Sleep, he told himself. At least a little bit, just thirty minutes - no wait, even fifteen minutes. He'd been up all night, and while it wasn't an issue for him personally, he wanted to be sharp for tomorrow. He needed to convince Nightwing to put him back in action. It had been weeks since he'd been benched - despite his and Artemis' best efforts - and Jaime wanted back in.
He could feel himself rusting. Pretty soon he wouldn't even be able to move, becoming a ruddy beetle statue.
He suppressed a shiver at the thought.
After a beat, Jaime stood up and got dressed. The moon was still high in the sky, and his joints itched with the need to be used; to move like his instincts were screaming at him to. It'd been like this all week. Even though he wasn't grounded anymore, he found himself filling every second of his free time with some form of movement, usually cleaning or helping around the house. Nightwing had all but forbidden Blue Beetle from making appearances, but Jaime had always been a physical person. Something had to be moving, or his mind would spiral.
He threw on a hoodie, rolling his shoulders to shake off the tension. The itch under his skin wasn't just about moving—it was about fighting, training, doing something to remind himself that he was still useful.
His phone buzzed. Jaime's stomach lurched before he even checked the screen.
Artemis.
Artemis: you up?
Artemis: dont answer that, I know you are
Artemis: briefing at 8. Be there
Artemis: welcome back
Jaime exhaled sharply. He should have felt relieved.
Instead, his stomach twisted.
BB: Yeah. I'll be there.
He shoved his phone in his pocket and turned to leave his room. If sleep wouldn't find him, then the least he could do was to burn the midnight oil; maybe he'd go for a walk and be back right before his dad woke up. Or maybe a run. He had until he reached the front door to decide.
Tomorrow, he was back in the field.
No excuses this time. And yet, something gnawed at him. Like he'd already failed before he'd even started.
He returned around sunrise, his hoodie sticking to his sweaty frame. Having settled on running, Jaime had gone out in the late hours of the night, and hadn't stopped until his internal clock told him his father would be waking soon. It took longer than planned to get back, and he peeked out from the kitchen when he heard the door.
"Mijo?" he called out.
"Si, Papa?" Jaime cursed under his breath. The last thing he wanted was his father asking where he'd been - what was he going to respond, 'Oh I was running since 2 AM because I have to fight supervillains today'?
His father stepped into the living room, sipping his morning cup of coffee. "Did you bring in the paper?"
Jaime blinked. "Oh, uh, no sorry I didn't think you'd be up yet."
His father motioned at the door with a smile and Jaime fetched the paper for his father. "Gracias," he said, taking it. Before Jaime could make his exit and go shower, he asked, "So how was your date?"
Jaime froze. "My date?" he asked confused.
"I assume that's why you snuck out; and coming in early all sweaty?"
"Wh-What!?" He squeaked, his voice raising to an octave he didn't think was even possible as a blush suffused his cheeks and worked its way down his neck; images of what his father was implying flashing through his head. A par tof him found he wanted the reality, while the other part of him wondered in what way Artemis would kill him for thinking about her in that way.
"N-No... I went for a run, had to clear my head."
His father looked at Jaime - his son, who'd always been so full of joy. His father's smile didn't falter, but something in his eyes shifted. Like, for the first time, he really saw Jaime. "Mijo, come sit with me."
Jaime exhaled through his nose, glancing toward the stairs. His bed was calling him. A shower. A second attempt at sleep. Anything but this. "Pa. I rea-"
"When's the last time we were able to have a chat, me and you?" His father turned slightly, cradling his coffee cup, his voice easy—too easy. Like he wasn't just asking about a conversation, but something bigger. "Humor your old man, Jaime."
Sighing in defeat, Jaime followed his dad to the kitchen and took a seat at the table.
"You didn't answer my question," his father said, putting the paper aside, which was not a good sign. Jaime had hoped for a casual conversation he could extricate himself from at the first opportunity.
"What question?"
"Your date, last week, how'd it go?"
"I'm sure Ma told you all about it," he groaned.
Nodding with that same easy smile, his father replied, "That she did, but I want to hear from you, mijo. Where did you take her?"
Jaime mumbled something under his breath. "I just took her around town, it wasn't supposed to be a date. At least not when we planned it. The music shop, Scenic Drive, Fern's taqueria, and the old market."
His father chuckled. "Just like I told you all these years ago, hm?"
Jaime cracked a smile at the memory. When he'd started high school and was part of the soccer team, his father had taken him aside one afternoon to 'talk shop' with him. He'd expected The Talk, but what his dad really spoke on was the importance of being honest and earnest with his feelings. His mom would handle the birds and the bees. Jaime's father, a hopeless romantic, impressed on Jaime to share a piece of himself when taking someone out. 'The prettiest spot in town is wherever your heart sings with them,' he had said.
"Yeah," he sighed. "Always knew we had some secret Reyes wisdom hidden away somewhere."
"Indeed," his father agreed, taking a sip of his cup. "And this girl-"
"Artemis."
"Artemis, she... makes your heart sing, mijo?" His father's eyes bore into his own, the unspoken 'are you happy?' hanging in the air between them.
Jaime huffed. "I-I... I'm not sure," he said. "But it's worse when she's not there."
His father set his cup down slowly. He didn't press. Didn't tell Jaime what that meant or what to do about it. But his eyes softened just a little, like he'd just figured something out before Jaime had. "That's something, mijo."
Jaime swallowed. He wasn't sure what to say to that.
His father leaned back, running a hand over his chin. "You know… When things were rough for me, I used to think I had to handle it alone." He exhaled sharply, shaking his head with a small chuckle. "Your tío Rafael used to get so mad at me. Said I was too proud for my own good."
"Yeah?" Jaime asked, he couldn't see it.
"Of course! I used to tell myself that if I could just work a little harder, carry a little more weight, everything would be fine. But that's not how it works." He tapped the side of his cup. "You carry too much alone, and sooner or later, you break."
Jaime tensed, fingers curling into fists under the table, nails biting into his palms. He forced himself to shrug. "I mean, some people handle things better on their own."
His father gave him a look. "Some people tell themselves that because they're afraid to need someone."
Jaime's throat tightened. His father was too close to something—too close to cracking something open in him that he didn't want to face.
He forced a smile, pushing back his chair. "I should go shower before Ma wakes up and gives me an earful."
His father didn't stop him, just nodded, watching him carefully. "You always bear the world's problems on your shoulders, Jaime," he called to his son. "Just know there are people who would bear those with you if you'd let them."
The watchtower was just as quiet as every other day, but Jaime still felt electrified when he walked through the halls. He marched with a purpose; a weight still heavy on his shoulders. Today, he promised himself, he wouldn't fuck up.
As usual, the common area of the Team was mostly empty on his arrival. It was only around six in the morning, but still, it threw Jaime off how late people would wake up for mission briefings. Maybe he was just too used to having to commute.
Artemis sat at the kitchen island, cup of coffee in hand. She nodded at Jaime, and went to the cupboard to pull out an empty cup for him. "Coffee?"
Jaime nodded, though he didn't really need or want it. Their fingers brushed as she handed him the hot mug, and Jaime felt a spark jolting him awake at the touch.
It was stupid, the way that got to him. Like he hadn't spent the last few nights trying not to think about her. He sat next to her.
"Thanks," he sighed, breathing in the scent of coffee. "How're you?"
Artemis took a sip. "Good," she said, then nonchalantly added, "Better now." She scrolled on her phone, apparently ignoring the small smile that had appeared on his lips.
Jaime took a sip as well, and made a face. Black coffee, he moaned inwardly. He reached for the sugar.
The two sat in silence for the most part, as if the morning was not ready for full conversations yet. Sometimes she'd send him a post and wait for his reaction, or vice-versa, and sometimes one of them would mention something regarding their week apart.
Apart, he thought. When had either of them started counting their time apart?
"Nightwing is on his way," Jaime noted absentmindedly, noticing a heat signature coming nearer.
The door opened. A beat of silence. Nightwing stepped in, face neutral but posture tense—like he already knew something they didn't.
"Where's everybody?" Nightwing asked, after looking up from his tablet.
Artemis checked the time. "'S not eight yet," she offered.
It was 7:50.
Jaime caught the minute twitch of his fingers, as if he wanted to rake them through his hair in exasperation. But his face remained unreadable. "I suppose that explains it," he sighed, going back to his tablet.
As if Nightwing's ire had woken them, the rest of the team filtered into the common area, some more awake than others. He wasted no time in getting their attention, setting up a hologram with a building Jaime instantly recognized.
His blood ran cold, the staccato beat of his heart drowning out whatever Nightwing had started saying. He glanced down—his hands were trembling. He shoved them under the table, hoping no one had seen.
Artemis placed her hand atop his, keeping her eyes trained on their leader. He felt her gently squeeze his fingers for a few seconds, before slowly loosening.
Breathe, the gesture said.
He did; feeling his chest convulse as he struggled to inhale quietly, casually. Connor glanced at him. Jaime faked a smile as the pounding of his heart in his head receded.
"Luckily, it seems we caught wind of this tech before Slade's employer," Nightwing continued, pulling Jaime out of his reverie.
"How do you figure that?" Artemis asked, grabbing her coffee with the hand that had just pulled him back to the present.
"Because I received a call from the CEO herself-"
"V-Victoria Kord called you?" Jaime interrupted despite himself. He'd stood up in his haste. "But why? They shouldn't have any scarab-adjacent tech, they don't do military tech!"
Artemis raised a brow at him; the team looked at Jaime puzzled. He waved them off, "I checked okay? When I got the scarab, after I came back from— from…" he trailed off.
After I came back from the Reach.
"Anyway, I checked and double-checked, okay? There's nothing for Slade there," he stated the last part, like he needed it to be true.
Nightwing sighed, clearly not wanting to upset Jaime. "Be that as it may, Blue," Nightwing said gently, "Kord's taken an interest in that kind of tech. She says it's for prosthetics—maybe some urban mobility projects."
He paused, letting it sink in.
"But we all know it only takes a criminally creative mind to turn a solution into a problem."
Jaime's temples throbbed. The Scarab wasn't flagging anything, but the silence was pressing in on him anyway. "Scans aren't revealing anything," Blue Beetle advised, his eyes aglow as the scarab worked its magic. He was analyzing every nook and cranny for any trace of the compounds used in the break-ins, looking out for any heat signatures, or disturbances across the surveillance system. Something about this place made his skin crawl. "This place is too clean.'
Impulse dashed this way and that, hiding surveillance equipment following Nightwing's schematics. Before Jaime could even compute that he had stopped, Impulse reported back. "Surveillance equipment is in place! Let's blow this joint. I'm hoping we can get back while the cafeteria still serves waffles for once!"
Too perfect. Too staged, Jaime thought.
"Don't jinx it," Tigress muttered, shooting a look towards Blue Beetle in askance.
A beat. Then, "Still nothing," he said.
Then the first explosion hit. Nothing indeed.
"Pull back! I repeat, pull back!" Nightwing's voice called out over the comms. They were in a bad spot; caught flatfooted during a recon mission and now it had turned into a full blown warzone. It was supposed to be easy, simple - hell, maybe even safe by the Team's standards: infiltrate Kord Industries, plant some surveillance equipment, ensure that their tech was secure, and get out. Somewhere along the way, though, they ran into some complications; namely Slade and this subordinates swarming in through the side entrances.
"They have what we came for, do not let them escape!" Slade shouted at his associates, then into his own communicator, "suppressive fire on entry points - use your callsigns or get shot trying to leave."
"I thought this place was supposed to be empty!?" Blue cried out as he dodged fire and returned the favor; blasting some goons out of the fight. God his head felt awful. "This is worse than bingo night at abuela's!"
Jaime's head was a swarming hive of enraged wasps - battlefield information stinging through his brain at lightspeed.
Dodge. Left. Shields up. Fire. Seven o'clock, Artemis, move—
His body obeyed before his mind caught up. Keep up. Keep up. Keep up.
A grenade bounced off the floor.
A flashbang!
"Tigress, got a—"
Too late.
She kicked it back. Boom.
I should have been faster. I should have seen it coming.
Constantly, Jaime was an automaton of fighting efficiency, melding right into his teammates' maneuvers and takedowns like he'd never been at risk of being benched.
He couldn't keep it up for much longer. Jaime was no slouch when it came to fighting, and even less when it involved a team of his closest friends with whom he had drilled extensively - but they were up against a team of equally well-trained mercenaries, if not better. Super intelligent scarab A.I. or not, Jaime was just a teenager with a couple years experience.
A group started advancing somewhere on his left.
"They're trying to divide us, Blue, sweep 'em with a blast!" Tigress ordered, launching a flashbang grenade back towards the group that threw it.
"Ten four!" he replied, materializing a wide nozzle from his hands. His armor pulsed with raw energy and a blast like a scythe blew, sweeping the unit and sending them crashing into a wall.
Man, it's a lot easier when there's someone else to tell you where to shoot. Tigress called out more orders. His hands moved before he thought. Automatic. Seamless. Easy.
Too easy.
The realization curled around his ribs like a vice, tightening. A cold chill spread up his spine.
Like he was built for this.
Like he was still waiting for someone to tell him where to shoot.
He felt sick; his stomach churned, his heart dropped into icy bile at the thought.
At least it was one of his friends giving the orders. That should've made it better.
It didn't.
Jaime stuffed it down, like every time, and kept putting down more mercenaries; though they kept getting back up. Fight harder, he chastised himself, knowing full well he was too afraid to hit too hard again. But it wasn't just that; some of them were getting back up too quick - the ones he shot at with his cannon specifically, he noticed.
He heard them talking, much like his own team did, as they fought. New armour; had it been built just for him?
The scarab intercepted a transmission on the enemy frequency, two words spoken too casually: "Clear out."
"They're about to make a break for it!" Jaime barked at his team, turning his attention from the few goons that had gotten up from his last attack. He called out on his communicator, but didn't receive a response. "Hey, did you hear me?"
Nothing, not even static.
Something felt wrong - following orders aside, it felt like a door had slammed shut behind him. Like jaws snapping closed—and he was inside them. He looked around, but his vision swam as his head's up display glitched and flicked - his very eyesight lagged.
He stumbled. The world tilted. One knee hit the ground, and pain lanced up his spine, blinding him.
Why wasn't anyone asking about him? Calling for him?
Jaime was screaming, howling in pain - or maybe it was the scarab - as white-hot electricity arched through his armour; through them. Claws dug into Jaime's brain as all his senses filled with static, a high-pitched whine tearing his nerves apart.
Finally, Jaime felt a hand on his shoulder, a muffled voice calling to him.
His world had gone black, but as the scarab receded deeper into Jaime, he regained his senses. All at once, his eyes opened and he could see, hear, and feel where he was.
Unarmoured, in the middle of a metahuman gunfight.
"Blue, what the hell are you doing?!" Artemis yelled at him, shaking his shoulder violently, but he barely took notice of her.
He was unarmoured.
She shoved him down, then tried yanking him up—anything to get him moving—but he barely registered her touch. Jaime only took note of one thing. One singularly terrifying thing: silence.
He hadn't powered down.
Someone had turned his Scarab off.
A near-miss dragged Jaime back to the present; a bullet ricocheting off a metal pipe where his head used to be, if it hadn't been for Artemis shoving him…
"MOVE YOUR ASS!" she shrieked at him, tackling him towards the rest of the team. "C'mon we don't have time for this, Blue!" She slashed at a mercenary who got too close—too fast. Her blade cut too deep, sank past armor and bone. She had to wrench it free as he screamed. Her eyes were wild, and she fought savagely like her namesake.
"Wait!" Jaime called as she began dragging him by the arm. "I can still fight, damn it!" His voice betrayed the anger and fear he felt.
Artemis barely turned back to send him a scathingly venomous look. "You're getting out of here."
Jaime wrenched his arm free of her grasp. He wasn't just ditching this mission! He wasn't injured - not physically - and he was trained for this! "No, Tigress," he replied, forcing out her code name, despite the outraged expression that flickered across her farce. "I'm still part of this, I-"
Artemis' eyes widened and she tackled him. Searing pain tore across his shoulder as a bullet grazed him. She screamed into the comms and finally - finally - someone else came; Bart, looking about ready to vibrate through the floor.
Hopefully to talk some sense into her.
"Take this idiot back to the ship, NOW!" Artemis didn't even give him time to argue, as she hefted him up like a sack of potatoes and threw him at his friend.
Bart didn't wait either; one second they were in the R department of Kord Industries, the next he was sitting in a chair inside the bioship and Bart was guarding the entrance.
Jaime blinked. One breath ago, he was in a war zone. Now, he was… useless. Parked. Removed.
Like dead weight.
"You okay?" Bart asked at length, shaking, not looking at Jaime. Like he was afraid of what he'd see if he looked.
Or he was disappointed, Jaime thought bitterly. "What the hell man!?" he yelled as he stood up, feeling his shoulder pull with pain. "Get me back out there, I-"
"Hell no!" Bart interrupted, sounding much older; too mature, too worried. "You wanna die, bro?"
"Bart. We train for this, every time we go out we could die. It's no-"
"IT IS DIFFERENT!" Bart exploded at Jaime, who snapped his mouth shut. He'd never seen his friend react like that.
Jaime finally muttered, "I had it under control."
Bart just shook his head. "No, man. You didn't! And we saw it. That's what scares me." He ran a hand through his hair, and then down his face. His fingers twitched as if the motion wasn't enough. "They hit you with something — something that I've never seen! Something I didn't know could do that to you, it literally peeled the armour right off of you; they had an opening, Jaime."
"An… An opening? For powering me down?" he asked, but he already knew the answer.
Bart levelled a grim look at him. "The only reason they didn't was because they celebrated, like it was a huge win; I thought-" his breath hitched, and he looked away. "Man, I thought you were gonna keep peeling or something; or like they'd somehow stolen the scarab right off your back."
Jaime's ears rang. The familiar buzz that was ever present, the same one that should have spiked into a migraine, was amiss as the scarab remained silent. Bart and Jaime locked eyes. He could still feel the scarab under his skin—but they both suddenly scrambled to tear his shirt off, just to be sure.
"Man don't scare me like that!" Jaime snapped at Bart after ensuring he was still whole.
"M-Me?! Bro do you have any idea how fast I aged when you fell!?" Bart snapped back, shoving Jaime, but it lacked any real strength. "You act like you can fight armed mercenaries! They took down Blue Beetle! I won't let them take down Jaime Reyes too." The last part was barely above a whisper.
Jaime looked away, eyes stinging. "D'You even hear yourself?" he blustered, voice quavering with emotion. "Nightwing, Artemis; think they have super powers?" He glared at Bart, more venously than he ought to; he saw it in the way his best friend recoiled from him. "What's so different? I spent years suffering through training with you guys teaching me everything I know. So what, now it's all worthless? I'm nothing without it, is that it?"
"Jaime, you kno-"
"No! You know what, I'm not some useless civilian or a princess that needs saving, okay!? Stop treating me like one!"
"Nightwing and Artemis have ten times the amount of training you have!" Bart replied, finally finding his voice. "And we still look out for them! Jaime, I love you, you're my brother, but without the scarab you're committing suicide against those guys!"
There it was.
The unspoken truth that had haunted Jaime all his superhero career. Jaime wasn't the hero, wasn't the one of this symbiotic relationship between the scarab and he that people relied on for help and safety. It was all the scarab.
Jaime was just collateral.
"Fuck you." He growled, and went to sit away from Impulse.
He didn't follow him.
Jaime despised how relieved he felt at that; the silence sitting louder in his ears than the gunfight had.
Though it had only been minutes, Jaime felt like he had waited for hours until the rest of the team filtered in. They didn't run, they didn't scream at someone to take the wheel and get them the hell out of there; they walked in.
Which meant they'd finished the fight, at least until Slade and his cronies had managed to escape.
Jaime sank in his seat a bit at the thought. He glanced over his shoulder, and saw Bart talking with Nightwing, motioning to him. Nightwing glanced in Jaime's direction, his face, as usual, an unreadable mask.
Jaime looked away as Artemis approached.
"I don't know what the fuck happened out there," she said, her voice was cold, clinical; as if they didn't spend most of their waking time sharing each other's lives. "But you're damn lucky Bart's too fast to deal with your self-sacrificing bullshit."
Judgmental, Jaime noted to himself sourly.
Jaime looked up at her, she was staring ahead. "You online?"
Jaime didn't reply. Finally, he tried to catch her eyes, but she waved him off.
"Don't even talk to me right me. We'll settle this later."
After a moment, as if he'd been waiting for Artemis to walk away, Nightwing approached him. He set a hand on his shoulder in an attempt to comfort him, or ground him perhaps. "Get some rest, Blue; we'll find out what they used on you."
Pulling his hand away, Nightwing turned and walked to the helm of the ship, leaving Jaime to sit in silence.
And just like that, Jaime was alone again, in a ship full of people, and he had never felt so alone.