Can A Bird Trust A Cat? (A Young Justice FanFic)

Chapter One

DISCLAIMER: I own nothing...

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My eyes flicked open. That was the seventh or eighth time I had that dream. But each time, it ended differently. And I always woke up to find that ending to be real. This time was no different. I woke up facing a fat, bald thug. He looked like the Stay Puft Marshmallow Man from 'Ghostbusters'. I smirked, lighting a spark in him.

"Wha'cha smiling at?" he growled at me.

"First of all, could I get up?" I said, then shoved him out of the way as I got to my feet. He staggered for a second, then regained his balance, fury etched on his face. "Second of all, do you have a sailor suit?" He was confused.

"Wha'? You trying to be funny?" he grunted.

"Well, if you had one, you could star in 'Ghostbusters'! You know, as the giant marshmallow?" I laughed.

"ARGH! Get outta here before I smash your head in!" he yelled.

"Alright, alright..." I muttered before picking up my backpack and walking to the sidewalk. This was why I hated Gotham. Thugs crawled around like ants at a picnic, pretending they owned the place. You couldn't have any fun with them; they always took everything way too seriously. But I couldn't leave or the police would catch me and throw me back into the orphanage. Yeah, orphanage. My parents abandoned me at age two, on the front steps of where I spent the next 11 years of my life. They ran away to Vegas, people said. I had been in and out of foster homes faster than the Flash runs. No one wants to adopt anyone higher than age one, let alone thirteen, because by then you couldn't be molded into the photocopy of the parent. Finally, I ran away about six months ago, sick of being returned like I was broken. Believe me, I would've escaped sooner, but it took a lot of planning and sheer luck just for me to escape my room, let alone the whole freaking orphanage. Since then, I've been almost everywhere in Gotham, hiding in the shadows from the police. I was just surprised that I hadn't run into Batman by now.

I began walking and pulled out the map of Gotham. Scanning it and finding the next alley, I folded it up and put it back in my backpack. After having it for six months, it was basically just a scrap of paper: ripped, folded, creased, and bent. My food and water supply had ran out a long time ago, making me drop about 10 pounds. I now weighed roughly 90 pounds, which was extremely underweight for my height, 5'3". But I did have some muscle on me. You have to if you want to survive on the streets of Gotham. Approaching the alley, I peered into the darkness, checking if there were any other creeps in it. Deciding that the coast was clear, I went in and set my backpack down, then laid down on the cement. Being late July, the cement was considerably warm, even though it was nighttime. I closed my eyes for about ten minutes, then was awakened by people shuffling, three of them by the sound of it. I regretfully opened my eyes.

"Could I just sleep for, like, thirty minutes? Is that too much to ask?" I muttered. They didn't hear me. I studied them as they approached: one had a black hoodie, and was armed with a gun, a pistol by the looks of it. I couldn't see his face. The other two were wearing homemade ski masks, and one was armed with a rusty knife, while the other was armed with a brick. Pathetic.

"Well, well, well. Look what we have here. Hand over your money," Gun said.

"Really? Are you three that dumb? Does it look like I have any cash on me?" I retorted, motioning at my rags for clothes.

"Look, we're trying to be nice here, girly. But if you don't cooperate, we'll have to kill you." Brick said.

"And how're you going to do that? Throw a brick at me?" I teased.

"Naw, but we'll cut you up." Knife cooley stated.

"I'd like to see you try." I smirked, then leapt into action. Brick threw his brick at me, and I easily dodged it. It crashed into the alleyway wall behind me and left bits of brick scattered on the ground. Knife then came at me, swishing his knife through the air as he progressed forwards. I narrowly missed the knife multiple times, hacking off about an inch of my hair in the process, but eventually got cut on the upper arm. It wasn't too bad, but would probably get infected if I didn't take care of it. Finally, I kicked his hand and made him drop the knife. He was startled that I had disarmed him, and used that moment of surprise to elbow him in the head, knocking him unconscious.

Gun was making me nervous...he was just standing there, not doing anything. Just watching. He probably was waiting for the right time to try to shoot at me, not wanting to injure one of his men. But I obviously was wrong, because he chose that time to shoot, and I barely missed the bullet. Brick, however, wasn't that lucky. The bullet hit him in the shoulder, and he cried out in pain and sank to his knees, clutching his wound. Gun then went berserk, shooting blindly at me. Bullets were whizzing by me as I ran forward, hoping to disarm him. The cut on my arm hurt fiercely, but I continued running. Why was it that the littlest injuries hurt the most? Finally, he ran out of bullets and I kicked the gun out of his hand. It clattered on the pavement and I socked him in the nose, then punched him in the stomach. He fell to his knees, and I kicked him in the face. He passed out, and I paused to catch my breath. I heard grunting behind me, and, realizing that Brick was still awake, kicked the side of his head. Fights like this were always a pain. I had to get into a fight almost every other day in order to survive. The most people that tried to kill me at a time were five, so considering that, I had been pretty lucky in only getting three muggers. I sank to the ground and examined my cut. It was bleeding a fair amount. Sighing, I picked up my backpack and got to my feet. My heart was still pounding from the adrenaline rush, and I was not going to be sleeping next to three guys, regardless if they were knocked out.

"That's a good fighting style you've got there." I stopped dead and whipped around. I didn't see anything or anyone that could've said that. Was I starting to go crazy?

"Hello? Who said that?" I replied. It wasn't one of the guys, for two reasons: first, they were unconscious, and second, the voice I heard was feminine.

"I did. Nasty cut you've got there," the woman said again. And out of the shadows stepped Catwoman.

"Why do you want to know? What do you want with me?" I immediately got in a defensive stance.

"Relax, I'm not going to fight you. But I easily would win." She smirked at me.

"What makes you say that?" I inquired. What was she trying to get at?

"Well, first, your beginning stance sucks. Your feet are way too far apart, and that scratch of yours is a serious disadvantage." Catwoman commented. "Plus, you know, experience and all that." I scowled at her, then broke the stance.

"What do you want?" I narrowed my eyes. I had heard about her. Professional cat burglar, always slipped between Batman's fingers. Never stayed a day in Arkham Asylum.

"Normally I wouldn't be doing this, but you need help. I'm offering for you to stay at my place and get off these streets."

"Um, one teeny little problem with that. Why the hell would I trust you?"

"Because, frankly, you have no choice. It's either come with me, or deal with about six men coming our way, with no help." Catwoman crossed her arms. I did hear a lot of footsteps making their way towards us. I sighed.

"Fine."

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I'm back! ^_^ Um, not much to say. It would make me very happy if I could get some votes, comments, and maybe even some follows. Just saying... :D

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