I lean forward on my hands, regarding the white board in front of me with vague boredom. It's math. I mean, I love math, and this particular set of problems is definitely challenging, but right now I want to move.

My leg is bouncing under my desk, the tip of my pencil taps on my notebook with rapid clicks, and my free hand presses my chin, all in efforts of expending some of my excess energy.

"Mr. Grayson?" calls my math teacher with a slight Southern drawl that's only detectable when she speaks especially slow or annoyed. She and I are on good enough terms; after all, I am a mathlete. But she gets irritated when I'm bored, or rather, when I act bored. "Would you like to demonstrate the problem's solution on the board?"

Her chosen tactic of stimulating me is often by doing the problem in front of the class. That or grilling me on the unit.

I give her a brief, bored smile before unwinding myself from the desk and going up to the front. I hadn't done the problem yet, so I do a lot of premature rounding in my head, not having brought my calculator.

When I step away from the board, the class is judging my answer, but I could care less. I return to my seat.

"The roundings messed with the final answer, but if you had them exact, your answer would be fine. That wouldn't have flied at a competition, Mr. Grayson."

My head back in one hand, I shrug with the other shoulder.

"Now, moving on…"

I squirm in my seat as she continues, trying to stop my skin from crawling after sitting so long. Do you ever sit in the same spot so long, it's the only thing you can think about? You actually ache to stand up, and your legs feel too tight, and you just need to move. I can literally feel the bed sores...

"Richard Grayson!"

Crap. She full-named me.

She continues, "Is there something wrong?"

I try to summon the most charmed smile I can given how anxious I feel. "I want to move."

Mrs. Browne lets out a long sigh. "I'm not going to let you go to the bathroom, because the last two times you went, that was the last I saw of you that day." The class snickers and I roll my eyes. They were emergencies, what can I say? "Why don't you stretch in the back? You simply have to listen and not distract the class."

I give her a huge smile, pleased with the compromise. "Okay!"

I dart down the row and stand at the back. After a moment, she restarts the lesson. Regarding the amount of space I was given, I opt for a handstand. No one is watching me anymore, so I walk back and forth, watching from an upside down view as Mrs. Browne continues the lesson in matrices.

With a controlled move, I'm in a backbend and then back on my feet. Then I slip into a splits. Then a side splits. Then, I do another handstand, lowering my feet so they nearly touch the ground, keeping my arms straight and trying to continue listening to the lesson.

Mrs. Browne's speech is abruptly cut off with a shriek and some kind of thump, and it takes all five years of my training not to jerk in reaction and somehow snap my neck.

"Somebody call 911! Dick is broken!" shouts Maddie, sounding genuinely concerned.

"No, wait," I protest, swinging my legs up so I'm back in a handstand. I lower myself back onto my feet and call up an apologetic smile. "Wait. I'm a gymnast, I'm not broken, I swear."

"Nobody should be able to bend like that," claims Charles (yes, Charles, but, I mean, my adoptive dad is "Bruce" and his butler is "Alfred", so.), as if he's made that the law just by speaking. He's a… well. Let's just say he's worthy of my name.

"Richard Grayson!" scolds my teacher, full naming me for the second time that day. Her accent is starting to slip back in. I don't know why she's so worried. Didn't I do a flawless triple parallel body turn in front of her before? Those basically defy physics. "When I said you could stretch- Wait, if that's stretching here, what do you do in the halls?"

I wave my hand dismissively, starting to feel the weight of too many eyes. "Let's not talk about that." Her curious gaze morphs into a more stern one, and I give a light hearted chuckle. "Guess you'll have to see at my next gymnastics performance!"

Charles's friend, and desperate middle class social climber, gives a sneering laugh. "What self-respecting man takes gymnastics?"

"One that can bend into any position," I retort. As soon as I hear the replay of those words in my head, I immediately fight a blush. That was one of the dirtiest things I think I've ever said out loud. Outside the presence of Wally, I mean.

The class either laughs, jeers, or in Mrs. Browne's case, look appalled.

Mercifully, the bell goes off, signaling the end of school.

Could've used that bell about a few hours earlier, but I'll take late rather than never.

As I grab my stuff, Maddie strategically places herself near the end of the rows so we end up walking out together.

She's not usually quite so forward, but I don't mind. She's a brilliant mathlete and is phenomenal at the under-the-breath jokes that you don't hear unless you're paying attention. I mean, Mrs. Browne's gotten mad at me a couple times for cracking up in class, but again, what's she going to do? I'm a freaking mathlete.

We only walk for a few moments before she starts to ramble, which is another rare occurrence for her.

"So, I was going to do a poster, but I suck at art, and all my math puns were so unoriginal like 'I hope you'd find it rational' and all that, and then I'd have to do the whole ringing the doorbell at the gate so I could get into the proximity of your house and that'd ruin the whole surprise and I bet you have dogs, too, so anyway." She huffs, sounding annoyed with herself. I give her a teasing grin, which she reciprocates with a light glare.

"I was wondering if you'd like to go to the dance with me."

Oh, I didn't see that coming. I knew it was going to be a date, but not a dance. I'm a sophomore now, but only by a couple months. Sophomores usually only go to the final dance of the year with a date. If you want to go to the dances, you have to go with a big group of stags. Otherwise, the juniors and seniors will decimate you.

I consider for a second. It's Bruce and I's Batman and Robin Anniversary, and I was planning on making a huge cake with Alfred to celebrate/embarrass with. "I'd love to, but I don't think I'm free next Saturday." Oh, and wait. Isn't it guy's choice?

She does a little embarrassed cough into her hand. "Not this one, next one."

"The one in December?" I ask incredulously, but regret that before I even finish talking. She looks hurt. So, I laugh it off. "Well, you definitely caught me unasked! I'd love to go. Sorry, that sounded rude, I was just surprised. It's the first time I've been asked, you know."

She beams, earlier hurt look forgotten. "Yay! I'll text you all the details when it gets a bit closer. See you at mathlete practice?"

I give her a wave as she walks backwards down the hall. "Yeah, of course. I've never missed any of those."

Laughing, she turns and heads back down the hall.

"I'm just saying you could've asked me first."

"And I'm just saying you could've asked me first!"

Zatanna does not look impressed. "She asked before this dance was even over."

"Which I'm not going to, so I'm not going to offend my nonexistent date."

"Right. Only your girlfriend."

I throw my hands up in frustration. "Ugh, I'm not cheating on you or anything! It's a stupid dance! There are only two couples for these dances. Friends, and in loves. And I'm definitely not in love with Maddie!" I give a short pause. "Mathie." Then I snicker.

The pun didn't help. "You could've at least told me!"

"Alright, me telling you a couple arguments ago? That was me telling you."

"You guys are idiots." I turn to Artemis and Wally, who had entered the living room hand in hand. This is one of their wise "we're a seasoned and happy couple" moments where they're about to lecture us. "What are you even fighting about?"

"The dance," Zatanna mutters bitterly.

"Oh, Robin, get over it. Going with another guy isn't cheating," Wally informs me, looking so smug in all his knowledge. Artemis slaps his chest and Zatanna groans into her hands.

"OH!" I exclaim, turning to Zatanna with a victorious smile.

"Shut up, Robin. She's jealous. That's a good thing." Artemis pauses, then looks at Wally before amending her statement. "In this stage of the relationship."

They share a secret smile. I would've assumed there was be an argument, but they are apparently pretty sold right now. Good for them.

Zatanna and I amend.

"Can we hang out at your place later today? If nothing comes up," she asks.

I grin. "Bruce will be there. You know that, right?"

"Guess who won't be there?" She gestures around her. "Nosy teenagers."

"What are you implying?"

She doesn't answer except for a playful smile and a wink.

"I'd be down for that. Only if you fully understand that Alfred is better at sneaking around and being nosy than even Batman." She rolls her eyes, but I put on a serious face. "I'm not kidding. He's caught me doing just about everything."

She gives me a look that suggests something dirty. I push her shoulder so she can't look at me. "Stop you little dirty mind. Oh, did I tell you guys what I said in math?!"

Artemis is completely unenthusiastic, and Zatanna feigns interest.

"So I was stretching and then my teacher thought I broke, so everyone freaked out and someone said 'what kind of man does gymnastics'-" I pause a moment to stifle my laughter. "And I said, 'one that can bend in any position'!"

I lose it, and so does Wally. Zatanna and Artemis put on stern faces, but I can tell they're amused. "What stretch are we talking about?" Artemis asks.

I shrug before hopping off the couch and slip into it.

"Oh my gosh, Robin, no wonder they thought you broke! Geez!" Zatanna finally laughs.

"I grew up in the circus! I'm flexible. Get over it, haters."

"Robin!" Jazz accompanies my name with throwing herself through the doorway at a dead sprint. She glares at me and I spring back into a standing position. "Have you seen Danny? I can't find him! He came here, but he isn't anywhere! I checked the mountain surface and the training room and his old room here, and-"

I cut her off. "Don't freak out so quickly. Let me check." I tap my wrist and search life forces in the Cave. Danny's definitely here. His dot is completely different from everyone else's, because he has a stranger physiology. By the red hue of his dot, however, he must be in his human form. "He's here."

"But where?" She gestures around her like this isn't a top secret base, specifically designed to have several hiding places if the need arose. I resist the urge to retort and lock on Danny's location.

The corner of the infirmary. That can't be good. "In the showers. I'll go see why he's showering here instead of at his house." Jazz makes a move to come with. "Stop right there. Has he shown you his scars?"

"No. I saw them, though-"

"It doesn't matter. I'm going. Calm yourself."

I leave them and head to the infirmary, letting the door slide open and closed just long enough to allow me entry. "Danny?" I call into the darkness.

The large space swallows any sound he might've made. I creep forward, staying quiet enough that I don't startle him, but not soft enough to just appear on him. Something isn't right here.

Straining my ears, I search for any kind of sound, until I hear small gasps. Slowly, I make my way towards the sound. The gaspings sound exhausted and are getting slower, meaning it's probably the end of his panic.

I stop a few feet away, letting him recognize that someone's there. My mask automatically adjusts my lenses to take in more of the dim light, accentuating the scene so I can see it better. Danny is sitting against the wall and his old bed, knees drawn up to his chest and his head buried into them. His arms, instead of wrapped around him, are folded tightly between his legs and chest.

"Danny?" I ask almost inaudibly.

Other than the slightest tense in the shoulders, there is no response.

I take a step.

"Go away," he mumbles, drawing his legs even closer.

Is he protecting himself, or something more specific?

"Are you okay?" My voice is still nothing more than a breath, but it still sounds too loud in this huge room. Another step, and I'm close enough to crouch right in front of him.

He tries to answer, but his voice is lost in a gasp. I swivel my crouch so I'm side by side him and shift my weight back, settling into something more like a sitting position.

"You thought it all disappeared when you got your memories back, huh?"

He doesn't try to answer this time; he only nods into his knees.

"Did it get better?"

He shakes his head.

"Did it get worse?"

He doesn't reply, which I take as a yes.

"It's because experiences make memories more vivid in context. You have comparisons, you can place certain senses that were previously unknown. You remember not feeling pain."

"I remember Sam," he mutters, softer than I had been by far. It's only my intense training that allowed me to hear it.

"Oh."

We sit in silence for a little while, before I slowly start trying to unravel him from his position. First I rub circles into his shoulder blades, trying to relax his shoulders, then attempt to gently pull his head back from his knees.

As soon as I get his back against the wall, I push back his legs. His arms are left tightly folded, though, and that worries me.

"Danny-" I start, trying to ask about his arms.

Another sob-filled gasp breaks my line of conversation.

"I didn't mean to-"

Narrowing my eyes, I grab one of his arms and wrench it from him, intent on seeing what he'd done.

Immediately, my posture relaxes, even if my mind is whirling. "Oh, Danny."

His arm is littered with deep cuts, welling blood now that it's not being pressed against his chest. I see now the dark discoloration of his shirt where his arm had rested. I look up at him in question.

His face is wet and his eyes look brimming with tears once more, and he shakes his head over and over. "I don't remember- I didn't know- I thought I was in the White Room again and all I could feel was pain from the cuts on my chest but-" He chokes again. "I don't remember this."

I search briefly for the object he used and come up with a slick scalpel thrown under the bed. Now that I realize Danny had been bleeding, I notice the dark spots surrounding him from the tossed knife.

"We don't have anything like this," I murmur, feeling along the edge of the instrument for markings.

"Of course not," he scoffs, shoving his hands through his hair, "It's my parents'. They have a whole set of them, stainless steel core and ectoranium coating. They use them for ectoplasmic dissection."

"Why'd you take one?"

"I didn't." His voice comes out harsh and bitter. "My dad slapped one in my hand and said, 'Come on, Danny! Let me show you how to properly dissect an ectoplasmic sample!'"

Even though I want to ask how that even came up as a topic of discussion, I stay quiet and focus on getting the scalpel cleaned with a random cloth I found inside the drawers beneath the bedside table. As soon as I finish that, and stuff the scalpel in my belt and out of sight, I work on his arm, cleaning the cuts and wrapping it in tight gauze.

"It was a plant found in the Ghost Zone. Truly nonsentient, I guess. But I didn't see some plant. I only saw blood. And then I was here. Everything is so much more… potent…? It's so much more painful, more real, more…" He shakes his head. "Inescapable."

"You could talk to Black Canary," I suggest. "She's a licensed therapist. Everyone's talked to her, even me."

"I do talk to her," he answers tiredly.

Surprise colors my voice, "You do?"

He looks at me warily. "Obviously. It's what I do when everyone's at school."

"All day?"

"No, just an hour or so every day. I don't on Saturday or Sunday. I'd rather hang out with you guys."

Suddenly I'm wondering what he does when we're gone; I'd never thought about it before. And it makes perfect sense that he'd be in therapy. Clearly, he needs it. But he'd been holding it together so well, it's almost like he was never in that facility.

I can't believe I've missed this.

"It's been getting so much better. I've almost perfected ignoring it- But something like that will come along and…" He drags a hand through his hair again. "I'm just so sick of this! Why did this even have to happen? Everything was going so well. I had three team members to help with the ghost load, the more powerful ones were either locked away or nonviolent… and Sam and I…" He lets out a ragged breath, leaning back.

"I've just been in love with her for so long."

I tip my head to the side, letting that tell him that I'm paying attention; it's difficult to tell with my mask. And clearly, he needs to vent. Not to a trained professional, but to a friend.

And not Tucker, obviously, because if he heard Danny admit to loving Sam, he'd never let him live it down.

Danny starts talking and he doesn't stop for a long time. He delves right into what he's thinking about and explains every specific detail that has been nagging him. He says the phantom pain keeps him up at night, that nightmares torture him when he's awake. He tells me about the way he's been avoiding it- that he's pushed everything down so far his conscious mind thought it was all but gone. He says that it was all tolerable until he remembered Sam.

His obsession is protection. It has rings of intensity that start at the family and friends, then gradually grows more broad and less intense-but no less important- as it pushes out. His memories hadn't been there to remind him of the glaring failure in the innermost ring, but now that they were back…

He says that the emotional pain he is experiencing now can only be likened to the torture he endured over the course of his missing nine months.

Through the entire conversation, I maintained a solid look of empathy on my face, trying to control the emotion underneath. Just listening to it made me feel…

Danny doesn't deserve this. He sure didn't deserve that. Unlike Batman, Wonder Woman, Miss Martian and many of the other heroes, he's a hero to be good. Because he's good. Batman has some warped sense of vengeance, justice and a huge mixture of moral angst; he does it so he can be a good person.

Danny just is. He just is.

And he didn't. Deserve. This.

I grind my teeth into my bottom lip the longer I listen, until Danny trails off, out of energy and out of words. It takes longer than I expected, but eventually he falls into a restless sleep. Deciding that moving him will only wake him up, I throw a blanket over him and walk out of the infirmary.

I've gained an audience.

Jazz and Tucker are sitting across from the door, frowns etched in every line of their face. Artemis is standing by Jazz, and Miss M floats by her. Superboy stands beside her. As soon as he sees me, he cocks his head in question. I say nothing- just stumble backwards into the wall and slide down until my knees are to my chest.

"Did that-" Superboy starts, and I shake my head.

"We need to find Sam," I murmur, laying my head onto the wall behind me. "Not next week, not next month. Right. Now."

And then I'm going to take those people responsible, including Savage, and put them somewhere more dark and hopeless than the Joker's mind.

Hey! So, I've been gone for a while, but I'm back now! Marching Band season is over and so is my life, and I've resold my soul to this site. If any of you are fanfic writers, for shame! Go update your story. Then read mine, so I can read yours.

Anyway, Happy Halloween! Thanks for sticking around. Feel free to comment, I actually take the critiques and love the compliments. This fic is wrapping up, much as it seems like it'll go on forever, and I want to steer it to a good end and also fix whatever's broken.

And, because I haven't done this in a while: ~Disclaimer Disclaimer~