Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Despite his Superspeed, Peter knew that his mind could be slow in certain departments.

He wasn’t dumb, he just... didn’t know a lot of things. It certainly didn’t help that he was a grown adult that couldn’t read or write well.

But, moving on. It seemed that Peter’s mind was working slower in a department that was never slow for him. Processing. Maybe he was slower when it came to academics, but he could still process those things a lot faster than other people could. He just didn’t always understand them.

But Peter could process and understand his own emotions faster than a blink of an eye. The fact that he hadn’t processed all of his emotions never even crossed his mind. Which was the start of the problem.

Ironically enough, even with his speed, Peter didn’t completely process everything until a few weeks after the almost-end-of-the-world when his casts had fully come off. A few weeks more than it normally would.

He was also alone when it happened.

Peter was moving boxes of his stuff into his new room at the newly rebuilt mansion, Wanda having encouraged him to get to know these other mutants. He thinks she just wanted him to have friends outside of their little family, the little bastard.

He had set a box full of all of his cassette tapes on top of another box at the foot of his new bed. He must not have put the box down at a good enough angle because he heard the tapes shift and then the box was falling.

Peter had heard them, he could’ve caught them, could've just reached his hand out to stop the box from falling but-

He didn’t. He doesn’t know why.

His cassette tapes clattered onto the floor, the box overturning completely. Peter blankly stared down at the tapes in front of him for a few seconds longer than he normally would’ve.

Like his cassette tapes, Peter’s knees hit the floor followed by his tears.

He watched through blurry vision as his tears fell to the floor. He didn’t understand what was wrong. He didn’t know why he was crying. He’s dropped cassette tapes before, fumbled with them, he’s even broken a few. The tapes in front of him weren’t broken, they didn’t seem damaged at all.

So why was Peter crying over them?

He didn’t feel sad but he also hasn’t felt normal these past few days. But it wasn’t anything important, nothing to cry about. Peter started feeling frustrated when his tears didn’t stop despite him constantly wiping them away. His frustration caused even more tears to fall which, in turn, made him even more frustrated.

Peter has always had a problem with crying, once he started, he just couldn’t stop. It’s why he did his best to not put himself in situations where his frustration or sadness would win out. He’s been told enough times that his tears were annoying to learn that crying in front of people was the worst thing he could ever do. And if Peter wasn’t being told such a thing, then he was being laughed at and that was worse than hearing actual words.

But he was alone so his tears kept falling without anybody there to tell him how annoying they were.

Peter’s breathing started picking up to a speed that he wasn’t comfortable with while he was crying because that usually meant he was having a panic attack. Except. He had no reason to be having a panic attack. He was safe and nothing was wrong. He was safe. And nothing was fucking wrong.

Peter folded into himself and wrapped his arms around his middle, bending his body even further down so that he could press his forehead against the cool wood of the floor. It didn’t work to ground him the way he thought it would because it usually did.

Peter suddenly and uncomfortably became aware of every little thing around him. How the backs of his shoes dug into his tendons, how his shirt had bunched up around his stomach due to how tight he was gripping it. How his hair was sticking to the sides of his face from his tears.

Peter knocked his forehead against the floor a few times as a frustrated noise bubbled up his throat alongside the sobs already escaping. His hand shot out, grasping onto one of his cassette tapes and holding it close to his chest as he tried to get his breathing under control. He wasn’t able to, however, and he reached his other hand up to grab his Walkman from atop his new bed.

With shaky hands and numb fingers, Peter jammed the tape in his hands into his Walkman. Music usually helped ground him efficiently, second to only the way physical contact did. He unintentionally pressed the ‘volume’ button a few times until he was able to correctly push the ‘play’ button. Which ended up being a mistake.

The music that started playing was loud and startled Peter so badly that he jolted violently and lost his grip on his Walkman, accidentally flinging it across the room. Its distance from him didn’t stop it from being so loud.

“You can never know what it’s like~ Your blood, like winter, freezes just like ice~”

Peter tried to move toward his Walkman but found himself unable to get his body to cooperate with him, “And there’s a cold, lonely light that shines from you~” He fell back onto his back instead, his hands instantly going to his chest as his breathing became even more erratic.

Each breath brought ice into his lungs and his eyes darted across his ceiling, hoping for anything that he could focus on to ground himself, “You’ll wind up like the wreck you hide behind that mask you use~” There was nothing.

Peter’s awareness of every uncomfortable feeling around him was made worse by the loud music that he was unable to stop, his senses overloaded by such a simple thing that should’ve been easy to control. “And did you think this fool could never win?” This started because he dropped a fucking box. An unimportant fucking box full of unimportant tapes he could easily replace.

Peter wanted to hit himself if only just to see if the pain would ground him. He refrained, even when he started hyperventilating, “Well look at me, I’m a-comin' back again~ I got a taste for love in a simple way~” He gripped his shirt over his heart as thoughts ran through his mind, trying to understand what had exactly caused this so that he could stop fucking crying.

Peter tried to recall anything that might’ve been the catalyst for this, what could’ve caused his emotions to be so high-strung in the first place that they would snap at the first minor inconvenience.

He kept coming back to the almost-end-of-the-world.

“And if you need to know why I’m still standin’, you just fade away~”

Was it the fact that he was finally face-to-face with his terrorist father-who-didn’t-know-he-was-his-father again after seven years or the fact that he had almost died at the hands of a God-like mutant?

“Don’t you know I’m still standin’ better than I ever did~”

Maybe it was a mixture of both, both things had brought him fear, after all. Peter had been scared of his father’s reaction to him, his fear prevented him from saying the only words that mattered to him that day. And Apocalypse had scared him more than anything had ever scared him before. It had been the first time Peter had truly been afraid of death.

“Lookin’ like a true survivor, feelin’ like a little kid~”

Was that what this was? Was that what had caused this? The fact that he had to now live with his father? Or the fear that he had really almost died? It hadn’t hit him until much later, when he was safe and out of harm’s way, that the only reason he was alive was because of Raven.

It was getting harder and harder to breathe. Peter wasn’t sure why he thought thinking about this would help his fragile emotional state, he just thought he could get it over with and it would make it easier to calm down.

“And I’m still standin’ after all this time~ Pickin’ up the pieces of my life without you on my mind~”

There was a sound, muffled as it was, that Peter registered somewhere in the back of his mind but it was drowned out by the loud music still playing from his Walkman, “I’m still standin’ (yeah, yeah, yeah)~” He didn’t exactly know what it was but he could at least recognize the voice that followed it.

“Peter?” Hank called out, “It’s still really early, could you turn that down?”

Peter opened his mouth to respond to the older mutant though he wasn’t sure what he would’ve even said, “I’m still standin’ (yeah, yeah, yeah)~” A loud sob escaped from his throat instead of words, “Peter?” Hank called out again, his tone a little frantic this time, “Are you- Fuck, shit, Charles, why are the locks on these doors so strong?”

The door rattled on its hinges for a second before the door handle was falling off of the door. The sound it made when it hit the floor sounded like a pot falling. It was louder than it should’ve been, “Once, I never coulda hoped to win~” Peter made an aborted motion to cover his ears but the feeling of his shirt rubbing against his arms stopped him from moving.

It took a few more seconds until the door opened and Hank was entering the room. He was instantly on his knees at Peter’s side, “Hey, hey, Peter,” He said, “You’re startin’ down the road, leavin’ me again~” Peter looked up at him and he knew that Hank was there, could hear him and could feel the heat radiating off of the man that was practically a living heater, but his eyes wouldn’t let him focus on one thing for longer than a second. He couldn’t see Hank.

Hank seemed to realize that Peter’s eyes never settled on his face and he looked at the way Peter’s arms had ended up after his attempt at covering his ears, “The threats you made were meant to cut me down~” Hank glanced around the room until he saw Peter’s Walkman in the shadow of his now open door.

“And if our love was just a circus, you’d be a-” Hank reached out and turned it off, the music cutting out abruptly. The only sound in the room was now just Peter’s hyperventilating, “Okay, shit, that’s one thing,” Hank muttered before returning to Peter’s side. He slipped a paw under Peter’s neck and hoisted his body up so that he was sitting up, the sudden action causing Peter to instinctively flail and lash out.

The side of his fist made contact with something and he heard Hank wheeze, “Wow, that hurt, a lot,” He said, sounding out of breath, “You’re very strong,” Hank commented, seemingly to himself, but Peter couldn’t focus on his voice. What he could focus on, however, was the feeling of Hank’s paw.

Peter has never really held a cat before, the feral cats that they came across usually flocked to his twin and scratched at him, but the closest thing he could compare Hank’s paw to was that of a cat’s. The pads on his fingers and palm were slightly rough but also squishy.

It was an… odd feeling against his skin but it grounded him in a way that Peter hadn’t expected them to even if it was physical contact.

Peter felt something big and solid press against his chest, over his heart, and one of his hands instantly went to it. It was warm and covered in fur and it took a few seconds for Peter to realize that it was Hank’s other paw. It rose with each erratic breath that Peter took and he subconsciously curled his fingers around the fur.

“There we go,” Hank said quietly, “I’m right here, you’re safe, you’re going to be okay,” The older mutant’s voice, baritone and low, didn’t hurt his ears the way most voices did. It was a comforting sound that grounded him in the same way his paws did.

Peter focused on Hank, on everything about the mutant that he could, never once unfurling his fingers from his fur. Hank continued speaking in that low comforting tone, Peter couldn’t focus on the words themselves but he assumed they were more words of reassurance.

It felt like hours had passed before Peter was able to get his breathing under control, or at least to a speed that was considered normal. His eyes started focusing again and he looked up at Hank and the concerned expression that he wore reminded him briefly of his twin, the only person to ever be concerned for him besides her boyfriend and Wanda.

Despite the embarrassing position that Peter was currently in, being practically cradled by the older mutant, he couldn’t bring it in himself to move from the, admittedly, comfortable position, “Do you know what caused this?” Hank asked, voice soft. Peter’s fingers tightened slightly in the other’s fur.

“I don’t know,” Peter responded, squeezing his eyes shut, “I don’t know.”

He hated that he was telling the truth.

Chapter Text

Hank stayed with him for a little while longer, neither of them moving from Peter's floor despite the uncomfortable location.

Hank kept his paws where they were and the thought of letting go of the older mutant's fur never even crossed Peter's mind, not when it helped ground him so well. It was actually kind of nice, while his fur wasn't very long, it felt more soft than it did coarse and more warm than it did prickly.

After many minutes, maybe only five, maybe fifteen, Hank shifted.

Peter noticed immediately, his gaze fitting up to Hank, “Knee’s starting to hurt, old man?” He jabbed, trying to blink away the slight burning in his eyes from his dried tears, "...A little, actually, yeah," Hank responded and Peter snickered, "Don't worry," He said, "I'll get up in a second," He didn't really want to move but he didn't want Hank to be in pain just because he couldn't handle having something to ground him.

"No, no, it's okay," Hank said as Peter managed to get his arms under him and started pushing himself up, "We can stay like this, you don't have to move," Peter looked at Hank with a raised eyebrow, "I'm not going to have another panic attack the second we separate, Hank," He said and was only about 50% sure that he was telling the truth. Peter's never actually tried to leave another person's side after having a panic attack, his twin was usually with him 24/7 anyway and had really only left him alone when she went off to college. And even after that, Wanda was always at the house after school.

('Alone' was a relatively strong word, his twin was literally only six miles away at Columbia University.)

Hank appeared to think for a few seconds as Peter finished sitting up, "Come with me," He said suddenly and Peter looked over at the older mutant, "Huh?" He questioned, "Come with me to the lab," Hank clarified, "I- I don't feel comfortable leaving you alone so soon after you just came down from a panic attack," There was worry in the man's blue eyes that Peter felt bad about because he had to have pulled the man away from something important. He had originally come to ask Peter to turn down his music because it was likely bothering him. Hank probably didn't want to help Peter but probably didn't want to just leave him like that-

"I can practically see your mind spiralling," Hank said, effectively breaking Peter's train of thought, "Just come with me to my lab, Peter. I promise I won't hover," Hank held out a paw as a silent invitation. Peter stared at it for a few seconds before huffing quietly and grabbing his paw.

Hank's face lit up and he stood, pulling Peter up with him. Peter stumbled a bit, his legs feeling a little wobbly after having them go numb after hyperventilating. Hank helped support him until he was sure that he could stand on his own, pulling away from the older mutant with an embarrassed blush on his face. It was fine when he was relying on his sisters but it felt weird when it was somebody that he practically knew nothing about.

Hank reached down and picked Peter's Walkman up off the floor, holding it out for him, "I've noticed you don't like parting with it," He said sheepishly as though apologetic to have noticed one of Peter's quirks.

Peter didn't hesitate to grab his Walkman out of Hank's paw, "Thanks," He said, clipping it to the back of his black leather belt. Despite it basically making his panic attack worse, he wasn't just going to let it out of his sight. It was a gift from his twin, after all.

Hank nods and starts walking toward Peter's bedroom door, "Sorry about your doorknob, by the way," He apologized when he saw that Peter was staring at his doorknob on the floor, rubbing the back of his neck. But Peter only shrugged, uncaring of his technically broken door, "We can always fix it later," He said.

As he walked out of the room, Hank turned back to speak, "That we can," He agreed with a smile. Peter snorted and started following the older mutant out into the hallway, suddenly aware of the fact that his eyes were probably bloodshot from his tears. He would've wiped the dried tear tracks from his cheeks if he had sleeves but he currently wasn't wearing his jacket, he never wore it unless he was going out. And it was too early for him to be trying to look cool in leather.

Peter shoved his hands in the front pockets of his jeans, raising his shoulders as though to hide his face from any passing students.

Hank glanced back at him and seemed to notice his efforts, slowing down his steps to match Peter's. He stood closer to Peter's side while they walked through the halls, not exactly shielding him so as to not draw more attention to Peter but close enough to silently let Peter know that he wasn't by himself.

Peter exhaled shakily and leaned closer to Hank, his eyes darting around as they got closer to the elevator that led down to the subbasement. They didn't run into anybody. It was still pretty early in the morning, the few people that were up were probably in one of the kitchens eating breakfast.

The elevator made a little dinging sound as the doors slid open and Hank and Peter stepped inside, the doors sliding shut behind them. The elevator was cold but it was the type of cold that only metal could produce. Normally, the knowledge that he was surrounded by metal brought him comfort but he couldn't find much comfort in it since reuniting with Magneto.

The descent down to the subbasement probably didn't take longer than maybe twenty seconds but it felt so much longer to Peter.

When the elevator doors slid open again, Peter could see that the subbasement's lights were dimmer than he remembered them being. But, then again, the last time he was down here, the entire place was exploding. That had created plenty of light.

Peter didn't exactly like how quiet the subbasement was, even though he knew that nobody but the X-Men could enter it. He... still wasn't 100% sure what the X-Men were exactly but Raven had called them heroes before so he assumed that was what the X-Men were. He supposed that they did save the world, that's a very heroic deed. It felt a little weird, though, to call himself a hero so he didn't think he'll be doing that just yet.

Peter followed Hank out of the elevator and toward the door at the very end of the hall that Raven had called the 'Danger Room'. The doors automatically opened when they got close enough and the lights in the walls of the large room turned on one by one until the entire room was illuminated.

Even though he's seen it before, back when Hank started reconstructing it after the mansion was rebuilt, the Blackbird never failed to amaze Peter.

It was still in the rebuilding phase, a skeleton that was half complete at best, but it was still a magnificent thing to him.

(His twin would probably say that it was because of his need to take things apart and then put them back together but Peter would disagree and say that he could appreciate a fine-tuned machine without wanting to see how it worked. Even though Peter very desperately wanted to see how the Blackbird worked...

Okay, so maybe his twin was kinda right. Don't tell her he said that.)

"Why don't you stay here for a little while," Hank suggested as he walked over to a large rectangular table that had machine parts and tools that Peter itched to get his hands on, "Is there anything here to keep me entertained?" Peter asked, knowing that Hank was aware of his short attention span. Hank stopped walking, "I forgot about that," He admitted.

Peter rolled his eyes at the other's oversight before his eyes caught on something off to the side, "Woah..."

He zipped toward the thing and then zipped around it, looking at every inch and every part of it in awe, "What is this?" He questioned, wonder in his voice. It was cylinder-like in shape and really fucking big, the parts weren't covered by any metal sheeting. There was a fan attached to one end of it.

"That-" Hank raised his voice somewhere behind him, sounding slightly frantic before he managed to get his tone under control, "That's one of the Blackbird's engines," He explained, forced calmness in his voice. Peter ran his fingers over what looked to be the engine's combustion chamber, it was larger than any he's ever seen before.

"You're still fixing it?" Peter asked, noticing how some areas seemed oddly empty, "Yes- Yes, I am, so if you would please-" Hank started to say, "That's not supposed to be there," Peter mused more to himself than anything, interrupting the older mutant's words as he reached out and pulled out one of the fuel injectors. It came out far too easily. He twisted it and moved it up, closer to the combustion chamber, and reconnected it snugly into one of the openings.

Peter took a step back to admire his 'handy work', "Doesn't that look so much better?" He asked rhetorically. Even though the question was rhetorical, he hadn't actually expected silence from Hank. Peter wondered for a second if he had overstepped some kind of unspoken boundary. He's never actually seen anybody but Hank touch the Blackbird's parts, maybe they weren't allowed to-

A large black toolbox was set down on the floor beside him, cutting off his spiralling thoughts. It was expensive-looking.

As though listening to an unspoken command, Peter opened the toolbox and got to work.

Well, 'work' was a bit much. Peter tinkered with the engine, he played around with the position of some parts, he did what he was good at. He put it back together. That was also a bit much, he didn't really know what the engine had exactly looked like before. He's never played around with jet parts before. But he was having fun!

Hank watched the younger mutant silently from his lab table, his yellow eyes quickly finding him again whenever he darted to a different spot around the engine.

He wrote things down without ever taking his eyes off Peter, his lab work completely abandoned. He had intended to get actual work done, like completing the Blackbird's blueprints, but he figured that a bit of studying wouldn't hurt. Hank still didn't know as much about Peter's mutation as he did the others, mostly because Superspeed didn't actually seem to be as straightforward as the name suggested it would be.

Asking questions about Teleportation was easy. Can you teleport places you've never been to before? Yes. Optic Beams were nearly identical to Alex's, only Scott's came from his eyes. Here, put these on, you should be able to open your eyes without blasting through everything. Weather Control was just as straightforward as its name. If you can control and create weather then can you create a specific type of weather pattern in one area? I can try. Wings were... well, they were wings. Do you have hollowed-out bones in their structure? Just like an actual bird's? And Hank has had years to study and learn about Jean's mutations.

But Peter and his Superspeed seemed to be something entirely different from the other mutations he's ever seen in their students. Peter and his Superspeed were something new.

It was like he said when they first met the Speedster. Fascinating.

Hank couldn't ask simple questions about the younger mutant's Superspeed. He didn't want simple answers.

If Hank asked Peter if his mind ran as fast as his legs, would Peter even know? If he's had his mutation for a while then would he even remember a time when his mind was the same speed as everybody else's? If it ever was at all?

Hank couldn't ask Peter if he digested certain foods quicker than others, or if his body processed alcohol just as quickly as normal liquids. And if he did then does that mean he gets drunk quicker or did that mean that it takes longer for him to get drunk?

Hank knew Peter's hair wasn't dyed, so was it a product of him getting his mutation or something he was born with because of his X-Gene? How fast could he actually run? 'Superspeed' was very vague sounding and Hank has never really paid attention to Peter when he was running but he knew he was fast enough that it looked like he was teleporting. Hank's heard him talk so fast that his words weren't comprehendible. Was that speed of talking normal for Peter? Was that the way he always spoke and he just slowed himself down to be understood? Could he manually speed up different parts of his body without his legs coming into play, like his heart or hands? Was he always this excitable? This loud? Or were those things also products of his mutation?

The point that Hank was trying to make was that he couldn't just ask Peter questions about his Superspeed. He needed to run tests, he wouldn't be satisfied just knowing, he had to see for himself.

But mutants weren't okay with being tested like that, not even if those tests were done by another mutant. They were still considered experiments, Hank knew that. So he refrained from asking Peter to run some tests for him.

Hank jotted down 'Fast reflexes' as he watched Peter quickly bend down to catch a knut he had unscrewed before it hit the floor. He wrote down 'Fidgeting-Absentminded' when Peter started rolling the knut between his fingers and then 'Multitasking' as he continued doing that while readjusting one of the exhaust nozzles to be even with the others. Hank would go back and rearrange and organize his notes later and then add them to Peter's file.

The man (Hank really needed to put Peter's age on his file because he's just now realizing that he doesn't actually know his exact age) tinkering with the Blackbird's engine had been having a panic attack not even twenty minutes ago. Now, he was humming under his breath while tossing a pipe wrench up into the air as he messed with the parts of an unfinished engine.

It was almost as if they were two different mutants. Hank wondered if the sudden change was because of Peter's mutation or if he was just... used to pushing down his emotions. He hoped it wasn't the latter-

"Hank?"

Peter finished humming to the song in his head. Even though his Walkman was still strapped to his belt, it felt a little rude to have his earbuds in when he was with somebody that wasn't his family.

He tightened the final knut he had taken out and twirled the pipe wrench in his hands, stepping back to look at the entirety of the engine. It didn't really look that different compared to what it looked like before he got his hands on it but it was still easy to tell that some parts had been moved and adjusted.

It felt good, giving his hands and mind something to focus on that didn't include his kleptomaniac tendencies. It scratched an itch he's had since Apocalypse was over. It felt even better because it was something he liked doing.

"Peter?"

Hank called out to him from the other side of the Danger Room and Peter turned around, "Yeah?" He asked. Hank was sitting at the large rectangular table, the tools and machine parts still scattered on the surface of the table, seemingly untouched. It looked like he hadn't been doing anything besides sitting there.

"Jean, uh, wanted me to tell you that somebody is on the phone for you," Hank said, gesturing back at the sleek black phone mounted on the wall next to the entrance of the Danger Room. Peter's brows furrowed and he hummed but he didn't say anything as he walked back to the other side of the room, setting the pipe wrench down on the table Hank was sitting at. He hadn't even noticed the phone ringing, too engrossed in the beauty that was an unfinished jet engine.

Peter took the phone off of the receiver and pressed down on the button, clearing his throat before bringing the phone up to his ear, "This is Peter Maximoff, how can I help you?" He said. Silence on the other end was the only thing that met his words for a few seconds, "It's barely been a week and I had already forgotten how silly you sound over the phone," A female voice said.

Peter's face lit up as he grinned, his posture straightening up, "Lorna!" He exclaimed happily.

His older sister (by twelve minutes, stop calling me a baby) snorted on the other end, "Peter," She said back, her voice much quieter but just as enthusiastic-sounding, "Why're you calling? I already told you that my knee and arm are fine, you don't have to worry about me so much," Peter said, leaning his side against the wall next to the phone. He had called his sisters as soon as the landlines were back up in the mansion to report everything that had happened since he left the house, including everything about Magneto. It was obvious that Lorna had written the phone number he had called them from down because she was paranoid like that. Then again, Peter was too.

"Pietro," Peter grimaced because while Lorna's voice sounded neutral, she was using his real name and that was never good, "You seem to have forgotten that I get phantom sensations when something happens to you," Peter wasn't sure if he could forget. The feelings she got were muted in comparison but Apocalypse had still hurt her a lot, "I couldn't forget that if I tried, Lorna," He responded. Sometimes, their Twin Telepathy (as Wanda so lovingly called it) was really bad for both of them. Other times, it was the funniest shit ever.

"Do you understand how terrifying it is to feel like you're having a panic attack while on a moving motorcycle? Especially when I know it's not coming from me?"

Peter winced and opened his mouth to apologize before he paused, realizing something in a split second, "Why were you on your motorcycle?" He questioned, "It's, like, eight-fifty, you should be in class. Why aren't you in class?" Peter put his unoccupied hand on his hip, "Don't turn this on me, you little shit, what caused your panic attack?"

Peter groaned silently, "I don't know, you have to believe me, I genuinely don't know," He told Lorna, "At first I thought it was because of the physical stuff that happened and then I thought more about it- I know, not very smart while I'm actively having a panic attack -and I think it might've been because of... Magneto," Peter hesitated for a second.

"When have our life problems ever not been caused by him?" Lorna asked immediately. The question was very obviously rhetorical. Peter shrugged anyway even though he knew his twin couldn't see him, "I'm going to ask you again and I expect you to answer because I answered your question. Why aren't you in class?"

Peter could practically feel the annoyed glare Lorna was giving the ground, "...You know how the pigs come around and check for mutants with their stupid devices?" Peter took his hand off of his hip and ran it down his face, "Please tell me that you aren't running from the cops," He said, "No, of course not. I'm not dumb enough to be seen escaping anyway, you know this," Peter rolled his eyes.

"It was a surprise visit, I didn't know until Professor Graves's TA told me. And she didn't find out until they had already gone through half the school," Lorna said. Peter already didn't like where this was going, "You know how there are only six mutants here? Including Marcos and I?" Peter made a noise of affirmation, quietly urging his twin to continue even though he kinda didn't want her to, "We usually hang out together anyway, we're usually close during classes. Marcos had a class on the other side of the campus."

Lorna's words sunk in and Peter's expression instantly fell, "No..." He whispered, "We were a little too late hearing about it and I wasn't close enough to jolt the devices with my powers. But Marcos knows how to put up a fight and he struggled long enough that I could see them and the cars they had. They didn't look like the pigs. A motorcycle isn't exactly quiet but it's fast, I hung back on the road enough that I could follow them without being seen. I'm at a payphone about half a mile away from the building I watched them enter."

Peter leaned his back against the wall next to the phone and put his other hand over his mouth as he processed his twin's words. Marcos and Lorna had been dating for at least four years now, Marcos meant a lot to his sister. And Lorna's tone was entirely too even and calm for the event she had just finished explaining.

"...Why are you telling me this, Lorna?" Peter asked after another second of silence, uncovering his mouth just enough so that the phone receiver could pick up his quiet voice, "I know you, you can handle yourself in situations like this, you don't need to make me an accessory to what you're going to do to those humans," Because Peter knew it wasn't going to be something good. While he may have gotten their mother's tendency to explode in anger, Lorna got their father's temper. Unlike Peter's anger which built up over a longer period of time, Lorna's anger didn't happen all at once, it wasn't a one-and-done thing. It settled in every crevice of her mind and stayed there for quite a while.

Her anger wasn't something that was easily controlled.

"Because you're going to be my accomplice, not an accessory," Lorna responded and Peter's brows furrowed, "I'm sorry, are you asking for help?" He questioned, needing to be sure that he had heard his twin right. He heard Lorna grumble under her breath, the phone picking it up anyway, "Yes," She replied reluctantly, "In simpler words, I am asking you to help me."

Lorna sighed and her calm and even voice became something much more frustrated-sounding, "There is an entire base of potential guards. Thinking about what they're doing to Marcos is bad enough, imagine what they'd do to me when they see my powers. Peter, this is me expressing my limits and asking you to put your limits with mine so that we can take these fuckers down."

Peter thought about it for several seconds. His twin asking for help when it came to violent stuff was rare, he doesn't think he's ever actually heard her ask for help like this. She had obviously thought about the consequences of her failing and didn't like the possibility of it happening. And Peter was actually quite fond of Marcos, he made his sister happy and helped Wanda with her homework and listened to him ramble. Even if he didn't like Marcos, he was still their fellow mutant.

"Where are you right now?" Peter asked and he heard Lorna let out a sigh of relief, "You know that old abandoned warehouse that we used to play around in when Mother forgot we existed? I'm about a block west from it," Peter raised an eyebrow, "Before or after Wanda was born?" He questioned, "After," Lorna responded, "Then I know exactly which warehouse you're talking about," "Good. I'm giving you a minute to get here."

Peter snorted because, of course, she'd only give him a minute, "Fine, I'll see you in a minute," He moved to hang up the phone.

"Maximoffs against the world," Lorna said, causing him to stop his movement. It was their usual send-off that they gave before they caused some sort of chaos.

Peter swallowed though he kept his smile on his face, "It really does feel like that sometimes, doesn't it?" He replied softly, aware that the receiver would be able to pick it up, and then hung up the phone, putting it back on its mount on the wall.

He sighed quietly and brought a hand up to run it through his hair before he schooled his expression and turned to face Hank, "I'm gonna be gone for a bit," Peter told the older mutant who jumped slightly at the sound of his voice, "What?" Hank questioned, turning around in his lab stool, "I'm going out for a bit, I don't know when I'll be back," Peter walked through the still-open doors of the Danger Room and zipped down the hall to the elevator.

He had to stop to press the button, "Wait!" Hank's voice called out and Peter turned around to see the older mutant standing in the doorway of the Danger Room, "Chill out, Hank," Peter said, holding up his hands, "I'll be with other people, I'm not going to have another panic attack," The elevator doors slid open behind him and he walked backwards into the elevator, his hands still up, "You don't have to worry, I'll be fine."

Hank's nervous expression was the last thing Peter saw before the elevator doors shut and it started going up. 

For the twenty seconds it took for the elevator to reach the ground floor, Peter thought about this a little bit more. He would obviously have to grab his jacket and proper running shoes, he already had his Walkman on him. Peter would change the cassette tape out, of course, maybe something from Duran Duran or Judas Priest. Maybe even something from Ozzy Osborne.

The elevator doors hadn't even finished opening before Peter was already zipping up to his room and pushing his door open. It wasn't actually closed all the way, mostly because it didn't have a doorknob.

Peter grabbed his silver leather jacket from where he had thrown it over one of the bedposts at the foot of his bed and slipped it on over his RUSH shirt as he dropped down to his knees to shift through his cassette tapes that were still on the floor. He picked one up at random and flipped it over, humming to himself in pleasant surprise when he saw what was written on the masking tape on the side. Joan Jett. At least it was somebody that he and Lorna both liked. Peter pulled out the current cassette tape and put the newer one into his Walkman, closing the case over it.

Peter got to his feet and was ready to leave before he paused for a second and crossed the room to his new dresser. There was a small metal box on top of the dresser, it looked very out of place amongst the brown cardboard boxes. He flipped open the top and pulled out three things. Two of those things were identical and he put them in either one of the back pockets of his black jeans and the third he put into one of his jacket pockets.

A second later, Peter was in the streets of Manhattan.

He weaved through the early morning crowds of people walking to work and looked for the landmarks that hadn't changed over the years because he couldn't exactly read the street signs, certain corner shops with brightly coloured doors, apartment complexes that were shorter than others, the bakery where they always bought Wanda's birthday cake from. It only took Peter a few more seconds before he was standing in front of the run-down warehouse and he and Lorna used to take Wanda when she was still a baby to watch them learn how to use their powers.

It was in an old part of Manhattan where it was mostly only abandoned factories and such, with no other living beings on the sidewalks. The buildings were tall and were pushed so close together that the shadows they cast were dark and dense.

Peter shoved his hands in his pockets as he traced his steps, turning in the direction that he knew to be west. He made sure to be quiet and to keep his eyes out for cameras. He didn't relax even when he saw a familiar motorcycle that he's taken apart and put back together over a hundred times with a familiar helmet on its seat.

It was an elegant black motorcycle with a silver engine and exhaust pipes. The handle and the seat were a dark emerald green, the helmet matched and had a lighter green crest painted around the face shield. It was a mockery of Magneto's helmet. The motorcycle was also half-hidden in an alleyway, propped up against the wall.

Peter zipped over to the motorcycle and was hit with the overwhelmingly powerful scent of cigarette smoke.

He grimaced slightly but it wasn't the worst thing he's ever smelt, he had certainly smelt it enough to be used to it, unfortunately. He walked into the alleyway and stopped short when he saw a figure in the shadow of the two buildings, leaning back against the wall at the other end of the alleyway.

They were about his height, an inch or two taller, and had wavy emerald hair that reached just below their shoulders. They had black leather pants on, dark grey combat boots, and a Nazareth band shirt under a black leather jacket with silver studs on the lapels.

They were also holding a still-lit cigarette in their hand.

"That was a long minute," Lorna Maximoff said as she pushed herself off of the wall, cigarette smoke escaping her mouth alongside her words.

Chapter Text

Peter grimaced, “I can't tell if school's got you this stressed or if this thing with Marcos did.”

He’s seen his twin smoke before but he could count those instances on one hand and still have fingers left over. Lorna smoked after she got her powers, after Magneto’s speech when they learned who their father was, and when their mom left them. So, Lorna didn't smoke often but when she did it was usually a huge indicator that she was stressed and nothing would calm her down until something was fixed.

Lorna scowled at the floor before taking another drag from her cigarette, “School started this but Marcos was the tipping point,” She responded, "Mock debates are annoying as shit when your opponents just keep repeating themselves in different words. And this," Lorna emphasised the word by gesturing somewhere behind her with the hand not holding her cigarette, no doubt at the building where she saw the humans enter, "Is really testing my patience."

Lorna took a longer drag from her cigarette and blew out a large cloud of smoke, the scowl on her face never leaving. Seeing his sister frustrated was a common occurrence, Lorna didn't keep her anger under control the way Peter did with his. She also didn't have a problem expressing her negative emotions to people.

"What happened exactly?" Peter asked his sister, moving forward to lean his side against the wall she was currently in front of, waving away some of the cigarette smoke that blew his way, "As I said, it was a surprise visit, except that I don't think they were the normal pigs we see every day,” Lorna said. She offered Peter her cigarette and the small face he made was enough for her to take it back.

"So, the six of us meet up in the morning in the dining hall as always and Foggy Nelson, the one that can sense emotions, you remember him, was like 'Something's not right' and we're all like 'We know, Foggy, it's a Friday and we all have four-hour exams in two hours', and I fucking forgot that we had exams today. Skurwysynu," Lorna cursed in Polish but didn't look too upset at the fact that she'd be missing her exam, "Anyway, Amelia Evans is with me in Mr Graves's class and his TA comes in late and she makes a beeline to me. She pulls me out of the class and tells me that they're doing rounds, checking for mutants. She tells me that they've already found a mutant and were already leaving."

Lorna chuckled humourlessly and shook her head, "Amelia was with me, Foggy and Matt were a few classrooms away and Jennifer was literally one classroom over. There was only one other mutant that they could've found without my powers alerting me of their devices. God, you'd be so proud of how fast I ran," She took a drag from her cigarette, turning her head to blow the smoke away from Peter this time, "I got to the front with just enough time to catch what their cars looked like. And then they were off. I think I busted a few pipes on campus before I got to my motorcycle."

Peter tapped his fingers against the wall, "You said you trailed behind them far enough so that they wouldn't see you but your motorcycle is loud as fuck," He pointed out, "How the hell did they not hear you?"

Lorna grinned, looking all too much like their father. For those that knew who their father was, it was easy to look at Lorna Maximoff and declare that she was definitely Magneto's daughter. But to look at Peter and think the same thing felt unnatural and wrong even though it was also a correct statement. Peter wasn't anything like Magneto, he didn't have his temper or his powers, his shark-like smile or his sharp eyes.

Peter used to joke that Lorna sucked up all of their father's personality in the womb. It's become less and less of a joke over the years.

"My motorcycle is only loud when I turn on the engine," Lorna replied, an air of smugness surrounding her. Peter only stared silently at his sister for a few seconds, "You're going to seriously fuck up the threads of your tires if you keep using your powers to move the wheel rims like that," He deadpanned and the smugness instantly cleared from the air as Lorna groaned softly, "I know," She said, dragging out the second word, "But I have to replace the wheels soon anyway so you can't get mad at me for fucking them up."

Peter rolled his eyes at Lorna's logic but knew he'd be unable to argue against her, "So, the humans entered a building and then you called me," It didn't exactly sound like a question. Lorna hummed in response, a sound of confirmation to verify that Peter's statement was correct.

She took a drag, the end of her cigarette glowing orange as white ash fell from it and onto the floor. She blew out the smoke and they both watched as the smoke rose until it faded into the air.

"What're you gonna do to the humans?" Peter questioned even though he already knew the answer, "Well, you're here to help me so I probably won't kill them," Lorna responded, sounding a little disappointed with the fact, "But don't you think for even a second that I won't shed my share of blood for what they've done," Her voice had gained a sharp edge, not quite yet allowing her anger to show in her voice.

Peter stared at his twin in silence for a few seconds. If she wasn't going to kill them then she couldn't use her powers. He eventually sighed quietly and looked away from her. He reached into the back pockets of his jeans and pulled out the two identical items he had grabbed from the metal box on his dresser.

In his hands were matching knuckles made of silver titanium, both of the middle knuckles had a small and sharp blade. The holes weren't tiny but they were too small to fit Peter's fingers, obviously made for daintier fingers.

Lorna did a double-take when she saw what Peter was holding, "Holy shit," She breathed out, shoving her cigarette in her mouth so that she had both hands to take the titanium knuckles from him, "I thought you got rid of the metal weapons," Lorna said around her cigarette, voice full of awe. Peter rubbed the back of his neck, "Yeah, well, I lied," He responded.

Peter had told his sisters that he didn't feel comfortable with all the metal weapons Lorna had given him before she went off to law school now that he had started living with Magneto who was only a few doors away from his bedroom. While Lorna had seemed pained at his decision, she eventually relented and told him that he was allowed to get rid of them, understanding that his safety was more important than things she's collected.

(Magneto's mood was volatile, predictable at best, unexpected and sudden at worst. Peter wasn't going to pretend that he wasn't scared of the older mutant, he was fucking terrified. Since the almost-end-of-the-world, he had yet to be in the same room as Magneto for longer than a few seconds. He knew it was noticeable and that Charles was likely getting increasingly frustrated with Peter's constant unwillingness to at least try to get along with Erik, but he couldn't find it in himself to care.

He needed time, he needed the space to think. He just couldn't handle being around Magneto until he and Lorna had sorted themselves out.)

Even after getting her permission, Peter couldn't bring himself to actually do it. So now he just kinda lived at the mansion fearing the small metal box on his dresser. But his sentimental side outweighed any actual fear he had.

"I thought you, uh, might want those back for this," Peter said as his sister continued staring down at her titanium knuckles in awe as if this were her first time seeing them. She slipped them on, flexing her fingers, "Peter," Lorna said, examining her hands and knuckles, "Have I ever told you how much I love you? Because I love you, so much."

Peter muffled his laughter behind his hand as Lorna's forest-green eyes practically sparkled, "You have," He teased, leaning closer to his sister, "But say it again anyway," Lorna pulled her cigarette out of her mouth so she could laugh without inhaling and choking on the smoke. Peter reached into the pocket of his jacket and pulled out the other thing he had grabbed from the metal box.

It was a switchblade made from the same metal as Lorna's knuckles and he flipped it open, revealing the sharpened blade. The handle was made of steel and was wrapped in a thin layer of black leather to provide a better grip.

Lorna looked down at the blade with a curious smile, "Hey, you're not the only one that likes Marcos," Peter told her, flipping the blade closed again, and she turned her gaze back up to him, "Don't go stealing my boyfriend," She said, pointing a finger at him in warning with the hand that wasn't holding her cigarette. Peter held up his hands as though to surrender, "I won't!" He assured her, slipping the switchblade back into his jacket pocket, and then he pretended to think for a second, "Actually, maybe I will."

Lorna rolled her eyes and pushed him away from her with her empty hand, Peter stumbling back and snickering in response.

Peter fixed his jacket as he found his footing again, "You ready?" He asked. Lorna clicked her tongue, taking one final drag from her cigarette and holding the smoke in her mouth as she dropped the half-finished cigarette onto the ground. She stomped on it, grinding the toe of her shoe into it.

Lorna turned to face Peter again, "Let's do this shit," She replied with that dangerous grin that always made her look like Magneto, the cigarette smoke blowing through her teeth as she spoke.

Lorna moved further away from the wall, giving Peter enough space to slip his hand behind her neck. The scent of cigarette smoke was going to linger on her leather jacket for a long while. He slipped into his Superspeed mode and ran them to the side of the building that looked to be inhabited. It was easy to tell the building was inhabited because it was the only one that looked to be in decent shape. It was only one story and had wooden boards covering every window. Peter let time go back to normal.

"They drove into some sort of parking garage, I felt their wheels descend below ground level," Lorna said immediately when time resumed. She always seemed to be the only person that didn't have any side effects when he ran with them, even Wanda and Marcos had to take a minute to recollect themselves.

"So, the place where they're keeping Marcos is underground?" Peter asked, noting that it was unlikely that these humans would just keep mutants on the ground floor of such an unstable building that didn't even have proper window coverings, "Probably," Lorna responded, kneeling down on one knee and hovering a hand over the ground, the titanium knuckles still pressed against her knuckles.

A green vapour surrounded her hand, illuminating the dim alleyway, "There are alloys below us," She said after a second, confirming that the humans were underground, "But there's not a lot of them and they're not shaped into weapons. Even if I controlled them, they wouldn't do much damage."

"Gówno," Peter cursed under his breath in Polish before speaking at a louder volume for his sister to hear, "Do you think they're expecting Magneto to find them?" He questioned tentatively. Lorna stayed in her kneeling position silently before standing back up, the green vapour around her hand never fading, "I hate to admit it but, yeah, they are probably waiting for Magneto," Peter cursed again, louder this time.

If they were expecting a fight with Magneto then they would be prepared for a Metallokinetic and Lorna's trump card would likely be rendered useless. She couldn't shape metal the same way Magneto could, not having as much training or experience with anything beyond just moving the metal.

While Lorna Maximoff didn't rely on her powers to win her fights for her, she did rely on them to give her the upper hand. Sensing the metal around her gave her the reassurance that she always had the upper hand, that she couldn't be caught off guard. But without metal, Lorna didn't have that same confidence and it reminded the two of them that, without his metal, even Magneto was still only human and could be beaten.

Lorna held out her still-glowing hand and she started walking in the direction that her palm was facing, Peter following after her silently. He was worried now about their probability of winning against these humans. Sure, they still had Peter's Superspeed but he could be caught off guard easily, he could be stopped with ease in comparison to his twin. His own exhaustion could win out against his resolve, it's not like it hasn't happened before.

The alleyway widened until they were standing in front of a large cement block with a rather tall opening that looked like it could fit one van at a time, "This has to be the garage," Peter whispered to Lorna, eyeing the lights built into the inside walls of the cement block that seemed to move further under the ground. Lorna hummed in agreement, also looking at the lights, as the green vapour around her hand finally faded.

She flexed her fingers again and clenched her hands into fists at her sides, the small steel blades on the middle of her titanium knuckles nearly glittering in the shitty lighting in front of them. Peter recognized the silent command as it was and pulled his switchblade back out of his jacket pocket, flipping the blade open and holding it close to his hip for the moment.

Lorna stuck close to the wall as she started walking down the ramp that lead into the parking garage, Peter matching her pace right behind her. His footsteps were nearly silent on the concrete ramp due to the soles of his sneakers being practically filed down from his running while Lorna's steel-toed combat boots were a little louder, and she had to consciously make the effort to silence her steps.

When they had shuffled their way to the bottom of the ramp, they could see the cement walls expand into an impressive size for a parking garage, even for one in New York. Nearly every spot was filled by some sort of car, either a normal armoured car or a van that seemed to be longer than it was tall or wide. The lights in the ceiling were bright and there was a doorway on the other side of the garage right across from where they were standing. They didn't step into the parking garage yet, still standing on the ramp.

"If Marcos is too injured for you to run with him," Lorna leaned back to mutter to him quietly, "Then I want you to hotwire the smallest car in here. I can make it to my motorcycle," Peter nodded, trusting his twin's claim, before a thought struck him.

"What if there are other mutants here? What if Marcos isn't the only mutant they've captured? They wouldn't be expecting Magneto if they just had one mutant."

Lorna paused, "I didn't really like thinking about that but I thought about it while I drove. Find the largest van, I'll help you get them into it if you need me to. I'll still be right behind you on the road," Peter nodded, more certain of the plan this time.

Lorna silently jerked her head toward the door on the other side of the garage. Peter put the handle of his switchblade in his mouth and took a step closer to her, grabbing her arm with one hand and putting the other hand on the back of her neck again. If there were cameras that Lorna didn't see (and therefore couldn't tamper with), they wouldn't be able to pick up his movement, nor would any motion sensors that were likely set up around the entire place.

Peter ran them across the parking garage, his eyes darting around at a speed that matched his feet to make a note of the vehicles around them. There was a black van near the far right corner of the garage, it was a little far from the ramp but it appeared to be the biggest car there. There was a smaller dark grey car closer to the ramp. It appeared to be armoured and sturdy.

Peter stopped them as soon as they got to the other end of the parking garage, not quite in the hall yet but no longer in the garage. He held his twin back with his hand on her arm when she tried to enter the hall, taking his switchblade out of his mouth and muttering to her, "Do you want to tip them off that we're here?" It was a genuine question, "We've just got here, we can still keep the element of surprise."

Lorna hummed and stared into the hall. It had grey walls and a grey floor and a grey ceiling and overhead lights that created an annoying buzzing noise. It was depressing to look at and seemed to go on for a while. If there were cameras in the hall then they were well hidden, "The cameras might follow us once you stop running, and since we can't see the cameras, it probably isn't a good idea to just rely on your Superspeed before we even meet any of the humans," Lorna muttered, “But I can probably pull the wires out of their sockets,” Peter tapped his fingers against Lorna’s arm, “Won't that also alert them if all of their cameras suddenly stop working?” He questioned in the same quiet tone.

“Yeah, but maybe it’ll keep them from seeing and finding us,” Lorna pointed out, "Can you use the wires?" Peter asked and his sister pursed her lips, "The cameras are the only things with metal wires," The same green vapour surrounded Lorna's hand again, "And from what I can feel, there aren't actually as many cameras as we originally thought. I think they're only in important areas. There aren't enough wires for me to do any damage with them and I can't find any openings to pull them out of anyway, I think this entire place is just lined with concrete," She explained.

Peter thought it over and went through every outcome in his head. When you could process things as quickly as he could, it was instinctual to run through every single possibility because you couldn't focus on just one.

If they left the cameras alone, there was the possibility of the humans seeing them. Actually, there was a very high possibility of them seeing the two of them. And maybe cutting off all the cameras would alert the humans just as quickly but it would also ensure that they could pick the speed at which they moved through the base while still keeping their element of surprise.

"Cut the cameras," Peter muttered to Lorna and she nodded, lifting her green glowing hand and balling it into a fist. There was a sound like a circuit box breaking, a soft whirling, before Lorna lowered her hand again, the green vapour fading.

"We don't have a lot of time before they likely notice something is wrong," Lorna told him at a normal volume, not bothering to be quiet now that their entrance was going to be known, "Are we gonna find Marcos and the other mutants first or should we fight?" Peter adjusted his grip on his switchblade, "I'm not too sure we'll exactly get a choice," He said. Lorna hummed and gave him a half-shrug, "Fair point," She responded.

She started making her way down the seemingly never-ending hallway at a jog, "Are we gonna rush and overwhelm them?" Peter asked as he followed her at a matching pace, "There's no doubt more of them so they'll overwhelm us," Lorna answered, "Let's just go at a steady pace, pick them off in small quantities if we can," Peter nodded.

They made it to the end of the hall after a few more seconds, just as red lights started to flash and the ear-piercing screeching of alarms started up. That was quick.

Peter winced, subconsciously lifting his shoulders as though to cover his ears with them, "I don't suppose you can cut the wires connected to those!" He shouted to be heard over the alarms. Lorna scowled but didn't appear to be as affected by the loud noise as he was, "I fucking wish I could!" She shouted back.

There was only one way to turn in the hall so they turned right, "You think there's a control room near us? Maybe even just a camera room? We can shut these things off if we can get to it!" Lorna glanced back at Peter over her shoulder. He was constantly shifting his grip on his switchblade now, his shoulders still raised up to his ears.

"We'll get to it!" She assured him, turning her attention back in front of her as the hallway seemingly changed around them. 

(Maybe in their dynamic, it seemed like it was only natural for Lorna to care more, being the eldest. In truth, Peter cared far too much for others and far too little for himself. It could be a dangerous thing but they've worked on it over the years to keep it from getting to that point. Even though Peter did care more about others than Lorna did, she was still his older sister.

She was still willing to do anything for him, even if he didn't quite realize the power he had over her.)

As the red lights flashed and faded off every other five seconds, it was easy to see as the walls and ceiling became white, like a sterilized hospital, the overhead lights became even brighter and the floor was light blue and overly polished, solidifying the fact that this base was too much like a hospital or a-

"Eksperymenty," Peter said to himself, far too quiet for his twin to hear him over the alarms. The base was a lab. Those humans brought Marcos here to experiment on him. The thought horrified him. He knew mutant experimentation happened, yes, but he wasn't aware that there was a lab that did those things literally only a few miles from their house.

The thought of what these humans were doing was enough to send Peter's mind reeling.

Peter Maximoff was not known to get angry easily or often, content to let his twin get angry on his behalf. But he could feel frustration rising in him.

He matched his sister's pace, moving through the lab hallway beside her and not just halfway behind her. Lorna glanced at him for a second before she smirked and looked away from him again, likely seeing the blaze in his eyes through the flashing red lights.

They came to a part of the hallway where there was a split, doors lining the walls of either hall. It was just as depressing to look at as the concrete hallway behind them.

Peter leaned closer to Lorna, "Which way should we go?" He questioned. She opened her mouth to answer him but was stopped by what she saw out of the corner of her eye. They both turned their heads to the right to see a group of about eight humans turn a corner into the other end of the hall. They hadn't even heard anything over the alarms. They were covered in black clothing and body armour, helmets and thick-looking gloves. They all held plastic guns in their hands and were aiming at the two of them.

Lorna caught Peter's eye and grinned. 

Let's go whichever way they're trying to stop us from going.

Lorna flexed her hands and clenched them into fists, tightening her hold on her titanium knuckles. Following her silent command, Peter twirled the titanium blade in his hand before moving.

As Lorna quickly moved backwards to hide behind the wall, Peter ran toward the humans at a normal speed. Which was still a lot faster than a normal human. He dropped down to his knees when he saw them pull the trigger on their guns, the momentum of his speed allowing him to slide across the floor on his knees.

Peter lifted a foot to press against the floor, stopping himself, as he flipped his switchblade so that the blade was technically under his fist. He swung at the human closest to him, slicing through the body armour covering his stomach with ease. Nobody could ever say that Lorna Maximoff didn't take good care of her things, especially when they were made of the very metal she had control over.

Peter pushed himself up to his feet and swung again, aiming higher this time and cutting through the human's chest armour. With all the humans' attention on him, he felt his twin come out from behind the wall and make her way toward them.

Even though Peter wasn't the fighter in the family and had no real desire to watch people be in pain, he's fought before. He's swung blades and wielded bats and learned how to steady his hands when he held a gun. Lorna taught him what she could.

And even though the Maximoff Twins didn't often get into fights together, they could still coordinate perfectly. What use was their Twin Telepathy if they couldn't do anything else but feel each other's pain?

They had their dynamic, Lorna's mutation allowed her to keep a distance while Peter's did not. Peter was the tank, so the speak, the one that took the hits while Lorna provided the support, quite literally having his back because she never moved to stand in front of him. As much as Lorna hated to admit it, hated seeing her little brother get hurt, their roles were perfect. Lorna was too strong to be out in the open, her mutation far too useful for her to be taken out. And Peter's body could withstand quite a bit of damage, he could bounce back from injuries a lot quicker than others could.

Peter instinctively knocked a gun that was pointed at him away with his empty hand, the gun flying out of the human's hand and clattering to the floor behind him. He watched the gun for a split second before he saw his twin pick it up and then he turned his attention back to the humans.

Peter brought his arm against his chest and then knocked his elbow into the side of a human's jaw, causing the man to stumble from the force of his hit, and he ducked away to give his twin a clear shot. He couldn't hear the gunshot but he did see the blood start pouring from the chest of the human whose body armour Peter had sliced through, the liquid turning the black article of clothing even darker.

The man's screaming was loud enough to be heard over the alarms.

Peter lifted his leg and kicked the bleeding man in the stomach, knocking him back into the body of another human and causing the both of them to fall to the floor. He spun around with his switchblade. He aimed a little too high this time, however, overestimating how tall the human behind him was.

Peter sliced into the exposed throat of the man, his eyes widening in panic when he realized what he had done.

He shoulder-checked the man, turning him around so that the blood that sprayed from his neck didn't get on him. Instead, the blood sprayed the human behind the man, covering the protective goggles covering his face and blinding him. Both of the humans dropped their guns, one because of his rapidly weakening grip on his own life force and the other so that he could try to wipe the blood from the lenses of his goggles.

Peter watched, almost in slow motion, as a plastic bullet blew through the side of the blood-covered human's head.

As both humans hit the floor, he whipped around to look at his twin in disbelief. Why did you do that? Lorna only gave him a casual shrug in response. You killed somebody first. Peter grumbled under his breath but swung his switchblade behind him without looking, cutting through the body armour covering a human's stomach and plunging the titanium blade deep into the skin. Only technically, and mine was an accident.

(God, Twin Telepathy was so much better than just trying to constantly shout over the alarms.)

Lorna grinned and rolled her eyes, cocking the plastic gun a third time but not shooting it off. Peter pulled his knife out of the human's stomach and lifted his elbow to slam it into the underside of the man's jaw, knocking him out upon impact. He did a quick count as the human dropped. Four down, one on the floor, three standing.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a shaky hand reach out for one of the fallen guns. In a second, Peter threw his switchblade down and it pierced the man's palm, pinning his hand to the ground. The human shrieked and the switchblade was lifted into the air, surrounded by the green vapour of Lorna's Magnetism. It was practically thrown into the side of the man's neck, abruptly cutting off his scream as blood spurted from his mouth. 

Peter's switchblade was pulled out of the skin and lifted again and drifted over to him. He stared at it with a deadpan expression before rolling his eyes and yanking it out of the air, the green vapour fading. Though he couldn't hear Lorna and didn't look back at her, he could tell that she was snickering. Peter guessed it made sense, the cameras were cut and they were going to kill the humans here (apparently), she had no reason to not use her powers. Five down, three standing.

Peter turned around just in time to watch another bullet blow through the forehead of one of the three humans left standing. The human's body fell sideway and Peter saw another bullet though it took him a second in his time to realize that it was coming toward them, a little off-centre and obviously aimed at Lorna.

Time slowed down properly and he reached out to redirect the plastic bullet that was now suspended in the air, practically stock still. Peter turned the bullet around to face the human that shot it off, flicking the back of it to give it the momentum it needed to continue on its path without falling from the air. Time resumed.

The bullet tore through the human's chest and, with the momentum that Peter provided it, came out clean through the human's back and also tore through the chest of the human that had been standing behind the first one. Both of their bodies were flung back from the momentum of the bullet and Peter turned to face his twin just as they hit the ground.

Can we shut off these lights and alarms now? Lorna tossed the plastic gun she had been holding off to the side and her shoulders lifted briefly as she snorted, unheard over the alarms. She gestured to the left turn the hallway had. Be my guest. Peter scoffed but turned into the hallway, flipping his bloody switchblade closed and shoving it into his jacket pocket. The hall wasn't very long but there was a door at the very end of it.

He glanced at Lorna when she started walking beside him. Where do you think the control room is? Lorna's lips formed a straight line, her eyes darting to the side of the wall that was lined with identical white doors that matched the white walls of the lab. Probably the door that says Control Room.

Peter stopped walking, Lorna stopping a few seconds after him and turning around to face him, grinning. He turned his head to the right to stare at the door that had a plaque that said 'Control Room' on the wall beside it. He looked back at his twin blankly before raising one of his hands and flipping her off.

Lorna threw her head back and laughed soundlessly as Peter pushed down the handle and pushed the door open. Inside, it looked like a standard camera room with dark walls and screens lining the back wall though all of the screens were just static due to Lorna pulling the camera wires out. There was a rolling chair and a desk under the screens where a panel of buttons and levers were.

Lorna peered over his shoulder to look into the room before patting him on the shoulder. I'll leave you to it. Peter turned his head to stare at her with furrowed brows. Where the hell are you going? Lorna started walking toward the end of the hall. To explore. Peter threw his arms out, silently asking her why. She turned around and started walking backwards, spreading out her arms. Electronics and technology are your things, despite what people may think. And I want to see what this last door is.

She turned back around and Peter rolled his eyes again. He felt like he's done that a lot today. And it wasn't even noon yet.

Peter walked into the control room and over to the panel, relieved to be able to finally turn the annoying lights and alarms off. The buttons were all spaced evenly away from each other, rounded and the same size. Though they weren't all the same colour. There were ten groups of five buttons, likely for the ten large screens connected to the cameras. Above each group of buttons was a lever with a red handle and two small switches on either side of the lever.

Peter's hands hovered over the panel for a few seconds, his eyes scanning the contents of it in front of him. If the buttons were connected to the cameras then the levers and switches had to be too. Perhaps to turn them on and off. The switches might be connected to some sort of intercom, there was a round speaker at the very top of the panel.

But if the things on the panel were connected to only the cameras, then...

Peter reached under the desk where it was pitch black, fumbling for a second before he found two small buttons pressed close to each other. They were pushed in, almost flat against the underside of the desk, signifying that whatever they were connected to was on. He smiled and pushed down on the buttons, they caved before springing back up when he took his fingers off of them.

The flashing red light and ear-piercing alarms shut off a second later.

Peter threw his arms up and cheered softly, "Yes!" He breathed out in relief, the ringing in his ears starting to clear, "I won't go deaf before twenty-five!" He laughed at himself when he heard Lorna call out his name. She sounded a little far, obviously having made it to the end of the hall.

Peter ran to the end of the hall where the door was propped open and leaned his side against the doorway, "Yes?" Unlike many of the others that were subjected to the fact that Peter could simply just... appear, Lorna didn't jump in surprise. She never has, "I think I found what the humans are doing here," She responded. The entire room was large and was obviously a genuine lab of sorts, closely resembling Hank's lab back at the mansion, only, with more chemicals.

The walls and ceiling and floor were somehow even whiter than the rest of the base, and the strong smell of chemicals wafted through the air. There were tables pushed against three of the walls, all covered in scattered papers and glassware and devices. The centre of the table pushed against the back wall was almost completely empty, lacking the same organized chaos the other two tables had.

The only things on the back table were a few test tube racks filled with a light red liquid and about three or four syringes that were also filled with the liquid. It was too light to be blood. A few of the test tubes and one of the syringes were filled with a darker, almost black, red liquid. There didn't seem to be metal on the syringes.

Peter hummed and pushed himself off of the doorway as the door swung shut behind him, walking into the lab and toward his twin who was leaning over one of the side tables, surrounded by loose papers and a few files, "What're they doing?" He questioned, stopping next to her. Lorna picked up an open file and handed it to Peter without looking at him, "Read that, it says what experiments they're conducting here,” She explained as she started shuffling more of the papers on the table.

Peter glanced down at the pages in the file, at the wobbly and shifting letters that looked upside down at times, before looking back up at his twin. He was aware that his eyes probably felt like lasers burning into the side of her head.

It took Lorna a few more seconds before she fully registered what she had said and done.

She winced as she turned her head toward him, “I swear to God that that was an accident this time,” Lorna said, sheepishly taking the file back from Peter, “I'd hope so,” He responded, “You can't just tell somebody who can’t read to read something," He put his hands on his hips in a pose that Wanda has so lovely called his 'Mom pose'. Lorna, childishly, stuck her tongue out at him, a gesture he returned just as childishly, might he add.

(It didn't bother Peter so much anymore. He couldn't read, so what? They weren't in school anymore, people couldn't make fun of him for it. Though, it did suck whenever he had to get Wanda to read things for him. It was going to suck even more at the mansion, he was sure of it.)

"No, but like, seriously, what are they doing?" Peter asked, sobering his expression. Lorna's lips pressed into a straight line, "Do you remember what Jennifer was telling us about mutations on Easter?"

Peter looked at his twin blankly, "Which Easter?" Lorna's brows furrowed and she looked at him just as blankly, "The only Easter we've ever celebrated? Literally three weeks ago?" It sounded more like a question than an answer. Peter's face lit up in recognition, "Oh, yeah, that Easter," He said with a smile, "I remember. I mean, I remember Jennifer's explanation very vaguely, though, I'm kinda blanking on it now that I'm being reminded of it."

Lorna huffed, setting the open file back down on the table, "Well, Jennifer was telling us about secondary mutations," Peter snapped his fingers, "Oh, and how our hair could've been our secondary mutation if it hadn't changed with our mutations," Lorna nodded, "See, you do remember. Anyway, she said that some secondary mutations can be triggered well into adulthood and how some mutants never really get to see if they have one and we got into the topic of how some mutants can have secondary mutations and how some can't."

Lorna held up a paper, obviously for herself to look at due to the number of letters Peter could see on it, "It looks like these humans are trying to trigger secondary mutations early through experimentation," She gestured her left arm to the back table, "They've already got a drug to do it," Peter looked over at the table for a second, confused, before realizing that the paper that his twin was holding had a Petri dish-like picture at the top that had light red organisms in it, which meant that the light red liquid must've been the drug she was talking about.

Peter nodded his head slowly and turned his attention back to Lorna, "So, they brought Marcos here to see if they could trigger a secondary mutation out of him?" He needed to be sure he was completely understanding this, "Why?" Lorna shrugged, "Yes, and who knows? Maybe they want a couple of mutant żołnieri," She said bitterly, "Marcos isn't the only one here, after all."

She moved another open file to rest on the table between them, "Robert Drake, an ice form that encases his entire body. Rahne Sinclair-MacTaggert, elongated canine teeth and claws in a human form," Lorna started listing as she thumbed through the papers in the file, her eyes skimming over the profiles of every mutant she saw. Peter made a small face at the name 'MacTaggert', a face that Lorna saw but graciously didn't comment on as she continued reading.

"Theodore Harper, astute accuracy and inability to miss with projectiles. Autumn Elliott, Flight. Raymond Owens, dog ears and tail in a human form. Laura Kinney, Regenerative Healing Factor. Maximilian Xander, camouflage into the background, nearly invisible. And Marcos Diaz, N/A."

Peter blinked when his twin had finished reading, watching the way Lorna's fist clenched on the paper after she read Marcos's name. He reached out and put a hand on her shoulder, "We're gonna find him," Peter said gently, not so much trying to ease Lorna's anger as he was trying to reassure her, "We're gonna find all of them and we're gonna get them out of here."

It took a few seconds for Lorna's grip on the paper to loosen before she nodded, accepting her brother's words as the truth. The two of them never lied to each other, she had no reason to believe that he would start now.

Lorna looked like she was going to respond before the lab door was shoved open, slamming against the wall.

They both winced but quickly whipped their heads to the side to look at the door. In the doorway stood two humans, though Peter could see that there were more behind them, and they looked identical to the ones they had just taken down minutes prior. Only, the plastic guns that were pointed at them this time were a lot bigger.

Move.

Listening to the (technically) silent command, Peter ducked and turned away, allowing Lorna enough room to lung forward and swing her left fist. The small blade on the middle of her knuckles was jammed into the cheek of one of the humans and she forcefully pulled the blade back out. Though, she dragged it out instead of just pulling it out.

The blade, as small as it was, was the same as the titanium switchblade in his jacket pocket, sharpened and cleaned and dangerous in the presence of a Metallokinetic.

The blade cut a clean line through the human's cheek all the way to the corner of his mouth, causing him to shriek as blood spurted from the newly created 'mouth' Lorna had given him. Without the alarms blaring anymore, it was easy to hear his scream.

Peter watched the glint in his twin's eyes amplify, as though cutting the man had only made her angrier. He didn't really blame her, he was sure that if he didn't have control over his emotions then he would be pissed over what he just learned.

As it was, their Twin Telepathy didn't quite work well when they were in each other's vicinity, they couldn't feel the other's emotions and pain until they were out of the other's sight. So for the moment, Lorna could get angry enough for the both of them.

(It wasn't that Peter couldn't or didn't want to get angry. It's just. He didn't like to get angry. His anger matched Lorna's and Lorna's matched Magneto's, he broke things when he got angry and he could get loud. He tended to forget himself and the things around him, sometimes unable to distinguish friend from foe unless it was his family.

Peter got angry, one time when they were younger, only a few minutes after their mother left. He shouted too loud at Lorna to put out her cigarette, punched a hole through the living room wall, and he sent Wanda into her first panic attack at eight years old. He hasn't really gotten angry since then despite really wanting to at times.

Peter just hated getting angry.)

Lorna grabbed the front of the human's body armour and dragged him into the room, creating space between the two of them and the rest of the human soldiers. That was evidently all the initiative that the other humans needed to storm into the lab. There were fewer than before, only five others, but they looked even more dangerous with their taller, broader frames and bigger guns.

Peter allowed time to slow down as he watched one of them lift his gun and point it right at Lorna, his finger squeezing the trigger but not having the chance to shoot yet. He moved leisurely toward the human and fiddled with the man's arm, moving it with ease when there was no resistance. He hummed to himself. They were killing the humans here, he shouldn't be merciful now.

Peter moved the man's arm so that the barrel of his gun was pressed against his own throat, tilted up at an angle. He finished pushing down on the trigger for the man and took a step back as time resumed.

The plastic bullet went straight through the human's neck, causing the man to choke on his own blood for a second before he collapsed. The bullet, having gone clean through his throat at an angle, also went through the forehead of the human that had been behind him, nailing him between the eyes.

Peter didn't watch the second body fall before he was striking again, slamming his elbow into the side of the third human's jaw. He groaned and stumbled but managed to raise his gun enough to shoot at Peter. He dodged the bullet with ease, allowing it to hit and shatter one of the glass beakers on the table behind him. Peter lunged forward as his twin had done earlier, quickly pulling his switchblade back out of his pocket and flipping it open.

He shoved his blade through the human's body armour and into the side of his chest, watching him cough as Peter no doubt punctured one of his lungs. He yanked his switchblade out and brought it up, jamming it into the underside of the human's jaw. The man choked on his own blood as Peter pulled out his blade and pushed the human back. He stumbled and smashed into the other table filled with papers and lab equipment, falling to the floor and not getting up.

Peter felt a presence behind him and, knowing it wasn't Lorna, he turned around and swung at it. Though, he slammed his fist into the side of the human's head, having not realized that he didn't have his switchblade in that hand until the man went down and slid across the floor to the other end of the room. His body stopped in front of the back table and Peter turned away from him, assuming his hit had knocked the human out.

(Lorna watched her brother fight, her anger still fresh and present. She enjoyed watching him let go and allow himself to get out all of the frustration he's built up over time. She had finished with her human a bit ago and was now looking through more of the papers, careful to not get that much blood on them. She turned her back to her little brother, ignoring anything that wasn't the papers she was studying.

Peter could handle himself.)

Peter twirled the switchblade in his hand as he grinned at the last human standing, taunting him with the way he remained unmoving. The human had his gun raised though he made no move to shoot, seemingly realizing that Peter would just dodge. They weren't that far away from each other, it would only take a few steps forward before Peter could swing his blade and cut through something. It was like a stand-off.

The human moved first.

He tossed his gun to the side and charged, his fists padded and larger than Peter originally thought they were. He moved back from the first punch thrown at him before blocking the second one and throwing the fist away from him, a little unprepared for the way his palm stung after. Peter shook off his hand briefly before spinning his switchblade and slashing up and across the man's face, not giving him enough time to prepare another punch.

The human brought a hand up to his face as though to stop the bleeding before Peter lowered his blade and shoved it into the man's heart. He watched his body go limp as he pushed his body down onto the floor to join his allies. Peter, with his back to his sister, did a headcount.

Four out on his end, one out on Lorna's... He could've sworn there was-

His thoughts were cut off by the feeling of something sharp and small piercing the skin of his neck, pushing into a vein.

Immediately, Peter felt woozy and nauseous, his vision swimming as he stumbled away from whoever had shoved a needle into his neck, his legs nearly giving out on him.

His back slammed against the wall and he slid down onto the floor as he scrambled, managing to get a solid grip on the syringe in his neck to yank it out but not before whatever liquid that had been inside of it had been emptied into his veins. It clattered to the floor beside him. He pressed his palm over where the syringe had been, his breathing heavy and uneven as he lost his grip on his switchblade and dropped it.

A few seconds later, Peter heard a cut-off scream that he knew didn't belong to him as something warm and wet quickly started seeping into the fabric of his jeans. There was a thud somewhere to his left as the air around him started smelling overwhelmingly like copper.

Peter brought his other hand up and pressed his palm against the other side of his neck. It felt like something was pulsing and buzzing under his skin. He could feel his veins and the erratic intake of air in and out of his lungs, the pounding of his blood as it rushed to his ears. This was worse than a panic attack or him just getting overstimulated.

The sensations weren't so much painful as they were uncomfortable, like an itch that he couldn't find or scratch.

In simpler words, it felt really fucking horrible.

Peter had to keep himself from hyperventilating, not sure if the feeling of his throat closing had to do with whatever they injected him with or if it was from his own panic.

He felt hands on his arm through the leather of his jacket and one of his hands instantly shot out to grip one of his twin’s wrists, pressing his fingers over her pulse point to ground himself. It took Peter a few seconds before he realized that Lorna's hands were covered in the same warm and wet liquid that was soaking into his jeans. It took Peter even longer to realize that the warm and wet liquid was blood.

He'd be disgusted if he wasn't even slightly used to it.

Peter realized after a few seconds, after his twin's pulse continued with its steady beating, that the sensations from before were starting to subside. Yeah, his vision was still really blurry and his throat still felt like he had just eaten a shit ton of those artificial strawberry-flavoured candies that Wanda enjoyed but the buzzing under his skin and his breathing weas starting to die down and return back to its normal rhythm.

Peter let out a sigh he didn't know he was holding when he realized that he could see things a little easier now and he squeezed his sister's wrist before letting go and letting both of his hands drop to his lap. He rolled his head to look at Lorna. She was kneeling at his side, her bloodied hands still holding onto his arm. The lower parts of her leather pants were also covered in blood and she was staring at him in worry and barely-concealed panic.

"Okay, okay," Lorna said when she realized that Peter could, in fact, see her again and was looking at her. She sounded a little frantic, "Good news," She ignored his quiet 'There's good news?', "Whatever they injected you with, it wasn't poison," Lorna took her hands off of his arm and did little jazz hands as though Peter was supposed to be happy about that.

Peter stared at his twin, his vision clearing completely, "...That wasn't poison?" He would've shouted if his throat didn't still feel like he was having an allergic reaction, "Nope," Lorna confirmed, "Well, it was supposed to be poison, I think, but they missed and grabbed the weird liquid they were using for their dormant mutation experiments."

Peter shut his eyes and took a deep breath, "You mean to tell me that I went through all of that and it wasn't even going to kill me?" Lorna's face shifted into something guilty, "Yes?" She confirmed, much more hesitantly this time. Peter opened his eyes, "Lorna," He said, "I could feel my blood, literally, I felt it as it moved through my veins. It was like I was detaching from my own body, Lorna."

Lorna grimaced at his description, "At least it wasn't poison?" She phrased it as a question.

Peter groaned and leaned his head back against the wall, "Jezus Chrystus," He cursed, closing his eyes again, "At least it wasn't poison," He repeated, "Just. Let's go before I decide I don't want to get up," Peter held out his hand, "Give me my switchblade and we can-"

Peter yelped, his eyes snapping open and he instantly cradled his hand close to his chest when he felt the titanium blade slice into his palm, "Co kurwa, Lorna?! Kick a man while he's down, why don't you?" He hissed as he heard his switchblade fall back onto the floor, "The blade was open, you didn't have to throw it at me!"

Peter was able to feel that, luckily, the cut didn't seem that deep and that there didn't appear to be too much blood. A simple gauze wrapped around his hand a few times should do until he could disinfect it and properly take care of it. God knows that that blade wasn't clean after all the blood that was on it.

Peter moved his head and looked at his twin when the silence between them stretched on for too long to find her staring at him in shocked confusion, "Hey, I'm the one that got cut here," He reminded her. Lorna blinked and took a shuddering breath, "Peter," She said, "I, uh, I didn't move that," Lorna stated. It was Peter's turn to blink at her, "Uh, yeah, you did," He replied in a 'duh' tone, "I don't have Telekinesis or Magnetism, Lorna."

Lorna only stayed silent for a few seconds before speaking again, "Pietro, I am 100% serious. I did not physically throw or use my powers to move your switchblade," She held up a hand, bloody palm facing Peter as if she were pledging, "I swear on my motorcycle and your Walkman."

Peter's eyes widened at his sister's words. Both of those things were gifts from each other, both for their eighteenth birthday six years ago. Both of those things were extremely important to them. For Lorna to even swear on one of those things meant something serious. But to swear on both of them.

Peter slowly pulled his hand away from his chest and looked down at both of his hands. There was a faint light blue vapour surrounding them. The vapour looked exactly like Lorna's.

"Pierdolić," Peter said in Polish, never taking his eyes off his hands.

"Fuck," Lorna agreed in English, also not looking away from his hands.

Chapter Text

Peter couldn't tear his eyes away from the vapour covering his hands.

His left palm was still bleeding, the blood running down his arm now, and the fingers of his right hand were covered in the blood that had gotten on Lorna’s hands.

The vapour had a fire-like consistency and licked around his fingers. It was nearly transparent, much less opaque, and much lighter in comparison to Lorna’s, but it was pretty obvious that the vapour was still the same as hers. It was still pretty obvious what the vapour meant.

Peter had Magnetism. Or, at least some type of mutation that involved metal. But most likely Magnetism.

Peter Maximoff, who had promised to never be like their father in any way, had a secondary mutation that had come from said father. And, sure, he could say that his secondary mutation resembled Lorna's but whose mutation did hers resemble? Who did she get her Magnetism from?

"Chyba sobie kurwa żartujesz," Peter said in Polish. Lorna let out a laugh that tampered off awkwardly, "Mamy przejebane," She replied, "I'm fucked," Peter corrected in English, "I- I can't-" He realized something, "I can't go back to the mansion," He said, horror in his voice as his eyes widened. He couldn't, not with Magneto there. It was already hard enough with Lorna's weapons, he couldn't handle it if his metal powers went out of control.

(When Lorna got her mutation at fourteen, she would always wake up to find metal floating around her room. On nights when she had nightmares, it was much worse. Though, sometimes it was funny, because Peter had always worn jeans and sometimes he'd fall asleep in them because he doesn't sleep in pyjamas and sometimes he'd wake up and be dangling a foot above his bed by his belt buckle while Lorna was sleeping soundly in her own bed on the other side of the basement.

So, sometimes it was funny back then, and sometimes it was terrifying.)

Lorna grabbed his arm to get his attention, "You will go back to the mansion," She said firmly, "I may not know what the place looks like or even where the fuck it is but you talk about it way too fondly to just up and leave because of one bullshit outcome caused by humans. This is the only physical place that has ever made you happy since we lived in Poland."

Peter made a small face as he dropped his hands into his lap. He always hated when his twin had good points that actually made sense in the long run.

He sighed, "I have to go back to the mansion right after this. We'll probably have to take the mutants from here, except for Marcos, to the mansion until Hank clears them to go back home. If they have one. And if I'm remembering the name correctly, that Rahne girl is likely the daughter of the Professor's friend Moira, so she'll probably have to stay at the mansion until her mother comes and gets her," Peter looked back down at his hands which were still covered by the transparent light blue vapour, "I don't think that I can figure out how to control this by the time we get to the mansion."

Lorna moved to sit down next to Peter with her back against the wall also, "Well, I can't teach you how to control this shit," She said, "But I can teach you how to turn that shit off," She gestured down at the vapour surrounding Peter's hands. He continued to stare down at his hands for a few more seconds before sighing quietly, "It's a start," Peter turned his head to face his sister.

Lorna grinned and pulled the titanium knuckles off of her hands. She held her now bare hands out in front of her, "Do you remember what I described my powers as?" She questioned. Peter nodded and also put his hands out in front of him, "A push and pull motion," He responded as the green vapour of Lorna's Magnetism surrounded her hands, "Good. Does it feel like that to you?"

Peter concentrated on his new powers for a few seconds. It was a different type of feeling than what he was used to with his Superspeed. Where his Superspeed buzzed throughout whatever limb he was channelling his mutation through, usually his legs or hands, his metal powers seemed to be buzzing throughout his entire body. It was a lot more obvious of a feeling than his Superspeed, too, and it seemed to bring Peter's entire attention to it.

Peter wasn't used to his attention actually being held, he wasn't used to even being able to tell that his attention was on something. He was used to being completely aware of multiple things at once, never focusing completely on one thing, his senses going into overdrive as a way to keep him from becoming overstimulated by everything that he noticed.

"I can feel the push aspect," Peter said eventually, "I don't think I'm getting the pull yet," Lorna hummed in thought, "But you can feel your powers?" She questioned, "Unfortunately," Peter responded. It wasn't an entirely comfortable feeling but it was hardly the worst he has ever felt. The actual process of getting the powers seemed to be the worst of it.

"Is it overwhelming?" Lorna asked softly, "Not as much as I thought it would be," Peter replied in the same tone. Indeed, it wasn't painful anymore but it was a type of buzzing that was just at the edge of his senses. Weak enough for him to not be worried about it harming him but strong enough to the point where it was annoying.

Peter felt Lorna's shoulders relax beside him, "That's- That's good, that's a lot better than it had been for me," She said, "Which means that your Magnetism is likely much weaker than mine and easier to manage," His twin had a bit of relief in her tone, obviously relieved that Peter's abilities weren't as powerful as hers. Honestly, Peter was kind of relieved, too. 

(He's seen the type of damage she could do with a mutation that was only half the strength of Magneto's that could barely even do half of the things his Magnetism could do. He was perfectly content being (considered) harmless, as he always has been, even with his newly discovered Magnetism.)

"Dzięki Bogu za to," Peter said and Lorna laughed softly in response, "Thank God," She repeated in English, "Come on, Maximoff, tell me how to turn this shit off," Peter egged his sister on and she rolled her eyes but held her glowing hands up higher.

"The vapour only shows around the hands, even if you can feel your powers throughout your entire body. It's a hand-focused power, Magnetism, I think, I don't know, it's just easier to move the metal when you make the motions with your hands. Does Magneto always move his hands to use his powers?" Like Peter, Lorna's mind was prone to topic changes and she was prone to ramble about things. Though, it was a bit different between the two of them due to Peter's mind running a thousand miles in a split second.

"I don't know, I've seen him do it, but I've also seen him just move his head to use his powers," Peter answered. Lorna hummed, "Then our powers just suck then," She said bluntly and Peter snickered, "Hey, we are technically watered-down versions of him. Even more so because we're twins," His sister made a face, "Just because it's true doesn't mean you had to say it out loud," Lorna said, sounding a little petulant.

She shook it off, however, and continued on with what they had been doing before, "Okay, the vapour is in the hands. I want you to imagine that you're holding one of Wanda's compact mirrors, I want you to imagine that it's open," Lorna instructed. Peter rolled his eyes but did as she said. One of them has had their Magnetism for years and it sure as hell wasn't him.

Peter imagined that he was holding Wanda's favourite compact mirror in one of his hands, the red one that she always had on her, "Good, great. I want you to slowly close the mirror," Lorna instructed, making sure to emphasize 'slowly', and Peter rolled his eyes again because, seriously, he has self-control. Most of the time... Some times.

Peter slowly started to close his fists before Lorna reached out to stop him, "Okay, maybe I should've been more specific," She said, "I want you to imagine that you're slowly closing the mirror with your mind," She looked at him as though expecting him to have some sort of big revelation. Peter only stared at her blankly, "Lorna, if you weren't in Columbia Law, I would've asked you if you were stupid," Lorna scoffed, "Rude. I meant, like, pretend that you do have control over your Magnetism and close the mirror without moving your hands."

Peter continued staring at his sister for a few more seconds before he sighed and looked back down at his hands. He inhaled slowly and then exhaled as he concentrated on the feeling of shutting off his powers.

It was weird, pushing his focus onto one singular thing. Peter has never actually tried to focus on one thing at a time, there were at least two other things he was always aware of, at least two other things that kept his senses from branching out and overwhelming him.

Peter continued slowly breathing in and out as he willed his concentration not to waver, the imaginary compact mirror in his hand slowly but surely closing. As the mirror slowly closed, the faint light blue vapour surrounding his hands started to fade, making it even less opaque than before if that was even possible. But it was possible because it was happening.

After what felt like at least half an hour, the compact mirror was nearly shut. Only a few more seconds and-

"Huk!" Lorna shouted in Polish right into Peter's ear, scaring the absolute shit out of him as his hands clenched into fists on instinct. He whipped his head to the side to glare at her, "Ty pieprzony draniu! Why did you do that?!" He demanded as Lorna started laughing, "I- It's always harder to- to get the last bit closed. Bóg, you should've seen your face," She got out through her laughter. Peter started to feel confused at her words before he looked down at his hands which were now clenched into fists.

The light blue vapour was now completely gone, not a trace of it in sight. The buzzing throughout his entire body was also gone, the annoying feeling no longer filling his senses.

Peter frowned down at his hands, a little offended that his twin had treated his powers as though they were hiccups. But at least they were off now. He sighed, "I still hate you for that," He said as Lorna's laughter settled down into soft snickers, "I'd expect nothing less," She responded.

Peter held out a hand, "We tell nobody about this," He said as a final statement. Only family. Lorna also held out her hand as she finished snickering, grabbing his hand and giving it a firm handshake as though accepting his statement, "Got it," She said. Who do we know that isn't family anyway? Peter smiled slightly before his face fell into something not quite positive but not quite negative. It was entirely neutral.

Peter turned his head to look at the man who had injected him with the liquid that would potentially ruin his life.

He immediately looked away again.

"Lorna," Peter started calmly, his twin humming to show she was listening, "You know I love you dearly, you're my partner-in-crime. You've been the best sister anybody could have ever asked for, you've been there when nobody else has, and I love you so much," He inhaled and exhaled slowly, "Lorna," She hummed again, "Where the fuck is that man's head?"

Indeed, the human body lacked its head. Nearly the entire top half of his black body armour was stained darker by the blood still spilling steadily from his neck. The bone was messily hacked away at, a fact made obvious by its uneven surface. Though it wasn't like the skin of the man's neck had been sliced cleanly either.

Lorna leaned forward off of the wall and looked over at the bloodied body as though she actually needed to check, "Under the table," She responded as though this was completely fucking normal, "And why, pray tell, is the man's head under the table and not attached to his body?" At least that explained the large amount of blood soaking into his jeans. Lorna shrugged, "He was the one that injected you with that drug."

Peter slowly inhaled again, "So you cut his fucking head off?" He questioned and his twin nodded, "I didn't want to look at his ugly mug," She explained, "Nobody gets to fuck with my baby brother except me. Of course, it took a few extra wacks to cut through the bone but my switchblade was sharp enough. It's metal, it'll always be sharp enough in my hands."

Peter stared at his sister in silence for multiple seconds, "You're seriously fucked up in the head," He deadpanned, ignoring his twin calling him her 'baby brother' because that was just what she did even though they were literally minutes apart, "Who in this family isn't?" Was Lorna's immediate response and Peter hummed, genuinely thinking about it, "Wanda," Lorna opened her mouth, likely to argue with him, before she closed it, "I'll allow it only because all of her mental health problems are biological," She said and Peter nodded along to her words in agreement.

Wanda was thirteen now, though she was still a child when the two of them got their mutations at fourteen and fifteen respectively, still only six years old when Magneto made his speech. The two of them had shielded her from everything that they could, from their mother's drinking and smoking habits to the brutality that mutants experienced out in the streets. They didn't lie to her about those things, no, but they protected her from them the way they had hoped their mother would've when they were Wanda's age.

(They only ever lied about two things in her life, two things that directly affected her. They were the only things that he and Lorna have ever lied to her about without feeling bad about doing so.)

The two of them did the best they could with what they had and knew when Wanda got her mutation when she was eleven but it was obvious that they had no idea what they were doing. At the time, it was just Peter at the house with Lorna in her senior year of college getting her undergraduate. Sure, they both knew how to use their powers but they didn't really have what people (or other mutants, for that matter) would consider 'control' over them.

It was the only thing in life that they couldn't help Wanda with even though they have tried.

Lorna started to move beside him, using the wall as a support to get up off the floor, "You ready to get up? Go find the others?" She questioned. Peter slowly turned his head to look up at his twin blankly, "Lorna, I just learned that my sister cut off somebody's head," He said, ignoring Lorna's quiet 'You didn't just find out,', "No, I don't want to get up yet."

Peter could practically hear his twin roll her eyes, "Come on, it's just a dead body. You've seen plenty of those before," Peter took a deep breath, "Yeah, I have. Those dead bodies also had their heads, Lorna," Lorna huffed, holding out a hand a second later, "And? If it's so gross then just don't look at it," She said.

"'Just don't look,'" Peter mocked her under his breath. Despite this, he grabbed her hand and allowed himself to be pulled to his feet, "You're insufferable, you know that?" Lorna snickered as Peter made a conscious effort to avoid looking at the human's body, "Hey, who's my twin brother?"

Peter rolled his eyes, "I hate you," He said, "I know you do," Lorna responded with a smile.

Peter smoothed out the front of his pants and did his best to ignore the blood soaking the bottom of his jeans and the way the fabric was practically sticking to his skin because of it, "Let's go and find the others, get them outta here and potentially fight some more humans," Lorna looked contemplative for a second before she spoke, "If we run into any more humans, you get behind me and I'll fight. Got it?"

Peter scoffed, "I can take care of myself, Lorna," He said. Lorna just gave him a silent look until he relented and rolled his eyes, "Fine, I'll let you handle things if we have to fight again," Peter said, shoving his hands into his jacket pockets. Lorna smiled, "Thank you," She said as the titanium switchblade, surrounded by green vapour, was lifted into her hands. She grabbed it from the air and held it out to him. It was completely covered in blood, not an inch of it was left silver.

Peter looked down at the switchblade and looked back up at his sister with a raised eyebrow. Really? Lorna snorted and pulled the bloody switchblade back. Fine, I'll hold onto it. She put it into the back pocket of her leather pants. Let's just go.

Peter turned around and started walking out of the lab room, stepping over the bodies of the two humans that had died in front of the doorway. He heard his twin behind him a few seconds later and he glanced back at her as they made their way back down the hall in the direction they had come from. There were a few files in her hand and he saw her pocket one of the syringes filled with the light red liquid.

"Legal stuff, we can look over them," Lorna explained when she saw where Peter was looking, "And Matt can tell us what's in this drug," Peter rolled his eyes, "Lorna, we're literally breaking and entering and destroying private property, you really wanna look into the legal side of this?" "They're the ones doing illegal experiments on mutants," Lorna shot back, "We literally killed people here," Peter deadpanned.

"At least we were humane and made their deaths quick," Lorna said in a dignified tone as though she had ever cared about something like that, "Yes, I'm sure we were very humane when we killed them," Peter emphasized. You are so lucky that we're under government protection. Lorna only stuck her tongue out at him and Peter didn't hesitate to return the gesture as they returned back to the fork in the hall.

They stepped over the other dead bodies and started walking down the other hallway on the left side. The left hallway essentially looked the same as the other hall, there were only fewer doors lining the walls that were spaced apart more evenly. As they walked down the hall, the overhead lights seemed to get brighter, becoming more and more like a hospital's lights.

There was a faint buzzing sound that started getting louder and it took Peter a few seconds to realize that the sound wasn't coming from the overhead lights.

Peter narrowed his eyes and glanced to the side at Lorna who nodded slightly, showing that she also heard the buzzing. Her grip on the files tightened. He kept listening to the buzzing as he took his hands out of his pockets and held them at his sides.

When Peter stopped walking suddenly in front of one of the doors, Lorna stopped alongside him. It can't be a generator. He turned toward the door. No, it would at least be a level below the main floor, which is the level we're on now. The door was unassuming and looked the same as the other doors around it. The two of them just stared at the door for a few seconds before Peter reached out and pushed the handle down and held the door open so that they could look into the room.

It was a large room that looked nearly empty, nothing filling the space except for a faint shine of something yellow in the back of the room.

It took Peter and Lorna a few seconds to recognize what they were looking at.

It was a large yellow forcefield, the kind that they'd only ever seen in sci-fi comic books. It separated the room from what looked like a cell if the shackles attached to the walls were anything to go by. There were people attached to the shackles.

They were children, they looked too young to be anything but children. They were also mutants.

One of the kids had pink hair and a long tail that looked like Kurt's in the same colour pink which was also shackled to the wall. Another had a small pair of blue wings on her back. When Peter saw the dog ears on top of one of the kid's heads, he realized that they were looking at the mutants Lorna had read about earlier, the mutants that had been experimented on with the secondary mutation drug.

The kids didn't look like they were much younger than Wanda but also didn't look like they were the same age. There was an older-looking mutant shackled to the very back of the cell. They were lying down, their hands crossed over their stomach, and they had a familiar mop of messy black hair.

"Marcos!" Lorna shouted, dropping the files and the papers scattered over the floor at her side, and the older mutant jolted up into a sitting position, "Lorna?" His voice was muffled behind the forcefield but he looked toward the two of them, his brown eyes both frantic and full of hope.

Lorna entered the room and frantically looked around the forcefield as though she was looking for some sort of weakness in it. Peter studied the forcefield from a distance. Because the controls weren't visible or connected to metal, there didn't seem to be anything his sister could do.

Peter pursed his lips and stepped up to the forcefield as the door to the room swung shut behind him, pressing his palms flat against it and pushing against it for a second before pulling his hands back. The blood on his left palm didn't rub off on the surface of it. It was a solid force, a wall that had little malleability. He looked over it again and then pressed his palms back against it. As if sensing what he was about to do, Lorna took a few steps back.

Peter took a deep breath and started to vibrate his hands the same way he did when he broke Erik out of the Pentagon.

It was only a skill he has used a few times since the Pentagon, seeing as he hadn't even known it would work back then because he had never tried it before. He just knew that he could speed up his entire body enough to vibrate, not that he could do it to individual limbs. Not until the Pentagon.

The forcefield began to tremble under Peter's hands and one of the kids, the one with the pink tail, started to look a little worried, "Wait, stop-!"

Peter yanked his hands back and held them to his chest when an electric shock went through them, "Pierdolić!" He shouted, rubbing his palms against the front of his shirt, "I- It emits a- an electric current if somebody with an X-Gene touches it for too long," The boy with the tail explained, his blue eyes staring at the two of them through the forcefield with sadness and fear.

Wordlessly, Lorna reached into one of the front pockets of her leather pants and pulled out her pair of black leather biker gloves, the thick pair with full fingers and hard silver studded knuckles.

She offered them to him and Peter didn't hesitate to grab them, only pausing for a second to courteously wipe the blood off his hands and fingers onto his pants before he pulled them on. They were a little tight on him as they were obviously a size meant to fit his sister's daintier hands but he got them on easily enough.

Peter put his now-covered palms against the forcefield again, "Don't burn through those, I actually like that pair," Lorna commented, "I won't," Peter responded. It sounded enough like a promise that Lorna let it go. He started to vibrate his hands again, pushing against the forcefield harder this time.

It began to tremble again, this time no electric shock to stop him. Peter set his jaw and pushed against the forcefield more as his hands started vibrating so fast to the point where it looked like they were unmoving. The forcefield started to make a noise, something akin to a glass vase wobbling violently.

It was only a second later that the forcefield seemingly shattered and fell away, creating a large opening into the cell the eight mutants were being kept in.

Lorna didn't waste a second to dart past Peter into the cell and dropped to her knees at Marcos's side, "Ukochany!" She said, checking over him as Peter took off her gloves and stuffed them into one of the front pockets of his jeans, "Are you okay? We got here as quick as we could."

Marcos's throat bobbed as he stared at Lorna before smiling softly, "Oh, mi amor," He said quietly, reaching out to softly hold Lorna's cheek in one of his hands which were shackled to the wall by his wrist, "I'm fine. You look beautiful," Marcos breathed out and Lorna chuckled, "You say that every time you see me," She said, her eyes softening, "Because every time I see you, it's true," He replied as the two of them continued to gaze into each other's eyes.

Peter pretended to gag silently as he slowly walked over to one of the kids, the one with the dog ears atop his head, "Brutto," He muttered in Polish playfully, holding his hands up to show the kid that he didn't mean any harm. The young boy- Raymond, if he remembered his twin's words -stared at him silently as he slowly approached. He made no move to try and lash out at Peter so he took it as a sign that he was fine or at least trusted. He kneeled down and grabbed the stone chain attached to one of the kid's legs.

(Just the very thought that humans would do this to another living being, something so dehumanizing and vile, was enough to make Peter's frustration and disgust rise. If Lorna hadn't been here and the mutants chained up hadn't been around Wanda's age, Peter would've been more than happy to get angry.)

Peter tugged on the stone chain once and it rattled against the wall. He hummed under his breath before he turned to the kid, "Sorry if this hurts for a second," He said, reaching out and grabbing the actual shackle that attached Raymond's ankle to the chain. Peter squeezed it, feeling the solid stone under his hand before he wiggled his fingers between the shackle and the kid's skin.

Raymond hissed, his dog ears pressing flat against the top of his head and flinching as he made contact with his rubbed-raw skin, and Peter paused his movements, "Sorry," He said sincerely to the kid as he brought his other hand up and started to compress the shackle between his two palms as best as he could without harming the kid more.

Within a second, the stone between his hands started to crumble like dirt clumps under his strength.

As soon as the shackle was broken, Peter reacted over and broke the other one in the same manner until Raymond's legs were free. The kid stared down at his ankles in surprise for long enough that he didn't even notice Peter crumbling the shackles around his wrists until he realized that his arms were lighter.

Raymond slowly brought his hands up to his face and looked at them in awe before his eyes slowly looked up at Peter as he stood up from his kneeling position.

Time slowed down and there was a quick breeze before all of the shackles on the other seven mutants crumbled onto the floor. Time resumed and Peter appeared by Marcos's other side, "I think it's about time we get going," He said and Lorna rolled her eyes, "You're always so eager to leave," She said, "And you're always so eager to put us in danger," Peter shot back, "You two still have exams and I have some things to explain when I get back."

Peter was not... eager to have to explain himself to anybody in the mansion when he returned, least of all to Charles. But these kids' safety was a little more important than his discomfort.

"Fuck," Marcos swears, "I forgot we had exams today," Lorna snorted though it looked like she had forgotten about their exams as well despite her being the one to tell Peter about them.

"Are you two done being all lovey-dovey so we can get outta here?" Peter didn't wait for either of them to answer before he was bending down. He reached out and gently scooped Raymond up into one of his arms.

The kid yelped softly in surprise, his hands automatically gripping the front of Peter's RUSH shirt as he was lifted. With the shackles that had been on their ankles and the state of the skin under them, he doubted that they had many chances to stretch out their legs. He doubted that they'd be able to stand up longer than a few seconds before collapsing.

Peter glanced over at Lorna. Help them. Lorna nodded and grabbed Marcos's hands, standing up and pulling the older mutant up to his feet. He stood up a lot easier than the others would have, he had only been there for maybe an hour. Marcos rubbed his wrists a little as Lorna turned and also bent down, helping the blond-haired boy up to his feet.

He clung to Lorna's arm until she was able to get her other arm under his knees and hoist him up into her arms, unable to hold the kid the same way Peter did. She didn't have the same strength as he did, lacking what the two of them considered Superstrength.

(They weren't actually sure if it was Superstrength or if it was just a gravity and mass thing he had because of his Superspeed but it was useful so they didn't question it too much.)

Peter bent down again and scooped up one of the other boys into his other arm, the one with blue eyes and brown hair. His skin was freezing to the touch but it didn't seem to bother Peter. Like Raymond, the boy's hands gripped the front of his shirt. Peter shifted his position a bit to be in front of the girl that had her brown hair cut short. From her sharp claws, he assumed she was Rahne, Agent MacTaggert's daughter(?).

Rahne hesitated for a second before curling her hands into fists and wrapping her arms around Peter's neck. He stood up and she clung to his back, The extra weight hardly seemed to disrupt Peter's balance.

Marcos seemed to finally realize what the two of them were doing and he bent down and helped the winged girl to her feet. She was able to stand up on her own, her wings likely helping her balance, and Marcos reached down to help the other brown-haired girl up. She, like the boys, was unable to stay on her feet. She was smaller than the rest, however, obviously younger, so Marcos held her in his arms the way one would hold a baby.

The boy with the tail and pink hair got to his feet by himself, his tail trashing at the air behind him as he did this. He looked to be a teenager, a little older than Wanda and the oldest kid there, "How the hell did you two get here?" He questioned softly, more to himself, "Brute force," Lorna answered and the boy blinked as though he hadn't actually expected an answer, "'Brute force'? Did you knock out the guards?"

"Yes, we did," Peter said before his twin had the chance to answer again. Lorna snorted and spoke despite the glare he sent her, "My switchblade is covered in their blood," Peter stretched his leg out to kick Lorna's shin. She let out an over-exaggerated yelp and took a few steps away from Peter, "Hey! I'm holding a kid, you can't kick me," Lorna huffed, "Then don't tell them that we killed the guards. They're children!"

"It's okay," The girl in Marcos's arms said, a Mexican-American accent coating her words, "We've heard and seen worst," Peter grimaced, "That's really depressing," He said bluntly, "Charles is going to love meeting you all," Lorna narrowed her eyes at him, "Was that sarcasm?" She asked, "I..." Peter paused to think about it for a second, "Have no idea," He finished truthfully.

"Should we go now?" Marcos spoke up, "That's a great idea, Marcos," Peter said, emphasizing the words while he looked over at his sister because he knew that she'd agree with Marcos even though the idea had originally been his. Lorna rolled her eyes, grumbling under her breath, but she didn't argue.

Peter was the first to make his way to the door they came from and he only paused for a second when he saw Lorna's green vapour cover the door handle and push it down, the door being pulled open by the handle. I didn't know the door handles were metal. Peter exited the room and stepped into the hall. They are but the screws aren't and I'm not strong enough to just rip the handles off of the doors.

"Marcos, can you pick up those files for me? I don't have any hands," Lorna said as she followed Peter out into the hall as the winged girl and the pink-haired boy followed after her, the pink-haired boy moving a little faster and a little easier than the other young mutant, "You have hands," Peter pointed out, "They're attached to your arms."

Lorna slowly turned her head to stare at Peter while he only gave her a smug grin that grew as the silence between them stretched on.

"If I wasn't holding a kid," Lorna said eventually, "I would go over there and beat the crap out of you," Peter snickered, "I love you too," He responded with a smile as Marcos stepped out into the hall with them, his empty hand now holding the files Lorna had dropped, "What are these files for?" He asked and Lorna looked over at him, "Legal stuff for us to look over when we get back," She answered. Marcos nodded and hummed, accepting Lorna's vague answer. It wasn't like she was going to be any more specific even if he asked, not while they were around children.

(It was one of the Maximoff Twins' rules. They weren't supposed to do anything bad or say certain things in front of kids, it was a moral and influence thing. That's why Lorna wasn't allowed to cuss or beat people up while Wanda was around. Same reason why Peter had to control his kleptomaniac tendencies around Wanda.)

"Are we going now or?" Peter asked and Lorna scoffed, "We're going, we're going," She muttered under her breath as followed him as he started walking back down the hall. Lorna and Marcos kept the two older teens between them as they walked, likely to make sure that they were there in case one of them fell.

"Where are we going exactly?" The pink-haired boy asked, "A school," Peter answered, "It's a safe haven for mutants, run by a Telepath," He explained as they got to the fork in the hall again. He felt Rahne and the other brown-haired boy bury their faces into either of his shoulders as they passed the pile of human bodies.

"Not big fans of dead bodies?" He asked them quietly, "They're newer," Raymond responded, "They haven't seen as much as we have. This is actually quite tame in comparison to what we're used to," Peter set his lips into a straight line, "Yup," He said, "Charles is going to love meeting you all. And that definitely isn't sarcasm."

They started walking down the long hallway toward the parking garage, their footsteps the only thing echoing through the hall. The echoing was an eerie sound without the blaring alarms to cover it or the sound of his sister's words and thoughts filling his ears and mind to take his attention off of it.

The echoing in the parking garage was worst.

Peter instantly went toward the large sleek black van in the back right corner of the parking garage that he had picked out when he and Lorna had talked about the possibility of there being more mutants than just Marcos. It looked to be just as armoured as the other vehicles in the parking garage, only larger and heavier.

The back doors of the van slammed open, the three kids clinging to Peter flinching slightly at the loud sound they made while Peter barely reacted. More metal handles? The inside of the sprinter van was bare with hard and uncomfortable-looking seating. It was likely used to transport weapons or soldiers like the ones they had killed. No vehicle is completely free of metal.

The back of the van was too high off of the ground for Peter to be able to step up into it without the use of his hands to grab onto something for balance, "Is one of you okay to get in on your own?" He questioned the three kids clinging to him. The other brown-haired boy swallowed before he nodded and planted his palms on the floor of the van. He hoisted himself up and scooted inside so that his back was against one of the uncomfortable-looking seats.

With a hand free, Peter lifted his leg to step into the van and he grabbed the pole attached to the inside wall of the van. He lifted himself up into the van with ease and set Raymond down on the floor because, honestly, the floor looked more comfortable than the van's actual seating. Peter kneeled down so that Rahne could detach from his neck and sit with the boys.

Lorna presented the boy she was holding, having to strain a bit to do so. Peter took him and set him down inside the van. He reached out and grabbed the young girl from Marcos's arms and gently put her down between Raymond and Rahne. He held out his hands and helped the winged girl into the van, lifting her up and taking most of her weight. Like before, the pink-haired boy got up on his own, his tail still thrashing in the air behind him.

"Marcos, passenger seat," Peter said, "Lorna's going on her motorcycle," He grabbed the handles on the inside of the van's back doors and shut the back of the van. Peter went through the van's partition, making sure to keep the door open so that the kids could see the front seats and he could hear them.

Peter had hopped into the driver's seat, put his seatbelt on, and had just finished hot-wiring the van by the time Marcos even opened the passenger side door. Marcos jumped a little at the sudden sound of the engine starting but got into the passenger's seat and put his seat belt on without a word.

There was a knock on Peter's window and he looked over to see Lorna. He raised an eyebrow in a silent question.

She didn't say anything and only knocked on the window continuously until Peter finally rolled down the window, "What?" He asked, "I'm craving a HoHo. You want me to pick up a pop?" Peter snorted, "Root Beer," He answered and she gave him a thumbs up, "Root Beer and a New Coke," She pointed to Marcos in the passenger seat as she said this.

Peter turned to the older mutant, "I want you to know that liking New Coke is the only flaw you have," He said, repeating the same thing he always did when he was reminded that the other liked such an abomination of a drink. Marcos chuckled softly, "Noted."

Lorna gave the both of them a mock salute before she turned away, "Oh, wait," Peter said, remembering something, and his twin turned back around. He reached into the inside of his jacket and pulled out his wallet, "I have money," Lorna said automatically, "I know that, dipshit, I'm not giving you money," Peter shot back as he pulled out an old-looking card and held it out through the window.

His sister grabbed it and looked over it, "It's the mansion's address," Peter clarified, "A motorcycle is fast but I doubt you're fast enough to go to the store and count out your money and still catch up with us. The number address doesn't matter, the mansion is the only house on the entire street," Lorna hummed, reading the card a few more times before she nodded and put the card into her jacket pocket, "I'll see you boys there, then," She said and then turned back on her heel and started jogging up the ramp.

"That's our cue to get going," Marcos said and Peter nodded, putting the van's shift knob out of 'park' and into 'reverse' as he started backing out of the spot the van had been parked in, "Hey, um, quick question before we get going," Marcos said, grabbing the handle on the van's ceiling on the passenger's side, "You can ask it while I drive," Peter responded as he put the shift knob into 'drive', "See, that's sort of the problem," There was a little bit of worry and panic in the older mutant's voice now, "Can you drive?" Marcos asked.

Peter raised an eyebrow and glanced at Marcos from the corner of his eye as he started driving up the park garage's ramp. It was a straight line, he didn't really need to look at it, "Of course, I can," He said, "I wouldn't have gotten into the driver's seat if I didn't know how to drive," Marcos's other hand gripped his seatbelt over his chest, "No, I- I meant like, legally. Are you legally allowed to drive? You know, because of the whole word thing," Peter hummed, "Technically not," He said casually, turning his gaze back in front of him.

"What do you mean 'technically not'?!" Marcos demanded, whipping his head to look at Peter with visible panic in his eyes, "I don't have a legal driver's licence in the eyes of the cops," Peter explained, "With everything that happened after we turned sixteen, a driver's licence just wasn't the first thing on my mind. But I took the test and the CIA said I was good to drive," They exited the parking garage's tunnel, the light around them getting bright now that they were no longer underground, "So I can't legally drive, the licence the CIA gave me is meaningless to the cops because they think it's fake."

Marcos's grip on both his seatbelt and ceiling handle tightened as Peter started driving on the empty road of the abandoned area, "Oh, that's- that's fantastic!" He exclaimed, very obviously sarcastic, "So you don't have a legal driver's licence. Why are you driving then?" Marcos questioned, "I wouldn't be able to give you directions to the mansion even if I tried or wanted to," Peter explained patiently, "I'm a safe driver, Diaz, I sorta have to be," He snickered, "It'll be okay."

Marcos didn't appear to be completely assured but he calmed down and his grip on his seatbelt and the ceiling handle loosened, "Okay, okay, it'll be okay, it'll be okay," He repeated under his breath, more to himself than to Peter. They passed the alleyway where he and Lorna had met up and he took his eyes off of the road long enough to confirm that her motorcycle was gone.

"Merging onto the main road now," Peter announced to Marcos and the kids as he turned on the van's blinker and merged onto the road between two smaller cars, "What do we do if we get pulled over?" Marcos asked, his worry and panic seemingly having returned, "You- You have to have made a plan for that at some point," He insisted, "Hey, Marcos," Peter said, never taking his eyes off of the road, "We aren't going to get pulled over, I've been on the road for six years and it hasn't happened yet. You're okay, man. Be quiet," He commanded, not unkindly or forcefully.

One of Marcos's legs started bouncing, "We aren't going to get pulled over," He repeated as though to reassure himself, "Being quiet now," He said and then took his hand off of his seatbelt briefly to mime zipping his mouth shut, "You worry too much," Peter stated, taking a left turn at one of his landmarks, "You've gotta, like, take a break every once in a while to just relax," Marcos's brows furrowed and he looked at Peter silently as though to ask him why he would take advice about this from him of all people.

"Don't look at me like that," Peter said and Marcos huffed but looked away from him as he drove and didn't say anything until they left the main city of Manhattan and started driving down the street that lead to the mansion. Peter had to rely on the landmarks he memorized to get there, occasionally looking at the kids from the rearview mirror to make sure that they were okay.

(Peter's memory was not what it used to be, it hasn't been since he got his powers. He could remember things from before his mutation manifested with clarity but anything important after that, he had to take at least a minute to try and recall.)

"Holy shit," Marcos breathed out as soon as the busy city scenery changed into lush trees and an empty road, "This place is farther than I thought," Peter snorted, "Well, yeah, it kinda has to be. Not every mutant can live in civilization the same way we can," He said, "Quite a few of the mutants here don't exactly look human," There were a few literal bumps in the road, a few cracks and holes in the cement due to its weathered down state and lack of proper care, and Peter told himself to fix those later.

Just because he was now located out in the middle of nowhere didn't mean that he couldn't keep up appearances, especially the ones that had nothing to do with his physical appearance.

Peter took a left turn and stopped the van for a second so that the large cast iron gate could creak open for him, "Jesus," Marcos said as the gate slowly opened, "Does that do that to everybody?" He asked, "Yup," Peter replied, starting the van again and driving down the dirt road leading up to the mansion, "So humans can just enter whenever?"

Peter snorted softly, "Oh, they can," He stared up at the large imposing figure of the old-looking mansion, "But they wouldn't make it further than the gate so long as the Professor believed them to be a threat to his students."

Peter knew that Charles wasn't a violent person but he also knew that Telepathy was a dangerous thing, just as dangerous as Magnetism. Telepathy was even more dangerous when used by somebody that knew how to use it. And from what he's seen, Charles was anything if not efficient with his mutation in a way Peter has never seen before.

(And maybe, maybe, Peter looked up to Charles the same way Lorna looked up to Dr Henry McCoy. And maybe that was also a little depressing considering the first time they met, Charles had looked like a hippie that was constantly on drugs and smelled so strongly of whiskey that he probably could've drunk their mother under the table without even getting the spins.)

Peter put the van's shift knob into 'park' as soon as he stopped the van on the side of the turnabout, "We've arrived," He announced, mostly to the kids as Marcos could already see the school, "Are we gonna wait for Lorna?" Marcos asked as Peter leaned back in the driver's seat, "I would like to," He responded, "But I'm not sure how long she'll actually take to get here. And I wanna make sure the kids get medical treatment if they need it."

Peter undid his seatbelt and unlocked the van's doors, "I can call the Telepath out," Marcos offered and Peter paused his movements, "You would?" He questioned, "You've never met Charles before and I don't think anybody is just on board with letting a Telepath into their mind," The older mutant shrugged, "Hey, I've had a Telepath in my mind before. It's not as bad as you'd think," Marcos adds.

Peter wasn't sure he could exactly believe the other mutant so easily, as truthful as he was most of the time. His mind couldn't be reached with Telepathy, he knew that much, Jean had been the one to inform him of this. And Peter had already tried to do the reverse and reach out to one of the Telepaths, finding himself unable to. So he supposed that he just had to take Marcos's word on this.

"If you say so," Peter said, "Try to explain to him the best you can. And, heads up, he's British," He warned Marcos as though that was an actual problem. Marcos played along with him and acted as though it was, mock saluting him before sitting back into the passenger's seat and relaxing his shoulders, his eyes shutting.

Peter opened the driver's side door and hopped out of the van, not bothering to shut the door just in case he broke Marcos out of his concentration. He moved to the back of the van and opened the back doors as quietly as he could, "How're your legs?" Peter asked the kids quietly. The ones that couldn't walk before all give him a thumbs up, "The shackles were really tight," Raymond said back in the same quiet voice, "The blood just needed to get moving again."

Peter returned their thumbs up, "Again, depressing. And again, Charles will love meeting you all," The boy with the tail scoffed lightly and Peter shot him a look but otherwise said nothing. He couldn't have said anything anyway because, at the next second, the loud and rumbling sound of an engine filled his ears.

Well, it looked like it wouldn't take Lorna that long to get there. And it sounded like she had actually turned her engine on this time instead of just using her mutation.

Peter turned his head toward the cast iron gate just in time to watch it creek open a lot quicker than it normally would, its hinges covered in Lorna's green vapour. He watched Lorna make a sharp left turn onto the dirt road leading up to the mansion, not slowing down for even a second as she slammed the gates shut behind her with her powers.

She came to a skidding halt only a few feet away from Peter as he walked a little ways away from the van to meet her at the start of the turnabout, a bag on her left arm. He didn't move or even flinch, knowing that his twin would never hurt him, much less hit him with her motorcycle. Because that would hurt her just as much.

Lorna killed her motorcycle's engine and kicked the side stand down, her motorcycle leaning at a slight angle as she got off of it. With the bag still on her arm, she reached up and pulled her helmet off, her wavy emerald green hair falling back into place. She set the mockery of Magneto's helmet down on the seat of her motorcycle. His twin's eyes weren't looking at him.

Lorna let out a low whistle, staring up at the mansion, "This is a school?" She questioned, "Yup," Peter responded, watching his sister who was almost slack-jawed just looking at the mansion. She eventually turned to him and pointed at the mansion, "We're enrolling Wanda here," Lorna stated.

Peter immediately cringed at the thought, the negatives quickly running through his mind, "Don't make that face," Lorna said, "You said it yourself over the phone before, this Xavier guy knows what he's doing and is good at what he does. Any of the staff here could do a better job teaching Wanda about her powers than either of us can," She pointed out and, though it was true, Peter didn't like that she was right.

"Magneto," He started and was cut off by his twin, "Won't ruin every good thing we have," She said fiercely but quietly as her voice dropped into a whisper the second Erik was mentioned, "Wanda isn't his daughter, Wanda doesn't even look like Magda, her mutation isn't related to him in any way. He won't ruin this for her."

Peter looked at Lorna and saw a fire in her eye, and he silently wondered if he should push for something different. You couldn't just argue against a Maximoff, they were stubborn and headstrong and once they had their opinions and values, they dug their heels into the ground and stuck to them. And even though they were twins, Peter knew that he wouldn't be able to change Lorna's mind easily, she was the most stubborn out of all of them. Even they had wavering opinions from each other.

But when it came to Wanda's well-being and happiness, the two of them would always come to an agreement that benefited the youngest Maximoff regardless of their own opinions.

So Peter sighed and relented, "Fine," He said, already trying to think of the positives of Wanda attending Charles's school so that the negatives didn't psych him out, "I- I'll ask the Professor about it later. Let's just do one thing at a time," Lorna hummed, accepting his answer instead of arguing further like Peter expected her to do.

"I brought your pop," She said, pulling out a glass bottle of Root Beer from the bag hanging from her arm and offering it to him, "I also grabbed you a change of pants from the house because, you know, yours are currently covered in blood," Peter took the Root Beer from his sister, "You know, I kinda forgot that my pants were covered in blood," He admitted, "And you know, I also didn't want to be reminded that you cut a man's head off, Lorna. I'm not taking that switchblade back, by the way, you're keeping that."

Lorna only shrugged with a smug grin, reaching into the bag and pulling out a pair of black jeans that were identical to the ones Peter was wearing now, only lacking the blood. In a split second, Peter had changed into the clean pair of jeans and held the folded bloody pair in his arm, his Walkman still clipped to the back of his leather belt. The blood on his palm and fingers was already dried and some had already wiped off on the steering wheel of the van but he wiped whatever blood he could on his bloody pair of jeans.

"Where's Marcos? I've got his New Coke," Lorna said, "Still in the van," Peter responded and his sister nodded before jogging toward the van on the passenger's side. Maybe be a little quiet, he's calling on a Telepath. Lorna disappeared from his view, on the side of the van that he couldn't see. If it's the one in the wheelchair then they're already out.

Sure enough, when Peter turned his head to look at the mansion, Charles was at the front doors. The tall mahogany doors were opened wide behind him and Jean was standing behind his wheelchair. Charles lifted a hand to wave at Peter and he hesitantly waved back with the hand holding his Root Beer. Hey, do you remember-

I do. I wouldn't forget something like that, especially when it's something obviously important to you. 

Lorna returned to Peter's line of sight, Marcos in tow, "We've gotta get going anyway," She said out loud, "Classes and shit. We still have to make sure the others know we're okay," Marcos nodded along though he looked a little confused as to what Lorna was talking about until Peter watched the realization grow in his expression when he seemingly remembered their Twin Telepathy and linked minds.

Lorna walked past Peter and stopped for a second, putting a hand on his shoulder, "Make sure the kids are alright, got it?" Peter snorted softly, "That's always my job," He responded, playfully complaining, "Of course it is," Lorna said, "Because my job is to beat the shit out of people," Peter pouted, "When will it be my turn to beat the shit out of people?" He asked, "When you stop being a little bitch," His sister shot back.

(They had their system and it worked well for them. Lorna protected, Peter rescued. That's the way it had always been. It was unlikely to change whenever they were together.)

Peter stuck his tongue out at her, a gesture she returned. He grabbed her leather biker gloves from the front pocket of his jeans and shoved them into his sister's hands before she walked over to her motorcycle where Marcos was waiting for her.

Lorna grabbed her helmet and held it under her arm as she swung her leg over the seat of her motorcycle and sat down, waiting for Marcos to sit on the seat behind her. When he had, the older mutant wrapped his arms around her leather-covered torso. Oh, the joys of being a motorcycle-riding woman. Peter knew that Lorna could see him as he rolled his eyes because she lifted the hand not holding her gloves a second later and flipped him off.

Lorna pulled her leather biker gloves on before she put her helmet on, once again shielding her face behind the dark lens of the visor. She patted one of Marcos's arms around her torso comfortingly, knowing the other mutant wasn't the biggest fan of the fast-moving vehicle, before giving Peter a two-finger salute. Lorna turned the keys in the ignition and the motorcycle's engine roared back to life.

(Peter would like to say that his twin's motorcycle and helmet had been his greatest creations, not counting his crutches and wheelchair. It had been a long-time planned project, sketched out only a few months after he got his mutation even though it wasn't actually built until after the Pentagon. It could even be considered his pride and joy, again, not counting his crutches and wheelchair.)

Let the gate open on your way out. Lorna took a sharp turn around and started driving back down the dirt road of the mansion. Of course, what do you take me for, an idiot? The cast iron gate creaked open, with no green vapour on the hinges this time, Lorna even slowed down to give the gate the few seconds it needed to open wide enough to fit the already slim motorcycle through the gates.

When his twin was driving down the road and rapidly becoming smaller in his line of view, Peter turned back around.

By then. Charles was halfway to them, Jean only a few steps behind him. Peter straightened up a little when he saw them, "Peter," Charles greeted when they were closer, "I heard what happened," He continued and Peter hummed, "That's... good," He responded. Peter knew that because Marcos didn't know everything, Charles (and Jean) doesn't know everything either, but it was still a relief knowing that he wouldn't have to explain things. He was really shit at putting things into words.

"That's good," Peter repeated with a little more confidence as Jean moved closer to the van, likely to help the kids. The kids hadn't seemed too worried when Peter and Lorna showed up so it was probably safe to assume that they'd feel even more comfortable around somebody even closer to their age.

As Charles stopped his wheelchair beside Peter, his twin's words popped into his mind. Charles was great with kids and seemed to have a good handle on helping the students control their mutations, not to mention the amount of control he had over his own...

"Hey, Charles?" Peter spoke up before his nerves psyched him out and Charles hummed to show he was listening, "I have a question for you," He said, "And what would that question be, dear boy?" The Telepath asked, "I'm, uh, only asking this because of a potential student but, um," Peter stammered, rubbing the back of his neck as Charles looked up at him, silently and patiently waiting for him to voice his question.

"Do you allow pets?"

Chapter Text

The answer had been yes, Charles did allow pets in the mansion.

Wanda had practically jumped around the entire house in joy and excitement when she heard.

Even now, only a few days after Peter and Lorna rescued Marcos and the other mutants, sitting in the backseat of Peter's white 1968 Colony Park Wagon with Lady and Princess sitting on the seats on either side of her and Pest curled up in her lap, her excitement never seemed to waver.

Wanda was humming along to Pink Floyd's 'Run Like Hell' which was playing on the car radio. She had her dark auburn hair half up and half down with her black sun hat with a crow's feather tucked into the side of it on her head, she had wavy hair where Peter and Lorna had (straightened out) curls. She dressed a lot differently compared to Peter and Lorna, too, lacking the dark clothes and leather the two of them were constantly seen in. Instead, she had on a red blouse that was tucked into an asymmetrical skirt that went down to her ankles in the back that was only a few shades darker than her blouse. She also wore a tan trenchcoat that had belonged to their mother and black ankle boots.

Peter could see the mansion now through the dark lenses of his sunglasses, it was the only building for at least fifteen miles, and the three stories were easy to see over the treetops. It would only take them a few more minutes to get there on the straight road they were on. He's felt like he's taken this road hundreds of times even though he knows he's really only been on this physical road three times.

Peter let out a quiet breath and leaned back a little further in the driver's seat, relaxing for the first time since leaving the house.

"Remember what I told you," He said, less of a question and more of a request, as he looked back at his younger sister through his rearview mirror. Wanda perked up, "Be respectful to everybody and don't make a mess without cleaning it up," She recited.

She, unlike Peter and Lorna, had been born in America where their mother only spoke to them in (albeit very broken) English so she had a standard American accent, "Exactly. And?" Wanda sat up a little straighter, "And I am here to learn academically and how to control my powers, I am not here to show off. No matter what another mutant's ability is, I am no better or worse of a mutant than them due to my strength or intelligence," She nodded to herself.

Peter let out another breath. There were other rules that he and Lorna drilled into her beyond the basics but these were the more important ones. These were the ones that they really needed Wanda to remember. Or, the ones Peter really needed her to remember.

He turned onto the dirt road that led up to the mansion, giving the cast iron gate a few seconds to open, "Who are the exceptions to the respect rule?" He asked her, "The exceptions are my fellow peers who refuse to respect me, my powers, and my companions," Wanda said, leaning forward in her seat slightly to get a better look at the mansion, "An exception to my respect does not include Erik Lehnsherr, whom my brother does not like," Peter rolled his eyes behind his sunglasses, knowing Lorna had likely told her to say that.

"I don't dislike Magneto," He corrected, "I just... don't like being near him," He tapped his fingers against his steering wheel nervously as he drove into the turnabout and parked in front of the mansion, "Sounds like dislike to me," Wanda responded, "I don't dislike him," Peter repeated, killing the engine of his car as the music cut out and pulling off his sunglasses, hooking them onto the front of his AC/DC shirt, "I'm just," He made a face when he saw who was standing on the front porch of the school, "A little scared of him, is all."

Charles was sitting at the top of the porch stairs, staring down at Peter's car with both a calm and smug aura around him. On either side of his wheelchair were Hank and Erik. Peter gritted his teeth slightly. This was undoubtedly the Telepath's way of getting him to be around Magneto for longer than a few seconds. He hated that it was going to work.

(Peter really didn't want to get to know Magneto, it made it easier to avoid him when he knew nothing about the older mutant. Because if he knew nothing, then he wouldn't want to know more. The others could know all they wanted about the man, Peter preferred to stay uninformed though not ignorant.)

He took a deep breath to calm himself before shoving his car keys into the back pocket of his dark blue jeans and opening his car door.

Peter stepped out and leaned forward against his car, forcing his strained smile to become a little more natural, "Charles," He said as a greeting, ignoring Erik and (sadly) Hank, "You ready to meet the little one?" He heard Wanda huff in the back seat and he wouldn't be surprised if she had started pouting. Charles chuckled warmly, folding his hands in his lap, "Quite," He responded. Peter shut his door and zipped to the other side of his car, pulling the back seat door open.

Wanda didn't exit the car first. Instead, Lady jumped off of the back seat and landed in the dirt and gravel of the turnabout.

Lady was a five-year-old Doberman Pinscher that reached up to about Wanda's waist while just on four legs. She had a sleek black and rust coat and a thick silver chain around her neck. Attached to the chain was a glittery pink heart tag that said Lady in gold cursive.

Charles looked surprised for a moment before smiling, "Ah, is this the pet you were asking about?" He asked, "Pets," Peter said, "Pardon?" Charles blinked though his smile didn't waver, "I said pets, as in plural," Peter returned his smile as Lady moved over to allow Princess to exit the car, having moved across Wanda's lap to get there.

Princess was a three-year-old German Rottweiler with a shiny brown and tan coat and was only a few inches shorter than Lady. Like Lady, Princess had a thick silver chain and a glittery pink heart tag that had her name on it in gold cursive.

Peter's smile became something closer to a grin, "Cuties, aren't they?" He asked the Telepath. He was well aware that the two dogs could be frightening, especially when they were standing at his little sister's sides, acting as her companions and her guards. Charles nodded in agreement, his eyes never straying from the dogs, "They are," Though the agreement sounded genuine, Charles's voice sounded a little shaky, "What're their names?"

Wanda giggled as she scooted across the back seat and exited Peter's car, Pest laying securely in her arms and her black sun hat still on her head, "This is Lady," Lady raised her head in response, "This is Princess," Princess's tail started wagging. Wanda stood between her two dogs, "And this," She presented the lilac point Birman cat in her arms, "Is Pest! Short for Pestilence," Pest let out a trill, his tail swaying lazily over Wanda's arm. He had a studded black leather collar around his neck though the circular silver tag didn't have his name on it, only a black biohazard symbol.

Peter gestured to his little sister, “And this is Wanda Maximoff,” He added when it became obvious to him that his sister wasn't going to introduce herself. She was only about half a foot shorter than Peter and looked quite different compared to him and Lorna. Wanda looked more like her father while he and Lorna looked more like their mother. They had looked most like her back when their hair was blond and curly, back before their mutations changed their hair colours and back when they were still proud of being their mother's children.

Wanda looked back at Peter and then at the three older mutants again, "Oh, yeah, I'm Wanda," She giggled though was unable to wave to them due to Pest being in her arms. Peter rolled his eyes with a smile, "Sorry about her, she gets excited over animals, especially her companions," He said.

He and Lorna weren't actually sure what Wanda's mutation was, they just knew that animals were drawn to her and they could communicate with each other. Though it was unclear to the two of them whether the communicating was done Telepathically or orally or both because it seemed to change every time they saw Wanda communicate with her companions.

Wanda only seemed to understand about half of what her mutation did, which was honestly still more than whatever Peter and Lorna knew about theirs. That was why she was here, anyway, to learn more about her powers along with continuing her education in a safe environment where she wouldn't be ridiculed for what she was.

(Not in the way Peter and Lorna had been. At the very least, Wanda didn't get the weird part of their gene that changed her hair colour upon getting her mutation. Nor did she have to suffer the same way Peter and Lorna did when they got their powers.)

Charles's face suddenly gained a nervous expression, "Ah, is she?" He said. It didn't exactly sound like a question even if it was phrased as one, "That's... nice. Would you like to show her around now before we get her settled in?" Peter didn't mention the hesitation in Charles's voice or the glances Hank kept sending Erik's way and only nodded, "Sure," He agreed.

Charles nodded slowly and wheeled back into the foyer of the mansion, Hank and Erik following after him. Pest jumped out of Wanda's arms and landed on the gravel, his head held high as he practically pranced after the three men. Lady and Princess weren't far behind the little cat.

Wanda moved to follow her companions before Peter stopped her with a hand on her shoulder, "Manners, Wanda," He reminded and she appeared to think for a few seconds, perhaps to analyze what manners she had forgotten. And then realization filled her eyes and she pulled off her black sun hat and turned around, putting it down on the backseat of the car.

Wanda dusted the front of her clothes off and then turned and walked up the steps and into the mansion's foyer. Peter shut the car door and locked it before he appeared beside his sister in the foyer, the side furthest from Erik.

She flinched a little, not having expected him to be there despite the fact that standing next to people was, like, his favourite thing to do. He didn't like having his back to people and he also didn't like not being able to see their expressions, so at their side was the only other option. Lorna was the exception, of course.

"What do you wanna see first?" He asked Wanda as Lady and Princess took his sister's sides. She put a finger against her cheek, thinking for a second while Pest went up the first flight of the foyer stairs and laid down on the patch of the carpet that was warmed by the sunlight shining in from the stained glass window, stretching out on the carpet as his tail swayed back and forth lazily.

(Peter didn't want to call Pest spoiled but, well, he had been the animal that had triggered Wanda's mutation and was her very first companion. And as much as the two didn't really like each other, Peter had to admit that Pest made Wanda the happiest so he supposed that he didn't mind too much about buying whatever the cat requested through his sister.)

"I wanna see," Wanda mused for a few more seconds before making up her mind, "The outside!" She said excitedly and Peter couldn't help but chuckle at her enthusiasm, "The outside it is, then," He replied and then looked back at the three older men, "Outside won't be a problem, right?" He asked. Peter knew that there was a new pathway laid down for Charles's wheelchair but knowing Wanda, she'd want to go out further into the grass and Peter knew how annoying it was to navigate a wheelchair on uneven terrain.

Charles gave him a smile, his earlier nervousness and hesitation forgotten, "It'll be quite alright, Peter. Let's go back outside," Peter rolled his eyes at the cheer that Wanda let out beside him. Despite being outside practically every minute of every day, every chance she got, she just couldn't seem to get enough of it, no matter the weather. She always told him and Lorna that it was easier to hear her companions when they were outside.

Pest didn't so much as lift his head when they started walking toward the school's backyard but Wanda waved to him anyway and the way his tail swayed a little faster almost made it look like he was waving back. Lady and Princess stayed at his sister's sides throughout the entire walk but as soon as they caught a glimpse of the lush green yard behind the school, they quickly overtook them and ran outside. Though from the way Wanda only giggled in response, Peter supposed she had given them the go-ahead to play around.

Peter tuned into the conversation behind him when he heard Hank speaking in a whisper, "-and I really need to finish it," He glanced behind him but didn't really move his head, "I understand, Hank, I- I thank you. He'll likely be placated enough to last the rest of the tour with Erik," Peter made a small face because he knew Charles was talking about him and now he was tempted to do his usual vanishing act just to spite the Telepath. But Wanda was having fun and he didn't want to ruin that just because he was scared of the Metallokinetic.

(Peter still wasn't completely sure what to classify himself as now. Was he a Metallokinetic too, like Lorna and Erik? Or was he just a mutant that had control over metal? He still wasn't even sure what he could do with metal. It's not as though he's exactly keen to test his new powers out.)

In the backyard of the school, there were groups of students all lingering, some sitting under trees, some sitting by the pond. None of the other younger X-Men were there, all probably still up in their rooms since they didn't have classes today. But Raven was outside in her blonde human form, likely to supervise the students, and she was watching Lady and Princess as they wrestled with each other on the grass.

She looked up when they got closer to her and the two dogs, Erik helping Charles get on the grass, "Who's dogs are these?" Raven asked when they were close enough, sounding amused as she looked back down at Lady and Princess, "They're mine!" Wanda declared proudly and the older mutant chuckled, "Oh, are they? And who are you, little lady?"

Charles sat up a little, "This is our newest student, Wanda Maximoff," He said and Wanda waved to Raven as Lady and Princess stopped wrestling and only laid down in the grass, content with where they were.

"Maximoff?" Raven questioned, her expression shifting slightly, and then looked over at Peter, "I didn't know you had a sister," She said pointedly but Peter only smiled, "Well, I do, we have different fathers though," Raven seemed to relax slightly at that, obviously happy to know that Erik didn't have another kid running around. Which, joke's on her.

"And what's your mutation, little one?" Raven asked Wanda gently and Peter watched his younger sister get visibly excited. She turned to him, barely able to contain her excitement, and Peter sighed though he was still smiling, "Fine, yes, you can show off."

(Even though it was breaking a rule, an important one in his opinion because, Do cholery, they weren't powerful mutants, they couldn't afford to show off and get cocky and Lorna would agree with him on that, Peter couldn't really say no to Wanda. Well, he could, if he wanted to. But he and Lorna were also trying to give her a better life than what the two of them had so he didn't really want to say no to her.)

Wanda cheered and threw her hands up as a handful of crows started to gather on the branches of the trees at the edge of the mansion's yard, "We're not entirely sure what her powers do and she doesn't really know either," Peter said to the three older mutants as a few of the crows flew down onto the ground and started hopping toward Wanda, stopping every few seconds, "But she knows enough to use them without many problems."

Wanda said nothing as she held out an arm and three of the crows took that as their invitation to fly up from the ground and perch on the sleeve of her tan trenchcoat, "It's a form of Telepathy, we think," Peter said, rubbing the back of his neck. He wasn't entirely proud of the way he flinched slightly when a brown deer broke through the treeline.

Wanda gasped in excitement and the crows flew from her sleeve, rejoining the other crows on the ground. She happily went up to the deer and started petting its head, "She's so pretty. Say she's pretty," Peter rolled his eyes, "She's very pretty, Wanda," He remarked though it appeared that his sister was too engrossed with petting the deer to really be paying attention to his words.

"We've just been calling it Animal Influence," Peter said, watching Wanda fondly, "It's an amazing mutation, isn't it?"

Erik couldn't tell if the fear inside of him meant he wanted to run away or meant he was going to cry.

Either one, he assured himself, would've been appropriate.

Gott, she even looked like Nina, except her hair was wavy and her eyes were green and she was older than Nina would ever get to be.

But she looked just like Nina when she had those animals at her sides, the crows on her arm, the deer under her hand.

Wanda Maximoff.

Erik never knew anybody by the name of Maximoff. But if the woman had married...

"You said you two had different fathers," Raven said, breaking Erik out of his spiralling thoughts, "Does her father live with you?" Peter's face almost instantly changed from fond to uncomfortable, "He... did, for the two years after Wanda was born," Erik noticed how the boy had taken a few steps closer to them and started speaking in a quiet tone. As if he didn't want his sister to hear him.

But Peter's words themselves caught Erik's attention the most. If her father lived with them for at least two years then... it couldn't have been him. In those two years, he would've already been in the Pentagon. But Wanda had Nina's exact mutation! They looked too alike! They had to be related!

Erik flinched minutely when he felt something brush against his hand and he looked down to see that Charles had gently grabbed his hand, "Please, calm your mind, my friend," The Telepath's voice was like a waterfall, a gentle cascade of water. Erik knew it was meant to soothe him the same way it soothed Charles's students. He couldn't find any respite with Charles's voice this time.

Erik hesitated for only a second before he pulled his hand out of Charles's, "I won't. I can't," He responded with a terse but quiet thought, "What was your mother's name? Before she was Maximoff," Erik said out loud. He didn't mean for his voice to sound so sharp but he was currently trying his hardest not to cry.

Peter gained that uncomfortable look he always did whenever he was around Erik and he moved away from him slightly, almost unnoticeably if not for the way Erik was watching him. It appeared that he had remembered that he was still there. Peter seemingly hesitated for a few seconds, having a mental battle with himself before he spoke in a quiet and nervous tone, "Magda Eisenhardt," He answered and then his shoulders instantly tensed up and his fingers started drumming against the tops of his thighs.

Perhaps the boy didn't exactly realize the things he did whenever Erik was so much as in the same room as him, the nervous and fearful ticks and habits he seemingly adopted on instinct.

Normally, these things amused Erik, knowing that at least somebody in the mansion still feared and respected him.

At this exact moment, it all only made Erik feel sick.

It felt as though the world was falling away around him and the ground was spinning and shifting in a way that made him want to throw up just looking at it. Eisenhardt... Had that not been his own name, all those years ago? Before Charles? Before America? With... his eldest daughter?

Charles gently grabbed Erik's wrist instead of his hand. This time, Erik couldn't gather enough strength to pull away.

Erik felt his frazzled mind and his jumbled thoughts cleared enough for him to do some mental math. And then he stopped when he realized that he didn't know how old Peter was. He couldn't be older than Anya, obviously, but if he really was... what Erik thought he was, then he had to be twenty-four, twenty-five at the oldest. 1955 was the last time he had been with a woman before Nina's mother.

"Do you have any other siblings?" Charles asked Peter softly, practically taking the words from Erik's mind. The boy seemed to get even more uncomfortable now and he glanced quickly at Raven, "Does it matter?" Peter asked and Erik almost missed the sharp and nervous tone his voice took on, "No, of course not," Charles answered, keeping that same soft and patient tone that he had before, "I just wanted to know. You don't have to say."

Peter's uncomfortable expression cleared and he gained a guilty look on his face, "No, no, I'm sorry, I- I didn't mean to snap like that," He took a breath and rubbed his arm, "...Yes, technically, I have two older sisters," Peter said, avoiding all of their eyes, "One of them is dead, the other... is my twin," He appeared to quickly brace himself. For good reason, apparently, because Raven instantly reacted.

"What?!" She shouted quietly, conscious of her volume and the children around them, her eyes wide and almost panicked-looking, "You have a twin?!" Peter grimaced and leaned away from her slightly, "That's what I said, isn't it?"

Erik felt sick again for the second time in such a short period. And again, the ground looked as though it was shifting and spinning and he felt like he was falling.

He almost stopped breathing. Peter's other sister was dead. That had to be Anya. He knew about Anya. And he had a twin.

Erik had children. Two of them. And they were alive and adults. They grew up.

He realized a second later that it was because he wasn't there. He didn't help raise them, he didn't even know they existed. The children that grew up and survived were the ones whose lives he was never a part of. Gott, Erik wanted to cry.

But he couldn't, because he was surrounded by Charles and Raven and the students and his son.

"Do you know who your father is?"

Erik hadn't even realized he had spoken until he saw that Raven was staring at him and Charles's grip on his wrist had tightened. Surprisingly, Peter's face didn't go back to the same uncomfortable expression he had when he had talked about Wanda's father. Instead, his expression became scared and his entire body went rigid, his face getting pale. Like this, he didn't look like the adult that he was meant to be, he looked more like a child terrified of getting in trouble.

"I- I-" Peter stammered and his eyes seemed to unfocus, staring at nothing. Normally, unfocused eyes tended to look blank, but Peter's unfocused eyes appeared to be filled with fear and the slightest bit of anger.

His eyes cleared of those emotions a second later, however, and they refocused as Peter took a deep breath. His shoulders raised minutely and he turned his head away from Erik so that his face couldn't be seen.

"I... do. I know who my father is," Peter admitted quietly, his voice full of guilt and fear.

Erik exhaled through his nose softly at his words. Peter knew. He knew and was obviously ashamed of it. He wasn't even looking at Erik. He likely never told any of the others and he obviously didn't know that Erik would be able to figure it out. That was probably why Peter was so comfortable admitting to knowing who his father was.

After all, Erik argued with himself, why would anybody be proud to admit that they were related to a monster like him?

(Peter was terrified of him, he knew this. It was a universal thing that everybody in the mansion knew, it wasn't a surprise anymore to see him turn tail as soon as Erik entered the room. But to think, now that he knew what he did, that his own son was terrified of him, his own blood. It pained Erik beyond what words could describe. And he knew it was nobody's fault but his own.)

"Peter..." Charles said quietly, his grip on Erik's wrist lessening until he dropped his hand back into his lap. At the sound of Charles's voice, Peter seemed to become aware of what he was doing and he consciously forced his body to go slack, to relax again, and his expression went perfectly blank.

Peter inhaled deeply and looked around as though he was just now remembering where he was and who was around him. His eyes landed on Wanda who was still petting the deer, the crows on the tree branches practically surrounding her, and the fondness returned to his expression. He looked at her the same way Erik had looked at Nina, as though the universe revolved around her and she was the absolute centre of his world.

Peter walked over to her, away from them, and leaned down slightly. The deer didn't even flinch when he got close, "I'm going up to my room," He told Wanda and she stopped her petting to look over at him, "Oh," She said, sounding a little disappointed, "Are you hurt?" She asked. Peter shook his head and Wanda appeared to think for a second, "Are you tired?" She asked. This time Peter nodded.

Wanda hummed, "Okay," She said, accepting her brother's answer even though he didn't look tired at all. Erik had never seen the boy get tired, he wasn't aware it was even possible. The thought made Erik realize that the two of them have never been in the same room for longer than a few seconds. This was the most he's ever seen of Peter in one window of time since the Pentagon.

Peter spoke again before Erik could let his thoughts spiral again, "Don't forget to get your things from the car," He pulled out his car keys from the back pocket of his jeans, "And don't forget to lock the car," He handed the keys to Wanda. She took them and gave Peter a mock salute with the hand that wasn't on the deer's head, "I won't forget," She promised with a smile. Peter returned the smile as he stood up straight again though his was a little strained and obviously fake.

And then Erik's son was gone, a brief and light breeze following his departure.

Chapter Text

When Peter woke up two days after Wanda was enrolled in the school, he almost didn't notice the feeling in his lower body.

Or, the lack of therefor.

When Peter did notice the lack of feeling in his lower body, he panicked for a few seconds before he willed himself to calm down. He knew it had been coming, it had been nearly a whole month without incident. But he hadn't expected it to be this bad.

Usually, Peter could feel something, he could move even the slightest bit and put pressure on things. He hasn't had a Bad day in literal months. That hadn't meant that he was getting better, of course, it just meant that he had relaxed more and stopped relying on his mutation so much, putting less pressure on his legs. But Peter couldn't have expected things to stay that way for much longer.

Running to find his father at Charles's school? Apocalypse? Spending a month in a leg cast and constantly standing to ensure that it didn't get weaker than the other? He had strained his mutation to its limit, Peter was actually quite surprised this hadn't happened earlier.

Peter groaned softly and threw his covers off of himself. He just laid in his bed for a few moments, the curtains still drawn over the window and his lights still off, his eyes closed. This has never actually happened when he was alone. He realized that he probably shouldn't have put his things in the closet of his new room considering it was on the entire other side of the room.

Peter opened his eyes and turned his head to glare at the closed closet door. Wanda was too far to call for her and Lorna was literally an hour and a half away. If only he could do the things his twin could do.

And then it hit Peter suddenly. He could do the things his twin could do. In theory.

He held his hands out in front of him and then shut his eyes again to concentrate, "Push and pull, push and pull," Peter muttered under his breath over and over again until he felt the familiar buzzing throughout his body.

("What does it feel like exactly? I can't feel it," Peter had asked his sister who had just gotten her powers a few weeks ago, a year before he got his own powers, back when they were both fourteen and his hair was still blond and curly. Lorna had looked at him in slight confusion, "You can't?" She had questioned before looking back down at her hands, "I don't know. It feels like I'm trying to push the metal. Like- Like I'm compacting it while the metal is trying to pull the magnetic pull closer to it. Like a push and pull motion."

Peter had watched his sister silently until she had spoken again, much quieter than before, "Sometimes my hands cramp when I try to use these powers and my fingers spasm," Lorna had whispered to him, "It hurts a lot."

Unsure of what exactly to do for his twin, Peter could only reach out and lace his fingers with hers. Lorna wordlessly squeezed his hand.)

Just like before, the annoying buzzing returned to the edges of Peter's senses and made him consciously aware of the way his body felt. Unsurprisingly, he didn't feel the buzzing in the lower half of his body. He opened his eyes to see the light blue vapour surrounding his hands again. It looked the exact same as last time, light and nearly translucent.

If Peter didn't get his metal powers the way he did and they weren't, you know, a replica of their father's, he would've actually liked these powers. He would've actually been proud of them. For the moment, however, the only thing he liked about these new powers was their potential to be useful.

Peter outstretched his arms and glowing hands toward his closed closet door, breathing in and out slowly as he concentrated. It was still so weird, focusing his attention on one thing, but he supposed that he would just have to get used to it. It's not as though Lorna had enough control over her own mutation to teach him much beyond the push and pull motion.

Peter jerked and flinched slightly when he felt something warm in his hands. He realized a split second later that it was just his hands themselves. They had gotten warmer, his skin running hotter than it usually did, and he stared at them in fascination. Lorna never described her hands feeling warm when she used her mutation. Or maybe this had been a brief thing for her, maybe this feeling had gone away after she used her powers a few times and she never felt the need to mention it. Peter supposed the warmth wasn't the worse thing he could've experienced with these new powers.

Peter concentrated on the knob of the closet door and moved one of his hands the same way he's seen Lorna do it. While she may not have that much control over her mutation, he had at least been there when she was getting used to them. He helped her get the hang of how they worked despite not even knowing what a mutation was. They had never even heard of a mutant until Magneto had called their kind that.

Peter could do this, he could use these new metal powers. If Lorna could, why couldn't he?

(It was a stupid question, really, just because they were twins didn't mean that they could automatically do everything that the other could. Just like how them being Erik's kids didn't automatically make them as powerful as him.)

The light blue vapour surrounding Peter's hands covered the closet door knob and the knob turned with the slow motion of his hand. Peter stared at the door intently and slowly reeled his arm back, pulling the door open by the knob as the hinges creaked and buzzed. The inside of the closet was dark and only the faint outlines of hung-up clothes were visible.

Peter let go of the doorknob, taking a few quick breaths and flexing his fingers. He reached out with both hands, concentrating his powers again as he felt around the dark space of the closet. He felt his powers latch onto something small, a steel handle covered in leather. Peter set his lips into a straight line in concentration as he closed his glowing hands into fists, the light blue vapour illuminating the dark closet in dim light.

He exhaled deeply and slowly started pulling his arms toward him, both feeling and hearing the wheels of his wheelchair rolling against the hardwood floor. Slowly, his wheelchair exited the back of the closet and became visible with the low lights of Peter's bedroom.

The wheelchair looked like the standard wheelchairs except for the thicker metal and armrests, the lack of a visible brake handle, and a metal touchpad on the left armrest.

The backrest was (ironically, now that he was looking at it again) light blue along with the seat. The backrest resembled an actual chair, like Charles's wheelchair. There was a yellow cushion on the seat and the calf strap matched the cushion, the inside of the strap just as soft as the cushion. The rest of the wheelchair was made of metal, not a bit of plastic in sight with only the rubber wheels as buffers. It was obvious to tell that Peter had built it before Magneto, back when only Lorna's promise of protection had been in his mind.

Peter managed to pull his wheelchair to the side of his bed and he let go of the handles, breathing heavily as his arms fell back at his sides. The buzzing faded from his senses and he felt his hands spasm for a second before they relaxed again. That was nowhere near as bad as he's seen and felt from Lorna whenever her hands spasmed because of her powers. Which meant that, like his paralysis, her spasms and cramps were a product of her mutation right after it manifested.

Peter let himself rest for a few more minutes before he sat up and scooted over to the side of his bed where his wheelchair was. He reached under one of the armrests, the one that had the metal touchpad, and flipped a small switch. The touchpad's screen turned on, lighting up with green light. Peter set the brakes on and turned around in his bed so that his back was to the wheelchair. He scooted back until he was close enough to put his hands on the armrests.

Peter reached back and put his weight on his arms, pushing himself up off of his bed and lowering himself into the seat of his wheelchair. Instantly, he felt himself relax into the comforting feeling of support and he bent down to strap his legs to the footrest's backing. He put his hand above the touchpad and pressed two fingers down against the screen and then dragged them toward his body.

Peter's wheelchair backed away from the side of his bed, the wheels remaining untouched.

(It had been a stroke of genius, Peter felt confident enough to admit that. It hadn't taken longer than a month, the touchpad had taken the longest, he wasn't used to working with wires and the shocks they sent through his fingers. But because they were immigrants and Jewish, they wouldn't have been able to afford a wheelchair and Peter refused to be bedridden for an entire year, unable to walk. So building his own wheelchair had been the next best solution.)

Peter felt too tired to truly process everything. He was in a state of half-paralysis and he was living with mutants that didn't even know he had ever been paralyzed in the first place. It would've probably been easier to explain if he was having a Better day, if he was using his crutches instead of his wheelchair, but Peter couldn't find it in himself to care. This was the first Bad day in literal months and unlike the Better days, Bad days lasted longer than just a few hours. He'd be confined to his wheelchair for at least the entire day, maybe two.

It frustrated him, he needed to move, it was literally in his blood since getting his mutation. At the very least, Peter could shut down his mutation to keep his energy from spiking and making his paralyzation last longer. Though it also had the downside of making him really tired without his mutation constantly feeding him energy. 

Peter could already feel the way his heartbeat started slowing down and his thoughts stopped racing, his body's system resembling how Lorna's worked. Back to how it used to work before he got his mutation.

He exhaled deeply and relaxed further into the cushion of his wheelchair, grabbing the thinnest blanket from his bed, which was a purple one that probably used to belong to Lorna, and pulling it over himself. There was a plus side to being this tired, however. These were some of the few times that Lorna would allow him to drink coffee and double-caffeinate the two of them because she could feel his exhaustion too.

And Peter has seen Hank make the coffee in the morning. That shit was strong. Or at least the most potent-smelling coffee he’s ever been in contact with. Either Peter was about to force his sister into having all-nighters for a while or he was going to cause her a new bout of paranoia...

Eh, she'd know it was from him anyway.

Peter dragged his fingers in a dome-like shape on the touchpad and pushed them forward, turning the wheelchair's castor wheels and wheeling toward his door. He was still in the same clothes he wore yesterday but on Bad days, he always had coffee before he really started doing things for the day, like changing. It eliminated the risk of him just passing out at random moments in the morning. Which, while not exactly harmful when he was in his wheelchair, was still extremely annoying.

It was easy enough to leave his room and get to the stairs though Peter had to keep a tight control over the brakes as he wheeled down Charles's ramp to keep himself from slipping and moving too fast. He wasn't used to going down ramps, more accustomed to moving up them. Most places weren't wheelchair-accessible and Peter often relied on Lorna to lift him if there were stairs.

But it was nicer now, now that he lived in a place that was owned by a wheelchair-bound mutant, paralyzed in the same way he was, only permanently. Which... sucked a lot now that Peter was thinking about it.

It was hard enough for him to be paralyzed for a year, hasn't Charles been paralyzed for almost twenty?

Charles didn't deserve that, he was too kind to have to suffer this way. Lorna always made Peter's paralysis easier, helping him in situations and places full of bigotry and ableism, Peter should help Charles like that. He understood better than anybody else here what it was like to be judged and discriminated against for such a thing, after all.

It would make Peter feel useful anyway, helping Charles in a way nobody in the mansion could.

The mansion was quiet by the time Peter made it down to the foyer and he knew that it was too early for any of the students to be awake on a Saturday anyway. But that didn't explain why none of the other older mutants were awake yet, Peter's internal clock woke him up at five forty on the dot (not to mention the extra minutes he spent just getting out of bed) and by the time he usually left his room, it was late enough for the others to be awake. Or at least late enough for the adults to be awake.

The soft whirring of the mechanisms inside his wheelchair filled the silence of the hall as Peter wheeled himself toward the kitchen that had been marked as the X-Men's. It was so weird, the mansion being silent, not even the quiet conversations between Hank and Raven or the low volume of the news on the TV from the common room being there. But the lights were all on so somebody had to be awake.

But when Peter got to the kitchen, there was nobody there. The lights were on, of course, but there was no sign of life or that anybody had even entered the kitchen. Something bright caught his eye and he turned his head, wheeling over to the part of the kitchen where there was a colourful slip of paper on the counter. There were black letters on it, Peter could read the word 'sleep' and an uppercase X with a hyphen next to it which likely read as 'X-Men' fully. He could also read 'Love, Charles' at the bottom of the slip of paper, his inability to read having no effect on names.

But other than those words, he was lost. Peter huffed in frustration as he put the note back down on the counter.

He jolted in surprise when he saw something move out of the corner of his eye and he looked down, seeing Pest pushing his head against his foot. He breathed out and leaned back in his wheelchair, "Jesus," Peter said, "You know what, I'm actually glad that you're here. Can you get Wanda for me?"

Pest let out a soft 'mrrp' sound and stared up at him with his unblinking eyes, "You... are kinda cute," Peter said to the slightly-cute-slightly-unnerving cat, "Just, can you go get Wanda? And tell her that it's a Bad day," Pest purred and butted his head against the calf strap of the wheelchair before turning around and padding back out of the kitchen and toward the west wing of the mansion where the student dorms were.

The kitchen was large enough for Peter to be able to comfortably navigate around in his wheelchair and he wheeled over to the coffee machine. In the earlier days of Columbia, back when Peter drove or ran Lorna there because they couldn't afford the dorms, Peter would always make her coffee. She couldn't count so it only made sense for him to measure out how much water the pot needed. He was lucky that Hank only ever seemed to use one type of coffee.

It was an unlabelled bag that the older mutant always kept on the counter beside the coffee machine. The others never touched it and Peter has seen them all pull different brands of coffee from the cupboards, but he couldn't read what any of them were so he didn't wanna take the chance and accidentally grab something decaf or grainy.

The kitchen counters were lower than normal ones, likely an accommodation made after Charles got paralyzed, so Peter was able to reach the unlabelled coffee bag and pull it toward him. He had to pull the coffee machine out to be able to reach any of the buttons, however.

Peter paused and turned his head when he heard quiet and soft footsteps behind him.

Wanda slowly walked into the kitchen wearing a pair of pink pyjamas, her hair messy and her sock-covered feet dragging against the tiled floor. She rubbed her eye with her fist and yawned, "What?" She questioned, her voice raspy, "What do you want?" Pest reentered the kitchen behind Wanda and went back to Peter's side, continuing to butt his head against his feet.

Though Pest was the only animal they had actually adopted, he used to belong to a different family, unlike Lady and Princess. He used to be a therapy cat, helping his previous owner with anxiety and whatever else he had. So it only made sense, even if they didn't like each other, that Pest would always want to stay by Peter's side whenever he had his days, Better or Bad.

"There's a note on the counter over there," Peter waved his hand in the direction of the note, "Can you read it to me?"

Wanda yawned again and walked over to where Peter gestured to. She picked up the note and squinted at it, blinking before reading the words out loud. As she read, Peter scooped some of the coffee grounds into the coffee machine, pouring some water in with them, "'We have gone out to the store, we'll be back in a few hours. If you're the first one awake, let the other X-Men sleep in. Love, Charles.'"

Peter turned on the coffee machine and let the grounds steep, "Is that all?" He asked and Wanda made a quiet sound of confirmation, "Oh," He said and then reached up to open the cupboard above the coffee machine, grabbing a blue mug from the bottom shelf and setting it down on the counter.

"How do you like the school so far?" Peter asked his little sister, "Hmmm, it's nice," Wanda replied, still sounding a bit tired, "The other kids are nice," Peter chuckled, "I'd hope they were, they're mutants too. They understand what it's like to be shunned and hated for what they can do, I doubt they'd want to make another person feel like that.”

Wanda hummed and took a few steps forward, leaning her chin against Peter’s shoulder. Now, in his wheelchair, he was shorter than her, “You’re so wise,” She said, her eyes shutting as Peter made his coffee, “Are you hurt?” She asked the same question she always asked whenever Peter had a Bad day, “No,” Peter answered with the same answer he always did whenever she asked. He had been lucky enough to have blacked out when he got paralyzed, blanking out any of the pain the blow might’ve caused him, which meant that he didn't get phantom pains whenever he had Bad days.

"Good," Wanda said and there was silence between the two of them for a few minutes until the coffee grounds finished steeping, "Can I have some?" She asked as Peter started pouring the steaming coffee into the blue mug, "No," He automatically responded, putting the pot back into the coffee machine, "Why?" Wanda whined, "Because you're too young. And you wouldn't like it anyway, it's bitter," She huffed and cracked her eyes open, "You suck," She said.

Peter wordlessly stuck his tongue out at her in response, a gesture he was sure she returned though he didn't turn his head to check. He didn't add anything to the coffee, knowing that Lorna could tolerate caffeine in the morning but not a lot of sugar. And it wasn't like he was too picky on the way his coffee was prepared anyways, he rarely drank it enough to care.

"Are you going back to your room?" Wanda asked, standing up straight again and lifting her head off Peter's shoulder, "Probably," He responded. Though Peter liked to be active during his Bad days, there wasn't much he could do here. Back at the house, he would clean or go grocery shopping but now there were other people to do that. There wasn't much else he could do when he was like this now.

Peter realized with a small start that he wasn't that useful anymore.

Without even mundane things to do, he was relatively useless, even when he wasn't paralyzed and could use his mutation. He could run fast, there weren't many uses for something like that. Peter had never realized how unimportant his actions were until he was put with other people that could do his job with ease.

It was a horrible thought and realization, one that Peter shut down quickly, resolving not to think about it until he was sure he could have a safe breakdown. And things weren't really safe when his mutation was shut down and his powers weren't there for him to fall back on.

Wanda must've noticed Peter's longer-than-normal pause of silence because she gently nudged his shoulder to get his attention, "Hey. Is everything okay?" She asked.

Peter blinked and looked down at the steam curling from his mug of coffee, "Yeah," He said slowly, "Everything's fine," Pest meowed softly, sinking his fangs into his pant leg and gently tugging on it, "Pest says that you're lying," Wanda pointed out, "Tell Pest to mind his own business," Peter shot back out of instinct and then shut his eyes for a second, breathing in and out quickly, "Everything will be fine," He corrected himself, opening his eyes again, "I just need... some more sleep."

Peter knew that it was near impossible for him to fall back asleep after waking up at any point in the morning hours until it became evening but he could close his eyes and even out his body functions to mimic sleep. He could rest, was what he was basically saying. It would be a fruitless rest but it would give him more than enough time to reevaluate his use and value in the mansion.

Wanda obviously seemed reluctant to just leave Peter alone with his own slowed-down thoughts, especially if Pest was insisting that something wasn't right, but she knew about the stubbornness of the Maximoff family. Though she didn't possess it herself, she's seen Lorna and Peter utilize it plenty of times. She knew that Peter would just argue until she gave up.

So Wanda sighed and at the sound of it, Pest let go of Peter's pant leg and returned to her side, "Okay," She accepted reluctantly, "I hope you feel better," Peter gave her a half smile and then grabbed his mug of coffee from the kitchen counter, "I will, probably tomorrow. Maybe sooner if I'm lucky," He said and he wasn't sure if he was trying to crack a joke or not.

Wanda didn't laugh and only watched Peter silently, sadness in her eyes as they followed him as he wheeled back out of the kitchen, his mug in one hand while the other steered his wheelchair. She always seemed to get melancholy whenever Peter had one of his days, whether they be Better or Bad days. Lorna told him it was because she couldn't do anything to help him the way she always did even though Peter didn't need help in the first place.

Peter specifically built his wheelchair so that he wouldn't need somebody to help him, to help push him around, to help him with basic things. Lorna didn't even need to help him move around but she always insisted on it anyway. There was a reason that his wheelchair had mechanisms and wasn't just a normal one with wheel handles and manual brakes.

(It's not that Peter thought of himself as a burden, despite him usually feeling like one, it's just. He didn't like asking for help with things he could easily do on his own. He was a machinery genius, as Lorna loved to put it, what was the use of having somebody else do such a job when he could just build something to do it?)

Wheeling back up Charles's ramp to the second floor, Peter returned to his room before any of the others woke up and before the other adults got back.

His cup of coffee was still clutched to his chest and the soft whirling of his wheelchair's mechanisms was the only sound that filled the halls.

Chapter Text

-In 1970, on July 17th, a pleasantly warm Saturday afternoon, and a full year after Lorna got her powers, Peter Maximoff got his mutation.

He remembered the day as though it was yesterday. He couldn't forget it if he tried.

It had started out as a good day. God, it had been such a good day. They had a three-day weekend and it was Wanda's fourth birthday. Peter and Lorna had promised her ice cream before they had dinner and cake so with their mother trailing behind them, likely hungover as usual, and Wanda's hands held by each of the twins, they had gone out to get ice cream.

The only ice cream parlour that was close to the house was this little one right in front of a park. It was also in front of a busy street, though every street in New York was busy. For whatever reason, on July 17th, the street had seemed busier than usual.

Peter and Lorna had gone inside together because Lorna could read out the flavours and Peter could count out the money and the change. There was this bench right outside the parlour and they left their mother and Wanda outside.

It took them a little longer than they thought it would to get the ice cream because it was a warm Saturday and it appeared that everybody wanted ice cream. But after about five minutes, the two of them left the parlour with three cones. Their own ice creams, a scoop of cookie dough and a scoop of chocolate in separate waffle cones were held in Lorna's hands while Peter held Wanda's rainbow sherbert.

They had come outside to their mother still sitting on the bench, her eyes closed. Wanda wasn't there.

Instantly, the two of them started to panic because this had never happened before, they hadn't known what to do. But they knew that panic was justified in a situation like this.

And then, because Peter's eyes were just a little bit faster than Lorna's, he spotted Wanda's bright pink overalls. She was hunched over something in the street. In the busy street.

"Wanda!" Peter shouted, his voice full of fear and panic, and Lorna's head snapped to where he was looking, her own panic and fear increasing tenfold at the sight of their younger sister.

There was a large truck, Peter couldn't recall what kind it was, but it was large and the type that had the front seats high off the floor and it was barreling down the road at a speed that seemed way too fast to them.

On instinct, Lorna lifted both of her hands, dropping their ice cream cones, and tried to use her powers. The green vapour flickered around her hands and flashed in her eyes. She gritted her teeth and set her jaw, her eyes narrowing, but the truck didn't even falter.

"I- I can't. I can't stop it," Lorna whispered, horrified at the revelation. Peter had turned to her and grabbed her arm, "What do you mean you can't?!" He shouted, "I mean that it's moving too fast and it's too heavy! I can't stop it!" She had shouted back. Wanda was too far away, they'd never reach her in time. But Peter was the smaller of the two of them, he was the skinniest. He was the fastest.

He had to at least try because if something happened then he'd never forgive himself if he just stood by and did nothing.

So Peter let go of his twin's arm and dropped Wanda's ice cream cone and took off in as fast of a sprint as he could manage. Lorna reached out for him but missed, "Pietro!" She had shouted and he felt a tug on his belt buckle but he shook her powers off.

His eyes kept darting between Wanda and the truck and his mind told him that he'd never make it. Finally, Wanda seemed to realise that something was wrong and she looked up, her eyes widening in fear. Her body seemed to freeze up, making her unable to move.

Peter's vision started getting a little blurry and he pushed his legs to move faster.

After that, Peter didn't remember exactly what had happened, but he remembered how time seemed to slow down and he seemed to speed up and the concrete seemed to create a small crater below his feet. Peter remembered grabbing Wanda and scooping her up into his arms when the truck was only a few feet away from her. He remembered not processing that whatever he had just done shouldn't have been possible, his emotions overwhelmed with sheer happiness and relief at the fact that his little sister was safe. He remembered running across the street toward the park.

And then he remembered tripping.

Peter's foot got caught on the ledge of the sidewalk and he tripped. Time sped back up again and he lurched forward, holding Wanda closer to his chest as he fell.

He fell onto his side and his body skidded across the grass, rocks and sticks scratching against his side. He kept Wanda close to his chest to make sure that she didn't get hurt, wrapping his arms around her protectively.

Peter remembered being stopped, he remembered blacking out for a few seconds. Or it might've been for a few minutes because when he came to again and opened his eyes, Lorna was at his side, her eyes clouded over with fear and panic and her hands shaking from where she was gripping his leather jacket. Wanda was still securely in his arms, her breathing even which signalled that she was unconscious.

It took a few seconds for Peter to realize that there was a tree at his back, that the tree was likely what had stopped his body from going any further. It almost surprised him when he felt no pain despite being stopped by such a large and solid obstacle.

Peter blinked up at Lorna before pausing, "Lorna," He had croaked out and then stopped and cleared his throat to try again because he didn't like the way he sounded that time, "Lorna, I think my eyes are playing tricks on me. What colour is my hair?"

For whatever reason, Lorna's eyes started filling with tears, "T- They're not. It- It's grey or silver, whichever colour you like best," Her voice had been shaky and unstable, "Oh. I like silver," Peter said simply, "Is Wanda's hair silver too?" He asked and Lorna swallowed, "No, no, it's just yours," She answered, her grip on his leather jacket tightening, "We- We match now. We're both the freaks of this family."

Lorna had obviously been referring to her own coloured hair which had changed when she got her mutation a year ago. It was saying something when Peter didn't even process that his coloured hair meant that he had powers too, that he really was just like his twin now. He was likely still in shock because the thought of having powers didn't excite him the way he always thought it would.

"Lorna," Peter said to get his twin's attention. His voice must've sounded extra pathetic that time because the tears in Lorna's eyes started to roll down her cheeks, "What? What do you need? Your big sister's here, I'm right here," She assured him softly. Peter barely even processed her new soft tone. Instead, he had pulled one of his arms off of Wanda and put his hand over both of Lorna's hands on his jacket.

"Lorna," Peter had said again, voice far too calm, "Why can't I feel my legs?"

Lorna had frozen before her tears started falling faster, "I don't know," She admitted through a sob, the sirens of an ambulance and the shouting of people finally breaking through the haze surrounding Peter's mind.

"I don't know," His sister had said again, folding into herself and burying her face into his chest.

Peter could tell that Lorna hated the fact that she was telling the truth-

Chapter Text

”You want me to do what?”

If Peter had been zoned-out for the past ten minutes, he might’ve been able to pretend that he had no idea what was happening. Unfortunately, he had been listening and somehow, he was more confused than if he hadn't been listening.

Raven sighed heavily, obviously annoyed at having to repeat herself but Peter couldn't find it in himself to care, not when he was so fucking confused, “Summarized, you need to go here,” She pointed at an area on the holographic map of Manhattan Hank had pulled up, “And extract information from him,” She then pointed to a different screen on Hank’s holo-computer where a profile of a very unappealing man was, “Because we suspect that he is trafficking mutant children.”

He had been summoned to the subbasement by Hank, Raven had already been pacing in the Danger Room by the time they got there with Charles sitting at one of the holo-consoles. He knew that the younger X-Men were likely in class and he had seen Alex supervising some of the students outside. He didn't know where Erik was; for the moment, he’d like to keep it that way.

(The man had been acting odd since Wanda was enrolled two weeks ago, he was even quieter and tried at every opportunity to be in the same room as Peter. And Peter really didn't want to know why so he just kept avoiding him the way he always has.)

Peter dragged a hand down his face, “Okay, okay, and why do I have to go? Why not Jean? She's the Telepath,” He pointed out. Raven sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose, "Because," She said pointedly as though she had already explained this even though Peter knew she hadn't, "This is a bar for all sorts of people, including other mutants. There's a high chance that another Telepath will be there, and these mutants are often loyal to places like this, no matter how bad they may seem. So we need somebody unrecognizable that can't be found out through Telepathy," She explained.

Peter blinked and looked around at the other two mutants, "And I'm going to assume that they have something blocking Cerebro?" Charles nodded, "Correct. I'm unable to access the minds of the people inside. But we know enough about the man to know what time he goes in," Peter rubbed the back of his neck and stared at the holographic map of Manhatten.

He eventually sighed, "Okay, fine, I'll do it. Where's the place again?"

Peter fiddled with the hearing aid-looking comm in his left ear while he waited a few buildings down from the Green Lagoon, a literal underground bar hidden deep in Greenwich Village.

Hank insisted he wear it since they wouldn't be able to track him even if Cerebro could follow his mind and he had obliged, as uncomfortable as the thing was. It was technically late in the evening, a few minutes after one in the morning, and for the city that never sleeps, it was quite peaceful.

"Peter, I- I know you said you wanted to prepare yourself but it's been ten minutes," Hank's voice came from the comm, "If you don't want to do this, you can always come back and we can figure something else out," He offered. Peter rolled his eyes, "I'm fine, Beast," He insisted, looking down the dark street. Raven had insisted that he used their codenames for this and he had to admit that it was fun. He couldn't wait until he got his own that wasn't a derogatory term, "I've been ready for the past eight minutes. I'm just... waiting," There was silence from Hank's end for a few seconds, "For... what?" He asked.

Peter opened his mouth to respond before a familiar presence cut him off, "Well, well, well," A voice said behind him and Peter grinned, "I don't think I've seen you around here before. You new?"

Peter turned around and leaned his side against the front of the building he was waiting by, "You could say that," He shot back, stuffing his hands into the front pockets of his only pair of leather pants, "Why don't you show me around?" He suggested and Lorna snickered.

She was wearing her favourite Judas Priest shirt, black leather pants, steel-toed black boots, and her black leather jacket with silver studs on the lapels and spikes on the shoulders. She had silver spikes in her ears and her fingerless biker gloves, the ones that had sharp studs on the knuckles. Her emerald green hair was put up in a braid for the first time in a while.

"Peter," A voice came from his comm that didn't belong to Hank, "I get that she's smoking hot but, please, no flirting on the job."

Peter scoffed and pulled a disgusted face, "Okay, first off, I'm not flirting, and second, I'm going to kindly ask that you never refer to her like that to my face ever again, Havok," Lorna raised an eyebrow, "Refer to me in what way?" She asked, "Havok called you 'smoking hot'," Peter said, "I mean, I can't blame him, but I'm taken. Can he hear me?" He nodded. "They all can, people just can't hear them."

Lorna nodded, "Perfect. I'm taken, Alex Summers," She repeated, "...Fuck," Alex cursed, "You know her?"

Peter snorted, "Of course, I know her," He said, "Her name's Lorna," Lorna perked up, catching onto the fact that she was being introduced, "I'm his sister," She said, leaning against his shoulder, "Twin sister," Peter corrected her, "Older twin sister," Lorna said haughtily and he rolled his eyes, "By twelve minutes," He emphasized and then pushed her off of his shoulder, making his sister laugh.

"Ah, so this is your twin," Raven's voice was eerily calm and Peter had forgotten that she was in the subbasement with the others, "Yes, this is her," He replied, grimacing slightly. Who. He glanced at Lorna who was fiddling with something in her jacket pocket. Raven. She made a quiet humming noise. She's the one that knows, right? Peter nodded silently before turning his head to look at the entrance to the Green Lagoon.

"Come on, I wasted enough time waiting for you, let's go," Peter started walking toward the Green Lagoon, Lorna not hesitating to follow after him, "You said your X-Men needed information," She stated, "From who?" Peter shrugged, "From some politician. Heavy-set, homely, white suit, purple ribbon on a stupid-looking top hat."

Lorna blinked at his description before snorting under her breath, "What?" Peter asked, "Nothing, just. Wilson Fisk?" His brows furrowed as he tried to recall the name on the holographic profile, "Ummm, yes? Yes. Wilson Fisk. What about him?" Lorna only continued chuckling until a memory hit him, likely from her side.

"Oooh," He said, "You wiped the floor with his lawyer?" Lorna nodded, "I did," She confirmed, "And Matt's been trying to wipe the floor with Fisk himself," The two of them stopped in front of the entrance to the Green Lagoon, "Though, depending on how good my temper is, I might end up wiping the floor with him tonight."

"Now that would be entertaining," Peter said as Lorna lifted her hand and pounded on the thick door. After a few seconds, a slot opened up and a pair of beady black eyes appeared, "Rattling chains," Lorna said and the eyes stared down at the two of them for a second before the slot slid shut. How'd you get that? There were a few clicking sounds from the other side of the door before it creaked open, revealing a long and dark staircase that led underground. I went out and threatened one of the Brotherhood members as soon as you told me where we were going.

They walked side-by-side down the stairs, neither ever a stride in front or behind the other, their steps syncing up. In a place like the Green Lagoon, there was no room for weakness or fear. It could very easily get you killed. So together the two of them walked.

"Peter," Charles's voice came through, "If she jeopardizes the mission-" Peter interrupted the older mutant, "She won't," He assured, "Her mind is as protected as mine is. Twins, remember?" That wasn't actually true, Lorna's mind could still be read by Telepaths but her mind still worked differently, she could still create a mental shield for herself. And if something actually went wrong then Peter could see the green helm of her motorcycle helmet clipped to her belt.

Loud music pounded against the walls as they entered a hallway that led to a thick metal door. They never slowed down as they approached it, "Infiltrating the Green Lagoon," Peter informed the others as Lorna snapped her fingers and the door flew open for them.

Green and blue spotlights lined the walls, illuminating the bodies. It was a bar, not a club, so the music was not overwhelming to him, only loud. The place reeked of blood, sweat, and alcohol, a horrible combination that Peter was, unfortunately, able to stand. The only physical thing that set the Green Lagoon away from normal bars was the large cage in the middle of the large space, covered from the floor to the ceiling in electric fencing, and bright white lights built into the floor to highlight the two mutant fighters in the cage.

"Cage fighters," Raven's voice came through the comm again, sounding slightly winded this time. Peter didn't respond though he didn't quite understand her reaction. It was only a cage fight.

What do you do if they catch wind of the comm? Lorna's eyes darted around the bar, settling on someone for only a few seconds before she continued looking around. I plead hard of hearing. It wasn't like the people in the Green Lagoon would actually ID him but on the off-chance that they did, Peter's card only had him down as disabled, not as a paralytic.

A few people stared at the two of them as they walked further into the bar, closer to the actual bar counter. There were very few people at the bar when they got there, most of the bar's occupants watching the fight in the cage, and Lorna flagged a bartender down with ease, "A virgin tequila sunrise and a ginger beer," She said as they both sat down at the counter.

The bartender, a tall man covered in coloured tattoos, nodded and set about getting their drinks.

"How are we gonna do this?" Lorna asked softly, leaning toward Peter, "We interrogate Wilson Fisk and pray that he's cooperative?" Peter said in a matching tone though it definitely sounded more like a question than an actual plan, "Did your X-Men not tell you how to get information out of him?" Lorna only sounded slightly surprised at the fact, "Not really. And I didn't want to use our tactics," Peter said and she scoffed, "Well, if that's your plan then we have no other choice but to play our tactics. At least it'll make this faster."

They silenced themselves when the bartender returned with their drinks. Peter handed the man a twenty-dollar bill as Lorna took a long swing from her ginger beer. As much as he disliked sweet drinks, he preferred them over alcoholic ones.

"You know," Peter started after he had finished half of his drink, "I don't think the X-Men would really approve of our tactics," He pointed out and Lorna scoffed, "Well, they aren't the ones doing this, are they? They give you no direction to start from and expect you not to wing it?"

Peter pursed his lips and lifted his glass, "It's not really winging it," He murmured into his drink, "We know exactly what we're doing," His twin rolled her eyes but made no other indication to show that she had heard him.

The ground seemed to rumble a little as though something large was shaking the place up and Peter stared down at the ripples in his drink, "You didn't," He said, not looking at Lorna, "You didn't threaten Blob for the password," Lorna held her hands up in a placating motion, "I didn't threaten Blob," She promised and Peter blew out a sigh of relief, "I threatened Toad for it," His head whipped to the side to glare at her though she hardly looked sorry.

"So then why is Blob here?" Peter hissed through clenched teeth, "Because Blob is more loyal than the other Brotherhood members," Lorna shot back, "I know he would never turn his back on a fellow mutant in need. For a criminal, he's soft," She pointed at Peter, "And don't get on my back about manipulating him. He's getting something out of this too."

Peter scowled, "What is he getting?" He asked, "Immunity," Lorna replied simply as the rumbling footsteps came to a stop. She turned toward the man, "Yes, Blob?"

Blob was a tall and heavy-set mutant with a bright pink mohawk and brown eyes. Peter couldn't help but notice that he was dressed better than he usually was, his purposefully-tattered clothes swapped out for a black dress shirt with a red bowtie, black jeans, and polished black shoes.

"Mistress," Blob greeted Lorna with a slight bow and then turned to Peter and pretended to tip a hat to him, "Demon," In response, Peter raised his glass to the man before chugging whatever was left of his drink, "He's arrived, Wilson Fisk is here," Blob reported and Lorna grinned, "Which room?" She questioned, "Violet Room 7," Blob answered, "Perfect," Lorna said, taking another swig from her beer.

Blob offered his arm and Lorna handed her beer off to Peter before hopping down from the bar stool, linking her arm around Blob's thick bicep, "Let's go," She said, "We have a freakshow to talk to," Peter rolled his eyes but downed the rest of his sister's ginger beer, putting it down on the bar counter next to his empty glass as he followed after Lorna and Blob.

They didn't need to weave through any crowds, the people naturally split for Blob due to his size.

"Who is that?" Magneto's voice came through the comm this time and Peter just barely managed to suppress his flinch upon hearing the man speak. He hadn't been in the subbasement when he left the mansion.

He blew out a quiet sigh, "Blob," He muttered, "He's a member of the Brotherhood," Peter thought to himself for a second before continuing, "The Brotherhood is a mutant syndicate that was formed in your image. They popped up after your stunt in Washington," He did his best to keep the bitter tones out of his voice though he wasn't sure if he was exactly successful.

It wasn't as though he hated the Brotherhood, he just didn't exactly like the reason they were formed for. To continue Magneto's legacy and unfinished business had been Avalanche's exact words when the two of them asked. But they were nice enough company when they weren't singing Magneto's praise. At least they had stopped doing it so much after the two of them told them to quit it.

"I- I meant," Magneto's voice got a little shaky, a little unsure, which confused Peter greatly, "I meant the girl. Who- Who is that?"

Peter's brows furrowed, "Lorna," He replied, "She's my twin sister," He remembered talking about her, back when they were showing Wanda around the school. Or, when the others were showing Wanda around the school because he also remembered leaving before the tour could even officially start.

"You have a twin sister?!"

Peter was unable to suppress his flinch this time when Scott's voice pierced through the comm, his shout causing a loud burst of feedback in his ear. Ahead of him, Lorna also flinched minutely and the hand on Blob's bicep started to glow green as the frequency of the comm evened out again, the feedback fading after a second. She slipped her arm out of Blob's and went to Peter's side.

"I'm fine, I'm fine," Peter assured her, "Just. Wasn't expecting it to be so loud. You can fix it," Lorna pursed her lips but nodded and lifted her green-glowing hand, twirling her pointer finger counter-clockwise. The frequency of the comm changed again, returning back to the way it was before and Peter heard the frantic apologies from Scott as Hank finished fixing things on his end.

"-sorry, sorry, I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to-" Peter sighed and spoke up quietly, cutting Scott off. Like Magneto, the younger X-Men must've entered the subbasement sometime after he left, "It's alright, kiddo, just try not to shout into the microphone next time," He could practically hear the relief in Scott's voice when he replied, realizing that Peter wasn't mad and wasn't going to scold him, "I will, I promise."

Peter nodded to Lorna who let out a quick sigh of relief as the green glow around her hand faded. She turned back to Blob and shooed him off, wordlessly telling him to continue leading them to Fisk. Which he did.

They came to a set of hallways, each one bathed in a different coloured overhead light. Blob led them to the hallway bathed in purple overhead lights which was guarded by two burly men in white suits.

The two guards took one look at Blob and stepped aside for him though one of them stopped Peter with a hand to his chest, "I can't let you past this point," The man said, speaking with a Russian accent that made Peter want to punch him, "They're with me," Blob said and the other guard scowled, "He's a spy, no-good."

It took Peter a second to realize that his hair had shifted at some point and his comm was visible in his ear. He briefly raised a hand to it before pulling out his wallet and handing one of the guards his ID, "I'm hard of hearing," Peter explained, his heart pounding in his chest, "I need my hearing aid," The guard took it from his hand and read over it, his eyes catching on the red 'disabled' label stamped on the bottom right of the card.

His heart's erratic pounding evened out when the guard nodded and gave him his ID back, "I see. I am sorry," He said and Peter gave him a small smile as he heard a loud sigh of relief from his comm from one of the others, "Not a problem," He replied as the two guards stepped aside and allowed Peter and Lorna to enter the hallway behind Blob, following after him again.

When they were far away enough from the guards and the music from the bar had become quieter and muffled, Lorna looked at Peter, "Jezus Chrystus," She swore lowly in Polish, "I didn't actually know that would work," Peter rolled his eyes, "It was your idea to do that," He pointed out and she waved him off, "Irrelevant," She said, causing him to snort.

The three of them stopped in front of a large mahogany door, a door that was large enough for Blob to enter through comfortably, and Blob raised a large fist to pound on the door. It took a few seconds before they heard an annoyed-sounding man from inside the room call out, "Come in!" Blob pushed open the door and blocked the doorway.

"Can't you see that I'm- Who the hell are you?" The same voice demanded, "That's Fisk," Hank told him, "Remember, extract the information out of him in any way you can. This is critical information and I'm giving you free rein to do this your way," Peter winced, knowing that Hank would take his words back as soon as he saw what 'their way' was.

"I'd suggest you ladies leave," Blob warned whoever else was in the room with Fisk, "We need to have a private chat with your client here," Lorna reached into her jacket pocket and pulled out whatever she was fiddling with earlier. It was a steel single-action revolver and she flicked the safety off. Peter ignored the sudden exclamation of surprise from his comm as she stepped out from behind Blob and took a step forward, lifting the loaded gun, "You heard the big guy," She said with a sneer, "Scram!"

There was the frantic sound of fabric rustling from inside the room before three underdressed ladies hurried out of the room, "Blob, stand guard," Lorna commanded and Blob nodded, stepping out of the room as Peter passed him and stepped into the room.

It was a standard-looking burlesque room with fancy-looking purple, gold, and white furniture. On a large king-sized bed with purple sheets and a gold frame with a white silk canopy was a large heavy-set man, larger than Blob. His white suit was ruffled and wrinkled and his lavender tie was draped over his shoulders.

"What is the meaning of this!?" Fisk questioned furiously, a red vein appearing on his forehead, "Who the hell are you two?!"

Lorna scrunched her face up, "Bóg, I'm already getting annoyed with his voice," She muttered as the door shut behind them, "You and me both," Peter muttered back. Lorna walked toward the bed, her grip on her revolver steady and unwavering, "We just want to talk, Fisk," She said, "You tell us what we want to know and we won't paint these walls with whatever it is you have left up there," She carelessly gestured to the man's head with the muzzle of the revolver.

"Peter, stop her," Raven commanded and Peter raised an eyebrow, turning away from his sister and Fisk, "Why?" He asked genuinely, "She's getting the information, Hank gave us free rein," Raven let out a frustrated noise, "And I'm overriding that! She's not allowed to kill anybody. That's not what heroes do, Peter."

(He will admit that, sometimes, he forgot what the X-Men were. He had never been called a hero before, usually a freak or a monster, so it was still taking him a while to get used to the fact that he was supposed to be a good person now. At all times.)

Lorna turned her head toward Peter but never lowered her revolver, "What's wrong? Who's arguing about what?" She questioned and Peter caught her eyes, "Heroes don't kill people, Lorna," He tried his best not to sound unsure or confused though he had no doubt that he failed due to the bewildered look Lorna gave him, "Heroes don't... Who said that?" She asked, "...Mystique," Peter answered hesitantly, already knowing what his sister's reaction would be.

And she didn't disappoint. Lorna's expression changed into a sneer, "Mystique," She repeated, "She knows who our father is, yes?" It was a rhetorical question that Peter knew not to answer, "And, yet, she's telling us to be heroes here," Lorna finally lowered her gun and stepped toward Peter, "We are the devil's children," She hissed out, "We are not good people. My brother may be a hero now but we are playing by our own rules here, and our rules get results."

Peter didn't move when she stood in front of him, only a few inches away from him, feeling the anger radiating off of her, "Mój brat nie jest jakimś bezmyślnym żołnierzem, któremu możesz rozkazywać, Mystique. I nie zależy mi na twojej aprobacie ani ocenie, nie mam powodu, by cię słuchać," Lorna said in Polish as her anger rose, "Jesteśmy dziećmi diabła," She repeated, "I nie jesteśmy dobrymi bohaterami, jakimi chciałbyś, abyśmy byli."

"Lorna," Peter said gently, "Your revolver is falling apart."

Lorna looked down at the revolver in her hands, both of which were now glowing green, to see that the ejector rod had been pulled out by her mutation, causing the cylinder and all of the bullets loaded into the chamber to have fallen onto the floor. The frame was also missing a screw and the hammer was jammed in a down position.

She growled and spun on her heel, dropping her revolver as she held up her glowing hands. Peter swooped down before the revolver hit the ground while she grumbled angrily under her breath, stalking to the other side of the room.

(It was normal, of course, for Lorna to lose control over her mutation whenever she got angry, the same thing happened to Peter whenever he had strong bursts of emotions. It wasn't uncommon for her to break things. It was just... dangerous.)

He watched her for a few seconds before sighing softly and picking the ejector rod and cylinder up from the carpeted floor, "There's a rule we have, Mystique," Peter said as he twisted the ejector rod back into its place inside the frame, "We do what we think is best, we do what gets things done the easiest way, with as few injuries to the innocent as possible. And we do those things regardless of morals and our own feelings," He clicked the cylinder back into place, "If we have to hurt somebody to save the lives of other people then we have no problem doing so."

Peter picked up the screw and started screwing it back into the frame, "Peter," He paused for a second before resuming, "It's nice to hear your voice again, Beast," He said and there was a long enough silence from Hank's end that he was able to get the hammer unstuck. Peter scooped up the bullets and fed them into the chamber.

"Peter, be honest. What do you plan on doing to Wilson Fisk?" Hank asked, voice steady and calm.

Peter thought for a second, unsure if he should lie but decided that there was no point, "Well, we plan on torturing him," He stated simply and honestly as he stood back up, sliding the hammer back down as the trigger moved forward, "You said that he has the information we need," Peter lifted his arm and aimed the revolver, "So we will get that information. Regardless of what we have to do to make him talk."

He squeezed the trigger and watched as one of the six bullets embedded itself into one of the crimson walls of the burlesque room. The revolver itself made only a slight clicking sound from the hammer, no loud bang, and a bit of smoke rose from the muzzle.

What was one wasted bullet anyway? To a Metallokinetic, one bullet was all that was needed.

"But, if it makes you feel better, Lorna will do all that. That stuff doesn't excite me anymore, it entertains me at best," Peter admitted. It had been exciting to him for a while but he had started to realize that it was because of who they were torturing and not why. It stopped giving him adrenaline rushes and he became more than okay with standing off to the side, acting as an almost-guard, watching his twin have fun for the both of them.

He heard Hank sigh, "I'm going to be honest with you. I don't like this," Peter shrugged, lowering the revolver which was in tip-top condition once again, "I can't say I've ever met somebody that has," He said. It made Marcos queasy and frustrated Wanda to no end. She seemed to have gotten it in her head that the two of them could just... stop. Peter didn't blame her, they sheltered her from a lot of the not-so-great things that they'd done when they were younger, it only made sense that she thought they could change certain habits that they had.

"But," Hank continued, "I understand that this is something that you perhaps have done often and that this is something that you are used to and are good at," The older mutant took a deep breath before speaking again, "Which is why I will be going dark."

Peter felt like time slowed down and the room fell away around him, "What?" He questioned softly, his hold on the revolver going slack, "'Going dark'? W- What do you mean?"

"We..." Hank seemed to hesitate for a second, "We're heroes, Peter, and heroes... don't do this," He said, "But you're out of uniform, from a technical standpoint, you're not a hero right now. You're just a civilian, assisting us in getting vital information. And if you need to torture Fisk to get it then I will allow it."

Peter's eyed the revolver in his hand as he readjusted his hold on it, "And how are the others reacting to your diplomatic decision?" The older mutant chuckled, "Well, Raven is currently being held back by Jean and the others look a little horrified so, all in all, not as bad of a reaction as I thought," He said and there was a slight pause before he continued, "I'm going to turn off the camera and the comm's microphone. We'll be unable to see or hear what you two are doing, completely blind and oblivious to everything that happens. Got it?"

Peter smiled, "Loud and clear, boss," He said. He... had no idea if Hank was the boss/leader of the X-Men, but he liked the doctor and respected him a little bit better than the others (no offence to Charles), so the man was his boss. Which was, as Lorna liked to put it, a high honour because Peter didn't like to listen to orders from anybody. Hank let out an amused-sounding breath, "Okay, Going dark in three... two... one."

There was a soft clicking sound and then silence from the comm, not even the constant buzzing from it to indicate that it was on. It made Peter realize that Hank hadn't been joking, that he really was going to give the two of them permission to do things their way.

Peter briefly brought his empty hand up and traced the outer shell of the comm with his fingertip, feeling around for the emergency button that he knew he could press to shut their freedom down. Raven was at least partially right, he was a hero now, an X-Man, he shouldn't be doing this sort of stuff anymore. But Peter's family and their ideals always came first. At least he could say that he had one good thing in common with their father. No matter which one of his sisters it was, no matter what they did or wanted, he'd accept it, he'd do it, he'd obtain it.

Simply put, the X-Men were not his family, they did not come first.

Peter took a few more seconds to think about it before he took off his comm and put it into one of the back pockets of his leather pants. He wouldn't need it, not until he got back to the mansion. He turned back around, opening his mouth to tell his sister about Hank's decision, "Hey-"

And then Peter stopped and closed his mouth. Lorna had her back to him and was leaning forward against the footboard of the gold bed frame while Fisk was still on the bed, though he was lying back against the mattress instead of sitting up, his eyes shut and his body unmoving. There was a bit of blood trickling from the man's nose, a slight stream of it dripping down to his neck

"I was wondering why he was so quiet," Peter said after a few seconds once he realized that Fisk was, in fact, not dead. Lorna scoffed but didn't turn to face him, "He was looking at me in a way that Marcos would disapprove of," She said, the 'he was looking at me like a creep' going unsaid, "Are you done?" Lorna asked, still not looking at Peter, "Is your little conversation with your X-Men over?"

Peter watched her for a second before speaking, "It is," He told her, "Hank went dark, we're allowed to do things our way without interference," Lorna grunted but said nothing in response to his words. With the revolver still in his hand, Peter silently walked over to her side and leaned forward against the gold bed frame as well as they both waited for Fisk to regain consciousness.

"...I don't like this many people knowing," Lorna said softly after a few minutes of silence between them and Peter turned his head to look at her, "Well, you can hardly blame me," He turned back to stare at Fisk's unconscious body, "I thought I was going to die in that facility. Or get tortured. I needed to get it off my chest, to tell someone," Peter looked down at his hands, "I didn't know that she'd tell other people."

Lorna sighed, "I know, I can't even get mad at you for that," She said, "More people know because of me than you," Peter reached out with his empty hand and placed it over one of his sister's hands, "None of it's your fault," She opened her mouth, likely to argue with him, but he continued before she could speak, "I mean it, Lorna," He insisted, "Now that I've met other mutants, I can say with confidence that I have never assumed that Jean and Charles were related just because they're both Telepaths. Or that Kurt and Hank were related just because they're both blue."

Peter patted the top of Lorna's hand, "And I can confidentially say that if I didn't know you, I wouldn't have assumed you were Magneto's daughter just because of your Magnetism," Lorna finally turned to look at him, "But you do know me," She pointed out, sounding tired, "I do," Peter confirmed, "And that shouldn't change anything," He said, "You having Magneto's powers shouldn't automatically make people assume that you're related to him," Lorna snorted quietly, "That's exactly what we assumed when we first saw Father on the TV. And we were right."

Peter held up the revolver and pressed the side of the barrel against her cheek, "Shhh," He said, "Pretend that we didn't do that," He added which made Lorna burst out laughing.

The noise was evidentially loud enough to rouse Fisk from his unconscious state and Lorna instantly quieted herself as soon as his breathing picked up and his eyes fluttered behind his closed eyelids.

The two of them paused and just watched him for a second before Lorna spoke, "Time to get to work," She said as her hands started glowing green. The gold bed frame creaked as they pulled away from it and it warped under her control, the gold poles of the footboard wrapping around Fisk's ankles and the headboard wrapping around his wrists, keeping him in place.

"Lorna," Peter said before she could do anything else, "What?" Lorna asked. He held out the revolver and flipped it so that the muzzle was pointed at the floor, "Stop destroying my guns," He told her with a smile, "I make them just for you and you keep breaking them. It annoys me," Lorna grinned, the green glow from her hands fading as she took the revolver from Peter's hand, "You know I hate making promises," Peter sighed though his smile never faded, "Lorna, przysięgam na Boga," He muttered playfully under his breath.

Lorna grinned and stuck her tongue out at him in response but they both evened out their expressions into something more neutral as Fisk came to, squinting as his eyes got used to the lights of the burlesque room once again.

"What-" He murmured and tried to move his arms, finding that he couldn't due to the cold metal wrapped around his wrists. Fisk tugged at his restraints harder to no avail, he wasn't strong enough to even budge the metal, "What the hell?"

Lorna watched the man struggle for a few more seconds, cold amusement in her eyes, before she moved forward to the left side of the bed, "Welcome back to the land of the living, Wilson Fisk," She said, making her presence known. Fisk turned his head toward her, catching sight of the revolver in her hand as he started to struggle in earnest now, "Who- Security!" He shouted frantically as though anybody on his side could hear him through the door. And even if they could hear him, it wasn't like they could get past Blob.

Lorna must've had the same thought as Peter did, "Either you're dumb as shit," She said to Fisk, "Or I knocked you a little too good."

Peter shrugged, falling into the role he always took nowadays whenever he was with Lorna on 'missions' like these, "Who knows," He stated, crossing his arms and leaning his side against one of the bed's canopy posters, "Who cares. It's not like brain damage could make him any dumber," Peter rolled his eyes as he said this, his tone disinterested and uncaring.

(Peter played a role and he played it well. He was the muscle, so to speak, he wasn't there to crack jokes or show a smile. He was there to be threatening, to be everything his sister couldn't be. If Lorna got too rough, Peter would be there to hold her back. Or he'd be there to encourage her rage. As much as he hated to admit it, he was still Magneto's son. He was still as dangerous as his twin even if he didn't like to act like it.)

Lorna shrugged, "You never know," She replied, “But I see your point. This,” She casually gestured to Fisk’s forehead with the muzzle of the revolver as if the revolver wasn’t loaded, “Couldn’t possibly get any worse,” His sister always had a sort of crazed look in her eyes whenever they did this. She always said it was in their blood. Their sadistic joy and entertainment in watching people suffer, a trait gifted to them by their father. Peter hated that he couldn’t even argue against that.

Fisk looked between the two of them with wide eyes, his struggling slowing down and finally stopping, “Who- Who are you?” He asked, something akin to fear in his voice, and Lorna rolled her eyes, "I am the Mistress, and this is my brother, the Speed Demon," She said. There was, of course, more to her title but that gave away their trump card, so to speak. So it had to be shortened until it was useful.

"W- What do you two want from me?" Fisk asked and then grinned crookedly, "You want power? I've got connections. If it's money, I can pay off any debt you may have," He offered, looking between them hopefully. Lorna seemed to contemplate his words before turning to Peter.

"We don't have debts," Peter immediately responded to her silent question, "Our family gets paid by the CIA, remember?" Lorna hummed, "I always forget," She replied, "I don't handle the expenses, after all," She turned back to Fisk, "Even if we wanted those things, they wouldn't deter us from what we came here for. Your bribes are fruitless," She twirled the revolver before pushing the hammer down, causing it to click menacingly.

"We're going to ask you some questions and we want to hear some answers," Lorna said, pointing the revolver point-blank against Fisk's temple. Peter watched the man's Adam apple bob as he swallowed hard, "You- You can torture me all you'd like, I'm not telling you freaks anything," Fisk insisted, an obvious tremble in his voice.

Peter made a quiet noise in the back of his throat, "The people that say that are usually the ones that have never been tortured before," He pointed out in that even voice that never failed to piss people off, "You may know what the screams sound like, Fisk, but you don't know the pain," He locked eyes with the man, fear meeting indifference, "Not yet, anyway."

Fisk jerked in his restraints, seemingly out of instinct. Lorna pushed the muzzle of the revolver harder against his temple, causing him to freeze up, "My brother here tells me you're running a human trafficking ring throughout Manhattan," She said, "You wanna tell us about that?"

(Some things, Peter didn't need to tell his sister about. Some things, she just knew. It was mostly thanks to their Twin Telepathy, something that he also used frequently when needed.)

Foolishly, Fisk stayed quiet, only staring Lorna daringly in the eyes past the barrel of the revolver.

Lorna let the silence last for another few seconds before speaking up, "We don't want to kill him, right?" She asked, the question almost sounding rhetorical though Peter answered anyway, "Beast said that he's the only lead we have, and he's likely the mastermind behind it all. It'd be counteractive," He explained and Lorna hummed, "Well, you know I'm not strong enough to do it," She said, "I know," Peter replied, already knowing what she meant.

Peter pushed off of the canopy poster and walked forward to the other side of the bed, the opposite side Lorna was on. He reached forward and grabbed the area of Fisk's right wrist right below where the gold poles bound his wrists together. He felt the man squirm as he felt around for the right bone. When Peter found the scaphoid bone, he squeezed it between his thumb and forefinger, allowing the use of his Superstrength.

Peter kept his uncaring expression at the responding scream Fisk let out when the bone shattered between his fingers.

Peter made sure to dig his thumb into the shattered bone for a few extra seconds before pulling away completely. Lorna was grinning broadly and watching Fisk by the time he looked back at her, Fisk's scream tapering off into quick and short breaths as his right hand lay limp on the bed.

"Usually-" The man cut himself off to take in another short pant, "Usually, the fingers are the first to be broken," Fisk said and Peter shrugged, "You're fingers are attached to your hand which is attached to your wrist. When your fingers bend with a broken wrist, it hurts, doesn't it? It'll hurt even more when I break your fingers now," He responded, sounding as though he didn't have a care in the world and as though he had more important things to do rather than simply torture a man, "One finger broken for every minute you refuse to talk."

"So you better get to talking, Fisk," Lorna added, sounding practically elated at her brother's words. She always seemed excited whenever they did this, whenever Peter would put on his mask of indifference and coldness. She always seemed to like watching certain emotions of his, like his anger and madness. Except, Peter hasn't gotten angry since they were eighteen and he promised himself to not be like their father, doing his best to keep all his harmful emotions in check, so Lorna just had to make do with his mock apathy.

Fisk stared at the two of them before seemingly resigning himself to this fate, "Look, I work for somebody else, somebody bigger. They just tell me where to pick up the mutants and where to drop them off, that's it."

For a second, Peter thought that this was too easy. That he didn't just shatter a man's wrist just to be sent on another goose chase to find a different lead for the X-Men. But Lorna spoke up before his thought could truly build up.

"He's lying," She said, her trigger finger glowing green as she used her mutation to sense the iron in Fisk's bloodstream, "His blood flow got faster," If there was one thing that everybody knew about the Maximoff Family then it was that the twins couldn't lie to each other. A little less known fact was that it was not in a 'physically incapable' way due to their mutations but rather in a 'there's no point' way due to them being twins. They could shift through each other's mind without trouble, they couldn't block the other out as proper Telepaths could. There was no keeping secrets between the two of them.

Peter hummed gently but reached down and bent Fisk's index finger on his right hand at an angle that was definitely unnatural.

"Oh, wow," Lorna commented after Peter had let go of Fisk's now-mangled finger and the man's blood-curdling scream had once again tapered off into quick and short breaths, "I was going to tell you to punch him or something but that works too. I thought broken fingers were only going to be for if he stayed silent," Peter shrugged, "It doesn't really sound like he's going to be silent," He said, "It sounds more like he's going to lie," Lorna chuckled, "Ah, fair, brother dearest."

Peter rolled his eyes but said nothing back in response to the nickname. Lorna pressed the revolver harder against Fisk's forehead, "You've seen what happens when you lie to us and what happens when you don't talk. That leaves only one thing for you to do, so out with it, or else," She demanded and Fisk swallowed hard again, "You can't kill me," He said shakily, "You said it yourself," He looked over at Peter, "I'm the only lead you have."

Peter didn't react to Fisk's words but he could see the disgruntled face Lorna made out of the corner of his eye, "What would hurt the most if I shot at it?" She asked and Peter thought about it for a second before leaning his side against one of the canopy posters at the head of the bed, "Do you have children, Fisk?" He questioned, causing the man's brows to furrow in confusion, "...No?" Peter hummed and raised an eyebrow, "Do you ever plan on having children?"

"Oh," Lorna said, the realization hitting her, "You're a genius," She shifted the position the muzzle of the revolver was pointed at, moving it down and aiming at Fisk's crotch instead, "Not a genius," Peter chimed in automatically, all too used to having to remind his sister of this fact, "My mind just works differently from everybody else's," Lorna groaned softly, "You're too humble, Demon," She complained, "Well, you know me, Mistress, I just love to tell the truth."

Peter turned his attention back to Fisk, "Which is something that Fisk here should know to do now that he knows what happens when he lies," Fisk glared up at him, his eyes filled with the realization that he no longer had the upper hand on them, "What are you supposed to be here? The brains or something?" He asked, seemingly desperate to keep the two of them talking as if they were on a time crunch. Hank never actually told him how long he had to extract the information from Fisk. In theory, they had all night.

(So long as they got to chip away at Fisk's smug attitude, Peter found that he didn't really care how long this took.)

"Or something," Lorna repeated, "As intelligent as my brother likes to deny he is, he's the muscle here. He may not look it but he could probably lift this bed with you on it," Peter made a small face, "I could probably- Mistress," He said and she hummed to show she was listening to him, "You've seen me lift military tanks. With one hand. I can definitely lift more than just a bed and a man as heavy as Blob," Lorna shrugged, "Plausible deniability. I don't remember ever seeing you do that."

Peter scoffed but had no intention of actually arguing with his twin on this due to the fact that she did, in fact, know how much he was actually capable of lifting. It was practically a joke at this point, how many things he could carry with ease.

"So, Fisk," Lorna said, apparently done with the topic, "If you just tell us what we want to know, without lying, everybody will leave happy tonight. I won't have to get blood on my clothes, my brother gets the information he came to get, and you don't get your dick blown off," She grinned as though she was thrilled over the fact that she got to inform Fisk of this, "See? Everybody's happy in the end if you just talk."

Peter could tell that Fisk wanted to say more, to try and fight against them more, but instead, he watched the man gather what little dignity he had left before he started talking.

Peter listened to him with rapt attention, filing away every little detail so he could recite it all back to Hank later. Despite his bad memory with little details, he could at least remember the important things. Of course, every now and again, Peter would have to apply pressure to Fisk's now-swollen fingers to keep the man talking. The unbroken ones, at least. And a couple of times, he would listen to the periodic clicking from the revolver as Lorna slid the hammer up and down out of sheer boredom at having to listen to Fisk drone on and on. 

After what felt like half an hour, Fisk finally went quiet, the burlesque room suddenly silent.

"Is that all you've got for us, Fisk?" Lorna asked the man. In response, Fisk avoided their eyes as discreetly as he could, "I think that's all we're going to get from him," Peter told his sister and she hummed in response, pulling the revolver which she's kept steady the entire time away from Fisk's crotch, "Will that be enough for your X-Men?" She questioned. Lorna liked to do that, say 'your' X-Men, as though Peter was the leader or as though the X-Men were some sort of toy.

Peter shrugged, "Beast will just have to make do," He responded. What Fisk just told them was, admittedly, probably the most information on the human trafficking ring they've gotten so far. He wouldn't really know, unless the others actively made him a part of the conversation, he didn't really participate in things. It was a childhood neglect thing that they were working through with Marcos and Lorna's friends. It was also a 'not the best at focusing on one thing at a time' thing that was all on Peter's mutation.

"X-Men?" Peter turned to look at Fisk and saw that the man's fear had almost completely faded from his expression, contemplation replacing it. He was staring Peter right in the eyes, "You're... a member of the X-Men? That team of pathetic mutants?"

Peter's brows furrowed, wondering how the fuck Fisk knew the X-Men were a team and also where the fuck he got the balls to call the X-Men pathetic to his face. Lorna chimed in before he could voice either of those things, "Powerful," She corrected, "Not pathetic. If they were pathetic, my brother wouldn't have joined them," There was, of course, the fact that Raven kinda just named him an X-Men on the spot after they got back to Westchester but he didn't say anything about that, keeping his mouth shut.

To both of their surprise, Fisk started laughing, "Powerful, sure," He managed to get out, "They won't be so powerful after my men get their hands on them."

Despite Peter's previously indifferent mask, he felt it slip away into an expression of confusion and worry at the man's words, "What?" 

His question only seemed to make Fisk laugh harder, "Ah, so you can show emotion! I was wondering if you could!" Lorna scowled and shoved the revolver's hammer down and aimed the muzzle at Fisk's head, "You're of no use to us now," She hissed out which Peter wasn't sure was actually true or not, "I can blow your fucking brains out now. Answer my brother's Goddamn question."

Fisk smirked, seemingly unable to take Lorna's threat seriously despite the loaded gun pointed at his forehead, "Oh, yes, I'm sure that-"

Lorna cut him off by moving her arm and aiming the muzzle somewhere else, pushing against the revolver's trigger as a bullet went clean through Fisk's left foot. Without the loud bang from the revolver, Fisk's scream of pain and agony seemed almost deafening, his legs jerking violently against his cold metal restraints.

"We're not in the mood for your bullshit, Fisk," Lorna growled out over Fisk's screaming, "You better answer my brother's question or so God help me, I'll shoot out your dick inch by inch," To emphasize her words, she aimed at his crotch once more, more intent behind her movements than before.

Normally, Peter would tell his sister that he could do things on his own and that he didn't need her to threaten people in his stead. But for the moment, he was grateful. He didn't think he'd be able to get his voice to work without it breaking. The fact that Fisk knew about the X-Men and what they were was bad enough.

Practically hyperventilating, Fisk looked back over at Peter and started to explain, "M- My employer told m- me about t- this group of powerful m- mutants, t- told me that s- somebody was willing t- to pay a hefty p- price for them," He laughed, sounding slightly hysterical from both fear and pain, "Of c- course, I wanted to k- keep Magneto all f- for myself. Could y- you imagine that sorta p- power at your fingertips? B- But the guy w- who paid for the X-Men t- threatened to e- expose my 'business' to t- the world if my m- men didn't bring all o- of the mutants to him."

Peter wanted to stop listening, to so desperately ignore everything Fisk was saying. But this was important, these were things he couldn't afford to miss.

Lorna scoffed, "Yada, yada, yada, yeah, yeah," She said, annoyed, "Spare us the shitty details of your blackmail. When are you supposed to pick up the X-Men?" Hope rose up to Peter's chest. If he knew a date and time, he'd be able to report it to Hank and help keep the others safe, he'd have time to prepare for it all.

Fisk grins crookedly and that smug look returned to his expression despite the sweat dripping down his forehead and the blood trickling down his foot, "Tonight," He replied simply.

Whatever hope that had been festering in Peter's chest was instantly snuffed out as his expression fell into something akin to fear and despair. Seeing this, Fisk continued speaking with that fucked-up grin of his, "In fact, this little outing was my treat for a job well done-"

Lorna cut him off, "Zamknij się, do diabła, ty draniu o szczurzej twarzy!" She said and whipped the butt of her revolver against Fisk's forehead, knocking the human out and causing him to go limp against the bed and his metal restraints.

The burlesque room was silent again, eerily so.

"Your X-Men are powerful," Lorna said, not looking away from Fisk's unconscious form as she leaned forward against the warped remains of the bed's footboard, "They can handle a few humans," Despite her casual words and her nonchalant tone, there was obvious worry in her tense shoulder.

Peter didn't respond for a few seconds, "The students," He replied softly, already feeling the way his emotions were starting to get the better of him, "They'd be too focused on keeping the students safe to remember to protect themselves," Because he knew the others, he knew how the others would take an attack on the mansion. Charles had briefed them on such a matter and they all knew their roles for when the time came.

('When' not 'if' because as optimistic as Charles was, he was at least realistic too. At most, Erik would be the only one consciously fighting for the others. But. It was as though everybody had a way of fighting against his Magnetism nowadays.)

Lorna sighed heavily and hung her head between her shoulders, "Everything was fine when you left, right?" She asked. Peter didn't answer, causing his sister to sigh again, "Beast went dark forty minutes ago, how long would an attack usually take? The mansion looked large from the outside," Again, Peter didn't answer, far too focused on burning a hole through the carpet with his blank stare.

"Pietro," Lorna said and it was a testimony to how messed up Peter's emotions were at the moment because he didn't even react at the use of his real name, "I know what you're thinking and I can't allow you to do that," She pushed away from the warped footboard and wheeled around on her heels to face him, "If you try and run to the mansion in your current emotional state, you're going to overshoot it. You're going to get hurt."

Peter inhaled quietly through his nose and looked up from the carpet, "The others-" He started and Lorna interrupted him, "-Can handle a few humans," She repeated, "We'll take my motorcycle, it's the next fastest thing, okay?"

Peter frowned, "And if you're wrong?" He questioned, "What if they can't handle a few humans? Or there's more than just a few?" Lorna shrugged, "Then I give you full permission to call me a lying bastard," She said simply, locking the safety on the revolver and putting it back into the pocket of her jacket.

"Blob!" Lorna called out and the door of the burlesque room opened and Blob's head peeked in, "Yes, Mistress?" He responded, "Take the freakshow here to the Brotherhood's base," She said, gesturing to Fisk's unconscious form. She didn't bother undoing the man's restraints, knowing Blob was strong enough to do it himself, "And show him what happens to enemies of our father. Make sure to knock him out again before you drop him back off in Hell's Kitchen, if he isn't already unconscious by the end," Blob nodded, giving Lorna a mock salute before he entered the room and walked toward the bed.

"Is something the matter, Mistress?" Blob asked, seemingly noticing the tension in the room, "Not at all," Lorna responded automatically, "We're just needed elsewhere," She gestured to the door with a jerk of her head, "Thank you for your assistance, Blob," She added as Peter left the room first and entered the hallway bathed in purple light, "You're always welcome, Mistress, Demon," Blob responded as Lorna followed after Peter, leaving the burlesque room door open.

"Let's go," She said and she didn't need to repeat herself before Peter was already making his way down the hall, back to the crowded area of the bar. He made sure to at least go slow enough for his sister to keep pace with him but he couldn't bring himself to go any slower, not when deep feelings of worry and fear were creeping so quickly into the edges of his mind.

(This had never happened before, he wasn't actually sure how he was supposed to react. Was Peter just supposed to accept this? What if the others truly weren't okay? What if something was seriously wrong? This wasn't something he was prepared for, he doesn't think he would ever be prepared for something like this.)

The two of them managed the slip out of the Green Lagoon without any trouble due to the new mutant fighters in the cage holding everybody's attention, the music still blaring and the lights still bright. It had to be early morning due to the way the sky was brightening, a bit of orange peeking over the horizon between the buildings of New York. For once, the street and sidewalks were empty and silent.

They were about a block away from the Green Lagoon, still a block away from Lorna's motorcycle, before Peter realized something.

"The sun will be rising by the time we get to the mansion," Peter told his sister in a soft voice as he stopped in his tracks, having done the math in his head as he looked out into the lightening sky. There weren't any stars to be seen, no beacons of hope for him to latch onto.

"Hey," Lorna said, grabbing his wrist and continuing to pull him along, "At least there's something for us to look forward to."

Chapter Text

If there was one thing that was Peter’s strong suit, one thing that he was good at without question, it was math.

Where he failed with reading and writing, he excelled with numbers and problems. Trigonometry, theories, probabilities, graphs, forms, he could do it all.

And even before Lorna turned onto the dirt road leading up to the front of the mansion, Peter could tell that, for the first time in a long time, his math was incorrect. Not because the sun hadn't risen at the time he calculated it would or- or because the morning wasn't a pretty one but rather, the error in this equation wasn't his doing at all.

There was a constant missing.

On mornings like this one, mornings where the grass was dewy and the sky was clear to the point where the light from the sunrise seeped in through the trees surrounding the mansion like cool lava, the constant was always one of the others.

The constant was Charles going out to the back porch with his breakfast and tea and maybe his papers for grading if he wasn't too tired because he enjoyed watching the sun rising on his mansion. The constant was Hank emerging from his lab to make himself a large pot of coffee for the day and Raven always stealing the first cup for herself. The constant was Alex going for his morning jog and always inviting Peter for a race despite the fact that he always declined to save the man's dignity and pride.

The constant was the younger ones waking up later than the others, sometimes from the sounds of their alarms or from the well-timed slam of a bathroom door. The constant was Erik waking up exactly ten minutes after Peter did to watch everybody do their morning routines outside of their rooms, sometimes to cook himself breakfast before Hank contaminated the pans with his non-Kosher basar.

The constant was Peter waking up much earlier than the others to ensure that their routines went fine, that the constants of the equation always stayed the same.

That the tea leaves were always finished steeping by the time Charles came downstairs, that the coffee grinds were always within reach for Hank's sleep-addled mind to find, that Raven's favourite mug was always at the front of the cupboard. That there was always a water bottle for Alex before he went out running and a plate of banana pancakes for when he came back, that the younger mutants always got up with plenty of time to get ready before class, that the pots and pans were always scrubbed clean before and after somebody used them so that Erik could make himself breakfast without worrying.

In math, a constant was a term that never varied, an unchanging value in a stable equation. It was hard to ever imagine that a constant could be missing.

But now that Peter was looking at the mansion with its kicked-up lawn and shattered windows, broken glass scattered around the perimeter, he couldn’t help but realize that he was the only constant left in the equation, that the others were now variables. An equation could be written with only one constant but it made the entire function feel incomplete to Peter. Unsolvable.

The cast iron gate didn't open automatically for them and it took Peter longer than he would've liked to realize that the bolts had been bent beyond use and one of the gates was digging into the dirt path. It also took him longer to realize that this had been caused by Magneto, perhaps as one last-ditch effort to bend the metal around him without uprooting the mansion. They didn't have many metal weapons inside the mansion besides the kitchen knives and whatever Peter had stashed in his bedroom.

"You think Xavier would be angry if I broke in?" Lorna asked, turning her head to look at Peter over her shoulder, obviously trying to joke under the dark visor of her helmet. She didn't need to speak loudly to be heard, even if her motorcycle had been running, except that it wasn't because the wheels always moved faster when her Magnetism turned them instead of the engine and axle. Peter hadn't yet found it in himself to be frustrated with the damage it would do to his creation.

Peter didn't even smile at his sister's joke (something he always did no matter the circumstances) which caused her to let out a stressed-sounding exhale, "Right," She said, "Fucked-up joke at a fucked-up time," Lorna lifted one of her already-green-glowing-gloved hands off of the handlebars and waved it once in a 'shoo' motion. The iron gate, the one not digging into the dirt, was flung open wide enough to fit a vehicle through, creaking loudly due to its messed-up bolts and hinges.

Lorna drove through the opening, her engine silent and the wheel rims glowing green as they spun at the pace she forced them to go.

Everything around them was silent as they drove up the dirt path to the front of the mansion, only the crunching of dirt and gravel under the motorcycle wheels was heard. It felt too early for anybody to even be awake, still a full half an hour before even Peter got up, and it felt too early for anything to have happened. If Peter didn't look at the shattered windows, he could pretend that the mansion's occupants were still asleep and not gone.

Except. They weren't sleeping peacefully. They were gone.

Lorna stopped her motorcycle right in front of the front porch and just. Stared, silently, at the mansion with Peter for a few seconds as the green glow faded from her hands and the wheel rims.

"I think this is the part where I gave you permission to call me a lying bastard," She said after a few more seconds of silence.

"Lorna," Peter responded, the first thing he's said since they got on her motorcycle, "Shut the fuck up."

He couldn't even appreciate the sight of the sun rising against the back of the mansion as he hopped off of the motorcycle before Lorna could even kick out the side stand, ignoring her wince as she pulled off her helmet. Peter stalked up the stairs and the front doors were shoved open for him though it took him a second before he felt the tingling in his hands, his own Magnetism unknowingly starting up in his frustration and worry. He shook the translucent light blue light from his hands, however, and entered the foyer-

-And then immediately stumbled forward at the sight that was laid bare in front of him.

Peter and Lorna were kids once, like everybody else, maybe they weren't kids for long but they had held that child-like innocence and curiosity at some point, marking them as young. And even when Wanda was born and, suddenly, they were adults, the makeshift parents that would never leave or shout, there was still a kid in the house. The fact that the students were all at least older than fourteen made no difference, they were still children at heart, teens living with other teens, and they still made messes they never really intended on cleaning.

But this? This was much worse than just a simple mess.

There were long shallow grooves in the carpet, from knives or claws, Peter wasn't sure, along with some engraved into the walls. The gold and white chandelier, the one Kurt liked to hang off of whenever he was bored, was tilting dangerously to the side, the light bulbs on but flickering.

There was a trail of red glass shards cascading down the first flight of stairs and Peter stumbled forward again, falling to his knees this time, before he realized that it was the glass from the stained glass window that oversaw the entire foyer and not glass stained by blood.

The mansion was still and deathly silent, quiet in a way that Peter had never heard it be. The students were always doing something, even the younger X-Men were never kept quiet for long. Peter could always hear the students playing around outside or training or just talking to each other. But, at the moment, he heard nothing. He didn't even notice when his sister entered the foyer behind him.

Lorna had never really seen her brother like this, distressed to the point where she didn't need their Twin Telepthay to sense it.

She stopped a foot behind him, her gloved hands stuffed into the pockets of her leather jacket where they fiddled with the revolver Peter had so lovingly crafted for her.

The inside of the mansion looked worse than the outside but she had no doubt that had the place not been practically raided and ransacked, it would have probably blown her socks off. She remembered how beautiful the outside had been the first time she saw it, after all.

Lorna watched worriedly as Peter picked up a shard of red-stained glass and held it delicately in his palm as though it was some priceless artefact that would shatter just from a simple touch. She didn't really know what to do in this instance, Peter was the only one out of the two of them that was in touch with his emotions, he was the one that knew how to comfort another person. You'd think that she would've learned something from him by now but she hadn't.

Should she try and hug him? Reassure him? The two of them weren't big on sudden physical contact, especially when their emotions were out-of-hand so reassuring him was probably Lorna's best shot at taking her brother out of whatever headspace he was in.

"Pietro-" Lorna started, using his real name to ensure that he'd listen to her, but Peter only cut her off, "Don't," He said, his voice shaky despite his firm tone, "I don't want to hear it. Things aren't going to be fine, I don't need you trying to tell me that they will be," She pursed her lips at his blatant use of their Twin Telepathy (something he rarely ever used) but shut her mouth.

There went that plan.

What was she supposed to do now? The two of them were the most stubborn of the family, Lorna couldn't just try and reassure Peter anyway. He might react badly and if she couldn't do anything to help when he was like this then she doubted she could do anything to help if he started having a panic attack.

Lorna watched the steady rise and fall of Peter's shoulders, the short and quick intakes of breath he took, and wondered if he was going to have a panic attack anyway despite her listening and being quiet. And then she realized that he'd never done this before having a panic attack, he only ever did it when-

Ah. Okay. New plan.

Lorna suddenly grinned widely despite the circumstances as the new plan suddenly came to her. It was definitely not the most conventional thing and most definitely not the safest plan but it was what her mind came up with. If her brother didn't want to be reassured then she wouldn't reassure him. She'd provoke him instead.

(The two of them always found their strength in their negative emotions, out of control and volatile, their power cut down in half once Pietro made his promise to never be like Dad. Though she still had to be careful with this plan, if she said something wrong then it might result in something much worse than just a panic attack.)

Lorna forced herself to laugh softly, doing her best to keep the fake tilt out of the front of her throat. Though Peter's shoulders froze anyway so she must've done a good job keeping the laugh from sounding fake, "Why are you laughing?" He asked without looking back at her, his voice both flat and filled with emotion at the same time.

Lorna shrugged, "Just, thought of something," She said dismissively before continuing, "You know, we both always thought that Magneto would be the one to rip this family apart," She chuckled again as though there was something particularly funny about this situation, "But it looks like a bunch of humans beat him to it. Literally."

The muscles in Peter's back tensed, visible through his KISS shirt and silver leather jacket, "...Wanda," He breathed out, seemingly just now realizing that their sister lived in the mansion now too. That she wasn't at the house, safe and unaware as she always has been.

"And, I mean, didn't you say the X-Men were like a second family to you?" Lorna questioned, continuing, "Or at least they're close enough friends for you to consider them family," She casually looked around the destroyed foyer, "How much of a fight do you think the younger ones put up? Couldn't have been a long one, they're students, they don't have the best control over their powers."

She took a step closer to her brother, "You helped teach a few of them, didn't you? Helped them get over their fear of hurting others, as you did for me? Do you think any of them are strong enough to beat a human?" Lorna asked, carefully watching Peter's reactions, or, lack of therefor, "Then again, if the X-Men couldn't beat a few humans, I doubt a couple of teens could."

Lorna knew that Peter wanted to help the others, to play the hero for once and save people. She also knew that the two of them couldn't do much against military-esque humans. They had managed to capture Magneto so her Magnetism would be almost useless against them and it wasn't like Peter could just run forever. He at least had the advantage of being able to withstand damage but she didn't have that.

The two of them were powerful together but they could only do so much as two. Naturally, Lorna's anger made her stronger, her powers not as restricted that way.

And now Peter had Magnetism too and she really wanted to see what would happen if he got angry with it.

(Lorna was a lawyer, her entire thing was to rile up her opponent on the floor, to dig them a hole or to watch them take a shovel and do it themselves until they messed up or forgot something important written in their case. She wasn't afraid to admit that she was a piece of shit, she knew how to unravel emotions, good and bad. The only difference between her brother and her opponents was that Pietro wasn't a trained professional in keeping his head on straight when faced with cold hard truths and psychological tricks.)

"It took you all months to put this place back together, to make it back into a proper home for mutants, and now look at it," Lorna gestured to the marks marring the walls and floor, the glass shards scattered about, and the barely-dangling-by-a-thread chandelier, "All that effort and time, wasted," She kicked a small pile of glass shards off to the side as though they were an inconvenience in her path, "Do you think the rooms were ransacked too? Do you think the humans were even looking for anything at that point, or do you think they just tore the place apart for fun?"

Peter seemed to get tenser and tenser with every point Lorna made though she couldn't tell yet if it was from anger or despair, with his back to her and their close proximity making his emotions hard to sense. She wondered for a split second what else she could jab at, what else would get a rise out of her brother, and then she saw it.

It was sitting innocently at the top of the foyer stairs on the left side. It looked untouched and perfectly fine. But it was horrifyingly empty. Abandoned.

Lorna forced herself to take a quick deep breath, needing to actually channel some of her emotional strength to be able to drive this home. She was unafraid to admit to her own limits, and this? This was one of them. But it was to help save their sister and Peter's friends so she pushed down the last of her hesitation before finishing her argument off.

"And, I mean," Lorna lifted her hand as it started to glow green and clenched it into a fist, picking up the thing at the top of the stairs, "Just look at what they've done to your Telepath. Your fellow paralytic."

She set the wheelchair down on top of the first flight of stairs, on top of a pile of red-stained glass as the light from the rising sun peeked in through the broken stained glass window, making the entire scene look almost holy, like the cathedrals back home.

The wheelchair looked so alike to her brother's, only it was grey and boring and unloved to the point that it made Lorna wonder how somebody had managed to spend almost twenty whole years sitting in it without learning to make it an extension of their home.

Lorna watched the tension in Peter's shoulders snap, his muscles suddenly going slack as he stared up at the wheelchair, "...Charles?" There was the sound of plinking glass and it took Lorna a second to realize that her brother had dropped the shard of glass he had been holding back into its original pile, "Charles isn't here," She responded, taking another step toward Peter until she was practically standing at his back, "They didn't even have the decency to bring his wheelchair," Lorna tsked, not having to fake her disappointment but instead having to downplay her anger which wasn't an easy thing to do.

The steady rise and fall of Peter's shoulders returned, the short and quick intakes of breath resuming as Peter was unable to tear his eyes away from the wheelchair.

"So, I'll ask you this, counsellor," Lorna said quietly, "What's your verdict? What do these humans, these monsters deserve after taking our family from us, destroying your home, and hurting the innocent?" She asked, waiting for her brother's response. Waiting to see if it was the response she had pushed towards.

Peter's steady breathing stopped again as he huffed out, sounding more annoyed than Lorna had ever heard him be, "They deserve everything I'm gonna give them," He said, his voice low and dangerous, and Lorna suddenly remembered the parts of their dad that he had gotten. After so many years of neutral emotions and contained negativity, she had almost forgotten what her brother was like when he was angry.

She had almost forgotten that he was worse than she was, that he was entirely too much like Magneto when he got angry, only minus the Magnetism.

Except. Peter did have Magnetism now.

"Yeah?" Lorna questioned, ignoring the shiver that went down her spine just from the sound of her brother's anger, "Are you gonna kill them?" Peter scoffed as though offended by the suggestion, "I'm gonna give them something much worse than just death," Lorna couldn't exactly see his face but she could only assume that he was scowling, glaring down at the red-stained glass at his knees.

"Yeah?" She repeated, "And what'll that be?" Peter's shoulders rolled back before he seemingly froze and the air around them went still and tense. Lorna was confused for a second before Peter turned his head to stare at her over his shoulder. There was a fire in his eyes that she wasn't used to seeing, "Ty suko," He breathed out in Polish, "You- You made me angry. On purpose."

Despite the fire burning in his eyes and the obvious anger rattling around his mind, Peter didn't sound exactly pissed at her.

Lorna only shrugged and laughed, completely unashamed, "What can I say? I'm a bit of an asshole," She responded with a grin.

Chapter Text

Peter heaved out a heavy sigh, "A bit, she says," He muttered, trying his best to reign in his anger but finding the task near impossible.

He turned his head forward again and stared down at his hands as his anger settled into his body like missing puzzle pieces, making him feel complete. Had it really been six years since he had felt this way? Had he really lived that long without getting angry?

Peter felt both his anger and his Magnetism buzzing under his skin, through his veins, and it warmed him like some sort of liquid wrath. It made him want to have a drink and that scared him.

Because when was the last time he actually drank alcohol and not just some sort of mockery of it? It had to be nearly the same amount of time since he had gotten angry. After all, he remembered downing a shot of something bitter and weak the second their mother walked out the front door. A shot that ended up contributing to his promise made to Wanda to never get angry again.

Which had been a silly and childish promise now that he was looking back on it because this anger felt good, it felt right. And it made that drink sound even more enticing.

"I need a drink," Peter admitted out loud, the phrase feeling foreign on his tongue, as he dragged a hand down his face. He practically felt Lorna freeze behind him, "A drink?" She questioned slowly, "Like... a drink-drink? With alcohol? Not just some soda water with juice in it?"

Peter sighed again, holding it for longer this time,  "I don't ask this many questions when you need a smoke, do I?" He asked rhetorically as he got up from his knees, red-stained glass crunching under his feet as he stood up, "Well, no," Lorna answered anyway in a 'duh' tone, "But, like, this is also the third drink you've ever had. In our lives. I wanna make it special," She complained before her excitement returned to her, "Oh! Oh! Do you think Xavier has those tiny umbrellas we can put in your drink?"

Peter slowly turned to stare at his sister over his shoulder again, catching the excited and slightly unhinged smile on her face, "You're just doing this on purpose, aren't you?"

Lorna's smile got wider, turning into a grin, "Damn right I am," She said proudly, "You're the only person I know that is both in touch with their emotions while also having emotional constipation. I don't know if you're able to calm yourself down at this point and I don't wanna find out," She tilted her head to the side slightly, "After all, I kinda need you to be angry for this rescue mission."

Peter scoffed but didn't refute Lorna's words, knowing she was right but unwilling to admit that out loud.

Separated, the two of them weren't much. Magnetism and Superspeed didn't do much on their own but when put together, they could be dangerous and volatile. But even put together, Peter and Lorna were only about half as powerful as their dad, put together they were the same strength as any old mutant. They weren't anything special.

But when Lorna got angry, her mutation got stronger, harder to control. Who's to say the same wouldn't happen for Peter and his own Magnetism now?

(And Peter doubted that he'd be able to calm himself down at this point. Even if he could, he didn't really want to. He knew they'd need as much power as they could get if they wanted to even remotely stand a chance against humans that could defeat the X-Men.)

"I'm going to find the strongest shit Charles has and down it," Peter said, stalking out of the foyer (away from the wheelchair which seemed to taunt him) and towards Charles's study where he knew the other mutant kept his alcohol. Lorna snickered and followed after him, "Didn't you say that Xavier is a recovering alcoholic?" She questioned, "Oh, he is," Peter answered, "He hasn't drunk anything since the Pentagon. But he also lives in a mansion with students that constantly run around and break shit. So..."

Peter dragged out the word as he unlocked Charles's study door from the outside, a trick he's learned from years of being locked out of the house (both accidentally and intentionally), "I'd let the man off the hook if he wanted a glass or two," He finished as he pushed the door open. Charles's office wasn't anything special, a room covered in warm tones of brown and tan, leather-bound books filled the bookshelves lining the side walls and little nick-nacks covered the surface of the large mahogany desk that was on the other side of the room.

And behind the desk was a large cabinet that could remain hidden behind the desk if you were kid-sized and couldn't see over the top of it. The cabinet was made of birch and the doors were made entirely out of glass that had a crystal-like design. Inside the cabinet were glass tumblers and wine racks that were filled with every kind of alcohol but wine.

Lorna let out a low impressed whistle when they rounded the desk and she saw the cabinet, "He's got more shit than Magda," She said, sounding amazed, "Mój Boże, none of them are even open," Lorna commented when Peter crouched down and opened one of the cabinet doors and saw all the perfectly sealed bottles.

Peter only hummed in response as he sorted through Charles's stash of clear alcohol, distinguishing tequila from vodka as he read the numbers on the bottles. 176. 179. 160. 140. He hummed again, pleasantly surprised when he found a bottle that had a 192 printed on it.

"Ooh, a taste of home," Lorna said, apparently reading the bottle's label over Peter's shoulder, "Polski?" He questioned and she nodded, "Polish vodka, you don't see that every day in America. Especially a bottle owned by a Brit, they don't usually like- Oh. Okay then," Lorna cut herself off.

While she talked, Peter had twisted off the cap of the bottle, tossed the cap somewhere behind him, tilted his head back, and started downing the contents of the bottle.

Immediately, the first sip burned the back of Peter's throat, making his nose itch and his eyes water, but the next few sips were like water to him. The biting taste of the vodka vanished and the burn in his throat subsided and it felt as though a fire had settled in his veins. Peter had never allowed himself to drink more than a shot or two in the past, usually of something bitter and weak even though, in theory, he couldn't get drunk.

But this? This was the cream of the crop. It was smooth going down and it barely even tasted like anything, no gasoline-like or bitter aftertastes, and it was much better than any of the alcohol Magda ever owned.

"You know," Lorna started while Peter continued to down the vodka, "I thought you were going to at least pour it into a glass or something, not just drink it straight from the bottle like a psychopath," Though it sounded like she was scolding him, she also sounded amused at watching her brother down a whole bottle of vodka.

Peter stopped drinking for a second and scoffed, "I said I wanted a drink, I never specified what I'd drink it out of," He replied and then went back to downing the vodka. He heard his sister snicker under her breath before going silent and allowing him to finish his drink in peace. It felt nice, actually, and he wondered if this was how Lorna felt whenever she smoked.

"So, what's the plan?" Lorna questioned after Peter had finished the rest of the bottle, "I told you already," Peter said, setting the empty bottle down on Charles's desk, "I'm going to give those humans something much worse than just death," He looked around for where he had thrown the cap to the bottle, "And how do you propose we do that?" Lorna asked, leaning back against the front of one of the bookshelves, "Because you and I both know that our even anger combined will only get us so far. Not to mention the fact that we don't even know where they are or how we're gonna get to them."

Peter paused, thinking for a second as the alcohol warmed his veins and multiple plans came and went through his mind.

Eventually, he settled on one with the highest percentage of working in their favour.

"The Danger Room is inaccessible to humans or any students, so the Blackbird and the armoury are likely untouched. Luckily for us, I know how to fly the thing. Vaguely," Peter said, picking up the cap from the carpet and twisting it back onto the now-empty bottle of vodka, "You can leave the finding part to me, I have that more than taken care of. As for power..."

Peter hummed, pretending to think some more as though the idea hadn't already taken root, "...Well, your weapons weren't the only ones I managed to smuggle into my room."

Peter watched the excitement in Lorna's eyes turn into something completely unhinged and crazed, "No," She denied, a wide grin stretching across her face, the grin that always made her look just like Magneto, "You fucking didn't," Lorna grabbed his shoulders, "Tell me you fucking didn't."

Peter put his hands on his sister's wrists to stop her before she could start shaking him, "If I told you that, I'd be lying."

Lorna practically squealed, yanking her hands back and clapping them when it became obvious that Peter wasn't going to allow her to move him in the slightest, "Pierdolony- You crazy son of a bastard!" She declared, laughing loudly, "Holy fucking shit! Can I have one of the shotguns?"

Peter raised an eyebrow at her and started walking out of Charles's study, back to the foyer so they could go upstairs to his room, "Lorna, I'm angry right now, not stupid. I'm not giving you a shotgun," Lorna scoffed, following after him without shutting the study's door, "Come on, please? I promise to be responsible with it," She slinked in front of Peter, walking backwards down the hall as she tried to make puppy-dog eyes, something she's never succeeded at doing before.

Peter only stared at her for a few seconds until she gave up trying the bargain with him, "Ugh, fine, I guess I won't have a shotgun," Lorna said, crossing her arms and practically sulking at his side.

Peter snorted, "Don't sound too upset. I have something that you'll find works much better for you than a shotgun," He admitted and Lorna pointed at him, "It better be better than a shotgun," She threatened playfully as the two of them climbed the foyer stairs.

They passed Charles's wheelchair and Peter stopped, staring at it. The mansion was silent and if he couldn't feel the pulse of Lorna's heartbeat alongside his breathing, he'd think he was alone.

He had never liked the silence, not in large places that were supposed to be loud. Out in the woods, when the animals went quiet, it always meant there was a predator nearby. There was no predator here, no danger, not anymore. It was gone. And it had taken Peter's friends with it, destroying his new home in the process.

Peter's anger flared up inside of him, making itself obnoxiously known as though he had not been aware of it this entire time. It burned like a flame in his heart, scorching and dangerous, spreading through his veins as though the alcohol had helped it lay down its path. It burned brighter and brighter, hotter and hotter until Peter felt the heat travel down to his hands.

And then the lights shattered. The overhead lights along the mansion's hallways shattered and he felt it.

Lorna flinched at his side at the sound of shattering glass and fizzing-out electrical currents but Peter stayed still, still staring at Charles's wheelchair. At his sides, his hands glowed that translucent light blue colour. Only. It was darker this time, almost a solid colour instead of see-through. It was as though his Magnetism was the flame and his anger was fueling it, though because of who he was related to, Peter wouldn't be surprised if that was exactly what was happening.

Lorna had fanned the flame of his anger earlier, Peter was merely keeping it from burning out.

Lorna put a tentative hand on Peter's shoulder, obviously unsure if physical contact would be welcomed, "We're gonna get them back," She said softly and Peter scoffed, not looking away from Charles's wheelchair, "Of course we will," He replied, almost offended that she thought they wouldn't, "And we're gonna show those humans what happens when you piss off both of the Maximoff Twins."

Lorna smiled slightly and patted his shoulder, "Come on, little brother," She said, "Show me this thing that's apparently so much better than a shotgun," Peter rolled his eyes but the blue faded from his hands and they continued walking up the stairs.

Peter tilted his head to the side silently when he saw his bedroom's light from under the crack of his door. He did his best to ignore the way the other's bedroom doors were cracked open, the handles of the doors either smashed or on the floor. His own door seemed fine if not for a few splintered dents in the wood, indicating somebody had struggled to open it before giving up.

Peter's eyebrows furrowed as he stepped up to his bedroom door, staring down at the handle. Lorna nudged his side when he didn't move for several seconds, "It's locked, dipshit," She stated, "You have the key, use it," Peter hummed quietly, "It's not supposed to be locked," He muttered, aware his sister could hear him in the dead silence of the mansion, "I never lock my door."

Peter pulled out his bedroom key from his pocket and unlocked his door, pushing it open a second later. He and Lorna both stared at his bed from his doorway.

There, laying on Peter's bed as though he owned it, was Pest. He sat up, stretched, and meowed when he noticed the two of them.

Lorna pointed at Pest, "How'd he get in here?" She asked, "I have no fucking clue," Peter responded just as two heads popped out from under his bed. Princess let out an inquiry whine while Lady ignored her, happily bounding out from under the bed and over to Lorna who laughed and crouched down onto one knee to give the Doberman scratches behind her ears.

"How'd they get in here?" Lorna asked, giggling while Lady licked her cheek, "...Wanda taught the two of them to open doors," Peter said, "And Pest has enough dexterity to lock a door on his own. When he can reach the handle."

The realization hit Lorna at the same time it hit Peter and they turned to look at each other, "Wanda sent them in here," She said, looking up at him, and Peter huffed, "My room is probably the second safest place in the mansion, second only to the Danger Room which is off-limits to the students. It's better than the three of them just hiding in the woods," Lorna smirked as Peter walked into his room, over to his closet, "I can tell it's pretty safe. The hinges and locks, non-magnetic metal."

She lifted a glowing hand to demonstrate, the green glow of her mutation flickering as it engulfed the hinges and locks of both Peter's door and his window. As with most non-magnetic metals, Lorna's Magnetism couldn't get a solid grip on them, her powers constantly letting go before she tried to grab them again.

Lorna shook out her hand, the green fading as she stood up from her knee and walked over to Peter as he rummaged deep in the back of his closet, Lady skittering back as Princess emerged from under the bed.

She leaned back against the wall beside the closet doors, "How many did you manage to smuggle?" She questioned when Peter pulled out a sealed wooden crate coated in non-magnetic metal, "As many that would fit," He said, placing the crate on the writing desk in the corner of his room, "So about a dozen or so."

Peter was an engineer, a builder, an inventor, even, if he was in the right mood to call himself such a thing. He may not have had his twin's ability to manipulate metal until about a month and a half ago but that didn't mean it wasn't malleable under his hands. Literally, sometimes. It wasn't like liquid metal had an effect on him anymore, the skin of his hands toughened and made/trained to withstand the hottest of temperatures.

But Peter could shape any type of metal into whatever he wanted. He had done that for his wheelchair and his crutches, both of which were now on either side of his bed, and he had done it for Lorna's motorcycle and the helmet she wore whenever she rode.

Peter wasn't limited to making just simple things out of metal.

With materials provided to him by the CIA, Peter had crafted Lorna guns that were silent, knives that wouldn't snap or bend. He had crafted jewellery for Wanda, had made his own goggles. And then, when the CIA got a hold of a Sentinel that was deemed defective, he had jumped at the opportunity to tear the damned thing apart just to see how it worked. He had, of course, put it back together, unwilling to destroy a perfectly good shell when he could just... fix the innards.

But Peter had made more, so much more than just simple weapons. The CIA couldn't stop him, not without the proper authorization. And even if they could, Peter was the only thing keeping the world's second Magneto from destroying every single one of their bases and the only thing keeping a potentially psychopathic teen from taking control of every dangerous animal this world had to offer. And he could make working bombs within minutes, a missile within the hour; The CIA knew it was best to just let him be, so long as he didn't turn his weapons on them.

Peter pushed open the lid of the crate and started pulling a few things out that he knew they wouldn't need, weapons that were useless to them for this specific mission. And then he came across what he had originally been looking for.

It was a pair of metal bracelets that resembled gauntlets, dark metal spikes wrapping around them. The metal was thick and it looked like something akin to what a punk would wear if you ignored the circuits and wires hidden inside the metal.

"Nie ma kurwa mowy," Lorna said behind him in Polish, awe evident in her voice when she saw what Peter was holding, "You told me they weren't finished yet," She eagerly stepped forward and took the bracelets from his hands as though they were some sort of holy grail, slowly and gently as if they weren't made of metal and would break if she dropped them.

"I told you that there was no use for them," Peter corrected her, "In those moments, your powers working alongside mine was enough. Now, however..." He watched Lorna roll her jacket sleeves up as best as she could with them being leather and put the bracelets on, the metal automatically shifting to fit the wrists they were now on. She stared down at them in amazement, the excitement and crazed look in her eyes gleaming.

"...The extra boost will be greatly welcomed," Peter finished as Lorna powered up the bracelets, her hands glowing green again.

Like all of his weapons, Peter made the bracelets with the explicit idea of a specific person using them, typically Lorna. The bracelets acted as 'stimulus' or 'motivation' for Lorna's Magnetism, the wires uncovered underneath the metal. The electric sparks from the wires that were conducted through the metal bracelets were meant to stimulate the nerves in her hands without hurting her due to direct exposure, keeping her joints from locking up and ensuring that her Magnetism wouldn't just stop working and that she could still move her hands.

The spikes served no purpose other than the fact that Peter knew Lorna would find them cool. 

(Unlike Peter, Lorna couldn't use her powers for too long. She could only go about ten minutes before her hands started to hurt and the joints in her wrists and hands got too stiff to move. It was kind of a horrible drawback to have when you had a mutation that relied on hand movement. But, then again, it wasn't as though Peter's drawback worked much differently.)

Peter felt the slight hum of the bracelets as the wires inside sparked to life, responding to the magnetic drawl of Lorna's Magnetism. She let out a sound that almost sounded like a deranged giggle, "This is both wicked and weird at the same time. They kinda hurt," Peter rolled his eyes, "They won't hurt when the time comes," He deadpanned, ignoring his sister's pout as he continued pulling things out of the crate.

Eventually, Peter pulled out two metal collars which he inspected for a few seconds before setting them down on his bed. Pest moved forward to sniff at them, batting at them with a paw, and then turned his nose up at the collars, "Are those the ones Wanda claimed were scary?" Lorna asked and Peter huffed, "I've only ever made one dual model of collars, the first ones were prototypes," He stated, pointing out that there was never another pair of collars that Wanda could've ever claimed as scary, "But yes, those are the ones," He added.

Lorna hummed and picked up one of the collars, turning it over in her hands, "...But these aren't the prototypes, right?" She questioned just to be sure, "They're useable?" Peter pulled out an older model of one of his handguns, the type made out of plastic that still made a bang sound but was remodelled to hold brass bullets without the interior melting, "Of course they are," He answered, setting the gun off to the side, deeming it useless, "I wouldn't have brought them here if they weren't in working condition."

Lorna simply looked at the collar in her hands in silence for a few extra seconds before speaking again, "Do you think Wanda would mind?" She asked, "I think Wanda would kill us," Peter responded truthfully, "They won't get hurt," Lorna said, "You said it yourself when you first showed me the original blueprints, this type of metal is almost impossible to slice through."

"Notice the word 'almost' there," Peter said, his will unwavering due to his already made-up mind, "And what happens when Wanda gets upset over it? It may be your idea but those are my models," Lorna waved him off, "I promise to take full responsibility," She swore though Peter wasn't exactly inclined to believe her. But, as said before, he had already made up his mind on the matter.

Peter sighed, "Don't turn them on until we get there," He warned though Lorna ignored him in favour of squealing happily and turning around, crouching down slightly and patting her thigh. Both Lady and Princess obediently sat in front of her, causing her to coo as she unhooked their original silver chain collars with the flick of a finger.

The metal collars clicked around their necks with a satisfying 'click' and the two of them seemed to hold their heads up higher. Lorna cooed again and scratched them behind their ears, "Now that that's taken care of," She said, standing up straight, "You said you had a way to find them. How- How does that work? How are you gonna do that?"

Peter stayed silent for a few seconds as he pulled something else out of the crate, long enough for his sister to get impatient, "Peter," She whined, practically draping herself against the footboard of his bedframe. He didn't answer her, only angled his front away from her and continued to fiddle with the screen band that he really would like to keep on him at all times so that he didn't have to recalibrate it every time he picked it up.

"Pietro," Lorna stood up and snapped when she got tired of his silence, "Ssh," Peter shushed her, listening to the offended and baffled noise she made in response, "It's been a while," He muttered angrily as he swiped across the white screen of the band that resembled his sister's bracelets though it was more like an actual gauntlet, sliding a few digital switches to their proper positions and connecting the nodes that always disconnected whenever the screen was shut off.

It frustrated Peter to no end, knowing that he had left something still in its developmental stages. As functional as this was, it wasn't complete or anywhere near being out of its testing stages. He was far too used to doing things manually and physically coding things rather than having a control board that controlled something bigger.

But the band worked well enough and Peter swore that he'd finish the damned thing after this entire situation.

Peter pressed a few more things and turned things on and off where he needed to before he deemed the recalibrating process complete, "You run as smoothly as ever," He said sarcastically. He felt Lorna lean against his back again, looking over his shoulder to see what he was holding, "No," She immediately said out of disbelief, "No, no, no," She repeated a few times as if to make sure Peter heard her, "You- You immoral bastard."

Peter rolled his eyes, "You're in no position to desecrate my morality," He stated, "If I recall that birthday clearly, you gave her a handgun. A tracker would be seen as the lesser of two evils," Lorna scowled, "At least I was upfront about what I gave her! You just gave it to her as a necklace! Chrystus, I didn't even know she still wore that thing," She shook her head. It made sense that she stopped noticing that Wanda still wore the necklace when she started putting it under her shirt, Peter had made the chain out of plastic and the pendant out of glass for a reason.

"Look, would you rather us not have a way to find her at all?" Peter asked her. Lorna must've heard the rhetorical question as it was because she only huffed and crossed her arms over her chest despite the discomfort the spikes on her wrists and forearms must've caused her.

Peter sighed softly and flipped the white screen to an unoccupied channel, "If it makes you feel better, I've never used it for its intended purpose," He told Lorna in a quiet tone. She chuckled humourlessly, "I know you haven't, she's a good kid. Not at all like us when we were her age," Peter hummed, "That she is," He agreed. He flipped back to the channel he had been on before and started searching for the node that connected the device to Wanda's.

"...We did a good job, right?" Lorna asked after a few seconds of silence in a soft voice, her tone filled with too much vulnerability, "Raising her, I mean. I- I know we weren't the best and we definitely could've done better but we worked with what we had. We made it all work. We- We did good, didn't we?" Peter ignored her for a second before responding to her, "Lorna, I am currently unable to feel melancholy or nostalgic, my anger won't allow it," He watched Lorna purse her lips out of the corner of his eye and nod in acceptance.

"However," Peter continued pointedly, "I can say with confidence that what we did was this. We raised a living being, we taught her everything we could. We helped her learn everything we could. There is not a doubt in my heart, as shut off as it is right now, that we did our best. As two teenagers who didn't have stable parental figures in our lives, I will admit that we did a pretty bang-up job at this whole parenting thing. Even though we should've taken my advice and gotten a book on that sorta stuff."

Lorna snorted, the humour returning to her voice, "As if you'd read it," She teased, "And as if you'd listen to it," Peter teased back, watching his twin smile. The band buzzed gently in his hand and he looked down at the screen where it showed a green dot alongside a set of coordinates and a location which Peter couldn't read and didn't care about.

"I've got them," He said as Lorna looked down at the screen, "Do cholery," She groaned, confusing him for a second before she spoke again, "I fucking hate going to Russia for missions!" At least that answered what the location said, "You only hate it because your Russian is horrible," Peter pointed out as Lorna pouted, "And don't think of this as a mission, think of this as a..."

Peter trailed off for a second as he pulled out a black drawstring bag of loose ammunition from the crate, feeling the magnesium rattle inside the dragon's breath shells, "...Think of this as a pleasure trip," He finished with a wide grin as he clipped the bag onto his belt.

"...Have I ever told you how much you scare me sometimes?" Lorna asked, causing Peter to direct his grin to her, "Because you do, you fucking manic freak," It was said with a smile, as all her insults directed to him were, despite the negative connotations.

(It was... their thing, so to speak. To call each other 'freak' and 'monster', every bad word used to describe a mutant. They couldn't describe it, really, couldn't pinpoint when it exactly started or how. But the two of them knew what they were, the CIA agents had categorized them to make it easier to distinguish which of them was more dangerous. They were a pair of freaks, monsters, every bad word used to describe a mutant.

They were, as often described and introduced, the devil's children. Hell and Purgatory given human form.)

"Well," Lorna announced loudly, "We've got our firepower and a location, now all we need is a way outta here. Didn't you say there was a jet lying around here?" Peter's grin faded from his face though it wasn't because of any particular change in emotion, "I did, didn't I?" He questioned rhetorically. He flipped the screen's channel again, clasping the gauntlet onto his forearm as the solid light blue glow surrounded his left hand.

"Lorna," Lorna hummed to show she was listening, "What did you call me earlier?" She made a confused face at his question, "A manic freak?" She repeated, phrasing it as a question, "That was literal seconds ago," Peter shook his head, holding out his glowing hand in the direction of the still-open doors of his closet, "No, when we were still with Fisk. The compliment I always refute."

Realization spread across Lorna's face, "A genius?" The shotgun buried deep into the darkness of his closet shot out of the dark and into his outstretched hand. It only took a few seconds before Lorna started to grin, excitement in her eyes again as she eyed the shotgun, "You're a fucking genius, Pietro."

"That I am, dear sister," Peter responded, slinging the shotgun over his shoulder. His own look of crazed excitement appeared in his eyes, much like Lorna's, "That I am."

Chapter Text

After arguing with Lorna for a few minutes about the fact that he got to use the shotgun while she didn't and picking out a few more weapons, the two of them finally started making their way to the subbasement.

Lady and Princess pattered after them, along with Pest who Lorna held in her arms, the spikes of her bracelets seemingly not bothering the cat.

("Lady and Princess are bad enough, we're not bringing a damn cat with us too-"

"He's not just a damn cat, he's the bestest damn cat around! Look at his face, you've made him sad!"

"He's a fucking cat, Lorna, he can't look sad-")

The elevator dinged before the doors slid open and Peter stepped inside, automatically leaning back against the elevator's back wall while the other four passengers entered after him. Pest turned his head toward Peter and the two of them became immersed in a staring contest.

As he had said before, the two of them didn't really like each other. Cats had never really liked Peter. He could tolerate the Birman cat on a good day. Unfortunately, Peter was not having a good day so his tolerance wasn't exactly high at the moment.

Peter had been telling the truth before, Wanda was going to fucking kill them when she saw her companions with them. Or at the very least flip the fuck out. He and Lorna didn't have Wanda's powers, they couldn't provide Lady and Princess with human perception or purpose, they couldn't control the two of them to do specific things. Wanda's mind and commands fused with whatever animal she was controlling to give them human intelligence and the ability to understand what she wanted them to do. At least, that's what Charles had told Peter when he had become sure of how Wanda's mutation worked.

Peter may have trained Lady and Princess to always protect Wanda but that didn't mean they always listened to him now. Wanda's commands came before his, which he supposed was his own doing. But, hopefully, without Wanda's powers, the two of them would default back to him.

The only problem here would be Pest.

Pest was originally a therapy pet and while Lady and Princess's breeds were literally made to protect and attack, cat breeds didn't work like that. Sure, they had retractable claws and sharp teeth but they were still small, and they weren't aggressive like tigers or lions or panthers. They were cats domesticated with the intent of making them a companion. Peter never had any intention to make Pest armour like Lady and Princess, he had nothing to protect himself with. And now they were bringing him along on a mission that he knew wouldn't just be a simple search and rescue.

Peter couldn't help but note that the usual twenty seconds that it took for the elevator to reach its destination only took about ten seconds. He broke eye contact with Pest and looked up at his twin whose left hand was glowing green, indicating that she had tampered with the elevator, "What?" Lorna questioned once she noticed him looking at her, "I thought you were in a rush to skedaddle. To get a boogie on, even."

Peter gave her a look of incredulity and visible disgust, "...I don't even know if you're doing this on purpose anymore," He said before forcing the elevator doors open with his own Magnetism, "But for your safety and my sanity, I hope you aren't."

The blue glow didn't fade from his hands as he strode down the hallway leading up to the Danger Room, purpose filling his every step. As though responding to his Magnetism and anger, the doors of the subbasement slammed open as he passed them, the loud thunks echoing through the barren hallway.

The door to the Danger Room opened automatically without his Magnetism even touching it. With each step that Peter took which led him further and further into the Danger Room, the lights in the walls flickered on, bathing him in white artificial light that he knew would hurt his sister's eyes.

(Peter could remember that one of their old handlers, likely their first one, had described the two of them as 'See no evil, Hear no evil'. It hadn't made any sense to either of them at the time. At least, not until they started the tests.

They had flashed them with bright spotlights mere feet away from their faces. Peter had been able to see past the lights perfectly fine. But Lorna had ended up being blinded for several minutes after, the brightness drying out her eyes at an alarming rate.

They had blasted a high-pitched whistle while they were in a small and empty room. Lorna had been fine and almost couldn't hear the whistle altogether. But Peter had collapsed in agony, the whistle seemingly reverberating through his head and deafening him for several minutes.)

Sure enough, Lorna scowled before she had even stepped foot in the Danger Room, "This fucking sucks," She said to herself as Lady and Princess entered the Danger Room after Peter. Even Pest hopped out of her arms, his tail flicking from side to side behind him as he rubbed his face against one of the legs of Hank's lab table, "Ugh," Lorna sulked and squinted before she entered the Danger Room.

"I know we're underground but do the lights really have to be this bright?" She asked, loudly making her distaste obvious, "Yes," Peter responded simply, flicking the lever that Hank practically had hidden amongst the various tools and loose parts scattered on the surface of his lab table.

Ten circular slots opened on the floor and ten clear tubes shot up. Only three of the tubes actually had something inside. They were meant to hold their official mission suits but Hank had wanted to work on them before he gave them to the X-Men, including his own. Only Erik, Raven, and Peter's uniforms were untouched. Erik's uniform hadn't needed any extra protection and since Raven's uniform would just shift with her form, she had told Hank not to bother with it too much. And Peter's uniform, no matter the upgrades, would be as useful to him as a coat over his normal clothes.

Yeah, it meant protection but it wouldn't actually protect him all that well, at least, not any better than he would on his own without it. What good was fire-proof or bullet-proof or any other type of proof versus his speed? So he had told Hank that it was fine and to focus on the other's uniforms before even thinking about his. It helped that the original already looked cool.

The only part of Peter's uniform that had any semblance of an 'upgrade' was his boots.

The dark grey boots each had a small heel and reached up to his knees, straps with metal buckles covering the front. Along the entire bottom of his boots were thin sheets of metal, originally put there so that the sole could click against the floor so that when he was walking, he could make his presence known in case he was being too quiet. Peter had put them there himself after he accidentally snuck up on Jean after a training exercise and scared her which in turn scared the others, causing Ororo to send a jolt of lightning through him.

(It hadn't actually hurt, stuff like electricity didn't hurt much anymore. It was either because of his own anatomy and healing factor or it was because Lorna's own body had built up a tolerance for electric shocks. The two of them didn't know why. The two of them didn't want to know why.)

But it was a precautionary, a just-in-case because Peter was known for causing scares around the mansion, always unintentionally. He always thought that the others were paying more attention to their surroundings than they really were.

Peter walked towards the tube containing his uniform as Lorna whistled behind him, "Now that's wicked," She said with a grin in her tone, "Do you think I could get a uniform like that one?" Peter rolled his eyes as he pushed the tube open, "You'd hate being limited to a hero's morals just for a cool outfit," He stated, hearing his twin scoff, "Heroes aren't the only ones with the cool outfits," Lorna replied, "I mean, just look at dad's!"

Peter glanced at Erik's uniform out of the corner of his eye, "Dad's uniform makes him look like an idiot," He said, looking back at his own uniform as he started unbuckling it from the mannequin, "Okay, maybe it's not the most flattering on him, but still!" Lorna tried to reason though Peter didn't even look back at her, "Do you think he'd mind if I tried it on?"

Peter paused for a second before he sighed, "You mean Magneto's uniform? Magneto, who is half a foot taller than both of us and is more muscle mass than the both of us combined? His uniform isn't spandex, Lorna, it's Kevlar. There's no way in hell it would fit you, even the cape would be too long for you," There was silence from Lorna for a few seconds while Peter finished unbuckling his uniform, "...You're so mean to me," She said, no doubt pouting.

"I'm not exactly in the mood to be nice, Lorna," Peter shot back, unclasping the gauntlet from his forearm. He pulled his uniform jacket off of the mannequin and shrugged off his silver leather jacket so that he could pull the protective gear on over his KISS shirt, "I'm in the mood to have fun," He added, zipping up the jacket and reclasping the gauntlet over the sleeve of the jacket.

Peter's uniform was darker and almost duller compared to the others, with shades of grey and dull blues instead of the colourful reds and yellows and golds of the others' original uniforms. It made his uniform look like a mixture of Erik's uniform and Raven's uniform.

"I think our ideas of fun at the moment are very different," Lorna said as Peter fixed the hem of the jacket and adjusted the collar where he needed to, "You want to kill those humans, don't you? Torture them until their screams run thin and they can barely even see straight?" Peter asked, kicking off his shoes so that he could put on his uniform boots.

"...Okay," Lorna responded after a second, "Maybe our ideas of fun aren't that different."

Peter stood back up after buckling his boots and smoothed down the front of his jacket, "Why don't you go start the Blackbird," He suggested and then heard the steel soles of Lorna's boots knock together as she gave him a salute, likely mocking him, "You got it," She said and her footsteps faded as the sound of the cargo ramp of the Blackbird lowering filled the space of the Danger Room.

Peter turned around and made a hand signal in the direction that Lorna was going, signalling for Lady and Princess to follow her which they did. At least that showed that the two of them would listen to his commands. Surprisingly, Pest silently pattered after him as he walked out of the Danger Room and into the changing room down the hall. Peter paid the cat no mind as he rummaged through his assigned locker, pulling his goggles out a second later.

Usually, Peter's goggles were constantly on his person, around his neck, pushed up to his forehead, hanging from his belt. But those goggles were nearly useless, they did little more than protect his eyes when he ran. But these goggles, the ones made from tough plastic and metal fibres, the ones with tinted lenses, the ones with a small dial on the side. These goggles were the ones Peter loved to use the most because they did more than just keep his eyes safe. He had made them that way, after all.

Peter pulled his goggles on over his forehead and then turned and caught sight of himself in the long mirror that spanned the entirety of one of the changing room's walls.

He looked...

Peter wasn't used to seeing himself when he was angry, avoiding mirrors wherever he could. He always feared that he would look too much like their mother and that any semblance of anger would shatter and be replaced with fear due to his own image.

Nothing like that happened.

Instead, Peter merely stared at himself in the mirror, watching the way his fists were clenched tightly at his sides and the way his blank expression never even shifted at the sight of himself. He has been described as many things before. Scary, grotesque, monstrous, pathetic. He has been described as the only one of his family to give second chances, earning himself the name Purgatory, he has been described as the devil's son, a smile too wide to be natural and a heart too erratic to be functional.

Looking at himself in the mirror now, however, made Peter think only one thing.

He looked normal.

Peter didn't look any less standard than the average human, no more unsettling than the average mutant. Without the sight of his hair, he'd probably easily pass as a human. He looked like nothing more than a man who had everything to lose.

He ran a hand down his cheek, briefly wondering if he should dig his nails into his skin deep enough to scar so that he'd finally look like the monster he's always been described as. He wondered if it was even possible for him to scar since it had never happened before.

Something bumped into his leg and Peter looked down at Pest without moving his head, "What," He grounded out through clenched teeth, his tolerance for the cat already thin enough, "Meow," Pest replied, staring up at him for a second before lightly hitting his paw against Peter's pant leg, "Meow," Pest dragged it out this time, sounding almost annoyed with him.

Peter sighed, "You are as aggravating as always, you little shit," He said and Pest let out a small chirp in response, turning his back and flicking his tail at him on his way out of the changing room. He spent a few seconds willing himself to calm down before he left the changing room and stalked back into the Danger Room.

The engine of the Blackbird wasn't as loud as it used to be in the earlier stages of when Hank was rebuilding it but it was definitely louder than the engine of a stationary fighter jet should've been. Peter walked up the cargo ramp and into the main deck where Lady and Princess were sitting. He slung off the shotgun on his back and gently placed it down across one of the seats.

In what was technically the cockpit despite it having nothing to separate it from the deck was Lorna. She was standing over the control panel, "I started it up," She said, turning around to look at him, "Now what?"

"Now," Peter replied, "You sit down and let me do my thing," Lorna held up her hands and sat down in the passenger seat as Pest practically strutted up the cargo ramp. Peter walked over to the control panel as Lorna pulled up the cargo ramp.

"You do know how to fly this thing, right?" Lorna questioned when Peter started flipping switches on the panel, "Yes. Vaguely," He repeated what he had told her earlier. It's not as though Peter had never piloted a jet before, he's just never piloted one that was so deviated from the original model, "You're not going to crash and kill us, right?" She asked and Peter rolled his eyes, "Do you trust me or not?"

Lorna pouted, "Not when you're this pissed off, no," She answered, entirely honest. Peter pressed a button and the ceiling above them split open, the early morning light spilling in now that the sun was no longer just resting on the horizon.

"Put your helm on, Lorna," Peter said as he quickly inputted the coordinates from his gauntlet's white screen, his fingers dancing across the navigation controls, and sat down in the pilot's seat, not bothering to dignify her words with a response.

"No need to tell me twice," Lorna replied, unclipping the green helm from her belt which very closely resembled the front arch of Magneto's helmet. It was a part of her motorcycle helmet and served as her callsign just as Peter's goggles served as his.

He pulled his goggles on over his eyes, the lenses tinting his vision. Lorna placed her helm on the crown of her head, both ends of it tucked behind her ears and pinning loose strands of hair out of her face.

"Good," Peter pushed the throttle forward slightly and the Blackbird started to hover higher and higher until they were out of the subbasement and in the sky, "Because I hate repeating myself," He added, putting one hand on the control wheel in front of him and reaching his other hand to the side.

Peter pushed the throttle all the way forward and then they were gone, the swaying trees below them the only trace they left behind.

Chapter Text

It wasn't that Lorna didn't trust her brother. She did, with her life.

It's just. Normally, Peter wasn't pissed off to high hell and his mutation wasn't fueled by pure anger. His mutation, which he appeared to have complete control over and was highly destructive just on its own without his anger.

(Lorna was almost impressed with Peter's control, if not a little bitter about it. Because she's had her Magnetism for ten years and even she struggled with control. But he's had them for maybe a month and a half and he could already lift and move things which Lorna definitely hadn't been able to do after a month and a half with her powers.)

If Peter ended up compressing the jet, whether accidentally or not, Lorna wasn't sure she'd be strong enough to push it back into place. And she wasn't sure her twin would have enough control over himself to do so either.

For the moment, Peter seemed to be fine, however. If not a little quiet and expressionless, which was never a good look on anybody in their family.

For Erik, the look seemed to promise pain of unimaginable lengths, the feeling of agony and the longing of death with just the flick of his hand. For Wanda, the look meant that she was giving orders to her companions that she didn't want others hearing, whether that companion be Lady and Princess or a flock of seagulls. For Lorna, the look meant she was coming up with a plan that would ruin somebody's life and was unafraid to enact it especially if murder or torture was a part of said plan.

For Peter, the look meant-

Actually, Lorna wasn't too sure what the look meant for her brother yet. She certainly couldn't remember ever seeing him make that face when he was angry before. She wouldn't pretend to be stupid, however, she knew it couldn't mean something good. She just didn't know the severity of it yet.

Normally, Lorna had no problem looking through Peter's mind, sometimes she even did it when she was just bored. But for whatever reason, she couldn't get past whatever was blocking her. She could feel that Peter's thoughts were fuzzy, intangible around the edges to the point where she couldn't even grasp onto anything, but she couldn't hear them. It was as though they didn't exist even though Lorna could definitely see where they began and where they ended.

"You're thinking too loud," Peter grumbled, his voice breaking Lorna out of her musing. He was staring straight ahead, his eyes scanning the clouds and the open sky that stretched out in front of them behind the tinted lenses of his goggles, only tearing his eyes away for a few seconds to glance down at the navigation controls on the jet's control panel as though he didn't know where he was going. At least Lorna knew now that his connection wasn't affected by his anger.

"They're just thoughts," Lorna responded and her brother scoffed, "They're annoying," He said, the irritation in his tone obvious, "Then stop listening to them," Lorna said, rolling her eyes, "I can't," Peter replied, his grip on the control wheel tightening for a second before relaxing, "You're too loud."

Lorna crossed her arms over her chest and leaned back in the passenger seat, kicking her feet up on the control panel, "Well, I can't exactly shut them off," Peter glanced at her before looking back at the sky, "Treat the Blackbird the same way you'd treat my car," He said and the glow of his left hand was the only warning Lorna was given before her feet were shoved off of the control panel, "Which means feet off the dash."

It took Lorna a good few seconds to realize that Peter had used his Magnetism and grabbed the metal soles of her boots to move her feet back onto the floor. When she did realize this, she huffed and frowned, pulling her legs up to sit crisscross on the passenger seat.

Peter glanced at her for a second but did nothing to deter her position.

They had managed to make it across the Atlantic Ocean in relative silence before something akin to a problem arose.

Lorna looked down at the control panel when something started to crackle and hiss, "-zZxzz-xzZ-" Static came through what looked to be a small circular speaker, "Is that supposed to happen?" She asked, "No," Peter responded without even looking away from the open sky. The speaker crackled on and off for several minutes before legible words finally came through.

"-come in," The voice was that of a man, thick and heavy with a Russian accent, "Незарегистрированный летательный объект, come in," Though Lorna's oral Russian was horrible, her comprehension of it was at least subpar enough that she could understand what the man was saying. He was definitely speaking slowly enough for her to catch up.

Without taking a hand off of the control wheel, Peter pushed down on the yellow button on the panel next to the speaker, the button covered in that blue glow, "Мы можем тебя слышать," He responded simply, his Russian faster than the man's and harder for Lorna to understand without her brother's thoughts filtering themselves for her, "Назови мне причину, по которой ты направляешься прямо на нашу базу, пилот."

Peter grumbled and licked over his teeth before responding in Russian, "Убей себя, мудак," He then let up on the yellow button and pulled the speaker straight from the control panel with his Magnetism, snapped and exposed wires sparking.

Lorna whipped her head to the side to stare at him, eyes wide and completely thrown off by both his words and his actions.

"What- What-" She stuttered before she collected her shock, "What happened to treat the Blackbird the same way you'd treat your car?" Lorna asked, her voice just barely concealing the awe in her tone. Peter gave a half-shrug, "I'll fix it," He said and an exposed wire sparked loudly a second after he spoke, "Later," He added, causing Lorna to laugh.

"You- You motherfucker!" Lorna said, short giggles interrupting her laughter, "Fucking- Is that allowed?" She questioned and Peter sneered, "Who knows, who cares," He shot back, "This isn't a CIA mission, I could care less about what's normally allowed and what's not."

Like the other two M.E.A.s of the CIA, the two of them had rules to follow during the missions assigned to them. They shifted, no one set of rules the same but rather interchangeable depending on where their mission took place. Sometimes, their rules were easy to follow. Other times, the two of them had to fight their urges to directly disobey their handler.

But Peter was right, this wasn't a CIA-issued mission, there weren't any rules to follow here. They could do whatever they damn well pleased.

The feeling of euphoria that went through Lorna's heart at the thought made her grin.

Her grin immediately faltered and dropped a second later, however, when a holographic screen popped up from the centre console and started beeping, "'Call Incoming'," Lorna read for her twin's benefit, "Fuck- What- What do we do?" She asked, half frantic and half worried, "I mean, you just told them to kill themselves, I don't this will be a nice domestic call."

(It was... weird. Feeling so many emotions at once. Usually, Pietro was the one feeling all the worry and fear and sadness. Lorna handled the anger, she was the one who always felt the anger nowadays. And now, suddenly, after six years, she was feeling worry and fear and things she could barely remember how to deal with. It felt... bad. Was this how Pietro felt all the time? Or had he gotten used to it just as she had with anger?)

Peter grunted but didn't say anything in response.

He turned toward the holographic screen, the first time he's looked away from the sky since their take-off, and stared at it for what felt like hours. Though, in reality, it couldn't have been longer than a few seconds before Peter took a hand off of the control wheel and reached out to the centre console.

Lorna intercepted his hand before he could answer the call, "Don't," She warned, gripping his wrist tightly, "I know what I'm doing," Peter responded without looking at her and she could just barely pick out the annoyance in his tone. He made no move to break out of her grip even though it would be easy for him to do so.

The screen continued to beep.

Lorna swallowed shallowly before letting go of her brother's wrist, "Don't antagonize them," She told Peter, "I'm not going to promise that," He responded and then answered the call.

The shrill beeping stopped and the holographic screen doubled in size. Peter pulled his goggles up to his forehead and reclined in his seat, entirely too relaxed for their current predicament, and Lorna did her best to imitate him though she was considerably more high-strung than he was, her posture taut and rigid.

The screen lit up and an image was projected between the two of them. Lorna almost relaxed at the person she saw despite herself.

The man was small, short enough to be mistaken for a kid if not for the pressed and tailored navy blue suit that he wore and the stupid, bushy moustache he had. He was very obviously sitting on a tall chair to be able to look over the top of the control panel. He had a sly grin on his face and his expression turned smug as he opened his mouth-

-And no sound came out.

Lorna watched his lips move but she couldn't actually hear anything. The man didn't even seem to notice. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Peter's finger twitch against the armrest of his seat in agitation.

Lorna snorted softly to herself after a second, "Demon," She said, covering her mouth behind her palm so that her grin was hidden, "The- The speaker. You pulled it out, remember?" She reminded her twin. The man paused whatever monologue he had started, confused, which meant that he could likely hear them. They just couldn't hear him. Because Peter had torn out the jet's speaker.

Peter sighed deeply and dragged a hand down his face, "For fucks sake..." He muttered under his breath, pushing his seat away from the control panel and towards where he had dropped the speaker.

Lorna almost instinctively jerked forward when Peter took both of his hands off of the control wheel before she noticed that the jet stayed on course, not even threatening to tilt. The bastard didn’t even need to be flying the damn thing, he was just ignoring her the whole time!

Peter picked the speaker up and moved back towards the control panel, putting the speaker against the hole filled with still-sparking wires. Even though the wires weren't covered in the blue light of her brother's Magnetism, Lorna watched the ends of the snapped copper wires twist around their other end counterpart on the back of the speaker. The wires sparked one last time before Peter pushed the speaker back into the hole, the speaker clicking back into place among the control panel. A brief jolt of feedback made Lorna's ears itch as her brother moved his seat back to his side of the cockpit.

Lorna grinned up at the man on the screen, "Go on," She purred darkly, slipping into the typical persona she always took up whenever they were on a mission, "We can hear you now."

The man cleared his throat and fixed his suit with a smile, his face flushing slightly from embarrassment, “As I was saying, it is an honour to bask in the presence of those as powerful as you two,” Lorna cringed at the tone the man used. It was saccharinely and overly fake, far too sweet to have come from a man who looked as stupid as he did.

"...You know who we are," Peter stated but the man must've heard it as a question because he answered, "Of course I do. Hell and Purgatory, the CIA's best mutant agents. What an honour,” He recited, and Lorna couldn’t tell if he was being sarcastic anymore.

Peter's expression never shifted from the blank look he had adopted as soon as the man had spoken, "You know who we are," He repeated, "Which means you know what happens to people that cross us," The man’s expression didn’t change but his eye did twitch, his fingertips drumming against the control panel in an almost nervous fashion, "I'm afraid I don't understand what you mean, Purgatory. I can assure you that my men and I have done nothing to cross a power such as you and your sister."

Lorna felt a flash of anger, bright and burning hot like molten metal, and it took her a second to come to the realization that the feeling had come from her brother and not from her own plethora of emotions. It surprised her, usually when the two of them were this close to each other, they couldn't feel each other's emotions. And yet Lorna could feel his anger as though it was her own.

Peter huffed silently and scowled, "I hate when people lie to me," He said lowly, reclining in his seat, "It's like they think I'm an idiot."

The man held up his hands in a placating motion, "Nobody thinks you're stupid, Purgatory," He replied, which wasn't what Peter had said. It was the most idiotic thing you could say to either of the Maximoff Twins.

(It was such a stupid thing to say, in fact, that Lorna almost pinched herself just to make sure that the man had actually said that.)

Lorna heard the crunching sound metal made when it was crushed and she glanced at Peter from the corner of her eye to see both of his hands clenched on the armrest of his seat, the metal crumpled under his strength. She watched a few thin streams of blood pour down the side of the chair and drip down onto the floor before the bleeding stopped, the shallow cuts healing over already.

"...The man on the radio," Peter said, grinding his teeth together. Lorna wouldn't be surprised if they ended up chipping, "That was one of your men, yes? I never gave him a proper answer to his question, did I?" The man lifted his head back slightly, giving the impression that he was looking down on the two of them, "No," He replied slowly, "No, you did not."

"Then allow me to give one now," Peter leaned back further in his seat and Lorna saw movement out of the corner of her eye. She glanced back and saw Pest strut up from the deck to the side of Peter's chair. He looked up, sat back, and wiggled his body a little. Before Lorna was able to warn her brother, Pest jumped up onto the non-damaged part of the armrest.

(It was no secret that cats hated Peter and that Peter hated cats. To him, they were too loud and made too much of a mess and couldn't be trained the same way dogs could. Cats irritated him to no end and Pest was no different. In fact, Pest was probably the worst. The two of them butted heads more times than Lorna cared to count, disregarding the fact that she couldn't count at all.)

Lorna expected Peter to shove Pest off of him as soon as the cat stepped down into his lap. But Peter didn't even seem to notice him. Pest spun in a circle, kneading his front paws against Peter's jeans before curling up in his lap, his tail hanging over Peter's knees and waving contently.

And then Peter started petting Pest, likely subconsciously, and Lorna wished she could take a picture to show Wanda later.

"My reason for flying straight to your base," Peter started, stroking Pest from the top of his head all the way to the base of his tail, "Is so that we can kill you and your men," As though agreeing with him, Pest started purring up a storm.

"You and your men have taken something that belongs to me. To us," Peter held up his other hand, palm up, and clenched it into a fist, "And we intend to take it back. No matter what," He put his arm down, his elbow on his damaged armrest and his chin resting atop his fist, "You did not truly believe that you could just take from the Devil's Children, did you? You'd have to be the most mindless fool alive to even entertain the thought of such a thing."

Peter licked over his teeth again, a sudden grin overtaking his face, "But of course, you are the most mindless fool alive. You're Bolivar Trask," He announced and gestured to the man on the screen, "There's nobody dumber than you."

The man seemed to fume before he spoke, "So you know who I am," He stated and Peter laughed though it was filled with more hostility than humour, "I do, I do," He confirmed, "Professor X had me break Magneto out of the Pentagon just for you," He cooed.

Lorna nearly flinched in surprise at her brother's mention of the Pentagon though she managed to catch herself. It was an unspoken rule between the two of them to never talk about the Pentagon. It was when they and the CIA learned they were Magneto's children and it was when Peter's fear of the man started.

Peter hated talking about the Pentagon, why he chose to mention it now was beyond Lorna. It didn't help that she couldn't read her brother's mind at the moment to figure him out.

”The CIA just adored talking about you, about all the good you’d do with mutants like us once you had the power. Well, fuck that,” Peter hissed out, “Do you understand how much we’ve fought to be respected among the ranks of our human counterparts? Do you understand how much I’ve fought to keep your grubby little power-hungry hands off of Mystique and away from Magneto and his family in Poland? A lot!” He shouted, temporarily losing control over himself and his anger as the jet started to wobble and creak ominously.

Lorna instinctively raised a glowing hand to straighten the jet back out and steady its flight as her brother continued speaking, “Because as much as I fucking hate the man, I’d hate it even more if somebody like you got a hold of him using my tech!”

Peter scowled and smoothed his hair back though it just fell back into place when he dropped his hand, “God, I fucking hate humans like you. I am Purgatory, the Devil’s only son, the Speed Demon. I am the worst fucking person to fuck around with right now. And you-" He cut himself off with mocking laughter, "And you've managed to piss me off. How... disappointing."

Pest lifted his head from Peter's lap and hissed at the screen and Lorna watched from the corner of her eye as Lady and Princess jumped down from their seats in the deck and slowly strolled up onto either side of Peter's dented seat, their haunches raised and low growls escaping their throats. Peter held up a hand and waved it dismissively, "W dół," He commanded in Polish and Lady and Princess stopped growling, though Pest only settled once Peter resumed petting him, "Siedzieć," Lady and Princess sat down at either of Peter's sides.

"So tell me now, Trask," Peter said lowly, "Will you die like a coward? Or will you at least be entertaining?"

Lorna watched Trask's face go through a magnitude of expressions, each emotion different from the one before it, before his face settled into something indifferent to match her brother's expression, "Normally, Hell is the one giving us trouble. You follow the rules, Purgatory. What happened to you?" It felt as though he was mocking the two of them now.

Lorna stood up, deciding it was her turn to toss her two cents in (or however that fucking saying went, she didn't fucking know), and walked slowly behind Peter's chair, "You heard my twin before. You've taken something from him. From us," She leaned against the back of Peter's chair, lightly running her fingers over the tough leather covering his shoulder once she was sure he wouldn't try and break her hand for touching him while he was in this state, "And we don't take too kindly to people that take our things and destroy our home in the process."

Lorna looked down at her other hand, pretending to inspect her black-painted nails, "I'll be honest, I don't care for the X-Men as much as Purgatory does. But the X-Men are still mutants. And that was the promise the Devil's Children made to the CIA, wasn't it? To protect mutant-kind since they wouldn't?"

Trask scowled, "You two have murdered more mutants than I have," He said and Lorna shrugged as though that fact didn't matter, "And? Those mutants were annoying and pathetic, hardly the loss of the year. The X-Men at least have some redeeming qualities that'll bring some good to mutant-kind," Trask scoffed at her words, "From what I've heard, Magneto is one of the X-Men now. Are you, Hell, saying that mutant has good redeeming qualities?"

Lorna paused the movement of her hand before she met Trask's eyes on the holographic screen, "Who cares? Like it or not, that mutant is still our father, he is still the Devil the CIA fears. So go suck his dick, Trask," She snarled and she could hear the smirk in her brother's voice when he spoke, "Why don't you choke yourself on it and die while you're at it," He added, "See you soon, Trask."

Peter reached over and disconnected the call before Trask could respond to either of their taunts.

As soon as the holographic screen disappeared, Lorna brought her hands up and gripped the back of Peter's chair, bowing her head between her arms, "Pieprzony Chryste," She hissed, "When did the CIA ever talk about him?" Lorna questioned, having not remembered any conversation that ever included a man named Boliver Trask. And she had the better memory out of the two of them.

"You're predictable, Lorna," Peter told her, "The agents knew you'd get pissed off if they talked about someone like Trask. So, they told me instead. It was after the whole," He waved his hand in a circle, "Washington Incident," Lorna didn't flinch at the mention of said incident this time as that was the normal name they used to refer to the Pentagon Breakout.

"And- And what happened from that?" Peter tilted his head to the side in thought, "I think I killed them," He said and then paused for a second before continuing, "Yes, I must've. I don't remember feeling good when they told me about him," Everything that he just said was an insinuation that he hadn't been annoyed enough to be angry but that he hadn't been indifferent enough to be calm.

"Lorna," Peter said, tensing up slightly, and Lorna hummed to show that she was listening to him, "Why is there a cat in my lap?" He asked in a deadpanned tone, causing Lorna to snicker, "He just hopped on," She answered, reaching over and pulling Pest out of her brother's lap, "He's been there for your entire speech. You looked very cool with him there, though, don't worry."

Peter scowled, "Yes, well, now there's cat hair all over my clothes," He pointed out and there was, in fact, white cat hair all over his black shirt and jeans. Lorna only shrugged, "You'll live," She responded, patting his shoulder as Pest jumped out of her arms and onto the floor. Peter rolled his eyes, trying and failing to dust the cat hair off of his clothes.

"So," Lorna dragged out, "Does this jet have an auto-pilot feature or?" She let the question hang in the air between them, "I'm flying it," Peter responded, turning back to the open sky where the clouds had gotten thicker and darker above them, unnecessarily putting his hands back onto the control wheel, "You son of a bitch," Lorna said with a smile, "So when the thing shook?"

"Temporary loss of control," Peter answered and then glanced up at her, "Thanks for fixing it," Lorna shrugged and fell back into the passenger seat sideways, her feet hanging over the armrest, "I don't wanna go down anymore than you do," She crossed her arms behind her head, "Speaking of going down, where are we gonna land this thing when we get to the base?"

Peter didn't answer her for a few seconds, "Right there," He said eventually and Lorna lifted her head slightly to be able to look out the windshield of the jet. What was laid out in front of them was a sea of white, disturbed only by power lines and the green of artificial wildlife. Surrounded by said power lines and artificial wildlife was a grey, one-story-tall building covered in satellites.

It reminded Lorna of a military training camp, which was to say that it was bland and ugly as shit.

Off to the side of the building, a few hundred feet at least, was a large patch of concrete, untouched by the snow and framed by a thick black outline. An empty landing pad, "How convenient," Lorna said out loud through her teeth. Peter shrugged, uncaring, "It works," He responded. "If it's a trap, we can deal with it later," He pushed the control wheel downwards, pulling the throttle back at the same time to slow the jet down as they descended.

Which was a needless endeavour, considering Peter was still using his Magnetism to keep them in the air.

(Lorna wanted to be angry over the fact that Peter had just been ignoring her the entire time, but she physically couldn't be since he was in control of their negative emotions at the moment. That, and she was trying to figure out how his Magnetism was holding up without him moving his hands or the visible blue glow. She didn't know whether to be more impressed or confused.)

The wheels of the jet bounced and then rolled to a stop as Peter pressed a few buttons on the control panel to shut the rumbling engine off. Lorna pulled herself up out of the passenger seat and stretched, fixing her helm, "God, this'll be fun," She said to herself as she waved her hand, the cargo ramp behind them falling open and a breeze of freezing air filtered through the jet.

"W górę," Peter said in Polish and Lady and Princess stood up from where they had sat themselves on either side of the pilot seat. He bent down and slipped his fingers between both of their metal collars and their throats, pressing down on something.

Lorna watched in unconcealed awe as the metal collars seemed to unfurl, the thin but durable metal expanding to span across their bodies. The metal crawled over their coats like bugs, merging together without the use of Magnetism. After a few more seconds, the metal had completely covered Lady and Princess's bodies with no indication that they ever had a collar on, no inch left uncovered with holes only for their eyes and nose.

"You're a fucking genius," Lorna told her brother once he stood up straight again, "I know," Peter replied simply, a reply he'd never give normally to such a statement. Lorna didn't know if he got embarrassed being called a genius or if he genuinely didn't believe it unless it was in regard to something specific he made, like the collars.

Pest hopped back up onto Peter's seat and stretched out before laying back down, "Ready?" Lorna asked Peter, "Very," He responded, holding out a glowing hand and the shotgun on the deck seat flew into his outstretched hand. He shouldered it behind his back, "Podążać," Peter said and Lorna was unsure whether he was talking to her or Lady and Princess.

Regardless, the three of them followed his lead as he walked down the cargo ramp and into the snow-covered territory. Lorna waved her hand again and shut the cargo ramp as soon as the four of them were standing among the snow, grateful for the fact that she was wearing black and had boots on and not shoes that would get soaked with melted snow.

The air surrounding them was stale, frigid, stiff and smelled of something old, something metallic in the air along with something sulfuric.

"Blood," Lorna muttered, "Bodies," Peter added and she looked over at him, "Mutants?" She asked, "Humans," He responded. Lorna turned her nose up in disgust, "Gross," Peter nodded, "Revolting," He agreed. They walked in silence for a few minutes, Lady and Princess's metal-covered paws quiet on the snow, before Lorna spoke again, "Do you think they put up a fight?" She questioned, referring to the X-Men, "I'm not in the mood to be optimistic," Peter said, "So, no. Not here, anyway."

The memory of the destroyed mansion came into Lorna's mind. She wasn't completely sure if the memory was hers or Peter's but from the shakiness of the memory and the tinge of red along the edges, she assumed it belonged to her brother.

"...Do you think they're okay?" Lorna asked after a second and Peter didn't even look over at her when he answered, "I thought you didn't care about the X-Men as much as I did," He said, repeating her earlier statement to Trask, "I don't," She responded, "Just. I'm not feeling anger so my body decided that I must be feeling worry so now I'm really worried. And- And I know that they wouldn't target Wanda specifically since she doesn't have the same last name as us on legal documents. So now I'm worrying about the X-Men as a whole."

Lorna hadn't realized that she was nervously rubbing her upper arms until her hands were forcibly stopped, light blue light covering the gauntlets around her forearms, "They will be fine," Peter told her though his indifferent tone wasn't very reassuring which Lorna knew wasn’t his fault, "They haven’t been gone for much longer than two or three hours-“ “-A lot of things can happen in two to three hours,” Lorna interrupted him, hating the unfamiliar feeling that curled around her bones as though it had already made its home there.

(Lorna hoped helplessly, desperately, that her brother didn't have to feel this every time she did something that made him worry. She knew Wanda made Pietro worry the most but if she had known that this is what he felt every time, the cold sensation of not-quite-fear but not-quite-reassurance, then she would've helped. She wouldn't have spent nearly a decade petulantly despising her own sister just because of what her father ended up doing. Lorna would've helped.

She hated to think about the fact that Pietro was probably used to this feeling by now.)

"They will be fine," Peter repeated in a firmer tone, no more or less reassuring than the first time, "They want the X-Men alive. It isn't fun to experiment on a dead mutant," His words made Lorna shiver. She knew her brother was likely trying to reassure her. But he was doing a shitty job.

"You don't usually suck this much at comforting people," Lorna pouted, turning away from Peter, "Usually, you're, like, great at this," Peter huffed and scowled, "I don't care right now, Lorna," He said and Lorna was unsure whether he meant 'couldn't' or if he meant 'didn't want to'.

"I told you that they'd be fine. I don't understand why you don't trust me," Peter added in a mild tone and Lorna sighed, "I- I do," She insisted, "I just-" She cut herself off, a bad feeling striking her heart, and stewed in silence for a minute with only their footsteps to interrupt her thoughts.

"...You sounded like Magda. Right there," Lorna muttered, avoiding her brother's gaze when he stopped walking and looked over at her. There was a blankness and bleakness in his eyes that she never thought would be directed at her, "...Do you want me to apologize?" Peter asked, "Would you mean it?" She shot back. He nodded and Lorna sighed, "Then yes, I would like for you to apologize."

"I am sorry," Peter said and Lorna would've thought he was lying just from the flatness of his tone, "Can we continue now?" He asked, "Yes, yeah, let's go," Lorna responded, "How much further?" Peter looked back in front of them, "Just past this brush," He answered, gesturing to the snow-covered artificial trees laid out in front of them with a jerk of his head.

Lorna blew out a breath and shook out her arms, "Okay, how are we gonna do this?" She questioned, "Simple," Peter replied, "You're going to find the X-Men and I'm going to take care of everything else," As he said this, he tapped on the white screen of the gauntlet on his forearm. The screen projected something akin to a map with the same green dot from before as the end destination.

Lorna's eyes passed over it, memorizing the dead-ends and turns, "Lady and Princess will accompany you. I doubt it will be safe for them to be with me," Peter added, "Good, that's great, actually," Lorna responded as the white screen shut off, "I could use their ears since these guys aren't going to have any metal," She pulled out the revolver from the pocket of her leather jacket, making sure that it was cocked as she turned off the safety.

Lorna twirled the revolver between her fingers and glanced over at her brother, almost jumping from the unsettling grin she found on his face. It wasn't wide like their dad's but it definitely wasn't normal, something special to just the two of them, "Hey," She said to get his attention and Peter hummed in inquiry, turning his head toward her.

"Maximoffs against the world," Lorna said their usual sign-off before they caused any amount of chaos, holding out a fist.

Peter's grin widened, his expression filled with malice, and knocked his fist against hers, "The world's never going to win," He finished.

Chapter Text

Peter didn't know when he had stopped seeing people as living beings or when the screams around him started blending together.

But he did know when he stood among dead men.

In one hand, Peter held his shotgun loosely, his finger tapping against the trigger absentmindedly. In his other hand, Peter held the limp wrist of a soldier, feeling his stuttering pulse as it slowly tapered off under his fingers. His eyes were nearly lifeless, hidden behind the tinted lenses of his goggles. With Peter's foot pressed firmly against the soldier's throat, there really wasn't anything the man could do. He could feel the man struggling, trying to push Peter's foot away. But Peter was stronger. He'd always be stronger.

Peter lifted his head from the desperate expression the soldier wore, bored of the disgusting redness of his face. Around him, the smell of burning flesh and the sound of tortured screams would've been overwhelming if it wasn't so comforting. Because it meant that he was doing something right, he was merely giving back what they would've done to his family. Or already have done.

Peter wouldn't pretend that what he was doing was morally right, of course, he hadn't lost himself that far. But what he was doing was right-

Bang!

-Peter's leg instinctively jerked when he felt the burning of a bullet pierce through his calf and he grunted though he made no other sound. He looked down at the soldier below his foot. His face was still disgustingly red but now he had a small handgun in his hand, the one that Peter wasn't holding. His grip was shaky but that didn't matter with Peter being practically on top of him.

Peter's expression didn't shift when he tightened his grip on the soldier's wrist and yanked up, hard, popping the man's shoulder out of place. The soldier screamed raspily, his grip slackening on the handgun as it clattered to the blood-covered floor.

Peter took his foot off of the man's throat and watched him greedily suck in air before he started to violently cough from the smoke in the air. He let go of his wrist, his arm falling limply to the floor, and kicked the soldier onto his stomach.

Peter kneeled down and put his knee against the back of the man's neck, "I was being courteous," He said lowly and next to the soldier's ear so that he would be heard over the screams that were finally going quiet, "I was allowing you to face your God as you died for your country," Peter gently set his shotgun down on the floor and then roughly grabbed a fistful of the man's hair, "I was being nice," He hissed, "But now, you must face my father's kingdom as the life leaves you."

Peter yanked the soldier's head back, the man's choking aggravating him, "How disappointing," He said mildly before yanking even harder, snapping the man's vertebrae and breaking his neck. The soldier fell silent below him and the screams followed after.

This was nice. This silence was nice.

Peter grabbed his shotgun and stood back up after a second. The front of his uniform was splattered with blood, his boots smeared with it and his hands covered. Fire licked at his jeans and dark smoke obscured his vision. His too-pale skin contrasted against the dark red liquid and the warm amber glow cast over his body. Peter forced himself to feel grateful that Lorna wasn't anywhere near him. The smell of it all surely would've bothered her. He also forced himself to feel grateful that the two of them were close enough in proximity that she wouldn’t feel the bullet in his leg. Or the multiple bullets embedded in his torso.

Despite the fire surrounding him, there was no frantic screeching of a fire alarm; Peter had pulled those wires out before they could even start, not in the mood to deal with such a commotion. He would have been unable to enjoy the music of their screams if his ears had been assaulted by such a shrill alarm.

Peter hummed and shouldered his shotgun, slinging it onto his back. He continued down the hall, the sheets of metal attached to his soles clicking audibly over the crackling of the fire and leaving bloodied footprints behind him as chains rattled with every step he took. He kicked up a shallow puddle of blood, enjoying the way the blood splattered across the wall, "'Throw them into the blazing furnace, where there will be weeping and gnashing of teeth,'" Peter said into the near-silence, his voice echoing as he emerged from the darkened smoke and into filtered air.

The fire would go out in a few minutes, it wouldn't spread. Peter was mildly disappointed over the fact but he supposed this was still a rescue mission. It was hard to rescue people when trapped by fire.

Speaking of rescue missions...

Despite his anger and indifference, Peter found it easier than ever to tune in with Lorna's thoughts, something he did very sparingly. Her thoughts felt more scrambled than normal, however, and Peter stumbled for a second to grab ahold of just one of them, which ended up opening an entire box full of them.

(Pandora's Box. Peter always loved that one.)

-Jesus fuck, I hate the CIA. Why do we work for the CIA? We get paid good, dipshit. I think. I’d like to strangle everybody a part of the CIA. Is that illegal? It’s murder, of course it’s illegal. Why did Pietro think Wanda’s dogs would listen to me? What if we just torture them? Wanda’s dogs don’t fucking listen to me. I’ve spoken to them in both English and Polish. Torture is still illegal, you fucking idiot-

Peter growled, pulling away for a second to elevate the headache her thoughts had caused him, “Insufferable,” He muttered under his breath, “Fan-fucking-tastic,” He shook his head and tuned back into his sister’s thoughts.

-Metal chains are so fucking painful without my powers. Is this how humans feel? This sucks so much ass. And I’ve got Reaper chained right beside me. The kid’s like a furnace even without his powers. Where’d Death go? The two aren’t supposed to leave each other’s side. I’m chained in front of the X-Men. This is humiliating and dehumanizing. I’m going to kill everybody in this room. Who am I kidding? I didn’t win the first time, and I won’t win the second. Pietro’s fucking gauntlets broke. How the fuck did they break-

Peter hissed and scowled, "For fucks sake," He said, his hands clenching at his sides, "You have to be fucking kidding me," He spun on his heels and strode right back into the blackened smoke. Peter stepped over limbs and in puddles of blood, the fire slowly dying around him though it would take a while before the smoke cleared.

He emerged from the other side of the smoke cloud at a longer corridor, one that led in two directions. The left led to the entrance of the base. The right led to where Lorna had gone.

Peter's head snapped to stare down the right side of the corridor when he heard a soft squeak.

Death and Reaper were M.E.A.s of the CIA alongside him and Lorna. They were younger than them, of course, at nineteen, having joined when they were also sixteen. Peter knew the Director trained them to surpass Hell and Purgatory, the two of them were always meant to replace them. He wasn't all that bitter about it, only amused. There would never be a pair of mutants that worked better together than him and Lorna. Nor would there ever be a pair as ruthless and callous.

But if there was, then that pair would be Death and Reaper.

Death stood at the end of the right corridor, her curly brown hair falling on her shoulders as the white parts of her hair framed her face. She had on the green and yellow leather and Kevlar uniform the CIA provided, her yellow-gloved hands covering her mouth as though she hadn't meant to make a sound. Death's green eyes were wide and streaked with fear behind the skull mask covering the upper half of her face.

"Shit..." Death muttered in her southern accent, taking a half-step backwards. In response, Peter took a half-step towards her. The blackened smoke billowed out at his feet from behind him and blood that wasn't his own dripped from his suit down onto the floor.

Death quickly lifted one of her hands to her ear, "Reaper- Reaper," She said frantically into the comm in her ear, "I found Purgatory," Peter took another half-step towards her. In response, Death took another half-step backwards, "Shit- Reaper, now ain't the time to be givin' me the silent treatment!"

When Peter lifted a blood-covered hand, Death flinched back and he froze, "Do you play the fool, Death?" He asked mildly, "We are mutants, are we not? Did you truly believe that humans would ever accept us? Or do you call on ignorance to be your guide?"

Death bared her teeth, "Shut up, shut up! I hate when ya talk like that, Purgatory!" She hissed, "I ain't no fool an’ I ain't ignorant!" Peter tilted his head to the side, "And yet, you believe you and your Reaper are safe from the destruction humans sow. Safe from the chains of their oppression. Why? Because you play to their wishes and come at their calls? I like to think that you aren't a lapdog, Death."

Death glared at Peter before she spoke into her comm again, "Reaper, for the love of all things holy, answer me!" She shouted. There was silence, crackling from the dying fire filling it out. Peter couldn't even sense the buzzing that occurred whenever a transmission came through. Death's brows furrowed under her mask, continuing in a softer voice, "Reaper... This ain't funny no more, ya hear me?"

Peter watched her quietly for a few more seconds before realization seemed to hit her and she turned back around, "Goddamn it!" Death shouted and broke into a sprint back in the direction she had come from.

Peter followed after her slowly, walking with staggering and unhurried steps. He could tell that Lorna wasn't in any compromising trouble, if she had been then he would've hurried along. But she wasn't, so Peter didn't care.

(Lorna had broken his tech and Peter was trying really hard not to feed that into his anger but it was getting frustrating. She broke his tech. The tech that he had made specifically for her. His tech that she's had for not even an hour. If Lorna wasn't family and if Peter was just a smidgen less stable in the mind, he'd have half a mind to kill her. Which wasn't a thought he was particularly proud of.)

Peter made sure to keep Death in his sights in front of him. Though her mutation did little to hurt him, she was still a trained M.E.A. in the CIA. She was still meant to be his successor, not Lorna's. Death was still as dangerous as any other mutant due to her unstable emotions and inability to actually control her powers.

Death skidded to a stop in front of a large metal door that was in the centre of three separate corridors and tried to push the knob down. But it wouldn't budge, "Come on, come on, come on! Damnit! Open, damn ya!" She shouted, continuing to try and push the knob down, getting more and more forceful as the seconds went on.

Death slammed her side against the door though she had very little in terms of physical strength and she didn't even make it rattle in its frame, "Damnit, Trask! Open this damn door an’ let my Reaper go!"

The sound of Peter's slow footsteps and the rattling of chains mixed with the frantic clicking of the door knob being forcefully jerked. The crackle of an old overhead speaker mixed with those sounds a second later.

"I am terribly sorry, Death," Trask's voice said overhead, sounding entirely too smug for Peter's liking and not at all sorry, ”But your Reaper was less than kind to my men. So I’m afraid that a punishment is in order.”

Death slammed her side against the door again and again and again. Peter could tell that she was getting increasingly frustrated and frantic, “Fuck ya, ya bastard! We listened! We obeyed! But we’re trained soldiers of the CIA an’ we ain’t gonna allow ya to make slaves outta us!” She shouted up to the ceiling.

Trask's crackling laugh rang through the speakers, sounding like nails on a chalkboard, "You're not slaves, Death," He agreed, "But you are mutants. And this world has no place for creatures such as yourself," The speaker clicked and went silent, the frantic movement of Death not faltering. Peter heard a soft whine and metal scraping against concrete and he stopped, looking over to the right hallway.

"Bezużyteczny," Peter hissed and Lady and Princess both lowered their armour-covered heads as though in shame, "Dlaczego nie posłuchałeś?" Lady whined, tapping her front paws against the floor, causing the metal of her armour to scrape against the concrete again, "Przestań błagać," Peter commanded, "Po prostu mnie teraz posłuchaj," Lady and Princess's heads perked up.

Peter reached back and unhooked two of the extra weapons he had grabbed from the back of his jeans, holding the two sharp sickles in either hand. The chain that linked the both of them together was laced through his belt loops except for the two loops in the front.

"Death, enough, step aside," He said firmly and Death whipped her head around, her teeth bared again. However, when she saw what was in Peter's hands, she recoiled and stopped reluctantly, "What are ya gonna do wit' those?" She asked quietly, stepping off to the side and away from the door, "You seem ignorant as to why the Devil's Children are here in the first place. Allow me to inform you, Death."

Peter grabbed onto the chains below the sickles and spun the two sickles at his sides, creating momentum, "Trask has destroyed my home," He said and swung one of the sickles forward, the sharp metal slicing through the thick metal door and hooking into it, "Trask has taken my friends," He swung the other sickle, hooking it into the door further to the left of the first sickle, "And now, Boliver Trask thinks he can keep my family in chains and that I'll roll onto my back and just take it?"

Peter sneered, his grip on the chains subconsciously tightening, "Not me, not Purgatory. I will never take such idiocracy and disrespect lying down," He looked over at Death, "Not until the day I'm dead for good. And like hell I'll ever die to hands not my own."

Peter yanked on the chains, violently tearing the heavy metal door from its hinges and frame. The door slid across the concrete floor, creating a horrid screeching noise that Peter had to force himself not to react to, "Piekielne ogary!" He barked and Lady and Princess were at his sides within the second, "Powstańcie z bram ognistych," Peter commanded.

The two of them snarled and growled before they bounded into the room previously locked behind the heavy iron door.

Death took a hazardous step back but caught herself and stepped away from Peter again, "What- What are those?" She asked and Peter stared straight ahead, standing completely still even as gunshots rang out over the sound of barking and plastic reflecting off of metal, "Hellhounds," He answered, deadpanned, as the volume of shouting men and tortured screams increased, "Bred and raised from the darkest, hottest corners of our father's domain."

Peter only let the silence between the two of them drag on for a second or two, more irritated with Death's palpable fear than proud of causing it, "They're dogs, Death, real fucking dogs. Not everything associated with us has to do with the Devil," He hissed, turning to the younger mutant who flinched back in response, "Sorry, I'm sorry," She muttered.

Peter rolled his eyes, unseen behind his goggles, "Just get your damned Reaper," He growled. Death stayed still and it took him a second to remember that, duh, not everybody would survive getting shot a couple dozen times.

(There was a reason the four of them were Mutant Experiment Agents, and it wasn't because their branch in the CIA was experimental, temporary. It was because of the experiments the CIA thought to conduct on them. Lorna wasn't given the liberty of having her mutation manifest naturally because, of course, the CIA thought it would be smart to experiment on humans who could feel each other's pain. Peter couldn't say what experiments were conducted on Death and Reaper but he thought he had been safe, he had been in the CIA for seven years already and hadn't been taken into that dreaded lab.

Peter conducted his own experiments on himself, constantly improving parts of himself that didn't need to be improved. He should've known that the CIA wouldn't be satisfied with that.

He was a mutant. In the eyes of humans, there would always be something to fix.)

"Never mind," Peter sighed, annoyed, pulling the sickles from the door and tearing through the metal again, "Why must I do everything myself?" He asked himself though he already knew the answer. After all, how did that saying go again?

If you want something done right, do it yourself.

Peter kept his hold on the sickles' chains as he made his way towards the ruined doorway, "'These will pay the penalty of eternal destruction'," He growled, "'away from the presence of the Lord and from the glory of His power,'" He stepped through the doorway-

-And was almost immediately nailed in the side of the head with a bullet.

Peter staggered to the side for a second, caught off-guard by the brazen attack as his left ear started ringing from the gunshot. Ignoring the shout of "Pe- Purgatory!" from Lorna off to his right somewhere and the quickly growing headache, the likes of which that could only be caused by taking a bullet to the head, he shook out his head as though to shake off the black spots in his vision. Blood from his head wound splattered onto the floor at his action and Peter swung the chain in his left hand in the vague direction that the bullet had come from.

He felt the sickle stop, letting him know that he had hit his target; and bone.

Peter wrapped the chain around his hand and yanked, pulling a bone from his target's body as it clattered to the concrete floor at his feet, the screaming blending into the background noise as though it were simple ambience. The bone, likely a femur just based on its size, was covered in bits of flesh and skin and blood.

"Hold your fire!"

It sounded like Trask, which just pissed Peter off. But he only scowled, feeling his anger rise more and more as he hooked the sickles back onto the back of his jeans and bent down. He picked the bone up from the bloodied floor and snapped it in half as one would a stick, "Piekielne ogary," Peter whistled and Lady and Princess trotted up to him without a care in the world, tracking bloody paw prints behind them.

Their metal armour was covered in blood and their maws were filthy with flesh and black fabric. But from their wagging tails and their lack of whining, Peter gathered that they were completely fine.

"Przekąska," He said and held the two halves of the bone under their noses. Lady and Princess wasted no time taking their half in their mouths, "Twój przyjaciel tu jest, odpocznij," Peter told them and they both obeyed, going over to the cell Wanda was in and laying down in front of it in a protective way, gnawing the flesh and licking the blood off of their bone.

And then Peter had to do a double-take at what he saw.

Cells. Cages. Chains. All of them were filled with mutants. His mutants. The X-Men were in a separate cell from the students, their chains longer and bulkier. There was a familiar emblem on their chains specifically. Out of a cage and merely chained down by the heavy weight of pure iron, was Lorna and Reaper.

Reaper was around the same height as Wanda, shorter than Peter and his Death. His blond hair was slicked back, his green eyes shining behind his skull mask. His suit had the same tones of yellow as Death's leather and Kevlar suit did, orange instead of green. His black wrist gauntlets were smashed under the shackles linking his hands together.

Reaper's zippo lighter was on the floor far away from him, dented and jammed shut. The men had likely tried to destroy it before giving up.

Lorna had shot up the second Peter entered the room, her eyes wide as she looked up at him from where she sat beside Reaper. Her helm was crooked upon her head, her hair a mess and a bruise forming high on her right cheek. Exposed wires and jagged metal, bent hazardously, covered her forearms from her destroyed gauntlets.

"Reaper," Peter looked away from Lorna and greeted the younger mutant lowly, scowling.

Reaper swallowed nervously, "P- Purgatory, hi," He smiled, hesitant. Reaper's fear of him was always nice to see no matter the mood he was in, as opposed to Death's fear of him.

Peter ignored his twin, "Death," He called over his shoulder, "Ceasefire," It took a second before Death bolted into the room, automatically ducking behind Peter. He grunted but said nothing, allowing her to hide away. He was already Lorna's shield, it wouldn't exactly hurt him to be hers. Even though Death was supposed to be able to defend herself already.

She was meant to replace him, after all.

Peter turned towards the humans. He stood, living, amongst the lifeless corpses of their comrades, their blood staining his skin, their bitten and gnawed flesh cold and pale compared to his. He stared, unblinking behind his goggles, his clothes smelling of metal and burnt flesh and smoke, "Hello, Bolivar Trask."

Trasks looked even stupider in person which pissed Peter off even more. Because this man was a politician, he had almost ruled the world at some point. And he looked like this?

How disgraceful.

Trask cleared his throat and straightened up, "Good morning, Purgatory," He said, fixing the bottom of his suit, "There is no such thing as a good morning in hell," Peter responded, "So I hope you took a good look at the last rising sun of your days," He reached back, putting his hands on the sickles again.

"Ah, ah, ah," Trask raised a hand, making Peter pause because who the fuck had the nerve to just interrupt their own execution? The human spread his arms out, "I'm afraid that today will not be my last day. Instead," Trask grinned, looking even uglier than Peter thought was possible, "It will be yours."

And then, one second, Peter was staring at Trask's stupid, ugly-ass face.

And the next second, Peter couldn't see anything out of his right eye and the ringing in his left ear had spread to his right, deafening him to the world around him.

Peter stumbled backwards, letting go of the sickles and pressing a hand over his right eye. He felt hands push against his back, keeping him steady, and he nearly lashed out before he remembered that Death was behind him.

He grunted, knocking Death's gloved hands off of him with his left hand, and pulled his right hand away from his eye. Or, at least, what was left of it.

Because, from what Peter could still see through the large spots in his left eye and from what he had felt, there was an empty hole where his right eye should've been.

His right hand was wet with his own blood, bits of flesh and stained-red tissue-like material covering his fingers. The lense of Peter's goggles had been smashed, sharp plastic digging into the skin around his eye socket. Spots had already been dancing across his vision on his left side from the earlier bullet. And now Peter couldn't see anything at all on his right due to another bullet that was so deeply embedded into his skull that he couldn't just reach and pull it out.

Peter was officially blind and deaf to the world around him. And he fucking hated that with every fibre of his being.

Lorna hadn't been too worried when her brother came into the room, far too relieved to be worried.

Because Peter was pissed off and even without that, he was a force of nature against those he saw as enemies. And at the moment, every human must've been his enemy.

She hadn't even been that worried when he got shot twice, once in the head and once in the eye. He's been shot before and he's always been fine. They were hardly the first bullets to pass through her brother's skull. However, it was still horrifying to see her own brother move as though he was a cornered, trapped animal, reaching up and snapping the strap of his goggles and tossing them violently across the room as though they were limiting his movement. And it was still horrifying to see a plastic bullet lodged in a tunnel where Peter's eye should have been and the blood that had started to run down his cheek.

But as Lorna watched Peter's remaining eye swivel around and his hands jerk back as though to reach for the weapons on his belt, she realized that something was wrong.

He had been blinded, Lorna realized, and then continued to watch her brother until she realized what else was wrong.

Peter was deafened. He couldn't hear. Or see.

"Shit," Lorna swore, trying to struggle against her chains even though she knew it was pointless, "What?" Reaper asked, facing her, "What's wrong? He'll survive. He's Purgatory, the Devil's son," His voice was mocking and high, "Fuck off with your stupid petty shit," Lorna hissed, silently wishing that she could feel something other than worry, "He- He's not really able to do anything right now, he's-"

Death extended her hands again to steady Peter or to help guide him, "Death! Get away from him," Lorna called, watching Death flinch back, "He doesn't know who you are. If you touch him, he'll kill you," Death swallowed and slowly backed away towards Lorna and Reaper.

Trask laughed, high and loud, an annoying pitch that made Lorna wish she had the desire to punch him, "Oh, the mighty Purgatory, incapacitated by a mere bullet. I thought he was sturdier than this," The human grinned, "Chain him, boys, let him feel how heavy his own chains are."

Lorna hissed and strained harder against her chains, "Don't you fucking dare!" She growled, "So God help me, if you bring those things so much as an inch closer to him-" "Relax, Hell," Trask commanded as four of his men stepped up with a pair of chains and shackles that resembled the ones around the older mutants' wrists, "I swear on my life that we'll be gentle," The men laughed and the sound caused a wave of helplessness wash over Lorna, clouding her mind with fear and the realization that she could do nothing to help her brother. For once, she was useless.

Be my eyes.

Lorna jolted forward in surprise, causing the shackles around her wrists to dig into her skin. What? Be my eyes, let me see. Peter's mouth didn't move and he was still looking around, unseeing, with his one eye, but it was unmistakably Peter's voice that Lorna heard. His voice was louder than it normally was, drowning out the rest of Lorna's thoughts, and she started to get a small headache just from listening to his projected thoughts.

Take my eyes. See what I do, guide yourself. Lorna closed her eyes.

And when she opened them again, black spots nearly hindered the entirety of her vision in her left eye. Lorna blinked rapidly and shook her head but that only seemed to make the spots dance faster so she stopped. With her one good eye, she watched as Peter shook his own head before he stopped and went eerily still.

Peter slowly looked up, his remaining eye green instead of brown. Just as Lorna's left eye was now brown instead of green.

Within a second, the shotgun on Peter's back was now in his hands, the barrel pointed right at the men holding the chains.

"Look up upon your God and weep," Peter said through clenched teeth, cocking the shotgun. He was just on the cusp of being too loud, unable to hear himself, "For Purgatory has hollowed out his heart of mercy and second chances. I am the Devil's son, the manifestation of everything wrong and inhuman in this world. And you. Are. Nothing."

Lorna flinched at the gunshot, unprepared for any of her brother's weapons to be lacking a silencer due to his sensitive hearing (though it likely didn't matter when he couldn't hear anything anyway), and then watched in unconcealed wonder as the bullet hit its target. Because the target was engulfed in flames.

The human fell to the ground, having been shot square in the chest, dropping the chains in his hands as the fire spat away from his body and created small balls of flame around him. His entire body was covered from head-to-toe in fire, the smell of burning flesh quickly filling the room as shouts emerged from both sides.

Peter grinned maniacally, his face illuminated by the warm glow of the rising flames as he watched his magnum opus of the day.

"'Then the Lord rained on Sodom and Gomorrah sulfur and fire from the Lord out of heaven,'" Peter said, though he was unable to actually hear himself and relied solely on his own memory of the verse. He took two more dragon's breath shells from the pouch on his belt and reloaded his double-barrel shotgun, slamming the chambers shut and raising the gun again.

It was annoying and hard (though not impossible) to shoot off a shotgun with only one working eye, especially considering that Lorna's eyes were already really fucking bad. Peter had forgotten how bright she saw things and he almost had to turn away from the fire due to how bright it burned. But it was better than not being able to see at all.

Peter took aim and spared a split second before he shot it off, the bang silent to his ears. But the warmth from the fire didn't need his hearing to be acknowledged. The amber glow was perfect, bright and warm as the sparks flew through the air.

Peter wished he could hear the screams as the soldiers watched their comrades go up in flames, how sweet of a song it would be. But he supposed he could settle for the scent of burning flesh.

(Did they think to chain him? Did they somehow believe that they had the power to keep him grounded? Purgatory wasn't some dog, begging for some pathetic human master. He served the Devil as his judge, jury, and executioner. Those that held evil in their hearts, those that had done wrong, and those that passed through his domain would find how true that was.)

He felt something tear into his arm and he grunted, twisting his body and shooting off the second dragon's breath blindly in the direction he had felt the bullet come from. Another body was set aflame.

The flames, now three fires strong, burned brighter as soot and sparks flew through the air, spinning and creating a light show that Peter couldn't tear his eye away from despite how much it burned his eye.

“‘For he is the minister of God to thee for good.'" Peter recited, loading the two chambers again and cocking the shotgun, "'But if thou do that which is evil, be afraid;'" He unloaded the bullets into two more humans, watching his chains drop to the ground. Thick black smoke began to climb and cling to the ceiling as it became harder and harder to see through it.

Peter breathed in the smoke, smiling at the wretched taste it left behind in his mouth, "'for he beareth not the sword in vain; for he is the minister of God;'" The sound of ringing started up in his ears again and his smile widened as he began to hear his muffled voice over muffled screams, "'a revenger to execute wrath upon him that doeth evil.’"

Peter took a few steps back, exhaling the black smoke he had breathed in. Hidden within the thick black smoke, he allowed himself to freely use his Magnetism on the revolver on his hip, the bullets lighting up the barrel and producing a dull and faint 'bang' with every squeeze of the trigger. He kept going until the chamber was empty and until he felt the rest of the human soldiers drop.

Peter felt the disgusting process of his flesh stitching itself back together as the sharp plastic fell from the skin around his eye socket. He covered his exposed socket to keep the smoke from interfering with his healing process and then dropped his hand when he felt an eye where an eye was meant to be, filling the once-hollow tunnel.

It would, of course, suck absolute ass later when Peter would have to pull the bullet back out just so that it didn't affect his sight in the long run. Because then he'd have a blind spot again. At the very least, by the time he would have to do that, he'd be safe at home again.

Home...

Peter liked that word. Home. It was a nice word. Home. It had a nice meaning. Home. He hasn't had a home in years, not since coming to the States. The house he lived in with Wanda and Lorna was just that, a house. House was a cold word, it didn't hold the same warmth that home did.

"'The rain came down, the streams rose, and the winds blew and beat against that house; yet it did not fall, because it had its foundations on the rock.'" Peter said, finally able to hear himself clearly again. He laughed as he closed his left eye, swapping his and Lorna's eye back and blinking away the leftover dark spots across his vision, "Did you truly think you could kill me, Trask? Me? You amuse me greatly, horribly, as a court jester to his king," He called out to Trask as he walked backwards, out of the smoke as it billowed around his feet, "But you had to have been joking, mój przyjaciel."

Peter slung his shotgun onto his back again, "I am Purgatory," He unhooked the sickles from his jeans again, "I am the immortal son of the Devil. You cannot kill me, nothing can kill me. Especially not some fucked-up looking, flea-ridden, egotistical, megalomaniatic human!"

Peter swung his left sickle into the smoke blindly, cutting through it like butter.

He felt the sickle snag onto something and he yanked the chain back towards himself roughly, uncaring of the way he dragged Trask across the floor that was dirtied with his own men's blood. Peter tore his sickle from Trask's suit and let the human slide across the floor, at least, until his momentum was stopped by the cages he used to imprison Peter's family and friends.

Trask slammed into the bars of the cage holding the X-Men with a loud noise of pain, holding the back of his head as he tried to scramble into an upright position.

However, Peter brought his right sickle down onto Trask's shoulder, forcing another pained noise out of him, pushing him back down as he tried to squirm away from the blade in his shoulder.

"Don't. Move," Peter growled, "Does the consequences of your actions sting? Does your heart ache, knowing that the sun will no longer rise over you? Your body will rot, and your flesh will be unfit even for the worms," He yanked his sickle from Trask's shoulder, watching impassively as the man doubled over in pain with one hand pressed to the tear in his skin.

Peter walked slowly towards Trask until he was standing right in front of him. He grabbed onto the handles of both of his sickles and lifted them above his head, "Your God will weep for joy once I wipe you from his creation," He said, staring down at the human at his feet, "There is no place for you in the Devil's world," Peter swung his sickles down.

And then they both jerked to a stop in the air, quickly surrounded by that familiar green light.

"What are you doing, Hell?" He asked lowly without turning around, "I- I can't let you kill him, Purgatory," Lorna responded and Peter turned his head to look at her over his shoulder. Reaper stood beside her and Death stood a ways behind the both of them, holding a ring of keys and likely the reason the two of them were free of their chains.

Lorna held her glowing hands out in front of her, though the light was flickering every few seconds and the exposed wires on her forearm sparked brighter, signalling that she had little time left until the joints in her hands locked and prevented her from using her mutation.

"And why is that?" Peter questioned mildly, his expression unchanging as Lorna swallowed nervously, "Your- Your Telepath is very persuasive, even without his mutation," She answered.

He stared at her blankly for several seconds before he snarled and pulled his sickles from Lorna's control, and then swung one of them at her.

Lorna yelped and she and Reaper ducked away from the blade just in time as it scraped against the concrete, creating a horrid scratching sound as Peter yanked it back towards him.

"You have already pissed me off enough, Hell," Peter hissed, "You have broken my tech and now you stand in my way? You have fueled this flame, why are you surprised that it burns brighter with every passing second? You are my twin. So I'd like to believe that you are smarter than this."

Lorna panted, scrambling away in the opposite direction of Reaper, her eyes wide in shock and fear. Movement caught the corner of Peter's eye and he turned back to Trask who was trying to get up, "Stop moving," He commanded and then slammed his other sickle into Trask's hand, pinning him down as he grunted in pain, his other hand instantly going to the sickle and trying to pull it out.

His unoccupied sickle was yanked to the side but Peter yanked it back, "Enough, Hell," Peter said, swinging his sickle at her again, which she dodged again, "You have never cared for the lives of humans before. But now that a pacifist has contradicted our actions, you have suddenly changed your way? You- Have you lost your loyalty to the Devil? Have you finally turned to the God you never worshipped?"

Lorna hissed in pain when Peter swung his sickle a third time, the blade nicking her upper arm, "You were never loyal to the Devil!" She responded, "You hate him! You're terrified of him! Don't act as though you are his perfect son! You are no more his perfect son than I am his perfect daughter!"

Peter snarled again and yanked his sickle from Trask's hand and swung both of his sickles at Lorna at the same time, "Do not try to educate me on who is perfect in this family!" He growled and accidentally knocked the two blades into each other, two lines of bright orange sparks flying from them, "Nobody in this damn family is perfect. But we are freaks to the rest of the world, so we will never be perfect! Not to the world! Not to humans! And not to the Devil!"

More movement caught Peter's eye and he whipped around completely to face Trask, his eyes wild and his lips twisted into a scowl, "I said, stop moving!" He commanded again, louder this time, as he pulled his sickles back into his hands.

And Peter-

Peter didn't understand what had come over him.

He was just- just so pissed off, at Trask, at Lorna, at everything that had happened so far. His eye had been shot out and his hearing had failed him, his own sister was working against him and pointing out his (lack of) loyalty to their father. It pissed him off to an unexplainable level.

And it just so happened that Trask was his breaking point.

Peter reached down and turned Trask onto his front, shoving one foot onto the centre of the man's lower back, "I have shown you mercy," He hissed, putting half of his weight onto the bottom of his spine, "I have reached into what is left of my metal heart and I have given you all the mercy I had left, Boliver Trask. But I am all out," Peter kneeled down, "I was going to give one last mercy upon you and mutant-kind. Your death was supposed to be quick, your trip to our father's domain simple and painless. But I think, instead, I will teach you how to listen to the orders given to you by your betters!"

Dropping his sickles, Peter lifted his hand and brought it down hard and fast. Slamming the heel of his hand right against Trask's cervical vertebrae.

Peter felt the bone shatter and splinter under his hand, Trask instantly going still under him. He heard the gasps from the other mutants in the room and the alarmed and panicked shout from Lorna. The smoke in the room began to clear, the lifeless bodies of humans lying on a floor blanketed in their own blood, the final sparks of fire finally dying out. 

He ignored all of that, focusing only on what was in front of him.

"Why..." Peter stared down at the limp figure of Bolivar Trask, "Why did... I do that?" He asked himself quietly right before the realization of what he had done hit him.

And just like that, with a gasp, Peter felt every ounce of anger leave him only to be replaced with disgust and fear.

Chapter Text

Like the roaring waves of the sea, disgust rolled over Peter and fear followed suit, though he didn't know exactly why the fear was there.

"Purgatory?" He heard Lorna call out from behind him, hesitantly, but sounding hopeful due to his sudden stillness.

"I... I paralyzed him," Peter said in a voice that sounded too loud in the now-silent room. Though it wasn't phrased as a question, he still sounded confused. Confused as to why he had done that, confused as to why he hadn't just killed the man. Confused as to why he had let his anger get the best of him in the first place.

"What," Lorna's tone was flat and monotone, whatever surprise she felt due to Peter's statement went undetected by his rapidly frazzling headspace.

"I- I- I didn't mean to," Peter said, telling himself more than he was trying to tell the others. Because it was an accident. It had to be. He- His anger got the best of him. He couldn't control that. He couldn't.

But Peter had let Lorna get him angry, riled up. He had allowed her to keep talking, prompting whispers of doubt and frustration to invade his mind. It wasn't Lorna's fault, she couldn't see the future, she hadn't known her brother would...

Cholera jasna, Peter just fucking paralyzed someone.

He- Hah. He was going to burst into laughter. Or start crying, he hadn't made up his mind yet. Probably cry, though, since it appeared that he was all out of anger which meant that he was more susceptible to the normal negative emotions he was used to.

It also meant that Lorna now had the chance to get angry.

(Peter tried to reach out to that anger, tried to grasp onto it to pull it back. Not because he didn't want Lorna to have it, to settle back into her heart like second nature. But rather because he had become all too aware of how guilt and repulsion filled the space where his anger had been barely a minute ago and how much it all hurt.)

Peter stumbled backwards, tripping over either his own feet or Trask's, he didn't look down to check. He felt his breathing pick up and he brought his hands up to cover his face, "I didn't mean to," He repeated, sounding more frenzied than before.

Peter could feel the anger getting further and further away from him and closer and closer to Lorna, "What do you mean you 'didn't mean to'?" Lorna demanded, sounding closer now, "I didn't mean to!" He said again into his hands, the volume of his voice and the distraught feelings in his chest rising, "I- I got angry! I wasn't- I haven't-"

Lorna groaned, "Of course you got angry! I made you angry! I needed you angry! I still need you angry! My mutation isn't functional anymore!" She shouted to Peter's back and he hunched into himself, trying to hide himself, "And if you're not angry anymore, your mutation is useless!"

Peter felt like a child again, hiding behind their mother's legs as they met her new boyfriend, Wanda's father, the reason they were in Witness Protection in the first place. The reason the CIA even had power over them. He felt the same way he did a year ago, when the Director filled his bloodstream with Adamantium and Feral Mutant DNA.

Scared, lost, vulnerable, small.

Powerless against his own family.

Peter heard Death speak behind him, her southern accent washing over him like molasses, "Hell... he's still got his speed," She said softly, placatingly, trying to reason with Lorna and her anger. Which just wasn't possible.

"I don't need his speed," Lorna growled in return, "I need the Devil's grace, the power he instilled in his children," She seethed, "And I need my brother. To. Stop. Crying!"

Peter gasped loudly as he felt a searing hot sensation tear into the back of his shoulder, his hand automatically flying from his face to cover the rip in his suit and in his skin. He hunched further into himself but was forced upright again when Lorna grabbed a fistful of his hair and yanked his head up, "Stop. Crying," She commanded again, "I'm stopping, I'm stopping," Peter said frantically, unsure if he was even telling the truth.

Lorna huffed and dropped the chain of one of his sickles, the blade, which was bloodied by human blood and now his own, clattered against the concrete floor. She shoved Peter's head back down and stormed across the room, muttering Polish swears under her breath the whole way.

The room became silent and tense, Death and Reaper knowing better than to try and come between the Devil's Children during an argument. The others likely just didn't know what to do, and it wasn't like Peter and Lorna had ever argued in front of Wanda before, their more venomous words spat between their minds and their violent actions acted out behind closed doors.

Peter could feel his skin stitching itself back together by the time Lorna broke the silence, "...Is this what six years of compressed anger feels like?" She questioned with her back to Peter, her arms crossed and still seething.

Peter nodded sadly, holding his shoulder tighter, "...Is this what you felt in the span of only a few hours?" He asked as tears started to actually spill from his eyes. Lorna scoffed but said nothing else which was enough of an answer for him.

This was how things worked between the two of them. What Peter felt, Lorna couldn't feel. What Lorna felt, Peter couldn't feel. They had found loopholes, of course. Peter could feel excited if Lorna felt happy, Lorna could feel sad if Peter felt distraught, Peter could feel angry if Lorna felt frustrated. One of them would always feel more strongly than the other.

But Peter didn't like feeling angry or frustrated and he had been adamant to keep his promise to Wanda, so he had pushed all of that down for six years. And after not feeling many negative emotions for other people besides anger due to Peter taking the brunt of it all, it made sense that Lorna's sadness and worry would pile up so quickly into something unmanageable.

It wasn't at all healthy. But they were the Devil's Children, Hell and Purgatory, the Mistress of Magnetism and the Speed Demon.

They were Peter and Lorna Maximoff, nothing they ever did with their emotions was healthy.

And that was just how it was, nothing would change that.

Except... Peter could allow himself to get angry again, he could take part of his sister's load again, and she could take part of his. Peter was a hero now, as weird as it was to call himself such, he needed the strength his anger brought him. And Lorna was a lawyer, as heartless as most lawyers acted, she would need to show sympathy for her clients, for her colleagues. They'd have to get used to this again.

And they could fix this, they could change their patterns. The two of them were stubborn sons of bitches, but they weren't proud enough to never admit that they were wrong sometimes.

Lorna deflated with a sigh, "Do you think you can get angry again?" She asked, still not looking at Peter., her tone gentler but still sporting an edge.

Peter shook his head slowly, hesitantly bending down to collect his sickles, "I- I don't think I can," He admitted softly before he turned to Lorna, hooking the bloodied blades back into his belt, "But my mutation should still work even though I'm not angry anymore," Lorna pursed her lips, "I know that," She responded, finally looking back at him with a worried look on her face. Peter felt the air shift again, "But we need it to be powerful. I already tried bending the cages and they didn't budge, not even at my strongest."

Peter rolled his eyes, "Well, I'd think I'd know a bit more about how strong I am than you do," He shot back, "I- I'm just saying, that I've had my mutation for longer and if I couldn't-" Lorna started but was cut off when Peter laughed abruptly, "That's because you're weak! Your mutation may hail from the Devil but you sure as hell aren't him!"

Peter and Lorna both recoiled suddenly from each other, "Jezu Chryst, it's like a rollercoaster," Lorna whined, holding her head, "Whiplash," Peter added, pushing a hand against his chest, "The worst kind of vertigo," She said, "Light-headedness, not sickness," He stated. Lorna scoffed, "Sickness, not light-headedness," She corrected.

Peter snorted, "Don't vomit," He teased, "Don't pass out," Lorna teased back.

The two of them stared at each other for a few seconds before they burst out into laughter.

Normally, most things didn't scare John, aside from the occasional horror movie or certain mission or a too-close brush with Death in a literal sense. He was Marie's reaper, her executioner, and a trained soldier of the CIA. He commanded the flames that guarded the gates of the Underworld and the flames that burned God's creation. Nothing was supposed to scare him.

But the twins' laughter was haunting despite their joy, sending chills down his spine.

It had been like that, too, before Death and Reaper were even official agents. Their laughter, no matter what it was in response to, was haunting and horrifying to hear.

There wasn't anything inhuman about it, no more inhuman than Hell and Purgatory themselves who were very much human despite what anybody who knew them thought. Still, it was the fact that these two cold-blooded assassins could laugh with such joy and delight despite murdering thousands of humans and mutants combined.

How could Hell and Purgatory laugh with each other so freely after Purgatory just paralyzed somebody and Hell directly attacked her own brother?

John took a step closer to Marie, "Fucking Christ, it's like watching a game of bipolar tennis," He muttered for only the two of them to hear. In response, Marie jabbed her elbow into his side, "Quit yer yappin', Reaper," She muttered back, "We're in the presence o' their daddy, remember?"

John scoffed quietly and rolled his eyes, "Oh, I remember, alright," He responded, "I just don't care. He's the one in a cage," Marie hummed, "Still, ya best be careful now. We ain't got immunity from the two o' them against the Devil fer when he is let out," John grumbled under his breath but didn't respond.

Marie sighed gently, the kind of sigh that made her sound older than she actually was, "Are you okay?" She asked softly, a question she normally wouldn't have asked when their mics were linked to the Director's channel. But they weren't linked to the Director's channel, they were linked to Trask's. Trask, who was lying on the floor, paralyzed seemingly from the neck down by Purgatory's elusive anger, unseen in John's short years as an M.E.A. of the CIA.

At least John knew now why Purgatory always seemed so scared of getting angry if this was a possible outcome.

What made no sense to him was why Magneto's son would be so scared of his own anger when it gave him so much power.

"I'm fine, Death," John said through his teeth, "I'm sorry," Marie said, so unprompted that he nearly got whiplash just from turning his head so fast to stare at her, "Had I known Trask would try somethin' like this," Her words trailed off.

"I think that was the whole point," John stated, crossing his arms, "You can't exactly fight against something you didn't expect."

Marie leaned into his space, "...Did'ja fight against them?" She asked, "Obviously," John said, partially offended that his friend thought he hadn't, "I just... didn't do the best job," He admitted, "I forgot Hell aims her hits primarily to the head, and she isn't usually wearing metal on her forearms. So, uh, I was a little disoriented by the time they got the chains on her. I might have a concussion," John sheepishly added.

Marie groaned but she was smiling, "Damn it, John," She said, shaking her head gently. She reached out and John obliged, tilting his head down and allowing Marie to put her gloved hands on either side of his face, "Mask," Marie muttered and John reached up to unclasp the clasp of his skull mask behind his head, partially covered by his hair.

John pulled his mask up to his forehead, giving Marie an unobscured view of his eyes. Marie hummed before she took a hand off of his face and reached into one of the pockets of her uniform, pulling out a switchblade that definitely wasn't one of theirs based purely on the fact that it was metal, not their required ceramic, "Where'd you get that?" John asked, eyeing the sharpened and well-polished blade after Marie flipped it open.

"Nicked it from Hell 'fore ya told me to go find Purgatory," Marie replied, unconcerned, which wasn't the type of response you were supposed to give if you stole from one of the twins. But John supposed being calm was better than freaking out and drawing attention to them, "Just follow it, don't move yer head," She instructed as she lifted the blade and slowly moved it from side to side in front of John's face.

John followed the shiny blade with his eyes as best as he could and he must've done a pretty bang-up job because Marie let out a relieved breath, "Thank the Lord, yer fine," She said, flipping the switchblade closed and shoving it back into her uniform pocket, "Am I finer than a country hoss?" John asked, doing his best impression of his friend's accent as he clasped his mask back on, "Or- Or a fiddle? How does it go? Finer than a fiddle?"

Marie laughed, a real, genuine laugh that brought a wide smile to John's face, proud of himself for being able to cause such a response. She reached out with her other hand and put her gloved hand back on the other side of his face, gently holding his face again, "Yer an idiot, John," Marie said, a soft smile on her face, "As dumb as a man can come."

John leaned into her hands, "Hey now," He said, "I'd say that I'm pretty darn smart, Death," Marie snorted and leaned forward, pressing her forehead against his, her mask a necessary barrier between them, "In yer dreams, Reaper," She replied.

"I thought you were a queer, Reaper."

The words slipped out of Peter's mouth before he could stop himself, not that he usually felt the need to stop himself when it came to the things he said to Reaper.

Reaper's head whipped away from Death's and to the side to glare at Peter, his expression unmistakable even with his mask covering half of his face, "I am!" He growled before he seemed to completely register who had spoken. His glare broke and he ducked his head, "I am queer, Purgatory," Reaper said in a more even tone.

Peter hummed, a sound that was cut off when Lorna shoved her elbow into his arm, "The fuck was that for?" He hissed, "You can't just say shit like that," Lorna hissed back, "Gay people can have friendships with the opposite gender and still be gay, Purgatory."

Peter held his hands up, "Sorry, I'm sorry, alright, I don't understand how queers work," He defended, "You don't even know how straight people work," Lorna shot back, "And stop calling them 'queers', damn it, it's offensive," She said, "Alright, okay, I'm sorry," Peter repeated and Lorna shoved him forward, harder than necessary, which Peter supposed was fair, "Now go, see if you can break the bars," She ordered.

Peter kept his hands up as he walked towards the cages where his family and students were locked up. Are you sure you don't want me to try my Magnetism? He noticed that there weren't any visible doors or hinges for him to tear off. I wouldn't even try. Peter pushed a palm against one of the bars, noting how unusually solid the material felt under his hand. Usually, when using his cuffs, there wasn't any need for reinforced cages.

(Peter's cuffs weren't built like the normal power-dampening cuffs that were more commonly used within prisons holding mutants. For starters, Peter's cuffs didn't dampen mutations. They got rid of them completely, making the wearer completely defenceless without an ounce of their powers left. And it wasn't like the cuffs were easy to break, even Peter had trouble on a good day.

So reinforced cages seemed kind of silly to Peter. Unless Trask intended to keep mutants out of the cages too.)

Peter put both of his palms against the same bar and pushed against it harder. And why's that? He pushed his natural weight against the bar, trying to gauge how much strength he should put into breaking it. I didn't realize your Magnetism doesn't have that same radar that mine does, you can't feel the metal like I can. The cages are made out of Vibranium.

Peter froze and slowly turned his head to stare at Lorna who was giving him a completely unbothered look right back, "Vibranium," He repeated out loud, "Why am I even trying to break these damn bars if they're made out of Vibranium?" His sister shrugged and walked up behind him, "I told you not to try," She reminded him, leaning against Peter's back and looking at the cage over his shoulder.

"Yeah. After you told me to go see if I could break them," Peter shot back, crossing his arms over his chest. He didn't feel particularly up for any physical contact but he made no move to push Lorna off of him as they simply stared at the unbreakable cages.

"Superstrength," Hank said and Peter could've collapsed at how perfectly fine he sounded, at how perfectly unbothered he was after Peter genuinely paralyzed somebody, "Don't you-?"

"I do," Peter responded, interrupting the older mutant's question, "I do have Superstrength. Just. Vibranium is an extremely dense metal. Even if the bars had been hollow, they're still too durable for me to even bend. And unlike Adamantium, the only metal stronger than Vibranium and just as dense, it isn't magnetic so Lorna can't help me here."

Peter felt somebody gently touch his arm and Lorna switched to his other side as Death came up to stand where Lorna stood a second ago, "If yer open to it, I've got a mighty fine idea, Purgatory," She said softly as though to feel out if he was still angry.

"You know I love bad ideas, Death," Peter settled on a more neutral response, showing her that he wasn't going to thoughtlessly attack her without proper reason but that a proper reason was still reachable, "Then ya may hate this idea," Death replied before turning to Reaper, "Reaper, torch one o' those bars, full blast."

Reaper's eyes narrowed behind his skull mask, "I forgot you weren't in here when they chained me up. They busted my lighter, can't fucking open it," He pulled his zippo lighter out of his pocket and shook it from side to side to emphasize his statement.

Peter stared at the younger mutant for a moment before wordlessly extending his hand. Reaper glanced down at his hand and raised an eyebrow at the unspoken command but set his lighter in Peter's palm without a fight.

He took it for a second, digging his short and blunt nails under the lighter's lid and popping it open, the rusty hinge pin creaking slightly. Peter extended his hand to Reaper again, holding his opened lighter, "You really need to get a new lighter, Reaper," He said, "This one's getting old. It's gonna flake out on you one of these days."

Reaper scowled at his lighter before he snatched it from Peter's hand, mumbling under his breath as he flicked the flint wheel until a flame ignited on the wick. He stepped up to the cage and held up his lighter, "Everybody in front of me, move to the side," He told the older mutants, "A flamethrower isn't that easy to control, nor is it small," Hank and Alex moved to the side, crowding against the others.

Reaper took a breath and raised his other hand, palm out, as the flame of his zippo grew in size and intensity, becoming a bright ball of heat. He gently blew against it and the large flame beat against one of the bars, the Vibranium turning a little orange.

"You know," Peter said to Death, "This is still a bad idea. And I love it," He patted Death's shoulder, feeling her flinch minutely at the spontaneous non-threatening touch from him. He ignored it and Lorna got off of his shoulder, letting him step up beside Reaper as the bar began to glow a bright red under the intense heat and pressure of the boy's flame. The other mutant began to sweat profusely under the heat of his own flames as he shuffled to the side to give Peter the space he needed and also to get out of the way of the inevitable.

Peter rolled up the stiff Kevlar sleeves of his uniform as best as he could and watched Lorna and Death out of the corner of his eye as the two of them stood off to the side, well out of the way. He leaned one hand against one of the other bars for stability and reached out for the glowing bar with his other hand-

"Peter!"

Peter flinched and pulled his hand back, quickly whipping his head towards the voice which belonged to Charles, "What? What's wrong?" He asked the Telepath, "What's wrong?" Charles parroted, "What's wrong is that you were going to grab that bar! Peter, that's molten hot!"

Peter stared at Charles with furrowed brows before he responded, "Well, yeah. That's the whole point, Charles," He told him, "If it weren't molten hot, I wouldn't be able to do this."

He quickly reached for the bar again, shoving his hand into Reaper's fire before Charles or one of the others could protest and wrapped his hand around the glowing red part, hearing startled and fearful yelps from the other mutants in the cages the second he did.

(Peter... he wouldn't say he was indestructible, so to speak, as he could still get hurt the same way everybody else could. It was just that his pain tolerance was a lot higher than it used to be when they were teens. And while he wasn't indestructible, he was at least immortal to a certain degree, since at least one of their hearts had to be beating for the other to come back.

And he was the only one out of the both of them that could completely heal himself from death.)

The burning metal felt almost pleasant against his skin, his body was practically trained to withstand direct intense heat though it was mostly his hands and arms that came into contact with such temperatures.

Peter tightened his hold against the searing metal and tugged with his Superstrength, yanking to reshape it while it was still malleable as Reaper began to sweat more vigorously, his skin turning pink and steam rising from his hands and face. He glanced at the younger mutant out of the corner of his eye before he growled, "Break," He said to the other.

Instantly, Reaper let go of his lighter and held his hands close to his chest as his body folded into itself, blowing on them and shaking them in the air in an attempt to cool them off.

"You command hellfire, damning souls to incineration," Peter said, letting go of the cooling metal bar, "You command the flames of man and of God, Reaper. And yet you burn?" His tone was accusing but not surprised, as he already knew that Reaper wasn't immune to his own mutation. He wasn’t angry at the kid, as at odds as he was with Reaper, but he was just- frustrated. How was he meant to free his family if Reaper couldn’t do something as simple as handle a little heat?

(How was Peter meant to free his family if he couldn't do something as simple as bend a few bars?)

Peter’s eyes shifted around the room, thinking more than actually looking at anything, before his eyes settled, “Drake,” He said, not harshly, but Bobby Drake still flinched, pulling his chained-up hands close to his chest, “Y- Yes?” He stuttered out and Peter made a mental note to help the kid with his confidence once this was all over. He had been one of the kids there when he and Lorna went to rescue Marcos, so he knew he likely wasn’t scared of Peter, more so of the situation.

”Can you ice Reaper’s hands while he burns away at the bars?” Peter asked, trying to make it clear that it wasn’t a command but that 'no' wouldn't be a favourable answer in this situation. Bobby swallowed shallowly, “U- Um, I would, if- if I could, but these cuffs, they…” His words trailed off as he looked off to the side.

Peter hummed lowly before he walked over to the separate cage where one-half of the students were locked up. He held out his hand between the bars of the cage, a silent command that Bobby silently obeyed, placing his chained hands in his palm.

Peter squeezed his hand around the rigid link between the cuffs and the pressure caused the cuffs to snap open, the mechanism failing against his strength. He was grateful that he had made that line of cuffs with the locking mechanism inside the rigid link instead of on the cuff’s strands.

"There," He said simply, pulling the cuffs off of Bobby's wrists, "And now?" He raised an eyebrow as Bobby rubbed at the pink skin of his rubbed-raw wrist. The sight of it made Peter both feel sick and agitated.

What right did Trask think he had? To hurt Peter's students? His family?

He was no God, not like Peter's God or like the false-God Apocalypse believed himself to be. He was completely human. And now Trask, the never-full power-hungry human that he was, lay forgotten somewhere between purgatory and hell, his cries eternally silent.

Bobby gave him a mock salute and Peter's thoughts cleared, "Ready to help, Professor Maximoff!"

Peter grinned and snorted, "I've now decided that you're my favourite student, Drake," He said, his grin wide, pushing away from the cage. He walked behind Reaper and patted his shoulder, prompting the younger mutant to stand up straight again, "You're getting help, kid," He told Reaper, "Pick up your lighter."

Reaper grumbled at the command but did as he was told, snatching his zippo from the ground and flicking it on again, "Can't you give us mere mortals a break, Purgatory? We don't bounce back from pain as fast as you do," The suggestion and statement were spoken in a haughty tone.

"I am mortal," Peter reminded Reaper, "You just don't like to be reminded that we come from the same species, you and I, and that Hell and I are not actual demons spawned from a satanic ritual between our parents," Lorna snickered off to the side, "You have a vivid imagination, Reaper," She teased.

"Shut up, damn it," Reaper hissed, the tips of his ears flushing, "It's a reasonable assumption," He defended himself, positioning his hand behind the flame, "It really isn't," Peter replied, turning towards the other young mutant, "Drake?" Bobby nodded and moved to the edge of the cage so that he was as close as he could be, "Ready, professor," He confirmed, holding his hands out through the gaps in the bars.

"Good," Peter hummed, "Reaper, torch it. Again."

Reaper blew against his flame again until it had grown back up to the intensity it had been at before, the fire pushing against the bent bar and turning the metal a bright orange again. It turned red quicker this time and Peter pulled back the bar just as steam began to rise from Reaper's pink skin again.

Bobby reached out for Reaper's hands and hissed at the initial burning contact before ice formed over his wrists and the backs of his hands, the ice staying solid despite how hot his skin must've been.

And it must've been hot because the Vibranium began to melt beneath Peter's hands.

He hummed lowly, sounding pleasantly surprised, "I didn't know you could reach melting point, Reaper," He said, taking a handful of melted Vibranium and watching as it cooled back into a solid when he let it drip onto the floor, "Maybe there's hope for you yet."

Reaper's eyes were wide behind his mask as he stared at what his own mutation was doing and then stared down at the ice on his skin, "I- I don't- I shouldn't- I've never- reached this temperature before..." He trailed off and then cleared his throat, "I've never... felt cold before," He turned to face Bobby, "What'd you say your name was again?"

Bobby blinked, looking surprised, before he grinned widely, "Bobby Drake," He answered. Peter moved Reaper's hands, redirecting his flame while the boy was distracted. Reaper nodded slowly, "I- I'd give you my name but I'm not exactly... allowed to do that, you know?" Bobby snorted, "No, I don't know, actually."

"Oh. Right," Reaper said sheepishly, "Well, uh, Reaper. For what it's worth, though, you already know-"

"I hate to interrupt as this is a heartwarming meeting, really," Peter interrupted, sounding slightly pained as he forced the word out to describe Reaoer, "But you can stop now."

Reaper whipped his head around, his teeth bared as he prepared to hiss something to Peter, before he paused. Three bars had been melted down in the time he spent talking to Bobby, "...Oh," He said dumbly, "You, uh, meant my mutation," The flame calmed down back into a tiny flicker and Reaper snapped his zippo shut, "Of course, I did," Peter replied, "You can keep talking to Drake. While you melt the bars of the other two cages," Reaper scowled in response.

"I should bring Drake with me every time I have to interact with you," Peter added with a smirk, "I've never seen you so docile and calm. It's nice," Reaper groaned, "Do you ever shut up, Purgatory?" He asked, turning away from him again as his cheeks flushed obviously under his mask, "Only when I'm dead," He shot back despite the rhetorical question, walking through the opening in the bars and into the cage holding the older members of his family.

"Alright," Peter said, shaking out his hands until they were cool again, "One of you, give me your hands. Let's work on those cuffs."

Chapter Text

Charles knew that one day, one fated day, he would have a heart attack.

He had come to accept it, he was getting older. He taught mutants who could fly beyond the clouds and who could fall from such a height, mutants who could lift extraordinary weights and who could drop said weights, mutants who were too quiet or were too loud, mutants who loved to be seen and mutants who would prefer the shadows. Many of his students scared the crap out of him daily.

Charles knew he'd have a heart attack one day. He just never expected that the one to give it to him wouldn't be one of his students.

Peter Maximoff was and still is an extraordinary man. As annoyed as Charles had been when they first met, he had to admit that his mutation wasn't something to scoff at and that the boy himself had a somewhat charming presence to him. When he wasn't talking, at least.

But Peter was grown now, somehow different and the same all at once. He was more charming now, even when he was talking and he held a sort of confidence that Charles admired in an older mutant, even if he couldn't be that much older than a grown man.

But Peter was still... different.

Charles didn't want to call the boy paranoid in fear of the other taking it badly, but that was definitely what he was. He awoke at odd hours in the night and wouldn't fall back asleep, always roaming the halls slowly, deliberately, as though looking for something that should've been there but wasn't. Charles may not be able to read Peter Maximoff's mind but a mind like his was easy to pick out. Some nights, when he awoke, he'd go outside on the front porch and just- stand there, likely staring off into nothing.

Or, at least, Charles assumed he was staring off into nothing. He didn't seem to ever move his head. Or any part of him.

And even when Peter did wake up when he seemingly wanted to, which was still an odd hour in the morning, he'd do the same thing all over again. Except, he didn't just stand outside, he'd walk around too. Always in a clockwise circle around the mansion, several feet past the treeline in the forest, the same path for exactly an hour. Every single morning.

When it was too loud, Peter would jerk his leg and his eyes would dart around, always at a normal speed as though he was being thorough in whatever he was looking for. If it was too quiet, Peter would lean against the wall and cross his arms over his chest and watch the people around him for several minutes until he left the area he was in, presumably to do it all over again somewhere else.

He never stood too close to something metal and would always look up at the ceiling or the treeline, he'd stare off into space when things were too loud or they started talking about things he apparently didn't like.

Peter Maximoff was weird, in the nicest way possible.

Because his apparent paranoia made Charles feel better about everything.

He hadn't realized before Peter came around that a person like him was what the mansion was missing. Somebody to properly take care of the danger. Charles couldn't move around outside in the uneven grass and Hank was always too busy either watching over the students or helping Charles. But Peter had no such obligations. He wasn't a professor, no papers to grade and no students to teach, and he wasn't a student, no homework to complete and no control to practice.

Peter was just... there. He obviously had a place to go back to should he ever want to, and his leg had been healed for months, he could go wherever he wanted, but he stuck around. To protect them.

Peter made sure the mansion was safe, in his own strange way.

But circling back. Heart attacks. Peter was going to give him one. Like, right now.

Charles had watched Peter hold onto molten hot metal as if it were normal, and before that, Peter had come in, covered in blood that obviously wasn't his own, holding bloodied sickles and saying holy phrases that made Charles shudder just remembering them.

It was almost scary, if Charles were to be honest with himself.

Because as odd as Peter was, Charles never processed him as dangerous. Well, that was a lie, Charles always had that feeling that Peter was dangerous, every mutant was capable of violence should they feel the need to be, but he never processed Peter as a threat to him or his students.

And even after Peter had a bullet tear into his skull and another take out his eye, forcefully removed a bone from a living being and fed said bone to his younger sister's dogs, killed an entire battalion of humans with a shotgun and a handful of flaming bullets, and paralyzed a man who had made life a living nightmare for mutants. Even after all that, Charles never once considered Peter a danger to them.

Because Peter had saved his students when Charles couldn't, he had helped defeat Apocalypse without even knowing any of them. He had made up a routine for them, ensuring the students and the teachers and Charles himself got up at healthy times and ate balanced meals, he ran errands for them despite Charles constantly reassuring him that he didn't need to.

Peter had entrusted his younger sister to Charles's care and knowledge. And from what he's learned about Wanda in the past few months, that wasn't something Peter just did.

Peter trusted them, and it seemed a little counteractive for Peter to trust them and then turn around and hurt them. It seemed that way to Charles, at least.

At Peter's command, Hank was the only one to lift his cuffed hands, "Can't you just break the cuffs like you did Bobby's?" He asked, his voice still as deceptively calm as it had been before. However, Charles knew that if he could use his Telepathy, he'd sense and hear the utter chaos raging in his mind.

Peter shrugged and a noncommital noise escaped his throat, "These ones are different," He replied, walking forward and taking the chain of Hank's cuffs in his hand, "If I try to just break these ones, a- uh, for lack of a better word, a sharp ass blade is gonna try and cut your hands off," Peter grimaced.

His expression shifted into one of annoyance after a second, "I'll cuss whenever I fucking want, fuckface," He hissed, looking over his shoulder and sticking his tongue out at his sister.

(Charles found it fascinating, how much he didn't actually know about Peter despite all he seemed to know about them. But even without him ever confirming it out loud, Charles knew he and Lorna had some sort of mental bond. He had seen it when they first met, back when he still viewed his mutation as nothing less than a curse, when Lorna stared the three adults down and Peter went to her side without even knowing she was there. He had seen it when they had some sort of silent conversation before Peter's face had lit up and Lorna had rolled her eyes before handing him a black leather jacket, sending him off with a simple "Have fun".

"I always do" had been Peter's response.)

Lorna scoffed and leaned her side against the melted opening in the bars, "You are such a child," She said, a fond undertone in her voice, "I am younger than you," Peter pointed out, turning his attention back to Hank's chains, "By twelve minutes, idiot," Peter rolled his eyes and waved her away as he managed to wriggle two of his fingers between Hank's left wrist and the cuffs.

He pursed his lips for a few seconds before he clicked his tongue, "There we go," He said to himself and he slid his fingers to the left at a snail-pace, a pace Charles hadn't been aware Peter could achieve. Though, Charles supposed that there was a lot he didn't know about the boy.

There was a clicking noise from the cuffs before the single strand separated from the double strand and Hank's left wrist was freed from the cuffs. Peter's face split into a smile, "I still got it, baby," He said and repeated the process with Hank's other wrist, same snail-pace and all, until the strands separated again.

Hank rubbed at his wrists as soon as both of his hands were free, hissing at the twinges of pain the actions caused. Peter watched him, his eyes almost hawk-like, "Are you... okay, Hank?" He asked gently, his hand moving as though to offer Hank comfort before it dropped back down to his side.

"I've definitely been better," Hank responded with a strained laugh, "I think we all have. But, are you okay?"

Charles watched Peter's expression shift into genuine confusion, "Of course, I'm okay, I already healed. Why wouldn't I be?" He looked over himself as if to check himself for any injuries. If he had any that hadn't healed yet, they weren't visible from Charles's spot on the floor.

Hank sighed softly, "No, no- I meant. You were freaking out a few minutes ago. Are you okay?" It was obvious that Hank already knew the true answer to his question, no matter whatever response Peter gave him.

Peter tilted his head to the side and stared at Hank oddly, "I'm... fine?" He said hesitantly, sounding just as confused as he looked, "I don't understand what you're asking me," "Emotionally," Lorna said. She had moved to be fully inside the cage like Peter was and was now standing in front of Erik, gently holding his handcuffs.

(Erik's handcuffs had been different than theirs, Charles could tell that much. They were thicker and a darker metal and seemed to bring him more pain if the wince he let out every time he shifted his hands had been any indication.)

"He's asking how you are emotionally," Lorna clarified before addressing Hank without looking at him, "You'll come to find that this is tame compared to our normal outbreaks. We aren't exactly," She waved a hand, "Right. In the head. If you couldn't tell. This is just how we are, this is as normal as we get," Charles watched Lorna's eyes narrow as she looked over Erik's handcuffs.

Peter gestured towards her, "Yeah, what she said," He said, sounding almost tired, "This is, unfortunately, normal in terms of our emotions. We've always been like this," He sighed and Charles was hit with the thought that he sounded so old and that he must've felt that way too.

He remembered everything that Wanda would tell him about Peter, about how he'd do everything even when he didn't feel up to it, even if he didn't like it, how he handled the house and Wanda and sometimes Lorna. About how he had nobody to handle him except for his own family.

It pained Charles to think about it, that somebody so young had to do so much without anybody to help him.

"What the fuck is wrong with these things?" Lorna suddenly growled out, "What happened to watching our language?" Peter immediately teased back, "Shut the fuck up, these things aren't normal," He turned towards Lorna and watched as she became increasingly frustrated with Erik's handcuffs, "...What. Do you mean?"

Charles's heart dropped with Peter's flat tone.

Lorna scowled, "They aren't the same as the other cuffs. They aren't right," Peter was at her side in an instant, his hands replacing hers. Lorna backed away but stayed hovering over Peter's shoulder as he inspected the handcuffs. Charles couldn't even bring himself to be giddy over the fact that this was the closest Peter had ever been to Erik without looking like he wanted to bolt.

"They aren't right," Peter repeated, musing as his eyes moved across the metal (ironically) keeping Erik's hands bound, "A compound of both Vibranium and Adamantium... Made specifically to render a Metallokinetic useless. And near impossible for me to override without taking your hands off," A cheerful smile came over his face, "Groovy," He praised softly.

"I've seen you use your mutation, we all have. What a beautiful power," Peter muttered darkly, his cheerful smile misplaced but noticeably not fake. From where Charles was, he could see a certain glint in Peter’s eyes, something so so wrong but looking as though it belonged there, "You don't need your hands to use it."

Lorna lurched forward within the second after Peter had finished speaking and, just as she had done before to get her brother's spiralling attention, she grabbed a fistful of his silver hair and yanked his head back.

Peter snarled and one of his hands flew up from Erik's cuffs to grab Lorna's wrist, "Let go of me, Hell," He demanded and Lorna's grimace of pain showed on her face when his grip tightened.

(Charles noticed that while Peter seemed almost immune to pain, Lorna seemed almost hypersensitive to it. When she had attempted to handle the humans alone, she always kept her distance despite holding a switchblade, dodging before anything could touch her, and she had practically frozen up when the men wrestled her into the chains as if unwilling to bring herself pain.)

"I'm afraid I can't do that, Purgatory," Lorna responded through clenched teeth, "This- You- Just stop it," She hissed in a noticeably quieter tone with no less force.

"I've never known you to feel shame," Peter said evenly, not letting go of his sister. His tone reminded Charles of his tone before, when he had first attacked her without guilt, "Why is it always a pacifist that makes you see the errors in our ways?"

Logically, Charles knew that Peter wasn't ignorant, he was older, around his early twenties at least. So Charles knew that Peter knew what he was doing, that he wasn't just hurting people because of some skewed sense of righteousness, that he likely wasn't just hurting people because he enjoyed it.

At the very least, Charles could count on Peter being like his father, not in a bad way. Neither of them were senseless sadists. For the most part.

"Do you have something you wish to tell me, Hell?" Peter continued in that even tone that likely would've annoyed Charles had he been a man with less control and experience even though it wasn't directed at him, "Perhaps a change of loyalty?"

Lorna scowled, "Don't- Stop. Putting words in my mouth," She growled and used her grip on Peter's hair to pull him away from Erik, away from them.

Peter went without a fight but looked utterly annoyed over the fact that he wasn't putting up a fight.

Lorna let go of her brother's hair but grabbed the back of his neck the same way one would a cat, leading him to the opening in the cage where the two of them stopped and silence filled the space between them.

It was that same pensive silence from before, tense and expectant, and it reminded Charles of that first not-so-silent conversation the two of them had when they first met, the conversation Charles likely would've been able to hear had he not allowed his fear and unrest to dictate his choices over a mutation he allowed to control him.

(Everybody in the mansion knew that Peter feared Magneto, the man's wrath and his very presence. It wasn't a secret in the way Peter would leave whenever Erik would appear without an excuse, the way he kept his distance and never had his back to him. The way he never called him Erik, only Magneto. It was no secret Peter feared Magneto, even hated him to a degree.

But to attempt to bring such harm to him? To admit to it without shame or hesitancy? Charles wondered what the fuck else Erik passed down onto his children and why it only ever seemed to be the bad things.)

The silence between the two of them broke with an abrupt start as Peter turned back to face them again, forcefully shrugging Lorna's hand off of him, "Fine," He hissed, no shortage of venom in his voice, "By God, the shit I do to make you happy."

Lorna turned to watch him stalk back towards Erik, "You love me," She said. It wasn't said fondly like Charles had been expecting. It was more of a statement, a fact, than anything actually sentimental.

”For some reason,” Peter scowled and stopped in front of Erik who only looked at the boy with a resigned look in his eyes, as though he'd accept anything Peter chose to do to him. Which... wasn't healthy and Charles made a note to talk to Erik about how he didn't deserve to endure every bad thing from his children just because he indirectly (and unknowingly) made their lives a living nightmare.

Peter roughly took Erik's handcuffs back into his hands and examined them again for a shorter amount of time before he unhooked one of those bloodied sickles from his belt.

They were sharp, they had to be, Charles had watched one slice effortlessly into a man's leg and pull out a bone. But if they weren't made from that Adamantium metal that Peter was talking about before then Charles wasn't sure how useful they'd be against something made from Adamantium and Vibranium.

"Are you going to trust me?" It took Charles a second to realize that it was Peter who had asked the question. The younger mutant was very pointedly not looking at Erik, "Are you giving me a choice?" Erik asked, his tone quiet and gentle as though he was trying not to spook a wild animal. Peter made a small face, "Not really," He responded.

And then he lifted his sickle and Charles barely had any time to process the movement before he brought it back down.

Charles flinched at the same time Erik flinched just as violently, but there was no scream of pain or shout of panic from Lorna or sound of metal cutting into flesh. Only the aggravating sound of metal scraping against metal.

Peter gritted his teeth against the noise but dutifully forced the blade of his sickle between the metal of Erik's handcuffs and his skin, keeping the curved serrated side away from him. He muttered something under his breath, something in a language Charles didn't know but one that Erik evidentially did. And it must've been something mean judging from the involuntary offended look on Erik's face.

When Peter was seemingly satisfied with his work, he unhooked his other bloodied sickle and repeated the process with the other handcuff, wincing all the same, until both of his sickles were sticking out between metal and skin.

Peter grabbed either side of the handcuffs, searching until he pressed both of his thumbs against the pawl pins. A buzzing sound erupted from the boy and had Charles not been watching him closely, he wouldn't have noticed the odd lines surrounding his hands. And then it hit Charles that Peter's hands were vibrating.

He had seen the boy do it once, after Apocalypse, a quick thing that appeared to be some sort of nervous tick, just like how he drummed his fingers against his thighs or racked his nails down the walls when he thought nobody was looking. They were far less destructive coping mechanisms than Charles thought would come from the boy, considering all he knew and all he was finding out about him.

Peter's brows furrowed and he pressed down against the pawl pins harder, the buzzing sound intensifying until the strands popped open and his sickles clattered to the floor at Erik's feet, the latter's hands now free and his rubbed-raw wrists visible. His wrists were redder than Hank's had been, the tight metal irritating his skin more.

Charles's heart ached at the sight and he longed to kiss the skin better. But he couldn't, because Erik was stubborn like that and refused to believe that he could still accept love after everything he'd done. After everything that had happened to him.

"I thought you said 'near impossible', Purgatory," Lorna commented, coming up behind Peter as he bent down to hook his sickles back into his belt, "I lied, Hell," He responded plainly, "That's what I do. Of fucking course I'd know how to override cuffs made specifically to subdue a Metallokinetic," He picked up said handcuffs, "And even if I didn't-"

Peter spun on his heels and pressed one of the single strands against the underside of Lorna's chin, the cold metal forcing her head up, "-I know my own creations like the back of my hand."

Lorna didn't flinch or move away from her brother and only grinned, slowly and smugly, looking like the cat that got the cream, "I love you," She cooed. Peter gritted his teeth again, "For some reason," He repeated, his words forced out as he dropped the handcuffs, once again letting them clatter to the floor.

Peter rolled his shoulders back, his posture becoming stiff as he turned back around and moved over towards Charles slowly, the anger and sadism gone from his eyes, replaced by raw worry and fear as he kneeled down in front of him.

"I'm-" "You don't need to apologise, dear boy," Charles interrupted him and Peter looked up, surprise painting his expression, "You've done nothing wrong."

Peter searched his face, perhaps looking for some semblance of a lie and finding none, "...I've done everything wrong, Charles," He whispered, pushing his fingers between Charles's skin and the cuffs binding him just as he had done for Hank, "I- I killed so many people, for no reason other than I wanted to."

Peter spoke softly, almost reverently, as though Charles was some sort of priest and this was a confession, "That's not something a good or sane person does, Charles," One strand separated from the other and Charles used his now free hand to hold onto one of Peter's own blood-stained hands, "I never said you were good or sane," Charles said gently, "I only said that, today, you have done nothing wrong."

Peter ducked his head and his hand shook in his, so different from his normal steadiness, so Charles gripped his hand tighter, "You did everything right today. You let your emotions get the best of you, sure, but who hasn't?" He chuckled, "The important part is that you did what you thought was right, and sometimes, that's better than doing what everybody else says is right."

Charles let go of Peter's hand and put it on his cheek, holding his face as though the monster of a boy in front of him was made of glass. As though he didn't share the name of a place cursed by the bible. As though he wasn't Magneto's son and hadn't just tried to harm his own father. As though he was only one of his students, young, a child who didn't deserve anything the world had forced upon him.

"I imagine," Charles continued, "That no matter how many times I say it, a simple 'thank you' will never be enough for all you've done for me and my students. Because you've done a lot, Peter. For me, for my students... For your family."

Peter's eyes shut and his tense shoulders dropped and Charles acknowledged that this was probably the first time he'd ever seen Peter relax, "So, thank you, dear boy, and I'm so proud of you."

Peter opened his eyes a second later, staring up at Charles with the type of hopeless look he was all too used to seeing in the eyes of their kind, a wet sheen over his eyes, "Your kindness will get you killed one of these days," He said, his voice forcefully stable and his tone purposefully flat, and he steadied his hands long enough to undo the other cuff. Charles only chuckled as his cuffs fell to the floor between them, "So I've been told," He replied.

"But I suppose," Charles said, reaching out to put his newly freed hand on Peter's shoulder, his other hand still holding his face, "That with you here by our side, that date won't be for a while," Peter looked down at Charles's hand and then he shook his head gently, "You put too much faith in me, Charles," He whispered.

Charles gave the boy a soft smile, "You haven't done anything to lose it, dear boy," Another look of surprise painted Peter's face before he returned Charles's smile with his own small and delicate one.

"Hey, uh, Purgatory?"

The moment broke and Peter was almost scared to admit that he didn't want it to end.

(Because he was Purgatory, an unfeeling machine of a man built from scraps and from blood and from fire. He was the manifestation of everything wrong and inhuman in the world, a monster with fragile morality and ambiguous morals whose loyalties often remained with whoever paid the most. Nothing about him was right.

Peter was supposed to be the CIA's pet that they could call and he'd heel. He wasn't supposed to want anything, especially not anything for himself.)

His smile dropped from his face and he rapidly blinked away the burning in his eyes, turning his head to face Reaper who stared at him through the bars of one of the other cages, "What the fuck do you want?" He asked and Reaper held up his hands, "Jesus Christ," He said, "I liked the nice Purgatory from before, please, go back to that one."

Peter rolled his eyes, reluctantly shaking Charles's hand from his shoulder and letting his other hand drop from his face as he stood up. Hank went to Charles's side, "What, Reaper?" He demanded from the younger mutant no less harshly, "Drake and I are done," Reaper replied, dropping his hands as he leaned his forearms against the bars of the cage.

"Good, great," Peter growled, "Is that all?"

Reaper shrugged, his eyes darting across Peter's face behind his mask, "...Yeah, I guess that's all," He responded. Peter grunted, "Good," He repeated and then hesitated for a split second, "...Thanks," He hissed out, the single word almost physically paining him.

Reaper looked surprised, his eyes widening before he turned around to face Death who had made no move to enter any of the cages at any point, "Holy shit," He said, "I think I'm having a stroke or something. Purgatory just thanked me," Death laughed lightly, "Don'tcha worry now, sugar," She said, "I heard 'em, too."

Peter huffed, "Don't test your luck, kid," He said and Reaper gave him a salute, still too scared of him for the action to be made mockingly.

A low, comforting bark took away Peter's attention for the moment.

Lady and Princess trotted into the cage on the left side of the middle one, the one where Wanda was cuffed and Reaper was standing in. Wanda pouted and lifted her cuffed hands and Peter had to, regretfully, note that she was shaking. She, unlike, the other students and even the X-Men, was wearing normal clothes but was dressed down slightly more than usual, lacking her shoes and jacket and hat.

She had likely been waiting for Peter to return.

Even without her powers, Lady and Princess understood Wanda's silent command as it was just as Peter had trained them to and trotted over to her. Their armour was still in place so with a lightly forceful bite from Lady, the rigid link broke and the strands separated automatically without the mechanism in place to keep them together.

Wanda giggled, the sweet noise bringing a subconscious smile to Peter's face, "Good girls," She cooed, scratching under their chins despite the metal. It was almost odd, seeing the two large dogs covered in metal and blood and bits of flesh happily wagging their tails and accepting chin scratches from a young child as innocent-looking as Wanda.

"Go," She said in a commanding but gentle tone. Her green eyes seemingly lit up as her powers returned to her, "Break the others' chains. I don't like them," Standing straight as if they were human soldiers and not dogs, Lady and Princess let out soft 'woof's before trotting over to the other students to take their rigid links between their bloodied maws to break them.

What was visible of Reaper's expression behind his mask was filled with confusion as he watched Wanda and he tilted his head to the side slightly, "...Nepha-?"

Peter was at the other end of the cage in an instant.

He grabbed the front of Reaper's uniform through the bars of the cage and violently wrenched him forward, uncaring of the way his forehead knocked against the bars, giving up all facades of politeness.

"If you say so much as a fucking word to her," Peter snapped, his voice low and quiet so that only the two of them could hear it, "I'll rip out every single one of your teeth and polish them into pearls and skin your tongue thin enough to use as their string. And that will be your Death's birthday gift from me. Do I make myself clear, żołnierz?"

As soon as Reaper realized that Peter's threat wasn't one of his usual half-empty promises, that it was something he was willing to act on right then and there, he swallowed harshly and his tanned complexion paled considerably, "Yes- Yes, boss," He said shakily, not even having enough wit about him to say something stupid like 'as a crystal'.

Peter soundlessly snarled and shoved Reaper away from him, passively watching the boy stumble backwards until Bobby reached out to steady him. It made him feel a little bad, if only for a split second before the feeling left him.

(Peter didn't exactly... hate the kid, but he had been too eager to be one of the CIA's lapdogs when he had first joined. He had chosen this life alongside his Death, the life of taking orders without question and becoming lesser to humans. He acted as though joining the CIA had been his only choice, as if he had been forced into this life just as Peter and Lorna had been.

But he hadn't, Reaper could return to society. Messed up and as directionless as they come, but the boy was still young. Reaper still had morals, peace was still something he could make sense of, he still vomited at seeing gore. There was hope for him yet, was what Peter was trying to get at, he could be better than Peter and Lorna in a way the two of them haven't been in a long time.

Which was saying something, cause the kid was a douche.)

Peter felt something tug at the stiff leather of his uniform jacket and he looked down, staring right into Wanda’s eyes. She was looking up at him cautiously with fickle anger and was blinking slowly as she seemingly thought about something. He let her think in silence, unwilling to dictate whatever she was trying to feel.

After a few more seconds, Wanda huffed and the caution and anger left her eyes as she wrapped her arms around Peter and squeezed him into a tight hug.

Peter froze, his expression shifting into something pained that he made sure Wanda couldn't see, "Are you not angry?" He asked, "I broke our promise."

Regardless of whatever her answer would be, Peter bent down to pick his little sister up in his arms easily, an arm under her thighs and a hand on the back of her head as if she wasn’t nearly the same height as him, as if she was still a baby, as if the CIA didn't consider her a Critical-Level Threat. As if she was merely greeting him after he had come home after running errands.

"Mmm," Wanda hummed and buried her face in Peter's neck as she wrapped her arms around his shoulders, uncaring of the blood and gore that covered her brother's clothes, "I don't wanna be angry."

Peter chuckled softly at her overly simple words, "If only it was that easy for the rest of us."

Wanda had always been the better one in the family, the most stable one. Because while she had never looked like Anya in the ways Peter and Lorna did, she was human. If you ignored the pointy ears and the nails that bled if they were cut shorter than an inch and the fact that all four of her canines were sharp and wrong.

She was still painstakingly human. And to Magda Maximoff, that made her perfect. 

The CIA's doctors had said that there was nothing wrong with Wanda, not like Peter's inability to read or Lorna's inability to grasp numbers. Not like their X-Genes. They had said that her X-Gene was muted, dormant, and that it was highly unlikely to ever manifest into anything like Peter's inhuman speed or Lorna's unnatural control despite her features resembling her father’s. And so, Magda loved her more than she would ever love the twins.

And maybe her mentality had rubbed off on Peter, too, because if she was human, it meant that Wanda could do things in life that he and Lorna would never be able to do. She could be somebody, not just a washed-up loser who never actually finished high school or a straight-edged punk who was angry more often than any other emotion.

That was what Peter had fought for, in the beginning. He didn't join the CIA because of Magneto, he joined because if he could get rid of the bad humans and mutants, then Wanda would be safe. She would be free to be whatever and whoever she wanted without anything or anyone to stop her or tell her she couldn't.

But Peter had become blinded, losing sight of what was right and wrong and spilling blood in the name of the Devil, a man he held no affection or loyalty to. A man he hated and feared, just as everybody else in the world did.

Because, loathe as he was to admit it, Lorna was right. Peter hated Magneto, he feared him.

Because Magneto could spend ten years in solitary confinement knowing that nobody was waiting for him and be fine with it. He could live for so long knowing that everybody in the world painted him as the bad guy, the scapegoat. A martyr. In those ten years, Magneto had nobody, nothing to live for. And yet. He kept living.

And that scared Peter, how a man could do such a thing that anybody else would go insane over.

Because had he and Lorna done that, even together, their mutations at bay and limited, they'd last a week. They'd go insane, or- or kill themselves. And it terrified Peter because it meant that, despite being Magneto's children, the personifications of fiery pits and forsaken second chances, they were just like everybody else.

The two of them were nothing special. They were still just two mutants among a million others.

"Do you wanna be angry?" Wanda asked, her voice still soft against his neck, "No," Peter replied, staring straight ahead as he forced his eyes to stop stinging again, "That's okay," She said simply as though it was that easy.

Wanda took one of her arms off of Peter's shoulders and pushed her palm against his chest, where his heart was. Through the armour, it was impossible to feel a heartbeat, "Are you hurt?" She asked the same question she always did. And Peter responded with the same answer he always did, "No," "...Are you tired?" He hesitated for only a second, "Yes," He whispered.

"Me too," Wanda whispered back, "Let's go home."

Peter inhaled and exhaled shakily, "Home," He repeated quietly, knowing she wasn't referring to the cold house in Manhattan, "Yes. Home. Let's go home."

He held Wanda tighter, staring off into nothing before he caught Lorna's eyes. She had her arms crossed and was leaning against the melted entrance of the cage, the bruise on her right cheek fully formed by now. It would fade by evening, as most minuscule injuries inflicted on her tended to do due to Peter's own healing factor assisting her.

After a second of consideration under Lorna's heavy and expectant stare, Peter took his hand off Wanda's head and grabbed the plastic chain of her necklace, breaking it.

"Hey," Wanda protested without any real complaint, "I liked that necklace."

Peter stared down at the glass heart and the glowing red chip in the centre of it. It wasn't an obvious thing, a small red light that could be easily written off as decoration, "Yes," He accepted, "Well, I don't anymore."

Peter tossed the necklace and Lorna caught it with a grin, excited to be given unspoken permission. She dropped it and stomped on the glass heart, grinding the glass into the concrete floor, "Oh, that felt nice," She said and Peter snorted, "I'm sure it did.”

A mischievous glint found its way into Lorna's eyes as she pushed herself off of the melted bars, "You know what feels even nicer, though?"

Peter recognized the glint in his twin's eyes and he hurriedly turned away from her, his back to her and Wanda's face tucked into his neck, just in time for Lorna's Magnetism to send out a pulse of power. It wasn't like it would hurt anybody, but her mutation still displaced the magnetic field around people and could throw off even Peter's balance.

The green wave-like current was like a powerful gust of wind, shrouding the room in Lorna's signature green glow for several seconds before it faded.

As soon as it faded, however, the sound of metal hitting concrete cascaded through the room as the rest of the power suppression cuffs popped open and released the mutants' wrists.

Peter unfolded himself from the protective cocoon he had formed around Wanda as Lorna pretended to stretch, "Hell's back in the game, baby!" She announced loudly and Peter smiled at her, "How're your hands?" He asked, "Pins and needles," Lorna responded, a wide smile still plastered on her face, "But I can move them, so give me a few minutes."

(Lorna always described the first few seconds of her mutation returning as a sugar high, like when the two of them were double caffeinated. It got to her head sometimes, a feeling that always prompted Peter to remind her that they couldn't show off. They weren't strong enough to just casually flaunt their mutations.)

"Speaking of pins and needles," Lorna continued and Peter's smile dropped from his face, dread pooling in his stomach like lead. He reluctantly turned his head to face Bolivar Trask's unmoving body, a body that would never move again. Because Peter had let his anger get the best of him, had let it control him after letting it fester for several years.

"What's he gonna get, Purgatory?" Lorna asked and Peter pursed his lips, "...Mercy," He finally said, "'Mercy'?" She repeated incredulously, "After all he's done to us? To our family? By the Devil's name," Lorna hissed, "Now who's following the whims of a pacifist?"

Peter sighed, suddenly tired, Wanda's weight suddenly heavy in his arms, "Hell," He said patiently, "Have we not done enough? All I have ever done is take from God's creation, stealing away the precious mortality that he has graced us all with. Can I not give back for once? Allow me to spill Bolivar Trask's blood as one would pour wine into a glass, allow me to bury his body with his eyes closed, facing our God. Allow me to grant one more second chance.”

Lorna was silent before she took a deep breath, no longer making any move to interfere. She said nothing, her silence speaking for her, and Peter was, for once, glad to not hear his twin’s voice.

He made a move to grab one of his sickles.

Lady and Princess beat him to it.

Within the second, the two large dogs covered in metal descended upon Trask’s prone and helpless body, their metal jaws sinking into the man’s flesh and tearing it from his unmoving body. If Trask tried to scream, he obviously wasn’t successful. Low growls came from Lady and Princess’s throats as they tore into the human’s throat until his head was practically separated from his body, attached only by a few strings of fat. From the eye holes of their metal armour, a faint yellow light glowed.

"I didn't like him," Wanda whispered unprompted and Peter had to stop himself from flinching, looking down at her without moving his head, "He wasn't very nice."

Her eyes were... they weren't blank, filled with something resembling peace and sadness, and they were glowing faintly, her pupils yellow instead of black, surrounded by green irises, trained solely on Trask's body. Wanda blinked once, owlishly, before looking up at Peter, "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to," She said, her gaze and voice and teeth wrong wrong wrong.

But it was right, it had to be right, because they were the Devil's Children, everything about them was wrong so everything wrong with them was right. Except. Wanda's father wasn't the Devil, he was merely a man. Peter couldn't remember a lot about him, nothing good, nothing bad. Which he supposed made sense, if Lorna only remembered the bad about him and Wanda only remembered the good, then it made sense that Peter remembered nothing.

He could remember what the CIA told him about the man, of course, after they had officially entered Witness Protection, after every single test he and Lorna had to endure. But Peter knew they lied to him, knew they were the ones who had somehow gotten rid of his memories of the man. Because his memory was bad, but it wasn't bad.

Because Wanda's father had fed them human flesh but he had helped them learn English even though his Polish wasn't great. He was large and an apex predator but he was gentle and his shoulders had been broad enough to hold Peter and Lorna at the same time. He was scary and bad but he had let Lorna paint his too-long-too-sharp nails pretty colours and had taught Peter how to differentiate in the kitchen so that he could help even though he couldn't read the packaging.

And then they had left, ran and hid, because Magda Maximoff was evidently a coward in the face of mutants who loved her and gave her children, which made her children cowards too. And Peter was only slightly ashamed to say that he mourned a living man he didn't remember, a coward in his own way, always too scared to tell Wanda who her father was, always too scared to tell Lorna that he knew where he was, that he could reach him at any time. Just as he had done with Magneto.

Because this was Peter's job, to protect and shield his family. Even if Wanda's father wasn't who he needed to shield them from.

"No, no," Peter assured Wanda, pushing down the stinging in his eyes for a third time. Why he felt the need to cry, he couldn't say, "No, it's okay. It's okay, I know you didn't mean to," He held her face in his free hand, mirroring what Charles had done to him only a few minutes ago, "You're a Maximoff, it's in your blood to protect your family," Wanda giggled when Peter playfully squished and pinched her cheek, the yellow fading from her pupils.

Next thing you know, it’ll be her teeth tearing into flesh. Just like her daddy.

Peter glanced at Lorna out of the corner of his eye and his smile became forced for a split second before he pressed a gentle kiss to the crown of Wanda's head who happily went to praise Lady and Princess when he set her down on the floor.

You're my twin but there will be no hesitation in my heart when I rip your jaw from your head.

Lorna scoffed soundlessly and stepped over the fine glass under her black steel-toed boots, "Let's just get you and your X-Men back home," She said out loud, the contempt obvious in her tone.

(It had taken Peter years, years, to get Lorna used to Wanda, to get her to stop looking at her with disgust after they joined Witness Protection. It had, of course, started back up after his mutation manifested, but she had gotten better, nicer. But every so often, she'll remember something about Wanda's father and think that just because the two of them ended up too much like their father, she'd be the same.)

"It'll take a minute for the engines to turn on," Peter said, not bothering to match or indulge Lorna's contempt, "Russia's winters are harsh on her land and skies."

"Eh, nothing I can't melt off," Reaper chimed in, waving a hand in dismissal, Bobby still at his side, "I'll have us up and flying in no time."

Peter turned to Reaper, narrowing his eyes at the younger mutant's tone. He made it sound like- "...Will you be joining us, Reaper? Death?" He asked the two and their body language turned timid for a second before Death squared her shoulders, "If yer offer o' sanctuary still stands," She said firmly but nervously.

Peter thought on it for a second, "It's not our home you'll be infringing on-" "Peter," Charles interrupted softly and he turned to look at the Telepath who was being held in Hank's arms and was giving him a gentle smile, "My home is as good as yours, no?" He questioned, "There will be no infringing. My school is a haven for mutants of all sorts for any reason," Peter pursed his lips before turning back to Death and Reaper.

"Don't think that you two will just be able to lounge about like lazy shits," He threatened and their faces lit up behind their masks despite his tone. Death gave him a salute, "Wouldn't dream o' it, hoss," She replied, causing Peter to roll his eyes. He was secretly glad, nonetheless, that the two of them were willing enough to part from the CIA for however short of a time it would be, even if the original offer of sanctuary had been extended by Lorna back when they still lived at the house in Manhattan and the Underworld Guards weren't even legal adults yet.

Peter turned back to the students, to a family that hadn't yet settled in his mind, and watched as some of the other students helped the others up, consoling the ones around Wanda's age. He smiled, feeling undeniably fond of mutants he never bothered to learn the names of because he thought that he'd be long gone by now, his job done and his debt to Charles paid.

And it was. But Peter didn't want to leave.

And he would've felt bad over being selfish if Wanda and Lorna weren't getting something out of this too. Lorna, peace of mind, and Wanda, a place to live that was not bugged by the CIA. Unfortunately, there were cameras even Peter couldn't find without literally tearing the house apart. 

But the mansion wasn't like that, and that was perfect. Because Wanda didn't deserve to constantly keep her voice down even if she didn't know why. So here they'd stay. And if Peter managed to pay Charles back for more than just his life, then he'd be honoured.

Hank walked up to Peter, close enough for Charles to put a hand on his arm, "I do believe we've all lost quite a bit of sleep," He said, "Why don't we get a boogie on and see what all needs to be fixed," Peter put his hand over Charles's despite the human blood that still stained it, "Leave all of that to me," He assured the Telepath, "I'm not tired and I won't sleep until I know you all are safe and comfortable. I'll fix it."

Charles gave him a look and opened his mouth to answer him before Lorna interrupted him, "Let him," She said and though the contempt wasn't as obvious in her tone anymore, it still hadn't lost its edge, "He's being literal, he's not going to sleep until he knows you all are safe. Let him care," She stepped up to Peter and shoved his broken goggles into his chest, "God knows he doesn't do that enough."

Peter took his goggles from her, mentally tallying how long it would take for him to rebuild and recode the lenses, and patted her hand in apology. Lorna didn't say anything when she took her hand out of his grasp but he could see an unspoken apology from his twin any day. Sometimes, even Twin Telepathy wasn't necessary.

With Charles held securely in his furry blue arms, Hank led the group of X-Men and students out of the doorless frame, walking along the path Peter had unintentionally made with his bloody footprints. Wanda happily followed after them, Lady and Princess diligently on either side of her, and even Death went along, still keeping her distance.

Peter watched them before he leaned into Lorna, "Hell, they don't know where they're going. Go help them. And keep them away from my mess from earlier. I'm afraid they're far too mangled to be considered 'kid-friendly'," Lorna snickered, the contempt now gone completely from her tone, "Whatever you say, Purgatory," She jogged to catch up with Hank, helping lead the man back the way the two of them had entered.

Peter and Reaper stayed behind for a few seconds, making sure the students were alright to move on their own and could keep up with the others after being chained up for God knows how long.

"So..." Reaper dragged the word out, rocking back on his heels, "Peter, huh?"

Peter rolled his eyes, "I don't wanna hear shit, St. John."

Chapter Text

It took them several minutes to melt the ice on the Blackbird.

It hadn't just been covering the openings of the jet's engines, there had been some along the wings and frost sealing the cargo ramp shut and the landing gear which couldn't be put away until the ice was thawed. And since Bobby could only make ice and not control it, they had to wait until Reaper was able to get his zippo to work in the freezing cold.

Which took forever because, Jesus Christ, the damn thing was five years old and was used every day. Peter was tempted to rust it just to put it out of its misery.

The water from the melted ice dripped onto the cold landing pad as soon as Reaper was finished with it, shaking out his hand and flicking his lighter shut.

Lorna waved her hand and the cargo ramp lowered, hastily boosting herself up before it even touched the ground. Peter rolled his eyes at his sister's impatient nature but, hypocritically, he followed Lorna up, not waiting for the cargo ramp to finish lowering either. He zipped to the control panel and flipped a few switches, waiting to feel the hum of electricity under his skin before he tried using his mutation.

His Magnetism had weakened without his anger to feed the flame but Peter reached into the Blackbird with the remnants of it and shook off the metaphorical dust from the engines, forcing them to roar to life. Hank had only finished rebuilding the jet a few weeks ago, never having the chance to use it for something other than its original test flight. 

So the fact that it actually worked made Peter feel better, knowing he wouldn't have to explain how the two of them had gotten it out of the subbasement in the first place.

That's loud. Peter grinned and watched Lorna as she walked up behind the passenger seat where Pest was curled up contently, completely uncaring of literally everything as most cats tended to be. It's a wonder I didn't know it wasn't on in the first place. She scratched Pest under his chin, the cat purring with his eyes still shut.

"Aww, Pest," Wanda cooed as she peeked around the back of the chair, Lady and Princess still at her sides. Said cat got up, yawned, and stretched out his entire body, "Big stretch," She giggled. Pest let out a tired 'mrrp' before he jumped onto Wanda's shoulder and curled himself around the back of her neck like some sort of fluffy collar.

"Why is he here?" Wanda asked without looking at Peter, lovingly scratching the purring cat behind his ear, "Lorna said he'd be sad if we left him," He answered. He wasn't so much of a monster to intentionally hurt an animal, as much as he disliked it. Pest made Wanda happy, as all cats did, and that was really all Peter wanted.

(Wanda Maximoff's favourite animals were cats. All cats, but her absolute favourites were the big ones. Peter has had to convince her multiple times that, yes, he loved her beyond the limits of life and death and that, no, they couldn't steal a tiger or a lion or a panther from the zoo.)

Wanda blinked before she smiled up at Peter, "You love him," She said. Peter's brows furrowed at the sudden statement, "What? No, I don't. Why would you think that?" Her expression turned sly, "You were petting him."

Peter scowled and turned his face away from Wanda so that she couldn't see his grimace. He had forgotten he had done that. And that Pest would tell her, "And? That doesn't mean I like him. I tolerate him at best."

Wanda only giggled in response, looking entirely like she knew something he didn't, which was very much possible. The animals talked to her, whether she wanted them to or not.

(As far as Peter knew, which wasn't a lot, Wanda's powers weren't exactly like Telepathy, she couldn't shut out or ignore the thoughts or words of the animals around her. Charles had told him that while she could do everything a Telepath could, she was still undeniably different. Telepaths couldn't control or even read an animal's mind due to their different cognition functions and planning abilities, but Wanda could. Except, Wanda couldn't so much as touch a human mind simply because they were too complex, with the exception of what the CIA classified as Feral mutants. The more animalistic the brain was, the easier it was for her to control.)

Peter rolled his eyes and moved towards the pilot seat, preparing to take up his earlier position as the pilot.

"Peter," Hank called out and Peter looked back at him as the students and the others filed into the Blackbird, the cargo ramp closing behind them once they were all inside, "Allow me," He said. Peter blinked at the other mutant, "What?" He questioned flatly. Hank smiled as he set Charles down in the passenger seat, "I mean, you flew all the way here and just finished fighting. I imagine you'd like a break."

"Not... really?" Peter watched Hank sit down in the pilot seat, too baffled to stop him, "Well, at least let me take over this time. You can go sit down and rest," He blinked again, unsure of what exactly was going on.

Peter must've looked confused or stressed enough because Hank's smile became a little strained, "Or... you can stay up here and, um, make sure everything goes alright?"

He jerked his head in agreement, still a little confused, but took a standing post behind the pilot seat as Hank had offered.

"Próbują pokazać ci życzliwość," Lorna said to him in Polish, a language Peter knew the others didn't speak, luckily, as she came up to stand at his shoulder. Peter side-eyed her for a second, "To dziwne," He told her, facing forward again, "Ludzie nie są dla nas mili, nigdy nie byli. Zawsze przed nami uciekają. Właśnie to mają robić... Nie rozumiem, co ich różni od każdego innego mutanta, którego spotkaliśmy. Dlaczego nie biegają?"

Lorna hummed under her breath, "Może... mają dość biegania?" She suggested gently, "Może nie chcą już, żeby na nie polowano," Peter scoffed, "Zawsze będziemy ścigani. Mutanty to dla ludzi tylko bydło. Ofiara pod rządami drapieżników," He responded, "Nie, jeśli mają jednego lub dwa owczarki, które odstraszają duże, złe drapieżniki," Lorna said.

Peter snorted and looked away, off to the side, "Jesteśmy już psami dla CIA, a teraz chcesz szczekać dla naszego własny rodzaju?" He questioned, "Metaforycznie, metaforycznie," Lorna grumbled under her breath as she kicked the back of Peter's heel, not hard enough to hurt, which caused him to chuckle, "Próbuję odwołać się do twoich dziwnych metaforycznych gówno."

"Ja wiem, ja wiem," Peter soothed her before he sighed, "Powinni się nas bać. I jeszcze..." He looked down at his hands, stained and filthy with blood that was indistinguishable between his own and that of the humans whose bodies littered a floor blackened with soot. They all bled red with skin cut too easily and blood that dripped too quickly. 

They were war machines, beings built to survive. Would it really hurt their family so much to just live?

"...Profesor nie patrzył na mnie jak na potwora," Peter said softly, "Patrzy na mnie, jakbym nie różnił się od każdego innego mutanta, którego kiedykolwiek spotkał," He could feel Lorna's eyes on him as she watched him closely, "Czy to dobrze?" She asked and Peter shrugged nonchalantly despite the fact that he was helplessly unsure of the emotions swarming around his head and was wholly unwilling to admit it even though his twin could see it without him having to say a thing.

"Nie wiem," Peter replied, "To dziwne," He repeated, "To jest... nowe," He struggled for a second, "To wszystko jest takie nowe. Nie być nienawidzonym ani nie bać się, nie być zawstydzonym ani osądzanym za to, kim jestem."

Peter took a deep breath and turned back towards his sister, "Te dzieciaki postrzegają mnie jako bohatera, Lorna," He whispered, as though a different language wasn't enough of a way to keep the secret of his words, "Ja-nie wiem jak być dobrym. Ale chcę być bohaterem, za jakiego mnie uważają."

I think I'm tired of running, too.

Lorna reeled back for a second, obviously not prepared for Peter to admit to such a thing, even if he didn't even really say it. It was still a large step from the usual emotional invulnerability Peter allowed himself to be about this sort of thing, even around his own family.

Lorna swallowed slightly, "Okay," She said in English as she nodded, speaking quietly so that only the two of them could hear each other now that they lacked that language barrier protecting them, "Okay. We- We can work with that," She put a gentle hand on Peter's shoulder, "We'll get used to this- this kindness, and we'll be heroes or good people or whatever the fuck you said, brother dearest."

"Śliczny," Peter muttered sarcastically but a sincere smile was playing on his lips, causing Lorna to laugh, that charmingly carefree tilt in her voice as she leaned against him. He gave her his own fragile smile before he leaned against her, the two of them supporting each other.

From his seat alongside the students, Erik watched the two of them with sombre eyes.

It took them longer to fly back to the mansion than it took Peter and Lorna to fly to Russia, likely since the Blackbird no longer had Peter's Magnetism fueling the engines.

They had, of course, run into an issue while flying over the Atlantic Ocean.

'An engine failure' Hank had calmly stated as he flipped a few switches and pushed a couple of buttons on the control panel, turning off the blinking red light and the frantic and loud beeping coming from the jet's centre console. The damage had likely been from the fire while Reaper had melted the ice or from the melted ice itself.

Magneto had levelled out the Blackbird with ease and Lorna had let go of Peter from where she had grabbed onto him to use his equilibrium to keep herself upright.

And that was that. Annoyingly little thing as it was, it could be ignored. For now.

Peter marked it down as just one more thing to fix.

They still made it back in record time, the sun had not yet reached the centre of the sky by the time Hank pushed a button on the control panel and the ground split below them, revealing the dark interior of the Danger Room.

As Peter took a cursory glance at the grounds, his eyes sweeping over the grass and the trees and the dirt roundabout, a heavy feeling settled in his stomach at the sight of a second motorcycle parked right beside Lorna's. It was small from where they were in the sky, a black figure beside a slightly smaller green one.

The heavy feeling wasn't exactly bad, but it was an annoyance that nagged at the back of his mind, something Lorna could evidently tell without having to rifle through their shared thoughts because she only patted Peter's shoulder and made no move to stop or follow him when he bolted to the elevator as soon as the Blackbird's cargo ramp was lowered.

Peter heard the X-Men inquire where he had gone as soon as they realized he was no longer inside the jet but by the time Lorna must've answered them, he was already in the elevator and going up to the ground level, waiting the full twenty seconds instead of trying to will his Magnetism to work with him now that he was relatively calm.

Peter stopped in his tracks as soon as the elevator doors slid open.

The distinctively strong scent of cigar smoke wafted through the halls, far worse than regular cigarette smoke, causing him to wrinkle his nose against the foul but familiar odour.

Cuban. Damnit.

Peter rushed through the halls at a steady pace, tired and unwilling to use his Superspeed after everything. The previous claw marks marring the walls and floor had been sanded out or covered, the broken lights replaced and on. Everything was back to its original place as though nothing had ever happened in the first place.

He ignored all of that as he walked into the foyer.

The foyer was the only area in the mansion that seemed to still hold evidence of a struggle. At some point during their absence, the gold and white chandelier must've fallen as it had been pushed into a corner, grooves still marred the walls and carpet, and glass from the lights still covered the floor.

On the platform separating the first and second set of stairs was a figure, stocky but not exactly short, dressed in a plain white t-shirt and blue jeans. A brown leather jacket was draped over one of the newel posts.

"What," Peter snarled, lacking any real questioning intonation in his voice, "Are you doing here."

"Snortin' a line of coke," Logan snarked back, "The fuck does it look like I'm doin'?"

In one hand, Logan had a broom while in the other, he held a dustpan filled with the red-stained glass from the broken window that oversaw the foyer, the same glass Peter had held not even a few hours ago, afraid it had been stained with blood.

"It looks like you're someplace you don't belong," Peter said, his tone flat. Logan snorted, "Keen eye, kid."

The two of them engaged in a silent staring contest for what felt like a few minutes before Logan calmly set the dustpan down and leaned the broom against the stair railing. Peter watched him do so before he ran up to the man and allowed him to pull him into a hug, tight enough that Peter felt safe but loose enough that he didn't feel trapped.

He made no effort to return the hug, something that Logan didn't seem to mind, and simply fell against him. The man politely didn't mention the stench of blood that likely clung to his entire body, "I cleaned up a bit," Logan muttered and Peter's smile was hidden in the man's chest, "I could tell," He replied. He felt Logan's smile against his hair, "...I fixed the doors. An' the gate, replaced the lights," He added, "I didn't touch nothin', a lil' too personal for me, so not everythin's clean."

"That's okay," Peter said, "That's- It's good enough."

Logan patted Peter's back, "I, uh, put Wheels's chair back," He said, his words a little stilted, "How'd you know which room was his?" Peter asked, too tired to chide him for the annoying nickname, "It reeks of tea an' books an' metal," Logan deadpanned, "An' speakin' of Wheels..."

"Logan," Peter heard Charles say somewhere behind him, his tone pleasantly surprised, "I- Welcome back. You've caught us at a bit of a bad time," Peter could imagine that Logan smirked above him, "It's alright, Chuck. I've seen worse."

Logan patted Peter's back again before he fully let go of him and Peter pulled back, smoothing down the unruffled front of his jacket, "Beast," Logan greeted, "Wolverine," Hank greeted back, "No chandelier for you to han' offa this time," He gestured above them where the chandelier once was. Peter could practically hear Hank's smile when he answered, "We'll have it replaced, then you'll see," Logan chuckled, "Can't wait," He teased.

Peter rolled his eyes, "Freak," He muttered and wasn't fast enough to even notice Logan's hand before it clapped over his ear. He hissed with a flinch and gave Logan a dirty look as he moved away from the man.

There was an excited gasp, "Uncle Logan!" Wanda exclaimed as she ran up to the man, Logan moving down the stairs to meet her halfway, "Hey, kiddo," He said, picking her up and spinning her in the air as she giggled away.

"Ugh, somebody call the pound," Lorna said with a playful sneer as Logan stopped spinning, Wanda still giggling, "We've got an animal on the loose," The affectionate undertone was unmistakable in her voice.

"Hello to you too, cunt," Logan said, holding Wanda up with one hand and using the other to ruffle Lorna's hair as soon as she was close enough. She pulled back with a laugh and smoothed her hair back out.

(The Maximoff family's connection with Logan Howlett was... unconventional, to say the least. Because it was Wolverine's DNA that had been injected into Peter, his sample of Adamantium which encased Peter's heart. He was the reason Peter couldn't grow old, couldn't go peacefully, couldn't age until he was at least a hundred. He was the reason Peter would outlive even his own family.

But he was also the reason Peter was alive, the reason he could continue protecting his family no matter what killed him. Logan helped Peter control most of his animalistic rage and instincts now, so he supposed the man was as close to family as he could be without technically sharing blood with any of them.)

"What are you doing here?" Lorna asked after Logan set Wanda down, allowing the young girl to go to her dorm, her companions trailing after her alongside many of the other students. The rest must've been being tended to by Alex and Raven in the subbasement since Peter couldn't see either of them, "Last Peter checked, you were on some sabbatical all the way over in California," Logan shrugged, discreetly avoiding their eyes, "Somethin' came up. An' it's been a few months, I wanted to visit, make sure you two hadn't somehow found a way to kill yourselves."

It was obvious Lorna didn't believe him and neither did Peter, but out of polite company, she didn't say anything. Peter was a little less polite, but still polite enough that he only tactfully kicked the side of the man's foot instead of actually saying anything. Logan still ended up crushing Peter's toes under his foot in retaliation but his attention had been held, his lie caught and pointed out.

Logan knew them well enough, he should've remembered he couldn't lie to the Maximoff Twins.

"Nonetheless the reason, it is good to see you're alright after all this time, Logan," Charles said, perhaps sensing the sudden tension between the three of them, "Will you be staying?" Logan shrugged, "Probably won't be for long. I just came to visit the kids, an' then I'll be outta your hair," He looked Charles up and down as well as he could while the Telepath was still in Hank's arms, "Good to see you still have it. I never did like you bald."

Charles snorted, "Good to know, my friend," He sounded light-hearted enough, completely unoffended, that Peter stopped his motion of kicking Logan's knees out from under him. Adamantium bones or not, he wouldn't allow Charles to be made fun of in such a way.

Just the thought of Charles without hair made Peter want to vomit, and very few things made him vomit.

Logan settled a heavy hand on Peter's shoulder, "You mind if I steal the kid for a bit?" He asked and Charles visibly hesitated, "It's fine," Peter interrupted whatever thought the Telepath was coming up with, "It's no trouble. I'll be with you in a second," He told Logan who nodded and finished descending the stairs, turning off into the opposite hall.

Peter turned to Lorna, "Will you be staying?" Lorna shrugged, "Probably should, shouldn't I?" She questioned rhetorically, "But, no, I can't. Gotta return to the mister, you know how it is," Peter's face twisted into a grimace, "No. And I hope I never know 'how it is.'"

Lorna laughed happily, "Never change, baby brother," Peter looked at her oddly, "I- Okay?"

She grabbed him and pulled him into an embrace he made no move to twist out of but also made no move to return just as he had done with Logan. Lorna must've noticed that because she let go of Peter and simply held him at arm's length, "Nie zabijaj Śmierci i jej Żniwiarza. Albo Logana. Albo Ojciec," She told him lowly and Peter smirked, lifting three fingers in a mock pledge.

Lorna sighed exaggeratedly with a smile, "Upewnij się, że Wanda pamięta o jedzeniu," She muttered, pressing a kiss against Peter's cheek, "I baw się dobrze," Peter smiled and knocked his forehead against her’s, “I always do,” He responded gently in English.

She chuckled, "Yeah, you do," She said fondly, giving Perer one more quick hug before she crossed the foyer, pushed open the heavy double doors with her powers, and shut them behind her. The rumbling of her motorcycle started up a minute later and then Lorna was gone.

Peter sighed softly, mentally preparing himself, "I'll be right back," He told the others. It wasn't as though he was scared of Logan, but the man stressed him out. And while that was no special feat and hardly something even Logan seemed to take pride in, it still happened. Annoyingly.

He zoomed through the hall and came to in front of where Logan was leaning against one of the open archways leading out into the back of the school. Peter copied the man's pose on the other end of the arch across from him, crossing his arms over his chest as time returned to normal around him.

To his credit, Logan didn't even flinch once he realised Peter was there and the two watched the risen sun over the trees in silence for several minutes.

"Magnet's here," Logan said stiffly, eventually breaking the silence, "Yes. He is," Peter responded, tapping his fingers against his arm, "Did your little desolate dystopian future not show you that wherever Xavier goes, Magneto is sure to follow?" He asked sarcastically, rolling his eyes.

"It did," Logan answered in a voice as gentle as a man like him could muster, "But I don't recall you stayin' even when he offered. You ran the first chance you got. You always do."

Peter sighed tiredly and dropped his arms, "Why are you really here, Logan?" He questioned harshly, "And don't even try to lie again. I'm not in the mood for it," The older mutant grunted and looked away.

"We have a situation," His low voice rumbled and Peter scowled, "A situation?" He repeated because really? That was the only reason Logan had come to 'visit' them? "And you thought that coming here was the best way to tell me? You do remember how to use a phone, don't-"

"Stryker's recruitin' for a new Team X. He's already got Victor Creed workin' for him again," Logan interrupted an inevitable lecture from a kid less than a fourth his age.

Peter's mouth shut and he blinked at Logan slowly before his face shifted and he looked like he was about to cry as he put his face in his hands.

"Oh my God," His distressed voice was muffled by his hands, "I'm gonna fucking kill myself."

Chapter Text

Peter felt as though he should mention that he hated humans more often.

Despised people in general to a degree that made the Underworld look pleasant, even.

It was often assumed by newer CIA agents that just because Peter tolerated the orders of his (very few) human superiors, he liked taking orders. It was often assumed that just because Peter hated and feared Magneto, he disagreed with the man.

He didn't. Holy shit, Peter didn't disagree with Magneto at all.

Should the day come when anybody in his family woke up and wished for the downfall of mankind, then humans would never awake to see the sun rise or set on them ever again. The same would be said about mutants, too, Peter didn't care.

He's murdered countless humans and mutants, nameless faces he couldn't remember flashing through his mind. An entire kind meant nothing to Peter, even if he was a part of said kind.

To Peter, family was everything. And if his family wanted something, he'd get it. No matter what.

Which was why when Wanda told him she wanted peace, a chance to just be mutants without all the fear and hatred, he went out seeking Charles before the whole Apocalypse ordeal happened. And of course he had been too late. But he stuck around, because if Wanda wanted something, she was gonna get it even if he still found the whole notion silly.

("'Give me liberty or give me death,'" Wanda had said on one of Peter's Bad days when he was twenty-two, a few weeks after he really began to question his position in the CIA among humans, "Who said that?" He had asked gently. She blinked slowly, "I don't remember," She replied simply, "But things must've been really bad if they had to say it.")

"Don't... do that, kid," Logan said awkwardly, hesitantly reaching a comforting hand out before pulling it back once he likely remembered that Peter wouldn't react kindly to it, "It's bad 'nough watchin' other people kill you, I ain't watchin' you kill yourself. Not on Chuck's nice carpet."

Peter peeked through his fingers to glare at Logan, his distress quickly turning into frustration, "I'm going to kill you, James," He warned lowly. Nobody told him when and where he got to kill himself.

He heard more than he saw when Logan unsheathed his Adamantium claws, "Don't be goin' 'round sayin' shit you don't mean," He replied in an equally low tone. Peter ignored him, "Months, Logan, literal months of no assignments," He hissed, throwing his hands out, "No hits, no calls, no meetings. God forbid I get comfortable in the place I'll likely be spending the rest of my life in. And then you just had to come and fuck things up. Things were peaceful, calm, quiet-"

Peter's words were interrupted by Logan lunging forward and slamming his back into the wall, "You work for the damn CIA. You have my DNA in you. You have Magneto's DNA in you," Logan growled, his fists balled in the collar of Peter's jacket and his claws jammed into the wall on either side of his neck.

Had it been possible and had he been a normal mutant, the sudden and violent motion would've knocked all the air out of Peter, considering Logan was over two hundred pounds of muscle and an extra three hundred pounds of Adamantium. As it was, it wasn't possible and Peter wasn't a normal mutant so the motion only caused a hitch in his breath.

"You ain't ever gonna get peace an' quiet, kid," Logan finished, his teeth bared in a silent warning, one Peter would normally heed when he was in a better mood. But Peter was tired, everything at the moment was just making him tired, and he wanted nothing more than to take a day to recharge, to take a bullet to his head to allow his body and emotions to mellow out and reset.

But even if Logan were to go and fuck off and deal with this shit by himself as he always has, Peter still wouldn't be able to take out his trusty Service Six. The mansion wasn't like their house back in Manhattan where Peter could send Wanda out shopping with Toad to watch her, giving himself a few hours to regenerate half a brain. The mansion was always awake, never empty, and by the time he'd regenerate and his brain would reform, the rotting smell would already be clinging to the air, something he now had to worry about in a mansion full of mutants with enhanced senses and Hank.

As much as Peter really couldn't be half-assed, he wasn't about to do that to Charles and his students. They didn't deserve the fucked up physiology of the Maximoff Family. They had been nothing but kind which was... new.

Peter was used to barked orders and condescending words. He was used to violence being the first thing on everybody’s mind, peace a mere joke to be laughed at. He was used to being pushed down, being told not to get back up, but getting back up anyway because who were humans to command him?

Purgatory was nothing good, a creation of missing memories and unholy verses, a collar too tight and a leash pulled too taut in the hands of a human master.

Everything Peter ever knew was bad, anger and pain, even when his body and his mind became too tired to properly feel anything. He's had his limbs cut off, skin burned beyond recognition, his DNA spliced, his brain and organs splattered across the floor or walls.

Peter’s been through it all, but he kept going. For his family. And now, he supposed, his thoughts turning briefly to Charles, for the betterment of mutant-kind. Charles deserved that at least.

"Did you think you could come seeking my help?" Peter asked, grabbing onto all six of Logan's claws with both hands. And it stung for a second as Adamantium tended to do on his skin but he grasped tightly and yanked them out of the wall, "Did you stop to think that maybe I would rather not deal with your fucked up family because I already have my own to deal with? Or are you still that bull-headed and stupid old man I found in Canada a year ago?"

Logan bared his teeth again with a growl this time and Peter returned the gesture, albeit with flat teeth and lacking the menacing growl that Ferals had.

"That. Ain't. Why. I'm. Here," Logan said forcefully, "Then enlighten me, Howlett, on why you're really here if not to ask me for help," Peter replied, "Because I have no reason to help you. Not with Creed. Especially not with Creed."

Logan held eye contact for a little while longer before he snarled and tore his claws from Peter's grasp, slicing his palms and fingers open again, much deeper than before. Peter hissed and instinctively lashed out, punching Logan square in the throat despite his now spasming tendons making it hard to form a fist and impassively watched as the older mutant coughed and fell backwards.

Sometimes, Peter just liked having an excuse to punch Logan.

Other times, pain was an agonizing thing to experience after so long of its absence.

Sure, he got phantom pains from Lorna but she felt pain differently, it was very obviously not his own. It had been a while since any pain had really registered in his mind, but Adamantium always managed to do the trick against Peter's healing factor.

"Jesus fuck, kid," Logan rasped, sheathing his bloody claws and holding a hand over his throat as he wheezed, "You started it, asshole," Peter shot back, trying to keep his hands clasped together so that he didn't get any blood on the carpet before the cuts could heal.

Only after Peter could feel the skin and tendons of his palms stitching themselves back together did he speak again, "Did you actually think I'd help you with Creed?" It happened to be a few minutes later since wounds from Adamantium healed slower than regular wounds, "I dunno," Logan coughed, "I figured that if I asked 'nough times, you'd get annoyed an' help me or you'd fuckin' feel bad or somethin'-"

"Feel bad?" Peter scoffed in disbelief, wiping the blood on his palms onto his jacket where the leather was too dark to notice the crimson, "Purgatory doesn't 'feel bad'."

Logan leaned against the other wall, "You ain't Purgatory all the damn time," He pointed out, sounding as though he had finally caught his breath despite the fact that his chest was still heaving, "You're right," Peter said sarcastically, "Sometimes, amazingly, I go to sleep," He dragged his now-healed hands over his face, debating between helping Logan and not.

If he did, then nothing happened. If he didn't, then nothing happened. Logan wasn't his concern, that was why Peter hadn't bothered checking in on him beyond seeing where he had run off to from Manhattan a few months ago.

(He cared about Logan, sure, but it was different. Not only was Logan a full-grown man, but he also wasn't Peter's family. He got nothing out of caring about Logan so he simply didn't.)

But Victor Creed? For fucks sake, he doesn't have his men check up on the freak for three months and suddenly he's off with William Stryker again.

"Fine," Peter relented, "I'll help you," He watched as Logan had to physically pause at his words, "The hell?" He muttered gruffly, "Is this Purgatory bein' bored or feelin' bad?" He questioned. Peter rolled his eyes, "Logan, I just saved a group of mutant children including a mutant superhero group," He rubbed the bridge of his nose and forced the words out between his clenched teeth, "I'm in a charitable mood."

Peter felt Logan's eyes bore into him without having to look at him, but he looked over at him anyway, "...That's worse than you just bein' bored or feelin' bad," He groaned, "Do you want my help or not?" Logan held up his hands placatingly, "Alright, alright, I ain't sayin' nuffin' else."

Peter scrubbed his hands over his face harder, already regretting agreeing to follow Logan's whims. Peter hadn't been kidding before when he mentioned having to deal with his own family, he didn't have time to deal with Logan's family as well. Not to mention Peter's own crisis of 'faith'.

Goodness wasn't something that Purgatory was even supposed to be capable of, and yet here he was, defying all he'd ever been taught and trained for. And for what? A band of pacifistic hippie mutants? Peter's slaughtered mutants just like Charles and his X-Men before and he didn't quite understand what made them so different. But Peter was stubborn, so if somebody other than his family managed to change his mind then he supposed his mind was changed.

"What do you even need my help for?" Peter questioned, dropping his hands from his face, "You can track Creed just fine, better than any tech I have at my disposal. Which is saying something," Logan snorted, "Yeah, but I ain't got a quick way to Japan."

Peter took a measured breath, "Logan," He said, mustering as much patience as he could, trying to find what he didn't have at the moment, "I can't run across the ocean. And even if I could, I can't run with somebody as heavy as you or Creed without sinking," He seethed, "And you know I'm not allowed to use the CiA's aircraft units after rigging half of the Raptors to explode."

Whatever imitation of patience Peter managed to cook up was lost instantly as soon as Logan started to snicker, "Nearly forgot 'bout that," He said and Peter rolled his eyes, "That might be an early sign of dementia," He snarked. Logan shrugged, still smirking, "That ain't what I meant anyway," He stared at Peter and he stared back until he crossed his arms over his chest and sighed.

"One of the Blackbird's engines is busted," Peter told him, "And after..." His mind flashed back to just a few of the memories he had of that morning, memories that definitely had not gotten him in the good grace of anybody, not from his own experience of accidentally and deliberately fucking things up, "...Everything," He grimaced, "I doubt Charles would trust me with the damn thing anyway. Hank sure as hell didn't earlier, he kept trying to get me to sit down the entire trip back."

"I can fly the Blackbird," It was Peter's turn to stare at Logan until the man also crossed his arms over his chest and raised an eyebrow at him, "What?" He grunted, "No, you fucking can't," Peter immediately responded, "Not trying to crush any dreams or anything, but your ass absolutely cannot fly any sort of contraption with wings and an engine. You suck at it, Howlett."

Logan blinked slowly, "You done?" He asked and Peter made a gesture telling him to continue, "I can just lie, you know that, right?"

Peter huffed and turned away, "That doesn't change the fact that the Blackbird's engine is still out," Logan shrugged, "Then we fix it," He said simply, "I can fix thin's as good as you can build 'em, kid. McCoy's a genius, him an' I, we could have that puppy fixed up within the hour. Wit' you helpin', fifteen minutes."

Peter rolled his eyes even though Logan wouldn't see it, "I don't know shit about jet engines," He said, "Car engines, I can do. Motorcycles, to perfection. Aviation is the one thing I can't do, I can fly them but I can't fix them. You and Hank are on your own," It's not as though he hated flying. He could do it well enough and he's never had any issues. Peter just liked the ground, it's why he didn't often take up Lorna's offer to fly with her on days when her mutation felt strong enough to support two people riding the electromagnetic currents.

Logan pursed his lips and uncrossed his arms, "Then we'll be in the skies in an hour or so."

"...Let's just get this over with," Peter sneered and began to walk back towards the foyer, not actually caring if Logan followed him or not, but he could hear the man's boots thumping on the carpet behind him until they were stride for stride, "And here I was, happily forgetting how ugly your brother is."

When the two of them made it back to the foyer, it had been cleared out except for Charles who was doing the equivalent of pacing, rolling back and forth from one side of the room to the other.

Charles only stopped and turned his head when he heard their approaching footsteps against the carpet, "Ah, there you two are. Is everything alright?" He asked. Peter gave the man a tight-lipped smile, "Yes," He responded, "As alright as it can be."

Charles's brows furrowed and he opened his mouth to speak but Logan beat him to it, "I've gotta ask a favour from you, Chuck," Peter appreciated that Logan didn't include him in that. It's not that he didn't do favours, he just hated owing them. He didn't do anything without a price... for the most part.

Charles sat up a little straighter, "What is it that you need, Logan?" He questioned. Logan leaned his side against the hallway arch, "I need to borrow your pretty lil' jet," He said, "I have... a friend," He grimaced for a second, "An' I haven't heard from 'em in long 'nuff to be worried. The kid can't-"

Peter knocked his foot against Logan's, gentler than he had before. It was only meant to catch the man's attention. Their eyes met for a split second which was hopefully enough time for Peter to convey all he needed to say but had forgotten to.

There was still so much Charles and the others didn't know about him, that there was only so much he had told them. Some things weren't meant to be known and some things Peter would never tell them. Willingly, at least.

Logan nodded slightly, hopefully unnoticeable to Charles, "The kid can't run me 'cross the ocean to where they last were but I'd be willin' to help Beast fix 'er up if it meant we'd be 'llowed to use 'er," He finished. Charles looked between the two of them before he took a breath, "So you'd like to borrow the Blackbird for your rendezvous?"

Logan cleared his throat and stuck his thumbs through the loops of his jeans, a tick Peter only knew was a nervous one due to Wanda pointing it out to him at some point. It was weird seeing a man like Logan nervous, "Now, I understand how that all sounds-" Charles held up his hand and the older mutant immediately stopped talking.

It amazed Peter how easy it was for Charles to do that, how easy it was for him to command the room without his powers. Even if the room was only Logan in this instance.

Charles stayed silent for a few seconds before he pursed his lips, "...I never did thank you for helping me all those years ago, did I?" He asked gently and reached out, taking Logan's hand and holding it between both of his.

Logan briefly startled and squeezed Charles's hand, "You don't hafta do that, Chuck," He said gruffly and Charles ducked his head, "No. I suppose I don't. But I'd like to," He brought Logan's hand closer to his chest and Peter wondered if the man craved touch the way he sometimes did, if the only difference between the two of them was that one of them welcomed touch in the way only a touch-comfortable man could while the other ducked away from it like an abused dog.

(And Peter hated comparing himself to an animal as much as Logan did. He wasn't a Feral like him, couldn't comprehend the need to fight animal instincts over human ones. But he could understand being treated like an animal. And, yes, at some point, every mutant had been treated like an animal, but Peter could guarantee that most mutants had never been literally collared and leashed and made to wear a specially-made muzzle designed to keep them from talking.

Granted, Peter couldn't guarantee Logan had been through the same. The CIA treated him like a weapon. They treated Peter like a dog.)

"You helped guide me back onto a path I had all but abandoned at the lowest point of my life," Charles continued, lifting his head back up, "Even when I had been less than kind and cooperative with you, you didn't leave me to wallow within my own self-pity. And for that, I owe you greatly."

Logan nodded and looked off to the side, "You were the one who taught me to never abandon somebody when they need help the most," Charles chuckled, "Well, let us thank my future-but-hopefully-not-anytime-soon bald self for that," Logan patted Charles's hand with a snort, "You got the kid helpin' you. Wit' 'em here, that future ain't ever gonna come."

He glanced at Peter as he spoke and he was tempted to make a face at him, to bare his teeth in defiance because he didn't help people, not without demanding something in return. But Charles also turned his gaze to Peter and his face softened and it had been so long since he was needed by people other than his family and it was an amazing feeling that it was almost like his metal heart was beating.

Peter ended up giving the two men a small smile, too small to pick out anything but big enough that it looked sincere. 

"And as I told Peter before," Charles said, returning his gaze back to Logan, giving Peter the chance to relax his face, "A simple thank you will never be enough for all you've done for me, Logan. Thank you."

Logan smiled slowly, "You're welcome. Is this a long-winded way of tellin' us we can borrow your jet?" He questioned and Charles laughed, letting go of Logan's hand, "Yes, yes, it is. She better be in prime condition when you leave and return," He warned jokingly, poking a finger into Logan's chest which made the older mutant laugh, "I'll go get started on helpin' Beast right away, Professor."

Logan walked past Charles towards the other hallway where the subbasement elevator was, giving the Telepath a solid pat on the shoulder as he did. Peter made a move to follow him, not to help, only to nag because if he nagged, the job would get done later, giving him more time to prepare for potentially being face-to-face with Creed.

But Charles stopped him by lifting his hand, making Peter pause his movements. The man didn't touch him, which he was grateful for. He was getting a little tired of it.

"I'm sure there is a more tactful way to put this," Charles said, glancing towards the back of the mansion "But Wanda has been refusing to come inside," Peter blinked. It was hardly the statement of the year. Wanda refused to come inside all the time, even if she did little more than just sit there. He usually just let her have her fun, she always came back inside before sunset anyway.

"I don't understand the problem," Peter admitted. It wasn't like he was trying to be normal here so he didn't bother making some sort of excuse. Charles sighed, "She's... waiting for something. From you," He grimaced when Peter's expression didn't change, "An apology. Or a confession... about this morning?" He suggested tentatively and Peter hummed, "Oh. I'll... I should explain all that to her."

He nodded to Charles in thanks and started making his way towards the back of the mansion where Wanda was surely sitting on the back porch. As much as she liked being outside, she didn't like sitting on the grass unless it was her only option.

"You never told her about any of that?" Charles asked as he walked away.

"She's a kid, Charles," Peter said, looking back at the Telepath over his shoulder, "The things Lorna and I have done aren't exactly kid-friendly."

The halls were quiet as Peter walked through them, the students either resting after such an eventful morning or being fixed up in the subbasement. The back of the mansion wasn't too different from the front. There was a lake and a surrounding forest and a back porch, only bigger to fit a few tables and chairs. The back door was glass, easy to see Wanda through it.

Peter took a quick detour up to his room, grabbing something from Lorna's metal jewellery box before he returned to the back door.

She was sitting on the steps, her back to the door. She was still wearing her clothes from before, her brown blouse and lighter brown sailor pants, but she had put black shoes and gloves on, making it look more like one of her everyday outfits than just something she had thrown on while waiting for him in the middle of the night.

Wanda always said that if she was going to be considered weird then at least she'd look better than everybody else.

Peter pushed open the back door slowly and Wanda looked back for a second before she went back to facing forward, "Hey," She said, "Hey," Peter said back, closing the door and walking closer to her, standing beside her on the porch steps. It wasn't even afternoon yet but the usual birds were silent, the sun barely cresting over the old trees.

"...I'm not an idiot," Wanda said softly to break the silence, looking down at her gloved hands in her lap, "I know you and Lorna always say I'm too young to know certain things. But," She let out a breath, "When it comes to something like this morning, will I ever be old enough?"

Peter looked down at her silently for a few seconds, "No," He replied gently before he sat down on the porch beside her, making sure there was distance between the two of them, "I suppose not."

"There's a lot you two haven't told me, isn't there?" Wanda asked, tapping her foot against the steps, "Like stuff about this morning. And about John and Marie. And about the guys that sometimes come around to give you work. And about Mom."

Wanda didn't look at Peter as she talked, which he could understand. He had known that at some point she'd get suspicious. There was only so much they could hide and lie about before it became too much. He just hadn't expected it all to come to a head in such a... mundane setting.

But Wanda deserved the truth after everything. It was the least he could do for her.

He decided to start with the hardest situation to describe because it would help describe everything else.

"I," Peter cut himself off with a sigh, looking off to the side. He was so far out of his depth, this wasn't his thing. Sure, he was good at comforting people but something like this? Something so kind and affirming? Even his family had to fight to get something like that out of him.

But he wasn't going to make them fight him on this, he was tired of it. At least it would be his choice now instead of the CIA's.

Peter scooted a little closer to Wanda, staring forward with her, "...I didn't want you to ever feel like how Lorna and I did," He said softly, "Our mother... Magda wasn't a good person, even for a human. She... abandoned us," Peter pursed his lips, "And that is how she was, is. She abandoned everybody who ever loved her. Her own children, all four of us, our father... and yours."

"You said my dad left us," Wanda said in an even tone, turning her head to stare at Peter.

"And I lied," Peter said and it hurt his metal heart to admit that he had hurt her in such a way, "We both lied. To you. Because your father wasn't... isn't a good person," He put a hesitant hand on Wanda's arm.

She looked down at it for a second before she looked back at him, "And your father's a saint?" She asked and it wasn't exactly rhetorical but Peter didn't have anything to say to that, "Why is my father so much worse than yours? Erik's a terrorist. You told me who Erik was as soon as you and Lorna figured it out. Why can't you tell me who my father is?"

Peter took a breath and turned his head away from Wanda, unable to meet her eyes as he took his hand off of her arm. How the fuck did you explain the difference between a terrorist and a cannibal?

Peter turned his head back towards Wanda, "Your father ate people."

Okay.

Maybe not like that.

Wanda stared at Peter, the twitching of her fingers the only indication he had spoken out loud and she hadn't suddenly gone deaf.

He continued talking as though he'd forget everything he could remember about Wanda's father within the next few minutes. It was entirely possible. It, for once, wasn't what Peter wanted.

"There were these people, they ran us out of Poland because they didn't like us. A single Jewish woman with blonde twins. They thought we harboured the Devil within us because we weren't the type of Aryan they wanted," Peter looked down at his own hands in his lap, "When we got to America, none of us spoke English. They left us in Canada. But nobody would even look at us because we were dressed like Europeans, so we got lost. We met your father in the Alberta wilderness."

Peter wished he could say he remembered it like it was yesterday. As it was, that had been nearly fifteen years ago and, unfortunately, his memory only went back so far with so much clarity.

"He didn't speak Polish either and his German was bad but he understood enough that he knew we needed help. He took us to this cabin and... he must've been planning to kill us the whole time," Peter chuckled humourlessly, "But, come morning, one of us must've done something. Magda must've cooked him something or- or Lorna must've given him something because the next thing I remember is that we're all sitting at the dinner table and he's teaching us English and he's cooking something without meat because he realized we were Jewish."

Peter narrowed his eyes, scraping his brain for every detail he could remember, "He... When you were born, he refused to let go of you. He would sing to you and Magda must've been so grateful that she didn't have to go through with feeding a fourth baby because she let him feed you with formula until you were old enough to eat meat. God, the only thing he fed you was human flesh. When you were one, Magda started to realize something was wrong with him. Most men couldn't lift a whole tree with one hand or grow nails to such a length without them breaking, their ears and teeth weren't pointed. And- And surely humans didn't have slits for pupils."

Peter dragged his hands over his face, "If- If she had just stayed quiet," He said and he could almost feel the regret he had probably felt once he realized what exactly the man was in the present moment, "We could've been normal, as normal as mutants could've been in the sixties. We could've been a family, but she had to say something about how unnatural he was, how so many people were going missing in the town but how our meat cellar only grew outside of the spring season. Magda agreed to- to something with the government and the next thing I remember is us in Manhattan with different names and a story on how we got there."

Peter knocked his foot against Wanda's, grateful that she was just letting him talk. It wasn't something Lorna ever even wanted to acknowledge anymore, "We tried to get you to respond to Wendy," He snorted, "But you only answered to Wanda and would correct anybody who called you anything but that...  It was the name your father picked out for you," He said softly, "We didn't even know you were a girl until after you were born but that was the only name he ever called you. He- He loved you."

"That makes it sound like he's dead or some shit. He's not, he- I don't know where he is," Peter admitted, "But I know that wherever he is, he loves you. I love you," He put his hand on his chest, "I- I know I say that a lot and that I almost never mean it but I mean it now and I've meant it plenty of times before. That's why after Magda left, Lorna and I joined the CIA, so that we had the money to provide you with the life we never had," Peter cleared his throat.

"Because leaving for days at a time really says I love you," Wanda said quietly, "I thought you didn't want me to ever feel abandoned."

Peter inhaled a sharp breath of air and stared at Wanda. He knew, logically, that leaving a kid with no babysitter wasn't right or normal, but Wanda had never complained about it, had never even mentioned it. Peter had thought she was fine with it, she never gave any indication otherwise.

"And it never even mattered," Wanda continued in the same tone as before, "I knew why you two worked, for the same reason everybody else does. And I knew it was hard to find somebody to watch me for so long with little to no notice every time. I don't hold it against either of you. I never have. I just..." She sighed and rested her chin in her palms, "I never liked the men who'd come and get you two. Or the way you two acted when you got back."

Wanda kicked her feet almost sadly and Peter hesitated, realizing that this was the most she's ever expressed about him and Lorna working for the government. And that her general opinion wasn't 'I don't like it' or 'I never wanted this'; it was 'I didn't care enough about it to tell you I didn't care'.

It really did just prove to Peter that their family was perfect together. Because what was family if not fucked up weirdos being fucked up weirdos together?

At the very least, Wanda didn't seem stressed about everything. If she was, Pest would be all over her. It was an easy way for Peter to understand Wanda's emotions, even if he didn't need it most of the time. She was very open and clear about how she felt.

It was a great thing for him, her transparency, because Wanda wasn't Lorna, Peter couldn't assume her feelings and always be right. He couldn't feel what she felt, he couldn't even pretend he did.

Wanda felt things in a way Peter couldn't understand and wouldn't try to understand. It all seemed unnecessarily complex to him and he had long since grown out of it, just as Lorna hardly allowed herself to feel anything other than anger. Humans had done nothing but take advantage of the way the two of them felt things, the freakish way they always knew what the other was feeling, thinking, doing.

It had been easier to just... stop feeling rather than pretend it didn't affect him, and that was just what Peter's body did.

He was glad Wanda's body and mind didn't work like his. It had not been sudden or fun, forgetting basic human etiquette and forgetting how to be a normal human being.

But Peter supposed he wasn't normal, nor had he ever been.

He was Frankenstein's monster. How could somebody like him ever be normal when he had been created to be anything but?

Realizing that Wanda wasn't reacting poorly to anything he had said, Peter reached into his jacket pocket, carefully pulling out what he had taken a detour to his room for. It was a golden chain with a gold heart-shaped locket attached to it, roses meticulously carved into it.

"It was a... a gift. From your father," Peter explained, tripping over his words as he handed the golden locket to Wanda.

She took it gingerly, a melancholy look on her face as she cradled it to her chest as though it would fall apart if she let go of it now that she had it. She pushed her nail under the clasp and the heart popped open, the inside visible to only Wanda as she cupped her hands around it.

"He made it himself once you were born," Peter whispered, "I remember watching him, I think. That's, um, his name," He added when her eyes refused to stray from the name carved on the inside of the heart.

Wanda took a deep breath and closed the locket, pressing it between her palms as she breathed out, "Okay," She whispered back, staring ahead of her, "Okay. I, hmm," She hummed and Peter recognized it as the noise of uncertainty she made whenever she was trying to think of a nice way of telling him to leave her alone.

Peter took the out.

"I've gotta get going, dziecko," He said and stood up, looking down at Wanda, "Logan and I'll be back before sunset. Don't forget to eat," Peter hesitated for a second before he put a hand on her shoulder.

"I love you," He told Wanda, meaning it this time.

She nodded jerkily, "I love you too," Wanda replied, still staring forward.

Peter gave her a smile she couldn't see before he turned around and went back inside.

Logan was waiting for him, leaning back against the wall, obviously done with helping Hank. Peter hadn't realized how much time had passed, "You're gonna hafta tell her everthin' eventually," He said and Peter took a breath, "She knows... enough," He replied, looking back and staring at Wanda through the glass door for a few seconds, "She knows enough."

When Logan huffed, Peter turned back to face the older mutant, "I keep forgettin' how stubborn you freaks are," Peter snorted, "Coming from you, that's almost a compliment, Logan," He said before turning away and walking towards the subbasement elevator, Logan not far behind him, "Let's go get this over with so that I can forget how ugly Creed is already."

It took ten minutes before the earth opened up and the sleek black jet rose from underneath the ground.

Glowing yellow eyes hidden beyond the treeline tracked the movement of the jet until it was too far away, a mere speck in the sky before its gaze returned to its prey, sitting defenselessly along the wooden back porch.

The animal licked its lips. The hunt was always nice.

But a sitting duck was just as tasty.

Chapter Text

Wanda liked being outside.

Sure, she liked feeling clean and looking nice and mud and dirt weren't great things when she wanted to stay that way, but that didn't mean she hated them. It was more fun outside, easier to breathe, to hear.

Charles Xavier hypothesized that she liked to be outside because everything was easier for her friends outside and for the most part he was right. She liked it when things were easy for them, and also because it was easier to feel her friends.

And right now, Wanda could feel a not-friend lurking beyond the trees, hidden behind the foliage. Has been, since before Pietro joined her outside.

The not-friend was... big, like, really big. Bigger than a black bear on its hind legs, which was big for a person. The not-friend's mind was an odd thing, a mixture of something animal and something too-aware, like a human mind. But their mind wasn't like Professor Hank's, too human for Wanda to control when he wasn't furry, or like her brother’s, too paranoid to allow somebody else in his head.

The not-friend's mind was like Uncle Logan's, a definitive hindbrain with powerful instincts that Wanda could easily twist and primitive thoughts so open she might as well be a regular Telepath. Which meant that the not-friend was a Feral, too animal to be human, too mutant to be an animal.

Which was perfect for her mutation because the not-friend was thinking a lot of violent thoughts, mostly about killing her and hanging her along a tree as a warning to Charles.

Which was really mean because Charles was like her dad now, she's decided, because he was very nice to Pietro when most people weren’t, and also she wasn't immortal like Pietro and Lorna, she couldn't afford to have her organs ripped out because they wouldn't grow back. At least, she didn't think so... She wasn't exactly eager to find out.

Wanda tilted her head to the side as she absentmindedly wrapped the gold chain of her new-but-not-exactly-new necklace around her hands. A gift from her dad. She couldn't remember much about him, other than he was really nice and would let her sleep on him and that he was huge but that might've just been because she was a baby.

But she could remember that he loved her, even without Pietro having to tell her her, that he would hold her every chance he got. And that even though Pietro had said he wasn't a good man, Wanda's dad was still a good dad. And she didn’t really care about much else.

"Let me see you, friend," Wanda slipped her necklace on and called out, speaking to the trees as her pupils glowed yellow. It had been a while since she last controlled a Feral, they weren't like her friends with their overly simplistic ways of thinking, they were mutants. Human beings with an entirely separate mind that had an entirely different way of thinking.

(Whenever Wanda used her other mutation where Pietro or Lorna could see her, instances that were few and far between, Pietro always looked sad. She knew he wasn't ashamed of it, he never was, but he always made sure to tell her that Feral mutants were no less human than any other mutant. She never needed reminding but she could tell it made Pietro feel better so she never told him to stop.)

Wanda's powers blanketed the not-friend's mind, urging him forward, whispering to his hindbrain that she wasn't a threat, she was only a baby, a little thing, and would a baby be left alone if it wasn't safe? If it was safe for a baby then surely it was safe for an adult.

Her words met resistance, pushing against her suggestion, so she doubled down. She may not possess the same stubbornness as her siblings but she was no less determined to help such a troubled and shut-off mind.

Wanda wanted to be like Charles, she's decided, because he helped mutants, even mutants like her brother. Nobody's ever helped her brother, they always said he was too much. But he wasn't! Pietro was just enough but was sometimes not enough too.

Wanda didn’t hold it against Pietro, she had read about it a few years ago. She watched him, even when he thought she didn't, she's seen how he's reacted to things, how he's responded to situations and acted towards certain people. He had sociopathy, but she didn’t dare tell him because he didn’t know what a sociopath was but he did know what a psychopath was. And she's seen how he's reacted to being called insane, even if he believed it himself.

Wanda didn’t want to be just another person who made Pietro feel ashamed of himself, of what and who he was. She didn’t want to be just another person who feared Pietro.

Because Pietro was her brother and why would Wanda ever be scared of her family?

There was movement at the very edge of the treeline before the foliage gave way to make room for the not-friend's large frame and figure. Wanda had been right before, the not-friend was big, easily over seven feet tall, nearly eight.

His shoulders were broad, covered by a thick collar of tan coyote fur and long blond hair that looked unwashed and messily chopped at the end draped over them. The fur was attached to a brown leather overcoat that went down to the not-friend’s knees. The bottoms of his brown cargo pants were tucked into clunky army boots caked in mud and maybe blood, a black belt keeping them up and a black shirt tucked into them, black fingerless gloves covering his large hands that were probably bigger than Wanda’s head. He had yellow nails, thick and sharp and about an inch long each.

She tilted her head to the side at the sight of the not-friend’s face.

His eyebrows, blond but not light, were bushy and unkept, and he had a thick and uneven stubble of equally blond hair. The not-friend had two sets of tusk-like fangs, large and sharp and peeking out from his lips, the top set framing the bottom set. His eyes, like every animal Wanda controlled, were ringed in yellow, an obnoxious giveaway to her powers that she didn't really like.

His pupils bore the resemblance of a Feral's, that same sheen over them that reflected light differently than other mutants and humans, and the same large pupils linked to grounded predators.

But Wanda squinted, barely having to strain her own enhanced vision before realising that, oh, the not-friend's eyes were yellow.

"Oh," Wanda said out loud, "I like that," She giggled, kicking her feet against the wooden steps. Yellow eyes would look so good with her autumn complexion, but green was good too. She patted the space on the porch beside her as if the not-friend had any control over his actions.

His steps were steady, if not dragging a little, as he crossed the distance between the treeline and the back porch and plopped down heavily in the space Wanda had touched. Even sitting down, the not-friend was huge. She felt really small next to him. In a good way. Like when Pietro held her even though he hated touch because nothing could hurt her when her brother was there.

Now that the not-friend was closer, not that Wanda's enhanced senses couldn't tell from several miles away, she could smell the scent of mud and blood that clung to his clothes, his hair, his skin, and the stale scent of death that followed him.

It was different than the usual scent of death that followed her siblings which she had ignored and had been content to ignore for a large portion of her life. But it wasn't like it was easy to ignore such a rotting scent when it hung around the house all the time.

Another reason Wanda loved being outside was because scents weren't trapped outside. Sure, scents lingered and travelled through the air but that was just the city, Wanda couldn't complain about that, she's gotten used to all that despite the constant smell of petrol and cement and grief that clung to everybody in the city.

What her siblings didn't seem to understand, and what Wanda was perfectly content not mentioning, was that Wanda has always had her ability to hear what others couldn't beyond the incessant beeping of cars, her ability to see beyond the bright flashing lights and dull alleyways. She's always been able to taste the chemical taste of pesticides long after the food's been cooked, she's always been able to feel the individual strands of even her most expensive coats and jackets and gloves.

But mostly, Wanda's always been able to smell better than a bloodhound. So while the scent of death trailing after certain people wasn't new, it was different for other people who weren't her siblings.

In the city, sometimes the scent of death was fresh but so was the despair that followed. That usually meant a funeral, and Wanda would kindly turn away or hide behind whatever veil she was wearing on her hat that day. Sometimes the scent of death was stale and rotten, like the scent that followed the not-friend. That usually meant murder, and Wanda would stare until the scent of paranoia mixed with rot or until she found an empty enough alleyway for Lady and Princess to help her.

But with Pietro and Lorna, the scent of death didn't follow them nor did it linger around them. Instead, the scent was a part of them. No matter how many showers they took, Wanda could always smell the rotting beneath their skin, the old blood that was trapped with the new, the fear and defiance that was always stronger than any other scent on them.

(Sometimes, Wanda wanted to talk to Pietro about the fresh scent of death that blanketed the house and covered his skin and clothes that never belonged to somebody else whenever she got back from a day out shopping with Todd. But Pietro always acted like he actually felt the emotions he was displaying after she returned so she tried to keep her thoughts to herself.)

The not-friend kinda almost smelled like that but not as violently, like how Uncle Logan sometimes smelled under his cigar smoke and neat whiskey. Which meant another healing factor that brought somebody back from the dead.

Cool. Wicked, even, as Lorna would say.

If anything, it only solidified the fact that Wanda couldn't lose her focus on the not-friend's mind. As much as she disliked controlling Ferals due to their human nature, they were a deal more dangerous than an average mutant. Wanda couldn't outrun or hide from a Feral, their senses were on par with if not better than hers, and as great as she was at controlling her powers and herself, she was still only a hundred and twenty pounds and five foot four inches of pure teenage girl.

Wanda absolutely could not beat up a Feral, much less one that was built like (in her humble opinion) a brick shithouse.

Wanda stopped kicking her feet and looked up at the not-friend, taking in the rotting scent and the air of weariness that surrounded him, the tiredness in his expression despite Wanda controlling most of his features now. It was an odd tiredness, the kind that Pietro always wore whenever he came back from work, covered in that rotting scent that smelled too much like his own to belong to a different corpse.

”What’s your name, friend?” Wanda asked gently. She didn't receive anything from his hindbrain and even less from his human mind, "Do you remember your name?" She asked because the not-friend definitely understood her, the two of them obviously had no problem communicating with each other. She's talked to Uncle Logan enough to understand how certain Ferals communicated and the not-friend understood English, he had answered her before.

Again, there was nothing on his end and Wanda pouted, pushing deeper into his mind, ignoring the growl that came from deep in his chest. It felt weird, every response and not-response the not-friend gave her, it was all artificial and unnatural feeling if not for the loose knot tied around his human mind-

Oh. That's so not wicked.

"Oh," Wanda said out loud, pulling her influence away from his human mind, maintaining control only on his hindbrain. Which was all he had autonomy over, "That's not very nice," She added. The not-friend was exactly like Uncle Logan when Pietro first brought him into their old house. Something was wrong, maybe not with him, but somebody had done something mean to him, causing his human mindset to retreat deep into his mind, leaving only the feral bits of him to pilot an obviously dangerous body.

But even now, after determining why the not-friend seemed so hostile and untrusting towards her, a fellow Feral, it still didn't sit right with Wanda. The not-friend felt old and unchanged, as though his feral side had been steering for ages, as though the feral side was something entirely different than just instincts and a mindset now.

"I fixed my uncle's mind," Wanda said, looking up at the not-friend, "I can fix your mind, friend," She winced slightly and put a comforting hand on the man's huge forearm, "Not to say that there's something wrong with you but I imagine you'd want your memories back," She smiled, already settling her powers further within his mind, letting her powers do their thing without her interference, "I can fix that! Whatever the bad person did to you, I can undo."

Wanda reached down and grabbed onto one of the not-friend's large fingerless-gloved hands with both of her smaller ones, "Maybe you won't be normal," She said, squeezing his hand and pausing for a second, "But you'll feel better, and that'll be nice."

And Wanda paused for another second, confused about why she had paused at all. What she said was the truth, she didn't understand what had confused her. She was usually so on top of her emotions too! Somebody in the family had to be, so what-?

The realization hit her embarrassingly late and an uncontainable burst of excitement practically exploded in Wanda's chest as soon as it did.

She squealed, probably hurting the not-friend's ears, as she clambered up onto his thigh, slipping a little before she got her metaphorical footing. She gripped his hand tightly and brought it up to her face, flipping it so his palm was facing her.

”Are those," Wanda started, sounding out of breath despite doing nothing, "Beans!?"

There, on the not-friend's fingertips were rough black paw pads, larger and darker replicas of Pest's toe beans, but still unmistakably belonging to a cat.

Wanda giggled as she gripped his fingers tightly and kicked her feet happily, "You're a giant kitty," She stated, her voice filled with awe as she gently squished his pads one at a time, 'boop'ing under her breath after every squish.

(Wanda couldn't explain her love for cats. Of course, Pest jolted her dormant X-Gene, allowed her to be like her siblings when she had been told her whole life she'd be 'normal' despite her odd features. Cats loved her, her body temperature was always perfect for them, hotter than most people ran, and she was perfect to climb on because of the amount of layers she wore.

Cats were quiet, they didn't talk to Wanda too much unless they really wanted something, and their simple and straightforward way of thinking often left her devoid of headaches. But who needed a reason to love anything? Wanda just loved a lot of things.)

-A flash of lightning lit up her mind, the aggressive patter of rain, nearly drowning out the marching of soldiers, of shouting and gunfire. Animalistic growling echoed in her ears, the feeling of mud under her boots and nails and covering her clothes, the feeling of blood soaking her hands-

"Sabretooth," Wanda repeated the name the biting wind in her mind whispered to her, allowing the cold feeling to wash over her, around her, pushing against her like the ocean's waves, "Is that what the army men called you?" She asked.

-Wanda was clean again but wrong, her nails too short, her teeth too dull, the lights too bright bouncing off the pure white walls. The periodic beeping was too loud, too many people surrounded her and made her feel small, too small, trapped and caged in. Around her neck was a too-heavy collar and covering her mouth was a too-big muzzle-

"Or was it the scientists?" A rumble came from Sabretooth's throat, the sound sad for such a threatening being. But being scary didn't mean being safe.

Pietro and Lorna were never safe despite everybody being afraid of them, after all.

"Well, I for one think that it's a lovely name," Wanda declared happily, holding Sabretooth's large hand close to her, "Even if it was given to you for a not good reason and it isn't your real name. Did you know," She started, wriggling on his leg when she began to slip, "That saber-toothed tigers aren't actually related to cats," She giggled, "And I'd know all about that! I love cats bunches!"

Wanda held up Sabretooth's hand, "And you, my kind sir, are just one giant kitty cat!" She pressed down on one of his beans harder than she had before.

Instantly, Sabretooth's nail shot out longer, the jagged point stopping right between Wanda's eyes.

"Woah," She stuttered and quickly withdrew her hands, her eyes crossing to look at the claw. His hand stayed up and the rest of his nails on both hands grew into long claws. Wanda watched passively as Sabretooth's skin stretched and tore and healed around the elongated nails.

Feral mutants tended to have animalistic features, it was what made them feral. Ferals weren't prey animals, they never tended to share features with them, so Ferals all collectively had sharp teeth, whether that be all of them or just the canines. Wanda had seen all sorts of Ferals though she would never meet most of those who only existed in memory now. But most Ferals had claws, sharpened nails, a practical feature that assisted them outside of just their instincts and senses.

But most of the time, those claws or nails were useless, a hindrance now that times were more modern and less barbaric and the need to hunt had fizzled out. Wanda had thought Sabretooth's claws were the same, but evidently, she had been wrong.

"Okay," She said calmly because her powers had been working on autopilot and there was really no reason for her to worry, not when she could make things better. Her powers always made things better, "Just like Uncle Logan," She told herself, pushing Sabretooth's hand down, "So let's try this again," Wanda reached up and pushed her fingers against his temples, her eyes flashing yellow, "What is your name, Sabretooth?"

-It all started with a storm, with an angry sky and an angry feeling, of betrayal and frustration. Logan stabbed their father, but that wasn't why Wanda was upset, was it? It was cold and wet and loud and Logan wasn't Logan because he was James, a name Wanda had pulled from his memories the first time around. Logan was James and James was her brother, they had the same father and now they were running. Wanda didn't know why-

-It started with a storm, with an angry sky and an angry feeling, of pain and frustration. The room that the enemies had put Wanda and James in could barely be classified as a room, or even a cell. It was like a pen made for animals, exactly what the two of them were. But you didn’t have to remind Wanda of that fact, she knew it better than anybody, better than even James who liked to pretend they were normal human beings. But normal human beings couldn’t do the things they could do, couldn’t be gunned down and get back up like nothing had ever happened, bullets falling from their bodies. And now there was a man standing in the doorway of their pen, telling Wanda and James that they could be normal, humans, they just had to help him-

-It started with a storm, with an angry sky and an angry feeling, of annoyance and frustration. James left her. Why did James leave her? Was Wanda somehow not enough? She didn't understand. They were brothers, was she suddenly not a good brother? She had done everything right, everything she was supposed to do as James's brother. Wanda had raised James, had taught him how to hunt and cook and fend for himself when Wanda couldn't be there for him. What had she done to make James leave her? She thought she had been a good brother-

-It started with a storm, with an angry sky and an angry feeling, of confusion and frustration. William Stryker had done nothing but lie to Wanda, over and over again. But she had ignored it all because hierarchies were still a thing with humans, even if people didn't like Stryker, they had no choice but to respect him as their superior. And if Wanda always listened then James would be safe and fine to live among humans, to pretend that he wasn't an animal like Wanda was. But James wasn't here anymore so Wanda had no need for Stryker and his half-ass protection, not when she could handle herself. Canada felt like the best place to restart for now, it was where she started after all-

-It started with a sunny day, with a clear sky and a warm breeze, of adoration and relief. Wanda was holding something, she couldn't tell what because it was covered in a pink blanket but she knew the adoration feeling was because she was holding that something. There was a faint humming sound coming from her, one she recognized faintly but couldn't place. Wanda felt happy, something she could tell she hadn't felt in a long time. She rocked the thing in her arms and she realized that it must be a baby because why would you rock anything that wasn't a baby? She moved the blanket out of the baby's face and it had her fangs and her ears and it didn't have Wanda's eyes but those were her eyes-

-It started with a cloudy day, with a dark sky and an angry feeling, of sadness and and betrayal. There were people in suits outside the door, with guns filled with bullets that would do little but slow Wanda down. But she wasn’t in the mood to be riddled with bullets, the only mood she could feel was betrayal and sadness, the same feelings she had when James left her. A woman who looked like her mother, with her brown hair and unkind green eyes, was shoving bags into the arms of the people in suits, muttering in Polish about some freak and a monster. And it took a second for it to click that she was talking about Wanda. Something tugged at her coat and she looked down to see Pietro… Yes, that was Pietro with Lorna by his side, their hair blond and eyes shining. The twins said something about missing Wanda and she wanted to tell them that she wasn’t going anywhere, to ask where they were going but they were already gone and Wanda felt all alone again. One more family gone because of her-

-It all ended with a storm, with an angry sky and an angry feeling, or pain and frustration. Wanda was running, she was always running, she still didn't know why. She just knew that if she stopped, something bad would happen. So she never stopped. But why? Why couldn't she stop? What did the Bad Men want with her? Why couldn't they let her stop? Why didn't they ever stop? Victor just wanted them to stop-

Wanda jerked backwards, her heart pounding so loudly in her chest that she wouldn't be surprised if a normal mutant could hear it. She moved off of Victor’s leg and off of the porch, standing in the grass as she stared the mutant down.

How she wished for a veil and a hat, if only so her expression wasn’t so obvious to anybody who looked at her. She was never the best at hiding her emotions, she’s never had to. Wanda felt naked without a hat and veil and a jacket, only a pair of gloves to keep her safe from the ever-judging eyes of humans. And even though there weren’t any humans here now, it didn’t mean she was suddenly safe.

She crouched down slowly, hugging her knees to her chest as she watched Victor, only speaking once she felt like she had control over everything again.

”…I think my brother thinks I’m an idiot,” Wanda said quietly, “He thinks I don’t know anything about what he and my sister do.”

She poked at the dirt with a finger, the grass that was still wet with morning dew, dirtying the tip of her glove. She could always wash it out, “Which is stupid. My entire family is so stupid. Did they think I’d assume the black suits were fashion statements? Every single time? They’re ugly! At least add a red tie or some sort of print!”

A few bees buzzed around, a deer was drinking from a river, the birds were flying overhead. It always amazed Wanda how beautiful nature was. It always amazed Wanda what she could make nature do.

"The CIA is stupid," She said with a pout, "They think they can just control my family? Well, they failed. That's why Logan's here, because the CIA failed to make a- a pet out of my brother so they brought back their original pet," Wanda dug her nail into the dirt, "And then I took the Wolverine from them too, because Logan's nice and I don't care what he's done and now he's like my uncle."

She stood up, "And then they tried to make a pet out of me," Wanda growled, stomping her foot and feeling every bit like the petulant child the human children had claimed her to be, "What, because I have claws and sharp teeth and a gene that makes me animalistic I am suddenly an animal? Something to be tamed and pet and trained? I am Wanda Maximoff! Death calls me the Brimstone Princess! Reaper claims me from sulfur and flames! Purgatory and Hell call me their world! I am..."

Wanda crouched back down, rocking on the balls of her feet as she hugged her knees to her chest again.

"...I am my father's daughter," She finished quietly.

What Wanda knew was a lot, enough to overwhelm the average person. What she knew was bad, things people weren't supposed to keep as secrets. But she kept them because if there was one thing Wanda liked more than being clean and her friends, it was her family.

But Wanda knew things a kid shouldn’t know, like the fact that Pietro and Lorna had killed five hundred thousand seven hundred and sixteen people, humans and mutant, since they joined the CIA when they were eighteen, when they still thought Wanda was too young to understand the world. But she could understand the world better than her siblings because she wasn’t a sociopath like Pietro or always angry at the world like Lorna. She felt things so differently than other people that she had no choice but to understand the world.

Telepaths could understand people and why they did the things they did, but Telepaths only knew what a person knew.

Wanda knew what every animal on Earth thought of their world and of humans, a far greater understanding than humans had of Earth.

Despite having no degree and a mother with nothing higher than a grade school education, a brother who couldn’t read or spell words and a sister who couldn’t read or count numbers, Wanda knew a great deal more than most educated people.

And what she knew best was animals.

What differentiated humans from animals? Their minds, of course, their wonderful single human brain, with thoughts that alluded her.

Wanda knew exactly how insane a human had to be before other humans saw them as an animal. And she knew exactly how insane a human had to be before their minds opened to her.

And what differentiated a human from a Feral mutant? Their appetite.

Everybody got hungry, even certain bugs who only lived for so long or only ate so little. There was always that need to eat. But humans handled food differently than animals, they desired food in a way animals didn't, enjoyed the taste and the feel and the look more often than they cared about the nutrients.

It never failed to fascinate Wanda, who could taste far greater than humans could, how much humans cared about their food and being full. There weren't many people who could match her appetite except for Pietro, but many humans had certainly tried under the guise of being able to out-eat a little girl. But even Pietro had trouble keeping up with her because Wanda just wouldn't stay full.

“When I use my other mutation, I always get so hungry,” Wanda admitted, “I never used to know what it meant. So I ate whatever I wanted but I was never full," She couldn't remember the last time she had actually been full, had actually felt the satisfaction of not being hungry, "I've always craved something, but I never knew what," She hated not knowing what her body wanted but it never interfered with her life so she never tried to push it. It was one thing she didn't understand, she didn't need to know everything about her body.

Wanda hugged herself tighter, "But when my brother started talking about my dad," She poked at the dirt again, "I realized what that hunger was."

It had been an odd sensation, feeling your mouth water when your brother mentioned that the only meat your father had ever fed you was human meat. She knew it had frustrated her family for a while, the fact that she never ate meat and that it had limited what she could eat during dinner with an appetite like hers. It wasn't even a guilt or power thing! Sure, Wanda felt sympathy for every animal, even ones she had never seen before, but homo sapiens evolved with canine teeth for a reason.

Wanda had never had a craving for meat, had often turned her nose up or had downright gagged at the scent of meat wafting from restaurants or the kitchen at home. It was the same way in the mansion and she always took her meals in her room.

After figuring out she was a Feral, it had confused Wanda even more as to why she didn't like meat. She had the fangs for it and the iron stomach for the raw aspects of the carnivorous diet Ferals liked to survive off of. But she could barely even stomach the scent of actual meat, much less the taste.

But the thought of human meat didn't evoke the same reaction as the thought of animal meat. Not even the thought of it raw, intestines splayed out, eyeballs and veins popped, stomach gouged, skin peeled back...

Like before, when Pietro had explained it, Wanda felt her mouth water and her stomach rumble quietly.

For years, She had been unsure what her body craved. It felt almost weird to finally put a name to her hunger, to finally know what she needed to curb this craving. But it was a nice weird, the type of weird that one felt after putting on a warm coat in the cold. It wasn't perfect, because the inside of the coat was still cold but it would warm up and then she'd feel better, nice and warm and safe.

"I am my father's daughter," Wanda repeated, not as quietly as before, almost proudly this time, "And maybe I haven't eaten human flesh since I was a year old but that doesn't make me any less of a cannibal than he is. And you wanna know the funniest part?" She asked with a small smile, grabbing her locket.

Wanda lifted it from her heart and popped the locket open, staring down at the name craved into the gold. Her dad's name stared back at her.

"My dad's name is Victor, too," She said softly.

Wanda's mutation had nullified a while ago, maybe a few minutes ago or only a few seconds ago, but she became aware that her control over Victor had nullified and that the larger and stronger and faster Feral mutant was no longer under her control. She didn't try to reach back out to that animalistic mind. For the first time in what must've been a long time, Wanda knew Victor's thoughts and decisions were his own, not just Sabretooth's.

"Maybe it wasn’t always Mom’s fault," Wanda said, "But it wasn’t always yours either," The man, her dad, grunted, "You don't know that," He said. His voice was deeper than she thought it'd be, accented differently than Uncle Logan's despite the two growing up together. It rumbled like he was growling and it made her feel even smaller than she already was compared to him.

(She wondered if she'd get to be that big when she grew up. She hoped so. She liked being small and dainty to match the things she wore but she always did like fur and being scary without having to try.)

"I'm not an idiot," Wanda reiterated, "I know more than a lot of people do. And I know it wasn’t always your fault,” She stood up and stepped back onto the porch, sitting down next to Victor and tucking herself into his side, which caused him to tense up.

”Pietro’s memory isn’t good anymore, and Lorna doesn’t wanna remember you so she doesn’t,” She whispered, “The two of them don’t remember you that well, especially not the good things. But I can remember enough to know that you love us. Or maybe because we’re different and older now, you don’t love us anymore, but you loved us at some point. And we loved you too. You’re my dad, I don’t know why I would ever stop loving you.”

Victor untensed after a few seconds and then he sighed and slumped into himself, ”You don’t want somethin’ like me as your daddy,” He said and Wanda looked up at him, tilting her head to the side, “Why not?” She asked, her confusion played up even though she knew he could smell its insincerity. She knew how bad he was, she had seen it within his own mind and she could smell the blood and lack of regret. It clung to his skin and to the furs he wore.

”You’re still a good dad, despite what you’ve done,” Wanda said, “Just like Pietro and Lorna. They aren’t great at showing they care and sometimes they would forget that I existed when we lived in Manhattan but they’re still the best siblings in the world. It’s my world and what world needs anything else but family?”

Wanda was aware that people painted her as naive, and that most humans didn’t see her as anything more than a spoiled brat who’s been sheltered from the hardships of the world. And maybe she was, maybe the money and designer things had gotten to her head, and made her think she was better than humans. But Wanda would always know what she was; a mutant.

And in a world like this, outside of Wanda’s safe little bubble where somebody would get skinned alive for looking at her wrong if she just said the word, mutants couldn’t afford to be naive.

But she acted that way because who was going to tell her to do otherwise? She wasn't some helpless child, as much as Pietro and Lorna wanted to paint her as one in their heads. The two of them didn't have the same senses that she had, they couldn't smell the blood that stained her hands for years, even if Lady and Princess were the ones who got their jaws dirty instead of her. It was still Wanda's plan, her commands, her awareness that allowed her friends to maul whichever poor soul she decided she didn't like that month.

But her dad had senses like hers, better than hers, even. And it was nice to think about. Wanda wondered if this was how Pietro and Lorna felt, knowing that there was somebody who would always understand them no matter what they did. Maybe the two of them didn't always like each other and they threatened and went through with killing each other more often than not but they were twins, two halves of the same soul.

The two of them certainly acted like they only had half a soul at times.

Victor was quiet before he sat up from his slumped position, "And here I thought I helped raise 'em right," He said, the humour in his voice weak but there, "Forgettin' their own sister."

Wanda smiled and giggled, "They're forgetful people," She said and it was a painful truth that she's learned to twist. When was the last time Lorna remembered any sort of holiday, even her and Pietro's own birthday? When was the last time Pietro remembered directions as simple as the mall even though Wanda went there every week? When was the last time her siblings remembered one of Wanda's hobbies outside of shopping?

Wanda didn't hold it against them, she knew the CIA had messed with Pietro's mind, and since he and Lorna were linked, it only made sense that Lorna lost time too even if she never realised it.

Wanda kicked her heels against the porch steps, "...Are you gonna stick around?" She questioned, looking up at Victor and flashing him her best puppy eyes, the ones that made even Pietro and Lorna fold in an instant. Unfortunately, Wanda got her eyes from somebody and it wasn't her mother, so Victor only snorted, "Can't fool me like that, pipsqueak," He said, "I can't. You know I can't. People ain't gonna like it."

"Who cares?" Wanda pouted as she stood up, still having to look up at Victor, "For years, I never even knew your name or if you were alive or- or if we had the same hair and eyes or if I was the weird one among my siblings. And- And now that you're here, you're gonna leave? Why?"

(Wanda has never had a problem manipulating people. She never had a problem admitting it, either, it was just that nobody ever asked. While Pietro and Lorna would call their manipulation 'promises' and 'beneficial trades', Wanda liked to call it what it was. What use was her cuteness if she couldn't use it to get what she wanted?)

"It wasn't even your fault," She continued, "Every time you lost your family, it was never your fault. But people will see an animal and always think animal. But that's not our fault," Victor turned his head to the side and Wanda realized that she was grateful that Pietro and Lorna forced themselves to look at her whenever she talked, even though Pietro hated eye contact and Lorna couldn't stand to look at her.

"When was the last time you had control over your actions?" Wanda asked, "When was the last time you were actually aware of what you were doing? Not back-seating your own head, genuinely in control of your own body. And the first thing you wanna do after gaining autonomy is be alone again."

Victor rubbed his hand over his face, "...After you were born," He said gruffly and turned his head back though his eyes were downcasted, "After you were born and before you left. That was the last time I remember bein' in control of myself. No scientists, no Sabretooth, just..."

He reached into his shirt and pulled out a locket identical to Wanda's, small and dainty in his large hand. He popped the heart open to show Wanda her own name carved into the gold.

"...Just me," Victor muttered, staring down at the locket. He closed the heart and squeezed it hard enough that Wanda was surprised it didn't just shatter, "I've made a shit ton of enemies," He said a little louder, letting go of the locket and letting it rest over his heart, "It ain't gonna be safe for nobody if I stick 'round in one place."

Wanda merely looked up at her dad, "Pietro has a shotgun in his closet," She replied simply, "I can't name a time he hasn't had a plastic weapon on him. And we have Magneto," Victor smirked, "Folks are gonna talk," He warned, "It ain't like me to domesticate myself."

Wanda shrugged and rocked back and forth on her heels, "People always talk. Who says we have to listen?"

Victor nodded slightly and finally looked back at Wanda, "You make a convincin' argument, pipsqueak," He said, holding out his hand, "I guess I'll stick 'round."

Wanda looked down at his hand, "Boop," She said, pressing down on one of the beans on his fingertips. She smiled widely and then threw her arms around his broad shoulders, burying her face in the fur on his collar.

Victor tensed again for longer this time before he slowly relaxed and hesitantly wrapped his thicker and larger arms around Wanda's back. For a few seconds, he only hovered his arms over her as though he was afraid that if he touched her too hard, she'd break. But after he got over his hesitation, his arms suddenly squeezed Wanda so hard that, had she been a normal mutant, she probably would've lost her breath.

As it was, Wanda wasn't a normal mutant so she only giggled and tried to meet his strength, more than likely failing to even meet him halfway there.

”But you are so taking a bath. That's not up for debate,” Wanda whispered into the fur around his neck, “You reek.”

Her dad laughed, a broken-sounding thing for such a large man, “Okay,” He whispered back roughly, holding her tighter, “Whatever you say, princess.”