His Younger Sister • Jason Todd

001: Introduction

“I sat in the stands of the circus tent as my parents and brother do their 'Flying Grayson's' act. I remember swinging my legs and the clapping of everyone around me, but that soon got drowned out by the sounds of screams.

I saw my parents falling and my brother trying to grab their hands, before the lady beside me covered my eyes, then I heard a splat. After that, my eyes were uncovered and people were running out of the tent. A huge gut feeling went off and I got out of my seat, too, and looked around.

That's when I saw them. My parents. They were laying on the ground as if they were asleep, no pool of blood growing around their bodies like you would hear in the movies. In that moment I had no idea what to do, so my brain made me run. I ran fast and I ran far, farther than I had ever run before that moment.

I don't remember much after that, only the bad dreams and crying I did for days before a social worker found me. Kristine was her name, I think, but I'm not too sure anymore. After that, I was in and out of the foster system; bouncing around from home to home.

Everything started to weigh on me when I turned 8, 4 years after my parents died. The family I was staying with, at the time, already had 2 kids of their own; but I only remember hating one of them. His name was Nick and he was 11, 3 years older than I was at the time.

He was such an asshole. God, I wanted to punch that fucking kid so bad. Every chance he got to torment me, he took without a second thought. Living with them, with him, was like burning in the pits of hell, only worse.

At the start, the only things he did was call me names. I could endure that, but it was getting annoying after awhile. After a month, he started to make jokes and tease me about my parents death and blame me; saying that I could have saved them if I tried. That shit broke me.

Until he stopped, which I was grateful for, only to start hitting, punching, kicking, biting; you think of something, this 11 year old spawn of Satan did it.

It got so bad, the oldest kid called child services. Her name was Connie and she was 13, I got along pretty well with her; despite her being 5 years older. A few hours after Connie had called, my service worker and three cops were knocking at the front door; looking for my foster parents.

By that time, I had already packed my shit and was out of the window 20 minutes before they even showed up. The only person I told was Connie, and when I tell you she took my secrets to the grave; I mean it. Because a year later I see, on the news, that her father had slowly killed her over the year I was gone and Nick and his mom buried her in the backyard.

I think that was the point I stopped caring, or maybe when I cared more? Either way, I couldn't look at blonde teenage girls the same; they reminded me too much of her. That's also the time I was given multiple notebooks, in which I wrote about my life; from the first things I remember to the things that were happening in that moment.

That was the thing that kept me sane that whole time, because I rarely wanted to talk to kids older than me and never got along with kids the same age as, or younger than, me. It's the reason I still write in notebooks, because I don't want to lose my sanity.

Anyway, by the time I turned 15 my brother had found me. Once we saw each other in person, he told me how much he had missed me and that he's been looking for me for a few years. He had taken me back to his apartment and situated me on the couch, which I had not minded because it felt better than an orphanage bed.

Nothing too interesting happened other than him teaching me some self-defense moves and us hanging out often. Well, I guess him becoming a detective and stopping crime and shit is sorta interesting. I don't like thinking about that, though, because when I do I always think of him dying; and I don't want him to leave me, too.

And that brings us up to right now. He's still alive, I'm still alive. Some shitty things happened, but we'll survive.” I finish off, staring into my therapists eyes.

“Okay, this was a great session, Emily. I'll see you next week?” She smiles at me.

“Yep, same time as always. See ya.” I two finger solute her as I walk out of the door and down the hallway.

·•°·•°·•°·•°•·

Ight, round of applause to me for taking hours to come up with this book and write it.

This might be my most professional fanfic yet, and I'll hopefully finish this one.

I hope you enjoyed this 'cause there's plenty more to come, and soon ♥

*EDITED*