Congratulatulatulatulatulati ons to

UMBUBY

your character has been picked for this chapter, but I, uh, had to make a few adjustments because having her as who you wanted her kinda defied almost all of the laws of DC.

Anyway. Sorry for slow updating. Long chapter for the long wait.

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The Second Hour (continued)

I glanced at my watch for the billionth time, as if fourteen hours had already passed and I was alive, I was okay, I would never have to worry again.

But that's impossible.

Hal attempted to make conversation, but my head was throbbing, so I just rolled over and pretended to sleep until he too drifted off.

Something about the voice he - and everyone who knew about my condition - used, made me want to punch them. Soothing, sympathetic and caring - who ever thought you could get so sick of that awful, understanding tone? It reached a point where I just blocked out the words, tried to focus on something else. Something that didn't make me want to tear my hair out and then stuff it up my nose.

Something that made me want to keep on living. Because their 'inspirational' words sure as hell weren't helping.

"I know its strange but it'll all be over so-"

Remember the time I stole the car with Rob?

"You'll be okay, you just have to-"

It was Bruce Wayne's. I was so hyped up about stealing a billionaires car I didn't even stop to think that Rob would never steal. There was something behind it, an excuse he had to do something like that.

"If you just stay calm-"

Yeah, found out not long later that he already owned the car. Well, not him personally, but his adoptive father did. Surprise!

"Remember we love y-"

We drove up to Canada in our full costumes. Some people say its stupid that I love cars because I'm a runner - but really, driving around in a convertible beats running any day.

"You'll be o-"

Rob and I went to a Canadian supermarket and stocked up in maple syrup. Then we drove to the edge of a cliff and drank maple syrup until it got dark and our mentors started going crazy with worry.

"Dying is just-"

I think we may of gotten drunk on syrup, because Rob kept on saying that we should date. Like boyfriend/boyfriend date. I agreed. Who's better to date than your best friend? Then we laughed because we'd never ever ever date in a million trillion years, and anyway Rob was in love with Zee and I had my eye of M'gann.

"Believe on yourself, bud, and-"

Maybe that's why we're best friends. Because we would be the perfect couple, if only we weren't were grounded for ten weeks, but we snuck out to see each other every Tuesday.

Soon their sympathetic murmurings are nothing but white noise, my head is full of memories about all the amazing things I've managed to do in my life.

But I can't stay distracted forever.

When my visitors leave, the niggling voice in my head starts eating away at me.

It tells me I'm going to die.

And that's where I am now. The voice taunts and teases me, tells me how my suffering will end, tells me I won't have to worry about the future because I don't have one.

So I take out all the stupid cords attached to me, pain numbing my flesh each time I rip one out. I know those cords are keeping me alive, but what's the point of spending your last hours hooked up to a machine that may not make any difference?

My vision carousels, just for a few moments, and I lurch towards the bathroom, throwing the door open and spilling my stomachs contents all over the pristine white tiles. I wipe my mouth, a shaking cough shuddering through my body, that is already covered in goose flesh.

My skin feels hot but my blood feels cold, like ice water flowing in my veins. My heart's pumping too loud but the thump thump thump is a rhythm. It keeps me walking on when red appears at the corners of my line of sight.

And somehow, by sheer luck, I end up walking past Hal without waking , it's a wonder I'm walking at all, isn't it?

I don't encounter any leaguers in the hall, and one of those JLU members who no one knows about transports me down very happily, as if he can't see my stupid white nightie.

He asks me where I want to go, and I say Gotham.

Not to see Dick. Nuh uh. I'm not ready for that yet. I have to prepare some kind of speech or someone before I tell my best friend I'm dying.

I find myself in a decrepit phone booth, smack bang in the middle of a cobblestone alleyway. I step out of the box, leaning back against the crumbling mortar wall and shutting my eyes. My head is throbbing like nothing else.

I managed to stumble out of the alleyway, using the cement on the walls as support, glancing up at the Gotham Clock Tower to check the time. More than ten minutes has passed since I yanked out all those tubes - Barry'll be standing in front of me any minute now, ready to kill me.

It doesn't help that I'm wearing a white nightie. I look like I'm an escaped 'patient' of Arkham.

I turn to my left and glance down the bustling street. I get a few strange glances, and a glare or two. I analyze the area around me and realize I'm right outside a jewelry store - which guarantees the fact that I'm on a league surveillance tape right now.

I look up at a worn poster stuck to a telephone pole, it's eye slightly less torn than the rest of the poster. I wave directly at it and wait oh god did it just flash?

I turn right and make a break for it.

Completing the whole 'lunatic' look.

Of course, you don't run at super speed around civilians. No. Especially when you're not wearing a mask. Although I think I was running just a few hundred miles faster than the average human could.

Which, I guess, is my excuse, for barreling into a kid.

I realized the young girl was in front of me about three seconds before I hit her, which gave me enough time to slow down to the pace of an Olympic runner.

I swear, the kid flew at least ten feet in the air, landing a couple meters away on the pavement. I glanced around us. The street was empty. I sped over to the girl, sweeping a strand of blonde hair off her face.

"Hey, hey, please don't die, that'll really mess up my day. C'mon, c'mon... I don't need someone else dying..." my hands moved to her neck to feel for a pulse.

"Who else is dying?"

I lurched backwards at the sudden speaking, nearly peeing my pants in the process.

"God, kid, you nearly scared me to death." I muttered, my hand hovering above my chest as I tried to make my heartbeat slow back down.

"Who else is dying?" she repeated, pursing her lips.

I took the time to analyze the girl who was still lying on the ground. She looked about five. Maybe six. But it was obvious by her childish-squeak of a voice that she wasn't anywhere near my age. And also the fact she was about two feet tall.

I put out my hand to the girl to help her up, but she shook her head, shutting her bright blue eyes again.

"Who else is dying?" she repeated sternly, "If you don't tell me I'll get my Dad to kill you."

"Really, now?" I grinned, attempting to keep the chuckle out of my voice.

"Yes," she insisted, "When he gets out of jail."

I peered down at the young girl, who's eyes remained closed."What's your name?"

"Stephanie."

"Last name?"

"Brown."

My mind rushed for a moment.

"Is your dad's name Arthur Brown?"

"No. His name is Dad." Stephanie stated, sitting up abruptly. "Who is going to die?"

Huh. So this was Cluemaster's kid. "I am."

A look of shock passed over Stephanie's face before it returned to her normal pout. She peeled herself off the ground and stood up, putting out a hand to help me up. "Why?"

I rejected her arm with a wave of my hand, pulling myself up. Despite the height difference, I could feel her glare penetrating me as she waited for an answer. She'd make a good bat.

"I have diabetes." I stated.

"Oh no!" she exclaimed.

I chuckled. "You know about diabetes?"

"It has the word die in it. Is it the dying disease?" She asked, raising a brow.

"No. It's what you get when you eat too much junk food." I said quickly.

"Oh my goodness! I have diabetes!"

"No you don't..." I assured her, placing a hand on her head, "It's only if you eat hundreds of bags of lollies in one sitting."

"Oh. Okay. I hope you don't die." she nodded.

I took a deep breath, "Me too."

A moment of silence settled before Stephanie skipped up to a park bench and sat down, patting the seat next to her. "Tell me what is like to be about to die."

I smiled slightly and sat down next to her. She crossed her legs, despite them dangling a good foot above the ground.

"Are you sad?" She asked slowly, looking up to me with her big, cyan eyes.

"Yes. Kind of."

Kind of? Yeah. Kind of. I wasn't 100% sure what my emotions were doing at the moment. I just knew... I was numb.

"What does your mummy think?" She asked, pouting.

Mum. Right.

Mum, just like my Dad, was freaking out. She broke down in tears every time she came to see me. She told me she loved me and hugged me until Barry had to drag her away. Every time she saw me... I just... made her sad.

If it wasn't bad enough to know I was going to die, I had to spent my last few hours knowing how upset everyone was because of me.

"She's sad." I said finally.

Understatement.

"My mum is sad as well. Ever since Dad went to jail..." Stephanie looked down at her feet sadly.

"It's okay, kiddo. Sometimes you can get a new dad."

I thought of Barry. I thought of my own Dad and wondered why I saw Barry as my father, when we weren't even blood related. And then I knew.

Barry was the one who worried about me when I was sick. Who worried the most, anyway. It wasn't Mum, or Dad. But... He certainly didn't cry, nor did he show his sadness in front of me. He stayed strong. He knew I needed someone to lean on, someone to stay the same when everyone else became big balls of tears.

And then I thought of Dick and Bruce and then I had to stop thinking about fathers because... Dick.

"Okay. I'll get one later. Maybe when I get married my wife's dad can be my dad."

"Your wife?" I asked, slightly taken aback by the statement.

"Boys smell bad." she said a matter-of-factly.

"Ah." I nodded in feign understanding, "Do I smell bad?"

"Only non-dying boys smell bad."

"That's a relief. I thought my stench may of been putting you off."

"It isn't. You smell like hospital."

"Do I, now?" I asked, a ghost of a smile appearing on my face.

"Yup. You smell like blood and flowers and medicines. But that's not too bad..."

"Thank you."

"What about your boyfriend?"

"Why can't I have a girlfriend?"

"Because all the girls will marry girls because boys smell bad so all the boys will have to marry each other. Duh."

"Oh! Sorry. I forgot about that rule. I don't have a boyfriend or a girlfriend."

And I thought about Artemis. I didn't like her. Maybe... Maybe if I wasn't going to die... One day we could like each other enough just to try going out.

Maybe.

Probably not.

And then I thought about Dick. Because Dick was essentially my boyfriend. And I thought about how upset he had been when he found out I had diabetes. Then I remembered our trip to Canada. So... I didn't love him. Well, I did, but like I loved Barry. Not like I loved M'gann, but that again was different to the love I felt for my ex-girlfriend.

I was so confused.

"Are you sure?"

"I do have a boyfriend." the words were out before I could stop them, "Except we don't kiss."

"That's okay. Does he know you're dying?"

"Yes."

"What did he say?"

"He didn't say anything. He just ran away."

"Did you run after him?"

"... I... I didn't..."

"You better run, then. Otherwise you'll die and you'll die not-boyfriends."

"I... I should. I should, oh God, I gotta go tell Dick. I've got to talk to him." I stood up, my hand running through my hair.

"Okay. Bye."

"Bye Stephanie." I paused and mentally added a name to my will, "Stephanie Brown. When I die, I want you to have my souvenirs."

"Your souvenirs?"

"Yes. Again, thank you."

And then I ran after Dick, like I should of done the first time he ran away from me.

Okay here comes my rant. I'm probably wrong about all this.

When looking up how old Steph was (which was as hard enough) I then realised she would be younger because Dick is 13 in Young Justice. I then went on to find out the age difference between Tim and Dick, since Tim and Steph are around the same age. After about three hours of searching, finally found something that said Tim was about eight years young than Dick.

HUZZAH except Steph is supposedly older than Tim... Depending on the universe.

So, I completely gave up. Steph is around five years old in this.

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