Stephen jolted awake, his entire body tensed, every muscle coiled and ready to fight. He hovered inches above his bed, hands clenched into tight fists, eyes burning hotly, scarlet energy glowing fiercely beneath closed lids, ready to unleash devastation. His breath came in sharp, ragged gasps, his mind still trapped in the chaos of battle, his heart hammering violently in his chest.
"Stephen."
A voice cut through the haze—calm, strong, and familiar. Stephen froze instantly, the gentle command striking deeper than any physical blow. Slowly, the adrenaline began to recede, leaving him shaking slightly as he hovered in place, listening carefully.
"It's alright," Nolan said, his tone firm but soothing, clearly audible from somewhere near the doorway. "You're safe. It's over."
"Stephen, sweetheart," came Debbie's softer voice, filled with quiet reassurance. "You're home now. It's okay."
Stephen exhaled a shuddering breath, heart still pounding erratically. Carefully, deliberately, he allowed himself to lower back onto the mattress, the soft fabric comforting beneath his tense frame. Still, he refused to open his eyes. The sensation of the heat gathering behind them, the memory of buildings collapsing beneath those blazing beams—it was too vivid, too raw.
"How…?" he managed to croak out, his throat dry and aching.
"You've been out for almost two days," Debbie explained gently, her voice carefully steady despite the faint quiver of worry beneath. "We brought you home yesterday. You just needed rest."
Stephen's fists slowly unclenched, trembling fingers gripping the bed sheets tightly. He was home—safe. He repeated it silently to himself, desperately trying to steady his chaotic thoughts. Home meant safety, stability—at least it used to.
Then, suddenly and without warning, everything changed.
A thousand voices flooded his mind at once—fragmented conversations, shouting, whispers, screams, laughter—all pouring into his consciousness like an unstoppable tidal wave. He gasped sharply, pressing his palms against his ears in a futile attempt to block out the noise.
His parents instantly moved closer, sensing the sudden distress radiating from him. "Stephen? What is it?" Debbie's voice was tight with urgency, a hand gently resting on his shoulder.
Stephen shook his head frantically, gritting his teeth. "Too…too loud," he managed to choke out, desperation clear in his strained voice. "I—I hear everything."
He could hear the chaos of a bustling street hundreds of miles away, conversations between families he'd never met, even whispers exchanged behind closed doors—none of it under his control. Each sound overwhelmed him, drowning out everything else, burying him beneath an endless, maddening cacophony.
Panic surged again, sharp and hot, and Stephen felt the dangerous energy flaring behind his eyes once more. His breathing quickened sharply, realizing with a sickening dread that if he opened his eyes—even for a second—he could unleash that destructive heat again, obliterating everything around him.
"Keep your eyes closed," Nolan instructed urgently, clearly understanding the imminent threat. "Breathe, Stephen. Focus on my voice. Block everything else out."
"I…I can't," Stephen gasped desperately, tears of pain and frustration streaming from beneath tightly shut lids. "It's too much—I don't know how!"
"Yes, you can," Debbie reassured firmly, her grip tightening reassuringly on his shoulder. "Listen only to us. Ignore everything else."
Stephen took another shuddering breath, desperately clinging to his parents' voices, using them as an anchor amidst the chaos. His chest tightened painfully, heart racing. He forced himself to concentrate, gradually isolating Nolan's steady, commanding voice and Debbie's soothing reassurances from the noise. The multitude of voices slowly receded—still present but muted now, manageable.
"That's it," Nolan praised softly, noticing the slight relaxation in Stephen's tense muscles. "Just breathe, son. You're doing it."
Stephen exhaled slowly, feeling exhaustion seep deeply into his bones as the voices faded into a manageable background hum. He still didn't dare open his eyes, uncertain if the destructive power would surge forth again. He felt drained, vulnerable—but at least now, with his parents by his side, he was no longer alone in the struggle.
"What…what happened to me?" Stephen whispered weakly, his voice trembling with lingering fear. "Why can't I control this?"
Nolan paused, the silence stretching briefly as he considered his answer. When he finally spoke, his voice was calm, controlled—but beneath it lay an unmistakable gravity.
"Your powers are developing, Stephen," Nolan explained carefully. "They're stronger than we anticipated, stronger than you were ready for. But you will learn control. I promise."
Debbie gently brushed Stephen's hair away from his face again, her touch comforting and familiar. "We're here for you. We'll get through this—together."
Stephen lay there, quietly absorbing his parents' words, heart slowly steadying as he clung to the warmth of their presence. The chaos within him had quieted slightly, manageable for now—but beneath his exhausted relief lingered a quiet fear, a persistent question:
Would he ever truly master these powers, or would he forever be at their mercy?
_ _ ♛ _ _
Stephen lay quietly for several long minutes, the room falling into a cautious silence. His breathing gradually steadied, heart rate easing back to normal. Even though he didn't open his eyes, he could sense his parents' presence—steady, reassuring, unwavering.
Debbie gently squeezed his shoulder again, her voice calm but still layered with concern. "Stephen, sweetheart, how do you feel now?"
Stephen hesitated, carefully taking stock. The overwhelming storm of voices had receded into the background, a distant, manageable hum. They still pressed faintly at the edges of his awareness, but for now, they were tolerable.
"Better," he whispered cautiously, voice still rough and uncertain. "Still loud…but better."
Debbie sighed softly, audibly relieved. Her fingers brushed gently through his hair, comforting in a familiar way only she could be.
Nolan's steady voice broke the silence next, calm but characteristically direct. "Good. Keep your eyes closed until you're ready. Take your time."
Stephen swallowed hard, nodding slightly. The vivid memory of buildings collapsing, the heat of his own destructive eyes—it was far too fresh, too raw. He wasn't prepared to risk it again.
He hesitated, throat tight, and quietly asked, "Dad, what...exactly happened after...?"
Nolan paused a moment, clearly considering his words carefully. When he finally spoke, his tone was firm, yet Stephen sensed the lingering undercurrent of tension. "You fought hard, Stephen. Harder than anyone your age should have to. You drove off the attacker—but it cost you. You did everything you could."
Stephen drew in a shaky breath, his chest tightening. "Did...did anyone else…?" His voice trailed off weakly, guilt heavy in each word.
Before Nolan could respond, Debbie swiftly intervened, her voice gentle but resolute. "No, honey. Listen to me. What happened isn't your fault. None of this was your responsibility."
Stephen felt the sting of tears behind his eyelids, choking back a quiet sob. "But people got hurt because of me."
"No," Nolan corrected firmly, his voice unwavering, edged with intensity. "They got hurt because someone else attacked. You fought to protect as many as you possibly could—and succeeded. Don't ever blame yourself for actions beyond your control."
Stephen absorbed his father's words silently, startled by the genuine, quiet pride that underscored Nolan's rare praise. He rarely spoke so openly or so warmly, and Stephen found unexpected solace in it.
_ _ ♛ _ _
Quiet footsteps padded hesitantly across the floor, and Stephen recognized Mark's cautious approach. Mark paused briefly beside their parents before gently speaking, uncertainty clear in his voice. "Is...is he awake?"
"He is, Mark," Debbie answered softly, encouraging him forward.
Mark moved closer, his voice immediately lighter, cautiously playful even in the tense moment. "Jesus, Steve—you scared the absolute crap out of us. Next time you wanna blow up half the city, can you maybe give me a heads-up?"
Despite everything, Stephen couldn't stop the faint smile tugging at his lips, comforted by Mark's familiar teasing. "I'll try," he whispered hoarsely. "No promises."
Mark exhaled heavily, clearly relieved beneath his playful front. "Look...I know it probably doesn't help much, but I get it—sort of. The first time I threw a punch with my powers, I nearly put a hole through a wall. Dad looked like he was gonna ground me until I was thirty."
Stephen snorted softly, almost involuntarily, relaxing slightly at Mark's rare vulnerability. "Did he?"
Mark laughed quietly, shaking his head. "Nah. Mom talked him down. Point is...I felt like crap, like maybe I wasn't cut out for it. I get that feeling. It sucks."
Stephen swallowed again, his voice barely above a whisper, hesitant, he knew the underlying meaning behind Mark's words. "How did you...get past it?"
Mark hesitated for a heartbeat, clearly uncomfortable sharing deeper emotions, but pushed through regardless. "I just kept going, kept trying. Eventually...things got easier. I still mess up, sometimes badly, but I learned to accept it as part of me. That's...kind of all you can do."
The quiet sincerity in Mark's voice resonated deeply. Stephen knew how hard it was for Mark to admit any vulnerability—especially to him. He appreciated the honesty more than he could properly express.
Nolan cleared his throat softly, giving the boys space as he stepped quietly away, dialling his communicator to contact Cecil, voice dropping low, barely audible. Stephen felt a small pang of relief at his father's tact, grateful for the unexpected privacy.
Debbie remained silently by Stephen's side, a comforting presence. Stephen carefully reached out his hand again, feeling his mother's gentle fingers close reassuringly around his.
He took a deep, shaky breath, summoning courage. "Mark...can you help me with something?"
Mark straightened slightly, immediately attentive, protective. "Yeah, of course. Anything."
Stephen hesitated only a second longer, nerves evident in his voice. "I want to try opening my eyes. But...slowly. I—I need someone to help me stop if I lose control."
Mark squeezed his shoulder gently, voice steady with determination and quiet pride. "I got you, little bro. You're not in this alone."
Taking another careful breath, Stephen focused intently, feeling the faint warmth behind his eyes flicker uncertainly. Slowly—inch by painstaking inch—he began to cautiously open his eyes.
_ _ ♛ _ _
"Cecil I know you can hear me" Nolan, spoke out loud, his communicator in his pocket, while in his other hand, lies a robotic eye, Nolan looked directly into the robotic eye, calm and collected, his voice low, posture confident, after a small pause he spoke, "You have 5 seconds."
End of Chapter 35