Thanks to rivermer, Lauren, ScoutAtTheRadleyHouse, MysteryGal5, and feathered moon wings for reviewing! Scott does not know about Alex's mutation at this point.
Note: Minor SPOILERS for Apocalypse begin in this chapter. I'll post another warning for major spoilers.
The drive home was quiet. Scott knew what he was, he had figured that out about the time his eyes exploded. About the time he wrecked the school bathroom and the pain slicing into his head made him scream. They made him sit in the nurse's office until a parent could come pick him up and he heard the hushed murmurs, felt their glances.
It was clear. Thanks. He was a freak. Message received.
He remembered learning what mutants were. He was seven years old and his parents explained that there were some people—in big cities, mostly the coasts—who had special powers.
He had asked if it was like in cartoons.
He had asked if they could move to New York so he could be a superhero.
He had been sent to bed without supper.
It even showed up on the classroom wall, written messily in crayon: When I grow up I want to be a mutint or a puppy. He had drawn a picture of a puppy.
By the time he was seventeen, that was all forgotten. No, he realized what mutants really were, what it really meant. Mutants were people who were forced out of the military, asked to leave shops, and mentioned in obscene graffiti.
His dad tried to say something on the drive home from school.
"Scott—"
"Don't."
"You—"
"Just don't."
Was it supposed to be like this? His eyes still hurt and he could feel the energy punching against his eyelids, struggling to break free. He didn't know if he would ever see again.
When they got home, he fell three times trying to reach his room. His dad tried to help him, but Scott didn't want anyone around right now. He disappeared into his bedroom and slammed the door.
After that, his life was defined by conversations.
Not conversations he had, of course, the closest he came was shouting obscenities through the door.
But he heard.
He heard his dad on the phone:
"No, I don't see how that's a problem…. He's had problems with that boy before…. No? I remember a few things! I remember my kid being stuffed in a locker, I remember him coming home with bruises—… now a boy's not allowed to defend himself?… No, you listen! You're trying to turn this into a problem with Scott's behavior when his only problems come from your school having the most pathetic honors program in the damn state. Smart kids get bored. Haven't you dealt with a smart kid before?…"
By the end of it, Scott was pretty sure he had been kicked out of school. Gee, tragedy. But he had to admit, it was kind of… nice… to hear his dad talk about him that way.
And his parents, later:
"How is he?"
"I don't know."
"The school?"
"Probably expelling him. That was never the right place for Scott, anyway."
"We need—we need an expert."
Oh.
Improvement.
Now he was seeing a shrink!
Scott pressed his hands over his eyes and tried not to outright cry at what a craphill his life had become.
He only left to use the bathroom, an embarrassing endeavor made even worse when he realized he'd need to sit down to pee, missed, and fell on the floor with his pants around his knees.
And then made even worse by his ma knocking on the door and asking if he needed any help in there.