I don't own anything except any original character and/or any original plot

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Chapter Two: Sleep

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"Thanks for the ride, Kurt. Do me a favor and don't tell the others I fought against half of the Avengers."

"I make no promises. Good luck with school." With a muffled pop, Kurt was gone. Within moments of Kurt leaving your mom, your parents barged through the door to your room.

"Are you alright?" Your mom carefully took your mask off and gave it a look over, "We heard about the fight on the news. We were terrified! We knew fighting the Avengers was a possibility but to know that everything went wrong and it actually happened-"

"Did you get some good hits in?" Your dad asked, then recoiled under your mom's glare, "I mean, did you get hit?"

"A few times, but it wasn't anything I can't handle," you assured. At the reminder, everywhere you got hit seemed to throb in pain, though your ribs were the worst off since you'd healed Spider-Man.

While you were never sure of why, or how, whenever you healed someone you took some of their pain and their injury. Your best theory was that the damaged cells needed somewhere to go other than the injured person's body, so they entered yours. It also explained why you could never entirely heal yourself, just spread out the source of the pain.

"We left out a plate for you, it's in the microwave so you just need to heat it up. Try to relax and take it easy, alright? You can finish unpacking tomorrow."

"Yeah, that sounds like a good idea. Thanks, Mom."

Smiling, your mom left you with a kiss on your forehead. Your dad waited for her to leave before asking again, "So did you get some good hits in?"

"Loads! Black Widow, Iron Man, and this kid who called himself Spider-Man. He sounded like he was around my age."

"Good. I'm proud of you for holding your own against them, now eat some food and get some rest."

Your dad closed the door behind him as he left. Sighing, you turned to look in the mirror above your desk, eyes trailing over the identical streaks running through your hair.

"Why does everyone ask if it's dye?" You leaned in closer, trying to pull out some sort of clue, "No one asks if Ororo's is dye, or Rogue's."

Leaving that question for another day, you pressed the two buttons on the insides of your wrists. The fabric of your costume loosened, giving you more breathing room and allowing you to take it off easily.

After pulling on some more comfortable clothes you left your room and ventured to the kitchen to heat up the food your parents left for you. It was leftover pasta from a takeout place, which sounded amazing at the moment.

"That Bug-Boy had a jawline," you muttered to yourself randomly as you waited for your pasta to heat up, "I only saw half of his face but damn. I wonder if it's a requirement to be attractive to be a hero."

When the microwave dinged, you took your food out and poured yourself a drink, passing your parents watching a rerun of Parks and Rec in the living room on the way back to your room.

Setting your plate and cup up on the nightstand, you pulled your computer out of the box it had been in since you'd moved. Turning it on, you stared at the blank browser page before deciding on what you wanted to look up.

The Sokovia Accords

Several articles relating to the Avengers fight at the airport popped up. You scrolled past most of them, not wanting to read about something that you just lived through. Eventually, you found a PDF version of the Accords that was released for public viewing. You skimmed through most of it to get a gist of what they were for and agreed with some points while disagreeing with others. However, there was one paragraph that caught your attention.

Should the United Nations decide that any person(s) held accountable under the Accords - see Section 17 for qualifications - is too radical, or poses a threat to the public, the United Nations has permission to transfer said person(s) to [REDACTED] at [REDACTED].

"What the hell is this?"

Shaking your head, you quickly exed out of the tab, too upset to keep reading through and discovering the loopholes the world governments had allowed themselves in order to gain control and power over enhanced individuals. While the section you read could mainly relate to villains, you also knew it was a thin line between villains and people that didn't fit society's standards.

If rules like that had been applied to the X-Men - and you had no doubt they would have if the X-Men were a public hero group - then all of them would end up in prison. All of them were dangerous and misfits, and that was the point. The team canceled each other out that way.

Biting your lip in contemplation, you typed 'Spider-Man' into the search engine. The first thing that popped up was a YouTube video. 'Amazing Man-Spider saves bus full of kids!' You clicked on it. It was the same person you'd fought at the airport in a less advanced costume.

"He's from Queens," you paused the video and read the location on the bus, "What were you doing in Germany fighting with Iron Man, Bug-Boy?"

You watched the video a couple more times, attempting to pick out as many details as you could. If you could figure out who this kid was then you could find him and talk about potentially teaming up, or at least coming to an agreement about working in the same area.

"I should ask if he's a mutant," you made a mental note to do that the next time you saw him.

Shoving the last few forkfuls of pasta into your mouth, you set your empty plate aside and picked up the package your new school had sent. It was a school dedicated to science and technology, which worked out well for your future career choice. It was also one of the best schools in the area.

"Just because I went to a private school doesn't mean I need to be put in all AP classes," you rolled your eyes as you looked over your schedule. The few classes that weren't APs were your electives. This year would be challenging.

"We heard a swear earlier!" Your parents entered your room, each jar holding either coins or dollar bills, "Let the ritual begin!"

Rolling your eyes, you rolled off your bed and grabbed your wallet. You put a dollar bill in the jar your mom had and a quarter in the jar your dad had. The coin jar was for a smaller monthly trip while the dollar jar was for a larger yearly trip. Back at Xavier's the entire school had joined in for field trips. Logan put in a $100 bill at the beginning of each month and called it good.

"Thank you for your contribution," your mom bowed deeply with a dramatic flourish.

"It's seven-thirty," your dad sat on your bed and pulled you into a joking chokehold, "We're saying goodnight now. Everything off by one or I'll come back here and make you go to sleep."

"Yeah, yeah," you ducked out from under his arm, "I'd like to see you try, old man."

"Old- old man," your dad clutched his chest, "My heart, it's broken. It's fine, not like I needed a heart to live anyway."

"Alright, alright," your mom grabbed your dad's arm and pulled him up, "Love you."

"Love you too."

Your parents left the room, taking the swear jars with them. When they were gone, leaving the door cracked, you sighed loudly and fell back into your pillows. Most mutants at Xavier's had nowhere else to go, either runaways or disowned kids. You couldn't believe how lucky you were that you had parents that loved and accepted you as a mutant and a hero.

Turning back to the box that the school had sent you, you set the schedule on your nightstand and dove deeper into the package. A gym uniform, textbooks, and a blazer for one of your electives - Academic Decathlon. Shoving all the stuff back into the box you dropped it to the ground and fell back against your pillows once again.

Fingers twitching involuntarily, you waved your hands dismissively, the water from your glass rising into the air and floating around you. Call it a side effect of your mutation. The more you used it the more you had to use it.

Your parents and the X-Men were unaware of this and you planned on keeping it that way. There were several unknowns when it came to your mutation, and you didn't want to add another to the list that they had to deal with.

Once you dropped your water back into the glance and drank it, you stood, leaving your room to take a bath. It was something your parents let you do after more strenuous missions, and fighting the Avengers was certainly strenuous.

While the tub was filling up with water you stripped off your comfy clothes, pulling out the bath salts and soaps you'd collected over the years. After mulling it over, you decided to put in (favorite scent).

You sunk into the tub, sighing in relaxation as the warm water soothed your sore muscles. You were glad that the bathroom stuff was one of the first things you unpacked. Closing your eyes, you leaned your head back. This moment to think gave you time to process everything that had happened.

You'd moved away from your extended family when you were young to go to Xavier's, but your parents said they weren't accepting and it wasn't a loss. But more recently you'd moved away from your new family, the X-Men. Then, you fought against half of the Avengers and Spider-Man.

Sliding down, you dunked your head beneath the water, your toes peeking out instead. This was always the most relaxing part. The time when all thought left your mind and you became one with your element.

The air bubble around your mouth and nose allowed you to stay under until you felt relaxed enough to resurface. The water was cold by then, and you got out instead of going through the process of speeding up the molecules to heat up the water again. Wrapping a towel around your body, you removed the water from your hair and dropped it down the drain.

Since you were already in the bathroom you brushed your teeth and ran through the rest of your self-care routine before returning to your room, where you slipped on a pair of pajamas and crawled beneath the covers. Once you were warm and comfortable, you went to your phone.

You scrolled through Instagram and Twitter until your eyes felt heavy. You plugged your phone in and put it on do not disturb before setting it on your nightstand.

From outside the window, you could hear a loud honk every once in a while. Your parents' jobs left them well off enough to afford moving to a nice apartment complex, but that would never stop the noise of New York.

You were crying. Your ears were ringing, the noise painful. Even with the ringing, you could still hear shouting from around you. Your hands were out in front of your body, shaking uncontrollably.

"I'm sorry," you whimpered, "I didn't mean to! I didn't know I could do this."

Scott and Logan were stiff as boards, motionless.

Your tears dripped down your face and fell to the ground. They turned into a lake. The lake was as red as blood. The water rose and rose. It was in your nose, in your mouth. You could taste it. You couldn't breathe-

You woke up cold.

Groggily sitting up and looking around, you realized that you had kicked all of your blankets off while you were dreaming. You were shaking from both cold and fright. Reaching down, you grabbed the covers and pulled them back up over your body. The shaking continued.

The nightmare had haunted you since you were fourteen. The source of it happened nearly two years ago, soon after you joined the X-Men. It was the first time you'd controlled someone against their will. The nightmare was a constant reminder of that.

Professor X had tried to help you, but Logan had stopped him.

"The kids got power," he said, "(Y/n)'s gotta learn what parts of that power need to be feared."

After every nightmare, you felt the strong urge to punch Logan even if he was right. Every mutant had to learn how to limit and control themselves through experience.

The shaking slowly subsided, and you stared mutely up at the ceiling. You hadn't put up your stars yet, You'd always count those to get yourself to fall back asleep after a nightmare. Tonight you couldn't do that.

Instead, you counted the number of honks you heard outside. It had the same lulling consistency.

One... two... three...

You fell back asleep at 24.