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Jaime remembered everything.
He told the Team and the League he only remembered bits and pieces, and he considered himself lucky Martian Manhunter and Miss Martian didn’t insist on picking his brain apart. The Scarab whispering in the back of his mind was hard enough to handle.
But none of that was as bad as the mixed emotions he experienced every time he saw Bart.
He wanted to smile, to burst with happiness. All he could really manage was to pull the corners of his lips up into a shell of a smile. He played it up as best he could.
But Bart’s smile was strained, too. Jaime knew the speedster had lots of practice putting on a fake smile. Jaime had a lot of practice reading his face.
Jaime could see the slight tightness around Bart’s eyes behind his smile whenever he saw Jaime. Could see the way he tensed up for a second whenever they bumped into each other.
And Jaime couldn’t blame him either.
Jaime was mostly laden with guilt when he saw Bart, during every second he spent with him, when he was staring at his ceiling at night when he couldn’t sleep. He felt nothing but guilt for the pain he had caused Bart.
The memory flashed through his mind as if it was on repeat.
The Scarab had Impulse pinned to a building wall, advancing on him like a predator to its injured prey. Blades formed from the armor at its wrists. Jaime was screaming inside, fighting and pleading as hard as he could to get the Scarab to stop. But there was no chance for either of them, and the Scarab stabbed Bart.
No one had told Jaime about that, assuming it would be better if he didn’t know. But he did, and the guilt was eating him alive.
[Jaime Reyes, you require sustenance.]
[My sensors indicate you are dehydrated.]
[You should inform your teammates of your condition, Jaime Reyes.]
This litany was all Jaime heard from the Scarab most days, the only time it ceased was during the few hours of fitful sleep he got. He had complete access to the armor and all of its weapons, but it would never shut up.
It was loudest whenever he was with Bart.
[Do you not remember what I did to the Impulse?]
“You don’t have to remind me,” Jaime snapped. He wished there was a way to silence the nagging, robotic voice in his head.
“Remind you of what, hermano?” Bart asked around a mouthful of Chicken Whizees.
“Nothing, Bart.” Jaime said to him, softer, with a sad smile.
“Jaime, Nightwing said suit up. Mission time.” Conner said, walking through the commons room and heading towards the Zeta tubes.
“See ya later,” Bart said before zipping out of the room, taking Jaime’s bag of snacks with him.
At the Zeta tubes Jaime found Conner and Robin waiting for him.
“All set, Blue?” Robin asked.
Jaime willed the armor to activate, but nothing happened.
[I cannot allow you to use my technology until you are more physically fit. It would be a danger to both of us.]
“The Scarab isn’t listening to me?” Jaime said, sounding confused.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Conner asked.
“It means I’m out of commission for awhile.” Jaime said, stalking off angrily in the direction of his room on the Watchtower.
-
Pacing back and forth in his room Jaime steamed, trying to come up with an argument to make the Scarab give him control of the armor again.
“You promised you’d never break my trust again.” Jaime tried, grasping at straws. He needed to go on mission, on patrol. It was the only thing that could clear his mind, and without the armor he couldn’t do any of that.
[Not allowing you to use the armor is not breaking your trust. I promised I would never take over you again like the Reach forced me to.]
Jaime scowled, crossing his arms. He had nothing to say that, nothing to contest.
[You are unwell, Jaime Reyes, both physically and mentally.]
“I’m fine,” Jaime said, sitting on the edge of his bed.
[You have not consumed any food or water for days, and my activities under the Reach’s control have been haunting you incessantly.]
“I’m fine,” Jaime repeated, not sure if he was trying to convince himself or the Scarab.
[Scans indicate malnourishment, heightened levels of stress, and extreme exhaustion.]
“I’m fine.” He fell back on his bed, eyes falling closed.
-
When Jaime woke up he was in the infirmary, an IV in his arm. The sound of the heart monitor and the fluorescent lights felt harsh to his ears and eyes.
“Don’t sit up,” a gentle, familiar voice came from the side of the room. Looking over he found Black Canary in the one guest chair.
“Why am I here?” He asked, voice quiet and weak. “How long have I been here?”
“You’ve been unconscious for about two days. Beast Boy found you unresponsive in your room.” She said. Jaime didn’t like where this seemed to be heading.
“Why are you here?”
“We’ve been taking shifts, waiting for you to wake up.” Black Canary explained, continuing before Jaime could respond. “We wanted to find out as soon as possible why you were so exhausted.”
“I haven’t been sleeping well.” Not an entire lie.
[Tell her everything, Jaime Reyes.]
Jaime had almost forgotten about the Scarab. “Shut up.”
“I’m sorry?” Black Canary said, sounding slightly offended.
“Not you,” Jaime said, gesturing to his head. “The Scarab.”
“What did it say?”
“Nothing important.” Jaime said, rubbing his fingers against his temples.
“Can you tell me why you’ve lost so much weight? The visible change in your appearance since last spring has your teammates worried.” She said. The pity in her voice made Jaime upset. He didn’t need pity. He didn’t need anything.
“I’m fine.” Jaime said automatically. It sounded so flat he couldn’t even believe himself.
“I think we both know that’s not true, Jaime.” Jaime didn’t respond. He was fine. “Conner has also brought something else to my attention.”
Jaime rolled over, putting his back to Black Canary. He didn’t want to hear the next words that he knew were going to come out of her mouth.
“He said he thought he heard you talking to Bart.” A Canary Cry would have hurt less than the sadness in her voice. “You know Bart is dead, right, Jaime?”
He heard her shift in her chair, and could picture her leaning forward in her seat, a worried look on her face. But it was quickly washed away from his mind by the scene that always tortured him.
The sight of his blade sinking into Bart’s chest. The dead look on his face.
“Of course I know that. I was the one who killed him.”