Note: This is a fill for a Daredevil Kink Meme prompt. The prompt is as follows:

Foggy is a powerful mutant who has never been able to really control his gifts. He manifested even before puberty, and has been on suppressants all his life. He still gets a little overlap and experiences a limited amount of his ability, but it's dulled and nowhere near as bad as it could be.

After Matt reveals himself to be Daredevil, Foggy decides to deal with his newfound worry that Matt might not only fall down a manhole but might die bleeding and alone in an alley, by learning to use his powers. He figures that it's the only way he can keep Matt safe, and that's got to be worth a few hurdles at the beginning, right? He's not a kid anymore, he's got to face his fears sometime. So he stops taking his suppressants for the first time since his power originally manifested.

Turns out he's a whole lot more powerful than he was when he was nine. To say he finds it difficult is an understatement.

+ Foggy is some sort of psychic/empath/telekinetic (although I'm up for anything really)
+ Foggy maybe mentioned something about the whole mutant thing to Matt in college, but Matt has absolutely no warning about the extent of it before all of this kicks off.
+ Matt would be actually pretty well placed to help Foggy control his powers IF he wasn't terrified of ending up messing up Foggy like Stick did to him.

Franklin didn't talk until he was three years old. This worried his parents greatly. The doctors told them it was nothing to worry about. "He's just a late bloomer," they said. But the more time passed, the more nervousness crept into their tone as they said it. Words like autistic, developmentally disabled, or deaf began to be uttered as possibilities as the doctors became increasingly concerned. But still, they assured the Nelsons that they should simply wait and see. It was probably nothing. At least, nothing that they could find. Yet.

Franklin didn't talk, but he felt. His parents could tell that. He was extremely sensitive and intuitive. If someone around him giggling or smiling, so was he. If someone around him was angry, he'd throw a tantrum. And often, even if he wasn't talking, you could tell by the look on his tiny face that he was contemplating the world around him very seriously.

When Franklin finally found his voice, it didn't happen in a way anyone was expecting.

One day, his mother picked him up from preschool and watched him interact with the other children for a moment. She saw the way that they all carried on simple conversations with one another, the way that her son sat apart from the group. By the time they got to the car, the tears were coming and she was unprepared to stop them. She had held them back for so long. She was scared.

She felt her son's hand clutch hers and looked down to see him staring at her intently. "Sad," he said. She gasped. "Oh, sweetie," she replied, hugging him and smiling. "Not anymore." He smiled too. "Love," he said softly.

Franklin became Foggy at nine years old. By then, his sensitivity and empathy had become so pronounced that they were noticeable to anyone who met him. He was shy to the point of almost being considered mute, and he'd often get lost in thought in the middle of a conversation and seem to have his head in the clouds, hence the nickname.

He still cried when other people did. Still raged when others angered. His parents weren't surprised when they had him tested for the mutant X gene and he tested positive. It explained so much, although the exact nature of his abilities remained hazy, uncertain.

His mother asked him once why he had such difficulty focusing, and he tried to explain it. "Too many emotions," he said. "They get in the way." But it was hard for him to explain. "Don't you feel it too?" he asked. His mother shook her head. "No," she said. "It's just you, darling. You're special." It wasn't as comforting to him as it should have been.

It was concerning. But he was smart, and functional, and overall a very happy child, and so nobody worried about it that much.

The older Foggy got, the more it became apparent that his abilities were proving to be more of a curse than a gift. As he approached his teenage years, he became moodier, even surly. He cried more, stopped smiling. He had difficulty making friends.

His own shyness worked against him, because he deliberately isolated himself. His parents tried to encourage him to be more social, but he refused. "You don't understand," he'd say. "It's intense. It's too much. Please don't make me." He'd come home and slam the door to his bedroom, refusing to come out except to eat, talking to nobody.

Even when he did try to make friends, the other kids his age were afraid of him. His parents could sense it. They couldn't blame them. Foggy had slowly become perceptive to the point of appearing invasive to others, intuitive to the point of seeming odd. He told off boys in his class for impure thoughts. He rebelled against and talked back to teachers who he claimed were hateful, which frequently earned him detention. He once entered the girls bathroom at school to hold a crying girl and comfort her. She hadn't complained, but other girls had. He claimed that he couldn't help himself, that he'd felt compelled. Nobody quite knew what to do.

So, when the principal forced Foggy to see a school psychiatrist, and they recommended to his parents an experimental suppressant meant to block the effects of the X gene, everyone agreed. Something had to be done.

"Hey mom!" Foggy said, grinning, as he came through the front door after school. "Is it okay if Steph and Eli stay for dinner? I told them I'd tutor them a bit in history, since they're struggling."

"Of course!" Mrs. Nelson said, smiling back. As Foggy's classmates followed him into the dining room and began pulling books and laptops out of their bags, she reflected again on how far her son had come and how grateful she was for the suppressants that had helped him so much.

Once Foggy began taking the suppressants, everyone had been shocked by how complete the transformation was that followed. It was as though a weight lifted off of his shoulders and a new kid emerged, one who was funny and relaxed, happy and kind. He attracted people to him like a bee to honey, and was more focused than anyone had ever seen him. His grades went up. His circle of friends grew quickly. Everyone considered it a miracle.

She had asked Foggy once, afterwards, if he minded that he was no longer special. "No," he said, "Because I'm normal. And that's so much better."

It never occurred to anyone to question it.