Author's note: Hey all. Sorry I haven't been writing for a while, I've been tossing up several ideas for new stories and settled on two to work on for now. I hope you enjoy.

Disclaimer: I do not own Young Justice. I do own my development of the Night Walker character, and the character of Valisa Phelen.

As far as I know, there is no DC Night Walker character, so I used the name. If there's already a Night Walker, now there's another. Sorry.

Entry 1:

DREAM 23

It was almost midnight but the city was neither dark nor silent. Lights shone from windows of buildings, streetlamps highlighted the roads and the highway nearby was noisy and lit by the headlights of myriads of cars.

But the road in front of Star City Labs was mostly still and calm. A lone car was parked by the footpath across the road from the huge building. The driver's door opened and a black-clad figure wearing a ski mask slipped out of the vehicle and skulked across the road towards the building, a large black bag in hand.

He knelt in front of the door, pulled a small device from his pocket and begun his attempt at picking the locks.

"Well, this looks only a little suspicious." a husky voice spoke from behind him.

He twisted around, pulling out a gun and pointing it at . . . no-one. He glanced around. There was nobody in sight.

"Y'know, black isn't actually the best idea. It's too dark, and you're so obvious sitting there tensely in front of the pale doors." the voice came again.

Once more the would-be thief spun around, but there was no-one there.

"Wow, is that look of a guilty man, or is that the look of a guilty man?" the voice mocked.

"Who are you? Where are you?" the criminal demanded. He could see no-one, couldn't pinpoint the voice. He couldn't even tell if the voice was male or female.

"I'm right here." he whirled to his left, but could see no-one. "Not there." he snapped back and looked right. No-one. No - wait, someone, something.

A figure stood there, almost invisible, almost transparent, their image shimmering and blurred, unable to discern. The criminal levelled his gun, "Who are you?"

"You should know that," they answered, "If you paid any attention to the newspapers during these last few weeks."

"You're the Night Walker." the thief's gun began to shake a little.

"That's right, and your camouflage skills suck."

"Oh Yeah?" the man used volume to hide the quaver in his voice, "Well I can see you now!" his finger tightened on the trigger.

"Now you see me…" the Night Walker said, and vanished, "Now you don't." the voice came from all directions. The thief started firing randomly.

He stopped. Nothing.

The thief quickly broke down the door and dashed into the building.

Something grabbed him around the torso, pinning his arms. It felt like a giant hand was holding him. He struggled but to no avail. He could just make out the shimmering form of the Night Walker, standing several yards away with an arm outstretched. Great, the Night Walker was telekinetic.

The figure moved his other arm and a length of rope sailed towards the thief and tied him up tightly, before hanging him from the closest street-lamp.

The thief swore and cursed and shouted and sirens began to wail in the distance. "Let me down!" he hollered.

"Nah." Night Walker said, and vanished.

2011, FEBRUARY 25th, MORNING:

The insistent beeping of the alarm signalled the arrival of the 6 o'clock hour and I moaned as I was whacked into waking reality. I forced a hand to work its way out from under the mass warm, rumpled blankets on my bed and I fumbled around on the dresser for a moment before finding the damned clock and slamming down the 'OFF' button.

"Ten more minutes…" I mumbled into my pillow.

"Val, get up!" mom called from the kitchen, as she did almost every morning. I growled. No matter how much I ask her, she still calls me 'Val'. I hate it, but I've given up on complaining. She won't listen. I let it go. No use getting angry over it.

"Five?" I called hopefully, without lifting my face out of the pillow.

"Valisa Ann Phelen, GET OUT OF BED!" mom hollered.

I groaned "Fine…" I shuffled under the blankets a little and then gave up, unable to summon enough will power to make myself move. My body felt like lead, I was so tired. "I can't!" I yelled half-heartedly. "My body won't work…"

The next thing I knew, mom had ripped off all the blankets and thrown them on the floor. "Up. Now. Or you'll end up being late."

I moaned and rolled over, toppling off the bed and crashing onto the floor. "You're a horrible person." I said half-heartedly into the carpet.

"And you're a drama queen." mom replied without missing a beat.

"Woe is meeeeee." I groaned into the floor.

"Get up. You'll be late." I could hear the smile in mom's voice.

"But it's so much more comfortable to sleep here than in class…" I complained.

I could hear her footsteps retreating out the door. "I made pancakes for breakfast…" she sing-songed.

I muttered a complaint but forced myself up off the floor. "I'm up!" I headed for the door. I stumbled downstairs and, still in zombie-mode, made myself a cup of coffee.

"Sweetie, what are you doing?" mom asked in exasperation as I absently dropped the eighth teaspoon of sugar into my coffee. "That's too much sugar!"

I shrugged absently.

"And you hate coffee!"

"Hence the sugar." I replied wearily as I poured another spoonful into the cup and began stirring it slowly.

Mom sighed and placed a plate of pancakes in front of me. "Still not sleeping well?"

I mumbled a yes into my coffee, before swallowing and pulling a face. I smothered my pancakes with maple syrup and took a bite, sighing. "I had another dream last night."

Mom sat down across from me at the kitchen bench. "What happened this time?" she pulled out a notebook and pen and flipped to the next blank page. She'd been keeping a log ever since my dreams had started.

I took another bite of my breakfast. "Some guy in a ski mask was trying to break into Star Labs. I tied him up and hung him on a lamp post."

"Is that it?" Mom asked, a little incredulously.

"Yeah, aside from some banter and him shooting at me."

"He shot at you?!" Mom exclaimed, instantly switching into full-on Protective Mother Mode.

"He missed." I said wearily. "And I doubt anything would have happened anyway. It was a dream." but I knew even I didn't sound convinced.

Mom looked at me worriedly but snapped the notebook shut. "Finish up and then head off to school. Grab a newspaper on your way."

I sighed and stared at my breakfast. I almost didn't want to check the newspaper. Just in case what I found was what I expected:

That my dream hadn't been a dream after all.

I bought a newspaper on the way to school. Right there, on the front page was a picture of the thief from my dream hanging from the lamp post in front of Star Labs. The caption read: MYSTERIOUS NIGHT WALKER HERO STOPS STAR LABS BREAK-IN. The story was on page 5. I flipped over to it and skimmed the article.

It described the event of my dream in surprising detail. Surprising not only because dreams aren't supposed to end up plastered on the front page of The Star News.

They were surprising because what was written matched up exactly with what I wrote down just before in this journal, under the caption 'DREAM 23'. I've started keeping the journal as proof, I just wished I'd started as soon as the dreams did. I collected every single one of the newspaper articles, but I can't believe it took me 23 dreams with matching reports to start writing the dreams down as well.

I rolled up the newspaper and shoved it into my bag as I strode through the school doors. I had enough going on at school, I didn't need the added worry of what I might be doing in my sleep when I had exams and a school production around the corner.

I took a deep breath. I could do this. I was an actress, I'd just act like everything was perfect and like I wasn't as tired as an insomniac sloth.

I put on my best smile, hitched my bag higher on my shoulder, and strode down the halls of Star City High School.

Sometimes I wish I wasn't here. I wish I was a an actress doing something bigger than a high school production of Romeo and Juliette. I know I could be Hollywood material. But I'm stuck here. Mostly because mom doesn't want to risk my father finding us if we went to Hollywood. He used to say I'd be a star: I'd loved acting for longer than I can remember. I guess mom thinks that's where he'd look for us.

Right now, I don't care. I'm too tired. All these dreams have drained me of energy. It's like all the sleep I get goes nowhere.

Mom told me I'd be seeing a psychiatrist tomorrow afternoon. I didn't really want to, but she made it very obvious I didn't have a choice in the matter. I figured Dinah Lance, a lady who used to live in Gotham, would want to get to the bottom of the dream-thing. She wouldn't want my whole life story.

At least, not initially. But once she hears a little she'll figure out its all tied together. I pretend I don't notice it, but I seriously think my life-story will be a big key to figuring out these dreams.

And I figure if I'm going to tell her, I have to tell it right.

I've never opened up to anyone about my past. I never even talk to mom about it, I was so young, she believed me when I told her I hardly remembered a thing.

Problem is, I remember it all.

And I need to tell sometime about it sometime soon or, so help me, I swear I'll explode.

And if I'm going to tell someone, I want to know that I can at least get it straight in my own head first.

RECOUNT:

I was born on the 12th of May, 1995, almost sixteen years ago. But I was born under the name Val Jean Rickard. My mother's name was Lynette, and my father was Joseph. I don't know why or how mom fell in love with that creep, but somehow she did and so I was born to a couple who'd been 'happily married' for almost twelve months. I really hope you're catching the sarcasm in my voice here.

Their 'happy marriage' lasted until just after my first birthday.

Either something snapped inside my dad, or he had just managed to hide his true nature from my mom for the 37-odd months that he'd known her. He started to become abusive.

And that's why it's a bad idea to rush into a relationship.

Mom was stuck with a baby and an abusive husband who she quickly discovered she hardly knew.

And that right there is where I can start writing from my own memories, with my mother's voice to back me up. My earliest memory was when I was three. My third birthday was celebrated with a few of my mother's friends who had kids around my age. It was a simple party with a bunch of young ladies having tea and a bunch of toddlers in pull-ups racing around screaming.

It was good fun.

And then it ended prematurely when my father came home drunk and furious, kicked everyone out and slapped my mom across the face.

Yay. Happy first memories.

When I was four, my father turned on me. And that's when my whole problem with the dreams started. I used to have very vivid dreams and horrible nightmares, and I started having trouble telling the difference between what was dream and what was reality

And in that time I accidentally taught myself to lucid dream. I started paying extra attention to the world around me in both reality and dreams, until almost every time I dreamed, I'd realise I was dreaming. And once I realised I was dreaming I started to take control, twist the reality of the dream to what I wanted.

Because the reality of the waking world was bad enough, there needed to be some good part.

I don't think mom knew dad was beating me. Either somehow it had gone over her head, or it just took her a while to finally snap. But him beating me was the final straw.

The disadvantage was it took her a little over a year to throw that straw down.

When I was almost six, my mother finally snapped and decided to retaliate to my father's behaviour.

She told him she was leaving.

If it was me, I swear, if I couldn't beat him up, I would've left as soon as he started, and gone to the police as well. But for some reason it took mom over four years to realise she shouldn't put up with him.

I know that I don't understand what she was thinking, why she didn't go. Maybe she thought that she loved him. I don't know. But when she finally snapped she was strong about it. She wasn't going to put up with him anymore.

And he tried to kill her for it.

I suppose I should be thankful that I don't remember much of that moment. I don't even know if I was there when it happened. I do remember mother whisking me up and driving me to her friend's house where she told him Joseph had threatened to kill her and me, before coming at her with a knife.

Her friend convinced her to go to the police. I don't remember much about the court process, or even how long it took. But here's what I know. He was given a restraining order, and sentenced to prison. I don't know how long for. My parents were quickly divorced. Mom told me she got the house and the car and custody over me, while my father got to keep all the money in his bank account.

Then we left, mom sold the house, and our Convertible, deciding to drive an old Honda instead. Mom even changed our names. She changed back to her maiden name, Phelen, but also changed her first name to Linda.

My name was changed from Val Jean Rickard to Valisa Ann Phelen, because my mother wanted to keep the 'Val' as a nickname.

The problem is, I hate being called Val, and everyone calls me Val. My friend's need a nickname for me, and it's better than 'Vallie' I suppose, but my mom introduces me as Val, and people call me that when they can't get 'Valisa' right. And, grr! It drives me nuts! It feels so wrong, it's not my name!

I guess the main reason I hate it is probably because when I was little, most of the time when I heard it yelled it was a precursor to a beating. First chance I get I'm going to try change my name.

It's going to be hard, though.

Anyway, we moved from Metropolis to Gotham City. A great place to go to escape crime a chaos.

Not.

When I was ten mom moved us to Star City, where we've been ever since. Living quietly in our little flat. I still had dreams, but it wasn't until about three months ago that I actually started having dreams around town. They were different dreams. Instead of having an adventure in my sleep, I'd just find myself somewhere around town. And so I'd mess around. I'd figured out how to do all sorts of stuff in my dreams. I could pick things up from far away, and even fly. Sorta. But then about three weeks ago, there was a crime, and I stopped it. And the next morning it was in the paper.

And then the next few days the same sort of thing happened. I'd stop a crime and then it was in the paper. The fourth night I stopped a mugging, and the person I saved asked who I was.

And I just knew. You know how when you dream, you are a character and you just know who it is? Sometimes it's you, sometimes it's someone else, either made-up or from something in reality. Sometimes they change during the dream. Like, one moment you're Dr Who and the next you're a cat, or something like that.

Well, even since before I'd started stopping crimes I'd known who my identity was, I'd been the same character every time. And that character was me, was a part of me, even when I was awake. And so I told that person, and the newspapers snatched it up.

Mom won't accept it. She won't allow herself for a moment to believe that it could actually somehow be me fighting crime in the night like some hero or vigilante. She thinks I'm somehow dreaming of what someone else is doing. Or that it's some kind of premonition.

I know it's not. I'm in control. It's me.

I am the Night Walker.