JADE (young justice/robin)

30. getting better (year five)

tw: emetophobia

I couldn't open my eyes at first. The surrounding light was too much for my eyes to adjust. Not to mention my body felt like I had been hit by a train.

Am I dead?

There was a clinking sound somewhere close by. It was so similar to the clatter I'd hear when Alfred would set the table.

Maybe I'm in the manor? Then, what's with all the light? Am I dead?

I finally forced my eyes open to realize my limp body was completely slouched over a rusted metal chair. I couldn't move yet, but I could see I was in the middle of some kind of garden on the roof of a building I didn't recognize. All the ground and walls were covered in vines and moss, roses were in bloom even if it was so cold.

My god, it's freezing up here.

Actually, I didn't recognize any of the buildings I saw.

My eyes darted to the clinking.

A frail looking, elderly woman, draped in a matching purple coat and hat, was stood across from me. The clinking was coming from the tea china she was arranging on the table.

"Oh good."

Do you have an accent?

"I thought I had a dead girl on the top of my flat."

Flat? Excuse me?

"Where—" God, it hurt to speak. "Where am I?"

I, finally, sat myself upright, instantly feeling the ache in my back from sleeping for who knows how long on this little chair.

"London."

Okay, that covers the accent. I must've zetaed here while I was high.  "What day is it?"

She didn't look the least bit confused over the random girl sleeping on her roof who had no idea where or when she was.

"Sunday."

Right... Sunday. So, if I left Friday — what with the time difference and all — okay... So, I've only been gone for about a day. Not bad. I've definitely done worse before.

London
December 29, 07:04 GMT
Team Year Four

She handed me a blanket. "You're one of those superhero people."

Instantly, I wrapped myself in it tightly. "No."

"Don't lie to me. I recognize your outfit from the telly," she pointed at the suit that I somehow had dressed myself in at one point. At least, I hope it was me who changed my clothes.

"Awful what those monsters did," she went on. "Holding a child hostage. No wonder you're on the shrugs."

"Shrugs?"

"That's what my daughter would call them." For the smallest moment, I could see this darkness spread over her face, despite the casual way she tried to speak. "The drugs, of course."

"I'm not on—"

"I don't care to be lied to. Especially on a Sunday tea. That's certainly not allowed."

"Well, I'm not a superhero."

"You don't work with that— What is he called again? That 'Man-Bat'?"

"No."

"Then, what do you do?"

Nothing anymore.

"Shrugs, I guess."