1¹ | Dexter ▷ Scott Summers | ✓

T W O

Ruth had all of two hours before she was dragged downstairs to eat. In a bag. It didn't end well.

"Who's fucking idea was it to stuff me in a fucking bag after I thought I was gonna be fucking murdered last night?" she shrieked, falling to the ground, pulling her knees to her chest.

"Jeez, I didn't think she'd react like this," a voice said, "You okay, girl?"

"What do you think?" she screeched, trying to stand only to fall back down, pulling her knees to her chest.

"I'm sorry, Mystique told me you needed to get here and she said you'd fight back so I thought this would be easier. You wouldn't have been in there long, but she said not to use my speed because it wouldn't freaked you out."

She tugged at her hair, a habit she had when she was upset. "And you thought stuffing me in a bag wouldn't have freaked me out?"

She couldn't stop crying. She was slowly going hysterical, her sobs slowly turning into screams, her entire body overheating. She kept tugging at her hair, as if she needed to pull it out.

She wasn't angry and she wasn't afraid anymore. She was just...upset. She didn't know.

"What happened?" a new voice demanded. Charles.

"Peter stuffed her in a bag." This voice was more feminine, sounding as nearly upset as Charles.

"I didn't mean to scare her, Mystique just—"

"Raven!" Charles nearly shouted, "We talked about this, she is a child, why must you go and terrorize her—"

"That wasn't my intention," Raven argued, running into the room, "I just wanted to bring her down to eat lunch, she hasn't been eating. Peter was the one who—"

"No! Nuh-uh, girlfriend, you are not sticking this one on me, this is all you! I—"

"Shut up!"

Ruth's scream echoed slightly as everyone in the room froze, staring at the tiny figure on the floor.

She was having a panic attack. She had one that night and she was having one now and all those bullshit exercises her shrink tried teaching her didn't do anything. First step was to know what was happening, so what the fuck was next?

"Ruth," the girl said, reaching into her mind the way Charles did, "Just focus on my voice. Try to relax. Breathe with my counts, okay?"

Ruth took a deep breath and nodded, following the girl as she counted in her head, telling her when to inhale and exhale.

Ruth didn't know when she calmed down, but soon enough she was standing, albeit a bit shakily, and glaring up at the silver-haired boy standing in front of her. "We better have muffins or I'm going to kill someone." Raven opened her mouth, but Ruth held up her hand. "It's a figure of speech. Do we have muffins?"

Charles eyed her warily. "Y-yes. Ruth...are you alright? You've, um, recovered quite well and, um, quickly."

She took a deep breath and sighed. "Yeah, that's kind of my thing. I don't like dwelling on shitty things too long or else they bother me more. So. Muffins?"

She watched as the girl—"my name is Jean"—lift her hand, a single muffin floating down from the cabinet. Telepathic and telekinetic. Ruth plucked the muffin from the air and nodded in silent gratitude, turning to head back up to her room and never come out.

She made it all the way up the stairs,trying to ignore the feeling that everyone was looking at her. Her shrink told her that it was all in her head and she should just ignore it, but it was hard to ignore it when it was, you know, in her head.