Jaime wasn't sleeping.

His back was placed against his bedroom wall - his nightly routine - within sight of both his door and window.

And yet he still felt that buzz in the back of his head.

The window was locked and the door was closed. He was safe. But he didn't dare sleep. He knew what would happened if he did - and he couldn't deal with it.

Still, he felt the pull. Both his body and the scarab were trying to make him rest. But Jaime knew better. The nightmares could go fuck themselves for all he cared; he was so weary of seeing them whenever he closed his eyes, yet he never got accustomed to them. It was always his fault. Wally died because of him, and it felt like there was always going to be another invasion and the next time, he wasn't going to be so lucky.

This knowledge was something he felt right down to the very marrow of his bones. And though he felt as if the world was setting out to make him miserable, he was accepting of it, because he deserved to be punished.

He looked forlornly at the bottle of sleeping pills on his desk. He didn't like what they did to him. They didn't stop the nightmares and instead of being able to wake up from them when the horror became too much, he was trapped within the hell of his own mind's making.

But morning would be coming soon. The light filtering through his window was turning white, replacing the dark indigo of the night. His assumption was proven right as his sister knocked on the door, calling to him to, "Quit being lazy and wake up, big brother!"

"Sí, sí, I'm awake already!" he replied, standing up. His tired joints cracked; whether it was in protest or relief from his crouch he was too tired to tell. And so, his day began:

7:05 am he made his way downstairs fully dressed in the same exact clothes he wore each and every single day - denim pants, black tee and grey hoodie - ready for school.

7:15 am he was out the door, having quickly eaten some oatmeal and not flinching or nearly losing his mind when one of his family members walked behind him, or were so noisy he couldn't hear over the din to determine if there were any sounds that were out of place.

7:45 am he arrived at school early. He surveyed the area outside the school before sweeping the interior and eventually making his way to his locker.

8:30 am he was sitting in class in the back corner where he could look out the window as well as keep an eye on the door located at the front of the room.

11:45 am he ate lunch outside – it was Friday which meant a ham sandwich - his back pressed up against the northern brick side of the brick school, where the least number of students hung out.

3:05 pm the bell rang releasing him from the torture of the day that he forced himself to endure day in and day out because he was still trying to find some normality; and failing miserably at it.

He wanted to stop by the local music store for an hour to browse, help clean and play some guitar.

But it wasn't on his schedule. He had to abide by the schedule, it was what kept him safe and sane.

He made his way home, because it was the only place he felt safe, and even then, that security was a tenuous thing.

A large block in his schedule was described as "Prep time." He could start on his homework, his room so he could take out his clothes and things for tomorrow, or get a head start on his patrol. Saturdays and Sundays were reserved for hero business.

Indeed, he was prepping. Currently he was alone in the kitchen, by himself because as supper wasn't due for another hour or two, Jaime was making his lunches for the week. In five neat piles were his Monday through Friday meals. He had: tuna sandwich, alfalfa sprouts and cheese sandwich, chicken salad sandwich, peanut butter and jelly sandwich, and ham sandwich. With each sandwich was this; a Cortland apple, one cheese string, a wildeberries granola bar, and his reusable bottle that he filled with water.

With his food neatly portioned and packaged - and labelled for the sake of being thorough - Jaime put it all away in the fridge; the food for Monday at the front through to Friday in the back. He sighed contentedly as he closed the fridge, wondering about whether he'd start on his homework or cleaning his room.

He decided to start on his homework making his way to his room to lose himself in the theoretical world of mathematics and English reading. On his neat desk, he divided his homework into three piles: urgent, not urgent and done. Needless-to-say, his schedule permitted him to have the third pile be much larger than the other two.

He picked up the first paper on the urgent pile - the first of three - and read through it again. A History paper; about the Salem Witch Hunts which was one of the more interesting subjects available. Wordlessly, he began to do some research and to write a draft about sexism and lost medical knowledge.

Going down for supper, he ate mostly in silence, not-listening to his sister and parents talk about their day. "The usual," he told them when they asked him about his. Going back up to his room, he finished editing his paper and then he picked up his biology homework. When he finished that, he went back and wrote the final version of his paper. That left his music class homework, which wasn't really homework. He had to write a full partition sheet, copying a song to get used to reading sheet music.

He was pulled from his trance much later, as he was putting a final piece of his clothing away, when his phone buzzed against his desk - he jumped away from it, eyes wide and heart hammering against his chest before he realized it was just a text message. Stifling the urge to curse, he picked up the offensive object and glanced at the message.

|Bart: Still up 4 movie nite?

He had forgotten about that. How could he have forgotten? He put everything in his schedule. It was filled with blocks of times with things to do like a tangram is filled with shapes. With a stark realization, he noticed he hadn't put it on his schedule – probably because he never intended to go - but he had finished all his prepping so… With a sigh, he glanced at his digital clock; the green digits read nine thirty.

|Jaime: Eta 20min.

He told his father, who was watching television, that he'd been invited to a movie night at a friend's place. As soon as he was out of sight, he donned the Blue Beetle armor, and flew at a leisurely pace to the nearest Zeta Beam.

He was acutely aware of the bombardment of messages he was getting, judging by his phone vibrating at any rate. Bart must've been reminding him it wasn't until ten thirty or eleven; and possibly to grab chicken wheezies.

Bart was sitting on the couch, watching television and- wait... Was he bleeding? He was. The back of his skull was matted with blood that not only pooled in the crevices, but was pouring freely down his neck. Head wounds were always bleeders he'd been-

But why was he bleeding..?

That's right, the key for the War World. Jaime looked down at his hand to find the key - he'd bashed in The Impulse's skull and now he would take down The Team and-

Jaime gasped and wheezed; a much-needed breath filled his lungs until his chest felt like it'd pop. His hand was empty, Bart's skull wasn't oozing brains and he was in control of himself. Right?

How had he gotten here? Jaime remembered seeing someone walk in this direction but he hadn't been. He'd been... He'd been... Where had he been going?

"Blue, you okay?" Someone was talking to Blue, but they were looking at Jaime and it made him feel like he wasn't sure if he had closed the fridge doors or not and-

"Yeah... Yeah, yeah, I'm fine," he found himself saying. "I just... You know when you forget why you go somewhere? Yeah..." Awkward.

"Well, I'd wager-" La'gaan! It was La'gaan speaking to him, to him - to Jaime, "-it might have been for food, or for the movie night. Wouldn't you think?"

Right. He had wandered to the lounging area for the Team. All there was there was a kitchen, living room and restrooms - but if he'd come for that he'd have stopped anywhere else on the Watchtower that was closer.

"I... Guess so," Jaime said, his hand awkwardly rubbing the back of his neck. He was pretty sure that wasn't why he'd gone there, of all places, when he could be getting ready - had he done his prepping? He wasn't sure. At least he had an excuse, he'd left grapes in the freezer to munch on later.

"Hey," La'gaan whispered - he glanced over his shoulder at Bart and Artemis - both seemingly absorbed in whatever was playing on the TV. "You okay? You seem out of it." Was Artemis here before?

Jaime managed a weak smile, but only after paling for a second. "Yeah? I just..." Think. "Haven't been sleeping much, you know how it is... School right?"

"Actually, I don't really, I apprenticed for the army. But yeah, I get you." He patted Jaime on the shoulder, telling him that should he need it, La'gaan was more than happy to brew a homemade somnolent just like his grandmother used to make.

"Uh... Thanks, see you later," Jaime replied awkwardly, walking towards the fridge.

The kitchen area was empty, and although the only separation it had from the living room was a breakfast bar and cupboards, Jaime found himself insulated from the sounds coming from the television.

Thankful for the small break from everything, Jaime let himself release a long-suffering sigh as he leaned on the stone countertop. The cool granite felt nice on his hands and the grey colour was easy on his tired eyes. With another sigh, Jaime moved towards the freezer, glancing over his shoulder instinctually - the kitchen was still empty and he could see Artemis and Bart's heads poking from over their seats.

He pulled out a bowl of frozen green grapes he'd put there earlier. It was a simple snack his mother had introduced him to when he was young - and very picky about what he ate. Jaime remembered telling his mother she was being silly when she put the grapes in the freezer.

"Wait and see, míjo," she had told him. And he was glad she did, because to this day the Reyes family kept grapes in the freezer for after-school snacks or for a treat when it was hot outside.

He popped one in his mouth, chewing it lightly. The cold hurt his teeth, and the grapes felt like a mix between slush and frozen applesauce; but he like the taste and it kept the grape from shooting juice everywhere when he ate it. He trudged out of the kitchen area and into the living room – moving from tile to plush carpet.

Jaime sat next to Bart, giving him the side-eye as he munched on the grapes. He was still normal looking; and after a few moments, he turned to look around at who joined them.

Artemis suddenly looked his way; her face dark and cheeks blue as if she'd been in the bitter cold. Half-frozen tears left ugly tracks on her cheeks as her reddened eyes, opened wide, bored into him.

"It's all your fault."

"Ah!" He bolted up. Panting, his eyes darted around wildly, his head whipping from side to side almost giving him whiplash.

With a calming realization, he noticed he was in his still room. Still sitting at his desk - his neat piles of homework all messed up from his dozing off.

His breathing slowed, but remained heavy as he tried to calm down further. How long had he been asleep? He checked his phone. Eleven on the dot; an hour before midnight. Well, this was as good of a rest as he was going to get for a few days; he figured.

"Got lucky," he mumbled to himself, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. That nightmare had been tame. Jaime put his shaking hands flat onto the desk, trying to still his shaking nerves, to get a grip.

He double-checked his phone; making sure he hadn't missed anything. It seemed like he'd been sleeping for even longer than he though; Bart hadn't even messaged him at all - much less to invite him to a movie night. Good; his schedule wouldn't be upset now.

He went around to "undo" his room so he could make sure it hadn't been tampered with. Usually that encompassed going through his desk - organizing every thing into one pile in order of class subject - going through his clothes drawers to organize his outfits, make his bed and pick up anything else. But as he'd already cleaned his room today - the window was locked and after various experiment he hadn't been able to unlock it from outside; the door was closed and everything was where and how he'd left it (he remembered).

All in all, this barely took fifteen minutes - most of which was spent rooting through his clothes, since everything else was already so neat. Even if he undid his work; it could be redone in a matter of minutes.

He was as quiet as a mouse in church while doing all this, and made sure to only use his desk light so no one else saw him. When he was done and slightly less on edge he sat on his mattress, the locked window and closed door in his sight. He waited like this until Saturday morning.

"I'm going over to a friend's house; I'll-"

"- Be spending the night, we know híjo, we know," his father interrupted him with a smile. "Honestly, I'm surprised we don't just wake up to find a note and you already gone!"

Well that was just silly, Jaime thought. Absurd, even. Anyone could leave a note. What if a kidnapper did that with Milagro because they knew who Jaime was? "I'm too lazy to do that; I like to have some time to lounge," he told him instead.

For his part, Jaime's father nodded before taking a sip of his coffee with a knowing smile. "Ah, to be young and lazy."

"Instead of being old and lazy?" Milagro teased, entering the kitchen.

Jaime tensed minutely as she barrelled into her seat; moving much too quickly for his taste. Chuckling awkwardly, he stood up.

"Well, I'll be going." He leaned against the wall as he moved towards the entrance.

"Where're you going?" she asked, much too loudly; he cringed. How could she have so much energy in the morning, and why was she being so damn noisy?

"To a friend's," he replied.

"Who?"

"Connor's," he replied quickly. Did it matter? All his friends were in the same place!

"Can I-"

"No."

"Aw! Bu-"

"No."

"Come on!" she whined. "I haven't seen any of your friends in forever, they never visit!"

I don't invite them over. "Maybe next time," he told her, patting her head quickly and exiting. "Later!"

"Have fun at Connor's!" his father called back.

He quickly made his way to a park - deserted at this time of day as most people were still asleep - and after a cursory look around to make sure there was no one around; he put on his armour.

He was headed for the Zeta Beams. Technically he could fly directly to the Watchtower, but he had literally no desire to fly through space. At all. He shuddered just thinking about it. Vast emptiness...

He flew quickly but not hurriedly to his destination. No use in attracting unwanted attention by flying around leisurely, but at the same time, he figured an object moving too quickly would garner unwanted looks.

As usual, the Zeta Beams in El Paso were deserted because, well, he was the only one who used them. It was sort of flattering, he would sometimes tell himself, to have Zeta Beams directed to his city; even if the actual reason was that this location was strategic for teleporters. Right between Mexico and the South-East coast, made deployment easier.

He stepped in and felt his atoms separate, scrambling back together what felt like a second later, in another place.

"B-Twenty-Two: Blue Beetle," announced the digitized voice, as he walked through the room.

Jaime tensed for a moment, looking around the empty room, almost looking for the source of the voice. "Honey, I'm home," he mumbled tersely to himself, shedding his armor.

With any luck he would be assigned patrolling, Jaime had grown to resent monitor duty more than the others and being benched with having, quite literally, nothing to do wasn't his idea of a good time. But Nightwing and Aqualad would be deciding how his weekend would go. Somewhat. Impromptu catastrophes had a way of swaying their decisions.

The halls in front and behind him weren't as full as one would expect, despite the number of leaguers and team-members. Most of them were probably already on Earth, being communicated their mission over their comms or just living their lives.

He pointedly avoided looking out the window as he walked - looking to his right, or even over his shoulder. The void was not something he was keen on seeing again anytime soon. Or ever. However, soon he made it to the section of the Watchtower where his team got its briefings and living quarters. In his opinion, it wasn't as homey as Mt. Justice, but it's not like he actually cared to compare anyways.

The doors to the Team's area opened with a hiss and allowed him through. Usually the lights would turn on if he was the first to arrive - which happened more-often-than-not. The Team still attempted to maintain - in some form - its status as a stealth ops team, and due to their limited numbers, investigating everything every time of day was simply not possible.

The lights were already on. Someone was already there, obviously. A quick scan after a moment or two of pure annoyance at not knowing who or what revealed it was-

"You're early!" Nightwing observed. "Even for you," he said, looking at the clock.

"Force of habit. Still getting used to Zeta Beams travelling time," he replied. It wasn't a total lie; but it wasn't like he'd say 'I couldn't stay at home for another instant.'

Moving to lean against the wall, the entire entrance hall in his field of vision, Jaime spoke again. "Guessing I'm patrolling with Gamma squad again?"

"No. No patrolling, at least not for another couple of hours. I'll explain later," he added after Jaime's questioning look.

That buzzing in the back of his mind had returned; he hated not knowing. Despite, despite the buzzing worsening at the thought, he knew he couldn't extract anything that Nightwing didn't want to divulge.

"So, I just wait?"

"That, or we can spar?" It was said with a shrug; they both knew it wouldn't be a real workout for Nightwing.

"I mean, is it going to end like last time?"

"Maybe. Probably. Uh, yeah... yeah, definitely; totally, yeah."

"I already got a headache, but uh, sure I guess."

Nightwing moved into a fighting stance. Jaime did the same, albeit visibly less comfortably, and Nightwing moved in to attack.

Retract. Retract!

The armor was acting up - not fully realizing its host wasn't in any real danger, and Jaime was struggling with keeping it down. He felt like he had when he first got it; uncoordinated, afraid and aggravated.

"Damn it," he growled under his breath, just barely managing to jerk clumsily away from another hit.

It was like all his training had evaporated within seconds of the round beginning. He fought with his armour every step of the way and his divided attention caused him to dodge and move way too much, relying on his peripheral. It was draining and Jaime soon found himself already panting and his forehead glistening with sweat. He used to be better than this, what would the coach say about the school's soccer team's designated striker? Well, ex-striker, but still.

"Okay, rest time," Nightwing announced as Jaime found himself flat on his back again. "Maybe you should take a nap before the others all get here; you look real tired."

"Ugh, I'm fine, it's not like I've never pulled an all-nighter," he replied. Besides, out there he wouldn't be fighting the armor. "But now I need a hot shower; I'm already sore."

Chuckling, Nightwing left him to his devices. With a grunt, Jaime got up, muttering about his rotten luck as he left the mat. As he was reaching the door he extended his hand to catch the light switch when he stopped. There, in the absolute corner of his eye was Tigress - Artemis, the girlfriend of Wally (who he let stop existing).

"I hadn't noticed you were here," he blurted out - stupid! - having caught his breath somewhat.

She turned from her exercise - probably keeping her balance while she swung her sword - to look at him face to face. He knew she'd been looking at him from the floor-ceiling mirror.

"Yeah."

Her reply was blunt; curt. Fuck, he knew she'd be mad. Be cool... "Did you just get here or..? I didn't hear the door." But how had he not heard or seen her? Her costume clashed nearly as much as La'gaan in the desert and he'd thought he'd been keeping an eye out...

"Got here while you were sparring," she told him curtly, lowering into a crouch and staying there. "You're sluggish."

"Yeah I-"

"Watch your back on the field."

He left soon after that. Knowing (hoping) she wasn't making a threat, however thinly veiled it would be, he hurried to the shower. As per usual he checked all around to make sure he was alone before stripping and showering.

It was nice; showers were one of his few pleasures right now - and one of the reasons he semi-enjoyed coming here. No limit on hot water. One would expect for Jaime to shower shortly and quickly in an almost military manner but no, he took his time; enjoyed the feeling of every drop of water hitting his skin here and there, and there, and there. He appreciated cleansing his skin and washing his hair - even if only to rinse.

The hot, humid air and the sound of water falling filled him and allowed him to relax for this small window of time.

After five minutes he was done, a new record for him. Usually he went only about four minutes but he had been sore.

Grabbing a towel, he quickly wiped his head and face so he could see and then dried himself off. The showers were still empty when he exited to go to the living room and wait.