A/N: Another chapter for you! It's not quite as long as I was hoping it to be, but it's full of Richie angst, so hopefully that'll make up for it. Lots of thanks to Aqono for helping me get my brain working again. XD Enjoy!

Disclaimer: I do not own Static Shock

Warnings: Talk of self harm, talk of abuse

Richie and Virgil continued their conversation late into the night, and then decided to head to bed early. They were both exhausted from the day and were looking forward to sleeping in during the weekend before Monday rolled around. Neither of them ended up sleeping well, however. Richie was plagued with nightmares and Virgil kept waking up whenever he heard his friend's soft whimpers.

At some point in the night, Richie started to cry in his sleep, so Virgil quietly slipped out of bed and slid next to Richie on the futon that was bought specifically for the many sleepovers the boys had. Almost instantly, Richie's tears slowed and he curled into Virgil's chest. The superhero smiled and wrapped his arm protectively around Richie before drifting off to sleep.

A few hours after Virgil came to lay with him, however, Richie woke with a sudden jerk. He bit his lip to try to muffle the cry that threatened to wake the neighborhood, and was able to keep it in, save for a small moan. He looked around, confused as to why there was a figure next to him in bed and an arm wrapped around him. It took him a few seconds of panic before he realized that it was only Virgil.

A quick glance at the clock told Richie that it was 4:30 in the morning. Much too early to rise for the day, but the boy found himself as rigid as a board, unwilling to release himself to the nightmares that haunted his sleep. He wasn't even sure if they could be classified as nightmares, really. None of them were really scary in a sense. Every single one revolved entirely around cutting. The stress of his best friend knowing his darkest secret and the impending doom of having to tell the man who was a second father to him was quickly becoming too much for Richie to handle.

He felt his breath start to quicken again. Please, no, he thought. No, not another panic attack. I can't handle this! Richie gingerly slid out from under Virgil, who simply pulled his arm in and rolled over, muttering something about tap dancing guinea pigs. If Richie had been in the right state of mind, he would have burst into laughter, but all he could hear was the rush of blood in his ears. He started to pace around the room, but, worried of waking Virgil with his footsteps, silently snuck out into the hallway.

Planning on splashing some water on his face, Richie entered the dim bathroom and shut the door behind him before turning on the light. He squinted at the harsh fluorescent glare and leaned down in front of the sink. His gaze was caught by the disposable shaving razor sitting on the counter.

Richie's breath hitched. The glint of the metal was so familiar, so appealing. He reached out a quivering hand to feel the weight of the plastic and metal in his hand. Richie felt his knees start to wobble with a strange desire and anticipation, so he sat on the closed toilet lid, focused only on the object held in his palm. Before he realized what had happened, Richie found himself with his pajama sleeve rolled up, bandage discarded on the floor, and the shaver pressed to his wrist. He closed his eyes, eager for the relief he was about to feel, when an image popped into his min.

The expression on Virgil's face when he found Richie the previous day. It wasn't so much angry or disappointed as it was sad. All it took was a split second for Richie to understand that Virgil was sad he was in so much pain and just wanted to help. I don't deserve any help, thought Richie. Virgil probably just feels sorry for you. He thinks you're weak. Weak!

He opened his eyes as tears began to gather yet again, but caught someone's eye in the mirror. Richie started, instinctively jerking the razor away from his wrist to hide behind his back. But then he realized that the person he saw was himself. In awe, he heard the razor clatter to the floor as he dropped it in order to stand and step closer to the glass. He took a good look at himself and realized that he didn't recognize this familiar stranger.

The boy standing opposite him had harsh features. His blond hair was limp and dingy, his skin pale; sallow. The blue eyes that once stared back at him with such life were now dark and full of pain. What had happened to the Richard Foley that had been so happy just mere years ago? Where had he run off to?

Maybe somewhere where he doesn't have anyone slashing at his skin.

Richie turned away from the wall and sunk down to the ground, somehow exhausted from the events of just the past two minutes. A flash of silver a foot away caught his eyes, but the boy couldn't be bothered to reach for the utensil. Suffer, he thought. You don't deserve the relief it brings. Just sit here and suck it up. You're just some stupid teenager looking for attention, right? Be a man.

So he drew his legs to his chest, laid his head on his knees, and cried. He cried for the boy he used to be, the one who read comic books. The boy who loved going to the park with his best friend and making up games where they had superpowers. The boy who pretended he was invincible from anything and everything.

He cried for the pain he'd caused to Virgil. Virgil, who had always been there to support him. Virgil, who never left, even when Richie was sure he was going to. Virgil, who had encouraged him to tell his parents about his sexuality. Virgil, who had offered a listening ear countless times after fights between Richie and his dad.

He cried for the family he left behind that never loved him. The father, who was always looking for a perfect son. The father that tore at his own flesh and blood until there was nothing left. And the mother, who said nothing, even when her child was screaming in pain.

But mostly he cried for the person he's become. This fucked-up teenager who was becoming a statistic. Just another gay kid who was depressed. Just another gay kid. Just another kid.

I'm just a kid… Just a kid…

And with the words echoing in his head, Richie curled up on the tile floor and fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.

EDIT: Revised 3/28/14. Minor stuff. Just fixed a tiny plot hole dealing with Virgil knowing about the abuse or not.