#tftdab

--

“... and let the leaf float down the stream. When you are ready, exhale, then open your eyes.”

Danny did as she said, wincing a little as the bright sunshine of the office met his eyes. He cleared his throat and rubbed his hands on his knees.

“How do you feel?”

“Um. A bit more relaxed, physically? I guess some nice deep breathing for ten minutes is like, actually good for you.”

“Just physically?”

“Yeah, um. I’m not sure I’m very good at the exercise. Acknowledging the thoughts and just… letting them go down the stream. Like, if a thought comes to me, it sticks around, you know? I can picture a leaf or something drifting away from me but like, the actual thought is still in my brain. So rather than letting it drift away it sits there, and then to do the exercise right - having a new thought arrive on the stream - I try to think of what else could go on a leaf, and now I have a new thought, and they’re all piling up in my brain like a rotten leaf pile in the fall. You know?”

Doctor Bright nodded. The corners of her eyes softened a touch and the side of her mouth twitched. “I wouldn’t be too worried about how ‘good’ or ‘bad’ you are at meditation, James. This was your first attempt, and it might take some time and work for it to click with you.”

“I guess. Just feels like another responsibility, you know? Chores and grades and my job and paperwork, now I’ve got to add another thing to the list?”

“I suppose you could think of it that way, James. Our mental wellbeing is something that takes work, and sometimes doing so can infringe on other things in our life.”

“Yeah!”

Against his better judgement, Danny liked Doctor Bright. A bit. That she often simply agreed with what he said was… well. He wasn’t exactly used to it. He craved both her approval and disapproval in equal measure, so couldn’t help himself from pushback when the opportunity arose.

“And like, I know you’re gonna say it needs to be a high priority, but everything’s high priority. I need good grades if I’m gonna have a future, I need to keep the apartment clean if I don’t wanna get evicted, I need to keep myself clean and fed so I don’t get sick, I need my job to get money to do any of the above. It’s just, like. It’s a lot. Twenty minutes a day is a lot.”

“Many teenagers find their lives to be uniquely pressured. All the responsibilities of adulthood are coming in, with all the restrictions of childhood. Many feel a sense ‘now or never’, and that their future success is totally determined by their achievement as an adolescent.”

“But it’s hard not to think that, when that’s what every adult is telling you. Like, I can know logically that it’s all bullcrap and that teachers and school admins tell you that so you get good SATs and go to a good college ‘cause then they get better funding and reputation and stuff, I know all that. And that like, plenty of people turn their lives around when they’re an adult. But in a way it is kinda true for me ‘cause I have nothing else going for me right now, Doctor Bright.”

He sat up straight and, clutching his imaginary pearls, recited, “I’m seventeen, I’ve no money and no prospects. I’m a burden on… the state? And I’m frightened.” Accent and everything.

Doctor Bright’s eyebrows raised at that. “Pride and Prejudice?”

“Yeah. My si-. Um. I used to know someone who was obsessed with it. I could probably quote you the entire film.”

“Film? I thought it was a miniseries?”

“Oh. Yeah. Anyway, yeah, I don’t have a backup plan. If I flunk out now, I have no real future. I need to do well now to go to college so I can make money and have an actual life.”

“Unfortunately, your stress is understandable. Many of your personal circumstances - poverty, emancipation - these are significant obstacles. Whereas others your age can afford to spend some time finding their feet in their adolescence, you’ve had extra responsibilities placed on you, many that your peers could never understand.”

“Wait, so you agree? That I'm screwed?”

“Not at all, James. From what I’ve seen, you are more than capable of making your way in the world. You’re smart, driven, and passionate, and I believe wholeheartedly that you can succeed. You have a future, James. You’re right in that it will be more difficult for you than for others, but you need to allow yourself some grace. The occasional mistake, or even failure, will not doom you.”

Danny didn’t answer, and took a deep interest in the decor instead. There was a strip of sealant around the doorframe that was coming off, just slightly. He wanted to rip it off all the way.

It was moments like this that really drove home that therapy with the doctor could only get him so far. The occasional mistake will not doom you.

Only last week, he’d nearly had a panic attack when he’d seen another kid surreptitiously check their phone during a surprise test. Danny hadn’t even been the one cheating, but simply being witness to it had brought on visions of bombed-out cities.

Doctor Bright already knew more about him than he was comfortable with. His lingering terror-guilt-disgust over that one potential future would not be something solved in this office.

The doctor’s voice snapped him back.

“If I may, James, I’d like to come back to what you said earlier about the leaves stacking up in your mind during the visualization. Do you often feel like that?”

Danny scoffed. “Oh, a hundred percent. It’s constantly like - you know that thing, where if someone says, ‘don’t think about penguins’, all you can do is think about penguins?”

“I’m familiar with the concept.”

“I feel like that all the time. Like there are thoughts I know I should be having, like my internal to-do list, or concentrating on the lesson, or looking at someone in their face when they’re talking to you. And then there are the thoughts I really don’t want to be having, but I’m always aware of what I’m trying not to think about, so. I think about them. And then it all stacks together and it’s like everyone talking at once, the good and the bad and the necessary, and then it’s all ‘Hey, kid, you listening?’ and someone in the real world is snapping their fingers in my face.”

“That must be stressful.”

“It is. And even though the meditation was kinda the same, it was… less, I guess? Like rather than try and push the bad thoughts down, just having them sit there visually, I don’t know. They stayed more like surface thoughts than anything deeper. Like the leaves were still there, but I was holding them in my hands rather than having them sucked in through my ears into my brain. You know?”

“That’s excellent, James. I think if you can try to find any calm moments in the day to practice this visualization, you’ll get better and better at identifying and diffusing these discrete thoughts. Not to mention the physical benefits you mentioned.”

“Okay. I’ll try.”

Danny didn’t want to get into a discussion about how there were no ‘calm moments’ in his days. But this did bring him onto something he’d been wondering about.

“Um, Doctor Bright. I gotta ask - why are you teaching me meditation? I thought we were gonna work on my ‘scary thing’, now that I know you know that I’m a, um. An Atypical.”

“Ah, I should have explained better. While anyone can benefit from meditation, there is a wealth of evidence that it is particularly useful for Atypicals who are learning how to control their abilities - especially those that are linked to their emotional state. Which, to be honest, is most of them.”

Danny felt his eyebrows furrow. “‘Linked to their emotional state,’ how?”

Barely perceptible, Doctor Bright’s eyes lit up slightly. “Here’s one example. A fytokinetic is someone with the ability to control plant matter with their mind - it’s a very broad ability type, with many manifestations. Someone with limited control over their ability - say, a young person who’s new to their powers - would likely find the plant matter around them acting in direct response to their mental state. Intense sadness could cause wilting, or feelings of self-disgust and loneliness to plant matter rotting and decaying. Bursts of joy could cause flowers to bloom.”

“So, classic X-Men stuff, right? Powers as a metaphor, ‘show don’t tell?’”

“In a way, although I encourage my patients not to equate their lives with fictional worlds and people. You, your life, and your powers are real, James. Your ability isn’t a metaphor, it’s just a fact of life.”

“A shitty one.”

“Maybe so. But it doesn’t have to be.”

“How could it not be? Say I get full control, what then? It’s hardly useful, the ability to scare people sh- witless. It’s not something I need any more, but it’s still here, making me miserable. It’s stopping me from making friends, or keeping a job. The best thing I can do with it is stop it.”

“I wish I had more answers for you, James, but I don’t. Your ability is a part of you, whether or not you like it. And you have to learn to live with it.”

“Hah. Live with it.”

“I’m sorry?”

“Nothing. Never mind. So coming back to the mental state thing - if I can better control my emotions, I can better control my abilities?”

The Doctor looked like she went to write something, then thought better of it. “That's the case for most Atypicals, yes. Especially so for those whose abilities are of the psychic type, interacting with others’ minds, as yours is. I've already seen good evidence that your own mental state influences your ability.”

“Wait, really?”

“Yes. I'm pretty attuned to identifying when my mind is being influenced by an Atypical ability, as you might imagine, but even without that, I think I would have noticed a difference. My sense of fear and unease spikes when you appear to be agitated or distrusting; it eases when you're relaxed. You may not feel that our visualization exercise was working well, but I experienced a significant drop in my fear.”

“Oh.”

In all honesty, Danny had forgotten that his Fear was continuing to influence the doctor. She certainly didn’t act afraid of him - or any of the other manifestations he experienced. Scorn. Anger. Disgust.

Danny didn’t want Doctor Bright to be scared of him. That she so readily admitted that she still was, in such a dispassionate, clinical matter-of-fact way, was kind of a bummer.

“Does that surprise you?”

“I mean, it shouldn’t. I've always… um. Just like, everything else I do in life is harder when I'm anxious, so I guess the same goes for this. So are you saying the key to managing this is to just what, be happy?”

“That's an overly simplistic way of looking at it. No one can, or should, be happy all the time. But I believe that addressing the root cause of your own fear and anxiety may be the best course of action.”

“Wait, so this is still just like, normal therapy? Talking about my feelings and not like. Doing tests? Taking samples?”

“Yes, James. My therapist practice isn't some front for Atypical coaching, it's still therapy. It's simply that effective therapy for Atypicals is necessarily holistic - better mental health leads to better control over abilities, which improves living conditions, which in turn improves mental health.”

“But there’s got to be more to it? Like, you talk like there’s a whole science to studying Atypicals. Do you not have some kind of like. Um. Lab?”

Danny was not a fan of his voice crack at the end there.

“I don’t personally believe that is necessary, James. There is already a wealth of evidence on psychic-type abilities to reference. This is talking therapy.”

“Okay. So we just, what, talk about my anxiety at school? And boom, I’m cured?”

“‘Curing’ is not a model I subscribe to, James. You are not sick. What I’m here to help you with is control. But there are other things we can do, besides addressing your mental health.” She adjusted her glasses. “I find that discussing my patients’ experience of their abilities often yields fruit in opening up new ways to control them. Would you be up for that kind of discussion?”

Dangerous territory. You’re not a fucking ‘Atypical’, Danny, you’re dead.

What if the way he described his abilities was totally unheard of for the Doctor? What would she even make of that? He didn’t know the first thing about the people he was trying to mimic.

Play it cool, play it cool. You’re a scared little mutant with one inconvenient power, in a world full of scared little mutants with inconvenient powers.

“Um. Sure? But uh, I don’t know what’s normal. Like, how do other people describe their abilities? Actually, I know nothing at all about like… typical Atypicals. If that makes sense?”

“I'd encourage you not to dwell too much on being a ‘normal’ Atypical. It is, after all, a bit of a contradiction.”

Unhelpful, Doc.

“But I want to know about Atypicals in general! So I can know what's me-weird and what's Atypical-weird. Like, when do people get their powers? How many are there? How long have they been around? How does no one know about them?”

“Let's see… ability onset is incredibly varied, with some manifesting in utero, and some not developing until well into adulthood, though those are edge-cases. It is somewhat typical for abilities to onset at puberty or during teenage years. It's very hard to estimate numbers. Recent studies put it as high as four percent of the population-”

“Four percent?!”

“-but that is skewed in multiple directions: on the one hand, many people with abilities live in secret; on the other, some abilities are so mild as to not register as much more than unusual talents or intuition. I have a colleague who thinks as many as twenty percent of Olympians may be low-level Atypicals. Atypical abilities aren't strictly binary, but scalar, and cover a wide range of power and disruption. In terms of the number of people with abilities either powerful enough to be noticeable, or to cause problems in someone's life? Maybe one in one in five hundred people?

“And as far as we're aware, there have always been Atypicals. More than one time traveler has witnessed them at the dawn of human history.”

“... time travelers?”

She smiled. “Yes, James.”

“Doesn't that cause huge issues with like, the timeline? Paradoxes, evil futures?”

“Most abilities aren't powerful enough to disrupt the universe, and have some inbuilt fail-safes. Most time travelers, for instance, can only witness the past, not influence it. And the future is nearly always mutable.”

“That's… wild, actually.”

“It's certainly fascinating. But to bring us back again: how would you feel about discussing your ability with me in more depth?”

“I mean, what is there to discuss? I don't even do anything.”

Doctor Bright set her notebook on the table. “I want you to close your eyes for a second.”

Danny did so.

“Where's a place you frequently find yourself anxious?”

“School. Especially in crowds.”

“Okay. I want you to picture yourself in school. The bell has gone, and it's the crush between lessons. Your ability is influencing those around you, making them fear and distrust you.”

“Okay.”

“Could you describe what emotions you feel? Besides anxiety?”

“Um. Is ‘fuck off’ an emotion?”

He heard Doctor Bright let out a slight huff, as if amused. “I daresay it is. Describe it to me.”

“Like I want everyone out of my personal space, and the more they get in my face, the worse it gets, until I want to fucking bite anything that comes near my face.”

“How does this feeling move around you? Does it come from an outside source, or from within you, projected outwards?”

“Oh, the second one, for sure. Like I want a gust of wind to push everyone around me away from me.”

“If this feeling were visible, what would it look like? A gas, a liquid? Is it slow, fast-?”

“It's green. Toxic green.”

“Okay. I now want you to picture yourself alone, somewhere you feel calm. It can be a real place, or imaginary. Think about what it looks like. Imagine the sounds, if there are any. Think about your body in the space - are you sitting, standing, lying down? Think about the temperature, the smells…”

Easy. The roof of the observatory, on a clear night - he imagined it clearer than possible, really, in Amity. The Milky Way stretched thick and dense overhead, the constellations large and proud. The air was cool and fresh, a slight breeze blowing through his hair. He wasn’t sure what color it should be.

As Doctor Bright talked, it became more real, more solid. Her voice started to fade into the background, and his awareness of the office started to dull. He tried to lean into that fact, and not let it scare him.

The concrete sloped under where he was sitting, to the gutter below him. Small weeds and flowers grew from it, and moths flittered about, attracted to his soft glow.

Doctor Bright invited him to imagine a loved one, someone he felt safe with. He couldn’t pick one, so now Sam, Tucker and Jazz all sat with him, pressing on either side.

He couldn’t remember how they should smell. But he could remember that Sam’s perfume always reminded him of smoke.

A lone car rumbled by. An owl called.

His chest was a gaping wound, draining slick, green sludge down his front. It moved of its own accord, fingers rising and falling, surging outwards. He didn’t move, simply watching as it crawled down his stomach and up across his shoulders, grabbing and dragging itself across the others. They recoiled, sounds of dismay from their mouths and they scrabbled to escape, and the Danny of this vision didn’t move, didn’t even watch.

The ectoplasm became more violent, faster, pushing its fingers into their eyes, their mouths, stifling their screams. Tucker clawed backwards in fear, getting ever-closer to the edge, losing his balance, falling-

The vision froze. Danny held onto his friend, arresting his fall, fixing him in place. He started ripping the ectoplasm away from him, digging his real fingers into his mouth and pulling, and pulling, on and on.

He had to change the ectoplasm. Change how it looked.

It was red. No. Pink. Something between the two. And it was oily, and slick, and watery and moved according to his whim, not on its own accord. It was what held Tucker in place.

It was warm, and sweet-smelling, and giddy, and fascinating.

He turned to look at Sam and Jazz. Both were smiling, the glowing red-pink oil dripping from their bared teeth, their eyes pinned open-

Danny wrenched himself back to the office with open eyes and a gasp. “Doc, I’m not sure what-”

The Doctor was staring at him.

Her eyes were wide open, round as balls, and her pupils were totally blown. She leaned forward, way too far, but her body seemed relaxed. She breathed deep and even.

Danny stood up and stepped away from the couch. “Um. Doc? Doctor Bright? What are you doing…?”

Her posture didn’t change, but her eyes followed him, and she continued to take deep breaths. Her lips parted slightly.

“Doc, fucking, snap out of it. Doctor Bright? What are you…”

She started him down, totally entranced. The corners of her lips started to turn upwards.

Then she whispered, almost undetectable.

“Danny…”

Next thing he knew, Danny had thrown his untouched glass of water right in her face.

She spluttered and recoiled, taking in her bearings. Her eyes returned to normal.

“What. Where…?” Her eyes landed on him. “James…?”

Danny gripped his hair. “Doc, what the fuck was that? You were, I mean, it was totally freaking me out, I didn’t know what to do, oh my god you're soaked I’m so sorry, what was that?”

“James, calm down, I need you to calm-”

“What did you do? What did I do?! I’ve never done that before! Was that me? You called me- shit do you remember? Do you remember any of that? Shit.”

“James, please calm down-”

But Danny didn’t hear the rest. He ignored the receptionist, Sarah’s stunned cry (and she was also gasping, clutching her heart) as he slammed through the office door, and was halfway home before he remembered to breathe.

---

The Inbox of ‘James Jackson’

To: James Jackson

Subject: Checking In

Hello James,

Just wanted to check that you were okay and safe after our session - I could not get through to your phone.

I want to reassure you than Sarah and I are perfectly fine, and I cannot discern any noticeable ongoing side effects from the hypnosis.

While I have no memory of the experience, I know it must have been distressing for you.

I want to apologize for putting you in that position. I did not anticipate that the exploration exercise would yield such an extreme result.

Please let me know you’re okay.

Best wishes,

Dr. Joan Bright, PsyD, ABPP

Licensed Therapist

---

The Inbox of Joan Bright

To: Joan Bright

Subject: RE: Checking In

Hi Dr Bright. I’m safe. I’m really sorry about earlier. I don’t know what happened.

Sent from my iPhone

---

The Inbox of ‘James Jackson’

To: James Jackson

Subject: RE: RE: Checking In

Hello James,

I am glad to hear it. I want to reassure you we are still on for next week. If you want an emergency session in the interim, I would be happy to oblige.

Best wishes,

Dr. Joan Bright, PsyD, ABPP

Licensed Therapist

---

To: James Jackson

Subject: Are you okay?

Hello James,

I am concerned that I have not heard from you since last week. I look forward to seeing you tomorrow.

Best wishes,

Dr. Joan Bright, PsyD, ABPP

Licensed Therapist

---

To: James Jackson

Subject: RE: Are you okay?

Hello James,

I am following up on your missed appointment today. I am obliged to inform the school, but I do not want to do so yet, given your situation. Please let me know you’re alright.

Best wishes,

Dr. Joan Bright, PsyD, ABPP

Licensed Therapist

---

The Inbox of Caleb Michaels

To: Caleb Michaels

Subject: RE: Referred Patient

Hello Caleb,

I did not get a chance to discuss this with your classmate in our last session. However, I am worried, as he has not been responding to my emails, though I know he has continued to attend school.

I was going to suggest that you two begin some e-correspondence, so you could both talk without being affected by your respective abilities. I cannot share his details without his permission, so you might have to make contact in person.

Please bear in mind, he’s flighty. But I know he could do with a friend or two.

Best wishes,

Dr. Joan Bright, PsyD, ABPP

--

They talked about wormholes, to start.

They’d been on his mind, obviously. Relativistic physics in this world seemed to be a little behind his own, probably owing to his home dimension’s little… problem. But it was still all way too advanced for him to really get his mind around - tragically, advanced physics required a little more math knowledge than high school pre-calc.

But this world’s understanding seemed to be missing a whole ecto-shaped chunk out of its standard physical model, leaving them behind. It was interesting.

They didn’t talk about that, of course. Just the basics.

“I’m curious, James. Why space? Your interests cover a lot of different fields - astrophysics, aeronautical engineering, relativity, geology. But they all cover this general concept.”

“Not really sure. I just don’t think I ever outgrew ‘wanting to be an astronaut’. I kinda made it my personality as a kid - stars on the ceiling, Apollo 11 posters, rocket plushies, I had three different NASA t-shirts when I was like, thirteen, I wore them on rotation. Part of me wonders why more people aren’t into it - like, the earth is tiny. And on the timescale of the universe, it’s a spec. I don’t think I’m so much interested in space, as like… the whole universe. It feels arrogant to not want to have a sense of what’s out there. Or to put the earth on a pedestal, just ‘cause we’re here.”

Doctor Bright smiled, and her voice was light. “I must say James, you’ve certainly got me more interested. I agree that we can often be wilfully ignorant of the world around us.”

“Yeah. And just, the community’s great too. All the space agencies are just full of nerds doing amazing things, and space-Reddit is insane.” Some things didn’t change across dimensional boundaries. Even as a newbie in this universe, he’d quickly slotted into the online world. “I genuinely like these people.”

“Do you feel you have more of a community online than in real life, James?”

“Well yeah. I have no community in real life, it’s kinda my problem. But the people on discord and the forums don’t have the same issues with me, so I can actually be, you know, social.”

“I’m glad to hear that. Virtual communities can be a fantastic way to socialize across boundaries you may not be able to otherwise - geographic distance, for instance. And in your case, without the need for physical proximity.”

“Yeah! Like, I can feel normal, ‘cause no one who doesn’t know me in real life is gonna call me a ‘school shooter waiting to happen.’ Well, mostly.”

“Mostly?”

“Well, like. Sometimes people are still sensitive to it. Online. There was a whole thing where someone made a separate channel without me and wanted to know why everyone else was okay with such a creep around, but no one could understand what he meant. So like, I think my thing can still work across technology, just. Not as reliably. Thankfully.”

The doctor considered this. “I see. So again, this person couldn’t pinpoint any reason behind their fear, just a ‘vibe’, as you’ve said?”

“Yeah. Sucks. And that’s just with text threads - not like I can even jump on voice channels.”

“Why’s that?”

“Oh. Just, um. Can’t afford a mic. That’s all.”

It was a weak excuse, but there was no way he could explain the effect his voice had on digital audio. Once again, he’d slipped.

This whole thing was dangerous anyway - they had become far too comfortable talking about his fear aura like it was real.

"James, have you noticed any variation in the… intensity, of this phenomenon? That perhaps, your own mood may be having an affect on others? Have you ever tried experimenting?"

Danny winced at the word.

This was stupid. Admitting this all was stupid. It felt really good, to say it out loud, but Doctor Bright was so cold and calculating and it probably meant nothing but her perfectly pressed shirt was white and she was a doctor and-

"Look Doc, I know this thing is all in my head, you know it's all in my head, so just like, write me a prescription for an antipsychotic and we can move on."

She closed her notebook, and placed it on the coffee table. "I don't think it's all in your head, James."

Shit.

"Sorry?"

The doctor recrossed her ankles. Black shoes, navy slacks. Clear glasses. It was just a white shirt. Cream, even.

No white suit here.

"I don't believe you're psychotic, James. At least, I have no reason to believe so. On the surface this would read as a classic paranoid delusion, but it's hard to ignore the evidence."

"That everyone is scared of me? ‘Cause people have told you so? You can just chalk it up to my actions Doctor Bright, I won’t take it personally."

"But I can’t, James. You’ve been nothing but polite, articulate, and considerate in our sessions. A little nervous and distrusting, but that’s perfectly understandable. But this effect you’ve described - an instinctual feeling of unease in your presence. I can feel that myself, and I can't ascertain a logical reason for it."

Huh.

"You look perplexed, James. Has no one ever admitted that before?"

"I told you, no. It's um. Not nice, exactly. But refreshing."

"I'm curious, James. This phenomenon, that the people you interact with are overcome with a- a foreign emotion. One without a clear stimulus, other than your mere presence. I’ve asked you this before, but I really want you to think - has it always been discomfort and fear? Or has it ever been something else?"

"I'm not sure what you mean, Doctor Bright. That's my thing. Being unnerving." He waggled his fingers. "Fear me.”

"Of course. I just want to explore this further, get some more data points. You clearly have a keen interest in science, James, despite the academic setbacks. Help me understand this on a scientist’s level."

Danny's breath caught, just a little. He knew he was being paranoid. That he was safe here. That he couldn't be taken. He was fine, they couldn't find him here, he was sa-

"You a researcher, Doctor Bright? Obviously you are, you've got a PhD on the wall. Psychology. You work with human subjects much? Non-human subjects?"

"James, as happy as I am to talk about my personal work, this session is to-"

"No, no, this is important, Doctor Bright. Like, who even are you? You're a scientist, but you're a downtown shrink? You just take my whole thing in your stride? Do you ask about anything ‘strange and unusual’ with all your patients? Like I don't want to give off paranoid vibes here but I have good reason to think they are actually out to get me so why should I even trust you? What's your deal? Why are you interested in my whole deal? Who do you even work f-"

With a crack, the light bulb blew. Pieces of shattered glass fell to the coffee table.

A stunned silence followed.

With only the cold, cloudy daylight to illuminate the room, the doctor was backlit against the window, her face in shadow, save for the barest, caustic green glow. Danny could see her fingers pressed against her mouth, as she stared at the ceiling.

Fuck, his ‘angry eyes’. He squeezed them shut.

Danny needed to bolt, he needed to go now, he could go back to school, but his new name was on the file here, he'd need to make new documents, he’d need to-  he'd need to-

There was a squeak of vinyl,, and he heard the doctor rise to her feet, cross the room, and retrieve a gun something from a drawer in her desk. The soft sound of her heels on the carpet then made their way towards the office door. Danny opened his eyes.

"Wait-!"

She flipped the light switch to ‘off’. "Sorry, basic electrical safety, James. This won't take a second."

She walked towards Danny, towards the table, gently picked up the pieces of broken glass, and placed them in the empty box of the new bulb. After a thorough inspection of the surface, she kicked off her heels and stepped lightly onto the coffee table. He saw now that she held a fresh lightbulb in her hand, the base of which she popped between her teeth as she reached up to unscrew the shattered one from within the lampshade. She dropped that into the small box and swiftly fitted the new one.

She hopped down, returned to the light switch, and flicked it on. The new light buzzed to life, and the doctor stepped back into her heels and took a seat, like nothing had happened.

The whole thing couldn’t have been more than thirty seconds, but in Danny’s panic, it had stretched on and on.

She smiled, a little awkwardly. "You'd be surprised how many lightbulbs I get through in this room, James. No need to be..." She seemed to change the word in her mouth. "Anxious."

Danny set his jaw. "Right. Bad electrics.”

“Perhaps. Not always though. Tensions in this room can… run high, as you might imagine.”

Danny could scarcely believe what she was implying. “Tensions running high with your… strange and unusual patients?”

"Yes, James. I assure you, that was nothing I haven't seen before. You may also notice my full suite of fire extinguishers."

"For your faulty electrics?"

"James, correct me if I'm wrong, but - that was you, correct? Blowing the lightbulb in a moment of stress?"

Danny sat back, rubbing the back of his neck. "No. It wasn't."

"Of course."

"Say if it were-"

"Okay."

"What would happen? I mean, what's happened to other people who've blown your lightbulbs? You should know I can disappear. You'd never find me."

"I don't doubt that, James. You seem a very capable young man." The doctor went to pick up her notebook, but thought better of it, and sat back. "Are you asking specifically about clients who have blown my lights, or about all my clients with atypical abilities?"

And wasn’t that an interesting phrase. Danny studied her, eyes lidded. "How many people are we talking?"

"Telling you would breach my doctor-patient confidentiality I'm afraid, and be a breach of all my clients’ trust. However, I can tell you I have been working with 'strange and unusual' people since college, many of them in this room. I'm something of a specialist in providing therapy to people with atypical abilities."

"Is that the official term for it?"

"Well, there isn't really an official term, as Atypicals don't officially exist. But yes, that is the frequently used term."

This was. This was a whole lot. This was totally different to what he’d been frantically building in his head. “But they’re all- they’re all what? Allowed to roam free? Just- be out there in the world, with ‘abilities’?”

“Of course. They have the same rights as anyone else.”

"And you think I'm an… ‘atypical?’"

"Yes James, I do."

“Because your light bulb blew.”

“Yes. Amongst other things.”

“And if I were?”

“Then, James, I hope you’d find some value in the knowing. Knowing, for instance, that you aren’t broken or ill, or even creepy. Merely that you have an atypical physiology that presents an usual symptom, or set of symptoms - namely, blowing light bulbs. And something else that I’m still trying to form a hypothesis over.”

“The scary thing?”

“The scary thing, yes. If you’d be happy to, I’d like to continue to work together, so that we can identify what control you have over your abilities, and start to make them work for you, not against you. How does that sound?”

It sounded… like a lot to think about.

The doctor was wrong, obviously. He wasn’t an atypical, (was that a capitalized ‘A’?) whatever those were.

Danny had never heard of anything remotely similar outside of fiction, in his own dimension; and he was pretty sure that if otherwise-normal people were going around with superpowers , which was what Doctor Bright made this whole thing like, then he’d know about it. His parents would be all over it, as would Vlad, the GIW - hell, half the ghosts he fought.

But they weren’t commonly known about here, either, that was for sure.

It would be a convenient answer. He could explain away the most obvious of his (stupid, fucking, glitching-out) powers in a way that blended in nicely with this dimension.

It wasn’t without risk, though. Throwing his lot in too heavily could spell disaster if he were found out - were ‘Atypicals’ identifiable through their blood, or DNA? Would his weird vital signs cast suspicion? What about all his extra powers? What could your typical Atypical even do?

And all this was assuming that he could trust Doctor Bright - that she did work with these Atypicals, with no ulterior motive other than a modest paycheck, and wasn’t a mole for a-whole-nother shadowy governmental organization who wanted to catch people like him and stab them with thousands tiny needles while keeping him barely sedated and strapped down to a-

But. The GIW didn’t exist here. He’d checked. It was why he’d stayed.

He looked back to the doctor, who was eyeing him patiently.

“It sounds like somewhere to start, Doctor Bright.”

--

You’ve reached the voicemail of Doctor Joan Bright. If this is to schedule an appointment, please press one to speak to Sarah. Otherwise, please leave your name, number, and a brief message after the tone. 

Message received on, Saturday, at, 10:52 AM.

“Hi Doctor Bright, it’s Caleb. Caleb Michaels. Well. I’m not sure how many other Calebs you treat but… but anyway yeah. So. Basically there’s this guy at school, and I think he may be an Atypical? So um, how does this work, do you take referrals? Like I’m sure there are loads of Atypicals who don't need therapy but no offense to this guy but he definitely does. 

“Like I’d love to try and strike up a conversation and I wanna know if he knows he’s an Atypical but I don’t really know how to do that and also I. Um. I kinda really hate being around him. He makes my ability go fu- kinda haywire and I feel like I’m gonna punch him. I won’t, I won’t, you don’t have to worry about that, but uh. Well. I don’t think I can talk to him. ‘Cause he’s either an Empath and we’re getting in a crazy Empathy-feedback-loop or it’s something else, like with Mark. And I can’t get his number, either.

“Adam’s tried talking to him instead but he always kinda bolts. Plus he still makes Adam all freaked out then that affects me really bad for the whole day and just…

“So um, yeah. His name’s James Jackson. I think he needs your help."

...

“Okay. Bye.”

--

To: Caleb Michaels

Subject: Referred Patient

Good afternoon Caleb.

Unfortunately, I can’t reveal any information that would break my doctor-patient confidentiality.

I can assure you though, that while you show wonderful initiative and care for this fellow student, your concerns are already being met.

We can talk at your next session.

Best wishes,

Dr. Joan Bright, PsyD, ABPP

Licensed Therapist

---

“New patient. Session one. Male, seventeen, no known history of psychological counseling. Referred by school for ‘antisocial behavior’, but no examples given, and strong comments were made about his, quote… ‘unsettling vibes.’ Condition unknown.”

-

It was a very ordinary-looking room.

Danny wasn't sure what he'd been expecting, but "boring" hadn't really occurred to him.

The office of Dr. Bright was reasonably spacious, with pure white walls and a thick baby blue carpet. A single sash window overlooked the park, and before it sat a laminate desk - almost certainly IKEA - with precisely organized trays of papers and stationery. No photos or trinkets adorned it. Not even a Newton's cradle, disappointingly.

Towards the center of the room sat two small sofas - firm looking, upholstered in dark blue vinyl. The hospital type, designed for ease of cleaning up bodily fluids. Plump-looking cushions softened their corners. A low coffee table sat between them, sporting a small succulent and a large box of tissues.

Danny had chosen the sofa which faced the window and door, with his back to the blank wall. He got the impression that he'd made the wrong choice, somehow. He didn't give a shit.

The doctor was looking at him, one manicured eyebrow just a micrometer higher than the other. The silence stretched on, awkwardly.

"Um. Sorry. Could you repeat the question, please?"

"Of course. I asked if you knew why you were here, James?"

Danny stared out of the window, into the cloudy sky. There were many ways to answer that question. Classic shrink tactic, probably, to suss out his brain. Most of the answers that came to mind were smartassery - because this is where your office is. Because the bus brought me here. Because of human evolution. Because I'd get kicked out of my school if I didn't come.

What impression did he want to give her? Who did Danny James want to be now? What was most useful to him?

He looked at the doctor's face. "Because people are unsettled by me. I can't help it, but they are. And they want me to stop. Unsettling them, that is. And you're meant to teach me, like, body language techniques or something."

Doctor Bright settled into the sofa a little, like a question had been answered, or a data point obtained. She smoothed the creaseless paper in her lap.

"And what makes you think that?"

"The whole, 'James, there's clearly something deeply fucking wrong with you, and it's freaking out your classmates. Get help,' thing kinda clued me in, Doc."

"I assume you're paraphrasing."

"I'm not, actually. F-bomb and everything. Scout's honor."

"I'm surprised that your principal would use such language with you, James. That must have been disconcerting."

Danny stared at her. That was an unexpected response. "You saying you believe me? That he said that?"

"I do, James. My job here isn't to be a skeptic, or to 'find out the truth'. I'm here to listen, offer advice, and help you learn some skills and techniques to redirect your own behavior and mentality as you wish." The doctor adjusted her glasses. "So yes, James, I believe you. And as your therapist, I will believe whatever you tell me in this room, no matter how... outlandish, you may feel it is. That is my job here."

Danny couldn't help but smile at that, just a little. "That's a sweet sentiment Doctor, genuinely, but you can't mean that seriously. You must get all sorts of compulsive liars or straight-up crazies through here, there's no way you just decide to believe them all."

"Let me rephrase, then. While it's true that many of my patients will tell me things that they know not to be true, I find it best to start from a place of belief. If I decide, after getting to know them, that they are in fact serially lying to me, or are mistaken, I adjust accordingly. But until I can know that? I believe them."

"So if a crackhead told you they could fly. You'd just believe them?"

"I would, yes. Up and until I come to the irrefutable conclusion that they are lying or mistaken. Does that surprise you?"

Danny scoffed. "Yeah, that surprises me. It's nuts. There's no way you can do your job properly like that."

Doctor Bright smiled. "I've found it works best. For one thing, any patients I get through this door will come to learn that, no matter how strange or unusual it may be, they can tell me. I will not judge them, or turn them away, or have them committed."

There was a pause.

"So. You want me to tell you how ' strange and unusual' I am."

"No, James. I want you to tell me whatever you wish to tell me. This is an introductory session, I just want to get to know you."

"Specifically, you want me to tell you outlandish things about myself. Things no one else would believe. Things that make others scared of me."

"James, I merely-"

"Nope. Bye. Tell Principal Khan I failed at therapy, I guess."

He grabbed his backpack, and left.

-

“End of session one. Patient left abruptly.”

Chapter 2 here

-

They sat in the same arrangement as before. The doctor had made a note of it in her book.

"I must say James, I'm glad to see you back."

Danny couldn’t help but scoff. "That’s sort of hard to believe, Doctor Bright."

"Why is that?"

She looked pretty genuine, in a carefully neutral kinda way. Her eyebrows were raised ever-so-slightly over her dark, square glasses, her mouth was relaxed, and brown eyes were making full, unflinching contact with his own. None of the tensed shoulders and muttered asides he was used to from adults these days.

She wasn't totally at ease though, obviously. Her right hand gripped her expensive fountain pen a little too tightly, her irises had contracted. Her nostrils were slightly flared.

These were all the things he'd grown used to seeing, though he had no baseline for the doctor. Then again, he had no baseline for anyone.

The eye contact was incredibly uncomfortable, and he broke it, opting for the window behind her instead.

"No one's ever glad to see me, Doctor Bright. Not really."

She let the silence stretch out. Fucking shrink. Relying on the human instinct to fill the silence.

It was working, unfortunately.

"So I. Uh. Don't really believe you. I think that's a nice thing to say, 'I'm glad to see you', it's a nice segue into talking about me storming out last time, and like, I guess in some way you are glad to see me 'cause then you don’t lose out on a payment, and this is your job, but I think you're uncomfortable. To see me. Which is fine, I just. I wi- I’d rather that people were honest about that."

"Are people not typically honest about that with you?"

"Well they are, eventually, but only after they have some stupid thing to blame it on. Like the way I said or did something, so then they can justify not liking me. I’d rather people be honest that they got the heebie-jeebies from the moment they clapped eyes on me, but that would involve…” He trailed off. “I dunno. Something."

"Do you think this immediate prejudice you feel from people is the reason for your problems at school?"

Danny considered. "Maybe. It's hard to ‘apply yourself’ when everyone at school hates you."

And he’d been trying, he really had - he had more time than ever to work on assignments and projects, and actually read ahead in English, and he didn’t have to stay up all night finishing his homework. It all should have been so much better.

In truth, it was, marginally - better than his last year at Casper, anyhow. But that was a low, low bar.

But no matter how hard he worked, it wasn’t enough. Essays came back with low marks and no comments, his classmates refused to work with him on projects, and presentations were cut off after thirty seconds because no one could stand to listen to him talk and despite the hours of research he’d be given a D-minus and expected to be grateful for it.

And he could never argue, or call it unfair. He’d be put in detention, or even seclusion, for threatening behavior. And now, sent to outsourced therapy with an inscrutable woman who’d probably have him committed.

Her head tilted a fraction. "Before, you said 'uncomfortable' and 'heebie-jeebies', now you say 'hate'. Which is it, do you think?"

"Well, one leads to the other, right? Like, hate is just a way of directing fear? Or something like that. People are scared of me, and they hate that, so they hate me."

The doctor wrote all this down.

“Is this something you experience from everyone, James? Or does it change from person to person? Do you have many friends, at school?”

“Nope,” Danny said, popping the ‘p’. “No friends. There are people who… dislike me less, I guess. There’s this one guy who goes out of his way to be like, sweet. Asks me how I am and stuff. I think he feels sorry for the fact I’m such a visible loner with no friends.” The doctor nodded. “And have you tried pursuing a friendship with this young man?”

“Not really, I can tell that he’s super scared of me too. But he’s nice, so I try not to overstay my welcome. Plus, his friend is like, super freaked out by me. Like way more than normal.” The doctor’s eyebrows furrowed just a little, at that. “How do you know someone is scared of you, James?”

“You think I’m projecting.”

“Not at all. I didn’t mean to imply anything. I’m just wondering what it is exactly that you’re picking up on. Is it people’s behavior? Their words? Something you can see, or maybe just… feel? Innately?”

“‘Cause if it’s something I just ‘feel’ then it’s in my head, right?”

“Not at all. The human brain is very good at pattern recognition, even on a subconscious level. What we may sometimes experience as ‘just a feeling’ or a loosely defined ‘sense’ can actually be the result of our brains performing complex analyses on our surroundings, and gaining something meaningful from the smallest details. It’s a fascinating area of study.”

“And you think that’s what I’m doing?”

“It could be. What do you think?”

Danny didn’t need to ‘sense’ his effect on individual people, of course. Or intuit, or whatever else the doctor was talking about. It was just a given - one that had only gotten worse since he’d come here.

He didn’t want to sit here and tell a therapist that he had a terrifying, supernatural aura. He didn’t want to tell her he was dead. He wanted, desperately, to tell someone that his control was slipping - had slipped - and he was fighting for command over his body again, here in a world with different physics and no discernible magic.

But he couldn’t, obviously.

“I’ve learned to spot the body language,” he said. “Fast breathing, tense muscles, wide eyes and blown - or constricted - pupils, clenching, flushing and sweating, et cetera et cetera. It helps if they call me a creep, a freak, or a psycho too. That normally informs me pretty well.” “Do you study people’s body language a lot, James? Would you be able to spot other emotions as easily?”

He shrugged. “Only as well as anyone else, I guess. I don’t think I have much of a talent for it. I can just spot the fear ‘cause I cause it. Like, I googled how to spot it once, after it started happening.” “And when did it start?”

He didn’t hesitate the way he should have. He didn’t check himself or hold his tongue. So he simply said, “Second semester of freshman year, when I was fourteen.”

Which entirely went against his plan of 'keep it vague, dumbass.’

“-I mean, uh, I think it was around then. I guess.” If the doctor was suspicious, she didn’t show it - she just jotted it down in her book. And underlined it.

“So you’ve had this discernible effect on people for three years now, more or less, and your experiences and research have provided the tools to spot it, if not understand it, correct?”

Incorrect. He understood it perfectly.

“Correct,” he said.

“Was this a problem at your old school?”

“Sure.”

“To the same degree?”

No.

“Sure,” he said instead.

“How have you found the transition to your new school? For obvious reasons a lot of your file is sealed, but I can see that you have no official guardian and are living independently. That must be tough, at seventeen.” “Mm-hm.” The doctor sat back, waiting for her first question to be answered.

There was a tree outside the window, its branches bare and dead. A crow hopped around the naked boughs, minding its business.

There was very little else of interest in Danny’s sightline.

“I can see that this is a topic you’d rather not discuss, James. We can talk about anything else you’d like to.”

Kudos, Doc.

He shrugged. “What do people normally talk about in therapy?”

“Anything and everything, I find,” she said, with the slightest smile on her lips. “We’re still very early on, so I’d like to get to know you a bit more. I’d love to know more about your hobbies, your interests - where do you go, mentally, to feel assurance, or peace?”

“Space, I guess.” She did smile now. “Poetic. Tell me more.”

So he did. He started with the Mars rovers, their names and their aims. And eventually Martian geology. Then deep space probes, then the Hubble telescope, then stellar spectroscopy, then the MoonBase updates-

“I apologize. Moonbase? I was unaware of any ongoing lunar occupation-”

“No, yeah, you’re right, um. I meant. The plans. There might be plans for one. For growing ecto-fungi. Nothing happening yet. No one here lives on the moon. You know I think I just heard it on a documentary, actually. Maybe it was bullshit. I mean bullcrap. I mean. Nonsense.”

“Of course. There’s no need to panic James, I’m not here to judge you for making mistakes. Though I’m curious - what was that word you said? Ecto-fungi?”

“Hm? Don’t know. I just said ‘regular fungi.’”

“Of course. My apologies.” She re-crossed her legs and stretched her spine a little. Her eyes were a bit more relaxed around the edges, and her grip on her pen looser. “I must say James, your passion is encouraging. For the last…” she checked her watch. “Forty-five minutes, you’ve been a very different young man. Do you find talking about your passions comforting?”

Yeah. They made him complacent.

“Sure.”

“If you like, James, going forward, we could start our sessions with a quick chat about anything along these lines. It might help you feel more at ease. Would you like that?”

No. It was a dumb idea and was likely to make him slip up about inter-dimensional differences.

“Yes,” he said. “I’d like that a lot.”

--