Jensen and Manuel

[om_empath]

At Professor Xavier's request, Jensen enters a psychiatric facility in Robleda, Spain that is being controlled by a mutant patient...and potential classmate.



Charles Xavier had explained the circumstances of the current situation to Jake Jensen well before now, but knowing what to expect hadn't made walking into the Sanatorio Psiquiátrico la Robleda and being met with complete silence and complete stillness and dozens of sets of flat, unfeeling eyes any less disturbing. There was a mutant at the center of this; a young patient nullifying the emotions of every other person in the small psychiatric hospital and pushing his own abilities so far that there was a real possibility of lasting psychic damage. It was the reason that Xavier hadn't wanted to enter his mind, either to shut his powers down or just to communicate, unless it was absolutely necessary. It was also the reason that he'd brought Jensen and sent the boy in alone for their first encounter. His footfalls echoed as he moved through the corridors and passed the strange, pale nurses lingering near their medication carts and the patients scattered here and there near the walls or in their rooms, all of them looking more like breathing mannequins than actual people.

It didn't take long for him to find the person he was looking for. Manuel Alfonso Rodrigo de la Rocha didn't appear much better off than the people he was controlling as he sat the floor with his back against the wall. He seemed disoriented and exhausted, but strangely calm as he smoked a cigarette he'd taken from one of the orderlies and blood dribbled down from his nose in a slow stream.

This place was creepy. It was one jump scare away from a horror film. Like, at any second, Jensen expected that Leatherface would come waltzing out with Freddy Krueger while Norman Bates kept time on the triangle and the children of the corn sang along. Which sounds like it would be hilarious, but it would be fucking terrifying because, c’mon, Norman, the triangle? What the fuck, dude?

Jensen wasn’t sure how he’d let himself get talked into this. Xavier had made a pretty convincing argument and it was kinda hard to say no to the guy who stood between you and going back to the one place you definitely didn’t want to go back to. Plus, no one had ever really had asked him for help before. Even less people had ever relied on him.

A quick glance was sent over his shoulder, back down the hallway where he’d come from, and then Jensen crouched down in front of the pale, quiet boy. Spotting the blood, he held back a grimace and stood again to grab a towel off a nearby orderly’s cart. “Hola, dude,” he said as he crouched down again, offering out the towel. Then, in Spanish, “Here. You got a bit of--” He gestured at his own nose to indicate the blood on Manuel’s.

Manuel's dark eyes had been following Jensen since he'd come around the corner, but he seemed to attribute the unfamiliar boy all the importance of a gnat. He felt like nothing and, in the eyes of the empath, that made him seem insubstantial. Unreal. It wasn't until the stranger knelt and looked him in the face and reached out almost near enough to touch him that he even lifted the cigarette out of his lips. The ash clinging to the end of it broke off and dropped down on his white pants, but he didn't acknowledge that any more than he had the blood.

He responded in a flat rendition of his native tongue. "It's quiet here now. You're ruining it."

Jensen’s grin was crooked and self-deprecating as he, still speaking in Spanish, replied, “I do that.” He sat down, crossed-legged, and laid the towel across his knee since it seemed Manuel had zero interest in it currently. “That’s there if you change your mind about the--” He gestured at his nose again. “Also, second hand smoke causes, like, fifty thousand deaths worldwide each year, so if you could just, I don’t know, put that out or breathe away from me or something.” He chatted nonchalantly, a quick patter of ramble that may have come across as inane or obnoxious to anyone listening, but in reality he was trying to keep things casual, to make Manuel feel comfortable. It was a joke and a bad one and on second thought it probably really wasn’t the best time to be joking.

“So, um, you’re probably wondering why I’m here.” Man, where to fucking begin? Sooooo, buddy, listen, you have mojo mind powers and you’re mojo mind powering everyone in this building and if you don’t stop you’re going to literally break yours and their brains? Hell fucking no. “My name’s Jensen.” A pause. “Have you ever heard the word mutant?” God, he sounded like a door-to-door Jehovah’s Witness.

If Manuel had any interest in what Jensen was saying, he didn't show it. The blood continued to run down his face and the smoke continued to rise from the cigarette and he watched the stranger -- the American, he was realizing -- as he talked on and on. It was almost too much for him to follow. He closed his eyes and focused on something unseen for several seconds before opening them again. "No," was all he had to say.

Great, this just got easy, Jensen thought sarcastically. “Well, the long and short of it is that you’re not crazy,” he started with because, hey, not a bad lead in. “You’re a mutant. An empathy apparently, which means you can read and influence the emotions of other people. Hence the,” he gestured vaguely at the hospital staff standing motionless in the hallway, “vegetable zombies. I’m a mutant too. I can move things with my mind. Like Carrie in that movie? Except, you know, less ragey and covered in blood and I’ve never been to prom.” He grinned at Manuel. “I’m here to bust you out.”

Seemingly by force, the words took hold of Manuel's attention and began to pull him free of the detached mental state he'd inhabited since all of this had started. As if for the first time he felt the pressure in his head and the mental weight of what he was doing and a subtle, but pained grimace settled on his face. He touched the blood beneath his nose, smearing it on his fingertips. Mutant. Empath. It all sounded ridiculous...even if it was nothing more than putting a name to what he already knew. He knew that people had a way of seeping into his brain and that he couldn't get them out again; until now.

He dropped his reddened hand back into his lap and peered at Jensen, his eyes still not entirely focused. "Other people," he echoed flatly, "So why not you? Or is that part of being a 'mutant'?" Or a figment of his imagination or a phantom. He hadn't decided, but he still couldn't feel Jensen at all.

“A part of being a mutant for me, not for everyone though,” Jensen answered. He wasn’t sure why and the teachers at the school didn’t seem to have any explanation for it beyond it being some kind of mutant ability of his. He didn’t know how true that was, but as he couldn’t really give the scientific explanation of how even his TK worked he wasn’t gonna say anything. “You want proof or something? I can float something over. Hell, dude, I can float you.”

Manuel stared blankly at Jensen for several seconds, attempting to make sense of what the other boy was saying and of his peculiar offer. Float you. Even in his native language, it was a difficult sell. His brow furrowed, first in confusion but then more deeply as that distant ache continued to come into focus. He plucked the cigarette out of his mouth and ground it out on the tile floor. Then he left it there and gestured toward it with anemic effort. "Show me," he said.

Jensen made a scoffing sound because cigarette? Dude, that was like picking up fucking air it was so easy. “Sure, no problem,” he answered and then gestured ‘come here’ at the cigarette. “Up, up and away, cancer stick.” It lifted off the ground with ease, rising and rising until it hovered at about eye-level between the two boys. “See? Floating. Telekinesis at work. Cool, right?” He made the cigarette perform a loop-the-loop and then lowered it back onto the ground.

Both of Manuel's dark eyes remained trained on Jensen, acknowledging the crushed cigarette only when its movements brought it in front of his face. It was not that he wasn't shocked by the display, because he was, but nothing good would come of letting the other boy know that. And besides, splitting his focus between him and holding back everything else was difficult enough. It was better to hold onto his control.

Abruptly, he looked away and closed his eyes and touched his temple. "All right. So. What do you and your parlor trick want from me?" he murmured in a sharp, quiet voice.

Awesome, now they were getting somewhere. “There’s a school,” Jensen told the other boy, deciding it was best to get straight to the point. “It’s filled with people like us--Other mutants. We’re safe there and you can learn how to control your abilities. Quiet all that noise up there, you know? Make it so you can turn it on and off or whatever. Oh, and bonus, the teachers don’t suck and the other students aren’t assholes! Well, most of them aren’t. The majority isn’t, which is a feat considering what school is like in general.”

Manuel grimaced, continuing to apply pressure to his aching temple. It was hard enough to maintain his concentration and the boy beside him talked too fucking much. "Look around," he said, posturing reflexively even as he thought about that the American had just said, "I'm already in control, wouldn't you say?" A whole building quelled by his will should have made that apparent...never mind the fact that he was holding on by a thread.

“Ah, see, that’s the problem, dude,” Jensen replied. “No, you’re not. You don’t have the strength or the control for this. I mean, fucking look at them, dude. Can you honestly say that you’re handling the situation? They’re basically fucking vegetables. And you can’t do much beyond sitting around. What you’re doing is like putting a bandaid--no, fuck that, drawing a bandaid on a gaping wound. It’s going end up killing them and you.” Harsh, maybe, but true. He had a feeling nothing but some hard reality would convince this guy.

That silenced Manuel and, begrudgingly, he wiped at the blood beneath his nose again. It was still coming and he didn't know why it hadn't occurred to him before that it might be a sign of danger. Something inside pushing too hard and threatening to break. The realization scared him. "Most of them," he said acridly, trying to hide the response from Jensen and from himself, "Wouldn't know the difference. Especially not now."

Then, almost without pausing, he added in a quiet voice, "If I let them go, they aren't going to let me walk out of here."

Jensen grinned, “Already got that part figured out. One of the school’s headmasters is waiting outside. He’s a telepath, so he won’t even break a sweat over it.” He tapped his temple with two fingers. “He’ll quiet the noise in your brain for you and keep everyone else from figuring out what’s going it. It’ll be like we were never even here.” Picking up the towel, he again offered it to Manuel, whose nose was still bleeding. “Just say the word, he’ll do his thing, and we’ll get out of here.”

Manuel scoffed, reaching for the towel slowly until his fingers showed signs of trembling. Then he grabbed it sharply and pressed it against the space beneath his nose. "I have been here for more than a year," he said, "There are records."

“Easy to take care of,” Jensen replied with an unconcerned shrug. “We have a technopath. And I’m good with computers. Like I said, it’ll be like you were never here. They won’t remember and there won’t be anything that says otherwise. You’ll fucking ghost.” He stood, offered Manuel a hand to help him to his feet. “Come on, let’s get outta here.”

Initially silent, Manuel thought about what it would mean to disappear. But with his life in the state that it was, the answer was simple: it would mean nothing. He would lose nothing because he had nothing. He pursed his lips and tasted the bitter, coppery flavor of blood. "You need to forget this too," he said finally, grabbing Jensen's hand with his own and allowing the other boy to pull him up onto unsteady legs. This story was too pathetic to carry with him into a new life and, while he couldn't control what Jensen would inevitably share or hold in confidence (not yet, anyway), he had to try.

“Forget what?” Jensen asked with an expression of clueless innocence. “I have absolutely no idea as to what you are talking about.” He put Manuel’s arm over his shoulder, letting the other boy lean on him. He clearly needed the help and, if he argued, he’d just point out this was the only way they’d get out of here quickly. “Don’t worry, dude. The only person who will have noticed I’m gone is maybe my roommate. No one is going to ask any questions and I’m not going to tell anyone anything. It’ll be like I wasn’t here either.”

Pragmatism (and exhaustion) kept Manuel from complaining about his sudden proximity to Jensen. He could feel how tenuous his mental grip was becoming and he wanted to get out of this place too. Quicker was better. He said nothing in response to the reassurance, knowing that whether the boy kept his word or not had nothing to do with how he answered now. Instead, he observed in low murmur, "You're American." His understanding of the language was impressive, but the accent was there. "Where is this place?"

“In America. New York to be more exact, ‘cause, you know, big place,” Jensen said with a chuckle as they walked down the hall. “There are kids from all over there though. England, Japan, Germany, Brazil, Canada, China, fucking Tarnax... It’s quite the fucking collection they’ve got going. We’re basically one or two countries away from being able to form our own Olympics.”

"Ambitious," Manuel answered, sounding more wary than relieved by this revelation. So some eccentric American was gathering young mutants from all over the world. He wasn't in a position to judge the collector's motives, but he would be stupid not to wonder or to give away his trust too freely.

“That’s one word for it,” Jensen replied. He didn’t 100% trust the headmasters either, but where else could he go? Staying at the school and learning how to control his telekinesis was the best option he had available to him right now. “It seems like a good enough place. Everyone is happy there.” A crooked, amused grin. “As happy as teenagers can be anyway.”

Jensen turned down another hallway. “You’ll like it there, dude. Trust me. This is coming from a guy who fucking hates school and I’m telling you the place isn’t all that bad. Or, if that doesn’t float your boat, look at it this way: It’s definitely a step up from this place.”

Manuel made no attempt to hide the glower which followed. Jensen didn't have to tell him that going anywhere was better than remaining where he was; it felt like he'd been given reprieve on a stint in hell. "Even if it's just a step," he responded, "I'll take it."

“I hear you,” Jensen agreed. They turned down another hall and there, at the end of it, was their exit out of this creepfest. “Almost there. Don’t be startled by the bald guy. He’s with us.” Well, they were with him to be more precise since he was pretty sure a telepath as powerful as Xavier could flip their off switches before you could even think ‘boo’, but whatever. It sounded better the other way around.

Jensen pushed the door open with his telekinesis and then they were out, the Spanish air hot around them and the sun setting in the distant horizon.

Too tired to become indignant at Jensen's claims of understanding, Manuel grunted dully and wiped again at his blood-streaked face. He couldn't know for sure, but it felt like the space between his nose and his chin was covered with it, like it was on his lips and dripping down his chin. It was hardly an ideal first impression, but now wasn't the time to worry about appearances. Not with all of this already out in the open.

He watched the doors, normally locked, move back as if on their own and winced as the bright light shone directly into his eyes. It had been a long time. Gradually, he began to surrender his grip on the people inside the building and it felt like a vice was loosening from around his brain even as the emotions slowly began to stir again. He slumped more against the younger boy; at least his mind remained impenetrably silent.

Jensen silently took on more of Manuel’s weight. “Nearly there,” he told him. “You can let go of the people in there if you haven’t already. Xavier will keep all the noise out, so you’ll be alright.” He moved as quickly as the other boy could walk without stumbling, cutting across the parking lot to where Professor Xavier, and their getaway car, was waiting. “Home free, dude. You’ll never have to set foot in that hell hole again, so wave goodbye.” He flipped the place off.

The meaning of the gesture wasn't lost on Manuel and he surprised himself with a soft, somewhat raspy laugh. It felt unexpectedly good. "You're...doing an adequate enough job for both of us," he told Jensen, the words softened by what sounded like gratitude. He still gripped the other boy, but his mental hold on the nurses and doctors and patients continued to dwindle until all of it had gone. It wasn't until he'd let go completely that the emotions, beginning to create that familiar din in his head, went abruptly silent. He could only assume it was because of the old man looking at them from the window of the nearby car; the telepath.

Well. Maybe he did have a few things to learn at this school after all.