["Check Summers' head" says Julian. Like he's the boss and knows everything when he's literally the guy here who knows the least. Unbelievable. It makes Quentin not even want to do it, just on principle. Except he should and was already planning to and it's a good idea—it was literally Quentin's idea—and he is not in fact a petulant child. He's a petulant adult, thank you very much.]

Yeah, no shit, Sherlock.

[Is he directing that to Scott or Julian? Doesn't matter. Either of them. Both. Who cares. Quentin's head hurts, and now he's pissy.

Still, he puts two fingers to his temple and does a quick and dirty scan of Scott's brain, not bothering to be overly thorough since he's pretty sure Nate would've sensed it if something fishy was going on upstairs. And also because using his powers feels like rubbing sandpaper on a sunburn.]

Well, Tyke-clops is clean. And the only one fucking with Nate is Nate. His mind is a wreck, but that's just him being dramatic. Burned himself out. I should be able to stabilize him before he goes Chernobyl on our asses as long as we get him back to camp without wasting time.

["We," he says. Only one of them is currently holding Nate. Hint hint.]