With the tension in the room, you'd think they were in the principal's office. Ruth sat in the armchair, cradling a cup of hot chocolate, trying to drown out the shouting.

"What were you thinking, Raven?" Charles demanded, glaring up at his adopted sister, looking nothing short of furious.

"We needed progress, Charles, she's putting everyone at risk and, I'm sorry for her circumstances, but lazing around in her room wasn't going to solve anything."

"I was told to stay in my room, Hank left me a note." It was the first thing she had said since she was coaxed from the rafters and taken into Charles' office, finding out that the entire thing had been an elaborate trick.

Hank frowned. "No, I didn't. Sorry to say this, Ruth, but I don't know where your room is, not by memory."

She shook her head. "But that's not possible, you and Alex were at my door last night, I heard you planning to let me stay in my room. Alex brought me my books."

Alex shook his head. "I just got here a few hours ago, I have no idea what's going on."

She deflated, curling in on herself. "But I heard. I shook your hand, you told me you emit plasma hula hoops from your body."

She was shaking. She wasn't sure if she would ever stop shaking, not after that fiasco.

"It was me," Raven said, "I'm good at mimicking voices, it's a necessity if I want to stay alive." Ruth wanted to laugh; Raven almost sounded remorseful.

"What gave you this idea? How the fuck did you get the idea that triggering my anxiety would help speed things up?" She laughed because she wasn't sure how to react to anything anymore.

Raven sighed. "You don't understand, I thought you could handle it. With all that anger, I expected you to be tougher."

Ruth was so out of it she didn't get angry. "Tougher? If you'd known me at all, you'd know that I was born afraid! I'm weak! I used to skip P.E. at school to hide in the art room with my only friend! I'm fifteen! Sixteen in two months, but you wouldn't know that because all you cared about was getting me to do something that you wanted!"

Raven sighed again and Ruth had the urge to rip her throat out. "I didn't mean to hurt you. I meant to speed things up."

Ruth didn't reply; Lionel was in her head again. They were in his treehouse, his dark hands moving as he said, 'People make mistakes, Ruth Dakin Bailey. If they meant well, they deserve a second chance, don't you think?'

She took a long sip from her mug, plotting her next move. "You didn't answer my question."

Hank was the one who answered. "I had a theory that your mutation was based on stress. When you got angry, your body released a primal instinct to defend yourself, a sort of barrier to keep unwanted things out. The fight or flight response was a loose theory I had, but there wasn't a safe way to test it. The entire thing was a theory."

Ruth pursed her lips. "So nothing could have happened and I could still be crying on the floor, pleading for my life?"

No one responded. She figured as much.

"So what about the wings?"

When Hank burst into the room, followed by Alex and Charles, Ruth was trapped up in the rafters, a set of wings on her back, each wing no longer than her arm. She didn't know if they weighed down on her back or not, they disappeared once she calmed down and was able to get some of her senses back.

"Fight or flight. Literally," Alex joked and Ruth smiled despite herself. Lionel often made jokes like that, whenever he wasn't being completely overprotective.

"So they only come out when I'm in a life or death situation?" she asked, leaning over to grab a cookie from the tray in front of her. Then, because she's a child, she dunked it into her drink before taking a bite.

"We don't know," Hank said. "I'm sure there could be a way to mimic the stress, although I'm pretty sure anything I try to convince you to do will make you mad."

She turned around in her seat to look at him. "You know me so well. Look, I don't wanna dwell on how I was almost murdered, can I have some dinner?"

All the adults looked at her oddly and she just sighed. She wasn't angry, like she was at all the other adults who looked at her like that. She wasn't angry in general. She was just tired. Immensely tired.

Lionel's voice sang in her ear, 'Ruthie, how long have you been awake? You know what, I don't even want to know. You're staying with me and you are going to sleep, I have no ghosts and ax-murderers in my room.'

Alex stood up and held out a hand. "We bought take-out because Hank didn't get to finish making dinner. Chinese, I hear it's pretty good. I'm the real Alex Summers, by the way, and I do shoot hula hoops from my body."

º º º º º

Ruth was eating in the kitchen, trying to keep her hands from shaking. Charles had retired for the night, giving a Raven a look that clearly indicated he still hadn't forgiven her for the incident. Alex and Hank went up to the latter's room, mumbling something about 'catching up'.

"I heard around the school people think you're a hero," Ruth said, sitting on the counter. Raven was sitting across from her, clearly dodging her private meeting with Charles. Ruth chewed on her food slowly, waiting for a response.

"They made it clear. But I'm no hero," she said, taking a sip of her water.

Ruth snorted. "That's what all the heroes in the books say, don't even try. And don't try to act like that, not when you saved the world. Twice." she speared a chicken with her fork, "Look, they look up to you and I don't blame them. From their perspective, you seemed like the greatest person in the universe, standing there all heroic on the TV when we were, like, seven, and when you saved the world from that dude."

Raven raised an eyebrow. "And you? What's your perspective?"

Ruth shrugged. "Thanks for saving us from the dude a few months ago, I'm grateful. As for the other thing, I was five and not allowed to watch the news because I was always afraid that the serial killers on the TV would break into our home."

She also wouldn't have cared because people looked at the blue lady the same way people looked at her when she walked down the street with her white father and Asian mother.

Raven sighed. "I'm sorry."

Ruth raised an eyebrow. "About what?"

"Everything."

'You just gotta forgive,' Lionel sang, his fingers plucking his imaginary guitar as they sat in his treehouse, 'Sure, they made fun of you and that wasn't nice, but you know being the better person and all...don't laugh at me, Ruth, you know I can't rhyme!'

"Why are you laughing?"

Ruth's good mood instantly dropped and she was left with the aching pit in her stomach. "I'm tired. I'm gonna go to bed, Hank wants to run some tests when I'm better and I'd rather just get it over with."

She nearly made it. She had put away the leftovers, put her plate and utensils in the sink, thrown away her napkin. She had made it just to the door when guilt settled and she turned around. "I forgive you. You're not my hero, but if one of us dies, I'm not going to let it happen with us on bad terms."

She left, letting the older woman dwell on her words. Maybe by morning, Raven would deem her unsafe and send her back to prison.

º º º º º

"Jean...Jean...Jean!"

Ruth threw her pillow over her head, "You know, if it was mashing it would be fine. But no, they decide to go at it at seven in the morning. East Coasters."

She wondered if anyone knew what mashing was, or if it was just a Californian term. She missed California.

"Jean! Jean!"

She threw her pillow at the wall, her hair igniting instantly. She tried to glare up at it. "We are going to confront these hosers, so don't try to hug any curtains."

She threw on her clothes, stepping into her shirt so it didn't catch on fire, and marched to the sound of the—ew—moaning.

"Jean! God, Jean!"

She felt her cheeks flare and she started to grow less irritated and more embarrassed. Uncomfortable. Something that wasn't raging fury.

She walked down the hall with a purpose, looking sadly at all the closed doors; at least everyone else was able to sleep. She had to press her ear against some of the door, unsure where the sound was coming from. After many failed attempts and one person opening their door to ask what she was doing, she found the source three doors down across the hall.

She knocked on the door and winced when the moaning didn't stop. She sighed and tested the handle; unlocked. She figured it was a good sign, naked people didn't usually keep doors unlocked.

She opened it slowly, covering her eyes with her hand. She peeked through her fingers and found only a boy lying on his bed. She snapped her fingers closed, hoping that he wasn't...she didn't even want to say the word.

The boy stopped instantly, going eerily silent. He sighed heavily, fingers tapping the side of his bed. After a moment he said, "You're not Jean, are you."

Ruth dropped her hand to her side, fidgeting. "No, I'm not. I just wanted to ask you to keep your sexual activities quieter, but seeing as there are no activities happening, I'll just leave."

'Smooth, Babe Ruth,' Lionel crooned, standing behind the pole where he was watching her talk to the cute boy in their biology class.

Just as she was about to leave, the boy called out, "Wait! Since Jean's not here can you do me a favor?" She froze, her heart racing. He sighed, groaning. "No, not like that, I don't like sex. Look, I need you to find my glasses. They have red lenses."

"Why can't you do it?" she asked, already walking towards his bed. She avoided looking at him, afraid he slept without certain clothes on.

"Because if I open my eyes, the ceiling will get destroyed and the people upstairs will not be happy. I don't usually lose my glasses, but they fell off." He was lying perfectly still, an arm thrown over his eyes, and Ruth had to admire his dedication.

She dropped to her knees and started looking, hand pawing at the ground. She reached under the bed, trying to feel for anything, hoping he didn't have anything worrying underneath it. Although, he did say he didn't like sex, so at least she could rule out Playboys.

"Found 'em." She pulled them out and examined them. They were pretty neat, making everything look a pretty shade of red. She tapped the arm covering his eyes, carefully guiding them onto his face, albeit a bit lopsided.

"Thanks," he mumbled, adjusting them. He sat up, looking around. His gaze landed on her. "You just gonna stand there?"

She felt a rush of hurt go through her chest. Her skin started to prickle with goosebumps. "Okay." She winced at her voice crack. "I'll just leave you to it. I came here because I wanted to go back to sleep."

"No, I didn't mean it like that," the boy groaned, leaning back against his headboard, "I meant, do you want to sit down. I wasn't trying to kick you out."

She turned back to face him, still feeling the stinging in her chest. "You have a weird way of saying it."

"I know, I just—Nevermind, do you want to sit or not?" She didn't reply, opting to just sit down at the edge of the bed, pretending she didn't see the chair sitting right across from her.

"You're new here," he said, not phrasing it as a question. He probably should have.

"Not really, I've been here a month." She fiddled with her fingers, not looking at him. She figured if she didn't look at him, she wouldn't be able to awkwardly bump into him in the halls and have no idea what to say.

"Jeez. Why do I never see you around? Can you turn invisible or something?" He sat up straighter and she shook her head, making no move to answer. "I shoot concussive beams from my eyes, so whatever yours is can't be that bad."

She scoffed. "My hair turns into a candle when I'm mad and apparently I grow wings when I'm scared. You're not that special."

He laughed, then stopped. "Wait. You're the one that nearly burned the mansion down?" She scooted away from him, not responding. "What were you thinking?"

She whirled around, her hair igniting instantly. "It's not like I wanted to! What, you think I wanted to kill a bunch of kids. It happens when I get angry, it's not like I can control when I get angry."

He didn't say anything to that. He just sat there and she wasn't sure if he was looking at her or not with those glasses on. She wanted to rip them off his eyes to see how much it would hurt to be thrown into the wall.

"I'll leave you now," she said, hopping off his bed. She walked out, trying to ignore the goosebumps on her arms and the pain in her chest. People were still scared of her.

She heard someone sigh and she looked up to see Alex walking towards her, shaking his head. "You talked to my little brother, huh." He also phrased it like a statement, not a question. She nodded, looking down. "Cut him some slack, okay? He has trouble...being nice."

She scoffed. "I'll say. And why should I?"

He shrugged. "We grew up in a emotionally constipated suburban family and I wasn't around a lot. He doesn't know how to handle or show his emotions. Well, at least."

She looked up at him. "Join the club. And he can show when he's angry." Then, after a thought, she added, "Or when he's scared." She could feel Lionel patting her on the back for being so aware.

Alex bent down to look at her. "Look, I haven't known you for that long. In fact, I don't think I said more than two sentences to you. But from what I've heard, your powers manifest from your anger and your fear. You can't control it and I get that. God, do I get that. But he can't either. Cut him some slack."

He walked off, leaving her to stand in the hallway, feeling guilt settle in. She walked back to her room, wondering how much sleep she could get in before she needed to burn something to the ground.