There was an old rumor that claimed if you lost one sense, the rest strengthened in its absence. Scott didnât know if it was true or not, wasnât versed enough in the science of it to understand whether the brain really worked that way or if people tended to grasp at straws when they needed to make the best of a bad situation. Jean, he suspected, would know the answer, or Charles. Hank definitely would. But Scott wasnât Charles, wasnât Hank, wasnât Jean. He liked the clean numbers and certainty of math, but heâd never excelled in science the way others had. He couldnât tell you how the mind worked, couldnât tell you about the neurons in your brain.Â
When his glasses came off and his eyes snapped shut, he didnât notice any kind of difference in his other senses. Sound didnât become sharper, taste didnât become crisper. It didnât feel like heâd been handed an advantage to counteract the disability that came with the sudden loss of sight. What it felt like was being blinded in the middle of an altercation.Â
Fortunately, it wasnât the first time.
As a teenager, Scott taught himself to fight like this. He went into the Danger Room with a blindfold over his eyes, ran simulation after simulation and earned bruise after bruise. You donât have to keep doing this, Jean had told him once, and heâd smiled with bloody teeth and shaken his head. I do, heâd said. I really do. And this was why. Without his glasses, Scott was worse than powerless⌠unless he made himself work around it. Unless he taught himself how to excel in spite of it. Someone swung a fist towards him, and he tilted his head to feel the air shifting so he could dodge it, grabbed their hand and twisted until he felt a pop. A scream followed, and Scott had always disliked hurting people but he felt a vicious vindication with it now. He smiled, pulling the man closer and delivering a sharp kick to his gut, knocking him down. He dispatched another man similarly, a flurry of movement and rage.
Someone else approached, and Scott moved to take them out, too, only to pause before making contact. A familiar pulse of energy thrumming from within them, a warmth he could feel even at a distance. Alex. His hand dropped instantly, falling to his side as if heâd accidentally brushed it against a hot stove. He almost hit his brother. The thought left an acidic taste on his tongue. âThanks,â he said, movements stiff as he reached out and took the glasses. He slipped them back onto his face, opened his eyes to a world bathed in red, to a few men still left standing.
âYou can go now,â he said, voice authoritative. The men seemed nervous, skirting around their fallen friends in a hasty retreat. Scott watched them go, and a part of him was disappointed.Â
(You should have killed them, a voice in his mind insisted. You should have turned them to ash. He pretended he didnât agree.)
His hands carefully hand the glasses over to Scott, trusting that he would know itâs him. Although considering the circumstances he wouldnât hold it against his brother if a fist flew his way. The energy flowing in both of their bodies is familiar and their powers canât harm each other which is a reassurance Alex can count on. He felt angry that the protestors dared to throw any kind of hit toward his older brother. Which is the reason for the powerful blast released so it would be bright enough to make the protestors unable to see anything else for a minute or two until it dissipates. Â
Which meant being able to turn his attention back to Scott and giving him his glasses. Although sees that he moves to try hitting him, but canât blame him for not recognizing that itâs Alex at first. âYouâre welcome. We always look out for each other, right?â The glow of his blast gone and he doesnât have a lot of energy left stored up within him right now. He had enough that could hold off any other brave Humans who would dare to try to come at them again. Â They didnât though, scattering away and helping their friends leave. âCowards, all of them are cowards.â He mumbles before relaxing his posture before looking back over to his brother.
He raises a hand to his face and wipes away some of the blood that had been dripping out of his nose from the fight he got in a moment prior. âAre you okay? How bad does my face look?â There was a bruise forming on his cheek too â his knuckles probably red.