Wesley tapped rapidly on the railing of the balcony. The metal vibrated little, so the tiny bumps barely made a sound, but the speedster wouldn't have noticed anyway with his mind out in space. His eyes directed the lines of his thoughts, tracing faces in the stars. Every so often his eyelids would droop in threat to close completely, but then they would pop back open with the flash of a nightmare tearing through his mind.
That, ladies and gentlemen (and anyone outside or in between), is why young Wesley Evans was out on the balcony of RJ's apartment instead of sleeping soundly in the guest bed: a nightmare. When you're a superhero, everyone assumes you're fearless. Nothing can touch you. But this is far from the truth; supers hide behind colorful costumes and masks, after all--and generally speaking, not as a bizarre fashion statement.
'We're trained for these kinds of things. We can handle it. Nothing like that will ever happen, I'm sure,' Wesley chanted in his head. No matter