I don't own anything but original characters and my original plot

⚡️

Chapter 4 - Pain

⚡️

"WE ALL GET ADDICTED TO THINGS THAT TAKE THE PAIN AWAY."

Allegro.

Balancé.

Ballonné.

I ran through the movements in my head, moving across the floor gracefully, I had been at it for nearly two hours. Going through the same routines over and over again. They had to be perfect. I always found something wrong with it, wrong foot placement, wrong timing, not graceful enough, small stumble.

Even through all of my harsh treatment towards myself, I was kinder when it came to ballet than anything else I practiced. It was difficult, and I started late in life. The dances meant for flexibility and possible missions, on the other hand, I was much more determined to get perfection from.

Two days before that I was released from conditioning. Within those two short days, nothing big had gone on with the heroes or villains, and I wasn't given any missions. With my newfound free time, I was training. Dance, combat, strength, flexibility, intelligence. A never-ending cycle of hard work and incompetence.

"You could have taken him out, you could have killed him. Why didn't you?"

"He got out of the shadows," I panted, closing my eyes tightly as a burning sensation ran through my arm.

"You could have torn out his shadow," Klarion hissed. "You're weak, hesitant. What have I told you about hesitating?"

"Hesitations lead to death," I quoted his common advice.

"You need more training, more intensity, so it takes these hesitations out of you. I'll be watching (Y/n)."

I finished off the routine, my foot slipping. I growled in frustration. The training was supposed to take my mind off of conditioning, not put me back there. I sighed, grabbing my water bottle from the side of the room and taking a few sips.

"Scar number seventeen," I traced the length scab on my mid-calf, my most recent one, "Not nearly as bad as the ones on my stomach. But shit, it hurt."

"What do you think, lemon juice?" Klarion picked up a glass, shaking his head after and setting it back down on the table, "Holy water? That'd be interesting, wouldn't it?"

"Holy water?" I whimpered, my voice muffled against the leather gag in my mouth, near unintelligible. At times I hated the muzzle. It was dehumanizing. Other times, I was thankful there was something to stop my screams from reaching the air.

"You're half demon honey, holy water can hurt."

As if to prove a point he poured the holy water over the cut on my leg, he just made. I let out a quiet groan, pressing against my binds. Screaming made it worse. It was showing weakness and low pain tolerance. If I wanted it to end soon, I needed to stay calm and just deal with it. It felt as if someone had just put boiling water mixed with lemon juice and hot sauce in my cut. The pain subsided quickly, thanks to the human in me. Less affected by normally deadly things to demons.

"Salt?" Klarion asked, his voice sickeningly sweet, "This has the same effect as the holy water. Salt is pure, we aren't."

He took the gag out of my mouth, pouring in some holy water, salt after to absorb it and make it last longer. It stung, then burned, then stung again, settling into a sharp, insistent ache. Another scar. I could tell immediately.

"It's different, eating it without food, isn't it?" He questioned, smirking when he saw my eyes tearing up, "Don't cry (Y/n). You know what'll happen if you do."

Allegro.

Balancé.

Ballonné.

Beginning again, I sped up the pace. In my mind, if I increased the intensity, then I'd be able to get my mind off of everything else. There was no pain, no conditioning or confusion in my world when I got into training. I was just a girl working to become better than she was before.

As the music shifted, my thoughts did as well. Sighing. I smiled, thinking of Ivy and Harley. They got married three years before, two years after I returned to the villains. All the crime in the world stopped for a day to enjoy their wedding, and it was only the villains who knew why.

Lex and I rekindled our Father-Daughter relationship as well. I accepted the fact that I was raised to be a weapon. That was what I was. Lex, however, let me listen to the end of the call between him and Ivy. She said that they lost their daughter. Weapon or not, I was still their child. Bruce cut off the audio on purpose, but they took me in with the wrong intentions. Heroes and villains both did bad things to win.

Klarion, as a birthday present he said he counted for a lifetime, gave me a picture of my mom and me. Three months old at most, I was swathed in blankets and in her arms. She was gorgeous, and I could see what a strong resemblance we had. It was the one nice thing my father did for me.

"Mind if we join you, darlin'?" Harley entered with Ivy just behind her. Ivy was donned in a bright green shirt and dark red tutu, looking like Christmas. Harley, on the other hand, was wearing a red shirt with a race car on it, and a bright blue tutu.

"Lucy made them for us. You like 'em?" Harley spun in a circle. Ivy smiled brightly, brushing nonexistent dust from her skirt.

Joker still didn't know that Harley's daughter, Lucy, was his. He always assumed it was some other guy, a fling. Harley didn't show any want or need to tell him the truth either. In her mind, Lucy was hers and Ivy's- both of them came together and became her mothers, visiting as often as possible since Lucy lived with Harley's sister.

"Are you going to be getting her from your sister soon?" I asked curiously.

"Soon hopefully," Icy nodded leaning in, "Don't tell anyone since we aren't sure how this will end up yet, but we're thinking of retiring from the villain life and settling down. Lucy's already ten, and we want to spend more time with her."

"Let's do some ballet!" Harley jumped up to her toes, "And then we can do some gymnastics, and then we can spar! I'm so excited!"

Ivy sighed, facepalming. Opposites really attracted when it came to them. But they were too cute to not work well as a couple.

"I should get back to it," I agreed, walking back to the floor, "I took too long of a break."

Ivy came up behind me, stepping into first position, "Taking breaks are a good thing. If you took more breaks, we wouldn't have to get pedicures every week to take care of your feet. And you wouldn't always end up with bloody knuckles."

"You love pedicures," I shook my head with a chuckle, holding no excuse for the bloody knuckles.

"Wait, wait, wait," Harley stopped mid-spin and grabbed my leg, nearly sending me to the floor when she jerked it up to her face, "Where you get this cut? You haven't been on any missions."

"And this," Ivy twisted my wrist, showing off a yellowing bruise.

"I got them a while ago, from that mission against the young team," I pulled my limbs back, stepping back, "I've just been wearing longer clothes. You haven't noticed."

"We were told you went against Kid Flash," Harley's eyes narrowed in suspicion. People painted her as a dumb blonde, but she was a genius. Not everyone can become a Doctor, "He doesn't have a weapon that can scratch you like this, and despite what you may want us to believe, he would never hurt you."

Snatching up my water bottle, I hurried to the door. Better to leave than to continue digging my grave, "I think I'll take that break now. Use the bathroom, drink some water. All of that."

A leafy wine wrapped itself around my calf, preventing me from moving my foot any further. Tugging uselessly, I resisted the urge to attack. They were my friends and family. Attacking them wouldn't help them forget what happened to me.

"How did you get hurt?" Ivy's eyes were dark now. She knew something was off.

"My last mission," I breathed out shakily.

"Tell us the truth darlin'," Harley came up on my other side, "I worked at Arkham, I know how to sort out the liars."

Reaching down, I pulled against the plant until it snapped in half, stumbling forward, "I've known you for my entire life. Why would I lie about this?"

"You tell us," Ivy crossed her arms, "You're keeping something from us. You didn't get those injuries from that mission."

Harley tapped Ivy's arm frantically, "We didn't even see her after the mission. She went with Klarion for a report and disappeared after that. The first time we saw you was last night, and you were really out of it... Did Klarion hurt you?"

Scoffing, the room felt all too hot, "What?"

Don't tell. Don't tell. Don't tell. Don't tell. Don't tell. It'll hurt. It'll hurt. It'll hurt. It'll hurt.

The mantra playing wasn't in my own voice. It was Klarion's, my father's. Whether he was actually in my head or if the torture had just cemented his personality as pain in my brain I didn't know. Either way, it was enough to keep my quiet and continue down a path of pushing away the people I was closest to.

"The past five years, you've been so different. Up until a year or two ago, it was like you didn't have a personality. You were a robot-"

I frantically cut Ivy off, squashing their chances to continue the interrogation, "Father hasn't hurt me. That's preposterous. What's the point of interrogating me like this? What, are you hoping I'll retire with you or something?"

"Darlin', that's not what we're hoping for at all-"

"Then leave it!" I screeched, turning to leave, "Just leave it alone, that's none of your business!"

Slamming the door behind me, I let out a slow breath, running my hands over my face. They weren't coming after me. Because I yelled at them, and struck a spark in front of our bridge, ready at any time to light and burn it to the ground.

At least they won't figure it out, a small voice hissed, Then Father won't find out and punish you

Still, tears sprung to my eyes, and I held back the urge to let it all go and start screaming and sobbing. This was not the life I wanted to live. But it was the one I was stuck with.