Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“I-I can’t feel my legs.” 

Numbness. It consumed him wholly, leaving him gaping and oddly empty. His legs, half of his body, half of his mind, he couldn’t feel. His fingers dug into the sand under him, panic was seizing at his chest, breathless and clutching. 

Charles looked up at that never-ending blue sky and all he saw was fear. There was griefing pain in his lower back, one that kept him writhing and anxious, below that was the blooming lack of sensation. His mind screeching with the single thought of trapped.  

His legs wouldn’t obey him, he couldn’t run, he couldn’t walk, he couldn’t even stand. Tears blurred his eyes, he lost focus, losing sight of where he was, who he was, and all his mind thought of was the fact that Erik, his dear Erik, had left him. Abandoned him on this forsaken Cuban beach. And his sister had gone with him. 

He couldn’t find his breath in his heaving chest, gone, alongside his legs. 

And just when he thought he was utterly and completely alone, Hank appeared. His worry and concern palpable as his shaking hands roamed over his body, assessing, calculating. 

Charles gripped at his arm, almost pleading, and then the others soon appeared. Sean. Alex. Moira. 

He heard the cacophony of all their minds, an awful amalgamation of their thoughts, their worry, their fear. Unable to stop it even if he tried. All blending together, an atrocity of emotions and screaming voices bleeding into each other until Charles couldn’t distinguish who was who. 

He didn’t know where he ended and they started. He wanted to cover his ears, to beg them to stop. To scream and cry and try so desperately to drown out their thoughts, and their voices.  

Charles felt like a child. At the mercy at those around him, vulnerable, and unable to hear his own voice. He was going crazy all over again. 

But through the blizzard of it all, blearily and stilted. 

“It’s alright, professor, we’re going to get you to a hospital! Everything is going to be okay!” 

And Charles lost consciousness. Grateful for the silence. 

Charles sat patiently and silent as Hank asked him to close his eyes. He did so dutifully, used to the routine. Sitting in his office chair, the sun gleaned in through the shuttered windows, it was coming the end of summer, fall would soon arrive and with it the leaves on the trees around the Xavier estate would turn brown and orange, a chill will sweep in and he’d be able to comfortably wear his favorite cardigans again. 

“You know the drill, professor.” Hank soberly said. 

Charles nodded, there was crease between his brows as he tried to focus. 

“Sharp?” 

He didn’t need to read Hank’s mind to know he had gotten it wrong. 

“It’s alright,” Hank said. “What about here? Sharp or dull?” 

This time Charles didn’t even have to try. He didn’t feel a thing. He never did. He opened his eyes and saw his own defeat reflect on Hank’s. 

“We’ll try again tomorrow, yeah?” Hank said, forcing a weakened smile to his face. “We’ll get it eventually.” And there was optimism in the way he spoke, there was hope.

Charles was losing that with each passing day. He tried to smile back at Hank, but he could read his thoughts, so glaringly obvious, even if Hank would never say it, he thought Charles would never walk again. 

“Tomorrow.” Charles said in return. He had long stopped questioning as to why people never said what they thought. It had caused him great heartache as a child. Constantly confused and distressed, not knowing why people spoke such niceties when they thought such cruelties. 

His sister was one of the few who wasn’t like them. She said what she thought, her words and thoughts never contradicting, and Charles had found it fascinating. In her own way, Charles thought she was pure. But then she asked him to stop reading her mind, and he respected her enough to do so without question. 

Hank began packing up his small bag, little medical gadgets he had when he gave Charles a checkover, things he could easily take away from the lab. Charles hated the lab, avoiding it the most he could, Hank understood. 

“Hank, would you mind helping me into my wheelchair? I want to go see Alex and Sean before their mission.” Charles asked, his hands placed over his stomach. A dull headache was beginning to flower, a prelude to a migraine he knew was to come. He placed a hand over his stomach. Protecting. 

Ever since Cuba, his telepathic powers seemed to have grown, but with it came pain. He didn’t know how to properly shield himself, and oftentimes he heard too many voices, too many emotions, all at once. And at the worst of times, he heard the minds of those miles away, ebbed in his mind, an infestation that left him defenseless and in agony. 

It was not enough that he had his own pain to harbor, but it seemed he must also be given the pain of others. And there was so much pain in the world, so much pain on his shoulders, he thought at times his mind would crack. 

“O-Of course,” Hank said, pulling Charles’ wheelchair closer before lifting him up and transferring him over. 

He had been stubborn at the beginning, humiliated. Not allowing anyone to help him. He had felt their pity. How he had fallen to the ground when he had tried to shower himself, or when he couldn’t go up the stairs to his own room. Even to when he had spilled the carton of milk all over himself when he had tried to put it back in the fridge. 

The past three months had been an adjustment for all them, he supposed. But there was lurking bitterness in Charles. A betrayal, an anger, a frustration, that both seemed to roil and dissipate with each passing day. 

Hank didn’t even need to ask as he began to push Charles through the doorway, and Charles didn’t complain. He’s come to terms to the lack of control he had now, and god, was it a lot. 

“Professor!” Both voices said simultaneously. Charles could sense their excitement at seeing him. It brought a keen smile to his lips, even Hank seemed to brighten behind him. 

“Hello, boys.” Charles smoothly said. They all loitered at the entrance of the hall. “You two have everything?”

Alex nodded, shrugging on his shoulder bag. Sean doing the same. They were casual clothes, jeans with a short sleeve shirt under their sweaters. “We’ve got everything.” Sean assured. 

“Yeah, Prof, we’re good to go.” Alex chimed in. 

Charles nodded but there was that slither of doubt coiling in his head, whispers of his voice telling him of the dangers that lurked outside the mansion’s door. He knew of the pain that laid outside, of the flashes of horror of the war, the fear and hunger that consumed millions. 

Alex and Sean were his students, his to take care of. And he didn’t want them to feel what he felt day in and day out. 

He pushed it aside. For now. The ache in his head slowly growing, faster now. “Well, then, make sure you call to check in. And if you ever need anything, never be afraid to ask.” Charles said. 

Hank nodded behind him. Charles felt his fingers dig into the meat of his unfeeling legs, knuckles turning bleach white, plastering on a smile. 

“We’ll be back before you know it!” Sean said and they were gone. The large mahogany doors clicking shut behind him. 

The sound bringing back old memories of his childhood. He blinked them away before turning his head over to look up at Hank. He felt the man’s unease. 

Patting him on the arm, Charles conveyed thoughts of peace, trying to wash away the man’s concern. 

“They’ll be alright,” Charles soothed, easing the tension in Hank’s mind. “It should only take two weeks.” 

Hank’s shoulders relaxed, giving the Professor a tight smile. 

A few days later, the draft was announced. And not long after that, both Sean and Alex were called and shipped to Vietnam. And so were the other older students. It wasn’t long into the war that the mansion was just as lifeless as it began.

Charles had tried to convince them to stay. Pleaded and bargained, but they were just as stubborn as he was. Charles could have pulled some strings, forged documentation, made them able to avoid the draft, but they still chose to go. 

Charles knew their minds, perhaps more so than they knew it themselves. There would be no convincing them. Neither he or Hank would see the boys for a very long time. 

And soon the school was shut down right after the first semester. 

The school has been up and running again for some time now, almost a year, when Charles decided to try and use their new Cerebro, which Hank had spent diligent time building. Taking up the majority of the basement.

Hank said it was an improvement from his previous design, but not quite the masterpiece he wished to create. It was just the two of them within the bunker, none of the children were allowed down here and were instead upstairs enjoying their lunch break. 

Charles could feel the flutter of nerves Hank excluded. The poor man was nervous, fearfully doubting his abilities, fearful that his machine could possibly hurt Charles. One wrong calculation and the Professor could be harmed within seconds. 

Hank’s doubt could not dissuade him. Even if Hank doubted his work, Charles did not. He trusted Hank, the one who stuck beside him through it all. He had placed his mind and body in Hank’s hands countless times, and the other man had never let him down. 

It’ll be alright. Charles said through their minds. And it was as if a switch had been flicked. Hank eased up, he felt the trust Charles had in him, and Charles’ confidence bled into his own. 

Hank continued to push him to the end of the small walkway, there was a control panel, rounded to accommodate Charles’ wheelchair. 

“Here,” Hank said, placing the helmet over Charles’ head. Charles could see the resemblance to the one they had at the CIA. 

Charles said nothing as Hank backed off, turning to switch levers and check the readings on some of the gauges. Charles let him do what he needed to do. 

Then, Hank’s hand hesitated. Charles shot him a look of curiosity. Hank bit his lip and his brows bunched together. 

“It’s okay, Hank.” Charles assured once more. “I’m ready.” 

Charles was in fact not ready. 

His mind bursted with the voices of millions, billions, of people all at once. All of their emotions, their thoughts, all coming together until Charles’ couldn’t even tell if any of them were human any more. 

Hands clutched at the arm rests of his chair, trying desperately to ground himself, to try and find his own mind within the mess of all the others. 

Hank was flitting around him with a concerned worry, watching for the moment where it all became too much, his hands ready to shut it all down within the instant. 

But Charles urged him not to, and he didn’t. Charles tried to focus, Hank had done his part, it was Charles who needed to do his. He brought his attention closer to his body, as close as he could get, and still his mind expanded over miles. 

And there!

Like a bright spot on a map, Charles found another mutant, a child who seemed terrified. Charles entered their mind, and suddenly he could see what they saw. 

It was a boy’s room, blue wallpaper with two windows that looked out to a suburban backyard, and toy cars littered across the floor. But one toy car was shifting realities in the palm of his hands. The figure morphed in size, its shape an incontinuity that seemed to warp the known physics. And just as the height of its change, it disappeared entirely.

And just as soon as Charles had gotten in, he had gotten out. Back in the bunker with the metal on his head. The machine shut down. Hank, kneeling at his side, eyes wide. 

Charles was gasping for breath and he hadn’t even realized. Tremors racked his body and his mind was still reeling, ears ringing with the phantom voices of millions. 

“Maryland,” he managed to choke out. “Owings Mills.” 

The very next day, he and Hank were in the estate’s car and driving to Maryland.

Charles thought the drive was rather pleasant, it had been a while since he was just Hank and him. Away from the school for what seemed like the first time in a year. Away from his son for the first time since his birth. And as much as they adored the students they house, this was much needed. 

Charles had almost forgotten what the outside world was like, and hadn't left the Mansion since the loss of his legs. Too ashamed to go out in the world, too afraid. 

“Take a right on the next exit.” Charles said, he’d been tasked with the map in the passenger seat. A job he enjoyed. The car radio playing a song Charles couldn’t quite recognize as they passed countless trees on the back end road they drove through. Hank was humming along with the lyrics. 

He saw an old memory from Hank, the same song that played now was playing in his memory. He was in the kitchen in the mansion, baking a birthday cake for one of the students, but Hank was struggling to remember whose birthday exactly it was. 

Charles smiled, easily recognizing the cake. “Joan,” he said. “It was Joan’s seventh birthday.” 

Beside him, Hank was confused, then he turned stiff. And Charles felt the wall between them. Hank had pushed him out. 

“Right,” Hank tightly said. “How could I forget?” 

And Charles didn’t really know what he had done wrong. The barrier Hank built in his mind was rather weak but did the job. If Charles really wanted to, he could’ve broken through simply enough, but he didn’t. He never did. 

There were countless things he could do to another’s mind, things he would never want to do. He could do more than just stop a person, he could make them do whatever he wanted, control their thoughts, their emotions, their actions. He could take a person’s mind and reshape them entirely. 

But he swore he would not…Not after what had happened when he was a child, a time before even Raven had appeared. 

“We shouldn’t be far now,” Charles said. “Ten minutes, perhaps?” 

Hank’s grip on the steering wheel relaxed, but still he didn’t respond to Charles’ words, only nodding. 

But the nearer they got, the louder the voices Charles heard got. Voices of which did not belong to the minds of a suburban neighborhood. 

“Hank! Stop the Car!” Charles shouted, just in time as an explosion rocked through them. He turned his attention into sharper focus, and the voices became more legible, no longer a thrum of incoherent sound. 

Army. Charles realized. The Army is here. And then, other voices, different ones, mutants. One, he recognized. 

He threw open the passenger door, unbuckling himself in one swift motion. Intent on running closer, but his legs wouldn’t move, and he remembered his paralysis. He stumbled onto the asphalt, palms skidding across the rough road. 

Hank was there in an instant, engine still running as he helped Charles back onto his feet. The voice he recognized, it was from Cuba. The red teleporter.  This was the brotherhood’s doing. And Charles could only assume that Erik was also here. 

“Hank,” Charles said. “Get my chair.” 

Hank went to the trunk of the Chevy, hauling out Charles’ foldable wheelchair. The moment Charles was able, he began to move, pushing himself across the road, closer to where he heard the swarm of minds. 

“Professor, Wait!” Hank called out to him, having to jog to catch up. But as they turned the corner on a street, it was blocked off. Various military sized vehicles staggered across the road, barricading anyone from getting closer. 

Charles barely had any time to lament before Hank was pulling him through a front lawn. “This way.” 

Hank allowed himself to turn into Beast, blue skin and blue fur bursting through his green shirt and light brown leather jacket just before he broke through a wooden paneled fence. Then they were crossing a backyard before coming up to another fence. 

Beast broke through it just as easily as he had done with the one before. And suddenly, they were in the middle of the fray. 

There was the military to their right, rows of soldiers posted and aiming their guns at the four mutants across from them. But Charles noticed none of that first, for the first thing he noticed, the first thing he would ever notice first, was Erik. 

His Erik. His darling Erik in a new suit of armour, a menacing glower he directed at the humans. And…Shaw’s helmet still on his head. 

“There!” And Hank was directing his attention to a small form huddled behind a car. Shaking and terrified as he sobbed into his knees. 

Charles reminded himself as to why they were here. Reminded himself that they were not here for Erik. That the two of them had chosen their paths, that Erik had wanted nothing to do with him. Evident by the helmet he wore. 

The moment Charles was no longer useful to Erik he was discarded. Abandoned. 

Steadying himself, Charles raised two fingers to his temple, and he focused. Reaching out to the Child’s mind, and speaking to him. 

Hello, Theo. Charles said, Hank was tense beside him, prepared to jump in and protect them at any given moment. 

He saw the child jerk up, shocked at the voice in his head. 

It’s alright, Charles assured. We only want to help. We only want to get you somewhere safe, away from all this fear and sound.

Who are you? The child asked, finding Charles' eyes from the other side of the street. 

This time Charles sent images alongside his words. Friends. And he showed the small child memories of the school, of him and Hank, and all the other schoolchildren, running around the mansion and its garden. 

When I tell you, I want you to run, run to us, Theo. Charles said. 

B-But they’ll shoot at me again! The boy panicked. 

Charles was there to soothe his worries. No they won't. They won’t even see you.

And Charles knew the boy trusted him. 

He tapped into the mind of all the soldiers, his powers straining as he focused to erase the boy from their minds.

Now! Charles shouted and the boy began to run, knobby knees and cartooned themed shoes rushing towards them, tears streaking down his eyes. And Charles made sure none of the soldiers saw a thing. Keeping the child invisible to their mind’s eye. 

But then, one of Erik’s mutants sprang forward, attacking, and bullets started to spray. 

Just when Charles thought that a stray bullet would hit the small boy, it stopped mid-air, all of them did. Erik palms were outstretched and his brows were furrowed in what Charles could only presume as confusion, watching as the small boy ran. 

Erik’s eyes scanned, and soon enough, their gazes met. They both went deathly still.

And for the first time in quite some time, Charles’ mind went quiet. It was just him and Erik and no one else. Charles couldn’t help but wonder if he was falling in love all over again. Then, Erik’s eyes travelled lower, and Charles knew he was finally seeing the consequences, the result of what he had done. 

Erik’s eyes went wide, losing his footing for a second as his mouth parted. Soon, Charles realized he didn’t know what Erik was feeling, couldn’t tell. Only seeing that blasted helmet, and like the creeping shore of an ocean, it dawned to Charles that he didn’t know who Erik was anymore. 

The child then crashed into his knees, distracting him enough to look away from Erik’s steel eyes. When he turned to look back at Erik, another explosion raptured, another house blown and decimated. This time it was Erik who looked away. 

“Professor!” Hank was trying to shield him and the child. “Charles! We need to get out of here.” 

Charles’ mouth was dry as he nodded. He didn’t know how Erik had done it, didn’t know how the other man still had so much power over him.  But they had gotten when they had come here for, the child, the boy, was in their safety now.

Hank swerved them around, heading back to where they had come from. Heading back to the car, Charles turned his attention to the small boy in his lap. With a gentle smile, caressing his cheek, Charles pressed two of his fingers to the boy’s head and told him to sleep. 

When Charles turned to look behind them, desperate for a piece of hope, his eyes watered and his brows drew together. Erik wasn’t coming after them, wasn’t coming after him.  

And he didn’t know why he was so surprised, so hurt, at the notion. It wasn’t like Erik ever did. It had always been Charles who chased after Erik. Never the other way around. 

Charles didn’t know how Erik had done it. Perhaps he used Charles’ unconditional puppy dog love to his advantage, but somehow he had managed to trick Charles into thinking he loved him back. 

He didn’t know how Erik found a way to lie to a mind reader, and to do so for months, without Charles ever being the wiser. Made him feel used, betrayed, heartbroken. And still yet, Charles found it hard to give up on him. Charles, deep inside of him, still believes that what he saw in Erik was real, and not clever falsities. He won’t give up on Erik, for he must believe that there is still something worth fighting for in his dear friend. If not for him, then, for their son.

Life in the mansion seemed to be doing well, the years kinder on them all. The school he had created, a heaven for them all, would soon be entering its fourth complete school year. The summer drawing to a peaceful end as the winds picked up a chill breeze. 

And his son, his darling Max, will turn seven in the late November. Even with the clear abundance of time, Charles was already fretting over what sort of party decorations he should get for his boy. And Hank was his unfortunate confidant. 

“Would he appreciate more a chocolate cake, or a chocolate frosted cake?” Charles asked, a book in his lap as Hank sat across from him. Both of them were in the Estate’s library, a place none of the children would come willingly, moreso, this late at night. 

Hank sighed, setting down the tools he tinkered with. “Charles,” Hank exasperated, “Max loves you and he cares about you even more, he’ll like anything you give him, cake included.” 

“Very helpful.” Charles thrummed his fingers over the hardcover of the book. “And I wish for him to like his cake for his birthday, Hank.” 

Hank rubbed the strain of his eyes, day had long since passed, they were using the light of lamps and candles. But these were the only times they had such time for each other, alone and usually uninterrupted. They were mostly the only two adults in the mansion, and as much as they adored the kids, it could become taxing. 

“I’ve seen him lick the frosting off the cupcakes rather than just eating them.” Hank finally said. 

Charles quirked his head to the side, “so you are saying I should get the frosted cake?” 

Hank stared at him. “Yes, Charles,” he said, a soft smile on his lips, endeared by his friend. “Get the frosted cake if you must.” 

“I’ll call in the morning for a reservation then,” Charles said, a big grin on his face. 

“Max’s birthday is more than five months away.” Hank indigently said. 

“You can never be over-prepared.” Charles admonished. “And I wish to order it from a bakery my grandmother used to take me to. The pastries were always delicious but the waits could put a dent in anyone’s patience.” 

Hank rose a brow, leaning back in his chair. “That good, huh?” 

“Most certainly.” Charles agreed. “Oftentimes, my grandmother would whisk me away from my tutors, from this very same room, and she would load me into her convertible. A bright yellow thing that never had any seatbelts. I’d be riding in the back, too small for the front, and the radio would always be too loud to properly talk to each other. She’d drive us all the way into town and to that Bakery.” 

Hank was quiet, they both were, for a short while after. Relishing the in oldened memory. “It sounds like a good memory.” 

“She was…” Charles said. “And I want Max to experience the same thing. I want him to have a good childhood, Hank, one where all he knows is happiness and peace.” 

“He will.” Hank assured. “He does, Charles. You’re an amazing father to him, and I know Erik–” The name was a taboo thing, one that Hank corrected promptly. “ He, isn’t around, but you’re doing it all and more.” 

“Thank you, Hank.” Charles reverently said. “For everything.” 

“Aw.” Hank said, a tease in his tone. “Don’t mention it.” 

But as they met each other’s eyes, they noted the clear sincerity in it. Then Hank began to yawn and Charles watched him in amusement. 

“I’ll finish up here, Hank, go to bed.” 

Hank immediately picked himself back up, shaking his head, hair shaking like a dog’s. But his immediate opposition was quelled against Charles’ sharp look. “You sure, professor? I’m sure I can hold out a while longer.” 

Charles disagreed. “Go to bed, Hank. You’ve had a long day, and I won’t be long here, anyways.” 

Another yawn racked Hank’s body and he had no choice but to agree with the Professor. “All right, Professor. If you must insist.” As Hank packed up his things, heading towards the door, he gave Charles one last goodnight. “I’ll see you in the morning, yeah.” 

“Bright and early.” 

Suddenly, as the library door clicked shut behind Hank, Charles was alone. Lacing his fingers over his stomach, he couldn’t help but reminisce. The story of his late grandmother brought back other memories, once which were of a lesser kind cadence. 

Tutors, demanding and demeaning.  Maids who pretended to care only to steal behind his mother’s back. His father’s funeral. His mother’s suicide. The isolation, trapped here under his stepfather’s hand…

Charles couldn’t help looking over to his side, there in the nook of the old library, nestled in between two looming bookshelves, the corner where he would used to hide after Marko had finished with him. 

Quivering and hiding, knees pulled up to his chest, wearing cotton sweaters and shorts his mother adored seeing him in. Palms pressed to his mouth to stifle his cries. Marko had always tried to soothe him after, put the clothes back on his abused body, comb his hair, tucking it behind his ear, before sending him back on his way. 

With vivid and god-awful clarity, Charles remembers it all. He remembers more than he forgets. The blood that dripped, the bruises that accumulated on his thighs, the tears and the pleading. 

He rolled away from the table he and Hank were sharing, moving to the bookcase to return the book he held back in its rightful spot. 

Raven, when she had come to live with them, had always begged him to use his power to stop Marko. But Raven would never understand why he didn’t. She came too late, she wasn’t there when his father died. The death that was written off as a horrible and tragic accident, but Charles knew the truth. He would always know. 

While the humans fear the mutants, the mutants would fear telepaths. But where does that leave him? Not quite human, not quite mutant. 

The floorboard gave a low creaking groan, and Charles knew exactly which one it was. Charles turned over to look towards the door, reaching out to see whose mind was awake at this hour. He recognized it immediately. 

A smile formed sweetly on his lips. “Max,” he called out, and his son’s head peered from behind the door. “What are you doing up?” He asked teasingly. 

Max bounded into the library, sheepish grin on his face and perhaps too much energy in his steps for one whose bedtime was almost two hours ago. 

His boy shrugged as he started to climb into Charles’ lap, Charles made room easily for him. “You weren’t in your room, mama.” 

And why did you come looking for me, my little cub? Charles asked through their mental connection. 

Like your bed more. Max answered. 

Charles brows furrowed, running his fingers through Max’s brown hair, so like his father’s. “We can get you new sheets, or new pillows?” 

“No! No, it’s not that.” 

“Then what is it?” Charles softly asked. 

Max snuggled deeper. “I can’t feel you when we’re apart.” 

Charles was stumped in deep confusion, eyes wide and owlish. What do you mean?

“I–I mean, mama, that I don’t feel you here.” And Max had pulled away from Charles’ chest, small hands coming up and poking at Charles’ forehead. 

Charles cocked his head to the side. “You mean…in your mind?” 

Max shyly nodded. 

A pang of hurt flashed through Charles’ heart, remorse, and Erik’s angry voice ringing in the cacophonies of his hollow head. Erik had always been so angry, but it was always a different anger with Charles. There was spite borne out of fear for Charles.

And poor Charles, with his love stricken heart, never wanted Erik, or anyone else, to ever fear him. He dulled his fangs and shackled his hands for the sake of others’ peace. Erik had accepted him then, loved him and cherished him, gave him a child, and still it was not enough for him. 

Erik’s anger, his hatred, his fear, would always be the first in his heart. Charles didn’t have such luxury. 

“I am sorry, my son, I promise I’ll try not to–” 

“No!” Max exclaimed, looking up at Charles with his dark blue eyes, tinging on the verge of grey, rimmed with a wetness. “I like it! It’s how I know you’re there, how I know you’ll protect me when the monsters under my bed come and get me.” Max was clutching at Charle’s blue sweater, tiny knuckles going white. “It’s–It’s like hearing your heartbeat but-but different, it’s…” 

“How you know you’re not alone.” Charles finished for him. His hands cupping his son’s cheeks, thumbs brushing away the small collection of tears. His son was always an easy crier, shedding tears for even the falling of a leaf. 

Charles' son's soul was the most admirable he’s ever encountered. 

“Yeah,” Max agreed. “Not alone.” 

“That’s right, you're not alone. And you’ll never be alone, my cub.” And Charles meant it, bringing his son in for a tight hug. Another old memory coming back, his first encounter with Erik. 

He wondered if Erik would ever know how alike he and his son are. How Max seemed to be the perfect combination of the both of them. 

Charles let Max rest on his shoulder for a bit longer, before Charles knew he’d have to take them both to bed. The night was only growing later. 

Slowly, and carefully, peeling his son from his now wet shoulder, Charles brushed the damp locks of hair away from his face. “How about you go get us some cookies from the jar, and milk, and we’ll head to bed, yeah?” 

“Your bed, right, mama?” 

Charles nodded. “Yes, my bed will do.” 

Now eager at the prospect of cookies, Max clambered down from Charles’ lap. “I’ll be quick!” 

Charles chuckled. “We’ll see who gets there first.” 

Before Max could race out of the library, Charles called out to him. And be sure to be quiet, we don’t want to wake the others. Unless you want to share the cookies. 

Max’s eyes went big as he shook his head, and the floorboard creaked again as Max slipped out. Heading, no doubt, to the kitchens. 

Charles let out a sigh, rolling himself to blow out the candles before following his son’s footsteps out of the library. 

He took his time, checking on all of the kids as he passed by their doors. A sense of pride came to him, a content self-satisfaction of what he, no what, they, have accomplished. He had always merely wanted to be a teacher, now he has done that and more. 

His dream has become something more than himself. What he has done here, transformed these halls that were once filled with horrid memories, a house built from evil, into something that can be cherished. And he knows he can do the same for the rest of the world. 

All it’ll take is a bit of patience and persistence. But he knew it could be done, it will be done. For the sake of them all. Moreso, for his son. 

Just as he was about to slip into the elevator to head upstairs, he felt a disturbance in one of his kids. Charles’ brows furrowed as he turned his head to look down the hall. He almost thought it to be a night, pressing his fingers to his temple, he realized it was no nightmare. 

Charles was already moving away from the elevator, pushing his wheels as fast as he could go. Rounding the hall’s corner. Reaching deeper into the boy’s subconscious, his first thought was that it was a severe night terror, then his powers began to activate. 

Now, Charles was terrified. Slamming the door open, Charles changed his mind’s focus from the boy’s subconscious to Hank’s. Alerting the other man to come to Theodore’s room—telling himself he’d apologize for waking him up later. 

Charles gasped as he saw what lay inside of the room. Theo was floating in the middle of his bed, two feet above it, convulsing as prismic blue light erupted from his hands, his chest, his eyes. 

Covering his eyes at the flash of light, with all of his might, Charles tried waking the boy's mind. Trying to find Theo’s conscious self in the riddled mess of his sleeping mind. But each corner Charles rounded inside of the other’s mind, he only stumbled upon more endless slumber. 

Coming back to himself, to his physical body, Charles rolled closer. Both cautious and careful with the absorbent light that came from Theo’s boy, the nearer he got, it was as if a pull was attempting to drag him in. 

Theo! Charles yelled out. You must wake up!

It was all to no avail, Distantly he could hear Hank’s mind screeching awake, and then his hurried panic as he came racing down the hall, and the thrum of the other children’s mind slowly waking up from all the noise. 

Charles had gotten close enough to Theo’s bed. He leaned in across the sheets, fingers and palms stretching out, intending to pull Theo’s body back down to the bed. The moment they made skin contact, was the moment Theo woke up. 

Theo began to scream, and Charles’ mind went numb, but he didn’t pull away. Then, Charles’ skin started to crack, breaking like old porcelain, fractures that belonged to glass skirted across the top of his skin. Crawling closer and closer to his chest, and Charles could only watch in rapt fascination, tinged with fear. 

The same blue light Theo omitted was leaking through the cracks on his skin, drowning the bedroom in sky-blue luminescence.

“Charles!” 

Hank’s voice rang out, clear as a thundering church bell. 

Charles twisted around, meeting Hank’s scared eyes with his own. Hank! He managed to say before the fissures reached his eyes, spanning through his cheeks, his jaw, his neck. And just like that, Charles was gone. 

Leaving behind an empty wheelchair and nothing else.

Chapter Text

In the middle of a flower field, in the very edge of the Xavier estate, did Charles wake up, alone and heaving for breath. 

His mind seared with the last image he had of Hank, in his beast morph, looking at the scene with shock and terror. Hank’s hands reaching out to Charles, trying desperately to help him.  

Now, Charles watched the clouds, cumulus, if Charles remembered correctly. Two butterflies came into view, one blue, and one red, dancing with each other in splendid delight. 

Sitting up, Charles gazed down at his hands, but his skin was unblemished and soft. No cracks shining with blue light to be seen. 

Looking around, Charles finally realized that he recognized the field. He used to run out to dredges of the property, far enough where the gardeners never cared to prim and cut like they did closer to the mansion. He used to come here to escape from his tutors, knowing his father would soon come looking for him.

Charles used to sit here for entire days, chasing the dragonflies and the digging up the worms. Back when his father was still alive, back before his powers developed. 

He hadn’t been back here since the day after his father’s funeral, when he realized his father would never come looking for him again. 

Feeling unsure of which part of his life had been the dream, he brought his hand up to his temple, feeling a headache blooming behind his eyes. He had no recollection of ever noticing how bright the midday sun could be. His fingers grazed the tufts of hair, and Charles went still. After Apocalypse, his hair had never grown back. 

Frantic hands continued their morbid exploration, running the pads of his fingers through his head, coming across an odd shaped indentation in the back of his skull, a scar. 

Pulling on a fistful of strands, Charles observed the awkward length of his hair. Too long to be considered his style from his university years, and too short from his years of melancholy with Hank, when the school had been shut down. 

Growing increasingly concerned, he tried to search for any minds, any voices, in his vicinity. But he was alone, no one around for miles. Although, a part of him expected as much, the Xavier mansion, from he was now, was at least four miles out. 

If there was anyone at the house, he was too far to properly get a read of their presence. Charles began to wonder as how he was meant to get himself out of this predicament, miles away from any sort of people, he didn’t know as how he was meant to get himself back home. 

Then, the dirt of the earth rumbled, deep tremors that Charles feared were from an unprecedented earthquake. He felt the astounding fear of all the animals around him, those who lived in the earth itself and those who wandered the forest. 

Their fear exacerbated Charles’. Instinct like no other hit him like a freight trains. Just when the resounding shakes settled, a shadow loomed over head. 

Charles’ heart beat faster than it had in years, feeling as if he were back midst the conflict, fighting for the lives of those he cared for. 

He looked up, and blocking the sun, was the X-jet. Or at least, an early version of it, not quite like the new designs Hank had come up with. It hung in the precipice of the sky, blocking the light of the sun from where he stood. Before he could blink, questions forming in his mind, the jet took off. Banking left and away from the mansion. 

Knowing know for certain that he must get back to the mansion, speculating the worst, Charles looked back down, and it all came to a ringing stop. Both his questions and concerns evaporating for one stinging second, for his feet were planted on the ground. 

Knees shaky but holding strong, thighs quivering with unknown overuse, toes curling inside of his shoes. He could feel his legs.

Charles knew now, that something was utterly and completely wrong. 

For the first time, in a very long time, Charles ran. Feeling like a small child again, free from all the burdens that would come to his life. 

His feet slammed against the dirt, uncaring of the grass he trampled or the weeds he broke. Lungs growing big and small with each of his panting breaths. It was exhilarating. It was freeing. 

Charles chased after his shadow and he remembered his long forgotten path back to his home. 

The wind against his cheeks hit him like a wave crashing against the sandy beach. Nostrils flaring and against all reasonable thought, he began to laugh. 

The stomping of his shoes against dirt and rock. It had been years since he had last felt the straining muscles of his legs. Relishing each protesting muscle, one that had been earned by overexertion rather than spinal calamity. 

He ran for as long as he could and still yet a little further. The mansion was not yet in sight, but Charles knew his childhood home well enough that he was close. Once he caught sight of the lake on the property, and his favorite tree, it would be a short walk from there. 

Stretching out his powers once again, he searched for the minds of others. Expecting the bumbling noise of dozens of children, the tired but well content mind of Hank, perhaps teaching a class or preparing lunch. 

Charles’ steps slowed to a hesitant pace when none of his expectations came to fruition. The mansion was an empty casket. 

For a moment, Charles thought that his powers were failing. But he felt the distant minds of animals, the birds, the geese that floated in the lake, to the deer a mile away. 

He stepped under the shadow of the mansion. Looking up at the oddly decrepit building. His heart aches at the sight, the school, their home, appeared abandoned. For years. 

The stone was cracking and uncared for. Vines crawled up to the windows, spider webs hanging off every ledge and crevice. 

With his burning legs, Charles meandered to the front door. Feeling the desolation creep in, a sort of anguish at seeing his pride and joy look on the verge of destruction. It had been ages since he had seen his home in such ruin. 

Walking up the steps, he pushed against the door. The wood creaked and the metal squeaked, but it did not open. 

Blinking, Charles tried again. Once more, no avail. It threw him into sordid confusion, ever since they started the school, they had left the doors forever unlocked. But he supposed this place was no more a school, the barren and lonely grounds, lacking smiles and running children, said so themselves.  

Stumbling back down the stairs, he knew he would not be able to force open the door with his meager strength, he had not the strength that Erik or Hank possessed. 

Saddled with intimate and faithful knowledge of his home, Charles rounded the side of the house. His steps quick and fast, but his legs were unsteady as were his hands. Devilish dread sneaking its way to his mind. 

When he came to the side of the tall house, he looked up and saw his bedroom balcony. Knowing that one latch of his window was forever broken, he knew that with some careful leveraging he could prop the entire door open with ease. 

The issue that lay in hand was getting up to the second story. It was quite an arduous climb, but he had managed when he was younger. Sneaking out, climbing down the side of the house with the aid of the cracked rock walls and the overgrown vines, escaping when Marko had locked him inside of his room. 

When he had been caught by Cain, Marko had the outside of the house repaired and cleaned. The last time Charles had tried climbing down the wall he had promptly slid and fell, breaking his ankle and fracturing his Tibia. 

He had been stuck in his bed, recovering, for almost two months, left at the mercy of his step-father. 

Charles stepped away from the wall, he would have to figure out another way inside. 

Continuing to walk the skirts of the mansion, rapt at the state of his home, fascinated with the multitude of possibilities as to what could have happened. What had Theo’s power done to him? What had happened in his apparent absence? 

In the corner of his vision, Charles saw the old molded over brown of rotted wood, well hidden behind bramble and weeded shrubbery. The cellar. Laid forgotten until now. 

Clearing the old hatch, he came face to face with an old memory. His Father had brought him down here on occasion. Charles had never liked the cellar. Too dark and morbid, every hidden shadow was a monster creeping in wait. After his death, no one ever ventured down again. 

The same lock his father used to unlock was still in place. The silver chain rusted beyond salvage, the wood, in even worse condition. Crouching, he tried yanking on the chain. It gave no budge. 

Inspecting the trap doors with even more scrutiny, Charles tested the strength of the wood. This, was far more malleable. Standing back up, Charles lifted the collar of his shirt over his nose and built up the courage and confidence in his newly found legs. And he smashed his foot against the wood. 

It shattered easily, giving in easier than Charles had anticipated. Waving the vast plum of dust that floated around the cellar door, Charles opened the doors outwards. Careful of any woodchips or splinters. 

Clambering down the concrete steps, Charles expanded his conscious around him, double checking that he was alone. 

Encountering only the fickle minds of rats and rodents, Charles maneuvered further down. The damp darkness was almost suffocating. Breathing behind his shirt he hoped it would not dirty much, this was more of his favoured shirts, normally wearing a grey blazer over it. 

The cellar was bigger than he had remembered, rows of forsaken bottles of wine, worth a fortune in their own respect. But Charles cared for none of it. 

For most others, the cellar would appear as nothing more but an unconnected basement to the larger house. It’s only entrance being from the outside. 

With the light from the propper open cellar doors, Charles fumbled his way through. All was never what his seems, and his father seemed to have embodied it. Just as his father had built the bunker to withstand nuclear warfare, he, too, built tunnels as well. 

Tunnels, that when he had started preparation for the school, blocked off. Not wanting giggling children skipping class and hiding in between the wall. Tunnels that weaved throughout the entirety of the house, built for fast escape. 

A few tunnels Charles left unscathed. Particularly the one in the cellar. Coming to the right wall, tucked between an old cabinet and a crumbling wine rack, Charles ran his hand across the smooth wall. Feeling, more than seeing, for a latch. 

He combed through the wall at least twice before his fingers found an indent. With small victory, he pulled, using the power of his new legs. 

A door half his side was revealed. Ducking inside, he was greeted with an even greater accumulation of dust and over-hanging spider webs. The wooden supports en tombed a narrow passage. With a determined mind, Charles strode ahead. 

Until the walls around him morphed from concrete to plaster, and he new he was inside of the mansion. And beside him were the various rooms he lived in, his office, the kitchen, the living room, the greeting hall, under the staircase. 

Charles roamed, looking for the first exit he could find. And eventually, he found one. A doorhandle on his side of the wall, Charles hesitating for a brief moment before pressing against the door. 

Pleasantly surprised to find himself in the pantry of the kitchen. He looked around as he emerged. He hadn’t even known this entrance existed. 

Stepping further out, Charles left the door open behind him, just in case, as he ventured out to the rest of the house. 

For the majority of the house, it appeared the same as the outside. But the inside was clearly more cared for. White sheets draped over most of the furniture told him that no one had left in a rush. 

Continued to explore his house, he found some odd curiosity, contradictions. Most of the halls were blocked off, doors to spare bedrooms on the first floor firmly closed, and as he walked down these halls, he left footprints in the dust. 

Although, what puzzled him most was that his office was locked. The frame and floor beside was light brown from the dust, the door unopened for however long, but the handle was almost pristine, not a speck of dirt on it. 

When he returned to the main hall, the dust was gone, none on the floor and none on the stairwell. Someone was here. At least regularly enough that dust couldn’t properly collect. There was no coat on the hanger and no loose keys, they weren’t here at the moment, then. 

He stood at the base of the stairs, looking up at the dirty windows. He was borderline scared to go up the stairs, all of this was mounting to what was upstairs. Whatever had happened here, Charles knew answers laid above him. 

One step at a time, he went up the stairs. It had been so long since he had done the mundane action.

Charles’ first instinct was to head to his room, and he did just that. 

He stood in front of his door, same dust collecting on the floor and around the frame. This time, the handle was grimy with dust as well. And when Charles tried to open it, it was securely locked, same as his office. 

Stepping back, a furrow came to his brows. He looked down the hall, down to Hank’s door. His steps verging on the speed of running. Rattling the handle, it was locked as well. 

He raced to the next door, frantic now. Half expecting it to be locked as well, stumbling inside when it wasn’t.

If Charles recalled correctly, this was meant to be Scott’s room. Instead of action figures and an absurd amount of comic books or any sort of memorabilia a teenager would have, was a plain room. That did not mean it was empty, an old faded jacket tossed across a chair, a book on the nightstand. 

It was somebody’s room, just not Scott’s…

Just as Charles was about to step out, ready to explore other bedrooms, he caught sight of a brown duffel bag. A bag he had seen for weeks on end, traveling across the country on a road trip. A single name rang. Erik. 

Before it was Scott’s room, it had been Erik’s, right across from his own. But, that didn’t make sense…Erik hadn’t stayed at the Mansion since they had been apart of the CIA. Training. Before Cuba…

It wasn’t until someone entered the house, the loud thud of the front door opening and closing, that Charles noticed the presence of another. 

Brushing against the mind just enough to realize it was Hank. Rushing out of the room and back down the hall, wishing to speak immediately to his friend, to find out what had happened. 

Charles ran back the way he had come, feet pounding against the wood of the house. The thumps ricocheting an echo. 

He stood at the top of the stairs, peering over the banister. “Hank!” 

And there, his oldest friend stood, holding a grocer bag in one hand a keys and wallet in the other. Wearing his favorite brown jacket with a wrinkled blue shirt underneath. His hair tousled and unkempt, bags under his eyes. 

Charles saw his friend, but a version of his friend that was desolate and wearily haggard. 

With virtually slow moving movement, Charles saw as Hank followed his voice. Looking up at him at the stairs, taking in all that was Charles. 

He saw with clear sight how Hank’s perpetual sad eyes changed into disbelief, an awe lingering, Hank’s eyes scouring all over Charles, from his face, to his grown out hair, to the lilac sweater and white washed jeans. The biggest smile he's ever seen on Hank crossed his face.

Charles continued to watch as the bewilderment in Hank morphed into something else the longer they stood staring at each other. What once been hopeful relief turned sour into mistrustful anger, smile vanishing into a snarl.

“Who are you!” Hank snapped, dropping all that he carried as he made the beast come out. Crouching low, predatory. 

“Hank?” Charles quirked his head to the side. “It’s me. Charles.” 

Charles eyes the sharp claws on his friend’s hands. His friend, his Hank, wouldn’t hurt him, Charles knew that. But this didn’t feel like his home, and this didn’t feel like his friend. 

“How did you get in here!” Hank growled as he prowled closer, keeping a safe distance, as if he was expecting Charles to attack him. “You think this is funny? Wearing his skin!”

Charles stumbled back, shocked. His skin!? “What in bloody hell are you talking about, Hank!” Charles shouted back. “It’s me!” 

“Reveal your true self, Shifter!” Hank demanded, confidence growing as he marched up the stairs as Charles kept retreating. 

“What in god’s name are you–I swear to you, Hank, that it’s me!” But fear was crawling its way inside as Hank continued to press him, pushing him into a corner. And the other, was still in resounding anger. 

Then, Beast, pounced, and Charles barely had any time to react. A large claw wrapped around his throat, pressing tight as small punctures appeared on his skin. Blood prickling out. 

“Hank! S-stop.” Charles grounded out, but Hank wasn’t listening, wasn’t even trying to listen. 

As Charles met Hank’s eyes, he saw anger, vitriol anger, one that Charles had never seen in his friend. Although, underneath that rage, was fear, raw and vulnerable fear. 

Hank only growled louder, slamming Charles further into the wall. And Charles knew he was losing consciousness, airways being blocked. 

And so, against his morale judgment, Charles reached into Hank’s mind, already begging for forgiveness. Knowing how much his friend disliked it, he spoke. “Hank, please, it’s me.” and Charles pushed his memories into Hank, grabbing at the first, fondest, ones he had. 

He showed Hank, with vivid detail, of their meeting. Raven and Erik and the CIA. Of how, Charles had accidentally revealed Hank to the others. The first version of Cerebro, the proudness Hank had radiated, of their training in this very same house. How everything had been good, before Cuba. 

He showed this to Hank from his perspective. Showed him his enamor of their budding friendship. 

As all of these images flashed through Hank’s mind, he ripped himself away from Charles. Charles, himself, falling to the floor, grasping at his throat as he coughed air back into his lungs. Hands coming back freckled with tiny blood smears. 

“Professor…” Hank’s voice was gravelly and low, appearing on the verge of tears. “It-It’s really you.” 

“That…” Charles used the wall as support to get back in his feet. “Is what I had been trying to tell you. And bloody hell, Hank, must you choke me quite so rough?” 

For Hank’s credit, he seemed guilt ridden at his actions. Charles sighed. “I’m sorry ‘bout that. But your dead. Or at leas your supposed to be.” 

This piqued Charles’ interest. “Dead?” he parroted. “I don’t feel dead.” 

He saw how Hank tried to conceal his eye roll. “Professor, I watched you die. We buried you.” 

Charles suddenly turned serious, brows furrowed. It seems all of his suspicions had been true. Something terrible had happened. “Hank,” he said sternly. “I need you to tell me exactly what has happened here.” 

Hank slowly morphed back into his human form, eyes downcasted and sorrowful. “After Cuba, the bombs dropped, but it didn't stop there. Erik wanted war with the humans and after he killed the president on Live Television, he got what he wanted.” 

If Charles was puzzled before, this only threw him further out of the loop. “I need you to tell me what happened on that Cuban island.” 

Hank balled his fingers into fists, tight ones, at his side. Tears collecting on the edges of his eyes, a mix between anguish and hatred. “Can’t you just read my mind and see for yourself?” 

Charles’ jaw clenched. “I need you to tell me.” 

Hank looked up at him, an odd smile on his lips as he studied Charles with a new found identity. “You’ve changed. You’re not like I remember.” 

Charles felt the hurt mournfulness in Hank’s words. He placed a hand on the taller man’s shoulder. 

“We flew in on the jet,” Hank started. “You managed to destroy the rouge ship and we crashed on the island. We fought against Shaw’s mutants.” 

Charles nodded following along. “Then, Erik killed Shaw.” 

Hank agreed. “The humans fired their missiles at us. Erik stopped them, before sending them back towards the human ships.” 

“I tried stopping him.” 

“The two of you struggled on the sand. I could only watch, then Erik, he-he got on top of you. Punched you and pinned you to the ground. When he got back up, the missiles were about to hit the human ships when–” 

“Moira shot at him, trying to stop him.” 

Hank nodded. This time unable to look Charles in the eyes, his voice cracking. “Erik–he deflected the bullets and hit you in the–” 

“My spine.” 

“Your skull.” 

Charles’ head whipped up. “What?” 

Hank swallowed. “The bullet…it hit you right above your ear. Charles…you were dead within seconds.” 

The world seemed to be ringing white noise all around him. He tried picturing that day in Cuba, so long by now. Instead of the single bullet hitting his spine, he tried to imagine it hitting his brain. 

“I-I…” Charles wasn’t quite sure as what to say.

“The missiles never hit the ships,” Hank continued on. “Erik was too focused on killing Moira, he blamed her for your death. He blamed all the humans for your death.” 

He didn’t know what to think, the revelation, that whatever happened here was because of what happened in Cuba. He never would have thought that the trajectory of a bullet would change so much. 

“T-The others? What happened to them?” 

Hank shrugged, beginning to lead Charles back down the stairs, and Charles followed dutifully. “Erik started the brotherhood, a legion of mutants to fight against the humans. They all–Sean, Alex, Raven, even Shaw’s mutants—joined him.”

“And you?” Charles asked, a deep regretful sadness overwhelming him, and he wasn’t quite sure as why. 

“I stayed here. I knew you wouldn’t have wanted war with the humans, and well, I didn’t have anywhere else to go.” Hank explained, picking up his dropped bag of groceries before going to the kitchen. “I’ve watched over the house, I clean your grave every month, and I’m mostly in the lab anyway.” 

“Hank.” Charles interrupted, meeting his gaze head on, Hank in the middle of unpacking the meager foodstuff he had bought. “I think…Well, I don't know what I think. A different world, a dream?” 

Hank blinked. “What? Like the multiverse is real and parallel dimensions exist?” 

“Yes, perhaps.” Charles said, with more vigor this time. “If all to be believed and this isn’t just some bloody mind game, in my universe, the bullet had hit my spine. I lived, paralyzed but alive. Hank, we started the school, I have a son, and you’re there, a teacher.” 

Hank was looking at him with skepticism. And Charles couldn’t blame him. He outstretched his hand towards Hank, “I can show you…?” 

Hank stared at him for long moments, Charles could see the conflict in his eyes. Eventually the taller man stepped closer. And their hands clasped each other, and Charles began to slow and intricate weaving of memories together. 

He showed Hank his world. The school, all of the children and countless birthdays they celebrated. The classes they taught. He showed Hank all the good and all the bad. Erik and Raven’s betrayal, the death of their fellow mutants. Even showing the memories of what had happened before he had woken up in the flower field a few miles out.

When Hank pulled back, having seen all that Charles showed him, there was determination in his eyes. “We have to get you back.” 

Chapter Text

They had spent days, endless days, pouring over any possible books, scientific journals and publications, anything that they could link back to the concept of interdimensional travel. And they've come up with nothing.

Charles could see the defeat begin to linger on Hank's conscious. The man was frustrated, and in his mind, Charles could see way. The guilt of weighing on Hank's mind, the need under his skin to do something. Hank wanted to prove himself, wanted to redeem himself.

In Hank's mind, this was his way of being able to save Charles. And he wasn't finding a way of how, some deep and buried part of Hank was reliving Cuba all over again, stranded at the edge, watching.

Charles bit the inside of his cheek, observing Hank from across the library. Retreating back into his own mind, Charles knew he had to help them. Their Charles, the one from this universe wasn't here when they needed him. And Hank needed someone, anyone.

Fidgeting with the book in his hands, Charles knew it would contain nothing inside the thousand pages and thousands of words that would help them. It was a book Charles had read a long time ago, during his studies for his doctorate. He brought it over to the table anyway.

Hank glanced up at him, his hair was disheveled and a little greasy, eyes red from the lack of sleep. To Charles, Hank was distraught, disassembled, but to Hank, this was him. This had been him for years now.

"Perhaps, a walk would do our minds good?" Charles suggested, eyes landing on a stack of notes, a dried ink blotch staining the corner.

He saw how Hank was ready to dismiss the idea, ready to bury and drown himself further into research.

But all Charles had to do was offer him a smile and a pat on the shoulders and Hank slumped into his touch and wearily nodding. An arm wrapped around Hank's neck, Charles led them out of the library.

"Alright, yeah, Professor, a walk sounds good." Hank said but they were already near the door.

The sun was uncharacteristically bright out. "What season is it again?" Charles asked, shielding the sun with the back of his palm.

"Spring." Hank answered.

"Little bloody hot for spring, no?"

Hank shrugged, "weather's been weird ever since the bombs."

"Oh." Charles blandly said. Eyes roving over the property, "a dandy around the lake?"

Hank nodded in agreement, Charles couldn't help but note that their was a glaze in his eyes, a daze. Charles' brows only furrowed, linking an arm around Hanks.

"You doing all right, Hank?" Charles wasn't quite as confident on his legs as he had hoped to be. At times they still buckled and Hank had to catch him, but the walks helped. Charles wondered if that was why Hank ever agreed on going on these mindless walks with him.

Hank blinked, looking down at him, a clearness coming to his gaze. "yeah, professor, it's just…"

"Just what?"

"Good to have back."

A quiet settled over them, the rustle of the leaves, the honks of geese, geese that used to chase poor Charles and Raven around as kids.

Charles mulled over his words. "It was never my intention to leave any of you, do understand that."

Hank almost flinched, but he never broke contact with Charles. "I-I know that! It's...after your death, it was almost like we were lost, y'know."

"What do you mean?"

"It's hard to explain, but I've a lot of time to think about and…you made us, Professor. Moira, the CIA, they gave us a purpose, sure, but it was you who believed in us, without question. We knew that no matter what happened, what we did, You would believe in us. And after that day, it was almost like we could feel that you weren't there anymore. We were lost."

Charles' eyes dropped to the ground.

"We're just been trying to find our footing again."

"And…" Charles was scared for the answer. "Have you."

Hank only laughs, a decrepit and mocking laugh. "No," he said. "Erik...he pretends he has, but whenever he stops by, sometimes I catch him standing outside your bedroom or your office, a chessboard and whiskey in his hands."

Charles is reflective, a somber quiet. His steps slow and languid, sluggish, Hank doesn't try to rush him. "I see." then his eyes catch to an odd shape under a tree on the other side of the lake. "Hank, what is that?"

Hank goes stiff beside him, muscles locking up, not in anger, but fear.

"Hank?" Charles asks again, stepping further to try and get a better look.

The other tightened his hold on Charles, as if he doesn't want him to go, doesn't want him to see.

When Charles meets his eyes, there's a shininess in them, a screwed up jaw. Finally, Hank breathes, deep and rattling. "It's your grave. "

He heard the tremors in Hank's voice, the crack of vulnerability.

Something sore cascades into Charles' chest, a wince of pain. Hank's pain coursed into Charles' bloodstream, and for a fleeting seconds, his pain became Charles'.

"Do you mind if we go a visit?" Charles asked, a lilt in his voice, wishing to wipe away Hank's despair.

Hank gave a half-hearted snort, "it's your grave, Charles, of course we can go visit it."

They walked, with more purpose this time, towards the grave. Charles hadn't been expecting to be buried here, there was the Xavier cemetery not far on the other side of the house, if anything he would've expected to be buried there. Snuggled in between the grave of his father inside of the mausoleum.

Drawing near, Charles saw the smooth headstone, the Xavier crest carved at the top, his name right below it.

Charles Xavier

1932-1962

Beloved brother and friend

He didn't know as what to do, Charles had never stood before his own grave before. His own body was buried right under his feet, possibly nothing more than bones and the remnants of clothes.

Hand reaching out, he touched the stone, it was cold to the touch, at yet, he could not help but admire its beauty. Tracing the lines of his name, there was a strange sense of unease.

"Why here...?" Charles asked, turning back to look at Hank. Surprised to see tears were already welling up in the man's eyes, his chest silently heaving, appearing devastated.

"Raven," he said. "She said this was your favorite tree."

And then Charles was sucked into a memory, one of Hank's memories. Feeling like a kid again, having no control over his power.

Hank, he was seeing through Hank's eyes, stood in front of the grave. Black umbrella in his hand, wearing a dark suit. It was raining, it was cold, dreadfully so, but he wasn't shaking. The grave in front of him was fresh, dirt still over turned.

It had been him and Alex who had lowered Charles' casket into the ground. A purely wooden made casket, not a single drip of metal on it. He wouldn't let Erik ever get a hold of Charles' casket.

"God, he's really, ain't he." It was Sean, he recalled the cadence of his voice. Hank turned, looking over his shoulder.

None of them were crying, they were long past it. Nothing but anger and shell shock at Charles Xavier's funeral.

His grip tightened on the handle of his umbrella, there was anger in him too. He was just as angry as Erik, as Raven, as the rest of them, but he didn't blame the humans, he blamed Erik.

"What do we do now?" Alex said, pained.

"We kill the humans." Erik hadn't tore his gaze away from where Charles' body had disappeared, a different kind of cold in his soul. "We get our revenge for what they've done. "

"This wasn't their doing, Erik." Hank finally spoke, his tone clear within the distant thunder.

For his credit he didn't flinch when the others did, didn't move, didn't shy away his face, when they all looked at him, a new kind of surprise. Sean, Alex, and Raven all looked between them, heeding a fight to come.

Raven hadn't said anything in days, the rain dripped down her blue skin, she hadn't bother with her own umbrella.

"They'll kill us all, McCoy, Charles is just the beginning." Erik stood his ground, finally looking up and away from the desolate grave. A curl of his lips, and Hank wanted nothing more than to punch him.

"You're the one who killed him." Hank stated, not a quiver in his voice. "You're the one who put that bullet in his head."

"MacTaggert was the who fired the gun!"

"And you're the one who aimed it!"

They were face to face now, Hank could feel the hot and heavy breathes that Erik exhaled. Hank hadn't moved a step.

"Believe what you want, McCoy, but I know the truth." And Erik stormed off, his feet leaving a track in the mud. Retreating back into the mansion, Charles' mansion. The next time Hank would see the man he would be wearing Shaw's helmet and killing the president on the television.

"Let's head back inside," Charles softly said. "I think I've seen enough."

Making dinner in the kitchen was a routine he had enjoyed long ago. He had adored cooking for Raven for all those years, various different kitchens, different foods, it didn't manner. It had been the two of them, from here in the States to England, he had always cooked for her, or ordered food.

Now, that he could roam around with his legs, the kitchen returned to being his domain. At the school, Hank, his Hank, at donned on the apron while Charles watched and critiquing. Hank had been a mess, and him and the kids loved to watch his struggle.

He got better at it, eventually…

"Tell me, Hank, is making pasta the same?" Charles asked, perhaps too much cheer in his voice.

Hank raised a brow. "As opposed to what?"

"Good point, my friend." Charles said. "Boil water, add pasta, then sauce?"

'I'm sure the Italians would have something to say, but yes." Hank answered, he previous melancholy slowly dissipating. Rounding his way closer into the kitchen.

Charles had turned on the lights but some of the bulbs weren't working so he had resorted with candles. "Judgmental lot, they are."

Hank chuckled, taking a seat at the island. "What are you making, anyway?"

"I haven't decided, its between fettuccine or Rigatoni." Charles said.

"I don't think we have the pasta or the sauces for either of them, professor." Hank noted, a lazy smile on his lips.

"That's where your wrong, my dear friend," Charles moved over to one of the cupboards, throwing it open, only to find it empty aside a few spiderwebs and a can of corn. "I stand corrected."

Hank laughed, a more boisterous one. "I think we have spaghetti, somewhere, Professor."

Charles, too, was laughing now. "Do we still have that old radio, the small brown one that always had a quite crackle in the speaker?"

Hank nodded, "try the dining room."

The dining room was thankfully connected to the kitchen by a small hallway, humming to himself a old tune, Charles flicked on the lights in the dining room. Once more he took note of the broken bulbs. He should really get them fixed.

And there, on a small shelf, that old radio was left sitting there innocently. If Charles' memory was as good as he hoped it was, when they had been training, before Cuba, they had spent meals here, all of them, talking with the white noise of the very same radio.

Picking it up, Charles couldn't stop himself from reminiscing. In his world, in his universe, this radio had broken, one of his kids had the power to manipulate frequencies and had lapse in their control, they never figured out what was wrong with it, it had merely stopped working. Charles had mourned the loss, but they got Hank to build them a new one.

Returning back to the kitchen, Charles started to play with the dials, but most of the channels were nothing but static.

"Where are all the channels? I remember there used to be dozens." Charles said. "This old thing could pick up anything."

Hank shrugged. "Most radio towers got destroyed or are no longer in service."

Frowning at the reminder of all out war, Charles tried the dials one more time. And this time, he got a channel. But it wasn't music that played, it was a military report.

"—base has been destroyed. The Brotherhood of mutants continue to run rampant. Their species continue on their act of terror against the humans. In turn, our leaders have continued to secure the enemies in camps, allowing for further medical testing and experiments in the search for a complete decimation of the mutants.

"Furthermore, reports have returned that in the last skirmish with the Brotherhood, our military generals have been able to capture one of their mutant leaders. An abomination that goes by the name of 'Alex Summers'. Summers had wreaked havoc on the battlefields, murdering hundreds of our me—"

Hank turned off the radio.

Charles looked up at him in alarm, hands grappling to get the radio back, to continue listening, because surely they weren't talking about his Alex.

Alex, who was still alive in this universe, Alex who hadn't died in that explosion at the mansion. The boy who died trying to save him.

"Hank!" Charles said. "They don't—It's not him, right?"

The other man slowly pulled away, placing the radio on the island counter, acting as if nothing was wrong. But Charles read his mind, filled with deadly calm and resignation, it was their Alex.

"We have to help!"

"No, we don't." Hank said, waiting for the water to boil. "You don't get it, Charles, but this is just how it is now. It's constant war, the nuclear bombs keep on being dropped and the fighting never stops."

"But—!"

"You think this is the first time one of our friends have been captured?" Hank asked. "That one of them has been killed?"

"It's Alex, we have to save him." Charles weakly said, but Hank's feeling were seeping into his.

"We haven't heard from Raven in years," Hank admitted. "We think she's dead."

And that, that was a punch in the gut if Charles ever felt one. His new fawn legs stumbled, having to grab onto the back of a chair so he could right himself.

"And Alex isn't some kid anymore, none of us are, Charles. You should hear about the things Alex had done. Humans kill mutants and mutants kill them back, tenfold." Hank somberly said, adding salt to the water now.

"Hank, please, there must be something we can do." Charles pleaded. "Alex died in my world…" he confessed. "He doesn't need to die in this one too."

Hank didn't move, and Charles didn't want to look into his mind to see what he was thinking. "It never ends. I tried doing it your way, Professor, peace talks and negotiates, but all I got was bomb hidden under a treaty."

He sighed, meeting Charles' gaze. "Getting involved won't do us any good. And besides, we still need to figure out a way to get you back where you belong."

"No."

"No...?" There was surprise in Hank's voice, eyes wide, the box of Spaghetti noodles in his hands, ready to be poured into the water.

"I have to help them, Hank." Charles stated. "I'm not leaving anyone behind to get killed."

Confusion crossed Hank's face. "But this isn't what you wanted."

Charles' jaw clenched. "What I want doesn't matter, not when I have to do the right thing. And that means saving Alex."

Hank said nothing in return.

"You don't have to help me, I understand and it's okay, but I need to do something." Charles said.

"You don't even know where they're keeping Alex. You don't even know what the world is like outside the property. It's hell, out there, Professor. The only reason this place isn't rubble is because Erik swore he would protect this place. If it weren't for him, a nuke would have hit this place years ago." Hank said.

Charles bit his cheek, blood pooled in his mouth. Determination in his eyes. "I'm going to get Alex, and the rest of the mutants, out of that Camp."

Hank's eyes roved over him, his shoulders slumping as he sighed. "If you want to go meet the devil so bad, Professor, let's at least have dinner first."

It felt more awkward than he had ever intended to be standing inside the jet, it was an even older model than the one he had seen overhead in the field. Dust littered everything, but that was seemingly a regular commodity.

"You do know how to fly this, correct, Hank?" Charles asks, voice wavering when they began to lift from the ground, their balance shifting.

"I built it, of course I know how to fly it." The jet jerked to the side, one of its engine sputtering. "It's…just been a while."

"Right…" Charles slipped into the co-pilot chair, clipping on the seat belt with eager ease.

Once they were flying steady in the air, nothing but the clouds to crash into to, did Charles begin to settle. The jet had brought back old memories, back when the school was first starting, when his Alex and his Sean were still apart of the team.

But the more they flew, the farther out they got from the property and the estate, the more desolate the world became. Green grass morphed into gray and brown patches of scarred land, trees were nothing more than charred remains, it was as if the water had been sucked dry.

Charles could feel the lack of life, the lack of bustling minds of society. He leaned forward in the chair, pressing his fingers to his temple as he tried to reach out further. Hank watched him from the corner of his eyes, his curiosity nothing more than a prickling thing on Charles' mind.

"The cities…?" Charles asked. "Are they?"

"Deserted, mostly." Hank answered. "Most people started migrating down south, hoping to find someplace to find more food. New York is still up and running, mostly, but water and foodstuff is expensive, more than what people can afford."

"And Erik?" Charles pressed. "Where is he in all of this? Surely this suffering is by both mutants and humans, is it not? The world is destroyed."

"Genosha." He said.

"What?"

"An island, one where only mutants live."

Charles fell back into his chair, pressing his eyes shut as another wave of despair wafted through his mind, the anguish of so many minds. It was the wars all over again, hearing their pain, their cries for mercy. Charles tried his best to block it out, and yet the agony persisted, it always did.

"How much longer until we get there," Charles asked.

Hank gave him a sidelong glance, but he accepted the easy dismissal of previous conversation. "Half an hour or so?"

"Good." And Charles shut down any other sort of attempts of talk. His headache was mounting, and the uncontrollable need to hold his son in his arms was burgeoning. It had only been less than a full week and already Charles was anxious to see his Max again.

The reality that it could be much longer before he ever saw Max again, but how long? Weeks? Months? Would he and Hank be stuck trying to send him back to his own universe for years? And all of this was under the assumption that they ever could.

Max, his heart rang out. Would his son grow up without him? Would he grow up without either of his parents? He winced, physically. His son didn't deserve such a thing, didn't deserve believing that both of his parents had abandoned him.

"What's wrong?" Hank asked, his voice sounding distant to Charles' ears.

"Nothing," was his quick reply. But Hank didn't even try to appear as he believed him. Charles sighed, rubbing at a sore spot on his temple. "My son, I miss him, terribly so."

"You said his name is Max, right?" Hank flicked a few switches as the landscape under them turned more hostile. Shadows of death lined the ground, remnants of forgotten tanks and trenches scattered around, corpses too.

"It is, I named him after his father, in a way." Charles explained, one hand draped over his lap. Recalling the days when Max was still in his stomach. "Maximus Xavier, seven years old and the kindest soul you've ever seen, Hank."

"I think I would like the little guy." Hank said.

"You do," Charles said. "You would. It's me you had to put up with."

Hank laughed. "If you don't mind me asking, but who's the mother?"

Charles blanked, suddenly sitting up straight. "Oh, right, of course, well, Hank, there I something I should probably explain."

Hank grew nervous, sensing Charles' shift. "Was he adopted?"

"No," Charles hesitated. "I—I was the one who carried him."

The plane jerked, careening off to the side as Hank very visible spooked. He caught himself and the plane relatively quickly, but Charles was still half off the seat, gripping desperately not to fall off. "What!"

"Bloody hell, man! You'll kill us both!"

"Charles, what do you mean you carried him? Like to term? Pregnancy!"

"It turns out I had a second mutation, one other than my telepathy, the ability to conceive." Charles further explained as he settled back onto the seat on the jet, still cautious in case Hank decided to crash the jet into the ground.

Hank was agape, Charles could feel the synapses connecting in Hank's mind. And he knew his brilliant mind was putting together pieces. "So…who's the father?"

"Erik."

This time Charles had to jump across to the panel and help correct the flight trajectory of the jet with his own controls in front of him.

"You slept with the man trying to kill the human race!"

"Well he wasn't trying to kill them when I slept with him!"

"Oh! That makes things so much better, Professor, thank you so much for explaining!" Hank was drenched in sarcasm, and while Charles was a tad bit annoyed, another part of him was smiling. Hank was acting like Hank again, no more eternal sadness under his eyes.

"You are the one who asked, my friend." Charles said, falling back in his seat.

Hank grumbled, murmuring unkind things under his breath. Charles skirting across his mind, watching the turmoil, the tossing of old memories, reviewing past footage he had of him and Erik interacting. Charles retreated, he'd let Hank do his own calculations.

Finally, "Does he know?"

"Know what?" Charles asked.

"That y'know, that you can get pregnant—that he has a child?" Hank said.

This time, Charles was more slow to answer. "No," he stated. "He doesn't know."

"You didn't tell him…?" Hank cautiously asked.

Charles held himself closer together, having to remind himself that this Hank doesn't know what happened. This Hank wasn't there with him in the aftermath of Cuba, of the aftermath of the school and Vietnam.

"He never bothered to ask." Charles coldly said.

"You can't possibly have expected him to know. I mean, honestly, ca—" Hank said, and Charles almost thought he was trying to defend Erik. The man Hank blamed for his death in this universe.

"Hank." Charles put a stop to it. "It's complicated."

Hank sighed, staring off into the distance. Once again Charles could feel the other man's mind turning in thought. "W-When did you, well, get pregnant?"

"I'm...not quite sure, truthfully, Hank. But I was a couple months along when we had gone on that Cuba mission." Charles said.

And Hank flinched, as if he had been fearing such an answer. Charles realized why, in Hank's mind, there was devastation. Hank thought that his Charles had also been pregnant…when Erik killed him.

"You don't know that…" Charles tried to sooth. "Things are different here, my mutations could have been too."

But Hank didn't believe him and Charles knew it was a lackluster lie to convince. "We didn't even check., we didn't do an autopsy or—" Hank continued on his despair, "I—I didn't even…"

"Hank, hey, please," Charles placed a hand on Hank's shoulder. "I didn't even know at Cuba, alright. None of us did, not until in mid surgery for my spine."

Hank seemed to calm down but was nowhere near relieved. "But I—"

"But nothing," Charles interrupted, slipping into a teaching tone. "There was nothing you could've possibly done, nothing no one could have done. Do not blame yourself for what had happened, Hank."

Hank stared at him. Charles, with his big, sympathetic eyes, stared back.

"I know you're not him, not this universe's Charles, but…sometimes I forget." Hank started. "And I can't help but believe that the last decade had been nothing but a bad dream. Now that your here again, it feels just like before."

The corners of Charles' eyes creased, soothing Hank's mind from all the pain. "How I wish I could make it all better, dear friend." Charles lips pressed together in a slim, tight smile. "But I promise you one thing, we'll figure something out."

"If there is one thing I am certain of, its that we always do. If its just the two of us or the X-men, there is always something we can do." Charles continued on. "And I swear, I'll be sure to punch Erik in his perfect face for being an awfully terrible shot."

Hank laughed, a light thing that brought a comfort to Charles' chest. "You better not flirt with him."

"I can assure you, no such thing will transpire."

Readjusting himself in the pilot seat, Hank said: "Just one more question, professor."

"What is it?" Charles promptly answered.

"All those times the two of you said were 'playing chess', was that true? or were you two doing something in else behind your locked bedroom doors?" Hank asked, a smirk dancing on his face.

Charles flushed, cherry red. "I—there is no need to think of the past now, besides I believe I can see the military camp up ahead."

Hank began to concentrate, but not before muttering out his last few words. "Least now I know why the two of you were always late for dinner."

Charles pretended he didn't hear him.

Hank landed the jet a good distance away, behind some hill in the Northern edges of the United States territory. It was started to snow, the flurries sticking to their lashes and hair. Charles hoped the weather wouldn't get worse.

"So," he said. "What's the plan."

Hank was determinedly quiet before pointing over at a corner of the wall of the military encampment. The whole base appeared, to Charles, like a concentration camp. Barracks were lined up to surround a larger, more centralized building. And a wall, composed of concrete and eight feet tall, circled the whole area.

"We sneak in through the guard tower," Hank said, slowly, as he formulated the plan as he went. "Neutralize the guards and figure out where Alex is."

"And the others?"

"the others?" Hank parroted.

"The other mutants," Charles said. "We're not leaving them."

Hank's mouth dropped open. "You can't be serious. You want to stage the rescue of an entire camp. There's hundreds of them! And even more guards, Charles, this is lunacy."

"Exactly, Hank, hundreds that we can save." Charles said. "And its not lunacy, it's doing the right thing."

"Not even the brotherhood has been able to do it successfully. And trust me, professor, they've tried." Hank pleaded.

Charles rolled his eyes, "clearly they could use some improvement. And besides, they don't have us."

"I'm serious, Charles." Hank sterned. "Rescuing Alex is impossible enough, but the whole camp? it's suicide."

Charles could see the internal conflict inside of Hank, his worry and fear becoming an amalgamation of great portions that can erode at any hope. "Trust in me, my friend. Just get me inside of that place."

Hank stared at him, scrutinizing him like one of his many projects, finally, he broke. A broken laugh startling from his throat. "I forgot how much of an optimist you are."

"Someone has to."

"I'll get you through that wall, then, but how do we get down there without getting spotted. They got floodlights circling the perimeter." Hank said.

"Leave that to me," Charles said, pressing two of his fingers to his temple.

Hank was, rightfully so, nervous that the plan wouldn't work at first. The first few miles down the hill, and the nearer they got to the camp, Hank was a rigid mess. Ready to flee or pounce at any given moment, and to take Charles along with him.

Charles was stiff in his movement for a whole other reason. It took a great deal of mental gymnastics to keep alert for all the possible minds that may come into his reach, and moreso to take control of their minds and wipe the mind's eye of his and Hank's presence.

They trudged in the growing snow, the weather didn't seem to let up, and as they neared the basin of the wall, they were wallowing in two inches of fluffy snow. Charles' socks uncomfortably wet.

A human guard passed them from overhead, his gaze scanning the darkening terrain and the floodlights continued to roam the barren snow. Charles, with two fingers still at his temple, stared at the guard's face, a furrow in his concentrating brow.

Hank was sure the guard would see them, there was no possibility otherwise, but it was as if a film had gone over human's face, and he sifted right through them.

"I didn't know you could do that, professor." Hank said before Charles shushed him, his free hand pressing against his lips.

Hank waited until Charles gave him the sign that everything was alright, and soon enough, Charles' shoulders relaxed. "We should be all clear, for now at least. All the guards in the vicinity should have had a sudden urge to frequent the restroom."

Hank couldn't help but laugh. They slithered by the wall, all until they came right under the watch tower, and the doorway for any personnel to come in and out. The door was a rather bleak thing, nothing more than a cut in the wall and a frosted keypad.

Charles didn't say a thing, not like Hank needed him to. The other man had done his part, now it was for Hank to do his.

Dropping to one knee in front of the keypad, the cold wasn't bothering him as much as it did Charles. His mutation keeping him warm as Charles wrapped his arms around his torso.

Hank placed one of his newer inventions on the keypad, the whole thing lighting up with the bright blue of numbers.

"Cross your fingers," he mumbled before pressing his gadget to turn on. He hoped it would work and not cause a short circuit that would send the whole camp into lock-down. Hank was banking on the hope that the humans were using respectable technology and not something from the forties, otherwise they would be screwed.

Charles, at his shoulder, watched him with rapt attention. And Hank didn't know if he envied or prided the fact that Charles had such undeterred trust in him and his work.

The door gave a low humming beep before it clicked and slid open.

Charles gave a small cheer, "never doubt your abilities, dear Hank." And he walked right into the human's watch tower, empty and somehow just as cold as the outside.

Hank grabbed his device as he followed Charles' footsteps. The door shutting behind them. No way back now.

Hank didn't have much time before Charles was going up the stairs, leaving him behind if Hank didn't move.

The top of the tower had large windows that went all around, and control panels at the foot of the windows. The chairs vacant in a rushed fashion.

"We need to hurry." Charles spoke the obvious, he turned to look at Hank. "Think you can get into their control center?"

Hank stepped closer. "You do remember my science is medicine and robotics, not computers, right?" His words were more rhetorical than anything since he had already sat down at an empty chair. Fingers gliding over the keyboard.

From a glance, the whole thing appeared rudimentary. Hank thought he could figure it out.

"I'll keep an ear out for anybody." Charles said, stepping away and back down the stairs. Keeping a mental link with Hank just in case. Rounding the corner, Charles peered out into the camp.

They weren't near any of the barracks, this side of the camp seemed more for labor. Greenhouses and stacks of logs scattered across, even structures that Charles thought to be furnaces and forges.

A bit out, Charles caught the sound of a guard's mind, distant and not a viable threat for now. Most of his fleeting thoughts were mundane, complaints of the weather, an itch on his calf, his fatigue over the gruel for dinner. But Charles needed more information than that.

Hesitating, knowing it would go against his common moral, Charles dove into the man's mind. Reaching deep inside the crevices of his thoughts, of his memories, Charles made sure to be careful. One mistake and it could topple the man's subconscious completely.

Charles searched, finding information on the camp's daily routine, of the mutants they held as prisoners, and the collars that were able to dampen any mutants power. That such revelation shocked Charles as he continued his search.

For a split second he saw Alex's face, scarred and older but undeniable him, with his short cut hair.

A sharp sound had Charles flinching, the guards he had sent away were coming back, and they were coming back quick.

Hank! Charles shouted. You must get down here, they are coming back!

The next thing Charles heard was the hurried footsteps of Hank's shoes. Charles waved him over to the corner. "I'll hide us," Charles explained, "just as before, just don't make a sound."

When the guards came in, guns slung over their shoulders and wearing the military camp, they each went up the stairs, back to the top of the tower.

"I know where they're keeping Alex." Hank said. "But if we want to do anything about the rest of the mutants, we'll need to get to the main building. From there, we can release every mutant in this camp."

"Lead the way." Charles said, still keeping a mental note of all the minds he could sense in the vicinity. There weren't as many as he would of imagined.

As they sneaked their way through the camp, hiding in the small shadows between buildings, Charles couldn't help but ask. "The collars, how did that happen?"

Hank threw him a surprised look over his shoulder. "Trask." Hank answered, pressing him back against the wall as another group of soldiers walked past them. "He managed to create a way to nullify the mutant gene through low pulses of controlled radiation."

"And he does it through the neck?" Charles asked. In all his years of studying genomics, he wasn't struggling to put the pieces together, struggling to figure out how it worked.

"No," Hank said, this time harsher than before. They crossed to the other side of the camp path, lurking away from any spotlights. "Cuffs work just as well. The collars are just to demean us."

"I see." Charles carefully said. "Where is he now?"

"Dead," There was no remorse in Hank's voice. "Erik killed him. Paraded his body around for two days?"

Charles raised a brow. "Quite Homer of him."

Hank gave him a sidelong glance. "At least Hector was given a proper burial. Trask was lucky he died before the worst of it."

Oh. Charles winced.

But Hank was pointing to a building, non-descriptive as the rest of them. "Alex is in there." Hank informed.

Charles nodded, stepping forward, two fingers at his temple. "There's four guards, two at the doors and another two inside." Charles said. "I can feel Alex but not much else, somethings dulling my powers. I can get inside of his head but I don't think I'll be able to get out."

"It must be collar," Hank said. "It's best if you don't push it, we don't know how the collar reacts to telepaths."

Charles took his advice. "I won't be able to put all four of them to sleep before one of them pulls the alarm."

"I'll take care of the ones at the door, you get inside and get Alex out of there, yeah?"

"Sounds like a plan." Charles said. "And don't be getting hurt."

Hank only shook his head, a lilting laugh on his lips. "Back at you, Professor."

Suddenly, before his eyes, Charles saw as Hank morphed into the beast. The other man leaped at the two guards and Charles was right behind him. God he hoped no one heard them. Beast was quick to dispatch the two guards.

Charles acted swiftly, grabbing a hold of the other two minds, making them still as Hank ripped open the door for him.

Slipping inside, Hank stayed outside, dragging the unconscious guards out of sight. Once inside, Charles took note of the prison cell. Concrete walls with a Poly-carbonate panel separating the guards from the prison cell. Alex, wide eyed, with a dinner tray still on his lap sitting on the cot.

Putting the first guard to sleep, his body dropping dead to the ground, Charles turned his attention to the one sitting in front of the monitor. "Release him." Charles commanded.

The collar around Alex's neck clanked to the ground.

Charles didn't even have a chance to say hello before he ducking and falling to his hands and knees as a plasma ray hit right where he had stood.

It tore a hole straight through the concrete, and Charles was sure it destroyed everything in its path, even outside the cell.

"Bloody bastard, Summers!" Charles screamed out, but it was as if Alex didn't even hear him, or didn't care. Just as the first beam stopped, Alex revved up again and released another one, this time he swung around.

The whole building they were in began to collapse around them. Well there goes whatever element of surprise they had.

Charles ran before a piece of the ceiling crushed him. He tried reaching out to Alex's mind, to try and calm him down so he could explain, but it was as if Alex was blocking him out. Charles sprinted to Hank's panicking mind.

"What happened!" Hank shouted, pulling Charles down to the ground with him as the beam came whipping back around.

"Why do you all try to kill me when we first meet?" Charles yelled back. "I should have added manners to apart of your training!"

Then, Alex was emerging from the destruction like wreaking demon, fires were sprouting all around them. All the buildings are them were completely destroyed.

Hank stood up. "Alex!"

Alex spotted them immediately, his face falling when he caught sight of Hank in his beast morph, then his eyes trailed down at Charles. And Alex's expression returned to anger, rage with a downturn of pain.

When his chest started to light up again, preparing for another release of his powers.

Hank stepped in front of Charles, blocking him from Alex. "It's him, Alex! It's the Professor, not another mimic!"

Alex's anger cascaded into confusion. His chest no longer lighting up. "What?" Alex said, voice hoarse. "What the hell are you doing here, Hank. And what the hell is going on."

Charles knew Alex was still on guard, and wouldn't trust them, wouldn't trust him to be Charles. He had no other option.

Alex, please, Charles said telepathically. We can explain everything, but we need to get to the central building if we want to free everyone. And with all the attention we have created, an army of human guards will be here very, very soon.

There was shock on Alex's face, the same awed disbelief Hank had when they had first met. But the mention of saving the other mutants had him nodding and falling into the plan faster than Charles had thought.

Charles knew that the boy he was knew was gone, Alex was different, changed in a way only war could change. Young, scarred, and constantly fighting for his life and others.

"We don't have time!" Hank said. "They're here."

And bullets rained from all around them.

Hank thought quick, raising a blasted off piece of metal to shield them all.

Charles frantically looked around, searching. "On the count of three, Hank drop the metal and Alex aim for that beam!"

It was impressive with how seemingly they fell into rhythm. In slick succession, Hank lowered the make-shift shield he held and Alex was roaring to go. The blast hitting the beam Charles had mentioned and more. It was a better distraction than Charles had been hoping for.

The bullets stopped as the human soldiers were thrown into chaos, the beam falling in front of them, blocking them from their view. Heavy dust flew into the air. Giving Charles enough time to tap into whatever straggling soldiers' minds and erase the three of them from their mind.

With a gentle push of his mind, Charles motioned for Alex and Hank to follow him. They ran in the cover of the dust, faintly, Charles could hear the soldiers shouting in confusion. His legs burned, the muscles aching, how did he ever forget what this felt like.

Charles kept the rouse up just enough for the three of them to hide behind a barrack building, a blind-spot in the cameras.

"Professor!" Alex said, elation in his voice. "How did you do that?"

"Mind tricks." Charles said, a smile on his lips, then he hunched in on himself. A pang of hurt flashing through his body. "But I doubt I'll be able do it again."

"Charles," Hank started. "You're shaking."

And that he was. Charles was on the verge of collapse, gasping for breathless air.

Hank propped him against the wall, and it was now that Charles noticed the gray snow that fell from the sky again. Fingers felt numb and he was sure his nose was blurry red.

"I'm fine, Hank." Charles protested. "I just need a moment to catch my breath."

Hank wasn't taking it. "We need to get you out of here, you're overexerting yourself, Charles. This much use of your powers is draining you." Alex looked between them, worry in his eyes.

Charles waved him off but Hank wasn't done, he grabbed Charles by the arm, keeping him from walking away. "We did what we came here for, we freed Alex. Lets leave, before we push our luck."

"We came here for more than that, Hank." Charles said, exasperated. "We came here to help the mutants, to free them, the same as Alex."

"The two of you should go," Alex interrupted, determined. "I can stay, I'll get to center building and I'll get the rest of the mutants here out."

"I admire your courage, Alex." Charles said, brows furrowed and eyes sincere. "But absolutely not. That is, perhaps, an even worse idea."

Alex floundered at the immediate rejection, but still he persisted. "Professor, please," Alex pleaded, Hank on his side. "I can't see you die again."

There is was again, that pain in them, the mourning, the grief, still so fresh on their skin, even after all those years. Charles wished he had the right words to say, the right things to do, all so he could soothe their heartaches.

"That won't happen." Charles said. "I promise it."

"You can't promise something like that, Professor." Alex rebuffed.

"I can, I am." Charles reiterated. "Look, I am not leaving without freeing the other mutants. So…you help me or we all get captures and it would have all been for nothing."

"Even from another universe and you're still stubborn as ever." Hank said, deflated. At the mention, Alex appeared more confused than ever.

"We need to go, the humans are getting closer." Charles informed.

"Another universe?" Alex mouthed, jaw slacked. "You guys are so gonna need to fill me in."

They began to move, staying hidden the best they could. But the whole camp was on lock-down, and swarms of human military were out hunting for them. Alex decently knew the way, and he led them closer to the center. The floodlights, once pointed outwards from the camp, were pointing inside. They illuminated every crevice and rat corner, never giving the three of them any reprieve.

Charles knew he was slowing down, a thrumming headache making his eyes go cross. Every rest was one he desperately needed. He shook off his delirium, he had to, hiding his weakening state.

"Two of them," Charles murmered, having to shut his eyes from the fatigue. "Behind us."

Hank whipped around, and just as Charles had said, two guards were prowling closer, unaware. Hank took care of them easily, they humans didn't even see it coming.

"We need to hurry." Alex said. And Charles couldn't have agreed more. The humans were becoming more and more desperate the more the three of them evaded capture. Their minds a whirl of frenzy, commanders shouting orders, foot-soldiers more than trigger happy.

They were locking down the rest of the barracks and mutant prisoners. Whatever happened now, their only way of escape was to get to the central control and garner complete control of the camp. It was that or execution.

Alex led them further, taking a sharp turn, and Charles could see the large building up ahead. Made from cement and steel, he could feel the minds running around inside. But the closer he looked, he realized that there was a bunker there too. And deep underground was where he felt the minds of the military leaders.

Unfortunately, it was the most secured and guarded area of the entire camp. Humvees were positioned to circle around the whole building, guns with men ready to fire on top of them.

"What do we do?" Hank asked.

"I can blow through the defenses and the walls." Alex said. "We get in and rush up to the control console."

"We have to go down, not up." Charles informed, pointing at the heavy metalized door. Inches thick and reinforced. "That's the way to the console."

Alex bit his lip, hesitating now. Charles knew, Alex didn't think he'd be able to blast through that.

"We'll need the code for the door." Hank realized. A solemn doom coming upon them.

Charles hardened his jaw, his teeth grinding, his headache was growing worse. "I'll get the code," he said. "The two of you just need to get inside."

"No, Charles," Hank said. "You'd have to search through dozens of minds, it'll completely knock you out."

"I'll be fine, Hank." Charles complained.

"You always say that," Alex said.

Charles was in mood to argue any longer, his fucking head felt like it was going to implode. "Just do it, and leave it to me."

Something in his tone of voice must have convinced them, or dissuaded them from arguing against him.

"How long do you need?" Hank cautiously asked.

"Give me a few minutes." Charles began to rummage through the minds he thought were important enough. Flicking through them like files in a cabinet. One by one, picking at them before putting them back.

"Hurry, Professor, I don't think we have much longer." Alex said, his hands were shaking, Charles didn't know if it were from fear or anticipation.

A spotlight was getting closer, it's light unbearable bright as he reflected off the growing snow. It inched closer, once it got to them, they would be undeniable discovered.

Charles focused harder, searching faster, pushing past the insurmountable pain. "I got it!"

It was moments before the spotlight hit them, but Alex was already stepping out from the shadows at that point. His chest glowing fiery red and the boom had them all shielding for cover.

Hank grabbed at Charles, practically dragging him along the opening Alex was creating for them. Shouts started, the rattle of guns, the hum of engine, the screams, the bullets, the cold and wet snow.

Half of the building was caving before Alex turned his attention to the guns. Charles felt in Alex's mind the sudden radiating pang of hurt, he had been hit. Charles snapped around, eyes wide in blooming worry, hazard fear. Hank pushed them to the ground as Alex's beam of energy passed over them.

They were at the door, and Charles had to tear his eyes away from Alex, Hank covering him. Charles struggled, his hands were numb by the cold, he should have worn more layers, and punched in the code.

The door had to be pulled open, and Charles found it hard to do. It was heavy, unbearably so for his weakening body. More bullets, one cascading dangerously close to his head. He yelped. It got Hank's attention, his big furry body rushing in to help Charles open the door further.

"Alex!" Hank shouted, but the other boy was midst it all. Hank finally got his attention waving Alex over as he threw Charles inside of the bunker.

Charles didn't protest at his rough handling. He pressed his palm against his shoulder, Hank was right at the door, yelling at Alex to get over here, his palm came back bloody.

"Shit." Charles cursed, blinking, he couldn't even see straight, live-wire coursing through every ridge of his mind.

Alex ran inside, Hank and Alex slamming the metal door shut behind him. A heavy thud sounded as Hank locked the door from the inside, twisting the gears until they were a mangled mess, no one would be able to get the door open now, not unless they were a mutant.

"That was close." Hank was out of breathe, leaning his head against the cool metal. It was certainly warmer inside than outside. Looking over to Alex, a grin of adrenaline on his lips.

Alex was also smiling.

"You alright?" Charles asked, it was dark inside the bunker, a set of stairs further down the hall, leading straight down. "You got hit?"

"Nothing but a graze, Professor." There was pride in Alex's voice, "I've gotten worse."

"That's good." And then Charles was sliding down the wall, his legs giving out.

"Charles!" Hank was beside him immediately. "You're bleeding."

He didn't think he could say anything witty in return, even if he wanted to.

"You got shot." Alex said, standing a little ways off, staring with big eyes, a scared kid. Hank was already ripping a piece of his shirt off, deft fingers working to staunch the bleeding before wrapping the wound.

"It's not bad," Hank said, low and wavering. "No exit wound, it's still in there. As long as we stop the bleeding, you should be fine and dandy, Professor." Charles took note of the faux cheer in Hank's voice.

"You two need to go." Charles said, eyes drooping as exhaustion set in, fully and unavoidable now.

"We're not leaving you." A hard set in Alex's brows told his stern dedication.

Charles struggled not to roll his eyes. They never listened, not even when it was the good for them all. "You're not leaving me," Charles said. "You'll be back. I know that. But we need to get to the console and get all of us out of here, unfortunately, boys, I'll be a burden if I come with you."

Neither of them could deny Charles' reasoning.

Alex gazed over at the door, inspecting it.

"The door will hold." Charles said, knowing what Alex was thinking, his voice cracking at the end. "Now go…I do wish to be home for breakfast."

Hank gave a half hearted chuckle, but his eyes were flickering at all the blood that coated Charles' shoulder. "We'll be back as soon as we can, Professor."

Charles' eyes slipped shut, hearing the footsteps as both Alex and Hank rushed down the dark bunker hallway. He finally allowed himself to hiss in pain. God, how did everything hurt so much. There was doubt in his mind, he knew his boys would be able to handle it. They were the strongest people he knew.

Everything would be okay, they'll get out of here and Charles would be able to share a breakfast with Alex again. It had been so long since he'd seen that boy. His mind went fuzzy, dazing in a limbo between consciousnesses. He had missed him. He had forgotten how much he missed him.

Chapter Text

"—you think he'll wake up soon?"

"He'll wake up when he's ready, Alex. Sleep is the most natural of medicines."

"I know that…it's just—seeing him so still, it reminds me of…"

"I know." The sound of latex gloves removed from a hand. "But he's still breathing, he's still alive. Say it until it sticks."

"Sounds like it's from experience."

Nothing after that. Then, a beep, a phone.

"Who is it?"

"My brother. the mutants we saved have arrived at Genosha, they're safe."

"That's good."

They're gonna start asking questions, Hank. And they're gonna come to me for answers. I have no fucking clue what I'm going to tell them."

"You can't tell them about him, they can't know, not now at least, if ever, Alex."

"It's a pretty big secrete to hide."

"Alex."

"I mean c'mon, Hank, this is Charles, we're talkin' 'bout. You couldn't keep him hidden if you stuffed him in a wardrobe and tossed him in the middle of the sea."

"Alex."

"Why'd you come save us then? If you wanted to keep all of this quiet."

"The Professor's stubborn, and for some reason he finds it hard to sit back and do nothing."

"Sounds like him."

"Tell me about it, spend enough time with him and it's like nothing ever happened."

"What a dream that would be, huh, Hank."

A laugh. A brief stop.

"So they were really doing it up here without any of us knowing. I thought they were being boring old men playing chess, but they really had us fooled. I mean, you didn't hear them once? with your hairball hearing."

"Must you—"

"Never thought Erik to be the quiet lover—"

Charles had heard enough, he blinked his eyes open. "It seems a man cannot find quiet in his own room any more."

"Professor!" Alex jumped from where he sat, having pulled a Bergere chair from somewhere in the room to the edge of the bed. "You're awake."

"I am now." He hoarsely replied, his voice groggy and cracking at the edges.

Hank came into view, checking the dilation of his eyes. "Charles," placing a hand on his shoulder. "How do you feel."

"As if a train has ran me over, I am afraid." He replied. Alex, bemused, tried to stifle his chuckle.

"I don't blame you." Hank said, a soft smile on his lips.

"I would hope not."

"Any sharp pains anywhere? Flashes of heat? Odd sensations anywhere on your body? Can you move all right?" The bombardment of questions had Charles on the fritz, mentally going down the list Hank was giving him.

Charles' first instincts was to wiggle his toes, pleasantly surprise at the shuffle under the sheets. He moved his fingers, only one arm shot up with pain.

Right. He had forgotten he'd been shot.

He tried standing up from the bed, his lower back flaring up with phantom pains, a sensation he was cordially familiar with. Just as he was about to rise, Hank and Alex close enough to catch him if he faltered. Charles, still half awed that he could, indeed, get up on his own, felt somewhat proud, as he stood at the edge of the bed.

With an expectant lifted brow, and a curl of his lips, Charles looked at the two over-worried mother hens. He could see now how all the smothering could be tiresome, but a hidden part of him preened at the care they showed him.

"I'll get started on lunch!" Alex chipped in, eyes alight as he led the way. "I'm starving."

Hank shook his head in amusement, lingering at Charles' side. "You'll kill him for a second time with your cooking."

Alex turned around, affronted. "I'll have you know I have become a culinary master, four eyes, if I can make pickled Sardines work, I can make anything work."

"I quite enjoy Sardines on the occasion." Charles merrily added.

This garnered him strange looks from the both of them. "Gross, Professor."

"I actually agree with Alex for once." Hank said.

Charles bit back his laugh as he rolled his eyes. They stepped out of his room, the bedroom door not locked. Charles had made sure it was never locked now.

One of Charles' steps suddenly faltered, having to catch himself on the door frame. Hank was pressing him with question, worry so heavy on his mind, Charles had to block him out, had to block Alex out too. He stared at his leg in fearful anticipation.

There was numbness, it radiated from his calf, he could not even feel his foot. And the numbness, the lack of feeling, god how that scared him, continued to move up, and up and up.

His mind, no, his head, sparked with pain, an excruciating thing that slugged throughout the base of his skull to the top of his cranium. Charles doubled down, Hank helping him to the ground before he collapses.

Grasping at his head, Charles almost wanted to rip out every strand of his hair to find the cause of the pain. Then, the flashes came, quick and blinding.

Hank, his Hank, the one he knew so personally, wearing his X-men suit, obvious signs of stress and weariness on his eyes, in his mind especially. Next to him was Raven, angry, also in her suit.

Another flash. His Son. "Max!" Charles called out, but his son didn't hear him. His boy crying as he clutched the comforter in Charles' bedroom. He could feel, almost physically, the despair in his son's heart. His tears drying on his cheeks. Charles tried reaching for him, but he had no body, no soul or mind. Whatever he touched passed straight through his flesh, blood, muscle and bone.

"Who's Max?"

"His son."

"His what!"

One more flash occurred, Charles watched, perhaps he stood, or was he floating? At the head of a table, it was a dark room, dank and cold. Hank and Raven were here again, but there was more mutants with them now.

Charles recognized the X-men, all marked with their brightly colored suits, Scott, Jean, Bobby and Ororo. Then Logan walked in, pissed as all hell, looking ready to snap at any one's throat. Erik…walked in behind him, curious at all the sour expressions. Erik, whom he hadn't seen in so long, wore jeans and a black long-sleeved shirt, arms crossed.

Logan shot a glare towards Hank. Hank tightened his jaw, before he huffed out.

"What's all this about, McCoy?" Erik's voice echoed, ringing in various pitches.

"We need your help." Hank finally said, his voice echoing the same as Erik's. "Charles is gone."

Charles jump-started, the light filtering through the mansion's windows giving him a migraine.

"Professor! Professor, are you all right?" It was Alex's voice, that odd echo was gone. A cool hand was placed firmly on his neck, keeping Charles' head from lolling.

"W-What's happening…?" Charles asked.

Hank's brows drew even closer, lips pressed together. "Alex, get him to my lab, now!"

Hank was running blood work on him. Whatever joviality they had earlier was gone.

"Really," Charles started, "this is all very unnecessary. I feel fine, now."

Alex, leaning on a wall, arms crossed over his chest, watched, unamused. A similar look grazed Hank's features, the man checking the dilation in Charles' eyes once again. Charles took it like a good lab rat.

"What do you remember." Hank went on to say, completely bypassing Charles' previous attempt to dilute the situation.

"We walked out of my room, I was feeling fine, then, as well." Charles explained. "But, then, it was as if an elephant was parading inside of my head. I saw things…"

"You saw things?" Hank asked, he had donned on his medical coat and was gazing at Charles with amassing concern.

Charles nodded. "Flashes, more like, of instances in time, but they feel real, as if they are truly happening. And they feel like they are from my universe."

"You called out for a 'Max'?" Alex said.

"Yes," Charles hesitated, "I saw my son, as well." It was the strangest thing, the more Charles tried to recall of the flashes, the more he felt like he was forgetting. "I saw Hank, well, my Hank, and Raven. Logan was there too, I believe. They're trying to find a way to bring me back, or at least figure out what happened."

"Good," Hank noted. "Let's hope they have better luck than us."

Both Alex and Charles looked at him with confusion. "You think what, Prof, saw was real?"

Hank sighed but he nodded, his head hanging. "I do." He said but the other two were still looking at him for further explanation. "Look—all of this is very theoretical—I don't have evidence for my hypothetical, but what if when Charles came to this universe, he created a 'rift'? Technically, Charles isn't really meant to be here and is still apart of that other Universe.

"So, if we are to assume the universes are always changing and adapting, it could be that they are trying to mend the 'rift' and Charles is just experiencing one of the symptoms." Hank concluded.

"I broke the universe?" Charles inquired.

Hank's brows drew together and valiantly shook his head. "No. Of course not, even with your ability to seemingly do the impossible, I doubt you can break the fabric of realities."

"Good to know."

"Is he going to keep passing out, then?" Alex asked, rather bluntly.

"I did not pass out—" Charles defended before Hank interrupted him.

"I cannot say for certain. They could become a routine or come at randomized intervals, although, seeing as this is the first Charles had from weeks of being here…" Hank began to jot things down in one of his medical files, Charles' specifically.

"So, he's all good then, Doc?" Alex asked.

Hank absently nodded, reviewing whatever data he kept. "All of his vitals check out and—"

"Great," Alex said, stepping closer to Charles. "Can we have lunch now?"

Charles eagerly nodded, hopping off from the medical cot Hank had laid out for him. "What a brilliant idea. I am absolutely starving."

"Wait, but I wasn't—" The other two were already out the door.

Hank's face fell, another sigh, his eyes wondering around the empty lab. He had spent so much time here, huddled here alone like some apocalyptic hermit as the rest of the house collected dust.

As the eye can see, it was the same as it was before, crowded with Hank's tools and odd trinkets of projects, but it was different now…more alive.

He placed Charles folder back onto the table, shrugged off his white coat and arranged the instruments he had used before following Alex and Charles' laughing voices to the kitchen.

Hank hadn't realized how alone he was, but having Charles back, and Alex, it was relieving in a way. Feeling lighter now that he shared meals, shared a house and a conversation. He was happy.

Walking into the kitchen, an unconscious smile already on his lips as Charles and Alex argued by the fridge on what to eat.

In all those years, Hank had forgotten what it was like to be happy.

Charles was fiddling with the radio again, sitting on one of the chairs in the dining room. God, how he had missed the thing. Alex sat next to him—having raided his old room and found some of his old belongings—reading a comic book, completely enthralled.

Hank was somewhere in the library, giving it another pat-down for anything that could help them explain the unknown theory of multiverses.

Charles turned the dial onto another radio wave. It was nothing but static at first, Charles ready to look for another station, when a muffled voice filtered through the old speakers.

"-have found a mutant concentration in the Pittsburgh area. Intel says the mutants have nicknamed it 'Salvus 1", unknown if there are others." Suddenly Alex's full attention was on the radio and it's words, his face full of dread. "High command has given us the green light for a raid."

Silence, then another voice pitched out, deeper and with more static between syllables. "Confirm date and time."

"Tomorrow, the 22nd, 0700. The raid will be conducted that morning." The first voice.

"Affirmative, I'll have the needed preparations begun." The second voice said.

Hank then walked in, waving a book in his hands. "Good news, I think I found something—" He was hushed by both Charles and Alex.

"The country thanks you for your service, Colonel Stryker." The same first voice rang out. "We will now shut down the secure line until further communication is required."

Then the radio went back to blaring the white static.

"What was that?" Hank asked, still standing at the edge of the dining room.

Alex looked like he couldn't believe it, baffled and bewildered. "The humans." Alex said. "It was one of their military channels…"

Hank's face drew up. "I thought they were supposed to be using Satellites."

"We thought so too." Alex said, his hands came up to run through his hair. "This is why we haven't' been able to tap into any of their communications. We've been looking in the wrong place."

"What's Salvus 1?" Charles finally asked, eyes darting from Alex to Hank.

Hank seemed hesitant to elaborate. "It's a safe-house for all mutants, established by the Brotherhood. Mutants across the continents migrate in search of it. Salvus 1 offers shelter and food, and it's the only access to Genosha one could get without getting killed."

"By the sounds of it," Charles said. "A vital asset for the mutants is about to be raided in a few hours."

"I'm going," Alex stated. "If I can warn them in time, maybe it'll give them enough time to evacuate. Or at least give us a fighting chance."

"There's a car in the garage you can take." Hank said, arms crossed over his chest, glasses sliding down his nose.

"I'm coming too," Charles stood up from the chair, slightly nicked by the shocked faces the other two shot at him.

"Professor, please, you're still injured." Alex said softly. "The two of you have done enough already. This is something I can do on my own. The brotherhood are my people, my responsibility."

"And the mutants are mine. And I haven't forgotten you're injured too, Alex." Charles said, eyes downcasted, shoulder set with determined resolution. "I understand that two of you wish to protect me from this new world, but I had been passive and docile in mine, and it had ended with great deal of many dead. I told myself I will never do such a thing again, not when I could have done something, anything, that could have prevented their deaths."

"Doc, help me out here." Alex exhaustively said, hands waving in the air.

Hank shrugged in his shoulders to the dear surprise of Alex and Charles. "Maybe…Charles is right. All of I've done is do nothing, living in this house for years all by myself and the world hasn't gotten any better. And I've tried convincing Charles to stay, it didn't work."

"So you're coming with us?" Charles asked, but there was already a knowing smile gracing his lips, a mirth in his eyes.

Hank returned the big smile, a laugh teetering on his throat. "You know I'll go wherever you go, Charles."

Alex flickered his eyes between the two of them, his caution fading away as something more took it's place, and soon excitement settled in. "D-Does this mean the X-men are back together!"

Charles chuckled, Alex was practically bouncing on his heels. "Yeah, the X-men are back together."

And even Hank seemed proud.

"So about that car…" Alex said. "You guys think I can drive?"

"No."

"Sure."

Hank whipped around. "Charles, you can't be serious!"

Charles waved him off, walking towards the garage, Hank and Alex in tow. "He's all grown up now, Hank, I'd be worried if he couldn't drive." Alex sped past them when Charles told them where to find the keys.

"He's going to drive us into a ditch." Hank groaned out.

"Oh, cheer up, my friend. And I haven't forgotten it was you who almost crashed the jet with the two us still inside." Charles snapped back, and Hank, at least, had the decency to be embarrassed.

Charles, perhaps, enjoyed the car ride far too much. Sitting in the passenger seat, the old Aston Martin with its weathered leather seats, Charles had his arm out the window as he hummed a favorite song of his. Hank brooded in the back seat, Alex only going slightly over what a safe speed limit was to be.

Driving past the abandoned county of Westchester, it was now that Charles' mood was dropping into something more wistful, turning on the edge of morose.

"What happened to them?" Charles finally asked when they passed another crumbling mansion, overgrown and collapsed.

The car was oppressing. Alex's hands tightened on the wheel, his knuckles bleaching bone white. "Desperation." he said, his tone harsh and clipped. "Things got bad, really bad, a year after the bombs dropped."

Hank sighed in the back, Charles could sense the tornado of turmoil raging inside the man's mind, the flickering motion pictures of long past memories, the fear and despair attached to each one. "Temperatures dropped, dust had blocked the sun. Whatever farmlands that survived the bombs, well, you can't do much with frozen over dirt. Famines kicked in."

"Money became meaningless, no amount of it could buy you any food." Alex said, interrupting Hank's tangent. And there was something more to his voice now, righteous anger, what he had done, he believed it to be justified and true. "You had to fight for your food, for supplies, for your survival."

Hank's gaze was boring into the back of Charles' neck, and the words he spoke were solemn. "Mutants were usually the ones who won."

A stone of insurmountable weight pitted in his stomach. "The next step in human evolution." Charles murmered, meant to be quoting Apocalypse, even Shaw himself.

"Exactly." Alex said, vigor in his tone. Charles was taken aback, staring into the side of Alex's face with surprise. "It's what Magneto's been saying for years now, and people are finally listening."

For a while, Charles could not believe it, eyes wide and gleaming. Alex was once his student, a man whom Charles admired, both for his character and for his strength. Alex was meant to be a friend, one he could trust, but, why did he sound so much like the enemy?

That is why, Charles suddenly heard Hank's thoughts, so loud that he needn't focus to tune into them. I didn't join. Why I thought you wouldn't have agreed with them.

Charles' mouth was dry, lips chapped. His eyes focused on the road ahead, watching the never ending white lines. I am afraid you were right, my friend.

They arrived sooner than anticipated. For Charles, it was the first time seeing the aftermath of the nukes on a city. It was complete desolation. Crumbling buildings with walls completely torn off laid abandoned. Sections of what used to a lively world were nothing but deserted ruins.

Charles' heart ached, feeling the remnants of scared minds, their terrified screams and the horrors of which they witnessed.

Hank and Alex had gone quiet in the car, neither of them diverting their gazes from the road in front of them, as if if they didn't acknowledge it, it doesn't exist. Charles wasn't able to do the same.

The closer they got to the coast of Atlantic city, the more life began to return. Buildings were somewhat restored, rubble was cleared and electricity was running, albeit faintly, through sections of the city. And people. More haggard with slumped shoulders, an unfathomable weight on their shoulders, people walked the streets, vendors stationed sporadically around.

They drove at a creeping pace, the roads destroyed with holes. Eyes followed them with suspicion and curiosity.

"We need to lose the car." Hank bluntly said, and Charles nodded. Skimming through the minds of those around them, it would be best to avoid attention.

Alex parked the car in an alley that was hidden and a good distance away from any community living. For extra measure, Hank and Alex tried putting a tarp over the car.

Charles was a bit more daring now that he was out of the car. Peeking down the roads and into the buildings. The entire city seemed covered in dust, smog heavy in the air.

"Where do we go now?" Charles asked, watching as a mangy cat scampered through the road before disappearing into a hole in a building, an old corner store if Charles guessed.

Alex joined Charles up at the mouth of the alley, this close to the ocean, the buildings were sparse, more spaces out and hard to hide. He pointed north, "Salvus 1 tends to move, but I know they a permanent settling up in an old hotel, a dock connected to it."

"How far of a walk?" Hank asked, looking up at the sky. Clouds were darkening, and the wind was picking up its pace.

"Twenty minutes, at most." Alex said, but Charles noted a hint of doubt.

"Let's get a move on, then." Charles softly said. And the three of them began their walk.

While the other two walked in front of him, Charles couldn't help but linger behind. His feet crushing the rubble and pebbled that was once a paved road. Each building they passed was once someone's livelihood, every store, every house. All deserted. The smell of rot and decay had long passed by now.

Swallowing hard, Charles blinked back tears. Feeling every bite the wind snapped against his cheeks, the unsteadiness of his legs, and the hollowness of the minds around them. For once, Charles' power was oddly quiet.

Not quiet in the way the drugs made him feel, but true quiet, one that held the isolation and loneliness.

"Professor?" Alex had turned back, looking at Charles with wide and concerned eyes. "Is everything alright?"

Charles' mouth went dry, nodding slowly, hesitantly. "I-oh, yes, everything is fine."

Hank didn't appear to believe him, not fully, at least, but offered no challenge.

"We're almost there, anyway." Alex motioned to a large building, one with blue tinted windows and looking less collapsible than the buildings around it. Nothing but a ghost of what it once was, a grand hotel with a casino and portside.

If Charles focused his powers, he could trace a huddle of minds, all moving between floors, and below that, perhaps a basement, Charles felt the swarm of minds, all conglomerating into one mass. There was dozens upon dozens of them.

And they were all about to be raided.

Alex was the one who led them closer to the hotel, seeming to know his way around. Hank, following closer behind, kept his strides confident, and it was Charles who seemed to dawdle behind.

The minds became more individual the furthered they neared, the cacophony of sounds and thoughts and voices all ringing about.

Standing at the front of the hotel, a dead patch of grass under their feet. "How do we get in?" Hank asked.

Charles felt the small feather of hesitation in Alex's mind, but Charles wasn't too concerned. Expanding his conscious further out, curious in his wandering. Skimming past the two scouts hanging near one of the hotel's balconies, Charles knew it wouldn't be long before Alex was recognized.

Proud when he found out about the legacy Alex was building for himself, the guards, and most of the other mutants knew of Alex—well, Havok—as a brave General for the brotherhood, a fearsome and capable soldier.

Charles searched on, fleeting past the minds of other mutants, children, mothers, fathers, brothers and sisters, all sorts of mutants, refugees simply looking for safety all loitered in the basement of the this hotel.

"They're coming." Was all Charles said, unworried and rather pleasantly excited to meet new mutants.

"What?"

But before Charles could elaborate, two figures cautiously emerged from a side entrance, one had a gun strapped over their shoulder, hand dangerously close to the trigger.

Charles and Hank stayed at Alex's heels as he stepped up.

The two others called out. "General? That you?"

Charles recognized the voice. Whispering the name, his heart mourning. "Kurt?"

Both Alex and Hank snapped their heads at him but Charles only shook his head. Alex slowly turned back to the other two mutant guards. "Nightcrawler," Alex greeted. "It's me, and I brought some friends.

Suddenly, the blue mutant popped into existence right in front of them. Tail wagging as blue smoke puffed around him. Charles couldn't help but note the small differences, and yet his kind demeanor was the same. That pang striked Charles through the chest again, the remembrance of his own world, his own reality.

Yellow eyes tracked them, landing on Hank with a bit more reserve, but Charles knew his mind was racing as he came to recognize Hank as Beast. Then, his eyes came to fall upon Charles, and there was surprise, with a lingering interest at Charles' presence.

"We weren't expecting you, General, to be honest, we almost shot at you." Nightcrawler said, a drawl in his voice, accent just as strong as Charles recalled.

"I don't need another bullet wound." Alex smiled as NightCrawler's brows drew closer but the sharp realization crossed to his face.

"So you were really there!" He exclaimed. "The rumors are true. You were the one who freed the prison camp!"

Alex nodded, stepping aside so both Hank and Charles came into view. Signaling that they too, were there. Kurt's eyes lit alight. "We must get you inside, we can speak more freely there."

Kurt got closer, placing a hand on Hank and Charles' shoulders and Alex placed his own on Kurt's, a practices motion.

In a blink of an eye, and a puff of dazzling smoke, where they had once stood outside, they were now in the basement, surrounded by countless others. Mutants all staring at them with wide eyes.

As soon as they landed, Hank was doubling over, arm over his shoulder, and even Alex appeared a tad unfocused. Charles took it with surprising stride. At the school, Kurt loved to explore his powers with as many as he could, and he often took the professor alongside with him.

The inside was refurbished, couches and beds that must at some point decorated the hotel above them were rearranged down here. Blankets and carpets hid the cement floor, and the place was homely lit. A small area in the corner, a bits away from the boilers was a sectioned off space for food and kitchen ware.

Just as Hank and Alex were settling and Charles finished taking in all around him, a group of mutants were walking up to them. These were of a more sturdy build, hard and narrowed eyes, and not quite fitting the image of refugees. The leaders.

"Summers," and Charles came to recognize yet another one of his students, Colossus. His thick accent ringing on the s' and m'. Bobby and Kitty at his sides. Colossus' eyes dance from Hank and then to Charles, suspicion clear. "What brings you here, and with strangers."

Alex steps up, an easy grin on his features. Hank was at Charles' side, one hand lingering near Charles' front, ready to protect and a moment's notice. But Charles knew they were near friends here, Colossus was only weary since he had mission to protect those here as well.

"Peter," Alex said. "I'm here to help, we're here to help."

"Help with what?" Kitty asked, voice lilting. "I'm Kitty by the way." She extended her hand out to both Charles and Hank. Charles having to pretend he didn't already know.

Charles was eager to step forward and shake her hand. "That's Hank, bit in a mood nowadays, and I am Charles X—" He stopped himself when Alex's and Hank's mind blazed with panic. "Just Charles is fine."

"They're old friends." Alex explained. "I trust them."

Colossus stood his ground for a while, scrutinizing them, Charles more than Hank, before he sighed. "Let us talk somewhere more private."

Charles gave a final glance around, so much pain, so much suffering still lingered in the minds around him, hardened with the hardships of survival. His eyes landed on a small mutant child, her skin light green with bright pink eyes. And Charles' steps faltered. He recognized her. She was one of his students, she loved when he read the Odyssey to them in class.

Hank was tugging on his arm, all them following Colossus up a set of stairs.

"They're planning a raid on this place by morning." Alex curtly said.

Kitty gasped and Colossus' metal tighten. "And you know this, how?" Bobby asked.

Even Kurt's tail stopped flickering side to side. Charles and Hank stood by the corner, the room was rather small, and there was an odd dampness to the chilled air.

"We managed to listen in on one of their communications. They're talking through radio, shortwaves, perhaps, it's why we haven't been able to find any of their communications. And we heard plans that they know about this place, and they're planning on attacking. They want to capture as many mutants as they can."

Charles knew it was best to let Alex do most of the talking, for now at least.

"So soon?" Kitty asked, horror painted clearly on her face. Charles refrained from stepping closer to comfort her.

"I came as soon as I could." Alex said.

"How did they find us?" Bobby questioned further. "Salvus 1 was supposed to be a secrete. We take every precaution."

"A mole?" Kurt asked.

"Have we been infiltrated?" Kitty's panic was rising.

"A traitor perhaps." Finally, Colossus booming voice broke through, this silenced the growing chaos. "If they have found Salvus 1, we can only assume they have also found other safehouses. We must contact Magneto."

"He won't get here in time." Alex exclaimed. "The humans will be here by morning! Maybe earlier."

"Alex is right." Charles spoke up. "Our priority should be getting those to safety first, away from any possible danger or conflict."

Colossus' heavy gaze turned to Charles, a thousand pound stare. "And who are you, just Charles."

Charles didn't flinch, meeting the other's eyes head on. "I told you." Alex stepped in between them, Charles felt in his mind the steady dedication to keeping him safe, the sight of Charles with a bullet wound still so clear in his boy's memory. "He's a friend."

"To you, perhaps." His accent got stuck in between his words. "But is he a friend to the brotherhood?"

Charles stepped out from Alex's shadow. "I am a friend to all mutants, brotherhood or not. And the only thing I want is to keep them—" Charles pointed to the refugee mutants right in the basement of the old hotel, "—safe. Do you want the same thing?"

Colossus grunted, leaning close to Charles, everyone in the room waiting anxiously for his response. Finally, Colossus relented. He straightened back out and backed out. "So you are mutant? What is your ability, just Charles."

This time, Charles faltered. Eyes skimming past the others, Kitty, Bobby, Kurt…All students he knew, but these weren't his students. Could he trust them? Could he trust any of them?

Hank was at his side at an instance. But Charles knew he had to take the risk. If he wanted them to trust him, he needed to trust them.

Is there a way out of this hotel that isn't the front door?

Colossus' jeered back, shaking his head wildly, the others were stunned, eyes rapidly blinking.

"Shit." Bobby was the first to break the silence. "Another telepath. Frost ain't gonna like that."

"He's not meeting Frost." Hank stated, concrete, with no room to object. "And he's not meeting Magneto either."

Alex tried to do damage control. "What he means," he started, "is that they, Magneto, can't know about Charles."

"An enemy to Magneto is not a good friend to have, Summers." Colossus had gathered himself again. This time staring at Charles with something new in his eyes, wonderment? fear?

"You all known I've been with Magneto since the beginning." At the nods around him, Alex continued on. "I've known Charles just as long."

Charles realized that what Alex was saying wasn't swaying them over, distrust too abundant in their minds.

"Before the brotherhood," Charles said, "we were the X-Men. Eri—Magneto and I, we worked together, but…I didn't fully agree with his ideologies. And as you may well know, Magneto doesn't handle a disagreement very well. We fought and I was severely injured." Charles, some deep part of him sorrowed over having to lie to them, but telling them he was from another universe would only drift them apart when they needed to be united. A necessary lie, Charles told himself, one that was needed for all of their sakes.

"Hank...has been taking care of me." Alex and Hank were looking at him, trying to hide the fact that they were all hearing this for the first time as well. "It wasn't until recently that he developed a cure for me. It's allowed me to walk again, given me the chance to help."

The room was deathly quiet, nothing but the wisp of Kurt's tail, the metallic dense breaths Colossus' took.

"What did you believe then?" Kitty asked, eyes wide as she came closer to Charles. Always so endearing. "If you did not agree with the ways of the brotherhood."

"Kitty." Colossus warned. "This could be treason. Magneto will have our heads."

"Is it so wrong to hear him out?" She snapped back.

Charles softened at her. "Magneto, or Erik as I knew him, was always filled with hate. He thinks the only way is to get rid of the humans, or at least eradicate them until they're no longer a threat. I don't want to kill the humans. Killing a man to stop the killing isn't the way to do it."

"They have killed us." Colossus defended.

"And how many humans have you killed?" Charles patiently asked back. He didn't answer. "That's my point. It's nothing but an endless cycle of mutually assured destruction. When the world itself is already destroyed, must we destroy all traces of humans and mutants alike?"

"Our children will grow up never knowing what peace is like. They'll grow up to be soldiers and to die in a war they didn't chose." Charles said. "Perhaps friends with the humans is asking to much, but we don't need to be friends with them, we just need to coexist. Wouldn't that be enough?"

No one said a thing in return, neither to shame him for his naivety or to agree with his optimism. He didn't know what they were thinking and he was almost afraid to take a peek into their minds to find out.

Only Hank stayed at his side, never wavering.

My friend. Charles said to Hank's mind. Have I just made a mistake?

But before anymore doubt could make its way inside, Bobby stepped forward, an uncanny seriousness to his face. "He's right." And the room must have spun, for Charles had no other explanation for the shock that up-heaved in everyone's minds. "Not all the humans are bad."

"I'm with Bobby on this one." It was Kitty who spoke after him. Colossus was silent, large arms crossed over his chest, disapproving, but he always seemed to be. Charles turned his attention to Kurt. His head bowed and his black hair falling over his eyes.

Charles briefly touched his mind. Kurt leaned against the desk. "Sorry, Big man, but you're alone on this one."

Colossus grunted, but he was far from a cruel and mean man. "I will not tell Magneto of this, then. But it does not mean we are friends, just Charles."

He smiled at the other man, Charles knew Colossus, knew him as Piotr in his own reality. And it seemed they were the same, always worrying, always wanting to protect and hard to trust. Charles stepped closer, Colossus stared him down.

"I wouldn't expect any different." Charles softly said, eyes shiny and proud. The sight threw Colossus off guard, but Charles was already moving away and back to Hank and Alex's side.

"What do we do now, Pro—Charles." Alex asked.

Charles looked over to Colossus. "What is the plan?"

Colossus didn't falter, steady in his position as leader. He thought long and hard, his steel skin seeming to harden more as he concentrated.

"The docks." He said at last. "There are boats. We take them North."

Alex nodded. Both Generals devising a plan. "There should be a small safehouse on the other side Brigantine bridge."

Colossus shook his head. "Tide is high. Boat will capsize."

"It'll be a risk but…"

"We have children. We cannot be risky. Mankiller island, safe to travel."

"It's too exposed." Alex argued. "They'll be able to catch up with us. The bridge is collapsed, most of it anyways, they won't be able to follow us on land."

Colossus narrowed his eyes. "And if they have boats."

"Then we're screwed either way." Bobby said.

"I'm with Alex on this one, Peter. I don't see another way." Kitty said.

"Fine." Colossus assented. "Iceman, you're with me, we shall prepare the boats. Kitty ready the others, I wish to be gone before the humans get here. Kurt, join the rest of the scouts, inform us when you see anyone else. And you two," Colossus turned to look at Charles and Hank. "Don't get in the way."

"Yes, Sir!" Kurt said before puffing into a cloud of blue smoke. Bobby and Kitty trailing out after Colossus, leaving Alex, Hank, and Charles in the room.

"Well, isn't he pleasant." Hank dryly commented.

"He grows on you." Charles endearingly said.

"Don't tell me he's one of your students." Hank ran a hand through his hair, this was the most stressed he's been in years.

"Wait, student? What does he mean, Prof?" Alex asked.

Charles smiled. "Well, in my reality, I did get around to starting that school I always talked about."

"Did I became a teacher?" Alex asked, voice high and excited.

Charles mind flashed with the memories of Alex's death. The pain, the guilt…Alex dying all because he was trying to protect Charles, to keep Apocalypse from taking him through the portal.

"You were more like a helper." Charles said instead. "You and the children tended to blow more things up than actually learn anything."

"Seems about right." Hank stated.

"Hey!" Alex defended, shoving at Hank's shoulder. All three of them laughing.

Hank and Charles were helping a few of the mutant refugees pack up when Kurt popped into the room, his tail snapping side to side as fear and panic was written clearly across his blue features. "They're Here!" he shouted. "The humans are here!" He said before puffing away in another burst of blue smoke.

Alex and Kitty were high on alert, their eyes snapping to the entrance, their muscles taunt and tense.

All waiting in bated breaths, but no sound came.

Charles searched the minds, and he felt them. The numerous minds of the human military. "They're right above us," Charles whispered.

But it was too late. A blast sounded and all hell broke lose. The ceiling above them exploded. How had he not noticed them sooner? How did none of them notice sooner?

Pieces of crumbling debris fell over their heads. Kitty and another mutant, a smaller child, were right under the explosion. Charles feared before he saw Kitty using her powers to get herself and the kid through the falling cement, phasing through the worst of it.

Hank was pulling him away. "We need to get you out of here!"

Charles saw as Alex secured the rest of the mutants, leading them towards the exit before preparing for a fight himself. Charles shrugged himself out of Hank's hold. "I'm not leaving!"

"Charles! You're injured."

"I feel fine, Hank." He feels like a broken record.

Hank snarled, the beast emerging as bullets began to fly. The humans were already lining up in the basement, coming down from the upper floors as another explosion sounded. "I gave you that serum so you could heal faster, but it's not magic, Charles, you can't be pushing yourself!"

"If we leave now and they get killed or captured this would have all been for nothing!" Charles had to yell to be heard.

The distress was rising, the screaming of fear and pain a cacophony in their ears. And Hank wasn't as apathetic to ignore it and turn a blind eyes. Charles felt the battle that waged in on himself. Hank always just wanted to help people too.

"Don't get too far from me!" Hank finally conceded. And Charles nodded for he doubted he even wanted to stray far from Hank's side. It was very quickly becoming hell on earth.

Alex and Kitty had managed to corral most of the mutants out through the back door, they could only hope Colossus and Bobby would get to them before more human militants. But there were stragglers, those who had been scattered during the explosion.

Charles prodded at Hank's mind, telling him where he saw a young mutant girl trying to fight off two soldiers, sparks of electricity coming from her fingers, but they wrangled her in like a stubborn horse. Clamping on one those suppressor collars around her neck.

Before they could drag her away like wolves with hunted meat, Hank ripped one of them by their shoulder. The other one, his partner, raised his gun to shoot. Hank braced his arm, shielding them from the spray.

As he reloaded, Charles took the moment to access his mind. Stop. Charles commanded, but just as he said it, a thunder-strike of pain flashed through his head. He wasn't quite as healed as he believed he was. The soldier, snapped out of his daze, locked his eyes on Charles.

Charles felt the hate, fueled by fear, and he heard, rather loudly, the clear realization that Charles was a Telepath. He raised his gun again, no hesitation as he aimed.

Hank, meanwhile, dispatched the other soldier, ripping the collar off the girl. While Charles hadn't been able to fully stun the soldier, it had given Hank enough time to appear behind the trained soldier, growling as he launched himself at him,

Breathing a sigh of relief as the gun clattered to the ground, Hank tossing the soldier off to a wall, Charles knew there was no time to dawdle. He began looking around the mess around him, Alex fighting a few soldiers hand to hand, even seeming to find a discarded gun somewhere, knowing that if he used his destruction powers, he would crumble the entire building, and bury them all alive.

Kitty was faring better than all of them. Cleverly phasing in and out as she fought her own band of human soldiers. But as they all wasted time with the soldiers, more of their kind were being dragged away with collars around their neck.

"Blind them!" Was shouted out by the humans, and not a second later, smoke erupted from canisters rolled to the ground.

Thick, grey, smoked swiftly begin to fill the room, smoke that made lungs quiver and eyes burn.

Charles coughed, a hacking thing, blinking through the tears in his eyes, he brought his shirt over his nose. But through what he could see through his watery eyes, he saw only Hank. Kitty, Alex, and all the rest of them all faded into the smoke. Only the shouting remained. Only Hank.

Another blast, this time from what Charles could only think to be his right, he was losing his sense of direction rather fast, stumbled him to his feet. Hank tried to reach for him, another squadron of human soldiers appeared from the smog.

Charles tried to keep his ears open when his eyes failed him, but soon, Hank and his fighting was obscured by the rest of the fighting. He had no other choice, he expanded his awareness of the minds around him, even when pain struck him, he bit his tongue and pushed forward.

Just as he located Hank, another mind, one so familiar, so kindred, a mind that had the same belief in him that Charles had in others.

As the smoke cleared into something that resembled heavy fog, Charles saw him.

"Mutant X!" Someone shouted, so distant to Charles' mind.

Mutant X as they called him was a burly man, angry and snarling. Dark hair and feral eyes, truly a frightening animal, had metal and wires protruding from his body, metal claws that extended out from between his knuckles raked at the ground.

Logan.

Perhaps Charles had said it in his mind, perhaps he had spoken it, for Mutant X suddenly turned to look straight at Charles. There was no recognition in his eyes, no inkling that this was his old faithful friend.

And Mutant X began to charge towards him, sharp teeth bared and beast-like.

He saw through his mind's eye as both Hank and Alex realized where Mutant X was charging at. Both of them shouting for Charles to move, to do anything. But Charles couldn't, and neither of them would be able to get to his side in time to help him, by the time they did, Charles would have been a mangled, gory, mess.

Charles felt as Alex began to power up, his chest blazing with light, but Charles shouted to his mind a quick no. And Alex's helplessness was so sharp, so acute, that it became Charles' as well.

Mutant X was on top of him now. Teeth snapping at his throat as Charles used his arms to bar him from getting closer. Three of his metal claws sunk into Charles' side, not as deep as they could have gone, but deep enough to spear through skin, fat, and muscle.

Choking on his own pained cry, at least it hadn't been his shoulder.

In his most desperate hour, Charles' mind could not think of a brilliant plan, no idea of how to escape, instead it was instincts his mind reached for, rather than logic.

Through pain and blood, he managed to bring one of his hands up to his head, fingers barely touching the skin of his temple. And Charles was inside of Mutant X's mind.

In the moment, at the doorstep of death, seconds away from being mauled alive, Charles didn't think through the ramifications or the innate things that could go wrong. For Charles began to show Mutant X the friendship, the life he had, with his Logan, from a different reality.

Through the eyes of his and through the eyes of Logan, he showed Mutant X the friend he had in him. Flashes of chess games Charles had to cajole, time spent in the kitchen as Charles cooked and Logan drank, long conversations in the study, walks around the property. Everything and anything.

When Charles came to, as did Mutant X, gone was the wildness in the other's eyes. Panting and heaving above Charles, Mutant X lost his feral-ness, there was confusion in his eyes, humanity and wonder.

He looked at Charles like he was everything, as if he was a life long lost, or could have been. Mutant X lost all of fight, becoming almost docile as he retracted his claws back into his skin—Charles groaned at the pain.

"W-Who are you?" Was Mutant X's raspy question, brows drawn together as the muscles in his arms began to shake.

Charles swallowed, his mouth as throat dry and sandy. "I am Charles." He introduced.

Mutant X nodded as if it made sense and no sense at all, then he began to look around.

Charles acted quickly, while Mutant X was distracted, he brought his hand to his head and told him to sleep. Logan slumped into Charles body, dead as a sleeping log. It was then that Alex and Hank showed up.

"Charles!" Hank kneeled at Charles side, pushing the slumbering Logan off from him. "You're bleeding!"

"What the hell was that!" Alex yelled.

Now that he knew he wasn't a dead man, Charles noticed that Colossus and Kurt were back, and that the human military was retreated. "He's coming back to the manor with us." Charles plainly said, head falling back as fatigue crawled its way in.

"Coming back with us—? Charles, he was trying to kill you!" Hank said.

Charles slowly shook his head, the world dizzy around him. "He's a friend." he managed to slur out. "He's a friend."

He closed his eyes as the pain got too much, Hank and Alex continued to ramble off questions and rather loud thoughts, but Charles didn't have the will to answer them.