Young Justice One shots [Request Closed]

Jinxed

Third P.O.V.
        Summary: you're just that unlucky.
                     Requested by: MuckaDuck

"Well, lookie here... Gotham is as dark and grouchy as usual!" you exclaimed sarcastically as you stared at your new home. A rundown studio apartment to be exact.

Taking a big gulp of murky air, you coughed. 'Shouldn't have done that.' Then, with newfound breathing problems, you made your way to your place. Cursing a few times as you just couldn't seem to get adjusted with how... boring everything looked.

.

After setting up some of your things, you went to redecorate. Since it was small, there's really nothing much you could do. Your first stop was the kitchen. It was like the rest of the apartment, small. It doesn't actually have a proper set up. But it was alright, since this place was the  only studio apartment with a kitchen that was still in your pocket's reach.

You sighed.

If only your mother was here to see how absurd the whole situation was, she'd laugh along with you. She was still alive, albeit not really. Not really as in she's struggling with it as you try to clean up a huge gump near the miniscule fridge.

"Seriously?" you threw your hands up in frustration, deciding that it was useless to even try removing the miraculously sticky thing out of your way.

Lowering your gaze, you let out yet another sigh, more dejected this time. 'I'm really selfish aren't I?' the thought ran in your mind, questioning why you were here, back to your hometown, pursuing your so called dreams while your mother was suffering. She was in the last stadium of cancer, undergoing various treatment. The last time you saw her was when you transferred her to the nearest hospital in the city, by then, she was mere skeleton covered with skin.

Your eyes tingled as you sucked a breath, reminding yourself that this was for the best. This was how you would make her proud. This was how you would get back so many debts that the both of you had borrowed from family and friends. This... was your only shot to make it big. The only shot you could take to make things better, good again, normal and happy.

A snort escaped your lips, 'Yeah, that was depressing.' Standing up from your previous crouched position, you forced a smile to your face. "Better get to work."

.

The scent of vanilla, chocolate and almonds wafted in the air as you finished with your chores, your oven letting out a few weak attempt of alarming the predicament. You took a large breath to take it all in, warmth filled you for once in your gloomy days once again. Baked goods was one thing, but baking baked goods was everything to you. A pattisier's pride never falters after all. You took pride in your creations, you took pride with what you could do.

As your inner monologue about how you've finally used the right technique to infused those scents together, you walked to your small patch excuse of a sorry kitchen. "Perfect," you whispered under your breath as you inspected the end result of your hard work, eyes glinting with pride.

Setting it to the side for the goods to cool off, you threw yourself on the bed. The weight of everything seemingly creeping back to you. Your mother, your debts, your possibly almost unstable job? You wanted to scream and trashed everything in your way, but logic and tiredness kept you from doing just that. And so, your eyelids closed and sent you off to Dreamland.

.

Sirens.

Blaring sirens.

F*cking annoying sirens.