A/N: Hello my wonderful readers! I must say, thank you for stopping by my little corner of the internet. XD I've been working on this story since about August of last year, so I'm really excited to finally start posting it! I hope you enjoy it. :)

Disclaimer: I own nothing but the plot and my OCs

When I come running home, my father is not sitting on the porch.

I let out a loud sigh, bouncing up and down on my heels. He's always on the porch, waiting to give me my after-school lesson. That is... unless he's working on something very important. Unless he "doesn't want to be disturbed by childish trifles."

I don't know what he means by that, but I'm sure he won't mind me showing him what I made. After all, Miss Riley said it was really good.

I hug the box closer to my chest and skip up the stairs into the house, kicking aside a pile of blood-red leaves. He won't be mad, not this time, I tell myself.

He is bent over his work, glasses slipping down his sweaty nose before he pushes them up again. I call out to my daddy, tapping a finger against the box and shaking it lightly enough so what's inside won't break.

His eyes remain fixed on the paper in front of him, his mouth remains shut. He doesn't even make a grunt.

I call out louder, but I dare not tap his shoulder. He doesn't like it if I touch him when he's working.

But even though I've been careful not to grab his arm with my fingers or poke him, like he hates, he jerks, and the pen wheels across the page. He goes rigid for a second, then slumps and turns around, a smile creasing his worn and wrinkled face.

It's a cold smile. The kind of smile a crocodile might give.

Still, I return the smile with one of my own, wrapping my arms tighter around the box. "I made something at school today."

One eyebrow shoots up.

"And what did you make?"

Fingers shaking in excitement, I set the box on the table, away from his papers and slide off the top, holding my small clay sculpture for my father to inspect. He pushes his glasses back up on his nose and narrows his eyes, studying it. Then, he pushes the rolling chair back to his papers.

"If you want to make something, at least make it useful. Otherwise, there's no point."

My breath catches in my throat.

"But Daddy... I wanted to make a dog. I like dogs."

He stares at me. One boney finger jabs against the small dog's nose, pushing it back towards the box.

"That is a dog? It looks like some poor deformed creature that was swallowed by a swamp. But for the average eight year old, I suppose it is... good."

I take a small breath, my chest growing lighter.

"That's... good, right?" I begin to giggle, the sound too high and too loud.

My giggle trails off as his dark, piercing eyes snap towards mine.

"But you are not average," he says, ending the sentence with my full name. I bite my lip. He doesn't do that unless he really wants to get my attention.

" 'Good' is not good enough. If you ever want to be anything in this world, you have to be great. You have to be willing to go farther than anyone else, try things that no one has tried before. Do what others are too weak to do. Work until your hands are numb, until your brain is nearly crackling with electricity. Then... then, you will become great."

I nod, repeating the words in my head. Go farther than anyone else...

I like the sound of that.

With one last glance at my father, I put the dog back into it's box and go upstairs to my room. I whisper an apology as I push the box into the farthest corner of my closet. Maybe I will make him a girl dog to keep him company. But after that... no more. If I want to make something, I have to make something useful.

Something that just might change the world.

A/N: Now, I've actually written the whole thing with just the revising and editing left to do, so Chapter 1 should be here in about... 2 weeks.

Small note on how I came up with this story (cause I like blathering about that stuff): I first started watching Arrow about a year ago, about a month after I started watching Psych. I was shocked by the grittiness of it's, and I remember thinking "How can I go back to lighthearted Pysch, where criminals don't get hung upside down on bridges and tortured with arrows!?"

However, eventually, I grew intrigued by the idea of a crossover between the two. For my other Psych story I just kind of created my own tone, but for this one I wanted to really try and mix that lighthearted and gritty tones.

Oh, and I've had a few people ask me already if this prologue is about Shawn and Henry.

My answer?

...you'll see.

Until then, review! (And I will love you forever. XD)