I'm of the opinion that Sasha wears his sunglasses as a result of side effects from his psychic powers taking a toll on his mind, and thus, making him photosensitive, and harming his vision. After all, his younger version was not shown wearing them.
Sasha splashed his face with cold water, gasping at the impact. He hadn't asked for the ability to see into the minds of others, but the fact remained that it was in his arsenal. How else would he have learned about his mother? Sasha breathed hard as the droplets dripped off of his face to hit the pool beneath his bowed head.
Night after night, he would watch his father mourn over pictures of a woman in white, and cast glances at empty chairs and rooms, as if expecting someone to be there. Sasha winced at the visual of his deceased mother, her hair down, moaning and arching over his father. Damn him! This wouldn't have happened if he had just told him about her!
Sasha's head began to pound, and he slumped down over the sink on his forearms with a gasp, his hands coming up to clutch at it. He groaned heavily in pain. He cracked his eyes open, his vision swimming. The brightness of the sink caused him to shut them just as quickly. He chanced opening them once more to find that his vision had blurred. He experimentally flipped one hand to the side, and found that it moved rather slowly. "Make it stop," he feebly muttered.
His request was granted almost immediately; a bright flash of light burst forth from his forehead to strike the looking glass above the sink. A crack sounded as it broke, leaving a gaping hole. Sliding down to the floor from where he had hit the wall behind him, Sasha stared at his handiwork. A slight smile crept up on the sides of his face. His anger, his fear, his anguish, all released in one moment. Standing slowly on wobbly legs, Sasha better inspected the damage, the shards of glass strewn on the floor, and in the sink's basin. A childish voice within him begged to do it again.
"Sasha! Sasha, are you all right?" The sound of footsteps ascending the stairs followed the call. Sasha started at his father's exclamation, freezing in fear.
"Yes Father!" He rubbed at his eyes again. If this newfound power could help him to cope, he would gladly wield it. But the source of it was his anger with his father, and the implications of that were unsettling. Sasha remained transfixed in place, the footsteps coming closer to the door. He had to defend his father from it. But how? Emancipation? He was too young! Even still, this was unacceptable; he wouldn't leave his sire in harm's way. Sasha took a breath as the knob, a silver blur in his vision, quivered as it was turned.