It happened so fast.

One moment, I was standing there, crying, too afraid to speak for fear of being beat. The next...

I shot him.

I. Shot. Him.

I heard my mother scream, and watched as the man who'd made my life, along with my mom's a living Hell toppled to the ground, still looking as if he were reaching for the gun. Just months earlier, I had almost begged him to kill me after he'd broken me.

I haven't smiled, laughed, cried, or talked since that day. I watched the smoke from the gun clear, moving the now empty weapon to my side.

"I told you, mom. I would eliminate anyone in my way. He hurt you." My words were simple, and neither of them had believed it. I, Jett Hal Todd, am the son of Joan Jordan Todd and Jason Todd, and I had just shot my mother's tormentor, Damian Wayne. I am just five, but my life has been a roller coaster of emotion.

My mom stared at me, watching her old ally and rival bleeding out on the ground, writhing in absolute agony. People say I'm like my dad. Cold, calculating, reserved, talks to nobody he knows, and they're right. But they forgot one thing.

I'm very, very possessive of people I love. And I will stop at nothing to do justice to people who hurt them.

Just recently, my mother gave birth to my first half-brother of which Damian had fathered. She gave him away to adoption services, because she knew he'd be miserable with his father or herself.

My brother, Ian, didn't like the fact my father had done nothing. I didn't either, but I didn't voice my opinion, because hey, who listens to a five year old? Since my dad knew if he tried anything that Damian would kill me, my brother, and my mom, I took matters into my own hands.

Ian helped me grab the gun from my father's old storage. I took it, looked back at him, knowing he was scared of me, though he is a year older.

"Are you coming?" I asked, my once cheerful voice now monotone, the same teal eyes my mother has, full of rage and sadness. He shook his head.

"It's your fight. But... just be careful, Jett. I can't stop you."

"Because you know I'd take you out if you did." My eyes searched his, finding fear. I almost smiled. Almost. I hid the gun under one of Ian's old hoodies and walked out, heading for the HQ. Hal Jordan, my great uncle, and Dick Grayson, my adoptive uncle, were there.

So was my mom and that demon. She was in the infirmary because of malnutrition, her pale complexion even more so, skin sunken, eyes dull. I climbed in through her old window which was conveniently located beside Damian's room. I checked the clip in the gun before hiding it again, walking into his room.

"Oh, look. It's the reject," he smirked, sitting up from reading something. "I thought you had died when I beat you the last time."

I glowered, already feeling my anger rising. This... this thing disgusted me. I took a step forward, pulling the gun from the hoodie pocket.

Damian looked at it, beginning to laugh.

"Put that down before you shoot yourself, kid." His face was full of contemptuous laughter, prompting me to cock the hammer back. His eyes widened a bit, and his voice got low.

"You wouldn't dare do that. Your mommy would be angry."

"Shut up, Wayne."

"I said put the gun down, Jett." His eyes were slowly filling with fear. I sneered, suddenly firing.

He dodged.

My mom must've heard because she came barreling in, seeing me standing there. She said something because her lips were moving, but I didn't hear.

"Damian, get back. He's Jason Todd's kid, and he will shoot." Damian took a step back.

"Joan, tell him to put the damn thing down. Now."

My mom turned to me, gently grabbing my shoulder.

"Jett... remember what I said when you were mad at Ian? Don't fight with physical means. Fight with words." Her eyes misted over and I looked at her for the first time in months.

I saw what having his child had done to her, and I cried. I dropped the gun, sobbing, but remembered what happened the last time I did so in Damian's presence, and tried my best to stop, biting my lip. He sneered, walking closer.

"You shouldn't drop your weapons, Jett. People could use them against you." He picked the gun up, grabbing Joan and pressing the muzzle against her temple. Her eyes widened and she began to panic.

"Damian, let me go. He'll go home and won't bother you again," she started, choking as he tightened his grip around her throat.

My expression contorted into pure rage. The same people who say I act like my dad say I look just like him as well.

I pulled another gun I had found earlier out, walking up to him.

"You either let her go, or I kill you." I spat, my ginger hair covering my dark eyes.

Damian began to laugh, looking down at me.

"I'm so scared. A five year old with a gun, threatening me? Tch."

While he watched me circle around, he didn't realize I had primed the gun. I fired into the back of his knee, forcing him to collapse, watching my mom run from his grip. Her eyes were wide, and she was staring at me as if I were some evil demon, but I didn't care.

My only objective?

Killing that bastard, Damian.

He was in pain but hit it well, aiming the gun at me. It was eye-level, and I smirked.

"What are you gonna do? Blow my brains out? I'm sure you get life for killing a minor." I was nowhere near reaching puberty, but my target heard my intentions, more than likely through my father's voice.

"I don't give a fuck. Your mom will kill you if you injure me again." He smiled evilly, pulling the hammer back. I wasted no time, pulling the gun up and shooting him

Once.

Twice.

Three times. His eyes watered and he dropped his arm, going limp. His other hand had been reaching for my gun. I didn't realize it at the time, but I had shot him the last time in the head. The first time in the heart, and the second in the throat.

I stared for a long time, having heard my mom scream my name, sobbing. Dick and Hal ran in on the second shot, seeing me standing there.

I looked up at them.

"I wouldn't have done it if it wasn't to protect my mother from him. He threatened me too many times. He threatened my family too many times. And you did nothing."

I walked out, dropping the gun. I would have to answer to the authorities if Damian didn't survive. Even if he did, I would probably be taken away from my family. I stopped at Crime Alley, sitting behind the dumpster. Looking up, I saw all the graffiti my parents had done. I closed my eyes.

Everything was better.

No more pain.

No.

More.