August Writing Challenge: How It All Began

[Sean *]

It's writing challenge time again. To enter, just post a ficlet (300-4000 words suggested) in this thread. When the voting for this month's OTM winners comes around, a voting poll will go up for this as well.

The Challenge: Most characters come into the Hammel universe already possessing their powers, if they are meta-human. For this month's challenge, write a story describing how your character's powers first manifested, or, when they were first recruited after manifestation. If your character is non-powered, write about them encountering someone first manifesting.


The rules:

• Characters must be in Hammel canon, but the ficlets are not site canon unless so labeled (even though the challenge fits easily into canon).
  
• Entries must be more than 300 words.
  
• You can enter no more than three ficlets. Any ficlets posted after the original 3 will not be considered for voting. If you want to post more, however, have fun.
  
• Ficlets must be titled.

[Noah Washington]

Sharing is Caring
Canon: 2011

---

A-sixteen-year old Noah Washington came home from school late one afternoon, barely getting a foot in the door before his ten-year-old brother practically tackled him to the floor. With the still-recent passing of their father, Josh had become a little more wary on days where Noah didn't come home on time - even if he knew the older sibling had after school Track practice on Wednesdays. Still, he let out a loud "Oof!" sound at the collision, tossing his arms around Josh and scooping him up into a hug. "Chill out, buddy. I'm home!"

And he does, eventually. But not before following Noah through the hallway.

Their mother was watching TV in the lounge room. Alone. Her eyes seemed intently focused on the news reports. Every time a car accident is reported on, she seems to lose her breath all over again. Her fingers were clutching a worn, stitched up blanket. She held it close to her chest like a lifeline.

"Hey, mom." Noah said quietly, leaning with an arm against the doorway. She doesn't look at first. Not until there's a commercial break. She smiled at him briefly, and he smiled back. Noah hooked his arm around Josh's shoulders and left her be.

Noah found his way to the kitchen, seeing his grandmother busy in the kitchen; "Sorry I'm late."

"Don't be sorry." She reassured, making her way towards him and dragging him in for a kiss on the cheek. But she pulled back instantly, crinkling her nose and giving him a once over. "Noah!"

"I know!"

"Why'd you let me hug you then?"

"I can't stop you!"

"He smells, right?" Joshua chimed in, smirking at his brother and wiggling out of his arm.

"Arkie, go shower." His grandmother retorted, practically pushing him away. She hooked her arm around Josh's neck and pulled him in. "And you. How about you set the table, yeah? Dinner's almost ready!"

"Fine..." Both boys whine in unison. Josh refuses to wear a damn apron because he's a man. Men don't wear aprons. Noah drops his bag and goes into the bathroom. Finding the basin mirror, Noah briefly stared back at himself before running his hands through his messy blonde hair.

She was going to be okay.

Getting undressed, he made his way into the shower and immediately turned the hot water on as far as he could. When it finally kicked in - and dammit if it didn't take it's sweet time - he adjusted the temperature with minimal cold water and allowed the heat to seep into his muscles. They were already aching from how much he'd pushed himself during practice. But suddenly the pressure dropped down low. And then he was hit with a surge of cold water.

"Stop running taps, Josh!" He shouted.

"I'm nooooot~!" He sung out, though even the muffling effect from the water couldn't drown out his condescending tone.

"Stop flushing the toilet then, asshole!"

"Noah!"

"Shit." He cringed. "-I mean, y'big jerk?"

Like that was somehow better. Sure, he shouldn't use that kind of language with his younger brother. But things slipped sometimes. And he was being an ass- a big jerk.

These thoughts looped through his head as he started running shampoo his hair. But luck wasn't on his side; the water pressure slowly dropped as he was washing it out again. It happened often, but the rate was too slow to be normal. He rinsed out what he could quickly, missing some key suds on either side of his head as he turned around to look at it. The pressure was so low the water was sprinkling out and landing on his chest. "Is the pipe busted?" Noah called out. And after a few moments, he got a simple no in response. He didn't know why he asked. When the pipes leaked, it was different to this.

Running a hand through his hair, he finally realised he'd missed some shampoo. But the water drizzled out to nothing. "Are you serious?" He asked the faucet, feeling frustration build quickly. Like they needed this. Like they needed anything to break and go wrong now!

"Dammit!" The blonde shouted, curling his hand into a fist and banging it against the wall. Once. Twice more. Because this was just ridiculous. The icing on the worst cake in the history of the world. But he finally stopped beating the wall to death when he heard something. Pressing his hands and ear to the wall, he heard a sudden rumble. That's... Not good. He took a half step back from the wall just in time to get a mouth full of surging, freezing cold water. "What the-!"

Ouch! The faucet smacked him right in the damn forehead!

Noah pressed his hands to his head to try and stop the throbbing damage. Blood. Was he bleeding? How could he tell that? There was freaking tidal wave of water coming out of the wall! The seals on the shower door were shot, which meant the water was pouring out of either side and already flooding the bathroom. He called out to anyone who was listening, begging for help. Any kind of help.

The water streamed from the crack underneath the room. Josh tugged on his grandmother's sleeve and they both ran over to it. That's what that sound was? "Turn it off, Josh!" She ordered. And the boy was out the door in a heartbeat.

His grandmother wasted no time in prying the poorly locked door open. The water gushed past the unsealed break from the door, flooding into the hallway. She rushed inside to find her grandson with his hands against the hole in the wall where the faucet used to be. Hauling the shower door open, she squeezed herself into the small space and tried to help, soaking her clothes through and making no headway. With a bit of sense on her side, she reached out to grab a nearby towel, shoving Noah out of the way and trying to block it with that instead. It worked a lot better than their original plan.

Soon enough it shifted from an onslaught surge to a whimper of a trickle. Noah and his grandmother stood dumbfounded, staring at the hole in the wall and the drenched towel that clogged it.

"What-"

"Ugh, you too." She muttered, exhaling an exhausting sigh. She knew the signs when they were offered.

After all, his parents met at Hammel.

"Uhhmm..." Noah started, taking a small step back and hitting the wall.

"Hmm?" She asked, looking over to him.

"Grams."

"What."

His voice became deadly serious, if a little broken; "Could you..?"

Confusion coloured her defined features before the the proverbial light went off in her eyes. She slowly retracted the towel from the wall and handed it out to him. With a quick, well maneuvered hand movement, he scooped it up and securely covered his junk.

"Please don't tell anyone." He whined. Like it wasn't bad enough he got his ability in the shower.

He just had to share the moment with his grandmother.
Word Count: 1202

[Lani Hunter]

Once I Walked Among the Stars

Ignoring the growing pressure behind then Lani sent his eyes skyward from where he perched on a dark windowsill. Ahead of the stars were fuzzy lines of light. Lani’s lips turned into a frown. He’d told his boss this didn’t feel right. Too easy. He’d gotten in too smoothly and the alarms were easy to disarm. Almost undetectable these faint beams of light spelled danger of people with flashlights. He could go up, outrun them, or try. But they were at the advantage up there. Visuals were better and paths limited. Casting eyes downward now, Lani was loath to be on the ground, but it was his best bet. The alley was dark and deserted.

He swung out and his fingers caught the window and slid it down as he balanced precariously on the edge. Without further hesitation Lani kicked his feet out and his fingertips caught the window’s ledge hindering a three story dive. Feet braced hit the wall and absorbed the shock and stabilized him. Stretching out his toes he found easy holds and Lani started the long laborious climb downward. Sweat poured down his neck and the mask of cloth hindered his labored breathing but at least it decreased the sound.

A few downward glances and leaps later Lani hovered over the ground and silently Lani kicked his feet out from the wall and landed on the edge of a puddle resting against the side of the building. With a smile unseen Lani turned his face away from the building and with the bag of spoils secured neatly against his back Lani moved like a shadow down the alleyway.

The streets and alleyways as well as buildings and secret passages were like maps in Lani’s head as he took a left then a right then another right. A lot of people could know the city landscape by experience or training but no one knew Boston’s underbelly like Lani did. It overlaid the pleasant streets slid into the sewers and skidded the sky in dark smudges of the unclean.

Lani was pacing easily through the back alleys avoiding major roads for now, his main task to get back to the rooftops. He looked upward and then caught sight of the light beams at eyelevel. Breath caught and heart rushing Lani spun like a specter into the junction of a dumpster and brick wall. Lani pressed himself against the rough surface as the light beams turned down the alleyway. Lani pulled his feet closer as the light traced a line toward him then away again. He didn’t breathe a sigh of relief as they turned away. Only one type of person would be so bold and so stupid as to carry flashlights in this area and that person was someone with a gun and a badge.

Moving into a crouch Lani peered around the corner of the dumpster, one hand on the metal and one on the asphalt as he balanced. Lani watched them move on and his eyes moved across the dark street. A few feet back and across the narrow road was another alley. It spat out into the alleyway parallel to this one and once he got there he could slip through the ‘chute’, the narrow channel between the library and grocery. The ‘chute’ was critical for underground running, but narrow enough that it was most easily navigated by the small, luckily Lani’s growth spurt had stretched him out and left him rather lanky.

Taking one look back at the officers Lani dove across the gap and came up in a roll onto his feet and stuck closely to the brick, absorbed into the shadows. Looking carefully this way and that he darted across to the ‘chute’. He had to remove his pack and turn sideways to fit but he wriggled his way along.

The smile he allowed himself as he burst out into open air was short lived. The area was flooded with light and Lani’s dark adjusted eyes watered painfully and he had to raise a hand to block out the light. Lani swore and like a blur he was in motion running along the library. His heart hammered with panic, he didn’t even allow himself to imagine that it was coincidence. Ahead two police cars blared onto the street stopping nose to nose and painting the street in red and blue. Lani skidded and diverted back the way he came. His foot slipped out from underneath him from the tight turn but he was only down for a moment before sprinting back the other direction. Only to find it was already blocked by vehicles.

The pressure behind his eyes grew and he had to shut his eyes against it. He couldn’t afford to get sick until he was out of danger!

Lani paced like a caged animal his eyes darting around. No way out on foot, if he tried to backtrack through the ‘chute’ they’d be on him and he’d be defenseless. Same if he tried to scale a wall. He couldn’t do either quickly enough to shake them. Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit, Lani’s mind repeated in a rush as he continued to pace attempting to find a way to face them without having to turn his back to any of them. The trained thief froze and held his ground. His ears knew the sound of a cocking gun when they heard them.

There had to be a way out. Had to be. The sweat on his neck turned cold in the wind and he found himself shivered. Trapped. Utterly trapped! Hopeless! He watched the lights, figures moved in and around them, separating here and there and reforming again.

“End of the line, kid,” said a heavily accented Bostonian. A specter separated himself from the rest of the unseen figures and stepped through the light, letting himself be silhouetted by the headlights.

Lani shifted and took a step back.

“You’re surrounded, give it up.” The man continued and Lani could see the flash of a badge on his chest.

No amount of smoke screen was going to help him now. Lani tossed the pack to the ground away from him and raised his hands over his head. His heart hammered like war drums in his ears and the pressure increased spreading to his temples. The man started to move forward and Lani saw the flash of handcuffs in his hands and Lani’s heart skipped a beat and the pain that laced through his head doubled him over.

It felt as though something was trying to burst forth. He clutched at his head and he barely registered the man asking if he was alright and yelling at the officers to hold fire. It was like a dream and there was a terrible rushing in his head. Somewhere someone was screaming.

Terror overtook all other thoughts and all Lani could think of was getting away. The pressure became unbearable and Lani dropped to his knees. He didn’t feel the action so much as know that it happened because the way his clothing felt. The pressure seemed to build overhead and it felt like the foreboding before the break of a storm. It was like a dragon hovered overhead considering who to make its first meal out of.

The beast emitted a growl and Lani felt it shake his whole being and the scream turned to a war cry. Lani was alone in the world the blood rushing in his head the only sound and when he opened his eyes he found the war cry came from his lips. It all seemed so slow but so fast. Squad cars made themselves pancakes and others leapt into the air horns blaring. One suicide into the side of a building.

Oh God! Lani’s mind screamed in terror. A part of his mind tore into a great chasm and he couldn’t see past the pain and the fear. The more his mind tore open the more the roaring rushed through and the more things went flying. People dove out of the way of flying guns and cars. The ground plunged and buckled. Large gashes appeared in the concrete and the debris was added to the melee.

What was going on? Why was this happening? Who was doing this?! His mind knew the answer and rejected it violently. Away! Lani needed to get away before this thing, whatever it was came after him. He looked to the left and a car flew landing and skidding through the two blocking the way. Without thinking Lani plunged through the carnage after it. He ducked his head at the familiar sound of popping bullets but they never came near.

Lani ran and as he past cars their alarms went off and as he flew past windows, they shattered. It was coming after him! Oh God! He was going to die! Oh God! Lani pushed himself faster, a fox fleeing the hounds and when his legs felt as though they were going to die out Lani pushed himself faster. The craziness around him abated, but Lani did not allow himself a thought for having lost the demon that may have already destroyed half of Boston.

Exhaustion caught up far before his panic abated and one false step off a curb sent him tumbling. He caught himself and allowed himself now, for the first time to look back. The streets were dark and empty. He breathed harshly and his hands shook and scrambled to get the mask off. His lungs sucked in great gulps of clear air and he turned his head before he realized that was a mistake. Like an ax through his brain the pain came in waved and just kept coming and coming.

“’Ey, you alright kid?” A voice asked in the dark.

Lani’s eyes blurred as he moved them to the source of light. For a moment he panicked imagining a badge and gun, but it was only a homeless man warming his hands over a trashcan fire. Lani could only groan in reply.

“Comin’ off drugs never easy, eh?” The man asked with a little snort. When Lani didn’t respond the man approached. Lani’s body tensed and when a hand rested on his shoulder he lashed out but his exhaustion made it easy for the man to fend off and ultimately capture his hands and pit them against his chest. “That it easy now, kiddo. You look like you comin’ off a good high,” the man chuckled and patted his arms. “Com’on, I don’t got much but I’ve got enough.”

Lani’s eyes were still wide and he stay laying there stunned for several moments after the man let him go and walked back to the fire. Lani groaned again and his head lolled back for a moment. “What?” He croaked and pushed himself up on his elbows with not to little effort.

“Water, jerky, not them drugs if you be askin’. Clean three years now.” The man grinned proudly.

Lani ignored it as suddenly hunger and thirst became the primary concerns. He scrambled as best he could to the light of the fire and collapsed there taking the can offered and draining it like he hadn’t seen water for days. How far had he run? Snatching the slices of gas station jerky greedily Lani swallowed them as fast as he could chew through them.

“Musta been some high,” the man mused watched Lani. Lani ignored him and when his hands appeared empty he looked up getting a chuckle from the man. “You need ta sleep it off now. You damn near ate all I got!”

Lani lowered his head getting control of himself again. “T-thank you.” Sleep, yes sleep sounded amazing.

From the way the curb was digging into his back and the awkward way he was propped up Lani surmised that after that thought he had indeed passed out right where he was. The sun was still low in the sky and the homeless man snoring a few feet away shot home the reality that last night had not been a dream.

He looked around and in the light he recognized where he was. Not too far from home, actually. Getting to his feet slowly he inventoried all of his hurts.

That soon proved to be a daunting feat. He felt like he’d been in a bar brawl. His legs shook and ached even his lungs hurt and arms felt bruised. His hands were scrapped and his knees showed signs of blood through the fabric. But worse than any of it was his head. It felt like every thought was razor edged and salted. Lani hobbled his way to the shadowed underbelly of the bridge and relieved himself. Slipping back to where the man was still sleeping Lani paused seeing another person standing there.

A woman in a skirt suit and a pair of neat pumps stood looking out of place in such a dingy place. She smiled and Lani found himself drawn to her. He stopped a few paced away from her and she spoke.

“Lani Hunter?”

“How do you know my name?” Lani demanded suspiciously.

“I know you, Mr. Hunter, because I am like you.” She said her smile still there but her tone serious.

“What are you talking about?” Lani felt that stirring in his mind again and agony laced plainly across his face.

She pursed her lips. “If you would stop interrupting I will tell you. Now may I continue?” Lani blinked and nodded his head, flabbergasted. Was she a thief, what did she want? “Good, Mr. Hunter, I am Diane Klamer. I spoke to your parents they’re worried sick. I am a recruiter for The Hammel Institute… Yes, what is it Mr. Hunter?”

Lani’s risen his hand as if he were in class wishing to ask a question. He ignored her eye roll and dropped his hand. “That sounds like a school. You know I’ve got like a two point oh, right?”

She smiled sweetly again. “Oh, we are very aware of your academic standing, Mr. Hunter. But Hammel is no ordinary school—”

“I’m graduating this year anyways, I’m not planning on going to school.”

“Mr. Hunter, what did I say about interrupting?”

“Sorry.”

“Thank you, Hammel is not a college, it’s a high school, of sorts. Hammel is a school for special students. People like you and people like me,” She chuckled, “No, Mr. Hunter, it’s not a correctional school.”

“What do you mean people like me and people like you?” Lani asked, he already knew everything he needed about thieving. If she thought he’d be that stupid, well she had another thing coming.

“People with powers. Tell me, Mr. Hunter have you ever heard of Meta-Humans? No? I’m not surprised, and at your age too. Allow me to show you.” One second she was there and then she was gone only to reappear a moment later five feet to the left.

“Holy!” Lani exclaimed taking a clumsy step back and falling over the curb.

“You’ve got a power too.”

“You’re insane!” Lani glanced at the still slumbering man. “You’re on the same drugs he is!”

The woman took a few steps forward. Lani didn’t want this crazy woman any closer and to his surprise she stopped as though hit by a force field. “Mr. Hunter, I get that this is a lot to take in. But let me ask you: What do you think happened last night?”

Lani winced at the fresh memory. “Someone… something… it didn’t… I don’t know…”

“You happened, Mr. Hunter.”

Lani looked at her stunned the memories coming in a fresh light. The truth he knew and had forced out. “I… I did that?”

“Yes.”

Lani’s mind flared and pain erupted in his skull and the trash can fell over. The man awoke with a snort of surprise. “Liar!” Lani cried getting to his feet.

“And you’re doing it now, you’re a telekinetic. It’s a gift. Hammel can teach you to control it.”

Lani shook his head and covered his ears in attempt to block her own. “This is a dream! This isn’t real! It can’t be real! People can’t do things like this!”

She shook her head. “I get it, it doesn’t make sense. But this is real. We can help you at Hammel, we’ll help you control it.”

“Control it? I don’t want it!” Lani roared the painful feeling of his mind flexing and grabbing at things new and unsettling. Control, that’s all everyone ever wanted to do. Control. They wouldn’t control him!

“I need you to calm down, Mr. Hunter. I promise Hammel only wanted to help.”

“Get away from me.”

“Please, we can help!”

“You’re crazy!” Lani cried and the trashcan flew at her. She vanished and reappeared.

“Holy…” The man muttered staring.

“Stay away from me!”

“We can help!”

“Get away from me!” Lani cried and the columns holding the bridge shook.

“Holy shiznits in a blanket hose! You slipped me something! I’m outta here!” The man rushed away and the woman cast a nervous look at the bridge.

Lani followed her gaze and terror set in again. It’s me. It’s me! “Oh God!” Lani screamed. All those people last night. Oh God! It’s me! IT’S ME! The bridge shook again. It pitched violently and Lani gasped unable to scream anymore.

Mindless and terrified of the power lurking within Lani turned tail and ran. He didn’t know how he found his way for tears were leaking freely from his eyes and blurring his vision. He just needed to be away he needed someone. The world as he knew it had been swept out from under his feet. He ran into the door and after a moment of scrambling it opened from the other side. Lani looked into the eyes his mother. "Mamma," he uttered and without hesitation she reached out and took him in her arms.

[Jesse Adams]

The Lying Game

“Jesse, wait. Come back, I want to talk to you.” The blond cast a wary gaze to his track coach. She’d been watching him closely during practice. A little too closely for the fifteen year old’s liking. He thought he’d been careful enough to hide the slight ache in his shoulder from where he’d been shoved into a door two nights ago. It was healing, though not as fast as he’d wanted it to.

“What’s up?” He let a calm mask settle on his face as he turned from his teammates, letting them all troop back to the gym to shower and change without him. It was almost better this way. Now he didn’t have to fight to hide the bruise from them, too. Sometimes it was tricky. At least he had an older brother to pin things on.

He didn’t like the look in her eyes. He’d seen it many times before, usually from his mother when she was imploring him to talk to her. He’d long since become immune to that though, and he simply put his well-practiced acting skills into play. Her almost sympathetic smile confirmed that he was not going to like how this conversation was going to go. At least he could see to it that it would end the same way every single similar conversation with his mother did.

“You looked a little awkward in practice today. I just wanted to make sure you were okay.” Normally Jesse was leading the pack and pulling away by the end. If he kept up with training, she could easily see him meeting a state record for the mile in the next few years. His stride had been off during practice, though, and it had been hard to pinpoint why. Jesse just offered her a casual smile and rolled his sore shoulder.

“Yeah. Me and my brother were messing around last night and he kind of shoved me into a door.” This was followed by a shrug, as if to say ‘what can you do?’. “I’ll do better next meet, promise.” The exchange felt seamless, exactly how it was supposed to. He simply glossed over the truth, won the trust of who he was talking to, and kept the darker secrets locked up. It had worked so far. No one ever questioned the bright, athletic son of Michael Adams. No one ever needed to. He had an answer for everything, a brilliant cover that usually painted a picture of a perfect family life, including a close relationship with his older brother, who was never too busy to roughhouse.

“Jesse.” He glanced up, pushing his sweaty bangs off of his forehead. ... She still looked worried. Mentally, he backtracked his story. Everything was as he’d mapped it out, just in case anyone asked. It was almost a ritual now. At some point he’d have to stop blaming Keith, though. Before someone sussed out a pattern. For now, it was what he had to work with. “Are you sure that’s all that’s going on? You know you can talk to me.” His calm mask slipped for a moment as distrust flickered across his face. No, he couldn’t. He hadn’t even told his mother, though he suspected that she knew. He’d seen the signs. It didn’t seem to matter how hard any of them tried, he always found something to fault, and a reason to do what he did best.

“Yes, I’m sure.” His green eyes, usually so bright and expressive, were now unusually guarded. His coach took notice of this, but it was hard to press him further. Something was amiss, she just didn’t know what, precisely. Her continued look of concern began to chip away at Jesse’s defenses. For a moment he entertained the idea of letting everything out, telling her exactly what went on behind closed doors at home. What the sympathetic, silver-tongued defense attorney that was Michael Adams really did with his oh so perfect family. For years he had watched Keith be pushed and pushed to excel in academics, sports. He’d been in line for a football scholarship when he simply went off the rails. He rebelled against their father’s control, and upon seeing Keith as a lost cause, Michael had turned to Jesse. The blond had always felt the silent urge to succeed from his father, but the moment Keith crashed, that silent urge had become rather vocal. ... And physical.

An A- on a test was no longer acceptable. Silver and bronze medals were no longer celebrated in his track meets. No matter how well he did, he was always told he could be better. If he argued, things got physical. Just like the other night. He had given his father an update of his grades in History, when prompted, and because they weren’t quite up to par he’d been caught by the collar of his shirt and pushed into the door of his bedroom with enough force to leave a lasting ache.

It was very, very tempting to tell her. On the surface his father’s reputation was picture perfect. Perfect wife, perfect kids, beautiful home. It was like living in Stepford. Jesse knew damn well that his father’s reputation was everything to him, and something like this would tarnish that. Possibly beyond repair.

Before he could stop himself, his shoulders dropped and he adopted a defeated look that normally had no place on him. “You’re right,” he admitted softly. His voice, normally so confident, was now soft and sad. “It wasn’t my brother. It was my father.” Now he had started, he couldn’t stop. “He’s not like he seems. Not really. He’s a control freak and anytime things don’t go exactly right he gets a little... violent.” He rolled his shoulder again, the pain reminding him just how far things could go. “My grades in history weren’t up to his standards, so he shoved me into a door, which is nothing, really.” Oh God, what was he saying? “He actually broke a rib last year when I didn’t place at a track meet. I’m not sure if he meant to or not, but he did. I blamed it on my brother, because it was better than putting a black mark on his record.” He looked up, his eyes now wide and almost scared. “You can’t tell anyone, okay? Please, Miss Thomas. You can’t. You don’t know what he’d do if he knew I’d told someone.”

Nothing prepared an educator for something like that. There was literature and references if ever needed, but to experience it firsthand? She didn’t know what to do. Of course, it had to be reported, regardless of what her student said. Child abuse in any form wasn’t going to be tolerated. “Jesse,” she said softly, hoping to soothe him. “I know it was hard to admit, but it has to be reported.” He shook his head, his fists balling.

“No. You can’t.”

“Jess, listen to me.” She reached out to touch his uninjured shoulder, which was met with a mild flinch. “It will be okay.”

“It won’t,” he argued, staring at her with a pleading gaze. “Please don’t. I’ll do anything.” He didn’t want to say the words he feared the most. He could kill him, if he found out that his son had said anything. His heart rate picked up significantly at the thought of what he would do and say. “You can’t,” he repeated firmly.

“We don’t have a choice, Jesse. I’m sorry.” As she turned to head back to the offices, Jesse lunged for her arm, trying to hold her in place. A flood of emotions surged through him, and he thought as hard as he could about taking everything back. He relived the conversation in perfect detail, willing it all to disappear. Of course, thinking about it wouldn’t fix this. Nothing would.

“... Jesse? Did you need something?” Miss Thomas blinked and then smiled at him, though the expression was uncertain. Jesse stared at her, dropping his hold on her wrist instantly.

“Uh... maybe?” He didn’t know what had just happened, or why he felt like his memory of his day had suddenly gone fuzzy. “Um. Just... when’s track practice next week?”

“Oh! I thought I’d mentioned it at the beginning of practice. Next Tuesday at four.” She smiled at him, a look of pride overtaking the former confusion. “You know, if you keep practicing, you’ll own the state record for the mile.” It took a moment, but Jesse forced himself to smile.

“Great. I’ll tell my dad tonight.” Miss Thomas just grinned at him, waving him off.

“I’m sure he’ll be very proud of you. I know I am.” With that, she stooped to pick up the pylons she had set out as course markers, whistling cheerfully. Jesse watched her for a moment, then stared down at his shaking hands.

He had just erased their entire conversation. How, he didn’t know. But he’d done it.

That begged the question...

What else could he do?

[Samuel Rixon]

Fiery Temper

“Sam, move your feet.” Rachel nudged at her little brother’s legs. He was sprawled out on the couch, feet propped up on the coffee table as he played round after round of Halo. His sisters were attempting spring cleaning with their mother, while he was doing his best impression of a useless lump.

“DEAN STOP SNIPING ME,” he yelled into the microphone, hammering on the buttons as he once again met his death. Stupid friends.

“Sam, now. I need to vacuum.” He cast his sister a sidelong glance as he waited out his respawn.

“In a minute. Let me finish this round.”

“You said that the last six rounds. Come on, Sam. Move, or you can vacuum yourself.” How in the hell he’d gotten out of spring cleaning was beyond her. Even Bryan was helping out in the yard. Sam grunted in irritation, tucking his feet up onto the couch.

“Better?”

“It’ll do.” With that, she flicked the machine back on and purposely took a little extra time in front of the television, prompting a flurry of curse words out of her brother’s mouth. Naturally, these were met with a sweet smile as she moved on. Sisters: 1, Sam: 0. He should have been grateful that she hadn’t dragged him off to help. Granted, he was less help than hindrance when it came to cleaning. At least playing video games he was out of the way.

That didn’t mean he couldn’t be bothered while everyone else was working.

It wasn’t hard to unite the siblings that were home. If Sam was going to be a lazy brat, he was going to have to pay for it. Even Bryan was bribed into helping. He might have idolized his brother, but he wasn’t above forming alliances with their older sisters in exchange for a drive to their favorite ice cream place when the cleaning was done.

Bryan was up first. Hands still filthy from helping his father weed the flower beds, he eagerly pounced on the couch and tried to grab at Sam’s controller. “I wanna play too!” Sam hissed and jerked away, holding the controller up higher.

“No, Bry. Get lost.”

“I’ll tell Mom!”

“Hold on, Dean.” Sam paused the game and twisted to look at his brother. “You’re supposed to be weeding with Dad. Get lost.” Bryan smiled brightly and showed off his hands.

“’I’m done and Kaitlyn said I could come play.”

“Well you can’t. The other controller’s dead. Buzz off.”

“Moooooooooooooooooom! Sam’s being meeeeaaaaaaan!”

“Samuel! Leave your brother alone.” Sam shot a dirty look up the stairs and relented slightly.

“Fine,” he grumbled. “You can play after the next round. But do it on your own damn account.” With that he flipped the microphone from his headset back down and unpaused the game. “Sorry, Dean. Next round’s the last one. Bry wants to play.” There, wasn’t that nice?

He was actually setting up to win the last round, as well. He had his friend on the ropes with a clever hiding spot and the sniper rifle, gleefully spawn killing him at every chance he got. The flurry of curses coming from his headset made for a nice change. Normally it was Sam that was being killed over and over again. “You’re so dead, Dean. Admit it. I’m the Halo MASTER.”

“Hey. Halo Master.” Rachel leaned against the television looking suspiciously innocent. Sam glared at her.

“What, Rach?”

“Who’s winning?”

“Me.”

“That makes a change. But we need your help.”

“Wait five minutes. Round’s almost done.” Sam leaned forward, as if that would help his concentration.

“No, now, Sam. Bryan can finish it for you. Dad needs you in the yard.”

“Five minutes, Rach. Please. I never trounce Dean.”

“He said now, Sammy.” Giving him a warning look, she reached down to where the Xbox was plugged into the wall. “Ten seconds.” Sam’s gaze flicked from the screen to his sister, weighing his options. Bryan would ruin his lead within sixty seconds, and if Rachel unplugged the thing...

“Don’t,” he pleaded as he made his chief scuttle back into the shadows of his hiding spot. “C’mon Rach, please.”

“Time’s up. Go help Dad.” She smiled innocently and gave the cord a little yank. The screen went black, and Sam was left staring at it. Sonofabitch.

“Rachel!” Sam’s temper flared. “I was winning, goddamn it!” He yanked off the headset and tossed the controller at Bryan. “The hell’d you do that for?”

“Because you can’t lay around the house all day doing nothing. Everyone else is pitching in. Go help Dad.” Sam’s fists curled in irritation, an odd heat spreading through his body.

“You’re a jerk,” Sam hissed, intending to head out to the yard and release a flurry of cuss words he wasn’t allowed to say around Bryan. Instead, as he shifted, he felt the heat surge down into his hands and watched in shock as flames jumped from them to his mother’s curtains. Rachel yelped, diving down to the floor. Bryan yelled for their mother as he ran outside. Sam just stared, shoulders shaking from the feeling. How in the hell had he done that?

Within moments his father had used the extinguisher from the kitchen to put it out, Sam had been sat back down on the couch, while his sister Kaitlyn assessed the damages. She’d been to Hammel. She’d seen this before. “Sam’s a pyrokinetic,” she said calmly.

“Pryo-what-ic?” Sam looked back at her, happy to not have to look at the damages anymore.

“Pyrokinetic. Fire manipulator. Remember the school I went to? They’ll be here for you, too.” Sam considered that for a moment. ... Hey, it would be a ticket out of the nut house. He’d take it.

[Ella Robbinson]

Hindsight - [TW: Blood]
Canon: 2005

---

Her eyelids fluttered slowly, the bright contrast before them suddenly apparent. Fluorescent and unnatural.

When she woke, Ella's eyes dragged open and she was staring up at an unfamiliar ceiling. Tucked in tighter than ever before, her body was covered by a faded, peach coloured blanket. The occasional splatter of red seemed to decorate some of its edges. A natural reaction forced itself out of her slowly, and she made the motion to lift her hands up to rub her face. But she couldn't. Glancing down wearily, she discovered why.

Her arms were in braces. Her wrists wrapped.

"...Woah." The simple word fell from her lips, drawn out by exhaustion. How did she-?

Her attention was dragged to the door as it slowly pulled open. The only face of the three she recognised was her therapist, Angela.

"What-?"

"Your mother's on her way. She..." Angela paused, thinking over her words, "She's on her way."

"...Okay." Ella managed.

Silence.

"Do you remember anything?"

"Do... Does it seem like I do?"

"What about why you're in a hospital bed?"

Her dazed expression meant otherwise.

"You'd just left my office... You were upset..." Angela drawled, leaning forward as if it would somehow lead her to the answer. What little she recalled flowed in awkward stints.

She did walk out. She was upset. Or angry.

Angela had insinuated her attitude had been worsening. Who wouldn't he upset about that?

Angela had asked that they forgo the letter-writing assignment for a few months.

Angela had insisted that she move on. That she resolve to completely let go. That she get comfortable enough to accept the actions in years to come - when she'd get a birth certificate and a name and a chance for information.

She had... Hadn't she?

"I was upset." Ella repeated finally, her tone as dry as her lips suddenly felt.

"You were..." Angela started again, unsure of how to speak properly. She'd been through this type of thing before, just never at this magnitude.

"Why am I-" Ella started, her voice trailing away as she tried to hold her arms up.

A voice piped up from one of the other two. A doctor, maybe; "Ah, those aren't necessary now." The third person hesitated for a moment, but resolved to simply nod and make the move to release her arms from their bindings. But not the bandages from her wrists.

"What happened next?" Angela asked.

"I don't know."

"Ella, we've talked about your deflection. You do."

"No, I mean I really don't know."

And with a sigh, her therapist continued.

There was a shout from the other side of the door. At first Angela hadn't reacted; Ella would be prone to violence when her sessions didn't end well. She liked to express her responses vocally before physically. Sometimes both, if the outcome had been particularly draining. But this was different. Her cry had been one of pain as opposed to the usual frustrated anguish. So she left her desk, crossed the room and opened it. And Ella would be found slumped against the nearby wall, barely conscious in a fast growing pool of her own blood.

It stained her skin. Her clothes. Angela's too, as she rushed to the girl's side to inspect her for marks. Things were easily pointing to the obvious - whatever had happened was done to herself. This theory was subsequently backed by the marks on her wris-

"No!" Ella begrudgingly pulled herself into a weakly derived sitting position. "No! No. I didn't!"

"Ella-"

"I didn't! I wouldn't! I-"

"Should have left the restraints on." The third muttered to himself, looking away and deciding to get the hell out of there while he still had all his limbs.

"Calm down and listen, Ella." Angela started again. "You didn-"

"Where's Amelia?" Ella countered.

"She's on her way. I-" The second individual came and sat down on the edge of her bed as Angela worked to filter through Ella's questions.

"Does she think I did that? I... I really didn't!"

"Ella, is it?" He asked. She simply stared at him before her attention turned to Angela.

"Who is this?"

"He-"

"Tom. Robbins, if you can believe it."

Deadpan. "That's a joke, right?" She asked. It was either a terribly conjured fake name or the biggest hit of irony she'd faced to far.

"It's not." He reassured her. At the sudden revelation of an urgent phone call, Angela saw herself out. It had been Ella's mother. In her worry she needed someone to vent to. She was considering the worst. "I'm here to talk to you."

Oh god, another therapist. And this one was embarrassingly nice to look at. "I have Doctor Collins, so..." Go away.

"What? No, I'm not a-" He paused, chuckling to himself. His upbeat attitude was painfully ignorant. And annoying. Or maybe both. "Well, people do talk to me like I am one, so maybe I could be?"

He paused. No wait, he stopped talking. Was he really asking? "...No."

"Just an expert advice giver, then." He denoted, nodding his head a few times. "I'm actually a Recruiter. For a special Institute." That was all she needed to hear.

She fired up again; "I'm not crazy. I didn't do this!"

"I believe you." He said sternly. Tentatively, he lifted her left hand up and looked at her - permission to continue. Ella offered a gentle nod, and he slowly started to unravel the bandage around her wrist. The more he removed, the more red stains were evident. And the wider her eyes got. Did she-? Ella shut her eyes tight, swearing to herself she wouldn't open them. "Look."

"No."

"Please?"

"No!"

"Ella..." He sounded so pleading now, "Trust me for a second, okay? You need to look."

But she didn't want to. And so she couldn't. Ella sat with her eyes shut as tightly as she could muster for as long as she could. What felt like hours was a few dwindling minutes, but he wasn't moving. "I don't even know you." She said quietly, shaking her head. "Wrap it back up, please." Now she was pleading.

"I will," A delicate pause, "If you look."

Despite the overwhelming sensation that her eyelids were too heavy to lift, Ella tried. She opened one eye and peeked over at him. Tom offered a small tilt of his head down to her wrist, and slowly her gaze traveled. Down his face, across his chest. Down his arm and to her own.

Nothing. There was nothing.

"That doesn't make sense." Ella furrowed her eyebrows. There wasn't even a scar.

"You're something special, Ella Robbinson." Tom started, looking up at her and offering a very charming, very cheerful smile. In contrast to the rest of the stark faces she'd seen, it was a lifeline. "I'm just here to help you realise it."

[Dr. Sean Neville]

Gumboots

Rearranging my position
On this friend of mine who had
A little bit of a breakdown.

“Do. Das. Dat. Dat. Damus. Datis. Dant.” Each word was punctuated with a tap of the ruler beside the English translation.

All of the boys scribbled everything written on the blackboard and spoken by the Father onto their wide-ruled paper, their handwriting impeccable (when considering the fact that they were in the sixth grade). For the most part, they weren’t concerned with punishment beyond a public reprimand, or perhaps a rap on the knuckles with a ruler. Still, the prospect of potentially flunking Latin was enough motivation to take detailed notes.

Despite copious note-taking and studious habits, Sean Neville worried about flunking Latin.

By no stretch of the imagination was he the worst student in class. However, there was something about studying a (practically) dead language – despite that language’s influence on his native tongue – that caused strife for him and for his classmates. For a boy as used to high achievement (and straight A’s) as Sean, this proved particularly troublesome.

Even his devotion to Mass and liturgies failed to compensation for the utter lack of pronouns during conjugation.

Still, he tried his best.

After all, given the fact that his biggest problem in life was that he had some difficulties with Latin, he was doing fine.

The bell rang, signaling the end of the period and the beginning of lunch and recess. Sean shut his notebook and carefully packed up his pencil, eraser, and other supplies. Around him, the other boys did the same, before hurrying from the classroom. Eager to eat and then play handball.

Sean wasn’t in a rush, although he wanted to eat and play handball too. Both his sandwich and the handball court would still be there in five minutes when he had finished packing up. His notebook and Latin textbook both found their way into his backpack, and then he buckled the straps tightly, sealing his supplies inside. With a smile at the Father, he left the classroom – the last to leave, as he often was.

The cafeteria was alive with the sound of boys conversing, occasionally shouting, and sometimes bullying. The Jesuits had no tolerance for bullying, and anyone caught taking advantage of other boys was swiftly punished. That didn’t prevent it outright, but at least it put a dent in potential abuse. That and the fact that the school only went up to eighth grade. Everyone older was filtered through the high school, which had its own problems and policies.

Sean was good at keeping his head down and avoiding bullying. Some of that could be attributed to his mild-mannered personality and overly polite and gentle demeanor, so that he had few enemies and several friends. Some of it had to do with the fact that he had begun to grow like a weed.

He had always been tall for his age, but, now, only in sixth grade, he was already as tall as some of the teachers. His father thought that Sean could grow, potentially, as tall, or even taller, than he was. Sean didn’t think that was possible, since his father was the tallest man that he had ever met. William Neville was a mountain of a man.

Sean found a few of his classmates seated at their usual table near the back of the cafeteria, carefully avoiding the seventh and eighth grade students. Metal lunchbox in hand, he passed by tables of fifth graders before arriving. He offered his friends a smile before sliding into the seat, opening up his lunchbox, and pulling out his lunch.

A turkey sandwich, a thermos of milk, carrot sticks, pretzels, a peach, and a chocolate chip cookie. His mother made the best lunches.

That cookie looks good.

Sean looked across the table at Jack. “You can have half, if you want.”

Jack looked bewildered. “Half of what?”

“Of my cookie.”

“Thanks.” After a second, Jack asked the obvious follow-up question. “Why?” While Sean was nice and polite, he wasn’t in the habit of giving away part of his lunch to people who had their own lunches already. Certainly not without being asked first.

“Because you said it looked good.”

“What? No, I didn’t.”

Sean’s incredulous look was matched by Jack’s, in addition to the other boys at their table. “He really didn’t,” Connor added, taking a clear side in this argument.

Sean’s acting weird.

“I’m not acting weird!”

Everyone at the table stared at him, as though he had just admitted that he’d skipped Mass last weekend so that he could go egg houses.

He’s acting really weird.

That was Connor’s voice, but Sean had been looking right at the redheaded boy. His lips hadn’t moved.

That was weird.

It couldn’t be a radio or a walkie-talkie. Those weren’t allowed in school, and his friends (as opposed to some of the other, more rambunctious boys) kept their noses clean the same way he did. Besides, Connor’s voice, like Jack’s before him, was so clear – nothing like the static-riddled, mechanical background noise that accompanied walkie-talkies being used. Especially not at so close a distance.

Besides, he didn’t see anything, and both of Connor’s hands were on the table, completely empty.

Something was definitely weird.

Sean didn’t know what was going on, but he got the sense that the other boys were just as bewildered as he was. Not that they were pretending in order to mess with him (not that he would expect that of his friends anyway), but that they were confused too. He couldn’t say why he thought that; it was just a gut feeling, although their facial expressions seemed to confirm it.

Suddenly, he didn’t feel quite so hungry.

Quietly, he began to pack up his lunch box: the turkey sandwich, the thermos of milk, the carrot sticks, the pretzels, and the peach. He kept out the chocolate chip cookie, which he slid in its entirety over to Jack. “Keep this,” he whispered, before he pushed himself to his feet.

At least he didn’t feel dizzy or light-headed.

“I think I’m going to go to the nurse,” Sean announced, before he picked up his lunchbox and quickly left the cafeteria. As he left the cafeteria, he heard it.

Sean’s acting crazy.