Jaime shut his window, silently, freaking out. The windowsill clicked, the small sound seeming sharp and loud in the otherwise quiet room. The only other noise was Jaime's breathing, and the blood rushing through his veins with every thumping beat of his heart.

His fingers fumbled with the window's lock, the adrenaline not quite leaving his system. The tips of his fingers buzzed.

"Oh fuck," he whispered shakily, leaning on the window frame. His head came to rest against the window. It was cool on his flushed skin, and he felt minute beads of sweat chill and cool his skin further.

What the hell had just happened? Had it all been a dream? Jaime hoped - and yet he didn't hope at all - that what he saw had been a waking dream and that nothing, in fact, had transpired after his debrief.

Because he didn't know how to feel about it. He was outraged that Artemis or anyone would tell him that he would be benched and he was angry and disappointed; mostly at himself though. And yet...

There was a nervous palpitation in his heart, akin to when you miss the last step of a staircase, except it hadn't stopped when he centered himself.

He might be taken off the team. He might lose one of the single biggest reasons he had to live and not just survive.

Artemis might've gotten him off the team. Artemis hadn't trusted him, and now because of her (and by his own actions, he realized) Nightwing might not trust him either. Artemis, who had barely acknowledged him for so long, had now set her sights on him.

Jaime knew shew could take him down; just like that.

He became keenly aware that, although his chest was all aflutter with butterflies, he had not been breathing. The sensation soon turned to a burning pain and Jaime forced himself to take in a shuddering breath. He breathed out in a sharp exhale, anxiety gripping his system nearly as hardas he was clutching the window frame.

Not without a struggle, Jaime forced himself away from the window to go lie down, or at least sit. There were a few hours until sunrise still, and whether he wanted to or not, he needed to rest.

Yet his mind would not let him.

As he sat down at his desk, overly aware of the empty room around him, he forced himself to look at his homework and other assignments. His desk was covered in neat piles, which he reorganized as he inspected every piece of paper with his shaking hands.

Time passed, minute by minute, until he felt the pull of sleep on him. The sky outside was lightening, but the sun was not quite yet on the horizon, and the birds were asleep still.

Jaime's vision blurred whenever he blinked and keeping his head up was becoming quite difficult and painful. He guessed he still needed to practise microsleeping for it to become effective.

As he thought to move to his mattress, he turned his head and felt a pinch of pain. His neck still hurt from Artemis' grip. She hadn't squeezed nearly hard enough for a bruise to form but it still left him sore.

It made him realize that she could have choked him, and he wouldn't have tried to stop her.

He woke up to the chirping of birds and the noise of his family downstairs. His room was illuminated by the early morning sun, casting a warm light on his walls.

He panicked for a moment, jerking upwards from his bed, until he his brain caught up. Everything was okay, everything was fine. He'd simply fallen asleep.

For once he'd been lucky enough not to dream. Or to not remember his dream; not even the impression it would've left on him. Yet he still felt tired; weary.

His sleep was unrestful.

He turned around just as Milagro came barreling in his room without so much as a courtesy knock.

"WAK- Oh, you're up," she said lamely, deflating. She had been ready to surprise him. "You're no fun."

"And you're loud," he replied, poking her gently. "I can hear you coming in my sleep."

"Well, next time you won't even see it coming, bleh!" she said, making a face at him. Before he could tell her how horrible that idea sounded, she continued, "Did you sleep in your clothes? That's gross! You're gross, Jaime!"

"I'm gross, huh?" he said, right before grabbing her and wrapping his arms around her in a hug. "Well, then! That hurts my feelings, lil sis."

She struggled in his grip, giggling as he lifted her up and pushed her onto his bed. "Eeew, Jaime! Stop! You're all sweaty!"

"Am not!" he replied in mock-hurt, but he was sweaty. He'd fallen unconscious before he was able to even turn on a fan or anything. Now his clothes clung to him slightly, his hair stuck out at odd ends, and still felt damp. "Why are you even trying to wake me up? It's not even-" 0854, the scarab provided- "nine yet!"

Letting her go, she replied. "Because you're always up super early! But today I woke up before you so I wanted to surprise you."

"Sorry, but you'll have to get up pretty early to surprise me," he told her, pushing himself up with a grunt. "Now shoo, I need a shower."

"Yeah, you do!" Milagro replied, pinching her nose and making a face. She dashed back down the stairs, giggling all the while.

He took the opportunity to give himself a look over in the bathroom mirror, as the shower warmed up. The bags under his eyes had bags; dark rings that made his eyes pop. He only now noticed he lost most, if not all, of the remaining baby-fat he used to have in his cheeks, which led his eyes to the scruff he had started to grow.

Not that his facial hair was very noticeable; barely more than peach fuzz, but like his hair it was black against his skin. The only happy thought he allowed himself was that, at least, his "beard" wasn't patchy.

At least, that's what he told himself.

As he inspected his face, he acknowledged that he really looked like shit. He also needed a haircut, if his hair could stand up like that, it was way too long.

Once under the water, he allowed himself to somewhat relax as the hot drops hit his skin. He stayed there, unmoving, as he let the water warm up his skin and muscles, the tension slowly but not totally ebbing away.

As he stood there, the water sluicing down his body, he contemplated everything that had happened.

His fingers drifted to his neck, touching and prodding it gently. As he expected, he felt no pain as Artemis hadn't wanted to hurt him. At least, not like that.

Her words were what had hurt him. His heart ached, feeling pinched and cold, as he thought of her words.

As if they were was a great burden upon his person, Jaime found himself bowing forward. His head came to rest on the shower wall, the stream of water running down his back.

He didn't want to be suspended from the team.

He didn't want to be useless.

He didn't want all the open time that would leave him with.

He didn't want to go stir-crazy, without anything to occupy his time.

He didn't want to disappoint Artemis.

For it seemed that she and Nightwing held the power to make or break him at the moment, and Artemis had talked to Nightwing. It was possible that Nightwing had not made a final judgement and if he could sway Artemis in his favour, he may be able to convince her to push for leniency from Nightwing.

But that would have to wait until after his shower and familial breakfast.

The day passed, and somehow, it managed to move both too slow and too quickly. It was like every second was a minute and every minute was an hour, yet he kept dreading the evening to come; looking at the clock, willing it to stop.

The more time passed, the more time Nightwing had to think on Artemis' suggestion, with Jaime unable to plead for himself or prove that Artemis was wrong about him.

Jaime needed every second to count in his favor and to find a solution to his problem.

He decided that he wouldn't go out tonight - couldn't go out tonight - he was too distracted, he could already tell. How many times today had he zoned out and lost vigilance of the world around him, only to wake with a start, the sensation of butterflies in his stomach like he was falling?

No, as much as Jaime hated it, he would only be a liability if he tried saving people tonight. After what happened last night, Jaime knew he wasn't able to go out; mentally, it made sense. He hadn't been ready, was taken by surprise, and now he was shaken. So, he should not go back into the field tonight. Emotionally though, Jaime felt a tremor run through him, shaking him even further; like his body was protesting. Thsi was a distint possibility as he started feeling physically ill at the thought of breaking not only his routine, but also essentially forcing himself to sit out of saving people; and then on top of that. Jaime could barely support the thought of straying from his schedule.

His precious schedule; made from trial and error through weeks and weeks of what seemed to him to be a torturous limbo of uncertainty and pitfalls filled with nightmares and bruises and scrapes. It had taken so long to make, and perfect, this schedule which was precise right down to the minute. His mind, hell, his body was used to the routine; and now he was throwing all that in the trash?

Only for tonight, he told himself, this is only for tonight. Tomorrow, everything was going back to normal and he could safely follow his schedule like usual. It's not like one night is gonna ruin everything, a part of him said, kinda like missing one workout doesn't make you fat.

But if he broke his schedule now, for whatever reason, he knew this exception could become more frequent. It all started with just this once, he knew too well; he'd dealt with enough junkies to know how one time could spiral into a self-destructive habit. He was already so messed up, was he willing to jeopardize the progress he made?

Jaime stared blankly ahead. He hadn't moved from his spot at his desk, where he had sat down just to have some space from Milagro and his parents. Blinking a few times, he realized what time it was.

Nearly supper time, he learned. He'd been sitting at his desk for no less than three hours. What did he achieve in all that time? Nothing. He hadn't come to a decision and his inner debate was making him itch like bugs were crawling all over his arms. He felt gross, despite having taken a shower earlier.

He took a deep breath, trying to force his body to calm the hell down. There wasn't any danger around at the moment, and despite his issue, he knew he oughtn't be so wound up; he should be better than this. But no matter how many times he told himself that, repeated or mumbled a mantra of 'you're gonna be okay' over, and over, and over again, Jaime couldn't force himself to actually quell the mounting anxiety as he couldn't figure out what to do.

"Mijo, supper is ready!" he heard his mother call.

His chair scraped against the floor as he pushed himself back despondently - he wasn't hungry - and quite frankly, he'd rather think on how to fix his problem than spend quality time with his family.

However, the quality of the time he spent with his family tonight was less than satisfactory. He'd sat at the table, sullen and silent, with a near-empty plate. His mother had scolded him that he wasn't eating enough, that he was becoming all skin and bones - and sure, maybe he was getting lean, but he still had some muscle definition in his opinion - so he stood up and tried to shovel more food onto his plate without seeming passive-aggressive.

He was acutely aware of the looks he got throughout the meal, and the tension that hung in the air. He ate his food, making sure not to go too quickly or too slowly, for fear of looking suspicious. Eventually, the tension lessened, and his family started talking again. He replied when he was spoken to, but kept his answers to monosyllables, his mind preoccupied with weightier subjects.

Before dessert was offered, Jaime excused himself and went to the kitchen to clean the dishes by himself. When these were all done and put away, he made his way to his room, pausing as he passed the table, explaining to his parents that he was simply worried about exams at school and that was why he was so quiet.

They bought it, of course. None of his friends or family ever suspected that anything was wrong with him.

Jaime finally decided, at around 2130, to go out, but only to patrol and test out the armor. He would keep the police scanner on, of course, but instructed the armor to only notify him of emergencies, a.k.a. life-or-death, or multiple people in danger.

Waiting for his family to fall asleep, Jaime expertly snuck out his window. He armored up and flew away before his feet touched the grass outside.

Usually he'd be in the middle of downtown within a minute, eager to start some late night super heroing, but tonight he was taking it slow. On the flight over, Jaime used the additional time to think - or rather, that's what he was trying to do, but he was too busy scanning his surroundings and interpreting the data. He had an uncontrollable need to know what was going on around him and refused to be placed in a vulnerable position again.

This was why he planned on testing the capabilities of the armor's scanners and sensors. He would be out here all night if he needed to be - it wasn't like he was going to sleep tonight anyway.

After passing out this morning, Jaime only knew too well that if he were to sleep, he would be plagued by nightmares; unless he micro-slept again.

Thoughts for later, he told himself and ignored the subsequent headache that always accompanied his decisions to deny his physiological needs.

Let's get down to business, he told himself and the scarab.

Landing nimbly onto a rooftop somewhere in the downtown - some building that wasn't the tallest or shortest there was - Jaime got ready to explore just how far he could push his perception of the world around him.

That decision proved to be an extremely painful one. Although linked to Jaime's central nervous system, the scarab had no control over Jaime's free will or his senses. At most, the scarab had access to the "data", but nothing more. Only when in the armor could the scarab provide Jaime with heat signatures, x-ray vision, and enhanced hearing. All things Jaime was, as far as he knew, already making full use of.

But he learned that he and the scarab could meld together even more closely. Like when he let the scarab take over, but more painful and overwhelming as now two brains had access to, and use of, his central nervous system. It wasn't like his brain was on fire or anything, though by the end of his exercises, Jaime was plagued with a serious migraine.

However, the real pain was located elsewhere; and everywhere. Basically, any organ Jaime used to perceive the world around him felt like they were running hot and like his nerves were raw electrical wires barely working.

For a moment, hooking up the scarab's "upgrades" to his senses had been painless, and even though it had felt extremely weird, it was awesome. He had perceived a 360-degree panoramic view without swiveling his head! True, it had given him vertigo, since his brain hadn't caught up to his "eyes" yet and his ears didn't know what to do, but if this was the tip of the iceberg...

It would be impossible for someone to sneak up on him.

Using the same "ocular nerve" technology, Jaime could use any surface of the armor to 'see,' and the armor allowed him to use heat sensors and the like!

Except, after only a very short trial, Jaime found himself kneeling against the cool concrete of the rooftop; both from the overwhelming vertigo, and in a vain attempt to soothe his burning skin. It felt like he'd scratched a mosquito bite raw; the nerves were all on fire, and tingling painfully. Jaime curled in on himself, grinding his teeth to stop himself from rolling around in pain; it would only make him suffer more.

Jaime forced the scarab from his senses, shirking the armor until he was only in his clothes; which hurt real fucking bad. The cloth on his skin felt like it was rubbing against a burn. His skin was not the only thing in pain, however.

He could feel - he could physically feel - the nerve behind his eyeballs, like it was pulling on his eyes; causing the entire orb to be in pain and blurring his vision. Despite the tears, his eyes burned like they were dry and burned from looking directly at the sun for too long. He couldn't see for a while, and after that, his sight was greatly reduced; like taking off your glasses after a full day of wearing them.

"Gah-! Fuck, man." His voice came out in a shaky, breathless whisper; and even without the city noise or the wind, he would have been barely able to hear his own words. He hadn't even used any sound-based sensors yet; but maybe the strain from the extra "sight" had affected his ears. He didn't think he would ever get used to seeing from... Well, everywhere, at once.

Just thinking about it made him want to puke.

He didn't remember suiting up, or even making it back home. When he fell asleep in his bed, he had memories of rough asphalt against his cheek.

The sunlight coming in through his curtain-less window woke him up.

Standing up in a panic, he glanced about the room for a moment before the soreness caught up with him. His sight swam nauseatingly, and it took him a second to notice the ringing in his ears. He felt sunburnt all over and it was all he could do to lie down without hurting himself.

School was going to be entertaining.

To start off his day, he skipped breakfast and nearly forgot his lunch. Still nauseous, he wasn't hungry, and he was almost late, so his preparedness almost went out the window. He was almost out the front door before he realized he'd forgotten his pants.

It was like a bad dream.

He entered the school, looking for his locker. He couldn't find it, or rather, he didn't seem to remember which one was his. A guy in the hallway had to tell him - he seemed familiar, like when you think you recognize an actor in a movie but can't be sure.

Then he found himself sitting at a desk in a classroom - literature, judging by the novels on everyone's desks - with a teacher calling names. Taking attendance. Except he was repeating a name over and over - maybe he was a sub and couldn't place the student.

"Jaime I'd appreciate it if you could reply when I call your name," the teacher said to him.

"Hm? I'm...?" he tried to ask, making people laugh. Why were they laughing?

"Rough night eh? Try to stay awake."

The students stopped laughing and the class continued. Or he thought it did. Time seemed to continually skip ahead, leaving him with blank spots. When time didn't skip ahead though, it felt like every second was stretched into another day.

How long had he been here anyway?

It was like a very boring bad dream.

Suddenly it was lunch, and he was sitting in the cafeteria - or wherever everybody was going to eat. After following the guy who'd told him where his locker was, he picked up a brown bag that looked like it had a lunch.

He was hungry, and remembered he hadn't eaten since... a good while now, he guessed. He couldn't be bothered to remember.

In any case, he was sitting down now and was taking out his lunch. A tuna sandwich, an apple, a cheese string, granola bar, and the water bottle he'd been unconsciously lugging around all day. Whoever made his lunch was a basic bitch.

"Don't you make your own lunches?" the guy asked him. Apparently, he'd said that last part aloud. "And since when do you say bitch anyways?"

"I..." he didn't know how to reply. Did he make his own lunches? Was bitch really not part of his vocabulary? Why not? "Guess I'm a basic bitch then," he replied, deflecting the question.

Some people passed by to make fun of the guy - or him, rather, when he noticed who exactly the people were talking to. "Finally eating with people, eh?" or "Look who finally crawled out of his mother's basement!"

"Eat a dick," he replied, making the guy spit out his soda.

"The fuck'd you said?!" Apparently, that wasn't the response they'd been expecting.

Standing up, he thought of every bad teenage movie, all those scenes where people stand up to bullies in a painfully embarrassing display of bad screenwriting. "I said," he started slowly. "Eat a dick."

Of course, that solved everything, or rather, it was now clear this guy wanted to bash his head in and that he wanted to pick a fight. It hadn't crossed his mind at first, simply wanting to eat his lunch in peace, but a fist fight would spice things up.

He egged this guy on until he said something stupid like, "swing first motherfu-"

His fist collided with the guy's nose before the sentence was finished. He felt the crunch of cartilage under his fist - maybe he was boxer or MMA fighter to strike that quick and strong.

He must have been, or something equally scary in a fight because the poor guy's head snapped back and he fell with a loud smack on the cafeteria floor. He really wasn't expecting Jaime to hit him. Jaime would not have expected to hit him, except...

Except, Jaime hadn't even been aware it was him or that he was actually there. What the fuck was happening anyway?

Emotions started rushing in - most prominently the pure, raw shame and embarrassment of the situation he was in. Distantly, he heard some people whoop, no one had thought wiry little Jaime would be able to knock out anyone, let alone somebody who was part of the weight lifting club.

Jaime wanted the floor to swallow him up.

"Dude, what the fuck!" Tye cried out with a smile. "That was awesome! I wish I had my phone ready! Damn, son!" His demeanor switch on a dime, though, with his next words. "You're gonna be in so much trouble!"

Thankful for the momentary distraction, Jaime replied, "I'm a good student! Maybe I'll get detention, but they won't suspend me, right?"

"I meant your mom, dude."

Bolting down the street, there was one thing on Jaime's mind: picking a fight like that, especially with a civilian? It proved Artemis right!

He nearly stopped running at the thought of her name. It was her fault, too! She'd shaken him to his core, threatening his suspension like that - how ironic was it that he might face suspension at school too? If he'd been his usual self, if he'd been ready, then none of this would have happened!

What was this anyway? Jaime had felt like he was watching someone live his life - or rather, someone new was living his life. It didn't affect Jaime, what was happening around him and the blank spots that he couldn't remember... this entire thing, it terrified him.

It's only because he has become hyper-aware of himself now that he noticed the burn in his lungs and throat, and the ache in his legs. More than running, Jaime had been sprinting this entire time. From the time Tye mentioned his mother until now.

Jaime wasn't sure the watch tower was the place he would go for comfort, but it was where his legs took him. The last thing he did before stepping in was to send a text to his mother. Lunch period was about to end, and he didn't want her to worry.

The way to the Team's living room was familiar enough by now that Jaime used it on autopilot. As usual, the sight of him unarmoured garnered a few looks from unfamiliar leaguers but his own familiarity with the place assured them he belonged there.

Unless he got suspended.

Sighing, Jaime let himself into the living room, hearing the door slide shut behind him. It felt so empty without his friends filling the silence, and although Jaime needed to think, he could use the noise right now.

Maybe he could do like Connor and put snow on the television to fill the room.

He walked around the couch and let himself fall into an armchair - his armchair, the one in the corner that he could see everything from. In a rare display of helplessness and anxiety, Jaime covered his face with his hands, his elbows leaning on his legs. Right now, Jaime felt both like a scared young boy, and a helpless old man; not knowing what to with this situation, or himself.

A slight scuffing noise against the floor alerted him to someone else's presence. His head jerked upwards to look, only for disappointment to drag his shoulders down further.

"Skipping class?" Artemis asked, her tone even. Jaime would hate to play poker against her. She had sat down on the couch, with food, clearly about to watch something on the television.

Jaime entertained the idea of telling her off, or at least that he could have a P.D. day or something. Except he knew she knew he'd have been here since this morning, or that he might have even stayed the night. "Something happened," he replied sullenly, crossing his arms and looking away. "It fucked me up."

Maybe it was his tone or demeanor, or the rare sight of him swearing that had Artemis putting down the remote. Light and noise would have filled the room if she hadn't muted the TV.

"You're gonna tell me," she stated and it didn't sound like an order or a threat. Jaime could hear the 'even if I don't ask' that would have come afterwards.

"I... It's kinda-"

"Personal? Sensitive? Complicated?" Artemis cut in. "If it fucks you up enough to swear without hesitation, someone needs to know. Out with it," she said and at the end her tone softened a little.

"I-I'm not sure how to say. You'll think I'm crazy, but... it's like I wasn't myself. Not like I was being mind controlled! Just, like I wasn't me and I was watching myself, or someone playing myself, living. I could actually see myself at times. Like a dream, or a video game, or even a crappy sitcom. It didn't feel real," he blurted out, then snorted derisively. "Right up until I decked Marty in front of everyone..."

Artemis had sat forward when he started explaining, actually seeming to listen to him. Telling someone, he realized, at least seemed to lift part of the weight from his shoulders.

"What'd the guy do?" she asked, and Jaime was sure she thought Marty must have attacked someone or something.

"Nothing! That's the worst part, I acted like a jerk! It's like I had amnesia and decided that I wasn't a nice person, I didn't respond when the teacher called my name, and instead of taking Marty's annoying words in stride I told him to eat a dick! Who does that?!" He threw up his hands, exasperated with his behaviour today. Ignoring the buzz of his cell phone, he continued, "Then things escalated, but I was riling him up and he said 'swing first' and my fist collided with his nose!"

Artemis snorted, but it was more out of surprise than amusement. She regained her composure quickly. "Was that the first time anything... weird like that happened to you?"

She was trying to sound like her usual self, but Jaime detected something else... hesitation, or worry, he would call it. His mind flashed to his schedule, his refusal to sleep, and his other changes in behaviour since Wally's... disappearance.

"Yes." It was, but it wasn't the first time something had happened to himé He needed his schedule and everything to be ready. Today, though, he could do without.

Artemis looked deep in thought. Only now did he notice she had come from the shower; her hair still damp and dressed in comfy clothes. He could smell her shampoo too, in the otherwise clean and unscented room - many of their teammates could not abide perfumes or air fresheners.

"I think I know what happened," she said at length. "It does fuck people up, you were right about that. But I expected older heroes like Nightwing or Kal to suffer from this, not you."

"What happened? Suffer from what?"

"You had a dissociation episode, I think." She looked at him, considering him. "That's usually pretty bad, and I'm not saying that to freak you out."

Well, clearly she wouldn't freak him out, not if she hadn't told him he suffered from something he had never even heard of, or that his unknown mental disorder was pretty bad.

"I am freaking out!" he told her. "This started after yesterday and I already want this gone!"

"Well, what happened after..." She cleared her throat, probably avoiding saying what she did for his benefit more than hers. "After you left?"

"For the record, I blame this on you," he said, trying to level her with a look. She barely raised an eyebrow at him. "But I went out-"

"After a mission that you almost screwed up, you went out?"

"I couldn't stay cooped up, it was making me sick to just think so much. Anyway, I went out, but just to try some things. I was too out of it to think about saving people," he explained to her his experiment with the armor, and the agonizing aftermath. "Last thing I remember was lying down on the rooftop of a building downtown."

He looked up at Artemis, tensing when he noticed her overly neutral expression. "So, you let that... thing-" she spat the word- "hook up to your central nervous system? Because that worked out so well in the past."

"I didn't give him control," he replied tersely. "I won't ever do that again."

"Right," she replied sarcastically, standing up as if to look down on him. "But you let him have full access to your nervous system; what's to stop it from doing it again? Or to take control? Hmm?"

"I was trying to be better! So you'd change your mind!" he called to her, standing up to face her.

"... It's not my mind that needs changing." Turning to face him, she said, "The team needs to know about your episode."

"No! Please don't!" He wrung his hands together, begging.

"You need help." She sounded a bit less terse.

"Please! I- The Team is my life. I need this." His voice was shaking, and Jaime was doing his best to blink back the tears that threatened to spill. "I'll do anything, just don't- don't take this away."

"Look, you can't keep this to yourself, you need to talk about it-"

"Then I'll talk with you! Anything, please, please, please," he begged, falling to his knees. "Just keep this a secret, I'll be better I swear."

Seeing him like this, kneeling and begging - crying, almost - it twisted something deep inside of her. She sighed, looking to the ceiling away from Jaime. Looking back, she made up her mind.

"As much as I enjoy seeing you like this, I'll help. But no more hooking that thing to your nervous system, otherwise I'll spill everything to everyone."

"Thank you..." After a few moments he found the strength to reply. "W-What happens now?"

"Answer your damn phone, it's been buzzing since you got here."

He looked down at his phone, seeing a multitude of missed calls and several texts. Some from his friends and his father, but most were from his mom. She was not happy about what happened at school, and even more unhappy about his leaving school like that. Though in her later texts she became increasingly worried.

He called her. "H-Hey Ma... no, I- no, no I know. I'm fine, I just... It won't happen again. You don't need to talk to the staff about Marty. No, I just freaked out. How would it look like on my record when I apply to colleges, y'know? It's fine. I'm sorry, really really sorry. Mom, the last thing I want is to worry you and Dad. I'm coming home now. Love you too, bye..."

When he went to close his phone, he saw a new text message that must've come in during his call from an unknown number:

Unknown Number: It's Artemis. I'll call you later.

A/N: I've been sitting on the beta'd draft for a month. And before that I had this draft for another month. I'm sorry, I'm just so tired... Read and Review!