A/N: This is a short chapter; mostly stuff I already had written. I really wanted to post something now, so I could work on new chapters. Please leave a review, it really helps!
You can also find my fic, and others on my Ao3: PatrickArch
It was well past his "actual" bedtime when his parents were done giving him a talking-to. You've never done something like this, they had said. Is everything all right? they asked.
Yes, he'd replied, like a liar. I'm fine.
Filthy liar.
Jaime could tell they were uneasy - even if he wouldn't have read it in the tense line of his father's shoulders, or the worried tilt of his mother's head, the scarab would have made his brain buzz with the knowledge.
Sometimes he wished he could be alone. All alone; well and truly by himself, without a second conscience grafted to his spine. While not ideal, being in his room without his family was close enough.
Silence.
But not for long. Even without his heightened sensory abilities, he'd have known Milagro was sneaking her way to his room, hitting every floorboard that creaked along the way.
Slowly, the door inched open with a quiet squeak. He would never oil that door, despite his parents' grumbling about the noise. It was another alarm system.
"You're supposed to be in bed," he said from his chair, not looking up from his papers. What class they were for, he'd forgotten as his vision had long ago blurred as he thought.
"I know you are, too," she replied quietly, in the not-quite whispers young children use before they truly learn to control their volume. Milagro was loud and boisterous in most things, and stealth wasn't yet an exception.
"Yeah." He sighed, before turning to look at her. She looked so small, holding onto the door with one hand, and her old plush in the other. "Had a nightmare?"
She shook her head. "Mom and Dad were worried about you, so I got worried too. They wouldn't let me stay up to see you. They said you were in trouble, I said it's because I wasn't there to save you."
He snorted quietly, a tired substitute for a noiseless laugh, and went to ruffle her hair. "I'm sure you'd have taken down that football player before he even could have said a word."
She pushed his hand off her bedraggled hair. "What'd he say? Dad said you broke his nose or something." She couldn't understand what would make her dweeb, softhearted brother punch someone - let alone so hard he broke the other guy's nose.
Shaking his head, he replied, "It doesn't matter what he said. Unless he was about to hit someone, I shouldn't have punched him. I think it was just one of those days."
Her face scrunched up in confusion. "Grownups always say that. 'One of those days,' what does it mean, Jaime?"
"Some days you wake up, and you're grumpy," he told her, trying to find the right words for someone so young. "Could be because things weren't going well yesterday-" or the hundred days before- "or that you banged your toe on your bedframe, whatever. You're grumpy and you can't seem to think happy thoughts... or you don't want to." He shrugged. "So everything annoys you."
"But why wouldn't you want to think happy thoughts?" she asked like people were stupid.
"What do you wanna do when you get mad? Like really, really angry? Like... Chace-broke-your-toy mad?"
She tilted her to think. "I wanna break something."
"Yeah, well grownups wanna do that too. Grownups are really just grown children."
"Well, duh, Jaime."
"I mean like they're just big children," he said, flicking her forehead. "Except they learn to act mature, and that means you can't throw any kind of tantrum."
"Ever?" she asked, skeptically, with a healthy dose of dread.
"Mostly ever. I did punch a guy today, so..." He shrugged. "You know whatever." He stood up, about to bring Milagro back to bed so he could stay up all night and not sleep when his phone screen lit up. It was on silent mode, so it didn't ring. "Ugh," he moaned, reading the latest created contact: Artemis. "Go back to bed, I have to take this."
"Artemis? Is she nice?" Milagro asked, standing on her tiptoes to peer at his screen.
"Uh, well she-"
Milagro gasped, and cut him off. "She must have been worried about you because of the fight!"
Why me? he asked himself. "Kinda, now shoo."
"She sounds niiiiice," she drawled in a sing-song voice. "Is she your girlfriend~?"
"What? No, she-"
"Yeah, you're too gross to have a girlfriend," Milagro replied, giggling, before finally leaving his room with a quickly whispered "good night."
Jaime wasted no time in shutting his door as he answered the phone. "My sister wouldn't leave me alone," he rushed out, both as a way of greeting and excusing his late answer.
"She was worried," Artemis said, matter-of-factly. "she sounds nice."
"Hardly, she's a little pest." Despite the fatigue, there was fondness in Jaime's voice. "She was also wondering what a girl was doing calling me past eleven?"
"Right. We need to talk about a few things."
Jaime examined the window, taking a moment to sense the surroundings, before sitting down at his desk. "Well, the line's secure."
"... Why would it not be secure?" Artemis replied incredulously.
"I, uh, just wanted to make sure you knew?" he replied hesitantly. "It's secure on my end as well."
"Hmph. The scarab?"
"The scarab."
"Right," she said flatly. "Do you record your calls too?" She didn't wait for him to reply to her barb. "Speaking of calls, you need to talk to someone about your... episode."
Jaime had a strong feeling that by "someone" Artemis meant "Black Canary". He also had a strong feeling that was a one-way ticket to benching him permanently.
Which reminded him...
"Have you talked to Nightwing?"
"Don't brush me off like that," she ordered. "And no, aren't you the one who just told me it's past eleven?"
"Uh, that's El Paso time? I've no idea where you are right now," he replied, abashed by Artemis' commanding tone.
"I'll talk to him in the morning. Next time I see him, whatever." There was a short pause where Jaime could imagine her resting her elbows on a desk as she leaned forward to talk down to him. "You need to get your shit together."
"I-I will!" He looked around worriedly. That came out louder than intended. "But I can't talk about this to just anyone!"
"Talk to Black Canary. She's literally there to help with shit like that." Her voice took on a forlorn tone.
"Are you cr-" he cut himself off before he finished that sentence and potentially sign his death sentence. "L-Look... If I talk to Canary about this, she'll want to bench me until I'm 'better' or whatever, maybe forever and I can't, okay? I can't have that, I can't even run the risk of that, you've no idea how badly I need this-"
"I know exactly how badly you want this," she interrupted him bitterly. "And trust me, no one needs this, least of all a loose canon like you, okay?!"
Jaime gulped, taken off guard by her outburst.
"Right now, your fate is in mine and Nightwing's hands, so you better watch exactly how you talk to me. Because if I think, even for one second, that you're a risk to the Team - or yourself - I'll make sure you're institutionalized." She let out a shaky breath. "This is for your own good, Jaime, trust me."
"For my own good? I-"
"I've been where you are, okay? I've been down that road. There are only two ways out of this, and only one of those doesn't lead to an early grave." There was a long, suffering silence on the other end of the line, and distantly, Jaime heard muffled breathing. "Is that how you want your family to know you're a hero? By making them come to your funerals at the Hall of Justice?"
Jaime swallowed the lump forming in his throat. "I-"
"And that's if you're lucky," she continued, ignoring him. "That's if you die in a not-so-covert mission and people see you. Otherwise, you just get your name engraved on a stone monument in the garden, and a hologram at the Base - or you're just assumed MIA." She paused briefly, she was on a roll now. "What if you live, but you're crippled? Imagine the strain on your family now, Imagine-"
"Okay, okay! I get it, now stop. Please, stop..." His voice was thick, and he was sure that any second now, his parents would come into his room asking him if he was all right. Why was it that whenever she talked to him, he turned to mush like this?
He heard her take a shaky breath. "Sorry," she mumbled. "I needed to make a point."
"Yeah?" He snorted as he wiped his eyes. "Well, you made it..."
"Listen," she said, her voice was much softer now as if she wasn't talking to Jaime but to a friend. "I know I'm not the best for this... touchy-feely bullshit-"
"Yeah, you're more of a 'gallows humour' kind of person," he replied, trying to make a joke.
"Amen. But... I guess you can talk to me about this since I do know how you're feeling."
Jaime didn't know what to say. He meant to reply with a sincere "thank you," but the words got lost on the way to his mouth. What he instead said was: "And my fate rests in your hands already."
She chuckled, but it was more tired than humorous. "Well, there is that, if anything."
"Uh, can I ask you something?"
"What?" Immediately, her voice returned to her usually terse tone.
He wisely decided to not ask why she was doing this. and instead said: "When do you want to... meet up, I-I guess you could say?"
"I'll text you." It was clearly meant to end the conversation, and before Jaime could say anything more, the line went dead.
Immediately, Jaime felt like he'd gone bungee jumping. He noticed how tense he had been throughout the entire phone call, and unclenched his left hand. His fingers were sore from how hard he had closed his fist, and his palm stung with the cuts from his fingernails. His hands shook as he tried to open them, and his breathing was shaky - his talk had made him nervous enough for his brain to shoot off adrenaline into his system.
Ever so slowly, he calmed himself down as much as he could manage. As long as he appeared calm - and silent - on the outside, and didn't alert his family, everything would be okay. For tonight, at least.
Despite his efforts to remain cool, the phone call left him anxious, more so than usual. Feeling antsy, Jaime paced the length of his room, silent as a mouse lest he wake the household. It was of little help, but it was better than sitting on a chair or mattress to stew about a phone call. Now he could move and stretch, at least. He idly picked at his skin, scratching lightly as it still tingled from his trial the other night. He kept pacing. Eventually, the sky outside started to lighten.
Jaime got ready to go to school as usual, nitpicking each and every item on his mental to-do list. He was resolutely nonverbal as his family wished him a good day, or when his school friends greeted him. After having seen his outburst the day before, most other people left him well alone.
It was just that, Jaime thought annoyedly, an outburst. These people think I'll snap at them at any moment now... Everyone who knew him, or knew someone who knew him, stared as he passed. He felt like everyone's eyes were on him, like in those crappy teen movies - as if rumours actually spread like wildfire and there was a group of plastics that ruled over the student body.
He felt the buzz in the back of his brain whenever he passed a group of students in the hall, and his ears rang whenever he thought someone had said something about him.
Suffice it to say, he felt paranoid.
Even more so as he waited for the other shoe to drop. Things were going too well. He'd slept multiple times this week, and had seemingly gotten Artemis to cut him some slack; there had to be something, he just knew he tripped up somewhere. He just didn't know where yet. It was going to drive him up the wall eventually, but for now, the constant, throbbing migraine and eye strain had abated to a mild buzzing in his skull.
Jaime took a deep breath, preparing himself for an annoying day, and headed to his first class of the day. As soon as he sat down in the back, he zoned out. Time went weird again, and all he knew was that he was somehow keeping an eye on things, but could not remember what anyone was saying to or around him, least of all what was being taught in the classes.
He vaguely remembered going to the washroom and seeing someone in the mirror, but he couldn't place exactly who. They looked familiar, in a way, yet he knew he did not know them. Maybe there was a psychic at his school, he thought as he made a note to mention it to... someone. Maybe Artemis, when they would finally get to have their talk.
He hoped that's all it'd be, a talk. Just one. Then they could both wash their hands of the whole ordeal and he could go back to kicking butt.
"So I told him that your grandpa died and that's why you flipped out on the guy, and - hey, you listening to me?" A voice and a wave of a hand in front of his eyes snapped him out of his reverie.
"Yeah, I'm fine," he replied automatically, then managed to repeat what had just been said to him. "you didn't need to cover for me like that, I appreciate it."
"'S what friends do, innit?" His friend shrugged. "Anyway, when I told him that he went all cool like 'Oh, okay, I guess that explains it' like, what are you, a cop? Who cares if you think it explains it, ain't none of your business anyhow!"
Their conversation continued, Jaime making a pointed effort to not space out this time, and to participate a little more, even if he didn't need to do much talking. He just had to keep the ball rolling. He eventually managed to piece together most of what happened that day - especially the projects and homework that were given, as well as a little bit of gossip he hadn't cared for, but it made for something to talk about with his friends back at the Watchtower this weekend. His steps slowed a bit at the thought, luckily the two were at a crosswalk so it didn't seem odd.
How would people react to him there, after what he'd done on the last mission? He had no illusions of being welcomed back in an overly friendly manner; something more cautious or worried would be what he would come back to. For the most part, he thought; Bart's always happy to see me, he thought to himself, and he briefly smiled to himself. The small spark of joy was quickly replaced with irk, though, as he realized how easily The Reach had tricked Bart - and how quickly he had forgiven Jaime. He'd given Jaime grey hairs before he even managed to give himself some. Hell, even the greying on his father's temples was more dignified than stress-related; and yet one hyperactive teen caused Jaime undue stress. How odd.
Waving goodbye to his friend, Jaime wondered if there were to be any missions this weekend - not that worldly events waited for school to be out, but the Team had been able to mostly avoid sending members during school nights - or if they were simply going to patrol or gather intel. He actually wouldn't mind something less high-octane than the previous outings, he realized as he walked down the street to his house. No one was behind him or hiding around a corner - the only other person out and about was Jaden Savannah - the man had changed his name about three times in his life if Jaime recalled correctly the man's anecdotes. He was mowing his lawn on a fancy, shiny, and extremely loud sit-down lawnmower. For someone so obsessed with sounding and looking cool, the man's hobbies could not be any more dad-ish and dorky. Not even Jaime's father obsessed over their lawn like that.
If only everything could be this simple and calm. Being a superhero might be fun then; without lowlife crooks or even international supervillains, but just patrol and help.
Someone came up from behind him. Feeling the pressure on the back of his brain, Jaime knew there would be an impact; but the person was not a danger, the scarab warned him. Turning around, Jaime saw Milagro trying to sneak up to him, no doubt to pounce on him like she announced she would the last time they talked. There was a deliciously shocked and caught look on her face, like a kid being caught with their hand in the cookie jar with photo evidence to boot.
"How'd you do that?" she demanded, balling up her little fists. "I was extra quiet and sneaky, you couldn't have heard me!"
Jaime smiled at her in the same way their mom smiled at him when he was little and tried to sneak around. "Mom taught me well, I can sense you, wherever you are," he told her, waving his fingers mystically. "So don't bother trying to sneak up on me, now come on, I bet mom is getting tired of waiting for us."
They walked the rest of the way quickly enough, with Milagro supplying a commentary of her day to her brother until they got home. Then she relayed all of the info she had just dumped on Jaime to their mom.
Oh, and mijo? You're grounded, his mother had told him, as she took Milagro's backpack.
He had expected it. Was surprised, actually, when it hadn't come up in their last conversation. But now it was Friday night and he had nowhere to go. Nothing to do, except homework and play guitar. Two days, three nights, and an evening. That's how long he'd be cooped up in his room, folding and unfolding his clothes. Cleaning and nitpicking his room. Doing chores. Checking and checking and checking for bugs or traps or intruders or, or, or...
Or talk. Jaime took out his phone and got to texting. He needed to update the team. Nightwing for a first text, very succinct and to the point:
JAIME: Grounded for punching a guy at school.
NW: Lol
NW: Kk
And that was that. Jaime was not gonna go on a mission this weekend.
Or the weekend after. His punishment would not be over so soon. Assaulting another student was pretty serious - doubly so for Jaime, who should be held to a higher standard - but even his victim didn't seem to care anymore! When he saw Jaime walk into the hall, he waved and threw a little punch in the air. As if they were sharing some inside joke.
What a joke, he thought, as he waved back. Meatheads only respecting muscle really annoyed him. In the past it would've been because he couldn't do anything about it; now it was because like that wouldn't respect him even though he could level a city.
His thoughts were soon replaced with the incessant buzzing that had been steadily growing to a harsh static throughout the week. He hated being cooped up, and it was as if the scarab did too; Jaime could feel the thing buzzing with excitement whenever he thought about sneaking out. Jaime never would've pegged the scarab for a rule breaker. Though after having broken free from the Reach, Jaime could not blame the bug for wanting some freedom flying around. He was feeling rather cooped up, too. He needed to do something; to avoid getting rusty. Patrolling, at least, would let him stretch his wings. Or he could try out the suits' sensors again. How would Artemis know? Maybe...
Maybe he'd sneak out tonight.