Post-finals week oneshots are fun, but rarely make much, if any sense. Please excuse this, I'm just relieved to be done with the semester.

So, more Roy and Dick, because my headcanon for them makes it unbearable to not write them. Most of this is derived from a dream I had the other night, and the rest is inspiration taken from No Exceptions by Val-Creative (which I feel incredibly bad about not having a chance to review yet).

Disclaimer: Trust me, if any of this was mine, you'd have episodes and not these crappy oneshots. I'm as displeased as anyone-I mean, January? Really?

Warnings: Slight language, and none of this makes sense.

Asphyxia By Identity

The roaring had started subtly at first, back on the way to the bioship. It was quiet, on the edges of his consciousness, and he could ignore it-it was fatigue, Robin told himself, or residual adrenaline from the fight back in the warehouse. It would go away before they had to be in the briefing room, and he could listen to Batman systematically dissect all of their weaknesses like some poor helpless small animals sacrificed to a group of biology students, and then he could grab a shower and a snack. And maybe a nap, he thought absently as he slumped into his seat on the ship.

But when M'gann engaged the landing gear, the roaring hadn't faded away. It had grown ever more persistent and distracting, like a rushing river he couldn't hear his trail guide over. He shook his head to clear it-nope, didn't work-and stood to follow the team out, missing Kaldur's curious glance entirely. The aching in his chest was just from getting stepped on (again-he wondered what color the bruise would be this time, and what shoe size), and the shakiness in his limbs was merely exertion. He shrugged it off and gathered with the others to wait for Batman's analysis.

Mildly, Robin was aware that Red Arrow was standing with the other League members who had come for a run-down of what their covert ops darlings had accomplished, and what they still had yet to do. It was still weird to see him making nice with the League, after the miserable way things had gone down only a year before in the Hall of Justice, but he reminded himself-or tried to, anyway-that it was only temporary. He had been tracking this new paramilitary operation for months now, and his intel was the only reason the League had picked the mission up. He needed the manpower, and they wanted his loyalties. The politics were dizzying. He decided to leave it alone for now.

The roaring grew, like the river had changed course through some Atlantean magic and was headed straight for him, as Batman began his speech. He tried to take a deep breath to discreetly clear his head so he could listen, and found his lungs stiff and tight. Probably just the bruising, he though uncomfortably, expanding his lungs to their painfully diminished capacity and exhaling around a well-disguised grimace. An ice bath would definitely be in order sometime in the next few hours.

As Batman explained the mission for the League's benefit, Robin's focus drifted to the tightness in his lungs, the shakiness of his knees. His vision was unusually blurry through the fabric of his mask, and he could no longer hear what anyone was saying. Unbidden, and without warning, the briefing room was replaced with the interior of the warehouse. It was like the memory had been put on mute-he could see everything that had happened in the battle, but could hear none of Kaldur's commands or Artemis's swearing or M'gann's gasps for back-up, even through the mind link they'd established. His memory frame turned, and he saw Conner get hit with a throwing knife to the right shoulder-it bounced off of his upper arm, a minor wound that he probably wouldn't even notice until M'gann freaked out on the bioship and most likely wouldn't even need stitches-and all logic was suddenly gone. How was that even possible? The Boy of Steel had been nicked with a stupid throwing knife! Conner Kent wasn't invincible, not totally, anyway. If Superman's clone, his perfect replica, wasn't invincible, what hope did any of the others have? What hope did a thirteen year old human without powers of any kind have?

The memory faded back into the distance, and if his chest wasn't so damn tight he would have sighed with relief-no one seemed to have noticed anything. I really need to stop getting stepped on, he thought, his heart fluttering in panic as his lung capacity continued to shrink. The roaring was right on top of him, blocking out all other sound. He nearly slapped his hands over his ears, fearing for his eardrums.

His knees threatened to slide out from under him like an untidy stack of cards. Around his panic over not being able to breathe he willed them to hold until he could get to the showers.

If only he could hear Batman dismiss them over the roaring in his ears.

-x-x-x-

Red Arrow's eyes narrowed imperceptibly behind his own mask. He glanced around at the assembled League members-Flash, Captain Marvel, Wonder Woman, Hawk and Dove, Black Canary (he knew she'd only signed up when she heard he was supposedly heading the mission, maternal wet blanket that she was)-and was angered, but not surprised to see they were totally oblivious to Robin's increasing difficulty with drawing each breath. He wracked his memory for any history of breathing problems, but came up with nothing bigger than a particularly stubborn chest cold shortly after they first met. What else could be going on?

He watched Robin's spine go rigid, his shoulders tensing up as his quiet breathing quickened even more. Another glance around told him that Kaldur had noticed, and was flailing in a mostly figurative sense, aside from the twitching of his fingertips at his sides, for a way to broach the request to cut the debriefing short for his youngest teammate's sake. Kaldur's eyes met Red Arrow's through the mask, silently begging him to do something. Even back in his Speedy days, actions on behalf of others that were sure to garner a stern talking-to were typically his domain.

Red Arrow gave a nearly imperceptible nod and studied Robin for a minute more. His eyes fell on the mask still plastered to the thirteen year old's skin and widened with a dawning idea. Oh...that could be. Maybe... Yeah, worth a shot, he reasoned. If nothing else, it might help me get to what's really wrong.

Silently, Red Arrow reached up and hooked his thumbnails under the adhesive at each temple, peeling his mask from his face. He ignored Batman's continued lecture on what the team of young heroes-in-training had done wrong-seriously, ripping on M'gann for not parking the ship in the right place? Roy nearly rolled his eyes-and crossed the briefing room to kneel in front of Robin.

The Boy Wonder appeared not to notice, but with the mask in place, Roy couldn't see how far out of it he really was. With uncharacteristic gentleness, Roy touched Robin's upper arm and frowned when the young sidekick failed to react at all. "Robin," he said quietly, some abstract part of his awareness noting that Batman had trailed off and was watching the interaction, or lack thereof on Robin's part, with marked displeasure. Whether for Roy's interruption, lack of proper masking, or Robin's unresponsiveness to obvious attention-getting actions, Roy didn't especially care. "C'mon, kiddo, have a seat before you fall over," he instructed calmly, pulling the boy to the floor in front of him.

If anything, Robin's hyperventilating only got worse after he sat down, but Roy was satisfied he was in no danger of cracking open his head if he did lose consciousness. "Dick, don't leave," he requested in a near whisper that echoed through the now-fully aware collection of heroes. "C'mon now, baby," he said, deliberately using the pet name that never failed to piss him off. Nothing happened. Roy's frown deepened.

He reached for Robin's mask carefully, like one would if inspecting a tiger's mouth for cavities. His fingernails hooked under the adhesive like he had removed his own-the design was remarkably similar-and he pulled it free from Robin's face, noting the line of dirt that remained. Kid's had a long day, he thought absently, pushing his fingers through Dick's tangled hair.

"Just breathe," he instructed without a glance at his friend's mentor-he really didn't give a shit if Batman was pissed that Dick's team now knew what the kid's eyes looked like. He took visible deep breaths and rubbed at the younger hero's tense shoulders in an effort to get him to calm down, staring into his wide, glassy blue eyes. C'mon, blink for me, he begged silently. Shock was something he knew all too well, and if Dick didn't snap out of it soon...

After several long, anxious seconds, Dick's eyelids lowered and rose again, and repeated the motion twice more. Roy relaxed a little and moved to sit on the floor with him. "Better?"

"I..." Dick breathed, staring at Roy with something akin to terrified disbelief. "What was that," he blurted without thinking.

Roy shrugged, his gentle massage of Dick's shoulders never stopping. "I have no idea," he replied honestly, like it didn't matter if anyone knew. "I call it asphyxia by identity, but there's probably a more scientific, psychiatric name for it that I'm too lazy to look up. It happens to me all the time."

Dick leaned into his fingers a little, shifting to fold his legs underneath him. "All the time?"

"Mmhm," Roy confirmed. He pushed aside his hair near his left temple-goddamn, he needed a haircut-to show off a little white scar near where his hat had once settled. "See this? First time it happened, I'd just watched GA nearly eat it on the job for the first time. Couldn't get my mask off quick enough when I got home and ended up passing out and cracking my head open on the bathroom counter. Six stitches," he said conversationally. "True story. There's still a bloodstain in the drywall under the paint."

He could feel Black Canary narrow her eyes at him in decidedly parental annoyance. The less mature part of him considered flipping her the bird and was summarily overridden for his own safety.

"So anyway," he continued, studiously ignoring everyone else in the room, "moral of the story, if you feel like that again, just take your mask off and usually you'll be fine. Screw Batcave rules," he added with a grin for good measure. Oh man, was he going to get his ass kicked for that later.

At that, Dick glanced up at Batman and grimaced sheepishly. "Sorry," he muttered, unsubtly scooting closer to Roy for protection. Roy responded in kind and wrapped an arm around Dick's thin shoulders protectively. "I...sorry."

"Well," Roy said rather loudly when Batman only continued to glare at the two boys on the floor. After five years of League association and a possible death wish, Batman's trademark look had ceased to have any effect beyond humor. "You hungry," he asked offhand, like Dick hadn't just suffered a panic attack behind his mask.

"Yeah, sorta," Dick murmured, and let Roy haul him to his feet. He watched Roy shoot a meaningful look at Kaldur, who sent him a grateful one in return, and leaned into Roy's ribcage as he was guided to the kitchen. "So, you've had that happen before," he asked quietly.

Roy listened to Flash grill Wally on his own identity shifting experiences as they walked away and nodded absently. "All the time. Not so much now, but when I was your age, goddamn. It was bad." He cracked a smile and watched Dick climb up onto a bar stool near the fridge. "It's not the end of the world when it happens though. Probably just exhaustion or stress. Here, PB and J, shower, and then bedtime for you, my friend."

Dick stuck his tongue out tiredly. He didn't think he'd ever heard a better idea.

I personally hate the ending, but I'm too tired to care.

Please review.