John Hopkins. Vestibular Disorders Center, Secure Outpatients, Floor 1.

The tiny observation room is packed with security monitors showing the hallways to the nearest exits. A computer on the counter displays the patient's records and views of the exam room and the secure waiting room from wall- and ceiling-mounted cameras. Jared would rather see people with his own eyes, but the observation room doesn't have a one-way mirror.

The soundproofing between the observation room and the exam room is just about nonexistent: it feels more like an echo chamber that magnifies sound. Jared stays quiet and listens to Doctor Goldin's explanation - the woman is the last patient of his day.

"Superhero Rapunzel is our go-to person in these intractable cases. This may temporarily worsen your symptoms or trigger an episode of vertigo, but you must relax and hold still during the treatment. It will be similar to the Ehler's Danlos maneuver, which-

Jared's head tilts back and the edge of his elbow knocks against the sharp corner of the counter - "Shit!" - it's not rounded like the counters inside the exam room. A quick call to his power and his vestibular nerve cells fire. He stumbles to his feet, letting the chair fall backwards.

"Superhero Rapunzel?" the doctor asks from within the exam room. They must have heard the noise.

"I'm fine," Jared says loudly. The dizziness fades.

He stays standing while Doctor Goldin finishes his explanation. The doctor's hair is a distracting shaped cap under a load of hair gel. Jared clamps down on his usual urge to comment on it. It would be doing the guy a favor if he mentioned it - one day. His elbow buzzes with a sharp, shooting pain. It usually dies down by now.

"Oh, yes," the woman says, then falls silent. It's odd, she'd been more exuberant and outgoing in the video interviews and in the waiting room, chatting with another patient. Jared feels a tug to soothe her nerves, but Doctor Goldin is a pro. Her mother sits next to her, a short, stout woman with steely gray hair and a heavily lined, crumpled face.

The doctor rises to his feet and gestures at the examination table. "Please take a seat." He projects a calm assurance.

The plump woman gets to her feet and stands hesitantly near the exam table.

"Lie down with your feet on the pillow," Doctor Goldin says.

It's enough to get the patient on the exam table. Doctor Goldin's hands guide her into place. The woman clutches the edges of the padded table with her soft, chubby hands.

"I'm going to turn off the lights. This is purely for Superhero Rapunzel's identity protection," Dr. Goldin says.

Taking his cue, Jared pops on his goggles and walks into the exam room, swinging the door shut behind him.

He stands by the patient's head and reaches slowly to avoid startling her and then takes a firm, careful grip on her head. The hair under his hands feel coarse and unhealthy and oily.

Ugh, humans. He'd rather work on the deaf dogs at the shelter.

In a swift movement, Jared sticks his middle fingers in the firm, bumpy cartilage of her ear and closes his eyes. He lifts the woman's head and carefully twists it, homing in on the three directions that her semicircular canals run to feel the drag of liquid over the hairs in the enlarged ampulla at the base of each canal. The liquid in her inner ears is wrong somehow. It has a different feeling, like her body is mounting an immune response and the balance of molecules is off. And it feels ... gummy; way too much sugar in her diet, he thinks. With a tug of his superpower, it's a matter of a moment to restore the malnourished hair cells into ideal condition and germinate new vestibular hair cells. Calling nerve cells to hook up to the hair cell is the tricky part. Jared focuses in.

Loose microscopic debris bumps against the cluster of hairs in the anterior canal. The woman tenses up, pressing her body against the table. Jared sends his awareness to the vestibule of her inner ear and germinates cilia cells on the inner epidermal layer inside her semicircular canal. Long, sticky cilia grow at super-speed and sweep the canal, capturing the microscopic debris and stirring the fluid in her inner ear. - The woman shudders and clenches the exam table - Jared knows the sick feeling of the world having no up or down. She just needs to hold on a little while longer and the worst will be over. You can do it. - As the cilia brushes against the surface of the skin, Jared feels loosely fastened structures that might be rods.

With clean-up of the liquid complete, he shrinks the cilia cells down and lets her body absorb the materials.

The woman kept still and Jared's glad she managed it; he doesn't like it when they squirm and disrupt his concentration. It sets back the treatment and drags it out, making the patient even more miserable. One last check on the call to the nerve cells and he's done.

Jared lets go of her head and pats her on the shoulder once. "I fixed it for now. You'll need to go through vestibular rehab to train your new hair cells once they've connected, and uh, eat healthier, drink more water, and lose some weight. Reduce the chance that stones will dislodge," Jared says bluntly.

Turning partway to Dr. Goldin, Jared says, "There's something wrong with the liquid in her inner ear, it's too gummy, and I felt hyphae, like a fungus penetrated her inner ear." He's pushing it. Dr. Goldin doesn't like Jared to diagnose stuff or use medical terms; it steps on his toes. The doctor'll talk about the medical matters and soften up Jared's words about her weight and lifestyle after Jared leaves.

The woman lets go of the exam table and sits up, waving her hands as she speaks. "Thank you, thank you, Superhero Rapunzel. I feel better, grounded. It's the first time in years." She bursts out crying, but keeps talking. "You are wonderful."

"Thank you." Jared says. He doesn't know what to say, it's nice to be appreci—

The woman heaves a sob. "I read your Q&A on the Vestibular Disorders website and I'm very grateful for everything you've done for our community. You are an outstanding person and a credit to the superhero community."

"Thank you," Jared says.

"I read how you started volunteering while attending Super University and kept helping people, people who can't afford the treatment—" Tears dribble down her face.

"Right," Jared mutters.

"I told my support group I was coming here, all about this program, and how wonderful you are," the woman gasps for breath as she sobs.

"Wonderful, that's amazing," Jared says.

"I'm sure every one of your patients has been grateful for your awakening—."

"Right, thank you," Jared says firmly.

"—And, I know the other people whose lives you have touched are very grateful for your generosity. The only thing I regret is that it took me so long to find out about your work, I've been on disability for five years, I—"

Jared steps in and gives the moist, clammy woman a careful hug. "The amazing person is you. How you've kept on fighting: it's a great inspiration. It's what keeps me going." He pats her on the shoulder again and lets go. Jared's thankful the woman's sobs subside and she stops talking.

Dr. Goldin is right at her side, blindly pressing a tissue into her hand. "Thanks so much for volunteering again," he says into the air, like he does every time that Jared comes to the Clinic. Jared sneaks a tissue from the box and wipes off the front of his sweater, backing away from the woman and the woman's mother, sitting there like a statue.

"Glad to help out, Dr. Goldin. Thanks for having me in your clinic. See you in a couple weeks," Jared says and beats a hasty retreat to the observation room. Everyone would feel better when he's gone and they can turn the lights on.

It's mid-afternoon and the woman is his last patient for the day. He starts and ends his volunteering days early or late to make security a little easier to handle. Back inside the tiny observation room, he texts Gabe.

The good things in his life are his career and volunteer work and maybe mentoring newly awakened supers. It's taken him years to get a career going after his awakening and now it's amazing. He'd built up Rapunzel's reputation and contacted Dr. Frizzell at the Cystic Fibrosis Research Center in Pittsburgh. Jared's sure that the extra cilia cells he could grow in their airways would clear the patients' abnormally thick mucus better. There might be negative effects, but the patients usually died from lung problems; if it bought them some years and the side effects weren't too bad, it might be worth it.

Jared idly watches the security monitors as he bundles up in a thick jacket, scarf, hat, and gloves. His phone buzzes.

Gabe: security ready. Route b