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When you were 8 years old, you were happily playing in your backyard with your chocolate lab, Finnley. You were laughing, throwing his toys, and overall just being a kid with their dog. Next thing you knew, you felt a strange pinch in your back. You tried to reach it, to maybe scratch it, when the pinch turned into a white, hot pain. You screamed, alerting your parents. They came rushing over, pulling poor Finnley- who was freaking out because his human was hurting- out of the way. You were writhing on the ground face down, scratching pathetically at your back. Tears streamed down your face, and your mother began to cry with you. Your father reached for you, pushing your hands away and asking what was wrong, when a sickening pop sounded. Everything became dead silent, save for your sniffles. Two fluffy wings had popped out of your back, ripping your favorite shirt to shreds. They were a soft, sky blue at the base, and they faded out into a clean, crisp white at the ends. You sat up, wiping at your eyes, thankful the pain was gone. You didn’t understand why your parents looked so upset. You were too young to understand. After that, your parents became overly protective over you. They didn’t want to lose you, but they were afraid that you would get taken away if exposed. It didn’t matter that the wings disappeared into your back later that day (it was thankfully painless, just a bright light, and then they were gone. However, they left a large white mark in the shape of wings over your back, a silent reminder of the things that made you different). They homeschooled you up until you were 12, sending you back to public school feeling that you had better control of your “secret”. So, your life became relatively normal. You didn’t really have any friends, and your parents were very strict, but you had Finnley, and you were okay with that. However, things took another bad turn when you were 14. It had been a year after your soul mark appeared (a small, black vine; a bad omen according to most. Black was associated with bad luck and death. When it was a person’s soul mark, it usually meant their soulmate was either dead or that you weren’t their soulmate). It didn’t really bother you, though. You were happy having Finnley by your side. Unfortunately, good things don’t last forever. Shortly after turning 14, your beloved chocolate lab departed from this world. You had cried for weeks, Finnley being your closest friend. Your parents offered to get you another pet, but you refused, too hurt by the loss of Finnley. You continued going to school in spite of this, though you felt even more alienated than normal. You no longer had anyone to talk about your day with, other than your parents. This continued on for a couple months, until one Wednesday afternoon. You were sitting in study hall, silently doing some math homework that your algebra teacher had decided to dump on the class on top of the quiz you had today. You didn’t mind too much, though. It was fairly simple math, you grasped the concept well. Suddenly, as you were solving for x, a sudden onslaught of emotions hit you like a freight train. Anger, frustration, sadness, guilt, happiness, calm, confusion- every single emotion you could possibly think of suddenly invaded your senses. You couldn’t move, couldn’t think. All you could do was feel. Hurt, betrayal, joy, love, embarrassment, panic, panic, panic- Everything faded out of existence. When you opened your eyes, you were staring right at the school nurse. She was older, in her late forties, and her short brown hair was graying. Her dull brown eyes stared at you with worry, fear, and- wait, she’s not really worried about you. She’s actually annoyed and frustrated. The concern was a forefront. How you could tell, you had no clue. She began to speak, snapping you to attention. “Do you remember what happened?” she asked, handing you a bottle of water. “Be careful, take slow sips. You might be dehydrated.” You obeyed, taking a small sip to clear your throat, then speaking, “I- I was in study hall, doing algebra homework. Then- I-” Your throat closed up. What exactly was it that happened? You were just doing your homework when- Oh, God. Did your wings appear in front of everyone? Oh God, oh god, oh god- “It seems that you passed out in the middle of class,” the nurse stated, giving you a weird, and somewhat worried, look. She thought you were crazy. “Look, I’m gonna send you home. I already called your parents. Your mother is on her way to get you. What I suggest is some rest, maybe some food, and if you get another episode like this, I highly suggest you see a doctor.” All you could do was nod numbly. She stared for another moment. You knew she thought there was something wrong with you. Apparently, she decided it was above her pay grade. She stood up, going into her small office, saying over her shoulder, “Gather all your things. Your mother should be here any moment.” When your mom picked you up, the ride home was silent. You tried to ignore the obvious concern that seemed to roll off of her in waves. You tried to squash your own panic and hysteria down, if only to keep your mother from freaking out just yet. You knew what this was. You had read about as many different things as you could, just in case it happened. Of course, it happened. You didn’t have enough luck for it not to happen. It was some form of empathy. You weren’t sure exactly what kind, but what you did know is that you could feel exactly what other people around you were feeling, including feelings they weren’t openly expressing. It was so awful. You felt like every person at the school’s emotions were dumped onto you. There was so much, it completely overwhelmed you. And the nurse? How were you able to decipher her true emotions without even reading her? It had to be some kind of mutant ability. Or maybe you were going crazy. That would be less upsetting. With a sigh, your mom pulled into the driveway of your cozy two-story house. You could tell she was upset you haven’t told her yet. You mentally prepared yourself for the oncoming questions and possible scolding. “(Y/N), sweetie, please tell me what’s going on. I’m worried,” Mom began, her eyes fully trained on you. The words died in your throat. How could you ruin everything all over again? How could you cause your parents to put their life on hold all over? Everything was just starting to feel normal. Why, why, why? Your mother’s eyes suddenly began to water, tears uncontrollably rolling down her cheeks. She wiped her cheeks, staring at her hand in confusion. “Why am I crying?” she pondered aloud. When she turned her attention back to you, you were already getting out of the car. “(Y/N), wait!” Anguish began to overwhelm you. You were rushing towards the front door, hoping you could escape to your room, when- “Ah!” “Mom!” You rushed over to your mother, who was on the ground, hold her leg tenderly. It was the same leg that she experienced chronic pain in from a past injury. Without hesitation, you knelt down next to her, reaching out your hands. “Mom, are oka- ah!” You reached for your left leg, screeching in pain. It burned. You couldn’t move it. Is this how Mom always felt? You wondered. All you could do is sit there, face scrunched in pain. God, it hurts. Your mother stared at you, her eyes wide as saucers. After a moment of watching you writhe in pain in shock, she took action. Tentatively, your mom helped you up, taking most of the weight off of your left leg. She led you into the house, setting you down on the couch. She rushed into the kitchen, coming back with water, pain pills, and an ice pack. “It’s probably bruised,” she mumbled to herself. “Let me see it.” You didn’t fight when she moved your pants enough so she could see your leg. Only, there was no bruise. No scratches, cuts- hell, there wasn’t even a red mark. There was nothing. Your leg was perfectly fine. Not saying anything, your mother fixed your pants back so they completely covered your legs. Then she stood, pacing the room. Her hands began to run through her hair, a nervous habit you shared. She suddenly stopped, turning to you. “It’s your-” she struggled with words, “gift, isn’t it?” Finally, after holding it in for so long, the tears burst forth like a flood bursting through a dam. You opened the front door, smiling half-heartedly to the two men on the doorstep. One stood tall, looking burly and intimidating. You instantly felt his annoyance and disdain at being here. The other one was in a wheelchair. He had kind eyes, and despite looking in his early forties, he was completely bald. He seemed caring, kind, and you felt his somewhat concerned and fascinated emotions at the same time. You reminded yourself this was your decision. You couldn’t put your parents through another several years of struggle because you keep passing out at school from the overpowering emotions. There was no way you would let anxiety keep you from going to the best school around for people like you. Stepping back, you opened the door wider. “Come in,” you invited, not making eye contact with either of them. The scary looking one let the one in the wheelchair in first, following behind. You closed the door after them. In the living room, your parents both stood up from their seats, rushing to introduce themselves. The man in the wheelchair laughed, waving them off. “Please, sit back down, Mr. and Mrs. (L/N). No need for formalities. We have already talked on the phone,” he began, situating his wheelchair in a spot where he could face both you and your parents at once. The tall one gave a gruff nod, then plopped onto the couch you were sat on, a good distance away from you. You tried not to seem scared. You think you were failing. “This is my colleague, and a teacher at my school, Logan Howlett,” the man in the wheelchair continued, gesturing to the one sat next to you. “And I am who you talked to on the phone; Charles Xavier.” Your eyes widened. “Wait, you’re...?” He smiled brightly, showing off pearly white teeth. “Pleased to meet you, (Y/N). You can call me Professor.”
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For some unknown reason to you, Professor Xavier had seen something in you. So, he took it upon himself to make you his personal pupil. For the rest of your high school years, and through your further education, Charles trained you in your abilities. He let you study at the school, tuition free, and in your time at Xavier’s School for Gifted Youngsters, you made several close friends. Overall, you were forever grateful for the opportunities that Charles had given you, the friends you’ve made, and the acceptance that you experienced from everyone around you. When you first arrived to Xavier’s School for Gifted Youngsters, you were a wreck. The only person you even spoke to was Charles, and that was only short, polite answers. You were too scared to talk to anyone else, afraid you would somehow absorb all of their emotions and injuries if you got too close. So, for the first month (more like a couple months), you kept to yourself. You went to your classes, then trained with Professor Xavier. Once finished with that, you were either tucked away inside the library, or outside under a tree, far from the other students. That’s when you met the X-Men. Namely, you met Jean, Scott, Kurt, Jubilee, Ororo, Peter, and finally, Warren. It was kind of an accident to meet them, really. You had been on your way to the library after just finishing a rather fruitless session with the Professor. As you passed by a particular door, you felt a sudden wave of sadness and pain. You tried to ignore it, tried to continue walking, but the sudden onslaught of feelings clogged your senses, and you felt the dire need to go and at least check on whoever it was. So, you tentatively opened the door, peeking inside. What you saw made your breath get caught in your throat. A girl sat in a bedside chair, hunched over with her hands clasped. Her hair was white as snow, styled in a short haircut. You recognized her as Storm, one of the members of the X-Men. The person on the bed, however, you did not recognize. It was a boy, around your age, sprawled on the bed. He was hooked up to all kinds of wires and tubes, and what you thought looked like life support. His skin was an angry red, from what looked like bad burns, and scars and bandages covered all parts of his body. That wasn’t what caught your attention, however. Jutting from the boy’s back were giant, mangled, metal wings. The girl suddenly looked up, eyebrows knit in confusion at you. “Is- does the Professor need me?” she inquired, looking unsure and suspicious. You still had a hard time speaking, so, you shook your head instead. The girl- Storm's- eyes narrowed at you. “Then what are you doing here?” You swallowed the lump in your throat, stuttering, “I- um-” you coughed, “I, uhh, I felt your pain...?” Wow. That was intelligent. She stood up, stepping closer to you. Oh, no. She was pissed. Before she could shove you out of the room, you stepped back with a squeak. “Wait! I mean- I'm a- an empath,” you forced out, feeling her sudden realization as she processed what you said. She stood there for a moment, looking at you with an unreadable expression; you could feel her indignancy and slight annoyance. “I did not ask for your sympathy; you can leave,” she said angrily, moving to force you out. Nonono, don’t touch me! You got scared, and went to dodge her hands. Gravity decided to be against you, and you tripped over your own feet. You yelped, throwing your hands out to cushion the fall. Next thing you knew, your hands landed on something warm and soft; then the burning pain began. You screamed, falling to the ground, writhing in agony. It felt like when your wings appeared all over again, but so, so much worse. Your entire body burned, and it felt like you were thrown into a blender. The cuts, the burns, the mangled wings- you could feel it all at once. You heard distant voices shouting, and then everything went black. Everything was white. You closed your eyes, waiting for the blinding white to go away, then you slowly squinted them open. As your eyes adjusted, your hearing slowly began to come back. Everything was a bunch of muddled colors and shapes and sounds. You felt overwhelmed, not understanding what exactly was happening. Were you back home? Are you in trouble? Are you dead? As if some internal switch had been flicked, your senses all flooded back to you, along with an onslaught of emotions. “(Y/N), can you hear me? Can you speak?” your eyes focused on Charles Xavier, who was sitting next to you on the bed. You parents were sitting next to him, staring at you worriedly. There were others as well; you recognized some as members of the X-Men. They all exited, mumbling quietly amongst each other. You turned your gaze back to Professor Xavier, taking a deep breath. “I-I-” you cleared your throat to try and rid some of the dry fuzziness; you mother abruptly stood up and said something about getting water, and walked out. “I can hear you,” you managed to whisper. Charles smiled softly at you, while your father walked to the other side of your bed to hold your hand. “Do you have any memory of what happened?” the Professor gently inquired. You closed your eyes, trying to focus on your thoughts and not the feeling of worry and anger and guilt and- “Deep breaths, (Y/N). Focus on yourself.” You nodded, eyes still closed. Taking some deep breaths, you focused on yourself. Slowly, you let your mind wander to what you remembered last. “I was...” you trailed off. Images began to appear in your mind’s eye; a door, a girl, a boy with wings- Your eyes snapped open. “That guy- he- did I-” you lost your voice, heart beating rapidly. You father gave your hand a squeeze. After another minute of breathing deeply, you found your voice again. “I was going to the library.” You continued to recount what happened. After you finished, you slumped into the bed, feeling drained. Your mom had come back with a glass of water, which you took slow sips from. “H-how long was I out?” you asked. Your mother was the one to answer, “It’s been three days, sweetie.” “Three days?” you whispered, eyes wide. “Your body had to recuperate. You really overexerted yourself by healing Warren,” Charles cut in, making you shakily turn your attention back to him. Your father began rubbing circles in your hand, silently comforting you. “While you did not receive any physical harm by healing him, you completely drained your energy. Which has brought me to a theory on just exactly how your mutation works. “When you use your healing abilities, it drains your energy. Think of it as a battery; you only have so much juice until you need to recharge.” Charles paused, giving you a moment to process. “If you use up all of your stored energy, or use too much at once, well-” he gestured to you, “you can see the consequences.” You nodded slowly, eyebrows furrowed in concentration. “So, what does this mean? Is there a way to make it take less energy? Is it gonna happen every time I touch someone with an injury?” “No, no, we will figure out how to control it. And I’m afraid there’s no way to stop it from taking energy from you. All we can do is perhaps maintain a good diet with high-energy foods to ensure you are healthy. And, of course, we continue our training for your empathic abilities as well. These abilities go hand in hand. I believe in order to get full control of one, you need to have full control of the other as well.” You felt overwhelmed. “H-how will I ever be able to control this? I can’t even be around people for very long without freaking out!” You buried your head in your hands, letting go of your father’s hand. Tears welled in your eyes. “I’m never gonna be normal!” “(Y/N), look at me,” your father spoke up. He was always the one to get your head out of the gutter. “You will get through this. You are smart, strong, and so, so kind. Those are qualities people could only dream of having together. You are more than capable of controlling your abilities. If you can figure out how to sneak into my locked study to read books about biology at 5 years old-” you let out a watery laugh, making your dad smile, “then you can learn how to control your mutation.” He reached out, wrapping his arms around you in a loose hug. You were gonna be okay. After you recovered, you began your new training regimen. Waking up early, eating high in energy food, and doing mind exercises and meditations daily. This became your life; everything you did was to ensure you didn’t pass out from over exertion. You quickly became engrossed in your training, going straight back to your introverted ways. You had barely any interaction with anyone other than Charles. It was hard when you constantly felt everyone’s inner emotions. Today, you were in the library. It was your sanctuary; after a long day of meditations, classes, and mind exercises, you needed some kind of escape. That escape was the library. Everything about it calmed you; the smell, the feel, and most importantly, the quiet. This was the one place where you weren’t bothered with a bunch of people’s emotions (except maybe the occasional student that came to study, but otherwise empty). Until he began showing up. The mutant that you had healed- you found out his name was Warren, and that he was one of the mutants that had tried to destroy the world- was in the library almost every day with you for the last several weeks. You walked in the library, headed for your favorite spot in the far corner by a window, and there he was sitting in your spot reading a book. His white, feathery wings (weren’t they metal before?) were tucked behind him while he intently read. The first time you saw him there you had literally stood there with your mouth hanging open until he noticed you staring. He had given you a look as if to say, “got a problem?”, and you quickly closed your mouth and sat several feet away from him in a little nook. This turned into an almost normality. He would be sitting in your spot reading (you didn’t have the guts to speak up and ask him to move), and you would reluctantly sit across from him in the nook and read. At first, it was upsetting; you had a hard time being able to relax with him sitting right there reading a book as if he hadn’t been in a coma three weeks ago and you weren’t the one that quite literally revived him. Alas, somehow, you had grown used to- perhaps even accustomed- to his presence every evening. Then, one day, he began to actually talk to you. It was small talk at first; how was your day, what’s your name (you didn’t bother saying that you already knew his name, and vice versa), the weather. Then it turned to slightly deeper conversations, like discussions about certain book series you had a common interest in, what your mutations were (he demanded you showed him your wings when you told him you had some), your childhoods. Before you knew it, you had built a bond with the blond. You would even consider calling him a friend; though, you weren’t sure he felt the same. However, after about two months of your quiet companionship, you walked into the library one day to see Warren missing. This confused (totally didn’t concern you; not at all) you immensely. He was always here before you, and he was always sitting in your favorite spot. Where was he? You slowly looked around the library, as if you couldn’t have felt his presence anyway. After coming up with nothing, you went back to the corner, and after some hesitation, sat in your favorite spot. It wouldn’t hurt to sit here since he’s not here, right? So, you sat there, opening your book and beginning to read. Several minutes passed. You tapped your fingers. More minutes passed. You wriggled around in your seat. Another few minutes. You closed the books with a huff. You couldn’t concentrate. Where was he? He’s always here first. What if something happened to him? What if he got in trouble, or he was mad at you, or he got hurt? Before you knew it, you were out of your seat and walking out of the library. As soon as you opened the library door, you smacked right into someone. You stumbled back, exclaiming an apology, then noticed it was the person you had been thinking about. “Warren!” you felt his anger and sadness. Your eyebrows furrowed. “I- you- I-I was wondering where you were,” you said lamely. “You’re always here first.” “Yeah, well, it’s not like I’m here for you,” he snapped. That stung. You shriveled in on yourself. “Oh,” you whispered. “Okay.” You felt the regret before it showed on his face. “Wait, (Y/N), I’m sorry-” “There’s nothing to be sorry about,” you muttered, stepping back. “Uhh, I think- the professor needed me for something so-” you shuffled your feet, “I’m gonna go.” Warren grabbed your arm, looking desperate. His touch amplified the feelings that were coming from him. Hurt, sadness, anger, regret- they confused you. “Look, (Y/N), I’m sorry. I am. That was an asshole thing for me to say. I just- I had a bad day today.” “I’m sorry.” “No, don’t-” he groaned, “don’t be sorry. It’s not your fault. Cut that out.” “Ok, sor-” you stopped yourself. “I just- this kid started sayin’ stuff, and I guess I kinda let it get to me. But that’s no excuse for lashing out at you,” Warren explained, looking humiliated. You looked at him with confused eyes. “Why are you apologizing? You’re entitled to feel upset.” “But I’m not entitled to treating my friends like shit.” Those simple words blossomed into a beautiful friendship. You and Warren became almost inseparable; wherever one was, the other was surely close by. Thanks to your friendship with Warren, you quickly gained more friends in the X-Men. While at first you were extremely nervous and shy, eventually you became close friends with all of them. The next several years of your life at the school became great. You gained control of your mutation, finished high school, and went on to get a bachelor’s in Creative Writing. Now, you were currently packing your bags, getting ready to leave Xavier’s School for Gifted Youngsters. Warren was sitting on your bed, Peter Maximoff was sitting in your bean bag chair, and Ororo was helping you fold your clothes. “(Y/N), why do you have to move to San Francisco? Don’t you know the crime rate there? And what about all the people? You could get overwhelmed by everything, and you could pass out somewhere, and there would be no one there to-” “Warren, shut up. You are freaking out more than (Y/N) is,” Ororo deadpanned, making Warren grumble under his breath. You smiled, heart warmed by his concern. “Don’t worry, Ren, I will be careful out there. And if I ever get overwhelmed, I’ll call you, okay?” You placed the folded pair of jeans into a box. “And, you know, if you get too lonely, we can always FaceTime, or you can even come over to visit!” “But it won’t be the same!” Warren exclaimed. “You won’t be here.” Peter laughed. “You sound like a whiny boyfriend, Ren- ow!” “Warren, stop throwing my stuff at Peter, I’m trying to pack!” This was it. You stood outside the taxi, several suitcases packed into the trunk. The rest of your belongings were to be sent to your apartment in San Francisco. You turned back to your friends gathered around you. Everyone had smiles on their faces, bidding you good luck and farewell. Warren, however, looked dejected. “I still think you should stay at least for another year,” Warren muttered. You smiled sadly and stepped closer to him. “You and I both know I can’t stay here forever; and besides, I’m 24 years old. I finished school two years ago. It’s time for me to leave the proverbial nest,” you stated. After a moment, you pulled him in for a hug. “I’ll be okay, Warren, I promise.” “I’ll believe that when you stop crying at that scene in Coco where the kid sings to the grandma.” “That is an emotional scene, you cannot tell me that it doesn’t make you wanna cry!” After saying your goodbyes to everyone else, and thanking the Professor for everything he has done for you, you finally got into the taxi and were on your way to the airport. You turned to wave at everyone as you drove away from the place you called home for the last eight years, feeling a pang in your chest. You knew this was meant to be. It was high time for you to leave the school and live on your own. This was your chance to show everyone that you were capable of living on your own. You wanted to have your freedom, and you’d be damned if some anxiety was gonna stop you from living your life. After about an hour of driving, the taxi arrived at the airport. You felt a twinge in your chest, but you ignored it. You’re not getting cold feet now. You paid the taxi driver, and grabbed your luggage. With a determined huff, you walked into the airport, getting in line for your flight. Now it was just a matter of waiting. After going through the airport, and waiting for several hours for the plane to arrive, you finally were stepping onto the aircraft. The attendant led you to your seat, and you plopped down immediately. Here you go. This is it. You grabbed the arm rests when the plane took off, before forcing yourself to calm down. It became smooth sailing from there. You played music on your phone, played some games, and read. As you were reading, however, the pain in your chest returned. It burned, as if someone were taking a hot knife and pressing it to your skin. Concerned, you stood from your seat, walking to the bathroom. You went inside and locked the door, then pulled down your shirt to see what was wrong. When you looked at your chest, you braced yourself against the sink to keep from passing out. Things just got complicated.