the quiet house. Roy rolled his eyes. Talk to them? Yeah right. He'd rather be watching T.V.
"Who would you like to see, Mr. Queen?" She asked, Roy could see the discrete fingers crossed behind her back. Roy did too.
'Please don't be me please don't be me..'
"Roy Harper? I was told he lives here." Oliver responded, eyes roaming the line before they settled on his bright red, very distinguishable hair.
'Ah sh-'
"Roy?" Margaret asked, equally as shocked. Her smile dropped a little before smoothly regaining her composer. "Are you sure? There's so many," she cleared her throat, glancing at Roy, "wonderful boys here."
Oliver raised an eyebrow at her, "will this be a problem, Ms. Ward?"
"No! Of course not. Mr. Queen, would you like to settle yourself in the living room?" He nodded and walked effortlessly toward their living room. Everything about that man stunk rich people.
Before Roy could follow, she grabbed his arm and scowled at him, "I swear, boy. If you say anything, I will make your life a living hell. Got it?"
Roy gulped, and nodded, trudging after the millionaire.
This, he thought, was the most awkward thing I've ever done. And I've done a lot of awkward stuff.
He was pretty sure this even beat the time one of the boys came crying to him because he was afraid he had killed someone. To be clear, he hadn't, one of the girls at school played a mean prank with bloody... undergarments and told him he'd poisoned her. Having to explain that and the several hundred questions that followed? He thought he was the one that was going to die.
Okay, so maybe this didn't beat that. But to be fair, he didn't think anything was as bad as that.
His hands wrung nervously, sizing Mr. Queen up as the man stared at him. He looked.. familiar somehow. But that was ridiculous, he'd only ever seen this guy in pictures.
The man cleared his throat, and Roy looked up distractedly. God this guy had some muscles, had the millionaire always been like that? It was pretty intimidating, actually. "Yes?" He asked, before quickly tacking on, "Mr. Queen."
The man smiled warmly, "please. It's Oliver. Now, I'd just like to ask you some questions. I want you to answer as honestly as you can, okay?"
'What if I can't answer honestly, what do I do then Mr. Wayne? Wait no, that's Gotham's rich guy. Wait a second, do all superhero cities have famous rich guys? Hmm. Note to self: see how many superhero cities have rich guys filling their pockets.' Roy nodded. "Yes sir."
He smiled again. "Right. So how do you feel about Ms. Ward?"
"She's great. Totally great." He answered quickly. A little too quickly, he judged, but he figured the guy didn't care.
"Are all your needs accounted for? Food? Hygiene? Etcetera?"
Roy forced a smile. "Yes, sir."
Mr. Queen tilted his head slightly, before nodding and writing something down on paper. "Okay, Roy. One more question. How do you feel overall? Should anything change?"
'What can I even say to that? 'Oh, nothing major sir. Just the entire freaking place please.' Roy shook his head. "Everything's perfect."
Oliver nodded slowly. "You know you can be honestly here, right Roy? Nothing gets back to Ms. Ward."
Liar
Roy shrugged, trying to pass on his doubt as confidence. He didn't think it was working. "I know. But nothing needs to be said. I'm fine here. We're fine here."
Oliver clicked his tongue and nodded. "Of course. That's all. Thank you for you time."
Roy was just getting a glass of water when he overheard voice from Ms. Ward's office. He slowed his pace in front of the door and listened. Hey, a kid needed some good gossip every now and then to stay interested, even if it was her complaining about her love life. Or rather, lack there of.
"Did you hear?" Ms. Ward spoke in a hushed whisper, chair creaking as she put her weight on it. "Oliver Queen wants to foster the kid!"
Roy raised an eyebrow. The millionaire took a liking to one of the boys? Heh. How unlucky for them.
"You'll never guess!" She spoke back to the invisible voice. So she was on the phone then. "Roy Harper! That kid from the range!"
Roy barely stopped himself from dropping his water. W-what?
"I know right! I thought he just wanted to do that check-up thing to donate or whatever, but instead he turned into a total Annie situation, with Roy Harper no less." She laughed quietly, which was still rather loud. "Glad he'll be off my back for a while, even if he does end up back here eventually. No way some millionaire will want a kid like him."
Roy heard enough, sprinting back to his room without care as the water sloshed onto his hand.
What was he going to do? He couldn't live with a millionaire! That wasn't his life. He wasn't made for the life of a millionaire.
He shuddered at the thought. Charity gatherings in a too-tight suits, dances, and company dinners showing him off like some prize. He is probably only doing this to boost his ratings, like some damn charity case.
No. He refused to do that. He couldn't do that. Absolutely not.
He eyed the bag hidden under his bed. Tip-toeing to the bunk-bed, he snatched it and walked to the window, slipping out without a second thought.
He'd leave. Away from criminals and heroes and millionaires alike. He'd go to Gotham, the place was so full of street kids he'd never even be noticed.
Roy has been left behind long ago, all that was left was to move forward.
A/N: Well, this is the first official chapter.. Thank you all for being so supportive of this book, even though it's literally a steaming pile of crap and you all deserve better. So, here's to making it better. —SofieButterfly