FicWad

I graduated near the top of my class, full honors, Dean's List, ready to go to art school. My parents- what with being a little over-protective of my "epilepsy"- had wanted me to go to a local state college. However, PA isn't big on art. I wanted to learn about music and performing, which made my father cringe and ponder stereotypes. In the end, we split the difference. They paid half and I worked to pay for the rest of my tuition at Fenix U. It never occurred to me that the Super ban did not extend to Arizona. I had almost convinced myself that I wasn't really Super, just a head case, slowly going crazy the same way my Grandma had.

My seizures didn't get any better, if anything they got worse. I went through five roommates my first year. None of them could handle me wigging out and choking blood all over their carpet. I can't really blame them. I guess they were afraid I was gonna die on them. I always came out of it okay but I spent a lot of time at the campus infirmary that first year. By the time sophomore year rolled around word had gotten out and the housing board was afraid to put me with anyone. I'd had an art major, an elementary school teacher, a baseball scholarship, a hippie, and a druggie, all of which bailed after maybe a month and a half. I didn't dare apply for a single. For one, I had to have someone at least dial 911 for me if I did wig out and secondly, a single was expensive. I just couldn't afford it in terms of both money and safety. God must have heard me and smiled because the next day there was a notice on the campus bulletin board inquiring about roommates for one of the little apartments across the street from the campus. I didn't think, didn't pause, just grabbed the paper off the board and shoved it in my pocket. I called the guy who'd put up the ad and went over to meet him and look at the place the following evening.

I wasn't quite sure what to think or do as I wandered past the barrack-like rows of humble little split-level flats. Number 113B was near the middle of its block of apartments and had a scruffy little mat of prickly brown fibers lying on the stoop. I rang the bell and a young man with brilliantly orange-red hair and a face full of freckles answered the door. My initial thought was "Good Lord, I'll be rooming with Braveheart." As it turned out, Charles Xavier Mode was a fellow geek with an impressive triple-major in physics, engineering, and electronics. He was actually two years younger than me but had graduated early. I could see why. He had a perfect 1600 SAT score backing his science scholarship. I expected him to be a know-it-all but he was actually really...well...goofy. The guy just could not take anything seriously. Alex told me that was common with engineering majors.

Alexis Sasha Rushford was the other roommate I'd be sharing living space with. I'd be lying if I said I wasn't scared to death of him at first sight. Charles was about average height, around 5'11" and stocky with a build closer to that of a wrestler than a lab tech. Alex, however, stood head and shoulders over him at an imposing 6'7" with shoulders almost as wide as I was tall. In the back of my head my Jock Sensor was going off loudly, advising me to run like the wind before this monster snapped me half like a cheap pencil. Tall, blonde, tan and muscular, Alex was the male ideal I could never hope to achieve. I was this close to backing out when he lifted the brim of his baseball cap and smiled. I was disarmed completely. I hadn't expected gentleness from him and I mentally smacked myself for stereotyping him like that.

We ate pizza around the coffee table while we introduced ourselves. Alex was a native of Arizona and was a good three years older than myself. He was on the five-hear plan, riding a dual hockey/rugby scholarship. I was wary of shaking hands with him but while my fist vanished in his, he returned my fingers without a scratch. He had two younger sisters and a dirty little secret: he was gay. Some sick, distant park of my mind couldn't help being amused at this. The irony between us was just too much. I'd been stereotyped as gay since I was old enough to understand human reproduction though I hadn't any interest in it in the slightest. Alex, however, was the last thing that would come to mind when one thought about stereotypes. He never did hit on me, for which I was grateful. I wasn't his type and I think he also automatically marked me out of the running since he would probably have crushed me in the heat of passion. Maybe it's wrong, but knowing that and how honest he'd been about it completely killed any lingering fears I might have had about him. We became best friends on the spot.

Charles was the one that I wound up being just a little intimidated by. Not only was he a genius, but his mom was the famous designer Edna Mode. Well, he called her "mom". He was actually adopted. Ms. Mode had never married or had any children of her own. She'd taken Charles as a baby and raised him by herself. If I wasn't in awe of him before, I certainly was then. I didn't know an art student who wasn't an avid worshipper of E Designs. Charles didn't believe in limiting himself and said as much though he only pretended to hit on me to watch my blush. I stuck my foot in my mouth briefly ranting at Charles for assuming I was gay when I wasn't. I saw Alex's cheeks growing red and hurried to grovel for his forgiveness. It wasn't his being gay or Charles being bi that bugged me, it was people's automatic assumption that I was something I wasn't. They not only understood but sympathized. Apparently it was something we all suffered from. People saw Charles only as a soulless, unfeeling prodigy and son of a genius; Alex was type-cast as the ultimate Jock and man's man; and little bishie me was assumed gay because I knew how to sew and chewed with my mouth closed. We had more in common than we thought.

Then it was my turn. I've always been shy around people I don't know well and I fiddled nervously with my medical emergency bracelet as I spoke. I told them about Harrisville and Pennsylvania, my parents and grandparents and sisters. Charles noticed me toying with my bracelet and asked about it. I admitted to my "epilepsy" and gave a rather vague and glossed-over account of what usually happened when I lost it. Alex nodded but Charles looked thoughtful. I couldn't help feeling as if he were looking right through me. My head had been bothering me all day but I'd gotten good at ignoring it by this time. The only problem was that as the day wore on it became harder and harder to hold the visions back. Also, my eyesight got worse because of this. I could only see "living" things like plants and animals. My glasses enabled me to pick out most inanimate objects early in the day but by five or six o'clock in the evening they had all vanished. At that point in the day all I could see was Charles and Alex sitting on the floor with me and a row of plants in pots on the window sill. Rather than endure Charles' piercing blue eyes I started in on a favorite topic: ex-roommates.

I had a plethora of strange tales to tell due to the many cohabitants I'd gone through. Alex had some amusing accounts to add and so did Charles. One was a little disturbing, however. Charles' last roommate had evidently committed suicide, hanged himself in the room over Charles' bed. The reason? It was rumored the dead guy had been a Super. I couldn't help the coldness in my heart or the bitterness that accompanied it. I'd only half-convinced myself I wasn't Super and something inside me made me ask what was so wrong about being a Super? Alex acquired a strange look of uncomfortable sympathy, Charles just stared at me unblinking.

"You hear them too, don't you."

It wasn't a question.

"Hear what?" I stalled.

You're a Super... he seemed pleased and a little surprised at this.

"No I'm not," I faltered. "I'm just epileptic, a little unstable but I'm okay."

You just answered me and I didn't even say anything.

I took a minute and realized it was true. He hadn't opened his mouth once, the words had been spoken directly from his head to mine. I should have been happy that he understood, that I would be sharing living space with a fellow Super, but I'd spent too much time hiding. All I could think about was that he knew my secret. I panicked and ran, falling headlong up a short flight of stairs I hadn't known were there. I tripped over the lowest step and face-planted in the worn carpet, bouncing my head off the floor and breaking my glasses yet again. I lay there for a moment, dazed, waiting for my lungs to refill and struggling to hold back the visions. It was almost 10PM. I didn't have a lot of time left before I'd lose it. Distantly I felt hands larger and stronger than my own lift me under the arms and carefully stand me on my feet. Alex held me steady by one arm as we returned to the living room. Charles no longer looked menacing, only concerned and a little afraid. I sat down again and apologized for my display. Charles asked what I was so afraid of? I sighed and without looking up explained about my Grandma being committed and my dad's role in the Super Ban. It earned me a shoulder pat from Alex and a sympathetic wince from Charles. He then reminded me of something I'd forgotten: Supers were still legal out West. Apparently that was half the reason his mom had sent him out to Fenix; to train. See, Charles was a Super himself, a telepath/technopath mix. Alex, obviously, was endowed with super strength that he needed to learn how to fully control. I needed training too. Charles said he'd talk to his mom since she was one of THE most powerful telepaths around. (His dad is another one, but that's another story.) I would never have guessed if he hadn't told me. However, as cool as this new information was, I was more concerned about other things just then, such as my migraine. I had gone past the "numb" stage into cranium-splintering agony. I couldn't help scrunching my eyes closed and pressing my hands to my forehead against the feeling that my skull was about to explode. There was no way around it. The visions were coming and there was no way to stop them.

Somewhere in the background Charles asked what was wrong? I managed to grunt that I had a headache.

"Is that bad?" he asked in a tone that clearly indicated he already knew it was.

I couldn't answer, I was already falling, strange sounds and images drowning my floundering brain in a sea of sensory-loaded chaos. Distantly I heard Alex and Charles shout as I went down. I waited for the sharp smack and stab of fresh pain that meant my head had connected with the floor. It never came. Alex had reached and caught me, one massive arm under my shoulders, breaking my fall. As I began to shiver he set me carefully down on the floor. (He must have paid attention in Health class.) He did nothing more than rest one hand, fingers splayed, across my chest, effectively pinning me where I lay. Charles reached for me just as the vessel in my nose burst, sending blood cascading down my face. He paused only briefly at that, the mess serving to confirm some unspoken theory of his own, and then he put his hand to my forehead.

The sensation was not unlike jabbing a fork into a light socket. I screamed, he shouted and so did Alex. Charles yanked his hand back immediately and shook it out as if he'd been burned. I lay there gasping for a moment before I could pant a labored;

"What the hell was THAT?!"

He wasn't sure, but after that Charles and I adopted an unspoken "no touching" policy. It became Alex's job to take care of me when I had a fit. He was always very careful and patient with me. He just locked his big arms around me in a loose embrace and buck as I might, I never broke free. Charles wound up helping too though he never physically put a hand on me. One of the reasons I had been afraid to get a single was because of what can happen when I wig out. My nose always bleeds at least a little (a text book sign of telepathic overload) and sometimes I end up puking either more blood or whatever I ate last, sometimes both. Obviously, this poses a significant choking hazard. If there's no one around to at least turn me on my side I'd be toast. Even without all the blood and vomit my lungs can stall what with all my synapses going haywire, thus posing another suffocation threat. Not fun.

A favorite adage of the electrical engineer is: "If all else fails, turn it off." Charles, with all his technical knowledge, reasoned that if it worked for uncooperative computers, it could work for people too. He could basically knock me out from a distance just by poking my thoughts with his and letting me run on "safe mode" until I'd slept it off. And I DO need to sleep or at least space out and run "screen saver" for a couple hours a day if I want to avoid an evening meltdown. Usually I can't spare the time to do that, but if I get to bed by 10PM or so, I'll be more or less okay. My dreams will just be REALLY trippy.

I had a ridiculously full schedule those first two years. Since Superdom wasn't outlawed in AZ I was free to use my powers and try to figure out what the hell I was doing. Charles, Alex and I spent most of our free time "do gooding". Charles' mom made us coordinating outfits and we fought under the group title "Trinity Prime". Charles wore green, Alex blue, and I got red (my favorite). It reminded me slightly of Donald Duck's nephews but we were much, MUCH cooler. Our hero names were a little dorky though, or at least mine was. Somebody thought it would be a good idea to name us after the colors of our super suits and so Charles masqueraded as "Viridian", Alex as "Cobalt", and I went by "Carmine". (Like I said, dorky.) Still, it was fun. Beating the snot out of criminals, saving the day, learning as we went...it was an incredible experience. While we were a trio, we never became a threesome. I left that to Alex and Charles. I was more than happy to play White Mage to their respective Black Mage and Knight. It was an awesome part of my life and I loved it.

Unfortunately, my tight schedule did not like me. We discovered the hard way that twenty-one credits, almost thirty hours a week, and do gooding was too much. My meltdowns can be stress-triggered and after six fair-sized fits the guys ganged up on me to lighten my load. The only problem was...I couldn't. That left one other option: learn to better control my power. I'd been meaning to do that anyway but the best man for that job was a little hard to get a hold of.

At eighty years old, Josiah Redriver was one of the oldest active telepaths (or Supers, period) in the business. He was a real live piece of living history, a relic of the Old West in the flesh. Born in 1890 to an Apache squaw and a Kentucky Calvaryman, he'd grown up along with the country. He roamed Arizona the way his mother's people had roamed the plains of more northern states, carrying all he owned on his own back and that of his painted pony. I suppose the best way to define his occupation would be that of "medicine man", "shaman" to his own people. The NSA knew him as "Wind Whisperer" and employed him as a sort of sentry. The Arizona desert, rich in minerals and empty space, is a veritable Valley of The Kings, riddled with the graves of buried evils. The ancients had used the open, scorching planes as a burial ground for malignant spirits and mortals. It was Joe's duty to see that it remained undisturbed; that no one went in and that nothing got out. It was a bigger job than many would be able to handle alone but Joe didn't keep a solitary watch. He had allies in the wind and rain. Coyote was his co-conspirator, Thunderfoot his strength and Anvillehead his ever watchful eye. To us, he was simply "Joe". At first glance he seemed like a bit of an odd old bird, but once we got to know him we realized his mind was always wandering between that fourth dimension and this one, listening to the air and earth and plants as attentively as he listed to us. If he couldn't help me, Charles' mom said, no one could. From anyone else that would have sounded discouraging but the way she said it gave me hope. I felt in my heart that Mr. Redriver would be able to do something with me. Charles booked a trip over spring break Junior year and we all went out to the desert to visit with Joe.

It was probably the best two weeks of my life. It was the first time in a long time I felt...rested. At peace. Oh sure I had a royal meltdown all over Joe and Alex the first night out, but after I got that out of my system...it really wasn't bad. I had some minor jerks and tremors if we stayed up too late or if I'd pushed myself too hard, but for the most part I was fine. My friends, I had not been "fine" since the SEVENTH GRADE. Needless to say, it was a marked improvement.

I think Joe spent most of his time just...observing and studying us, paying close attention to how we functioned as a team and as individuals. He had the most to say to Charles and I. I really wished we could have spent more time out there because it seemed like we were just getting started. I felt sure if we could have spent just one extra day we would find an answer to my problem. Sadly, Real Life pressed and we had to return to school. Before we left Joe said this to me: "Be careful Red One. You have great power but it is not tamed, only caged. If you cannot conquer it, it will conquer you. Your gift is rare and precious. Few are they who watch between Times. Be careful young dream walker, do not take so much pride in endless work or you will find yourself walking the path to the skies before your time."

Again, from anyone else, not so much with the encouragement, but because it came from Joe's mouth, accompanied by a hug from his strong old arms, I was not afraid. I felt that the next time we met, one of us would have some sort of answer for me.