John snaps awake at the screaming, bolt upright and half out of bed before the shift in his mind becomes evident, then almost overwhelming. It's happened once before - twice before, if he counts his life before this place. The information flooding through his head, temperatures and heat signatures and combustion rates, like data from infra-red goggles pouring right into his mind and getting computed at an astounding rate.

Where's his lighter? He doesn't keep close enough track of it anymore, damnit. Climbing out of bed, still aware of Connor's screams but suddenly not all that disturbed by them, he fishes in the pocket of the jacket he wore last night and finds it. Flicks it open and lit. Holds his hand over the flame.

Slowly, like a waterfall running upward, the flame climbs up and into his palm without so much as a tingle of warmth.

"Holy fuck," he whispers, eyes going wide as both power and fear surge through him at once. He remembers last time all too well, what a harbinger of danger these powers were and how horribly they warped his mind after too long without them. But at the same time, they're back - he's whole. He's a mutant. No more question in his mind.

Letting out a shaky breath, he finally runs down to the room Connor shares with Sophie. This is probably what's upset him, and who knows how a shapeshifter could be glitching out right now. "Connor, are you - whoa, shit."

Okay, that's how she's glitching out. Gross.