***I don't own the Struts or anything DC. Only this AU and John the second***

 December 5:

 When John wasn't being emotionally and physically berated by Slade, hanging out with Damian, justifying himself to his teacher, and learning more about assassination John stole. No, not jewels like he did for Slade or something especially expensive, just small things. Like bread, apples, the works. He had begun this charade around a week ago. John had gotten tired of growing hungry and thirsty everyday and lying to Damian whenever his friend asked 'why are you always so hungry?' At least now he could say he wasn't.

So, John took to stealing. At first he wasn't to thrilled about the idea. But who was? Although, if you were stuck between dying or stealing an apple which would choose. If you dare say die I'll break your face. Anyways, John had started out small. Very small. He pick pocketed a pencil. Yeah, a pencil. He broke his at school and he didn't have a sharpener or another pencil. So, he took one. It wasn't to hard. But it made him feel uneasy. As the days passed he started stealing food. 

He still wasn't too keen on the idea, but he didn't have much of a choice. John occasionally wondered what his parents or brother would think of him now. They'd probably be disgusted. They're reaction would be justified too. It made sense. After one month of grieving over the death of his parents he was swept away to be molded into an assassin. Was he being molded? Everyday he was being trained, or beat, or shouted at. Did that count as molding? It probably did. He knew he wasn't the innocent five year old who enjoyed flipping and bouncing off the walls. Nowadays it seemed unnecessary. He hated that feeling. John loved performing yet he didn't want to anymore. Not for Slade.

Was it because his skills were being used for something bad? Yes. Was it because it reminded him of his family? Yes. Was it because he was scared he'd fall too? No. That's not what scared him. What did scare him? That was the thought of the week as John stole from store owners. 

Would the world be better off without him? John didn't really affect anything the world did right? Seriously, his parents and brother died and the world moved on. Who would say it wouldn't do the same if he kicked the bucket too. 

He grit his teeth. The things the people who Slade brought over said were getting to him again. He hated it when people told him how to feel. He hated it when people downsized his problems. He hated it when adults looked at kids and said 'how I wish to be young once again'. He hated it when adults said that kids don't understand their problems. That kids were naive. Or that they wouldn't be able to handle some problems. That might be true for some kids, but John hated hearing knowing that other kids were being abused and hurt and exposed to things just like him. And what tore at his brain and heart and nipped at his thoughts was that he couldn't say anything. Yet he wanted to. He knew his situation was wrong and he should get help. But he couldn't. Slade got him entangled in a mess his mind, no matter how sharpened it was, couldn't handle. He didn't want Damian to die. 

John let out a small squeak as he flipped into the dumpster. Why was he searching a trash can you may ask? Well, he was looking for some food he wouldn't have to steal. Edible food that is. Not the gross paste he almost feel in. Deciding it was time to head back to his "home" John began to stand. That is, until he felt a sharp pain in his ankle. He hissed and fell back at the bottom of the trash can. He closed his eyes for a moment in frustration. When he opened them he saw his foot twisted awkwardly. Great. He sat up in the trash can and lightly pressed on his ankle. John quickly pulled his hand away when the pain sprinted up his left leg. With determination he grabbed the edges of the trash can (despite the disgusting gunk on it) shifted his weight to his right leg and pushed himself up. Only to bonk his head into another surface. He lost his footing and fell back into the trash can.

"Ow! Watch out kid!" Another voice exclaimed. It was a guy.

Immediately John reacted, in a way Slade wouldn't be proud of. He yelped and scooted backwards into a corner of the aluminum bin. The man-no teen-was a red head. He had dark blue eyes. A hand was caressing his head as he stared at John with an expression of annoyance and curiosity. "Hey, you okay? I didn't mean to scare you, kid."

John didn't respond. He stared at the teen in fright. Even from his sitting position in the trash can he could tell the teen was way taller then him and stronger. The teen reminded him of some of the men Slade brought to look over him. His eyes seemed observant. Wary, less to his liking. "Kid, do you need help...like to get out of there?"

Stern John: WTF was that JOHNNY?! You know what Master would do to you right now?! Stupid move! You don't go telling allies your weaknesses much less STRANGERS!

Shy John: But he seems nice...

Stern John: Shut up Shy! You know how Slade seemed alright? WELL LOOK AT HOW WE ARE NOW!

Honorable John: That's not appropriate talk to the weak!

Flamboyant John: Oh the drama...this reminds me of my favorite Broadway musical-

Stern John: NOBODY CARES! Idiots...

Assassin John: We could kill him...

Stern John/Honorable John: NO!

The regular John was snapped out of his thoughts when the teen reached down and picked him up. The teen was strong. "Man, you're really light you know that kid?" The teen set him down, but noticed the kid was favoring his right side, "So...you live on the streets?"

Honorable John: Let's just tell him the truth. He could help us!

Flamboyant John: But that would make it boooring!

Stern John: Let's lie. That way we won't be punished by Master and this teen will be off our backs.

Shy John: I don't want to talk to him anymore...

Stern John: I repeat...NOBODY CARES!

"Yeah...well, sort of.....it's complicated." John muttered back rubbing some gunk off his clothes once more.

The teen nodded as if he understood. He held up a hand to John and said, "I'm Roy, by the way. What's your name?"

Deciding he'd probably never see Roy again he responded, "John." He looked at the dark sky, "I should go-"

"Wait!" John paused looking back at Roy. "You live on the streets, you were probably searching the dumpster for food, right? Do you have a phone, or access to one?" John nodded as Roy continued, "Here's my number." Roy pulled out a card with an imprinted number on it and handed it to John. "Call me if you need anything, John."

"O-okay." John stuttered, overall surprised at the action. Roy nodded and began to walk away from the kid. "Oh and again...thanks." When Roy looked back the boy was gone.

As if he never existed.

And if only he knew.

***Batbreak***

December 7: John's POV

I was counting down the days, but really what seven year old wouldn't? I can't say I was excited though. It wasn't like anyone was going to celebrate with me. Not anymore. Damian didn't know, so I can't celebrate with him. I honestly had hoped I would forget about that specific date this year, but my memory decided to not work with me. Was it strange a kid wanted to forget an important memory and not remember it? 

Probably.

Thanks.

Enough about my old life though, I'm personally focused on the future. Slade had said I was supposed to do my first kill next year. I have no idea how to feel about that actually...

Angry John: Yes you do! WE'RE NOT KILLING ANYONE! PERIOD!

Sensible John: Hush, if we anger our master then we will be the ones dying...or at least severely maimed...

Cowboy John: Partners! We just gotta rustle up some of 'em 'eroes! And have a showdown with this mercenary!

Honorable John: No. I disagree. We gave up our chance of leaving when that fellow Roy-

Shy John: I wanna go home...

Assassin John: We're already being trained by Slade to become an assassin. Why not speed up the process and kill this year...

...

Sensible John: No, I believe we should think about our options before we spring into action.

Flamboyant John: Fine! Ugh.

Well, I guess that's how I feel. This year all I got was a promise to be a killer and an iPod. Yeah, an iPod. I bought it. What? You don't believe me? Fine...I might've found it in the bathroom at a restaurant and might've taken it. Finder keeper right? No. Well, no take-backs either. It was a good deal though, an iPod equipped with earbuds already filled with music. Score! Most of it was Disney, Pixar, or other miscellaneous artists. Besides that, I got nothing. Not even family. That's pretty dumb, right? Everything seems so...strange now. I want out. I want out of this life. But I can't.

Out.

Can't get out.

Why?

I know why.

I'm ScAreD...

For a seven year old I feel really old.

***Batbreak***

December 9: John's POV

Snap! Crack! Another mark on my scarred back. Slade brought the whip down on my back once-more. The pain was excruciating. Much worse than simple kicks and knife wounds. It was a fiery, searing pain that radiates throughout. What had I done? He found the iPod I got. He claimed it was a meaningless distraction and tossed it in the trash. I snapped and screamed at him. He snapped and unfurled a whip. That's it. This excruciating pain I was receiving was for listening to music. 

Music. The things that made me smile and bounce. Was the cause of me getting torn. 

That's a sick way of seeing this situation.

He had been doing this for a while. How long? I don't know. But I did know that I came back to the basement around 9:00 p.m., now it's 4:57 a.m. My back was probably looking like raw meat now, my arms too probably. I'm glad I'm wearing pants. Just when the scars on my arms began to fade he just had to make more. 

Usually when he threatens me with a whip or electrocution or messing with my mind I run away. But, my ankle is still dead. Which didn't help with my situation.  

"Do you realize what you did was wrong?" Another strike. "It's a meaningless device. Does it serve to your training?" Another hit. "Answer me Specter."

"N-no!" Much to my displeasure my voice cracked in between. A sob escaped my lips as it hit my back again. 

He hit with twice the force as he growled, "What do you call me?!"

I bit my lip, trying to withhold another sob and said brokenly, "No, M-mast-master..." 

He hit me eight more times. Eight more excruciating times, before he stopped. And left the room. I didn't move for a while. My back was radiating raw, fiery cuts. My limbs were sore from physical strain. My head had a terrifyingly strong head ache. Either from the blood loss or emotional strain. I felt a part of me break right there as realization hit me. 

No one was with me. I was alone. With my scars no one would want to care about me anymore. No one was trying to anyways. My family was gone. My old life is gone. I'm alone. I won't be happy, truly happy, again. Slade made sure of that. My life, my end was in his bloody hands. And that's what I hate the most.

 And despite myself I screamed. 

"Slade! YOU took my life away! YOU took me away from my brother! And now you're molding me into an emotionless, assassin, little kid! A LITTLE KID! I'M JUST A KID! JUST. A. FUCKIN. KID! WHY DO YOU HATE ME?! WHY DO YOU WANT ME TO BECOME SOMEONE I HATE! I HATE WHAT YOU'RE DOING TO ME! I'M STARTING TO HATE MYSELF! A SEVEN YEAR OLD HATES HIMSELF! FOR THREE YEARS YOU HURT ME! YOU'RE HURTING ME! DOES THIS PLEASE YOU?! AM I JUST SUPPOSED TO LET YOU MOLD ME LIKE I'M CLAY?! LIKE I'M AN OBJECT-A PRIZE?! A SPECTACLE TO WATCH?! YOU WANT ME TO BREAK! SO YOU CAN FIX ME! FIX ME?! WHY?! WHY DO YOU WANT TO?! I JUST WANT TO KNOW! YOU BRING THOSE BITCHES HERE TO WATCH ME BREAK! WHY?! DO YOU WANT THEM TO BREAK ME TOO?! BECAUSE THEY ARE! BUT YOU KNOW WHAT MASTER?! I'M NOT GOING TO BEND TO YOU, TO YOUR WILL! BECAUSE PEOPLE CARE ABOUT ME! AT LEAST TWO PEOPLE IN THIS DAMN WORLD CARE ABOUT ME! MY DEATH WILL AFFECT THIS DAMN PLANET! EVEN THOUGH SOME HATE ME! I WON'T GIVE YOU OR THEM THE DAMN SATISFACTION TO WATCH ME BREAK! AND DIE FROM THE INSIDE OUT! CAUSE I'M NOT A LITTLE KID ANYMORE! YOU MADE DAMN WELL SURE OF THAT MASTER. AND STARTING NOW JOHN FUCKIN GRAYSON WILL NOT KILL OR RUIN ANYONE'S LIFE! BECAUSE HE WANTS TO NOT END UP LIKE! YOU! So I will enjoy betraying you when I turn...fifteen." I screamed for a while. Sobs escaped my lips as I screamed. Gasping and screaming.

Scream, gasp, sob.

Scream, gasp, sob.

Scream gasp, sob.

Scream, apologize, sob.

Eventually I came to a realization. Slade couldn't ruin my life. And he won't. By the time I reach fifteen I will take him down. Fifteen; the age when I'll be strong enough. That gave me eight years-well, seven if you take away my Birthday in six days. Determined now, I stood up. Ignoring the pain in my back, ankle, and arms I put on a domino mask. I grabbed my iPod from the trash and stormed out of the house. I pressed play on the iPod and I ran. I was powering on adrenaline. My legs pumped behind me. I didn't care if gravel cut thru my feet. I ignored it. Focusing intently on the lyrics of the song I gritted my teeth and ran.

(START SONG)

By the tone I passed the third block my ankle hat numbed out, but my back was on fire. The sun was rising. No cars were on the street as a thick fog rested above the houses.

My legs were moving on their own time now. My eyes, blurry from downfallen tears, watched the buildings glow from the rising sun.

I skidded to a stop. My breathing was heavy. My heart light. My cheeks wet. My back sticky. My eyes underneath the mask were narrowed with determination. I was ready. I wasn't going to let Slade stop me. 

No one's gonna push John Grayson around anymore. 

If they tried he'd push back.

I'd push back.

Who knows? I might enjoy this. 

Either way it's going to be interesting.