"(Y/n)," Professor X was the next person on the screen, "I believe I'm the last person to give my message. I've seen many minds, and many mutants in my years, but you will always stick out to me. When you thought you were dangerous, or doubted yours...
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.
