Over two years? That is not a bit. NOT A BIT! Damn, I suck. I suck like woah. My excuse is that I had another creative outlet distracting me, but that is no good excuse. On the plus side, I was accepted into a highly competitive academic program which will garner absolutely no career boost when I finish school, but gives me plenty of hard work and a nice glow of pretentiousness. So my useless degree will be granted in exchange for your justified feelings of frustration and exasperation. Go us? No. No go. Me suck.

Basically I hit a bad case of Writer's Block and as time past I felt guiltier and guiltier, which made me even less inclined to write, and especially to read reviews. But when I finally gathered up the courage to read them, I didn't see any angry demands for completion, but only praise and support. It's what gave me the enthusiasm to complete this mother. Because I like my only fic, and it deserves to be completed, damn it!

Mind the Gap

Chapter 11: Confessions to a Birch Tree

The water was warmer than it might have been; being that it had been a particularly summery spring that year. And the water was shallower than it might have been; it rose only to Richie's waist. Still, the rocks were sharp and the river was fast, and it was not going to be a pleasant ride.

Richie attempted to gain control of his movements and swim through the current, but that was almost impossible. He could barely manage to keep his head out of the water, and that was because he had a lot of practice. A necessary thing if you have a partner with a weakness to water, since chances are they'd be dosed by a lot of it in the course of their careers. Even if the enemies didn't know about Static's Achilles Heel, it was bound to happen. Because that's how life is made fair: it sucks for everyone.

But not always equally. Hotstreak was a bit more conscious, and seemed as intent on catching up with Static as Richie was, only without the purpose of kissing him better. Richie hoped, since sometimes the two seemed a little… The redhead reached for the semi-conscious hero, and then splashed ineffectually at him as the waves granted a fortunate distance.

Then Hotstreak and Static fell out of sight, and so did everything else.

'My glasses!' was a cry made familiar to the bespectacled by childhood, one that struck fear into the heart of them. If not because they said it, it was because they heard it, often, thanks to Mr. TV. That little whine of distress, with the nasal undertone that marked Hollywood nerds (and Richie in real life, thank you, life imitating art), was only less pathetic than the shrill flails that went with 'I dropped my contact lens!' Of course, half the time that was just a ploy to create a distraction, which made it much less pitiful.

So Richie was very happy that he was too busy preventing water from spilling into his already abused lungs to let out that particularly useless cry. Instead he released the much more efficient and satisfying, "Crap!"

He struggled to make out his friend's body and, spotting a blue-ish black object, tried to swim, or even better, wade towards it. The current was so strong that it really ended more like bouncing off rocks and branches strategically. He reached out an arm as the object came close to hand's grasp, but was cut tragically short when he came across a thick branch that snatched the back of his sweatshirt and refused to unsnag.

"Let-" Richie dipped under water, and he tried to brace his feet against the rocky bottom but he couldn't manage to get upright, thanks to the hand on his collar. He was left with no choice but to move backwards towards his captor, if only for the balance needed to fight him off. "Let me go!"

"Shut up!" The blond was jerked backwards hard. "Come on!" Richie could only see blurs, and he was facing away from Hotstreak besides. The redhead seemed to sense the other boy's confusion, so he then shouted out, "I've grabbed hold of something on the shore! On my left! Just- fuck, grab hold of it before I test to see if a burning man can drown!"

"Go to hell!" Hotstreak could only hold him by one hand, if what he was saying was true, so he would need Richie's cooperation to get him ashore. And even if Static wasn't in mortal peril, Heaven would crumble before Richie made anything easier for Hotstreak if he could help it. "Static's drowning!"

"See? This is why I don't do the heroic crap!" Richie was pulled back again, and the blond struggled to twist around to face Hotstreak, which was as much an attempt to make the Bang Baby lose his grip on his soaked sweatshirt as it was to allow Richie to push Hotstreak away with his hands. "This and my anger issues."

"Heroic? You just want to use me as a hostage!" He awkwardly shoved against the much stronger teenager, which proved to be a miscalculation as his hood was released but his upper arm was grabbed instead. He was pulled so hard it felt like his arm was about to be jerked from its socket.

"No shit, Shirley? And here I thought I was showin' off my heart of gold." And without further warning, Richie was tugged under the waves.

The blond didn't even have a chance to get another breath. He spent several moments fighting against the hold before recognizing the precious air the frantic movements were wasting and instead forced himself to remain limp. Richie was helpless either way.

Seconds before the blond had to come to the decision to either fall unconscious or breathe water (the latter would have won out), Richie was allowed a brief reprieve as Hotstreak pulled him back up, giving the blond the chance to eagerly gulp in the precious air.

"Get out." Before Richie could respond, he was shoved back underwater.

He had taken a breath this time, but he was getting tired, and dizzy. He lasted about 91 seconds before even his powerful mind lost to his demanding body, and his jaws opened. Hotstreak's own patience lasted for 93.

The fierce coughing fit seemed to prevent another dunking for the moment, or at least the Bang Baby recognized that soon Richie wouldn't be capable of swimming out on his own, even if he wanted to. Hotstreak just hissed again, "Get. Out."

Richie could feel himself wanting to, but at the moment he barely had the strength to whimper out a weak, "Static." Whether it was being used as a protest or a plea was something Richie's mind would figure out after it got back on track enough to clear all the dots out of his vision.

Hotstreak took it as the former. "You really thing the grand fucking hero of Dakota needs you to rescue him from shallow water? You know what? He ain't going to drown after pushing me into a pissing waist-deep river! You wanna know why?" He gave Richie a shake that snapped the smaller boy's head back with a painful jerk. "My life ain't that good!"

Richie released another watery cough, exhaustion causing his limbs to bob purposelessly in the waves. "Mine's not so great, either." Static's fate rested on whose life sucked more. The blond felt like he was having a nice run, so far.

"That's 'cause you're not getting out of the water," Hotstreak carefully explained, before tensing his arms. Richie's breath hitched as he felt himself begin to get pulled down again.

"N-!" The noise was smothered again. Richie then came to the realization that he might very well die here. If he could have seen the redhead's eyes, he might have come to the conclusion earlier. It wasn't only about getting Richie out of the water anymore. The Bang Baby never had the coldblooded cunning of some of the other villains Static and Gear faced, but he always was dangerous for his pitiless temper. Hotstreak was furious and this time, he wasn't going to let Richie back up. His heart clutched desperately as he was once again pushed under the suffocating waves, and it was this desperation that finally pushed Richie past his exhaustion and his better judgment to open his jaws wide. As the earthy water began to fill his mouth he jerked to the hand gripping his arm, and then bit down viciously.

The dirty water in his mouth (and oh god his throat and stomach how much lower?) gained a metallic taste. Richie convulsed but he resisted the urge to release the flesh between his teeth, to open his mouth and breathe, and instead the spasms caused him to bite down impossibly harder.

Then the pressure on his shoulder was released, and the tissue slipped from between his teeth. Richie figured Hotstreak was screaming some rather terrible obscenities right now, but underneath the waves he couldn't hear it. Actually, he couldn't hear much of anything as the current took him feet first downstream.

As his lungs continued to convulse, Richie came to the realization that even though he was out of Hotstreak's clutches, he was still in great danger. He might even have been in greater peril than before. He watched, like observing a movie, his limbs flail in panic as his legs fruitlessly attempted to stand, to push his mouth above the surface, and as he saw his arms break this surface time and time again to clutch at nothing and submerge once more. He came to the realization that he was dying.

His attack on Hotstreak forced Richie to release any breath of oxygen he might have saved, and allowed water access into his body, which it took eagerly, with insatiable greed. He logically knew that the panicked motion of his body was wasting whatever precious oxygen was left in his bloodstream, but try as he might, he couldn't get his traitorous body to listen to him. Stand up! He thought. Just grab some rocks, put your feet on the ground, and stand! Nope, it still just continued to flail, while Richie's mouth gaped open and closed like a dumb guppy's.

Illogical metaphor; a guppy would be very helpful in this situation. A sign that his brain was about to go. Another sign was the orchestra in a damp subway cart whose music in its hollow drowned out all other possible activities. It had a hectic rhythm and could barely be called a melody. Na na na na NANANANA na na na na NANANANA- Oh. Sonic the Hedgehog's drowning music. Very nice, you acidic ass.

When drowning, most people were unconscious when they suffered the fatal cardiac arrest. But Richie suspected his highly developed brain would not grant him this luxury. It was a lot like how he would have died in the earlier fire, being burned alive rather than being asphyxiated. Maybe that was why he was dying now this way. He cheated Death, so Death was cheating him right back.

The thought of going through this a third time (perhaps in space) almost made Richie regret being pulled to the surface. The music of his drowning was replaced by his own sputtered coughing. He had been coughing underwater too, but he couldn't hear it there. He still couldn't quite get the air now surrounding him in abundance into his lungs and bloodstream, so he had to concentrate on that and on controlling his still jerking limbs, so he was little help to his rescuer who pulled them both onto a pebble-strewn floor.

Soon all but his knees were out of the lapping water; and coughs continued to drown out even the furious waves. Richie realized that this was partly because he wasn't the only one coughing anymore, and he curled up on his side in exhaustion and pain. His wrists twisted uncomfortably as his fingers dug into the pebbles and then painfully clenched closed, while sweet, if too miniscule slips of oxygen caressed his wounded throat on their way down. Then he was turned over, and a dark figure covered his vision. Richie then understood that the figure had a face, a face which was rapidly moving closer to his lips.

No! Nothing was to restrict the Mouth from its Mouth Duties! Unfortunately, Richie still had no way to verbally express this, so he raised a hand from the pebbles to harshly slap the invading figure away. His blow was shaky but so was the other person's stance, so he fell beside Richie with an offended 'oof'. The blond did not indulge in any guilt over what he had done (he did so in defense of his very busy mouth!) and rolled back into his previous, pitiful position. His violent act soon was revealed to be a blessing in disguise, as then Richie moved onto his hands and knees to pain his aching throat further and vomit.

His vision blurred even more as tears filled his eyes. It was a physical response from his body's over-exhaustion, but the hand rubbing down the goosebumps on his back was a comfort all the same. Soon the retching was over and Richie could concentrate on breathing again, while the other boy removed his hand as he encountered a renewed coughing fit to deal with himself. Needing to move away from the intense smell of the vomit, Richie shakily and thoughtlessly crawled over Static's heaving form. The other boy groaned when Richie's knees bumped into certain sensitive areas, and while somewhere Richie knew that traveling over Static's equally suffering body was a dick move, he still was not completely together enough to do more than try to pick up the pace. When he collapsed again he was mostly off of Static's form, though his wet runners were still somewhat elevated on what he assumed was his stomach.

After a minute or so the hand again appeared to give his ankles a brief rub, which succeeded in guilting Richie into moving the entire way off, and then crawling over so that he was resting on his side, facing Static, breathing heavily.

From what he could make out, which wasn't much, Static looked ok. He probably was better off than Richie was at the moment, seeing as he was the one to drag him out of the water. Hotstreak had been right about Static not needing a savior. Mark Hamill perked in his head "I'm here to rescue you!" and the blond cringed. He was also cringing at the thought of Virgil in Leia-buns. Both of them were still coughing, but Richie found that he could calm down by staring at the rise and fall of Static's chest. Static meanwhile was watching Richie in turn, though he also seemed to have difficulty speaking.

"See…" He swallowed as Richie blinked in sleepy confusion. "See pee- C…PR." He coughed again.

Oh. He nodded in response, but his experience on the lawn, with Hotstreak, had taught him about trying to speak at a time like this. Instead he mouthed 'I know,' and continued to breathe. The reason didn't matter; he couldn't have allowed restriction on the Mouth!

"I wasn't trying t-" Then Static's coughing started up again, and Richie let out a "Shhh!" harsh with his own anxiety. He got what Static was saying, and no, he didn't believe Virgil was such a horndog that he would make out with a recovering drowning victim. Of course, Virgil could be somewhat of a romantic and Richie was pretty sure that dramatically they were expected to fling themselves together into a passionate reaffirmation of being, so maybe there had been a little concern about that. The blond moved a limp hand forward and, after some blind fumbling, grasped Static's gloved one, and gave it a quick squeeze.

They lay there for a while before trying to move again. Both of them vaguely recalled the whole reaffirmation of being thing after their lungs both ceased their attempts to leap out of their bodies from their mouths, and, thinking the other was expecting it, moved forward grumpily in order to kiss. They got about halfway there before mutually collapsing in exhaustion and disinterest, and concentrated on breathing instead. It was for the best, since Richie still tasted like spit-up.

Richie didn't remember his eyes closing, but they were when the jerked open to Static's voice. "You're crying."

"I'm leaking," Richie said in his own defense, and let go of Static's hand to wipe at his tears. It was an accurate assessment, and it was occurring in more than one area. Richie moved his hand lower to wipe his running nose with his sleeve. It was a juvenile gesture, one he had saw Johnny do earlier in fact, and so he wasn't surprise to see Static smile at it. Static's smile was one of the few things he could see.

"You look like crap."

"You look like a blurry ampersand; I win." He really, really just wanted to curl up into a ball and sleep for a month. He attempted to sit up instead, with Static mimicking his movement. When stable enough to endure bodily contact without punching anyone in the face in panic, Richie edged his way over to Static's side and then rested his arms over his shoulders with a sigh. He slumped over with his cheek resting against Static's jaw, and felt his friend tense. Richie worried that he had made a mistake. However, arms soon surrounded him as well, and the boys spent several minutes exhausted together in a comfortable slump.

Eventually Static broke the comfortable silence. "Rich- Why does my jaw ache?"

"Ugh. I know you're giving me an opening for a blowjob joke, but I'm just… the idea of anything restricting someone's breathing is just not funny right now."

"But the picture of me of being possessed and turned into a two-dollar male prostitute is just hilarious?"

"Yeah, I would have worked Tom Cruise in it." Richie moved a hand to run along Static's hair, moving towards his brow and stopping when he felt the mask. Good.

"And get sued. So, I guess what happened with the zombie woman…"

Richie nodded, causing his chin to bump against his friend's neck. "That miasma. I don't know how it caused it. But it's gone now." He moved his fingers lower to gently press around Static's jaw. He probably looked very clinical and professional, and not at all like his thumbs were tingling from where they brushed Static's lips. "I- I don't feel anything broken."

"No, just-" Static make a popping sound with his jaw, and then rubbed it with his free hand after Richie moved his away in reaction to the surprising sound. An unexpected wave of giddiness arose, and he barked out a quick spurt of laughter before clapping is mouth shut again and shook silently. Static's grin was there again; he moved a hand through Richie's wet hair as if to dry it. Damp latex wasn't a great material for that, but Richie appreciated the effort. Minutes ago he thought he would never be dry again. "Ok, my boy's regressing. It's babies who find funny noises the height of comedy."

Static's boy was going crazy. Richie sniffled but continued to shake behind his hand. This time it was Static who pulled him closer and Richie could accept the embrace easily. This last week… the whole damn week. But now he was here, and Virgil was here, and they were wet and Richie was practically blind and he was pretty sure Virgil had vomit on his hair, but they were actually there and suddenly it seemed easier again. His friend probably thought Richie was trying not to cry, but the boy really just wanted to laugh. He wanted to laugh with a scream.

But he couldn't. He took a few deeper breaths and then pulled back to stare in Static's face. He didn't make out much but it held a certain effect. "We can't stay here. That creature's gone, Johnny's ok, but Hotstreak's still out there." He pulled back further to glance uselessly towards the river, though he kept his hands resting on Static's biceps. "I think… I think he's still on the other side. But he could make it across." He shook his head to try to clear it, and set about calculating the distance he traveled in the river before he encountered Static. It couldn't have been too long, he was still alive. Unfortunately his internal-clock probably went a little screwy in anticipation of Richie's imminent demise How precisely fast were the waves? Richie suspected it was somewhere around 7 miles an hour, and maybe 3 meters per second. The river wasn't wide, so if Hotstreak found a land-bridge further down… "We have to go. I don't think he can use his powers, but neither can you, and I'd rather not depend on whose turns back on faster-"

Richie winced as Static gently felt the cut on his lip with his thumb. Why did people do that, anyways? Yes, yes, the bruise is there. You do not need to tactilely prove it. It's like Dostoyevsky's toothache, only worse since you're not nudging your own. The blond glowered at Static as the hero quietly said, "A fistfight sounds about good right now."

"I get worse as Gear all the time," Richie pointed out, not wanting to encourage this.

"You're not Gear, though." Static pointed out. Richie did not immediately response, and instead moved both hands to his friend's broad shoulders. He used them for a boost and pushed himself up. If the world spins but you do not have the eyes to see it, does the tree make a sound? He held out has arms to balance himself as Static said, "You are just Richie Foley right now. He beat up Richie Foley."

"Ouch. Well, you should see the other guy-" He stopped his response when he realized that his partner wasn't rising up to meet him. His heart, having recently achieved a more methodical rhythm, speeded up again. "Static? Are you hurt?"

The only answer was an uncomfortable shuffle which did little to alleviate his concerns.

"V, I know something's wrong!"

"Hey, don't stress." There was further sound of movement and Richie guessed Static was trying to move to his knees. "It's just… I might have hurt my foot."

Richie put his hand back on Static's shoulder. "Is it broken?"

"No, I should be able to walk with it, until my powers come back online. It's just…"

The reason behind Static's hesitancy dawned on him. "Oh my God. You twisted your ankle, didn't you?"

"Don't start." His friend sharply warned.

"Who's starting anything? You've joined a proud tradition of many Doctor Who companions and Disney heroines." Richie kept his voice light as he reached down to help Static up. All joking aside, this was bad. He was halfway to blind, Virgil was physically limited, and they had to move.

"Mulan wouldn't put up with this bull-SHIT!" Static had stood up completely only to fall forward, and Richie caught his partner as best he could.

"Just lean on me," he offered. "Try not to use that foot. Are you sure it's not broken?"

"Didn't you say something last week about how I didn't have a concussion, since I wasn't rolling around in my own vomit? That argument works here, too."

"Ok, you're right. And wow, when you repeat my words back to me, I sound really condescending." Richie felt Static shoulder, resting against his, shrug, and heard his partner make a strained chuckle.

"Just… this sucks. I'm stuck with hopping through a forest, and you can't even see right now."

"Hey, I can see! Blurs! And… and spikes which might be your hair." He waved his hands in the air to indicate his vast knowledge of his spatial surroundings. He then apologized for smacking Static in the jaw.

He felt Static rub his jaw and waited with chagrin to be chewed out, when he heard the hero say in a sharp tone, "Richie…"

"What?" He looked around himself, afraid his fears concerning Hotstreak were proved correct. All he saw was differently colored blurs, but he trusted Static to tell him if he had to duck.

"Your hand…" Static said, not without a certain kind of wonder.

Oh yeah. That gash he made when cutting himself free from the belt. That giant, painful, bloody wound which came with a dose of agony that he quieted with the power of his mind. He glanced over at the hand which was still hovering between Static and himself, and while he could not make it out, he could see red. "Oh."

And then the synapses locked back into the place, and the signal was carried up his wrist, through his arm, past his elbow, around the bicep, over the shoulder, in his neck, and to the final destination of his brain.

Richie's legs collapsed under himself.

Static wasn't quick enough to catch him when his knees crumpled from the shock of the sudden physical overload, and he heard his friend groan in discomfort as he joined Richie on the ground. When he sensed Static's arms moving towards him, he huddled over his wound protectively. "Wait! Aw…. shit!" He hissed as he rocked back and forth, which did little to comfort him as his nerves went haywire.

"Rich-" Static had jerked his arms back at his friend's reproach, but he inevitably moved forward again for a second try. The wounded teen didn't jerk away this time, more for Static's sake than his own. He found the touches around his shoulders more provoking than curative, and the genius had another method at his disposal.

"It hurts like a motherfucker!" Richie growled the last few eloquent syllables out. "Aw-" He bit his lower lip and let out a low breath through his nose. His next exhalation was stifled; it wouldn't be satisfying if it wasn't properly creative.

"Let me see." Static demanded. He automatically jerked away again, but when he felt Static remain still, he slowly removed his unharmed hand from the position of guard and allowed the other to look. He heard a sharp intake of breath, which didn't provide much placation. Balm breath blows out. "Uh… ok. It looks- You're going to be ok, Rich. Just breathe, you can do this."

"I'm not in damn labor!" Though Richie was tempted to scream, 'Don't touch me. You did this to me!' But he was capable of some restraint and besides, the language was too rated G. "It's an- Ow. Second freaking mouth gouged into my HAND!" Richie swore again but didn't move when Static held his wrist. "And it's biting me from the inside! Sweet, heavenly tards!"

"Can you move your fingers?"

Richie felt frustration build up as his hand continued to throb. "I've been moving it! That's the whole damn problem, I- Palsied, fetid tigella!" He then jerked his hand away. "Don't blow on it!"

"Hey, it works!"

"It's banal and painful and it freaking doesn't! Might as well give me a Flintstone vitamin." Richie groaned again. "Then shove it up my cochlea. Like some… inorganic organic shrapnel! Let it fester and provide me with a wealth of distractions from this freaking- " The teen continued to suggest vigorous lovemaking with some stranger's mother, and then described how precisely one would commence sodomy on a flying squirrel, and finally ended on a loving analysis on the female anatomy. "-vicious vasocongestion! All over France!" He breathed shakily in, and asked, "What's the damage?"

"You must have bashed it up against the rocks; it's definitely going to need stitches. The bleeding seems to have stopped, though… Done." Static had taken advantage of Richie's tirade to do the unhappy task of wrapping Richie's wound. The blond had to have known this on some level, but he still a possessive hand over the wrap with a look of surprise; his skin, drenched by red wet, must have been difficult to bandage.

"No, not rocks. Cut myself when I escaped the belt. I just… I turned the pain off." The implications began to come clear to the teen, and his eyes widened with the understanding.

He wished he could see his friend right now. He wanted to see some of his trepidation reflected in his eyes. "You could ignore it?" Static asked with a certain level of awe that made Richie sorta glad that he couldn't see what had become of his poor hand. Though a juvenile part of him wanted to see it too, it must have been real gnarly.

"More like compartmentalized. I remembered I was injured but I had other things to deal with. So… it was reserved for later." He winced. It was like a doggy bag, but for pain. It felt that however deep his cut was, Richie was experiencing it tenfold. It could have been a result of his technique, or the rough treatment the hand further endured. The pain could have only seemed to be increased due to the sudden shock of its reemergence. Either way, the present moment was still not adequately suitable to writhe.

Unfortunately, his mind did not appear to agree with him. Neither did Static. "Richie? Rich, stop." The blond must have looked like he was concentrating hard, but Static always was able to read him well. He had been scrunching his eyes closed, but he opened one quizzically at Static's call. "This isn't a good time to experiment with your grey matter, ok? And being hurt sucks, but if you ignore it, you'll only hurt yourself worse."

"I know what I'm doing." Actually, he didn't. He really didn't, since he couldn't seem to mute his screaming nerves like he had before. "Sorry." He groaned and closed his eyes again, but began to move upwards at the same time. He'd have to do this while walking.

Richie heard the hitch of Static's breath as he tried to join him, the hitch Richie knew he would want to hide now that Static knew that his partner had a bad injury of his own. "It's ok. I think you're getting better anyway, you're not swearing anymore." Richie had reached down with his good hand to do the best he could to help his friend up, and Static gained a grip on his shoulders which was probably meant to steady for both of them.

"I ran out of breath. But it's ok. I'm fine. Just a little burnt and drowned and bleeding, so what's a forest next to that. We have to go-" He paused for a moment and mentally felt for his internal compass. Richie twisted around and pointed majestically. "-North!"

"The river…?"

Richie turned around again. "North!" He gritted his teeth as his hand continued to throb unceasingly, and he was working on a headache to rival it. "First Johnny. Then doctors. Then home. I'll do the legwork, and you'll use not only one, but two, of your two miraculously working eyes."

And it seemed that his interpretation of North was still a little bit off from the angle that Static started walking them on, but it was close enough that Richie didn't feel completely ashamed. Really. The blond was startled when Static called out, "Tree," and stopped. But instead of maneuvering them past it, he felt Static let go, and barely made out the shape of his friend leaning against a dark trunk.

"…look," he heard Static intone. "I'm getting my powers back as soon as I'm dry. And, forest or not, there's bound to be some scrap lying around here, somewhere. I say we find somewhere, crouch down, wait it out, until I can fly us out of here."

"You want us to hide from Hotstreak?" Richie asked in shock. "Five minutes go you were talking about a West Side Story snap-fest." The blond then internally cringed, because Static hadn't talking about anything to do with musical theatre, since he had the luck not to be born the gayest boy in the entire world. Whose newly discovered wound might have something to do with the recent hesitancy of his partner. "Christ. My hand is pretty bad, huh?"

There was a significant instant of silence before Static responded. "I think if you keep using it, or get in a fight with it… something could go wrong with it, permanently. You're fine as of now!" He quickly added, but Richie knew Static was no doctor. He couldn't know that. "But if we came across Hotstreak… Let's just regroup, so we don't. Ok?"

Richie blinked slowly. "It's not that simple, V. You were with Hotstreak back there, and you heard how he was talking about the kid. He could really kill him. He's passed any tying to the tracks right now." Gear had been tied to the tracks by another villain once. No train had traveled on it since the seventies, so it was mostly dull and uncomfortable.

"You don't even have to come! We wait for my powers to get back online, then I fly off and collect the creep, and then we go!" Static responded to Richie's subsequent icy silence with an irritated, "So since when did the creepy little stinker become the damsel?"

"Could he be if I don't have to?"

"As long as no one's wearing a skirt. Not even with your gams. When did the creepy little stinker become the damsel?" Static repeated, frustration edging into his tone.

"Don't call them that. And don't call him that." Richie lifted his good hand to give Static a very slight bump on the shoulder and then rested it there. "It's like listening to Sam Spade transform into Angelica Pickles, the cognitive dissonance is jarring." Richie sighed and continued. "When you were… out of it, he was the one to bring you back. He's the one who cast that thing out." Although Static didn't say anything at first, Richie felt a shudder run through him from under his fingers, and he knew that when they were safe and home and dry, they were going to have a talk. Richie had spent a few days with verbal acrobatics to avoid a similar one with Virgil about Brainiac, but the blond was confident that Virgil couldn't pull off the same feat.

"He did?" Richie's friend asked, with a certain level of skepticism in his tone.

"Well… I might have had to… hit him. A little," Richie admitted, not sounding entirely proud about abusing a young boy.

Static pulled away, and Richie felt eyes survey him seriously. "Really? That's… You're pretty hot." Ok, the blond didn't quite follow the logic of Static's hormones, but his mama didn't raise him to turn down compliments. He felt cozily smug enough at this point to touch the dangerous sticking point that had been between them for days.

"Static- V. I know you care about me now, and…" Richie closed his eyes and turned his face away; preparing himself for what was, in a way, a good bye. "Things have changed between us." He walked a few steps forward, and then turned back around. "But this can't. I haven't stopped being who I am. You have a…" He stopped to lick his lips. Not being able to see Static's face actually made saying the magic word easier. "A boyfriend who has a very dangerous extracurricular activity, which I know sucks like hell because I've been dealing with that new development too." He took several steps back so that he was where he started, and placed the flat of his good palm against the trunk where Static had been resting against. "I'm going to get hurt. There's always the risk of that, and I know when that happens to each other that feels like failure." Richie was about to say a comforting cliché but choked on the placebo. "It is a failure. Life's full. But I can't be stashed away, anymore than you can be, while people need us."

After a pregnant pause, Static eventually replied with a resigned, "It's not fair. You aren't even in costume."

"It's not the costume that makes me a hero," Richie replied solemnly.

Oh, he so WON with that line.

"Checkmate," Static acknowledged, duly impressed.

"Well," Richie shrugged with false modestly, and left it at that. "So we're clear. You have no powers, I have little eyesight, I have a manly hand-wound, you have a manly… twisted ankle. We're square. Johnny, doctors, home. Together, every agonizing step of the way."

"Together," Static agreed. There was a moment of silence, before the other boy said, "So. About together. Maybe you want to turn around and face me, at least, as we work on this togetherness thing?"

"What!?" Richie widened his eyes. No. "I'm talking to you right now!"

"Um, no. That's a tree. I'm over here." Richie caught a motion at the corner of his eyes, which came with a rustle of leaves. "There's nothing in your way, so… just three big steps."

"You couldn't tell me this?" Richie demanded, voice raising to a rare high pitch. "I made this speech! This whole emotional speech. And I had an awesome line about what it means to be a hero! And you let me say this to a tree!?"

Static barely sounded contrite as he responded by way of exclamation, "It was funny."

Richie looked back at the liar of a tree, and then started to move toward Static. His hurt hand was close to his chest, but his other arm reached out to be and was swiftly touched by his friend. "Take me home," the blond said, a whine beginning to seep into his tone. "First Johnny, then doctors, then… home."

"I think it was a birch tree, too."

"Oh, shut up."

Gah, ok! I hope to use the next chapter to finish this up! If I don't update in a month, send out the dogs.