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Jaime Reyes was capable of quite an extraordinary amount of things, but multitasking was definitely not in the top ten.
Especially when you had a bloodthirsty, demented scarab that could serve as the psychological definition for ‘control issues’ mucking around in your head demanding to know the purpose of Halloween like the fate of the world depended on it.
In such a situation, handing out candy to ravenous trick-or-treaters, much less even navigating the treacherous land his house had become due to the extensive amount of decorations, was nigh impossible. Sure, he could just, oh say, take down one or two of the dozens of spider webs or cackling skeletons that dotted the landscape of his living room but then—someway, somehow, probably using some kind of mystical powers—Milagro, his little sister, would find out and you better believe there’d be hell to pay.
Jaime found that most problems in his life could be traced back to tiny, screaming pests that enjoyed making his life miserable.
He was pretty sure it was giving him some kind of complex.
OUR ARMOR WAS NOT INTENDED TO BE USED IN FLYING TO DOORWAYS TO DISPENSE WRAPPED CONFECTIONS JAIME REYES
CEASE THIS BEHAVIOR IMMEDIATELY
“Hey, we both have to deal with the bruises I’d get if I actually walked through that mess,” Jaime reminded, whispering as he turned his head away from the anxious trick-or-treaters who were too eager for their candy to care about the loon at the door talking to himself.
In the pursuit of peace and happiness, both usually in the form of candy, there wasn’t much that couldn’t be ignored. When he finally handed them the sought after candy, they grinned and ran off before he could keep going with the crazy. Jaime rolled his eyes and closed the door. Plopping the still overflowing bowl on the table, he continued, “So try to keep an open mind.”
WITH THE CANONS AT 45% POWER WE CAN INCINERATE THE MESS WITH NO HARM TO OURSELVES
Snorting at the scarab’s idea of a helpful suggestion, Jaime responded simply, “What about Milagro?”
The scarab was suspiciously silent.
Nice to know the thing had at least some common sense programmed into it.
There was another ring at the door, a continual buzzing sound that signaled that this particular trick-or-treater was far from being the patient sort. Jaime sighed and reluctantly stood back to his feet, internally groaning all the while. This was not helping his headache, not the tiniest bit.
Suiting up, he flew over to the door and ignored scarab’s grumbling. What was the use of having superpowers if you didn’t use them to save yourself from a couple of skinned knees every now and then? Straightening, he plastered on a smile as he opened the door and greeted the children, “Happy Hallo—“
A freckled wizard stood grinning in front of him, star-speckled blue robe dragging along the concrete, a nearly filled neon orange bag held out to receive his goods and an ominously familiar glint in his green eyes as he chirped, “Trick or treat!”
Jaime slammed the door shut. And locked it. Twice.
Running a hand through his hair, he turned and tried to scope out the fastest exits to get away until the speedster ran out of patience, hoping that the home turf advantage would be enough—
“So I’m guessing you’re going with trick?”
Jaime backpedaled with a cry, with only dumb luck saving him from making an embarrassing splat on the floor. Not that it did anything for the head he slammed against the door. “Gah!”
Bart stood petulant in front of him, the insanity of his ridiculous wizard outfit not lost on Jaime. He took enough time out of his increasingly creative internal curses to ask disbelievingly, “What are you wearing?”
Bart frowned. “Not good?” There was a blur and he was back again, now with a set of fangs and a flowing cape. “Better?” Jaime didn’t even have time to open his mouth before there was another blur and a rush of wind, and Bart was back with white sheet that looked suspiciously like one of Jaime’s, albeit with two holes cut out for the eyes. “How about this?”
He tried to respond, but yet again, the speedster darted away before a single syllable could leave his lips. The breeze it generated sent the cobwebs flaring up, and Jaime knew that it was going to be even harder to get them down later, the way they were twisted up now. Another gust of wind made it worse. A beaming wizard now stood in front of him, quickly adjusting the tilt of his ridiculous point hat as he mused, “Nah, I think this one’s best. Always go with your first choice, that’s what Samuel always told me.”
There seemed to be a disjoint between his mouth and brain, maybe caused by the situation, maybe by the knock his head had taken, but either way Jaime found himself saying, “Who’s Samuel?”
Bart flashed him a grin and replied, “Old sage dude who taught me how to loot houses.”
“What?”
The speedster waved his surprise away, amending, “Oh, don’t worry, they were already empty. Mostly.” Leaning in, Bart added in a stage whisper, “Word to the wise, I’m pretty sure there’s gonna be a raccoon revolt soon, real nasty. Pass it around.”
Jaime was torn between grimacing or rolling his eyes in exasperation, all thoughts of Bart having to loot and scavenge through a desolate wasteland of houses forgotten. Which was exactly what he wanted.
Bart took a cursory glance at Jaime and he frowned suddenly. “So that’s your costume? Not that I expected you to go all out or anything but…” He winced rather than end the sentence.
Jaime looked down at his usual hoodie and jean combo. “Huh?—Wait. I’m not even wearing a costume.”
“And here I thought you were a nudist on strike.” Bart looked thoughtful for a moment. “No costume? How are we going trick or treat then?”
“I’m kind of…not trick or treating?”
Bart’s expression was one of abject horror. “Why?”
Jaime had to push down just a bit of guilt when he saw the way Bart’s bottom lip was wobbling, just a little, but he assuaged himself with the fact that this kid probably learned the trick from another Samuel or something. It didn’t make him feel better. “I—Well—Augh!” He collapsed back onto the couch with a faint, “Ay dios mio.”
JAIME REYES I RECOMMEND—
Jaime cut off the scarab with a mumbled, “Incineration, yea, I know.”
NO
THE BOY IMPULSE IS CORRECT
IF THE TRADITIONS OF YOUR CULTURE DICTATE THAT THIS ‘TRICK OR TREATING’ IS A NECESSITY THEN IT IS BEST TO COMPLY
“You just want to gather more data on Halloween,” he said with a snort. “And by the way, you’re a terrible liar.”
“Uh…thank you?” Bart looked confused for a second before Jaime jabbed his thumb in the direction of the scarab currently adhered to his spine. He perked up suddenly. “It’s talking again?”
“Can’t really get it to shut up.”
Bart grinned and dramatically whipped out a wand, moving it in circles for a minute while chanting some strange words that Jaime was almost certain was just the text of a Harry Potter book sped up to insane proportions before just poking him in the back. “Hey!”
“Shush. Science.”
JAIME REYES CONTROL YOUR BOY
“He’s not mine!” Jaime yelled back, only to have the armor spread over his arm and start to form a canon, indicators that the scarab had finished his calculations and found that if the cheeky speedster wasn’t anyone of importance then it would be worth it to annihilate him. Just a little bit. For the pure satisfaction of it all.
As Jaime promptly tried to force the armor back, Bart proceeded to stroke his fake white beard and think science-y thoughts, either unaware of the threat or safe in the belief that his friend had it covered.
After that little debacle had finished, Jaime turned to see that Bart was still standing there, and trying very hard not to look like he was about to poke him again. “Look, I really can’t go out tonight. It took me long enough to get out of taking my sister trick or treating—“
Bart looked surprised. “You have a sister?”
He shivered involuntarily as he remember the hours leading up to her departure from the house, knowing that there wasn’t enough therapy in the world to sear the image of ‘Super-Milagro’ from his mind. “Pray that you never have to meet her. Also, stop changing the subject.” Jaime tried to glare but Bart just shrugged it off and resolved to stake out the house later. “My mom took her instead, so I got roped into handing out candy. So absolutely no trick or treating for me.”
Bart glanced over at the bowl of candy he gestured to, and then paused to glare at it like it was a particularly deadly villain. There was a quick gust of wind and a sudden blur, and then he returned before Jaime, grinning and not trying very hard at all to hide the fact that the bowl was now empty. Jaime’s eyes went wide, “Dude!”
“Tada!” Bart exclaimed. He rolled his eyes at Jaime’s horror-struck look. “Oh, stop worrying, I just handed out the candy for you. And hung a sign on the door telling them there’s an infestation of ghosts and that they should keep away. Also,” He held up a bag, “There was a sale on Chicken Whizzies!”
Jaime grabbed it out of his hands. As Bart started to open his mouth, he reminded, “You already owe me twelve bags. And counting.”
“Eh, whatever,” Bart replied with the casual air of someone who was just going to steal more later. “But you’re still coming now, right?”
There was a sigh as Jaime went through all his options and came to the eventual conclusion that it wasn’t even worth it anymore to argue. “Fine.” Slumping over and burying his face in the back of his elbow, he prepared himself for the upcoming celebration as Bart reveled in his triumph.
Making him decidedly unprepared for the soft shuffle of feet that accompanied Bart’s quiet, “Thanks.”
Jaime turned to face him, confused, but he had already moved away, seemingly intent on unlocking the door and not looking him in the eyes.
It was strange, Jaime decided. Sometimes he could go days without remembering that the cheerful speedster was really a byproduct of a time where all humans were enslaved and he himself was some evil Reach goon doing the enslaving, and most of the time he was happy with that.
But moments like this never failed to remind him. With guilt pooling dark and heavy in the pit of his stomach, Jaime resolved that if Bart wanted him to go on his first time trick-or-treating, then he would behappy to.
There was an annoyed, distinctly feminine voice. “Hey, what took you so long?”
“Oh, you know, technical difficulties and all,” Bart answered, not a trace of his earlier somberness present.
Jaime looked up to see the rest of the team filing into his house, casting quizzical looks at the scattered spider webs and numerous skeletons. “Uh, guys?”
Cassie bounded out with a grin and brought him into a back-snapping hug. He choked a little at her, err,exuberance. “Hey, Blue! Ready to go?”
“Uh…” When Jaime finally regained the function of his lungs, he cast his eyes around to find that everyone was already in costume, and not the ones he was used to seeing them in. Cassie seemed to be taking after her mentor if the Wonder Woman getup was any indication, and judging by the cowl Robin was sporting, she wasn’t the only one.
It seemed like the only costume Garfield could get away with was a turtle with a particularly bad brown shell paint-job. Huh. He didn’t even know turtles could scowl. As he took in the rest of them, noting that Bart had even managed to rope in Tye, who waved at him from the back, Jaime couldn’t help but laugh a little.
Jumping to his feet, he abruptly clapped his hand on Bart’s shoulder and said, “Hermano, let’s get this show started.”
“Great! Now, about your costume…”
X
JAIME REYES MY BIO SENSORS INDICATE THAT YOU APPEAR TO BE SUFFERING IN SOME WAY
BUT A SCAN OF THE AREA SHOWS NO IMMEDIATE THREATS
EXPLAIN
“Next time you see Bart around,” Jaime hissed as he glared at the group walking in front of him, “you have my full permission to activate the plasma canons.”
“Trick or treat!”
A heavy-set woman answered the door, beaming as she handed out candy and paused, giggling, when she reached Jaime. “What an adorable costume. You make the sweetest little grasshopper!”
Bart piped in, “It’s a beetle, ma’am.”
Straightening his ridiculous antennas with a growl, Jaime did his best to look menacing in a costume that, at its best, was a fluffy green beetle (Aw, c’mon, they didn’t have any blue ones!) with googly eyes that spun every now and then. He failed. A lot.
Yet, even through his exasperation, Jaime still couldn’t hide a grin at the sight of Bart, who, when he wasn’t busy chatting with random ghouls and goblins or not-so-discretely racing ahead and grabbing more candy, would just pause and stare out at the horizon of bright houses and colorful beaming children with the beginnings of a serene smile.