More Young Justice Trash

Overdose

-Based heavily on a traumatic experience I had in march/april-

The eighteen hours after new year's eve had been a blur. Between the team's explanation and the security cameras, the league were able to piece together what had happened. They'd had to explain everything: the light's plan, the fight, the blackmail, M'gann's race, Artemis' family, and between everything, Conner's drug usage more or less went under the radar.

Conner had stressed that he had no more shields, but admitted to a few trusted leaguers that he'd been taking at least one a day for the past several weeks, so to prevent sudden withdrawal, he was prescribed a strong stimulant to simulate what the shields felt like.

For the next couple weeks Conner would inject himself with the stimulant twice a day. Everyone treated it like it was over. Canary knew better though, Conner was still addicted, even if the drugs weren't coming from Luthor. She'd seen the changes, he was more irritable than usual, he was always on edge, he'd even lost a little weight, and she'd seen how he got tremors while training. The boy's cheeks looked hollower than ever, his skin pasty from lack of sun exposure, it wasn't healthy.

At least Conner was smiling more these days, Clark had finally tried to make contact with his clone. Conner had, when confiding in Tornado, Batman and herself, pleaded them not to tell Superman about his addiction, and they'd promised. The boy admired Clark so much it hurt to watch; even when Conner had hated Clark with his entire mind, some part of him had been desperate for his attention, Dinah couldn't bare to watch them interact.

Things didn't go back to normal fast enough, everyone was suffering, the team were bordering on traumatized by having to fight their mentors, and the league was riddled with guilt for letting themselves be infiltrated. The addiction slipped under the radar for easily another month.

Then Conner ODed.

"Come on!" Artemis called. They'd only been given five minutes to suit up, which really was not enough time to get out of a school uniform and into head-to-toe spandex. 

Luckily, Conner was already in costume, so he took the opportunity for something else; locking himself in a bathroom stall he removed the little glass vial from his pocket, along with a sterile syringe.

While the others chatted and changed, Conner drew the clear fluid into the syringe with the big needle, before swapping it for the smaller, kryptonite-tipped needle. He took from his other pocket a small packet containing an alcohol sanitation swab; he dabbed his thigh for a few seconds, then uncapped the syringe, extracting the bubbles. He took a deep breath, angled the syringe, and plunged the hypodermic needle into his thigh. He pushed down on the plunger, feeling the fluid leak under his skin as he emptied the barrel. 

There was  knock on the bathroom door and the team's chatter went silent. "You have one minute remaining."

"Thanks Red!" Wally swore about some wardrobe malfunction or other. "Supes, you good in there?"

"Coming!" Conner didn't have time to put the needle in the sharps bin, he capped them and stuffed them back in his pocket, hurrying out of the stall to join his friends.

The mission wasn't easy, actually, they were getting pummeled. A band of Kobra cultists were trying to reassemble, so they were sent to stamp that out. It was a group of about twenty, but they were armed, and eventually the team had been forced to back off somewhat to reassess.

Nobody noticed Conner slip away.

He was already exhausted, they were only half an hour into the battle but he felt ready to tap out. His stamina had just gotten worse and worse. Remembering the supplies he'd left in his pockets, Conner refilled the syringe. He knew he shouldn't reuse the needle, but he didn't have any clean ones. He was supposed to wait twelve hours between doses, but he needed the kick from the stimulant if he wanted to make it through the night. Besides, he was kryptonian, what's the worst that could happen?