Not Crazy

He wasn't crazy. He knew how it would sound, but he wasn't.

The police had picked him up first and hauled him away for questioning. He had no idea what to tell them. He hadn't tried to hurt her. It had all happened so fast. She'd been worried about him, he knew. He'd lost so much weight recently and the doctors couldn't figure out why. It wasn't like he didn't eat. He did. He ate a lot and he ate often. That wasn't the issue. The food just didn't do much for him. His body didn't use it the way others did.

They didn't have a lot of money to begin with and she had gone through her reserves trying to find something like an answer. Something to give him a chance. They'd hit another dead end and she'd been crying and holding onto him so tight that it had almost hurt. He had been so damn hungry and it had just happened. He didn't know how and he certainly couldn't tell them. How was he suppose to explain that he could smell her fear and anxiety? That after a moment he could taste it? That he had caught tastes of it before when he snuck out to parties or concerts with friends. Anywhere where emotions ran high. This though…. this had been more than a taste. How could he tell them that?

He couldn't. He had no way to explain how his mom had dropped to the floor before he even knew anything had happened and he felt the surge of energy flood his entire body like he'd just eaten a feast. She'd woken up, but there was something missing. A lot missing. She'd screamed for three straight hours like she'd lost her mind and the cops had come.

So he'd sat there in his torn jeans and rock t-shirt, his platinum blond hair - no, he hadn't dyed it. It had been that way for years, but he couldn't explain that one either - an odd contrast against dark eyebrows, and he was a bundle of raw nerves and too much energy. He hadn't had this much energy in…. years. He couldn't remember the last time he'd felt this good. Physically, anyway. It was hard to appreciate it in the wake of everything.

The teen caught a strange whiff of something and he looked up, finding a couple of the cops side eying him, their judgement clear. He could smell it across the room. Weird. It was like a floodgate had opened and all he wanted to do was close it back up. They were going to lock him away. He wasn't crazy, but they were going to lock him away. That or send him to jail. Could they do that? He was a minor. Surely they wouldn't…

All attention went to the door as a man in full uniform walked in, hat tucked under his arm and he spoke to the officer that had told the white-haired teen to sit until they came for him. The same teen struggled to get a better view of what was happening now. He couldn't make out the conversation, but the cop was nervous. Intimidated. It smelled good.

The military man pushed past him, making a beeline for the teen. They locked eyes and the man offered him a thin smile. "You must be Martin. Officer Hicks says that's what you go by."

Martin gave a quick, affirmative jerk of his head, but he didn't say a word.

"I'm Scott Riggins. I work for the United States military, and I have a few questions for you. Is that alright with you, Martin?"

The next motion was a shrug and he turned his blue gaze down to his dusty boots.

"First thing's first. Your mother is at the hospital being evaluated. They believe that she's undergone severe trauma. Can you tell me what happened, son?"

"No."

He felt Riggins looking him over. "I know authority figures aren't exactly cool these days, and from your record it looks like you've had some run-ins with the law already, but I can't help you if you don't help me, Martin."

"I don't care who you work for, man," the teen snapped. "It ain't gonna make it sound any less nuts. I'm not crazy."

"I've seen a few crazy things in my day. Why don't you try me?"

Blue eyes narrowed from behind his glasses and he set his shoulders stubbornly. If they were going to lock him away, he wasn't going to help them.

Riggins sighed and leaned forward. "They're still running tests, but you know what I bet they'll find?"

"What's that?"

"Absolutely nothing. Just like all the medical tests you've been undergoing for the last…. six years, is it? Do you remember what started it?"

Martin tensed and Riggins pulled a file out. "My division specializes in individuals of…. extraordinary abilities, Martin. This means that I am responsible for searching these cases down and assessing if we can… help them. This isn't the first instance of something like this happening, is it?"

He frowned as Riggins handed him a photo of a boy that he hadn't seen in years. He wouldn't even remember him if the kid hadn't dropped while trying to break Martin's arm. They'd said he'd had a freak aneurysm or something. It had been right after that that Martin had gotten sick and he hadn't put a lot of thought into it, but now…

"Our theory is that you feed off of something. Energy, most likely."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Martin asked, not sure he wanted the answer.

"We're not entire sure yet, but we'd like to find out."

"Who's we?"

"The organization I work for. Blackwing. We think you may be very special. The doctors you've been seeing won't be able to help you and you will either to continue hurting people you care about or you'll eventually starve to death. We can help you find a safe way for you to feed and-"

"My mom," Martin cut him off. "No one's gonna be able to help her."

"No, but the more we find out about you, the better chance we have of helping her."

"You'd do that? What do you get out of it?"

Riggins' lips quirked up at the corners. "You're a clever kid, aren't you? Sharp. I like that." He paused and leaned in. "You're right, Martin. Nothing comes for free, but it doesn't have to be one sided . Blackwing will get information, you'll get a way to cope with these abilities."

"And a way to help my mom?" the teen pressed. She'd given everything for him. The last thing he'd wanted was to hurt her.

Riggins gave him a short nod. "I give you my word."

Martin couldn't sense any nervous energy off of him, so he didn't think he was lying. If this worked maybe, just maybe, he could get things back to normal.

At least he knew he wasn't crazy.

Notes: Well this little thing is taking off. I feel like that's the running commentary for all of my Rowdy 3 stories... you know, the ones that I promised myself I wouldn't write. Ah well.

I'm having a lot of fun working through some theories about how the Rowdy 3's powers work and what that might have meant for them when they were younger and didn't fully understand them. The idea that he accidentally fed from his mom actually came from a line in a story a friend mentioned. SetMeAtopThePyre commented on it one day and I haven't been able to shake it since, so here we are. I'm yet to find the actual story, though, so if it's yours shoot me a note and I'll credit you by name with that idea because unless canon says otherwise that is 100% my head canon now.