A/N: Okay, not to be a suck up or anything, but, in order to make up for my extended absence (at least partially) I'm doing back to back updates.

Even though this chapter will be really really short… well, at least it's getting posted.

I do not own Young Justice.

"Excuse me,"

She brushed past Nightwing and made a wobbly bee line toward the door, her skin just a little paler than it had been several minutes ago. I glanced at Nightwing, just long enough for her to stumble out the door. I followed her, Nightwing and Gar right behind me.

She kneeled on the floor of the missions room, her palms planted flat on the floor, breathing hard, shallow breaths.

"Megan," Nightwing stepped forward, just to drop back to the floor alongside Gar and me.

I will never get used to being brain blasted. It's a lingering, unnatural ache

I came to, a haze clotting the rim of my vision. Nightwing and Gar tried to sit up next to me. All the door were sealed. A psychic vortex, like the one she had around her the other night, whirled around her, carrying debris along with it.

"What's going on with her?" Nightwing said over the roar of the wind.

Of course, both of them look to me. Assumed that I would know.

"I don't know," I said. It's true. Mostly. "She's too powerful. It's beyond her control."

"What?" Gar looked at me with wide green eyes.

"She's too strong for her own good." I said, looking up at her. "Manhunter said stress, anxiety, almost anything might set her off." She'd told me that anyway, after one of her sessions.

"He keeps telling me to be careful… anything could put me at risk." She had said when I walked her to her room after one of her sessions.

"At risk for what?"

She had just looked up at me.

"Fine," I had said. She was entitled to her secrets, and if it was that bad, maybe it would be better if I didn't know. "Then be careful."

This was what she had been talking about. Loss of conscious control.

"He knows what's going on with her?" Nightwing said, reining me back to the present. Noise rattled violently from the vortex until we were yelling back and forth.

I nodded.

"And you do to?"

I nodded, more reluctantly. It was only partially true. "Get Manhunter."

"No time," he said. "All the doors are shut and if that thing gets any bigger, the pressure will bring the whole room down." His eyes locked with mine. "Do you think you can get her down?"

I took a breath in, then nodded. She was pretty high up, but I could get to her. Probably.

One jump. I misjudged it. The twister she was generating threw me off. I grabbed her knees, pulling myself up to her level. I don't know what I thought—that I would just be able to tackle her down, get her to the ground and then… coax her back to coherence?

A vacant stare. The glow of her eyes. she wasn't there at all. Her hair lifted from her face, just from the raw power radiating from her. Holding on to her was a strain, even for me.

"Megan," I said.

The wind pounded in my ears. She didn't respond. I looked to the ground. I wasn't good for this—maybe I could have been months ago (maybe). But not now. I looked back at her though, and even though she was the one holding me up, she was the one who needed saving.

And I always had a weak spot for saving her.

"Megan," my hand cupped over her jaw. I couldn't get her back to the ground. It wasn't an option—not while she was like this. "I know you're in there, I know you can hear me."

No response.

"Come on Megan, come on," I said, the spin getting stronger around us. Every second the pressure grew stronger, bigger. Please Megan. Please. I tipped my forehead to hers. Come back to me.

Her eyes jolted open. Wide, amber, and startled. They connected to mine. For the half second before hers closed and we started falling.

I reached for her, less than gracefully heaving her over my shoulder before we hit the ground.

Gar raced to where we landed. I rolled her from my shoulder, to my arms, setting her gently on the floor. Reflexively, I brushed her hair from her face. Her heart banged in her chest, almost twice as fast as it would normally. Sweat beaded along her temples. Her breathing was shallow. The debris had landed around us with an epic boom.

"Is she—"

"No," I said, resting my hand on hers. "She'll be alright," physically, anyway. "She'll be alright." I repeated, because I needed to hear it.

A/N: Yep. So I went with the cliché telepath-mental-breakdown scene. Don't judge me. It was grander in my head, okay?

Review, please. It will make me happy.