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[hider=Previously…]“I’m glad your dog is dead!”

[color=e7745b]“Shawn! Take that back!”[/color] Juniper broke down as recent wounds were made fresh again. The class erupted into a mixture of laughs and shouts. Jean stood, her red hair flowing behind her as she took Juniper by the hand and moved through the desks of 4th graders. They went silent as their teacher towered over them all, but as she reached Shawn’s desk, she crouched down, taking his dark hand in her free one. His expression fell to one mixed of annoyance and embarrassment. He tried to maneuver his hand away but Jean kept a gentle hold of it.

[color=e7745b]“Shawn, I know you’re going through a lot right now. I think all of you are, all of us always are. The world’s hard right now. It’s nothing like when I was a kid. But I think it’s because the world is scary we should try to be kind.”[/color] She gauged his reaction, his desire to not be here right now. To have kids so full of creativity and energy be bottled up in a classroom was torture of the worst kind, and global pandemic would leave scars none would ever be able to guess at the depth of. It had taken weeks for her to be able to convince them not to be engaged with the constant stimulus of their phones, their safe retreat where so many of their parents didn’t have the time to spend with them from long hours worked. [color=e7745b]“Do you want to try and apologize?”[/color]

Shawn remained pensive, guilt plain. Then he cracked a smile, but not from anything Jean had done or said. A fart resounded through the class, all tension unwinding as the kids burst into laughter. Jean lurched, trying to hold onto her balanced as she failed to contain herself. Many things changed, but some things never would. Jean was trying her hardest to leave an impression on these kids, but it seemed sometimes a deep speech full of optimism was less than a fart, and maybe for now that was alright. When the class calmed down, Shawn did apologize for making fun of Juniper’s recently deceased dog, a sad story she wanted to share with the class. Giving the class an opportunity to come clean on their feelings and let themselves be vulnerable in a safe space wasn’t an idea she thought was bad, but perhaps ‘private one on one teacher talk’ would have been a better move. Baby steps.

A short while later she sat at her desk, eyes mindlessly wandering across the water damage spots on the ceiling of the far too old ‘temporary’ classroom while she slurped at her beef flavored Cup Noodles, decadently garnished with about 3 cents worth of grated ginger, who’s flavor and health benefits was no doubt buried in preservatives and MSG. She dripped some broth onto her yellow blouse, and didn’t even care. Lunch break felt like her one solace in life, where she was able to turn her mind off. [color=19830a][sub][i]Turn off the safety.[/i][/sub][/color] And not have to worry about her finances, her underfunded classroom, her husband and child back home. [color=19830a][sub][i]Load a bullet in the chamber.[/i][/sub][/color] But dammit it was so worth it, she told herself every night as she tried to sleep in between Nathan’s wails. It was for the ki-

[color=19830a][i]And then they’ll see me. Then they’ll hear me.[/i][/color]

Jean’s mind, never quite shut, was drowned constantly in noise. The darkest thoughts, the most pleasant dreams, the inanely mundane babble. Like static from a TV or the rumble of an air conditioner, she tended to shut it out. Even the loudest most passionate thoughts would only be brief interruptions, like that of a car exhaust or firework. Easily mistaken for a gunshot, momentarily annoying, and quickly ignored.

But sometimes it [i]was[/I] a gunshot.

Jean leapt from her seat, pittance of a lunch splattering on the floor. Her mind probed outwards as she spilled into the hall, hurling by a passing teacher and student. [color=e7745b]“Bathroom!”[/color] she yelled as she passed right by the nearest one. She ran across the fields, well away from the kids still in the cafeteria area, a few stragglers enjoying the playground before it became a carnival. Passing by a few bushes filled with webs and spiders, she found the back area where the fence divided school with the minuscule backyard of low end housing. A form dropped from the top of the fence, scrambling up and pointing a handgun right at Jean. He wore a heavy coat and beanie despite the higher than temperate weather, and she immediately noticed why. Green skin, no nose, big yellow eyes wide and full of anger, fingers almost too large to even fit into the trigger guard. Her breath went cold. No amount of mental preparation could ready you for your first time staring down the barrel of a gun. But so easily could she imagine the 12 bullets in that pistol, yet to reach the chamber, flying through the air at her students. Her own breath went hot, and her eyes went yellow like the sun, for they were of the same breed.

She plumbed into his mind, and she saw. She saw him skulking through the midday on his way to this school. She saw him stealing the gun from a gang banger in the middle of the night, running from retaliating fire. She saw him leering at the bright world outside he wasn’t allowed into, a hate festering that Jean could only claim she couldn’t understand if she felt like lying to herself. She saw him scorounging for scraps of food while trying to hide from people guarding it, because protecting the excess waste of gross capital was more important than the lives of the poor and downtrodden. She saw him, small, no older than anyone in her own class, retreating as stones were cast his way. She saw him tucked away in his parents basement until he was so hungry he had to escape, only to find his parents had left him. She saw him born a once normal boy. For a time, he could be happy in a world where no one knew what he truly was.

[center][color=e7745b]“LEAVE THE GUN, AND GO.”[/color][/center]
It was not a word spoken, a suggestion offered. It was a command implanted. She feared the residual effects she could have on a tender mind, yet felt as though she had no other choice, not in this moment. She knew it wasn’t a solution, but she couldn’t think of anything else. She couldn’t alleviate his pain, she couldn’t take him in when she was struggling so much as it was. She couldn’t go to the authorities who would not be helpful or kind. There was no place in this world for he who didn’t ask to be born a monster. He left the gun and crawled back over the fence like nothing was wrong. She waited for him to go before lifting the gun with her mind, drawing out the bullets and dumping them down a drain pipe, before drawing on her pyrokenesis and telekenesis as one, melting and crushing down the gun into a ball and letting it cool before hiding it in a bush.

The rest of the school day seemed to drift by. Her body felt numb as she went through her classes, her post-school meetings, her bus ride home. She packed it all down and away. Leftovers to dig into later. Going up the 8 floors to her apartment, she steeled herself and put on a smile as she reached the door. It opened before she even reached it. Head full of auburn hair, eyes blocked by the red lenses of his sunglasses, a light coat over a security guard uniform, he began, [color=f02f54]“Hey! They called me in early so I gotta go but Nate’s asleep right now and I made enchiladas! They’re in the fridge and I’ve already got the oven prehea- Jean?”[/color]

Scott was suddenly buffeted as Jean rushed into his chest, shaking with sobs that broke out of her once she’d seen the face of the man she loved so much. He wiped the surprise off his face as he sank to his knees with Jean, who couldn’t support her own weight any more. He put his arms around her without hesitation. [color=f02f54][i]I’m right here for you. I’m right here. And I’ll always be here.[/i][/color] He repeated in his head. He wouldn’t find out the details in this moment, but through her sobs he would be able to make out the phrase that would define the coming years of their life.

[color=e7745b]“Something has to change.”[/color][/hider]

Eyes red, irritated from crying, Jean’s consciousness returned. It was already early night, her clock reading out nearly 8PM, and she heard a low whining through the thin walls of the Baltimore apartment. Throwing herself out of bed, she moved her sore body out the door and right to the other room. Blocks and toys drifted out of the path of her feet as she reached the crib where her baby stood, hands on the bars of his baby jail. The face of her son shifted from a lonely pout to a gleeful smile the moment he saw her. As she picked up the ginger boy only clad in a diaper, the weight of everything came back to her. The papers she had to grade, the hunger in her stomach that needed to be sated, the messy process of feeding Nathan, the horrific school shooting she’d narrowly averted, the small amount of time she had before she would go to sleep and meet the next day. [color=e7745b]“Are you hungry?”[/color] she cooed as she went to their kitchenette, plopping Nathan in his high chair while trying to ignore the crushing feeling in her chest.

Turning the oven back on, the knob jabbed her with guilt of having wasted her husband’s kindness earlier. Normally he’d be there before he went to his graveyard shift, Jean’s exhaustion from school blowing away in his presence. Instead she now sat at the table multitasking, feeding Nathan some green goop from a Gerber jar with one hand while planning out her next week of lessons on a laptop with most of her attention. Nathan spit out his third bite in a row, spit and slop dribbling down, Jean wasting no time in dabbing at it with a damp paper towel. An intrusive thought came to mind, not for the first time and most definitely not for the last, as she imagined using her power to have him eat without fuss. She’d decided to herself while she was pregnant with him that she wanted to raise him as a human. To feels his weight and warmth with her own arms rather than shove him about telekenetically. To understand his needs and emotions as any mother would without probing into his undeveloped mind. To implant suggestions into another mind and interrupt their free will, their agency and autonomy, was not something she wished to ever do to anyone. The effects it might have on a mind, especially a developing one, was something she didn’t not want to consider. And once in her life, she had done it, just earlier today. Putting the baby spoon down, she stood, rushing to the sink, face growing hot and sweat beading down her neck. Her throat seared as she belched up a dollop of stomach acid, her hair floating away from her face as she hacked her lungs out. Face tightening as it grew red, she choked back tears while her sinuses burned. Once she finished, she turned back to the room, sinking to the ground. Looking back up to Nathan as she sniffled, he was arched to look over at her. [color=ca5132]“Ma, ma, ma, ma,”[/color] he mewled.

[color=e7745b]“I’m okay sweetie,”[/color] croaked out Jean’s reassuring lie.

[center]-----[/center]
Flopping down on the couch with a plate of enchiladas, Jean reached for the remote, Nathan scampering about with the barrier blocking the way out of the living area. Sinking back in the seat, she put on the TV for background noise while she considered the teen she’d stopped early today. Fearing for his mental health (from both before and after her incursion…), she struggled to find an answer. Maybe she wouldn’t, but there needed to be some kind of outreach. She considered poking around online, or even just finding him and trying to talk it out. Not interested in news reruns, she took a bite before changing the channel, only to find the news still playing reruns. The same ones. Adjusting her sitting she continued, but the next two stations were all on the same note, just with different commentators. A terrorist attack had occurred in Metropolis, the footage not of the police and firefighters, but mostly focused on the red and blue, a single man who defyed all human logic and science in his caped crusade against a terrible toymaking terror. It wasn’t the new Hollywood blockbuster. It was very real.

Half chewed food still in her mouth, Jean slumped back in her seat. Nathan whizzed by, giggling happily in whatever made up game he was playing. Jean wished she could capture that carefree attitude as her already tired brain struggled against the implications unfolding right in front of her.

[center]----[/center]
Jean didn’t sleep well that night. She only ever got a few hours, but that nap made her sleep schedule even worse. She’d been lying in bed for a couple hours when Scott came home a little earlier than normal, quiet as a mouse. She laid still in bed trying to get some rest as he went about his eve, tidying, watching TV at the lowest possible volume, checking on Nate every time he stirred. She must have found some comfort in that unchanged routine, for she awoke at 6 to the buzz of her alarm. The news didn’t come up as she went about starting her day and Scott went about stopping his. There was a tacit understanding: no one knew what the future held, and it wasn’t worth putting their life on hold just to speculate. Mornings were a time to get hectic and prep for the day to come, where the afternoon and evening were better for talking, if Nate wasn’t particularly rambunctious in between his regular naps. Jean gave Scott a peck on the cheek before heading off to school, Scott’s shoulders looking heavy as he headed off into his own balancing act of sleep and (baby)sitting.

Her day at school was certainly more interesting than average, not that yesterday would be surpassed any time soon. But discussion of current events could only be tolerated for so long in the face of Jean’s lesson plan.

[color=e7745b]“So, let’s say you hear that a friend got hurt. Maybe they broke their leg or were in an accident. What do you think is the [i]worst[/i] way you could say ‘get well soon’?”[/color] There was a silence as everyone put in some thought. Or, well, Jean wanted to think that, but the glimpses she got into those small heads before she closed herself off weren’t exactly promising. Kicking the gears into motion, she started, a marker squeaking on the whiteboard, [color=e7745b]“Giving them a signed card would be a good way, but a bad way might be, say...”[/color] She stepped to the side, her red lettering reading out ‘gws ttyl lol’. [color=e7745b]“A text message no one can read maybe isn’t the best idea.”[/color] She smiled slightly at the confused faces trying to make out the shortened words.

“Goood wall son, tattley lol?” A few giggles sounded, Jean cracking a warm smile. [color=e7745b]“‘Get well soon, talk to you later, laughing out loud...but I like yours, Dominic!”[/color] Drawing a heart she said, [color=e7745b]“Oh, but we can add some emojis!”[/color] A few more giggles. [color=e7745b]“Does anyone want to tell me why they think it’s not the best idea to say it like that?”[/color]

After a few seconds, a hand went up. “Because you can’t understand?”

[color=e7745b]“True! But even if the message does get across, a card feels much more personal. Same if you called them, or went to go see them in person. Which of those would you like the best if you were in the hurt?”[/color]

Hands went up a bit quicker. Jean picked them out one by one. “A card because I can remember.” “Uhhh, if I can’t go out and see my friends then I would be happy if they came to see me!”

[color=e7745b]“Right! When someone is thoughtful, or doing something personal, it makes you happy. A text message can be a good way to let a friend know what you’re doing, but it’s easier. Especially if you use emoji or lazy language. And if you’re trying to tell someone you care about them then you don’t want to come across as lazy. Even with a card you still had to pick it out and spend money on it: there’s a gesture there. So-”[/color]

“Mrs. Grey?” came a whisper from the door. Spotting the thick rimmed glasses and short white hair of Mrs. Herb, she gave a curt nod to her class before shuffling to the door. “What is this about cards? We have testing coming up.”

Jean spoke in hushed tones, [color=e7745b]“It’s English, it’s just more...fundamental. I’ve been thinking about this a lot lately, and yesterday-”[/color]

Mrs. Herb’s lips went thin. “Well...you’re doing good for your first year, but don’t push it.” She moved along, leaving Jean to her business. A tad flustered, she returned, trying to pick things back up from where she left off.

She’d been thinking about it a lot lately. Which is to say, since last night. Language didn’t concern merely words. Color was a language. Blue could be sadness but it could also be calming, relaxing. A sign that there was no danger. Red could be the inverse, that of aggression, but not as a secondary color to blue. It also meant passion, like that of love. Yellow, happiness and joy. A shield worked as a symbol of protection and defensiveness. The ‘S’…

Super, of course.

Someone was out there, putting their life on the line to protect people from threats that couldn’t be comprehended. In barely even 24 hours other stories were starting to filter in as well. The world was changing, and quickly, yet at the forefront of it all was a man who didn’t entirely need words to show what he was fighting for. Many were reacting with fear and anxiety, that someone so strong was right in their midst. Certainly a number of fear mongering headlines were espousing that very same sentiment. But Jean couldn’t see it that way, not in the least. Thinking on it too much had her beating back tears. She couldn’t escape the thought, the want for someone like her doing the very same thing. She thought of that mutant child, still out there, abandoned and alone.

Her mouth was dry, that evening, as she once again made the climb to her apartment. Then she had been sluggish and exhausted, now she might as well have flown. Reaching the door, she came in to see Scott on the couch, Nathan sitting in his lap sucking on his own fingers as the TV played. She wondered if he was sleeping or not until he turned his head to her and smiled. She loved him so god dang much.

And that was going to make the next few minutes very difficult.

Choking back her emotions, she carefully approached, Scott sitting up as he sensed something amiss. [color=f02f54]“Everything good honey? How was work? Nothing-”[/color]

[color=e7745b]“No, nothing like yesterday!”[/color] A smile flashed to her face and quickly melted back into a look of apprehension and excitement. [color=e7745b]“Scott...I need to talk to you about something very important.”[/color] She took a seat next to him, Nathan reaching his arms to her. She took hold of him and brought him close.

Scott seemed to be staring, before his mouth slipped open in apparent realization. He choked, before saying, [color=f02f54]“Jean, uh, I love you and Nathan, but I just don’t think we have the finances to be thinking about another kid!”[/color]

Jean giggled. [color=e7745b]“No, no that’s not it.”[/color] Scott visibly relaxed. Jean bit her lip as she struggled to find the courage. Scott turned one eye on her, so she imagined, unable to see it through is sunglasses. [color=f02f54]“Don’t keep a guy waiting too long. You’re gonna make me wish I was the one who could read minds.”[/color]

Jean gave a laugh, unable to help herself around him. [color=e7745b]“Scott, I think...I think I want to become a superhero.”[/color]

Scott’s eyebrows shot up. His jaw hung a bit as he took a deep breath. She didn’t need to read his mind at all, drawing a breath and sucking her own lips in. With a slow exhale, he stole a glance at the TV, before clumsily admitting. [color=f02f54]“I think I’d rather talk about having another kid...”[/color]