Two years later and bam, there's a sequel to fucked up Ferns.

Loveless fangirl requested this a long time ago, and she's waited too long.

I hope you all can forgive me for my poor update habits, my inability to back up my brags and things to the such like.

I'm glad that many of you have been able to see me grow as a writer. I feel that nowadays, I'm thinking up more adult-like points of views on things. This may just be fanfiction, but it's still something that at least somebody enjoys, otherwise, why is it here?

Writers all know the feeling of a constant pain of plot bunnies dropping from the sky right onto your head. They just multiply, and you need an outlet. And let's face it, fanfiction is fun. Easy, simple, fun. Or it should be. I admit, I've read some more adult-like pieces lately that I'm sure would have made great books, or filmed shorts, or television shows, or full length films all by themselves. I'm glad that I never cease to impress myself as I grow, and as others never cease to amaze with their own words, written or spoken.

Now, as you know, this is a sequel to Ferns. It's still pretty fucked up. A little less violent. A little less action-packed. But the emotions are running high. I'm not sure what I could possibly to if I get commissioned for another sequel, that's how much I've fucked this 'verse up. But still, I am pleased with it as a piece of writing.

Stomach-knots are a normal side effect to this fic, as well as it's prior.

Adieu.

"It was amazing, he actually came outside and tossed around a football with me the other day…well, it's been so long…Uh-huh…Yes…"

I sat on the first landing of the stairs, quietly listening to my Dad talking on the phone. He probably didn't think I'd be awake on my own this early. But lately my internal clock was sending me to bed around ten at night and waking me up around six in the morning. Dad didn't know that I knew that he'd call her in the morning before my appointment.

Update her.

A preliminary thing.

A small appointment for just him.

Something that he needed.

"I heard him playing his guitar last night. He hasn't played for nearly three months…"

I glanced down at my sore, red fingers. It was true that I hadn't played for a while. My calluses had softened and it had hurt a bit. But the ache was welcome. I missed it. It felt good.

I paused. Then I rubbed my tender fingertips into one of my palms.

It felt good to feel good again…

Something nosed under the hem of my shirt. I glanced over my shoulder as it crawled up my slumped back beneath my t-shirt and emerged at my collar. "Hi, Addison." I murmured quietly, so as not to draw my Dad's attention. The whiskers on the end of her butterscotch snout twitched and she climbed out of my shirt and into my waiting hands. Her flexible spine bent between my palms and she licked my thumb.

As silently as I possibly could, I rose to my feet and climbed down the stairs, with my ferret winding herself around my shoulders. I felt her whiskers twitch against my ear as I reached the bottom. Quietly, I let myself out the back sliding glass door and closed it behind me. Addison shimmied down from my shoulder, down my leg and to the ground where she scampered over to Mom's new, empty flower box.

I sat down by the pool and watched Addison bury her face in the new soil and burrow along in it. I glanced into the water and rolled up the legs of my flannels, listening to her dook happily. My feet slid gently into the pool and I looked back over at Addison.

She was dancing and bouncing around one of Mom's shrubs, nipping at an overhanging branch. A leaf came away in her teeth and she shook her head, dropping it to the grass. I made a short kissing noise, and Addison paused. Her ears turned and she looked over at me. Then she came bounding over and clambered into my lap. The ferret nudged my arm with her nose and I obliged her request by stroking her head. She affectionately nibbled on the pad of my finger when I tickled her chin.

I tilted my head back and looked up at the sky. The clouds were parting as the sun started its climb. Addison dooked, claiming my attention. I looked down at her and found her looking next door, her whiskers extended forward as she sniffed at the air. Turning my head, I looked over at the house beside ours. Ivy climbed up the side of it, decorating the outside of the second story window. The glass was up and there was Layla, watering her windowsill box flowers. She looked dressed for school, her hair was braided, and hanging a bit further down from her shoulders than it was when we first started up at Sky High a few months ago.

She paused in her watering, having spotted me. Her eyes became sad as she looked down at me. I couldn't blame her. I hadn't spoken to her in three months. I hadn't spoken to anyone outside of my parents or my therapist for the past three months. There had been times she'd seen me in my room through the windows, or sitting just inside of the open sliding glass door, watching Addison playing outside. I'd looked at her, but then looked away. No words, no expressions, nothing.

But this time I was outside, and I smiled.

And her eyebrows rose quickly, shocked. And after a moment, she smiled back. And we just watched one another, smiling. Addison stirred in my lap, licking at my knuckles and I heard the sliding glass door open. I turned over my shoulder and saw Dad standing there, still in a t-shirt and sleep pants. His eyes warily looked at me from behind his glasses, and he smiled gently, "Hey, Buddy."

Glancing back at Layla's window, I saw that she was gone. I turned back to Dad, "Hi." Addison jumped from my lap, and scurried over to him, circling his bare feet as he walked toward me. Her mouth was open and she was laughing that breathy little ferret laugh. Dad smiled down at her and brushed her lightly aside with his foot to sit by me. He pulled up his pant legs and slid his feet into the pool.

"How'd you sleep?" he asked.

"Good." I answered.

"Not you, I was asking the lady who is present!" Dad jokingly exclaimed, picking up Addison and stroking her back. I let myself smile as he shook his head at me, "Manners, Will." She slipped out of his grasp and climbed up to my shoulder, dooking in my ear.

Dad chuckled and asked, "You hungry?"

"Are you talking to me or the ferret?" I asked, cocking an eyebrow up at him. He laughed and answered, "Both of you." He paused and focused on Addison, and clearly said, "Food, Addie?" Knowing the meaning of the word, the little ferret hopped excitedly and tumbled down from my shoulder. I caught her before she rolled into the water. She laughed as I rigorously tickled her belly in my lap.

"C'mon inside, Buddy."

He got up, and I followed his example. My pant legs fell back down to my ankles and clung to my damp skin. I gave my feet a quick shake before going through the sliding door. Addison stretched up to my shoulder and wound herself around my neck to snuffle in my ear. Snorting, I nudged her snout away, following Dad into the kitchen.

Mom was there and she smiled behind the island, "There's my baby!"

While Addie loved me very much, Mom was known as the woman who handled all the food…so the little not-weasel had an affinity for her. I put her down on the floor where she pranced around Mom's feet, dooking and climbing on her legs.

"Hey, hey! Zen-mode, missy! Let me see what I got for ya!"

The ferret backed off a little bit, but kept up her begging. She was a notorious beggar when it came to mealtime.

"Morning, sweetie." Mom said, offering me a smile as she went over to the microwave.

"Morning, Mom." I replied, looking at the French toast piled on the island. The days I had an appointment with my therapist, there was always some extravagant breakfast waiting for me. Addison too.

"Chicken leg!" Mom exclaimed, pulling a bowl with a raw chicken leg out of the microwave. She set the bowl down in sight of the table so we could keep an eye on her. "Fix your plate, sweetie." She said, adjusting the hem of her shirt as she straightened up.

Once we were sitting at the table, I kept looking out the window or at Addison on the floor where she was going to town on her breakfast. Mom and Dad kept sneaking pleased glances at me, and at each other, thinking that I didn't notice. I suppose it was merited. In the past few months, if I'd ever made it out of my room, to the table, my eyes had never left my plate.

I saw Layla stroll down the walk to the sidewalk to go catch the bus. She paused and glanced over at our house, and caught my eye. She didn't seem to know what to do now that she and I were sharing a gaze again. So, I raised a hand slightly and waved at her, smiling a little. Just like when we'd seen each other outside, her eyes widened a bit in shock. This time however, she recovered quickly, and waved back.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the most excited look pass between my parents and I looked back at them, picking my fork back up. "So, when are we leaving?"

"What did you play?"

"Well, I played a couple of old Johnny Cash songs I knew…doesn't matter what you listen to…everybody likes Johnny Cash."

"I've heard that. And I agree."

I looked up from the plush carpet and into the doctor's eyes. Her eyes smiled back at me from behind her glasses. She had her notepad in her lap where she sat neatly in the chair across from me. There were some knick knacks and doodads on the small side table. Just stuff for her clients to fool with while they talked. There were some tissues too. The room was softly decorated, not too flashy and distracting. But it was an expensively decorated place alright.

Only the best for his son…

"And I played some Doors…a Simple Plan song…what I could remember of it anyways." I said, rubbing gently at my sore fingertips.

"You'll get back what you forgot, I'm sure."

"I…I started writing a song too…" I said, holding her gaze.

"Oh?"

"Yeah…It's stupid…I was just scribbling it in my notebook."

"What's it about?"

"It's about…a pretty girl named Addie."

The doctor laughed then, knowing exactly who Addie was.

"She seemed to like it. Of course, she tried to climb into my guitar."

As if her ears were burning, something from the toy basket in the corner squeaked. We looked over as Addison climbed over a big, squeaky ball and tumbled down to the floor. She, as usual was unharmed, and clambered over to the foot of my chair.

Dr. Augustine was a firm believer in Animal Assisted Therapy or AAT. Probably all of her patients had an animal friend. I occasionally saw people leaving her office building with dogs, cats; I've seen a couple of rats and a turtle one time. She had to have a good cleaning service or something because I never saw a bit of pet hair, dander or evidence of any accidents before.

I leaned down and picked the little not-weasel up. She'd napped on the car ride over after the big breakfast, and danced around the office when we'd arrived. The hype had worn down enough so that she decided to curl up in my lap for some scratching.

"I want to go back to school." I said quietly, running my thumb back and forth under her chin.

Dr. Augustine looked caught off guard, quickly looking up at me from Addison.

"Um, really? Wow. Will, are you sure you're ready?"

"I miss my friends. I miss school." I said, looking her directly in the eye, something I hadn't really been able to do very often. "My life right now…I'm bored. I want to go back." But now I could, with no problem.

"I understand that, Will, but I'm not sure you're…emotionally ready for that yet."

"Emotionally ready? I've been coming here almost three months. I've done all the things you've recommended. I talked about what happened to me. I know it's not my fault. I know that I don't have to be ashamed for what I…" I trailed off momentarily. But I took a deep breath and kept going.

"…for what I felt, what I went through. I'm not in my head anymore. I know you all are…upset that I wouldn't let anybody touch me…that I wouldn't let anybody use a…well a rape-kit on me that night; that you haven't caught the guy. But keeping me away from the world isn't going to help me. I want to go back to school."

We sat in silence for a long while as my therapist studied me.

"Okay." She smiled. "I admit, from what you've told me the past couple of weeks, what your father's been telling me, I think that you're doing well. If you think that you're ready, then you must be ready. I'll make the suggestion to your parents."

I smiled back and looked down at Addie. She was nibbling on my thumb, licking and sniffing and rubbing affectionately as she relaxed on her back. I tickled her belly and she jerked, laughing her breathy little laugh.

"Mom, I'm fine!" I chuckled.

The woman was fawning over me, making sure I ate the entire omelet she cooked for me, had everything in my bag she thought I'd need, money for lunch, everything.

"Josie, leave the boy be," Dad smirked over his newspaper.

I swallowed down the last of my orange juice and put the glass in the sink, "I have to go."

"If you need to get away, just call. Please. I'll come pick you up. I promise. Promise me you'll call if you need me?" Mom babbled on.

I nodded, just to appease her, "If I need you, I'll call. Calm down, Mom. I promise. Now I've got to go or I'll miss the bus."

"I can take you to school!" Mom exclaimed, following me out to the foyer.

I laughed, slinging my bag over my shoulder, "Mother dearest, that would be a tad bit embarrassing. I love you, I'll see you this afternoon when I get home." Smiling, I thrust open the door and moved down the steps.

"Have a good day!" She called.

"Give'em hell, Will!" Dad barked, doing his best to keep the worry out of his tone.

As I walked down the sidewalk, things started going through my head. Good, giddy things. I couldn't wait to see the look on Layla's face when we caught up with one another at the bus stop. I couldn't wait to hear the loud, squeaky sound of the Sky High bus's breaks. And the hearty greeting from Ron Wilson, bus driver. The way Zack, Ethan and maybe even Magenta might light up when they'd see me.

I rounded the last corner and saw Layla in one of her flowery, green sweeping skirts walking slowly to the bus stop.

Jogging as quietly as I could, tucking my bag tightly against my side so as not to make any noise, I caught up to her. As I walked behind her, unnoticed I wondered how I might get her attention. Call her name? Touch her shoulder? Move around in front of her? I didn't want to give her a heart attack after all.

The sound of the bus approaching breached my thoughts. Looking up the street, I saw the great big yellow machine. It was a welcome sight. I could see the white and yellow of Ron Wilson, bus driver's hat.

My mouth went dry, and I swallowed, working my tongue a few times. Now I was a little nervous. There would be questions, rumors that required settling. I hadn't thought about what I would say. I wasn't sure what had gotten out, what people believed. I was fairly sure that Dad had told Principal Powers that I'd been…hurt and needed recovery time. He hadn't elaborated on the specifics as far as I knew. But who knew what the student body and staff thought.

"Layla."

The nature-lover whipped around. Eyes wide, almost disbelieving. "Will!" She exclaimed, throwing her arms around me.

By its own accord, my body stiffened, but I relaxed myself quickly to accommodate my friend's embrace. I wrapped my arms around her in return, breathing in deeply at her shoulder, trying not to cry. It had been so damn long since I'd been this close to here. She smelled nice. Like that plant she always had curling around her vanity in her bedroom and in her locker at school. Her red hair had gotten a little longer, and was currently hanging in wavy tendrils down her shoulders.

She pulled away when the bus came to a complete stop behind her. She kept her hand on my shoulders, smiling at me, her eyes a little bit teary. "I've missed you so much."

"Will? Hey, Will! Everyone! The son of the Commander and Jetstream is back!"

I looked over Layla's shoulder and saw Ron Wilson, bus driver standing from his seat excitedly. Everyone on the bus was currently looking out at me. Curious and excited. I spotted Zack, Ethan and Magenta.

The blonde giant was waving erratically at me. Ethan was pressing his hands against the window just below him, his mouth moving, probably saying something to Zack. Magenta probably had been in the seat across from them since she was standing and leaning in behind Zack, curious and a bit bright.

"Get on up here, you two!" Ron Wilson, bus driver grinned.

"C'mon!" Layla exclaimed, holding my hand tightly, leading me up the steps.

My classmates called out their greetings, patting my shoulders as I went by them. I didn't shy away from any of their touches at all, and was very proud of myself.

They all looked so happy to see me.

Mr. Boy's popping blue eyes got wide when he saw me.

"Mr. Stronghold! I was told you'd be back!" He came forward and shook my hand happily and a bit vigorously. "Oh! Welcome back!"

I smiled at the man, nodding back, "It's good to be back."

I glanced at the classroom. Nothing much had changed. There was a new dent in the wall beside the chalkboard…I assumed it was from some Sidekick training mishap or another. After all, there were always plenty of those happening in here without the help of the occasional misfire from the science lab.

Layla smiled at me before moving to go sit down.

Casually, I looked back at Mr. Boy, "So, what have I missed?"

There was a murmur of resounding chuckles amidst the room.

I was still writing, sorting through papers when the bell rang. People were getting up all around me and I didn't even notice. It wasn't until someone tapped me on the shoulder that I looked up, jumping in surprise as I did, quickly pulling my arm away.

"Sorry, man. Time for lunch." Zack said, looking down at me.

Sighing, I started shoving all the papers into a stack. "This is harder than I remember it."

Magenta and Layla were standing in front of our lab table now. Ethan came over after shifting to get around those departing. They all looked a little concerned. Magenta too even.

Zack reached up to scratch at his head, "Still seems just as hard to me, but I guess I'm not the smartest guy."

"You're just a little rusty." Layla reassured, patting my hand.

"And messy," Magenta commented, holding her textbook closer to herself to keep away from my disorganization.

I rubbed at my eyes. It had only been a few hours, but I was exhausted. Every other turn, someone new was asking where I'd been, why I'd been gone and other related questions. Effectively avoiding them on top of all of this schoolwork was tiring. Sure, therapy and day treatment could be too, but it was hard going from doing almost nothing to doing everything all at once.

"Cheer up, Will. I hear there's barbeque in the cafeteria today." Ethan tried.

I looked up at them and smiled lightly, "I'm okay. Just a little…well,"

"Overwhelmed?" Layla offered sympathetically.

"Yeah," I chuckled, shoving all the papers effectively into a folder. "But it feels good. I missed this."

"It's good to have you back, Will." Zack said for the tenth time today, tossing an arm across my shoulders as we moved to leave the classroom.

"Mr. Stronghold?"

We paused and looked over at Medulla. He was organizing labs.

I bit my lip, and handed him my lab. "I dunno if it's very good. I tried."

The big-headed brainiac took the lab and nodded, "It very well might not be. But I appreciate you trying. Welcome back."

After shaking his outstretched hand for the first time, he let us leave. Once the door closed behind us, Magenta chuckled in disbelief, "I don't think I've ever seen Medulla shake anybody's hand before."

"Yeah, I always thought the man wasn't capable of something like that with students." He snorted, "Probably not even his coworkers. He's got all that brainpower and very little compassion."

"I hope the lunch ladies have some of that compassion. I'm starving."

The chicken at least smelled good. And it took a bit to find an empty table, but we all managed to sit down together. Layla had her usual greens while the rest of us were busy licking barbecue sauce from our fingers. Well, Magenta went with a sandwich, and she was a distinctly cleaner eater than me, Ethan and Zack.

School was the main subject. But eventually, as I knew it would, they quieted and kept sneaking glances at me.

And finally Zack was the bravest to speak, "So, Will…can I ask you something?"

I set down a chicken bone, and picked up a napkin, "Sure, Zack."

He was quiet for another moment, but managed to continue, "How come…Well, why were you really away for so long?"

The others who had been trying to avert their eyes looked up, peeking carefully at me. Each of them did their best not to stare.

I supposed Layla had filled them in on what she'd seen from her window in the past three months; had heard from my father or mother when they'd answered the door when she'd come over to see how I was doing and how I had silently refused to see her or anyone else for that matter.

So the four of them probably all knew that it had been more than some physical injury.

"I'm sorry, you don't have to talk about it…if it's, well I mean, I just," The blond giant stammered.

I held up a hand to quiet him, "No, it's okay, Zack." Glancing down at my nearly empty tray, I decided that there wasn't much left for me to fiddle with. "I want to tell you…it's just hard."

Layla found a fork to fiddle with, pushing cherry tomatoes around on her plate, "You don't have to tell us if you don't want to, Will."

I spoke a little quieter, "Somebody hurt me. Badly. And it's been…well, pretty damn hard trying to get through it."

"Hurt you? What do you mean, hurt you?" Zack asked.

After another uncomfortable moment of silence, Magenta looked down, "I think we all know what that means…"

Ethan looked at me differently, distraught, "Who d-"

"I don't know who it was." I cut in quickly, habitually. "I didn't see. It was dark."

They became still, and I could tell they were having a damn hard time trying to process what I'd just told them. Layla reached and started stroking my arm. Zack clenched his fists suddenly, obviously realizing what I'd meant.

I think I was the last one to realize that I was breathing a little harder. Those dark eyes were glaring at me in my head. That sneer was biting down on my consciousness. I recognized the oncoming panic attack. And if anyone witnessed that…well, I needed to be stronger than a trip home halfway through my first day back.

So, I took a few calming breaths, breathing deeply the scent of the barbecue, the oil lingering on Layla's plate, the sight of my friend's faces. And it worked to keep me here, and out of my head.

It was a couple hours later when I actually saw him. It was between classes, close to the end of the day. I'd been doing so well. But the second my eyes fell on him, my bad dreams haunted my eyes, my head, and brought a stabbing pain in my chest as I started to hyperventilate.

I turned tail and just about ran the other way, ducking into the furthest bathroom, locking the door firmly behind me.

Dropping my bag, I grabbed at my chest, feeling my heart racing. I was so scared. Things were flashing through my mind; memories, fears and nightmares. Gulping down air, I grabbed onto one of the sinks and vomited.

The smell and taste was horrible, and it hurt.

Looking away, I turned the faucet roughly to clean up.

The water I splashed on my face was so cold. But it was helping as I cleared the sink.

Calm down, calm down, calm down!

I let go of the sink and I breathed. Just like the doctors had told me to do if I found myself having an attack. I grounded myself, hopping up and down on my toes a few times to keep myself here, wiping away the water that spilled from my eyes.

Here in this stupid bathroom, with the door locked, alone. Safe. No one could get in.

I'm fine, I told myself. He's not here. He can't hurt me. He won't hurt me here. Not at school. Not with everyone around. Just…just…I'm okay…

The hallways were empty when I finally emerged. It was half an hour into last period so it was understandable. Breathing a small sigh of relief that nobody would see me this way, I slung my bag over my shoulder. The cool feeling of calmness was moving through me, easing the burn that had been in my throat after the bile rose. I felt better. I felt safe.

Padding down the hallway, I dug into my pocket to check my schedule. I was sure I had to go to the gym. Mr. Boy had talked earlier about Costume Change practice.

The paper was only halfway unfolded when it left my hands as I was jerked back with a cry.

It fell down through the air and the supply room door was closed and locked before I saw it hit the floor.

A hot hand pressed hard in the middle of my chest, slamming me into a wall. The scent of woodsmoke and leather sickeningly filled my nose. My throat closed up as I found myself looking into familiar dark, fiery eyes.

"Hey, Stronghold." Warren Peace crooned, like black velvet. Like cold fire.

I tasted acid in my mouth and swallowed hard.

"Oh, you're shaking."

Yes, I was. I was breathing fast too, panting as my heart raced and quaked with a fear that I hadn't known in a long while.

Averting my gaze, I looked down to the floor.

I flinched when a warm fingertip brushed my hair away from my face. "You didn't say hello to me earlier. Still afraid of me…?"

I swallowed again, body jerking back against the wall as his fingers trailed down my front. I could almost feel him smirk, "That's a yes I suppose…but I'm not sure why…the last time we met, you seemed to enjoy my company well enough."

I bit my lip hard to keep the bile back in my throat as the memory of it flashed in my mind. The shame. The pain. The disgusting bodily pleasure that I hated.

"I didn't think you'd ever come back." He murmured, roughly running his hand back through my hair.

His heated fingers curled into a fist, pulling my head back, exposing my throat. This made a frightened sound escape me. "I kept waiting. Waiting for someone to come for me." His other hand suddenly became a fist and slammed hard into my diaphragm, driving all of the air out of my lungs.

When I doubled over, to my horror, it was right onto the pyro. A choked sound left me, followed by a heavy gasp and a round of desperate coughs. Trying to get my breath back, I wriggled weakly. But he clinched an arm around me, pinning me against him.

"But you didn't tell anybody…did you?" Warren asked softly as my coughs slowly faded to faint wheezes. I felt his hot fingers stroke back through my hair, gentler this time, almost petting. The glide of his hand got me shivering in fear.

He chuckled and all at once I struggled free and made a move for the door. For naught however, because he grabbed me by the throat and thrust me hard back up against the wall. "You're not going fuckin' anywhere, Stronghold!" He hissed, his hand squeezing my windpipe mercilessly. I clasped his wrist and wheezed, "Please stop,"

The pyro's teeth ground together, glaring deep into my eyes, "I still hate your name, you know…your father…but you wanna know, hey, look at me!" He cuffed me on the side of my cheek when I averted my gaze. The blow drove a pained cry from me.

His palm clamped firmly over my mouth and he growled when I finally looked at him. "I hate you…more than anything," he spoke through his teeth and his curled lip. I writhed, pulling at his hands, unable to breathe. But he held fast, "All I think about is that night. The rush. The power. The control…I don't have any control these days…"

With a hearty shove, I toppled against a shelf, bruising my knee and knocking over a box of papers. But I could taste the air again. Involuntarily, I gasped it in, and coughed; I'd become a little delirious from the fear and lack of oxygen.

I tugged back when he grabbed my wrists and pulled them firmly behind my back. He murmured lowly into my ear, mocking a lover, "And now I do."

I shut my eyes tightly, close to hyperventilation again. Something wet moved down my face and I realized as Warren shoved me face-first into another shelf that I was quietly crying. All I did was jump at the heat of his hand jerking at the button and zipper of my jeans, a small noise leaving me.

"Still broken," Warren chuckled, releasing one of my hands. He obviously didn't think that I was any sort of threat. And I suppose I wasn't…

Even as I thought that, I slowly moved my free hand onto the shelf and subtly grasped another box of paper.

The pyro grabbed a handful of my hair. "Still mine," he growled jerking my pants and boxers down. In a last ditch effort, I yanked the box off of the shelf, dumping all the papers over him. The room suddenly lit up brightly with orange light from a plume of fire singed the papers as he knocked the box away. He whipped me around and slapped me hard in the face, "Ah, ah! Not nice!"

Warren didn't even dignify me with a punch. He just slapped me. Open-handed. Like a child. Like…a bitch.

Then he turned me back around, his belt clinking and his zipper unzipping. I grabbed onto the shelf, clenching my teary eyes shut, breathing fast and fearfully. I knew what was coming next. My throat closed up again when I opened my mouth to call for help. All that resulted was a faint squeak as the pyro jerked my hips back.

He was stronger than me. The last time when I had struggled…I remember it hurt so much and for so long afterwards. I didn't want to hurt like that again, bleed like that again. So I became still, compliant.

"Yeah, broken and mine," he chuckled, "Shame.

Afraid and ashamed definitely described me right then.

"I did like it when you struggled." He murmured into my ear, "Made it thrilling."

A pained gasp left me when he grabbed firmly onto my ass, blunt fingers painfully digging in. I gripped the shelf harder, trying to keep still when I felt it.

Felt the scorching hardness of his length.

"Please stop, Warren, please," I breathed and he stilled, leaning in, pressing his scalding self closer to me, "Can't hear you, Stronghold."

My hips jerked away, but he tightened his grip to keep me still.

"Stop, please. Don't hurt me again," I breathed, even quieter this time. But Warren heard me and his response involved a fist in my hair. He jerked my head back, "Don't tell me what to do, Stronghold."

I cried out throatily in pain as the pyro pressed himself cruelly into me. It was dry and burning hot, and it hurt so much!

My hips jerked again, trying to move away. And miraculously, he pulled back.

"Wouldn't want you to bleed like you did last time would we?" He chuckled.

Then he was right back in again. I jerked, crying out. He was sliding easier into me. But it still burned, and it still hurt. I pulled in a deep breath, trying to calm my stiff muscles against the unwanted intrusion.

I'd had nightmares about this for so long. Over the months, I'd been taught to understand that it wasn't my fault, and had been given the tools to help myself in the then. But not the best of tools to help myself if it happened again in the now.

But that was because I felt like I was trapped in my body. Too afraid to do anything.

The pyro thrust particularly hard, driving an agonized grunt from me.

I wasn't going to get out of this unscathed. I opened my eyes wide with a choked sound when he buried himself so deep that I thought I might tear in half.

I saw fingerprints and hand marks all along the shelf in front of me. They were my fingertips, my hands. Nobody had touched this shelf in a great deal of time. I was the first, stirring up the thick, settled layer of dust.

My prints were scattered, wayward and searching. Looking for firm ground, far away from here.

My next hard breath stirred up some small clumps of dust I'd swept up. I stared hard at the particles, blurred together by the water in my eyes and cried out. Everything in my life had settled like a layer of dust. All of the therapy, the careful words of my parents and my doctors. Everything had become a routine. I'd thought it had been time to clear it away. That I had the strength to see through the cloud that might stir up.

My fingertips were defined, barely smeared. But my hands swept through them when the pyro pulled hard on my hair and thrust himself into me with more force than I'd been feeling.

"You're getting too far away." Warren growled, forcing me to bend to him.

Water from my eyes dropped into the dust. It swallowed up the light powder, clearing it away but smudging it at the same time. The pyro's hot hand slid up my back and grabbed a fistful of skin and shirt. I cried out when he pulled, leveraging himself to thrust harder into me.

It hurts, it hurts, it hurts!

I wanted to fight back. I wanted to get away.

But that strength and rebellion had been swept away into a fading cloud of dust when I'd decided to stir my life back up, and come back to this floating hellhole. Now, I just wanted it to be over with. I wanted him to get what he wanted and leave me alone.

"You don't seem to be enjoying this as much as last time." He grunted, reaching around and touching my limpness, and stroking me. Making a complete mockery of a mutual encounter.

Then a shrill tone rang out and I realized it was the bell to end school.

Warren chuckled, tightening his grip on the fold of clothed skin he'd managed to catch, and pounded relentlessly into me. If it hurt before…it was nothing compared to this. Whatever he'd slicked himself with, probably spit, had nearly dried up. There was so much noise outside that even if I did managed to yell for help amongst my strangled, agonized cries…no one would hear me.

It was teasing me, all the people outside the door, going about the last moments of their day, no one to offer a hand. And all I had was a dusty shelf to grab onto.

My leg jerked and a shudder went up my spine.

No, no, no.

That feeling.

No.

And the pyro was still touching me.

A long, groaning breath hissed out between my teeth, sending a layer of dust back toward the wall like a small wave.

No, no, no.

Warren's blunt fingers dug impossibly hard into me and he ground out a growling moan, sinking his teeth into my shoulder. My scream intensified when hot, searing fluid suddenly flooded my insides. My hips jerked forward into the shelf, and I yelled out at the scalding heat and the harsh sting of Warren's brutal teeth.

The pyro squeezed me, laughing, pulling me back against him.

"Please," I shuddered, flinching and whimpering when the pyro gave a final, dragging thrust.

There was a long pause before he shoved me to the floor at the foot of the shelf and kicked me hard in the ribs. I shouted in pain, quickly shuffling back into a corner.

As he righted his pants and redid his belt, he said, "Guess you did end up bleeding…only a little bit this time though. Sorry I couldn't get you off this round. No time. But I'm sure there'll be other opportunities." His voice was cold and mocking, sneering.

I shuddered, pulling at my jeans to get them back up.

The pyro snorted, "Modesty. No use for it anymore, Stronghold. That's one of the things I hate about you. You're a coward. You can't even live up to your asshole father's name. Supposed to be big and bad. But you're weak, riding on nothing but a name."

He shook his head down at me as I averted my gaze, looking to the floor. "You're pathetic." Then the door was unlocked, and light flooded into the closet. It slammed shut behind him.

My eyes filled with water, and I squeezed them shut, pressing my face down against my hands. Everything hurt so much. I laid there and shuddered and cried.

All I could feel was the pain and the product of his completion dripping slowly out of me, mixed with a bit of blood.

But eventually I cried myself raw and dry, especially when the last bell for the buses rang. I had to get up. With shaking hands, I did up my jeans and carefully tried to stand.

I didn't remember a whole lot about the physical pain from last time. I was in and out of consciousness and then pumped full of morphine. This time I winced when I got to my feet, because it did hurt like hell and no one was there to…help me. But all things considered, the pyro had been kinder this time…to my body at least. I didn't feel as much blood running down my legs and made away with only a few scrapes and bruises.

I sniffled, wiping away the tears. Cautiously, I leaned down to pick up my backpack.

Ow!

That was more than a sizable twinge…

Clenching my teeth together, I laid my hand on the doorknob. A few more unruly tears rolled down my face and wiped them away.

Gotta get out of here.

His scent was still lingering in the air.

My dirty fingertips left smudges on the doorknob when I finally gave it a twist to leave. My first few strides were too fast, too hasty. I had to slow down and take gentle, calculated steps. Almost limp. Because it fucking hurt…

I wasn't the only straggler at least.

And I could faintly see Ron Wilson, bus driver, waving from his window, more than happy to wait for me. It took me some time to get down the seemingly vast steps. Carefully, I weaved through the crowd, and silently climbed onto the bus.

"Hi, Will!" Ron Wilson, bus driver smiled. But he quickly frowned, "You okay?"

I mumbled something about a twisted ankle and slipped into a seat with Ethan, carefully bringing a leg up under me so I wouldn't actually be sitting.

"You twisted your ankle? Are you alright?" Layla asked.

"Is that why you weren't in our last class?" Zack asked.

Ethan frowned, "Did you see the nurse?"

Magenta looked on with concern.

"Yeah, I'm fine. I'm just exhausted. It's been a…long day." I murmured, and they fell silent around me, sensing that I would say no more.

Throughout the entire ride, they kept sneaking worried glances at me.

Thankfully, being the last few on the bus in the morning made us the first few to get off in the afternoons. Layla and I exited the big, yellow machine. Ron Wilson, bus driver, smiled weakly at me, allowing me to depart without any more conversation.

I sighed as the bus pulled away, and started the careful trek back home. Each step hurt like hell. I just visualized getting through the front door. All I wanted was to get in the shower…and scrub away the dried blood, the scrapes, the bruises and his scent.

You're pathetic.

Biting my lip, I snapped at Layla, "Can you not walk so closely? Give me some space." My fists clenched and my knuckles cracked. My blood pumped quicker through my body and I felt a small rise of anger until my eyes went up to reach her hurt, sheepish expression.

The nature-lover quickly scooched a foot or two to the side, putting reasonable distance between us as we walked. "Sorry." She said sincerely.

I didn't like that face. Taking another deep breath, I looked away and muttered, "I'm sorry."

"It's okay," She quickly said, looking hopefully back up at me.

We walked in silence for a while longer until our houses came into view. She followed me a few feet past her walkway, "Do you want to hang out? I could help you catch up on,"

I cut in, "No." Swallowing, I tried to move a little faster with my stupid limp and pain. "I'll…see you…"

I left her outside, staring after me. But I forgot about her when I got the front door closed behind me. Things were quiet, and nobody was home. Good, I didn't want them to see me this way. Because I was tearing up again, breathing hard. Tossing down my bag, I went as swiftly as I could up the stairs.

Water streamed down from my eyes as I shut myself in the bathroom, and climbed right into the shower, fully clothed with my shoes on and everything. I turned on the spray and made it as cold as I could, trying desperately to forget the feeling of his heat. I squirted things from the bottles into my palms and rubbed everything into my hair, my face and my clothes. I shed each article, rubbing my skin raw to get the smell of woodsmoke, fire and leather off of me.

My clothes soon sat in small soaked heaps on the floor of the tub. My body was reddened from all of the scrubbing I'd done. It stung a little, adding to the pain I already was feeling. I couldn't tell if I was crying anymore with the water cascading down upon me.

The entire time I was shivering from the cold.

I'd been in there so long that my teeth were chattering and my fingers were so close to freezing that I could barely feel them. I wanted that more than anything. I stayed under the freezing spray as long as I could possibly stand it, trying to go numb.

My mind raced and was brought down to the level of giving in because the intense cold was becoming so painful. When I turned off the spray, a spark of relief went through me. I could hear my teeth chattering now; the shuddering breaths I let out. I wanted to dry off, curl up on my bed in the most comfortable position I could find and stay there, wrapped in a comfortable nest of my sheets and blankets.

Comfort. I needed that.

I stepped from the shower and wrapped a towel around my shoulders, still shivering. I moved carefully into my bedroom, weakly drying my hair.

Addison shuffled around in her hammock in the cage and looked over at me, dooking that I was home. She jumped down and went right the middle of the double-decker's top floor door.

But I was so tired. So cold. So numb. I just wanted to sleep.

So, I climbed gingerly onto my bed and settled on my side, gathering up every form of blanket to cover and cocoon myself. Sleep encircled me in my state of complete and utter exhaustion from the goings-on of my day.

Go away… I told my thoughts, ignoring the curious noises of my ferret before I actually fell asleep.

It had to be hours later when I next woke up because it was dark.

Addison was nosing around in what was left of her water dish.

There was noise downstairs, and the smell of dinner cooking. So I assumed that Mom and Dad were home.

They'd probably checked on me when they got home.

And it quickly came back to me, the fiery eyes, the smirk and the tone of cold fire. The penetration, the pain, the powerlessness.

Shaking my head vigorously, I threw back the blankets and climbed carefully out of my bed. After dressing warmly in jeans, and long-sleeve shirt, I sighed, looking to the clock on my nightstand. It was 7:45pm. And there was a layer of dust on my nightstand. On my dresser. On my windowsill. On my guitar still…with finger prints and hand prints etched through the power.

Pressing my lips firmly together, I stormed into the bathroom.

In front of the mirror, I dragged the collar of my shirt to one side.

There was a blue and purple crescent on my shoulder. I turned slightly and saw another bruised crescent on the other side as well.

It was from when he'd bitten me.

I thought of how he'd slapped me. How he'd held me down. How he'd kept a hand pressed over my mouth. I thought of the pain I allowed him to cause me.

I glared at my reflection.

I was pathetic. I was weak. I was a coward.

All on its own, my fist shot out and connected hard with the mirror. The reflective glass broke audibly, looking much like a spider web as glass shards and dust showered over the sink. My knuckles hurt. They were bloody and cut. So I punched the glass again with the other hand.

This time the mirror shattered, dropping pieces of all sizes and shapes on the counter, in the sink and on the floor.

I yelled out, pulling a piece of glass from my knuckle. In my room, I grabbed my dresser and tipped it over, but sent it almost across the room. I screamed, ripping down posters, bashing my guitar against a wall, putting my nightstand through a wall, tipping my entire bed over with ease and completely upset the ferret cage.

Addison became to scream.

I'd heard about ferrets screaming. It was something they never did unless something was seriously wrong.

Everything was wrong.

I tore apart my room, ignoring the approaching calls of my parents.

"Will!"

"Will! What's going on up there?!"

"Will! Son! Are you alright?!"

No. No, I'm not alright. I'm weak. I'm weak. I have no control. He controls me. I can't fight him off. I punched a hole clean through the wall. I tore the bathroom door off its hinges and threw it against one of the windows. I stepped on the shards and pieces of broken mirror, cutting my bare feet.

I dropped down onto my knees, and picked up the biggest splinter I could see.

My dresser tipped another way as my barely intact bedroom door was forced open.

"Will?! Will! No!"

Dad threw his arms around me, grabbing my wrists firmly. He shook the sharp piece of glass loose from my bleeding hand.

I put up a struggle, punched and kicked and let out screams wracked with broken sobs.

"Josie! Get me a towel!"

Mom ran into the bathroom, glass crunching under her house shoes.

Addison had stopped screaming, but now she cried from where she was in her upturned cage, scratching at the bars.

Dad rocked me, holding me back against his chest, keeping his hand closed as thoroughly as he could over the forearm that I had sawed open. "Shh, breathe, Will. Please breathe. It's okay."

"NO!" I sobbed, hitting my head against the side of his arm.

Mom returned, and wrapped the towel firmly around my forearm, instantly staining it with blood. She wound medical tape tightly around it, making me flinch and cry out.

"I'm sorry, Will, I'm so sorry," she cried.

"Josie, you need to fly him to the Institution. I'll take the car and meet you. Can you get him there fast?"

"Yes," she nodded, eyes red and bleary with tears, "C'mere, sweetie. Please, come with me."

Dad released me and Mom hugged me into her chest. I put up a struggle, "NO!"

She ducked out the window with me and took off into the air.

They took my clothes, and had me strapped to a bed in a gown after shooting me so full of sedatives and numbing agents that for a while, everything swayed sickeningly as I slipped in and out of consciousness. At one point, I thought I felt them picking glass out of the soles of my feet.

At another point, I realized that there were bands around my wrists that glowed with white light.

At another, I thought I heard people talking.

"I need to inform you that your son has developed super strength, and a weaker form of invulnerability. His wounds are nearly healed."

"He got his powers?"

"Yes. But that is not necessarily a good thing. He's banged up himself, your wife and staff members pretty good."

What did I do? I couldn't remember. That needle down there in the back of my hand looked like it should hurt, but it didn't. I couldn't feel anything, barely anything at all.

"Can we see him?" I thought I heard Mom ask.

"He's not very coherent right now. We had to sedate him heavily to keep him from hurting himself or anyone else again."

At another point, I could smell something like food, and I got sick. All over myself and someone else I think.

And then, I was somewhat coherent, and numbness had been replaced by a faint tingling feeling. I turned my head away from harsh light, my ears ringing. I tried to swallow. My mouth was dry, and there was something going down my throat. There was something up my nostril too. It felt like plastic and tape along the right side of my face when I turned my head again.

"Hey, Buddy. Need some water?"

Jolting, I tried to turn away. But all I could move was my head. I was strapped to a bed in the Institution, a feeding tube up my nose and down my throat, and power-neutralizing bands around my wrists and my throat.

"It's okay, it's okay."

It was Dad. His blue eyes were concerned and wary.

Images of a sea of vast ferns came into my head. Woken from sleep into agony and carried away by him. Rows and rows of dust. Woken from sleep into agony and rage and held by him.

Each time he came, he was far too late.

I was haunted by dark, fiery eyes that forced control and held power over me. My own body, subject to all this torture from him, from me, from them.

I pulled at the straps around my wrists that kept me immobile, whimpering.

Flinching away from the attempted comfort of his large hand that tried to settle on my shoulder, I cried out.

"Will, please, sweetie. It's only us. We promise, you're safe."

It was Mom.

I looked away from her, squeezing my eyes shut, trying to forget the black eye and the wrist-splint she had.

I'm not safe.

We were supposed to all be Heroes. But all Heroes seemed to do was hurt. We couldn't save ourselves from each other let alone save others from the bad guys. That's all it was. A lie. An image of false hope. Nobody could save me.

"Look who we brought to see you."

I winced, feeling light little paws and claws settle on my stomach.

Addison crawled up, dooking and whimpering at the same time. She licked my chin and curled up under my throat.

It didn't feel good to feel again…