Heros to Each Other
folder
S through Z › Sky High
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
3
Views:
7,010
Reviews:
10
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
S through Z › Sky High
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
3
Views:
7,010
Reviews:
10
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
I do not own Sky High, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.
Everybody Wants to Rule the World...Right?
Date: Sun. Sept. 11, 2005
Time finished: 4:00 am
Summary: A freak accident in Medulla's lab (when will they just keep people away from there?) lands the rest of the gang with Warren and Will's English teacher for the fall. One of their first assignments of the Senior year is to write a one-page, autobiographical paper. This is Warren's. Some angst, mild language, references to love between friends. No overt pairings. Review if you feel the urge, flame if you must, but know that flames will be cleverly mocked offline.
Disclaimer: If I owned Sky High, there would have been a make-out scene with Layla, Magenta, and Warren. Mmm, angsty bishi yumminess.... Erm, I mean, ignore the drooling. I'm normally not this rabid. >.<
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Warren Peace
Senior English
Ms. Song
'Who I Am'
5/12
Who Am I?
Every one thinks I will turn out like Dad. I hear it often enough. "He's got his father's powers." Pyrokinesis and regeneration. Not Mom's power; not telekinesis. My father's powers. But my eyes are from my mom, and my hair, too. No one at school knows that I don't dye it black, that black is my natural hair color. I dye it red, actually, to cover up the light streaks I got from Dad. Really, I look far more like my mom than anyone else, but all anyone sees when they look at me is the Baron.
Yes, I have his powers. But Dad's power comes from pain, hatred, jealousy, and fear. Pain that he held in too long, that he let chew him up from the inside out. Hatred...of his parents, I guess. I don't know how they treated him back then, but they treat me like a time-bomb. Jealousy of the Commander and Jetstream. I don't know why, but whenever he talks about them, he keeps going back to the 'happy family' and how sickening he thinks it all is. I'm not a psychologist, but I've seen jealousy up close and personal. The way his eyes burn clear blue when he talks about them, I can't help but think he wants to be Steven Stronghold instead of Benjamin Battle. Fear? Oh, yeah, my dad feels fear. Fear for Mom, for me, hell, he even seemed to worry when I told him about the time Will got knocked out and tossed off the school during Save the Citizen. I can see it in his eyes. He hides it pretty well, but I've been through the classes, all the lectures about keeping your cool in battle and all that. I guess my visits are a battle for him. No pun intended.
My power comes from different things. Anger, for one. Anger is like fire. You can let it burn unchecked, a towering inferno of rage, but that can't last long. The fuel has to come from somewhere, and if you don't feed the fire, it either dies or consumes you, instead. I figured that out at the beginning of my freshman year, when I fought Will. I thought I had control over my anger. I didn't really want to kill him or anything, just make him miserable, like me. I guess, in high school, it doesn't feel like there's much difference between the two. Of course I lost my temper in the cafeteria. I didn't expect him to be powerless, but I was thrown an even worse curve when he suddenly powered up. Tossing me through a wall was bad enough, but then he had to go and douse me with a fire extinguisher. Those things are cold!
I asked him later what he was thinking in the detention room, and all he said was, "I couldn't believe you'd gone through a wall and stood back up!"
And that was it. He wasn't freaked out by my flame powers, or my attitude, or my father's reputation. He almost sounded awed. I had never before in my life had someone speak to me like that. That was, I think, when the fuel began to run out, when I started letting go of some of that rage. I still get mad, I still chuck fireballs at people who piss me off, but my anger isn't unchecked anymore.
My power comes from loyalty. My word isn't worth much to many people, but when I give it, I won't break it if my life depended on it. People wonder why I hang out with 'the group'. They don't know about the promise we made after that fateful, terrifying homecoming, that the six of us swore to be there for each other, no matter what. That we would always be heros, to each other if no one else. No one else spots me scorching bullies' backsides when they try to shove Ethan into his locker. No one else sees me help Will chase off his female 'admirers' when Layla isn't around to. No one else notices that, in all the times that we've played Save the Citizen, I've never, never, been a villian, even if I have to forfiet.
No one else knows that, when my motorcycle was busted, Zach walked home with me every night after work for a week because I'm afraid of the dark. No one else knows that Magenta helped me dye my hair when I'd broken my hand. No one else knows that Layla sings to me over the phone at two in the morning when I've had a nightmare. And no one else knows that we all got cell phones just so we could be in touch at all times. No matter what.
My power comes from love. Corny as that sounds, it's true. There are lots of different kinds of love. There is romantic love, like a candleflame, all flickering and glowy. It's the kind of love that makes your insides flop around like little fish, but it isn't the kind I'm talking about. There's passionate love, a huge bonfire that lights up the night but leaves little but ash and a bit of charred earth behind when it dies out. That isn't the kind of love I'm talking about, either. There's familial love, the kind of love I feel for Mom and most of my friends. It's like a little campfire that everyone crowds around, touching knees and roasting marshmallows. I draw strength from that love, sure, but it still isn't what I draw from when I'm fighting, when I really need that last burst of flame right now.
The love I'm talking about doesn't have a name, at least, not one I know of. It is like the flame from a gas torch, so pure it is almost invisible, so white-hot it seems cold. It's the kind of flame that can leave a burn that won't stop hurting, but you can't help but be drawn to it anyway. I touched a bunsen burner's flame once, in seventh grade. I wasn't immune to heat then, and the burn is a needle of pain that still stabs at me whenever I power up. But that is the kind of love I share with Will and Layla. I felt it the first time we had one of those 'three-way looks' that Magenta finds so creepy. I feel it whan I look across the gym floor at Will during Save the Citizen, and I know exactly what he's going to do, and what I need to do. I felt it when they stayed up all night just to think up a superhero name for me. Friends were something I never thought I would have; now, I can't imagine living life without the ones I've got. In the end, who we are alone is less important than who we are together.
No matter what.
Time finished: 4:00 am
Summary: A freak accident in Medulla's lab (when will they just keep people away from there?) lands the rest of the gang with Warren and Will's English teacher for the fall. One of their first assignments of the Senior year is to write a one-page, autobiographical paper. This is Warren's. Some angst, mild language, references to love between friends. No overt pairings. Review if you feel the urge, flame if you must, but know that flames will be cleverly mocked offline.
Disclaimer: If I owned Sky High, there would have been a make-out scene with Layla, Magenta, and Warren. Mmm, angsty bishi yumminess.... Erm, I mean, ignore the drooling. I'm normally not this rabid. >.<
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Warren Peace
Senior English
Ms. Song
'Who I Am'
5/12
Who Am I?
Every one thinks I will turn out like Dad. I hear it often enough. "He's got his father's powers." Pyrokinesis and regeneration. Not Mom's power; not telekinesis. My father's powers. But my eyes are from my mom, and my hair, too. No one at school knows that I don't dye it black, that black is my natural hair color. I dye it red, actually, to cover up the light streaks I got from Dad. Really, I look far more like my mom than anyone else, but all anyone sees when they look at me is the Baron.
Yes, I have his powers. But Dad's power comes from pain, hatred, jealousy, and fear. Pain that he held in too long, that he let chew him up from the inside out. Hatred...of his parents, I guess. I don't know how they treated him back then, but they treat me like a time-bomb. Jealousy of the Commander and Jetstream. I don't know why, but whenever he talks about them, he keeps going back to the 'happy family' and how sickening he thinks it all is. I'm not a psychologist, but I've seen jealousy up close and personal. The way his eyes burn clear blue when he talks about them, I can't help but think he wants to be Steven Stronghold instead of Benjamin Battle. Fear? Oh, yeah, my dad feels fear. Fear for Mom, for me, hell, he even seemed to worry when I told him about the time Will got knocked out and tossed off the school during Save the Citizen. I can see it in his eyes. He hides it pretty well, but I've been through the classes, all the lectures about keeping your cool in battle and all that. I guess my visits are a battle for him. No pun intended.
My power comes from different things. Anger, for one. Anger is like fire. You can let it burn unchecked, a towering inferno of rage, but that can't last long. The fuel has to come from somewhere, and if you don't feed the fire, it either dies or consumes you, instead. I figured that out at the beginning of my freshman year, when I fought Will. I thought I had control over my anger. I didn't really want to kill him or anything, just make him miserable, like me. I guess, in high school, it doesn't feel like there's much difference between the two. Of course I lost my temper in the cafeteria. I didn't expect him to be powerless, but I was thrown an even worse curve when he suddenly powered up. Tossing me through a wall was bad enough, but then he had to go and douse me with a fire extinguisher. Those things are cold!
I asked him later what he was thinking in the detention room, and all he said was, "I couldn't believe you'd gone through a wall and stood back up!"
And that was it. He wasn't freaked out by my flame powers, or my attitude, or my father's reputation. He almost sounded awed. I had never before in my life had someone speak to me like that. That was, I think, when the fuel began to run out, when I started letting go of some of that rage. I still get mad, I still chuck fireballs at people who piss me off, but my anger isn't unchecked anymore.
My power comes from loyalty. My word isn't worth much to many people, but when I give it, I won't break it if my life depended on it. People wonder why I hang out with 'the group'. They don't know about the promise we made after that fateful, terrifying homecoming, that the six of us swore to be there for each other, no matter what. That we would always be heros, to each other if no one else. No one else spots me scorching bullies' backsides when they try to shove Ethan into his locker. No one else sees me help Will chase off his female 'admirers' when Layla isn't around to. No one else notices that, in all the times that we've played Save the Citizen, I've never, never, been a villian, even if I have to forfiet.
No one else knows that, when my motorcycle was busted, Zach walked home with me every night after work for a week because I'm afraid of the dark. No one else knows that Magenta helped me dye my hair when I'd broken my hand. No one else knows that Layla sings to me over the phone at two in the morning when I've had a nightmare. And no one else knows that we all got cell phones just so we could be in touch at all times. No matter what.
My power comes from love. Corny as that sounds, it's true. There are lots of different kinds of love. There is romantic love, like a candleflame, all flickering and glowy. It's the kind of love that makes your insides flop around like little fish, but it isn't the kind I'm talking about. There's passionate love, a huge bonfire that lights up the night but leaves little but ash and a bit of charred earth behind when it dies out. That isn't the kind of love I'm talking about, either. There's familial love, the kind of love I feel for Mom and most of my friends. It's like a little campfire that everyone crowds around, touching knees and roasting marshmallows. I draw strength from that love, sure, but it still isn't what I draw from when I'm fighting, when I really need that last burst of flame right now.
The love I'm talking about doesn't have a name, at least, not one I know of. It is like the flame from a gas torch, so pure it is almost invisible, so white-hot it seems cold. It's the kind of flame that can leave a burn that won't stop hurting, but you can't help but be drawn to it anyway. I touched a bunsen burner's flame once, in seventh grade. I wasn't immune to heat then, and the burn is a needle of pain that still stabs at me whenever I power up. But that is the kind of love I share with Will and Layla. I felt it the first time we had one of those 'three-way looks' that Magenta finds so creepy. I feel it whan I look across the gym floor at Will during Save the Citizen, and I know exactly what he's going to do, and what I need to do. I felt it when they stayed up all night just to think up a superhero name for me. Friends were something I never thought I would have; now, I can't imagine living life without the ones I've got. In the end, who we are alone is less important than who we are together.
No matter what.