Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

https://www.tumblr.com/dersite-day-dreamer/764895154642567168/when-ur-gf-has-a-comically-short-temper-and-ur

https://www.tumblr.com/dersite-day-dreamer/764244193697742848/she-hates-the-rookie-uniform-so-much-xd

https://www.tumblr.com/dersite-day-dreamer/764175173694963712/scribble-about-rp-stuff

https://www.tumblr.com/dersite-day-dreamer/764168248400953344/they-fell-asleep-watchin-a-movie-rip-to-everyone

https://www.tumblr.com/dersite-day-dreamer/764145344698318848/skippin-cass-when-a-toad-hops-down-the-stairs-and

https://www.tumblr.com/dersite-day-dreamer/764452727006937088/ilovelosersandshortmen-has-this-post-and-i

Dawn's profile;

https://toyhou.se/35882528.dawn-price

[this will probably be updated completely randomly]

Chapter Text

 Part One: The Hallway

Dawn's first day at Bayville High was exactly as terrible as she'd expected. School sucked no matter what kind it was.

The Institute's school had been too rigid, too structured, too much like being in a cult. Xavier had finally agreed to let her attend public school as a compromise—she'd get "normal socialization" and he'd get to feel like he was helping her adjust. Win-win, supposedly.

So far it was just lose-lose.

"—and that's the cafeteria, obviously," Kitty was saying, gesturing as they walked. She'd volunteered to show Dawn around, along with Kurt, who kept teleporting a few feet ahead and then waiting for them to catch up. "The food's not great but it's edible. Usually."

"Ja, unless it's meatloaf day," Kurt added with a shudder. "Never eat the meatloaf."

Dawn nodded, only half-listening. The school was loud—too many voices, too many footsteps, too many smells. Her eyes were barely slitted open against the fluorescent lights, and she already had the beginning of a headache building behind them.

"Oh no," Kitty said suddenly, her voice dropping.

"What?" Dawn squinted in the direction Kitty was looking.

A boy was coming down the hallway—short, kind of scrawny, with an unfortunate haircut (or maybe just the general lack of one) and skin that had a slight green tint to it. He moved with an almost bouncing gait, and when he spotted them, his face lit up.

"Kitty!" he called, hopping over to them with more enthusiasm than Dawn had seen from anyone all day. "Looking good, looking good. New haircut?"

"No, Todd." Kitty's voice was flat. "Same haircut."

"Really? Could've sworn it was different. Maybe it's just extra shiny today. Very shiny. I like it."

"Uh-huh." Kitty turned to Dawn. "Dawn, this is Todd Tolensky. Todd, this is Dawn. She's new."

Todd's attention swiveled to Dawn, and she got the full force of that eager, try-hard energy. "New, huh? Welcome to Bayville High, home of the—" he paused dramatically "—mediocre education and even more mediocre lunch options."

Despite herself, Dawn felt her lips twitch.

"He's Brotherhood," Kurt said quietly, like it was a warning. "Bad news, ja?"

"I prefer 'misunderstood,'" Todd said cheerfully. "Also, 'charming,' 'hilarious,' and 'available for tutoring sessions.'" He waggled his eyebrows at Kitty, who looked like she wanted to phase through the floor.

"Todd, we've talked about this—"

"I know, I know. You're not interested. But can you blame a guy for trying?" He turned back to Dawn. "So what's your story, new girl? Transfer? Mutant? Both?"

"Both," Dawn said. Her voice came out rougher than she intended—she hadn't talked much today.

"Nice, nice. What's your power? Kitty phases, Kurt teleports, I do this—" He demonstrated by jumping straight up and sticking to the ceiling, hanging upside down. "Pretty cool, right?"

"Todd, get down," Kitty hissed. "People are staring."

"People are always staring. It's my natural charisma."

He dropped back down, landing in a crouch that should have been awkward but somehow worked. Dawn found herself actually smiling—not the polite smile she'd been forcing all day, but a real one.

"That's pretty cool," she admitted.

Todd's face lit up like she'd just told him he won the lottery. "Right?! Thank you! Finally, someone who appreciates the art of—"

"Todd!" A voice called from down the hall. Dawn looked over to see three other guys—one huge, one with dark hair and an aesthetic she could appreciate, one with silver hair moving entirely too much while he was talking.

"That's my cue," Todd said. "Brotherhood assembly. But hey—" he pointed at Dawn "—you seem cool. Way cooler than these two, no offense."

"Some taken," Kurt muttered.

"Catch you later, new girl!" Todd bounded off, literally bounded, joining his friends with a final wave.

As soon as he was gone, Kitty turned to Dawn with an apologetic expression. "Sorry about that. Todd's... a lot."

"He's gross," Kurt added. "And ze Brotherhood are bad news. Professor Xavier says—"

"I thought he was funny," Dawn interrupted.

Both of them stared at her.

"Funny?" Kitty repeated.

"Yeah. The ceiling thing was cool, and the try-hard flirting was kind of endearing in a pathetic way." Dawn shrugged. "At least he's genuine about it."

"He's a show-off," Kitty said.

"He's dangerous," Kurt added. "Ze Brotherhood, zey cause trouble—"

"So do we," Dawn pointed out. "Aren't we all mutants causing trouble just by existing?"

Uncomfortable silence.

"Come on," Kitty said finally. "Let me show you where your locker is."

They moved on, but Dawn glanced back once. Todd was laughing at something the huge guy said, animated and unguarded. The silver-haired one shoved him, and he shoved back, grinning.

He looked happy.

Dawn filed that information away and followed her tour guides.

 Part Two: The Stairwell

Two weeks into her time at Bayville High, Dawn discovered the empty stairwell on the east side of the building.

It was supposed to lead to a basement lab that had been closed for renovations—which meant no one ever came down here. Perfect for when the noise and lights and people became too much, and she needed to just... breathe.

She was sitting on the steps, hood up, eyes closed, when she heard footsteps.

"Oh, shit—sorry, didn't know anyone was down here."

Dawn's eyes opened to slits. Todd Tolensky stood at the top of the stairs, frozen mid-step.

"You skipping too?" she asked.

"I—what? No. I'm definitely going to class. Very dedicated student." He paused. "Okay yeah, I'm totally skipping. Class is so boring I think I'd rather eat my own foot."

Despite her headache, Dawn snorted. "What're you skipping?"

"Uh... honestly can't remember. Something with math? Or maybe science? They all blur together." He hesitated. "You want me to leave? I can find somewhere else—"

"It's fine. Sit."

Todd lit up and bounded down the stairs, plopping down a few steps below her. Close enough to talk, far enough to not be crowding. Dawn appreciated that—he'd somehow instinctively understood her space needs.

"So," Todd said after a moment. "How're you liking Bayville High so far?"

"It's loud."

"Yeah, it is. You got enhanced hearing or something?"

"And sight and smell. Basically if it's a sense, it's too much."

"That's rough." Todd was quiet for a second. "Is that why you keep your eyes mostly closed?"

"Yeah. Lights hurt."

"Makes sense. I mean, not from personal experience, but I can see how that would suck." He tilted his head. "What're you skipping?"

"English. We're reading Othello out loud and I'd rather chew glass."

"Oh man, I had to do that last year. It's the worst. Everyone's pronouncing stuff wrong and Mrs. Henderson gets all huffy about 'proper enunciation.'" He did a surprisingly accurate impression that made Dawn actually laugh.

"That's exactly what she sounds like."

"Right? I swear she thinks we're training for Broadway or something." Todd leaned back against the wall. "So you're living at the Institute, right? With Kitty and Kurt and all them?"

"Unfortunately."

"Not a fan?"

Dawn considered how much to share. But something about Todd's easy demeanor, his complete lack of judgment, made her honest.

"It's fine. Professor Xavier's nice, the place is clean, I get three meals a day. But it's..." She struggled for words. "It's like everyone there is trying to be this perfect version of themselves. All controlled and proper. And I'm just... not that."

"Yeah, I get that." Todd's voice was softer now. "The Brotherhood house is kind of the opposite. Total chaos, nothing's controlled, half the time we're not even sure if we have food. But at least we can be ourselves, you know?"

"That sounds better, honestly."

"You're welcome to visit sometime. Fair warning though—the house is falling apart, Pietro's annoying, and Fred eats everything."

"Still sounds better than constant lectures about 'reaching my potential.'"

They sat in comfortable silence for a while. Dawn could hear the distant sounds of classes, footsteps above them, but down here it was muffled. Manageable.

"Can I ask what your powers are?" Todd said eventually. "Besides the super senses."

"Strength. Speed. Healing. And I can... transform. Into something else."

"Like shape-shifting?"

"Kind of. More specific." She didn't elaborate, and Todd didn't push.

"That's cool. I mean, all I can do is jump good and stick to stuff. And secrete this gross slime that people hate—"

"The slime's probably useful though, right?"

Todd blinked. "I—yeah, actually. It is. For escaping and stuff. But most people just think it's disgusting."

"Most people are boring."

He grinned, wide and genuine. "You know what? You're alright, new girl. What'd you say your name was again?"

"Dawn. But most people called me DogTeeth."

"Why DogTeeth?"

She opened her mouth, showing the prominent canines that stuck out even when her mouth was closed. One was longer than the other, giving her a lopsided appearance.

"Oh, that's actually really cool," Todd said, zero hesitation. "Very intimidating. I like it."

Something warm settled in Dawn's chest. Not attraction—not yet—but the beginning of genuine friendship.

"Thanks. Figured if they were going to call me that anyway, might as well use it."

The bell rang, signaling the end of the period. Todd stood up, stretching.

"Well, I should probably make an appearance at my next class. Or not. Haven't decided yet." He looked down at her. "You gonna be okay?"

"Yeah. Might stay here for another few minutes."

"Cool. Hey, if you ever need a quiet place, there's also the roof. Access through the janitor's closet on the third floor. Don't tell anyone I told you."

"Wouldn't dream of it."

"See you around, DogTeeth."

"See ya, Toad."

He bounded up the stairs and was gone. Dawn sat there for another ten minutes, the headache finally starting to fade.

Maybe Bayville High wouldn't be completely terrible after all.

 Part Three: Lunch Outside

Lunch was the worst part of Dawn's day.

The outdoor tables were too bright, too exposed, too loud with overlapping conversations. But the X-Kids had claimed her, insisting she sit with them, and she hadn't figured out a polite way to refuse yet.

"—and then he had the nerve to say MY outfit was too much," Jean was saying, gesturing with her fork. "Can you believe that?"

"Totally unreasonable," Kitty agreed.

Dawn pushed food around her plate and tried to look interested. She wasn't. The conversation had been ongoing for fifteen minutes and covered: Jean's complicated relationship with Scott, Kitty's crush on some guy named Lance (who Dawn was pretty sure was Brotherhood but no one had confirmed), and whether Rogue's new boots were "too goth."

"Dawn, what do you think?" Jean asked suddenly.

"About what?"

"About Scott being weird about my outfit."

"I wasn't really listening."

Awkward silence.

"Sorry," Dawn added, not really meaning it. "Just tired."

"You're always tired," Jean said, and there was an edge to her voice. "Maybe if you actually engaged with the group—"

"Jean," Kurt warned quietly.

"I'm just saying. We're trying to be welcoming, but Dawn barely talks to us."

Dawn felt her temper spike. She took a breath, counted to five, and stood up.

"I need to go."

"Where?" Kitty asked.

"Bathroom." She didn't even try to sound convincing.

She grabbed her tray and left before anyone could argue. Behind her, she heard Jean mutter something about "attitude problems" and had to resist the urge to turn around and show her exactly what an attitude problem looked like.

The outdoor lunch area was odd, random areas packed with students. Dawn ended up near the back of the school, trying to figure out her exit strategy—

"Yo, DogTeeth!"

She turned. Todd was waving at her from a table in the corner, surrounded by his Brotherhood friends. The huge guy—Fred, she'd learned—was demolishing what looked like three lunch trays worth of food. The silver-haired one—Pietro—was vibrating in his seat as he shook his leg at a dizzying speed. The dark-haired one—Lance—was leaning back in his chair looking bored.

"Come sit!" Todd called.

Dawn glanced back towards the X-Kids table. Jean was still ranting, the others studiously not looking in Dawn's direction.

Fuck it.

She walked over to the Brotherhood table.

"Hey," she said.

"Hey!" Todd patted the seat next to him. "Guys, this is Dawn. Dawn, this is Fred, Pietro, and Lance."

"The new X-Kid," Pietro said, eyeing her critically.

"The new student who happens to live at the Institute," Dawn corrected. "Not the same thing."

"Fair enough." Lance gave her an appraising look. "You're the one who told Summers to fuck off yesterday, right?"

"He was being a dick."

"He's always being a dick," Pietro muttered.

"True," Dawn agreed, sitting down. "What're we talking about?"

"Todd's trying to convince us that toads are better than frogs," Fred said through a mouthful of sandwich.

"Toads are objectively superior!" Todd argued. "Frogs are slimy and weird-looking—"

"You're literally called Toad," Pietro interrupted.

"Exactly! Which proves my point!"

Dawn found herself smiling. The conversation was stupid and pointless and she loved it. No drama about outfits or relationships. Just ridiculous arguing about amphibians.

"What about you, Dawn?" Lance asked. "You got an opinion on the great frog-toad debate?"

"Never really thought about it."

"See, this is why we need more perspectives," Todd said earnestly.

They fell into easy conversation. Fred asked about her powers and got genuinely excited when she mentioned super strength ("We should arm wrestle sometime!"). Pietro made snarky comments but in a way that felt more like testing than genuine hostility. Lance was quieter but seemed to approve of her presence.

"—and then Jean had the audacity to say I was 'too simple' to understand the strategy," Fred was saying, voice bitter. "Like just because I'm not a genius, I can't think."

Dawn's jaw tightened. "She said that?"

"Not in those words. But that's what she meant. She was talking to Scott about it after that fight, didn't realize I could hear them." Fred poked at his food. "Called me a 'blunt instrument' who wasn't capable of complex thought."

"Jean's a spoiled princess," Dawn said flatly. "She thinks being telepathic and perfect makes her better than everyone else."

"THANK YOU!" Fred gestured emphatically. "That's exactly it!"

"I wish I was small enough for people to even consider picking me up," Dawn continued, her voice dripping with jealousy. "Must be nice—"

"Right?!" Fred was getting animated now. "I could pick you up no problem. At least someone appreciates it." He shot a glare toward the X-Kids table.

"You don't have to, I know I'm really heavy. Don't worry about it."

Fred's face broke into the biggest smug grin before getting up and plucking Dawn out of her seat. She yelped in surprised but then genuinely looked excited about being held up so high. "You know what? You're alright, DogTeeth."

"Jean doesn't know shit about what anyone else is capable of," Lance added. "She just assumes based on her own limited worldview."

"Exactly," Dawn agreed, barely containing an entirely out of character giggle as she was held up and looked around from the new view point before eventually being set back down.

They continued talking—about powers, about school, about nothing and everything. Dawn felt herself relaxing in a way she never did with the X-Kids. No pressure to be better, to be more controlled, to fit a mold she'd never asked to be part of.

"Dawn!"

She looked up. Kurt had appeared at the edge of their table, looking uncomfortable.

"Ve have been looking for you," he said. "Jean vants to apologize—"

"I'm good here, thanks."

"But—"

"Kurt." Dawn's voice was firm. "I'm hanging out with my friends. I'll see you guys later."

"Your... friends?" Kurt's eyes widened. "But zey're Brotherhood—"

"So?"

"So zey're ze enemy—"

"They're not my enemy. They're just kids. Same as us." Dawn crossed her arms. "And right now, they're better company."

The rest of the Brotherhood was watching this exchange with varying expressions of surprise and smugness. Todd looked like he might actually explode from happiness.

"Dawn, please," Kurt tried again. "Professor Xavier vouldn't vant—"

"Professor Xavier can talk to me about it later if he has that big of an issue. Right now, I'm eating lunch."

More X-Kids were appearing now—Jean, Scott, Kitty, even Rogue hanging back looking uncomfortable.

"Dawn, we're just trying to help," Jean said, her tone condescending. "These boys are dangerous—"

"These boys just spent the last twenty minutes having a debate about frogs versus toads. They're about as dangerous as a puppy."

"Hey!" Pietro protested. "We're very dangerous!"

"You're really not," Dawn said flatly, and despite himself, Pietro cracked a smile.

"Dawn—" Scott started.

"No." She stood up, and even at 5'3" she managed to look intimidating. "I'm not doing this. I'm not going to sit here and listen to you guys trash-talk people you don't even know just because they're on a different 'team.' These guys—" she gestured at the Brotherhood "—have been cooler to me in thirty minutes than you've been in two weeks."

"That's not fair—" Jean started.

"Isn't it? You spend all lunch gossiping and complaining, then get mad when I don't want to participate. Meanwhile, these guys actually asked about my powers, included me in their stupid conversations, and didn't try to make me into something I'm not."

Silence. The outdoor lunch area had gotten quieter—people nearby were watching now.

Dawn sat back down, deliberately turning her back on the X-Kids.

"Sorry about that," she said to the Brotherhood, not even bothering to hide the animosity in her tone. "Where were we?"

"You were about to settle the frog-toad debate," Lance said, grinning.

"Right. I'm team toad, obviously. They're uglier, which makes them more interesting."

"HA!" Todd pumped his fist. "I knew you were smart!"

Behind them, the X-Kids lingered for another moment, exchanging glances, before finally retreating. Dawn didn't watch them go.

She'd made her choice.

The Brotherhood were her friends now.

And honestly? She felt better about that than she had about anything since arriving in Bayville.

"So," Fred said, still grinning from the validation. "Does this mean you're gonna start sitting with us every day?"

Dawn thought about it. The Institute wouldn't like it. Xavier would probably want to have a "conversation." The other X-Kids would definitely be weird about it.

But she'd never felt more comfortable than she did right now, surrounded by these chaotic, genuine, unapologetically themselves boys.

"Yeah," she said. "Yeah, I think I will."

Todd's smile could have lit up the entire outdoor lunch area.

"Welcome to the cool kids table," he said.

"This is absolutely not the cool kids table," Pietro said.

"It is now," Dawn said firmly.

And that was that.

Chapter Text

(This takes place before Dawn starts sitting at the Brotherhood table / is introduced to them)

Dawn had been skipping third period for two weeks now, and Todd Tolansky had been her accomplice for the last five days of it.

It wasn't planned. She'd been hiding out behind the gym—the one place at Bayville High where the teachers didn't bother looking—when he'd stumbled across her spot. Most people would've reported her or made it weird. Todd had just grinned, said "sick, a hideout," and plopped down next to her like they'd been friends for years.

They hadn't been friends. Dawn didn't really do friends. But Todd made her laugh, and he didn't ask invasive questions about the red eyes or the fangs or why she was at Xavier's Institute, and that was... rare.

"I'm just saying," Todd was explaining, gesturing animatedly with a stolen bag of chips, "if they're gonna make us read Shakespeare, they should at least pick the one with the most murder. That's just good teaching."

"Macbeth has a lot of murder," Dawn pointed out, eyes in their usual slits against the autumn sunlight filtering through the chain-link fence.

"Right? But nooo, we gotta read Romeo and Juliet. Two idiots who knew each other for like three days and decided to die about it."

"To be fair, everyone dies in Macbeth too."

"Yeah, but those deaths are cool." Todd crunched another chip. "Romeo and Juliet is just sad. Macbeth is a horror show. There's a difference."

Dawn felt her mouth twitch into a smile. "You've actually read Macbeth?"

"Saw a movie version once. Close enough." He offered her the chip bag. She shook her head. "Your loss. These are the good kind—the ones that turn your fingers orange."

"Tempting."

"I know, right?" He polished off the rest of the bag, then checked his watch—a beat-up digital thing that looked like it had been through a war. "We got like fifteen minutes before lunch. You gonna actually show up for that?"

"Maybe. Depends."

"On what?"

"Whether Scott Summers is gonna lecture me again about 'setting a good example.'" Dawn made her voice go mockingly deep. "The Brotherhood students are bad influences, Dawn. You should distance yourself from inappropriate associations."

Todd snorted. "Inappropriate associations? Is that what we're calling it?"

"Apparently."

"Man, the X-kids really have sticks up their—"

The warning bell cut him off, shrill and aggressive. Dawn winced at the sound, her enhanced hearing making it feel like an icepick through her skull. Todd noticed, because somehow he always noticed.

"You good?"

"Fine. Just loud."

"Yeah, these bells are brutal." He stood, brushing chip crumbs off his jeans—layered, she noticed, long sleeves under his t-shirt despite the decent weather. "Come on, let's at least hit the cafeteria. I'm starving."

He started toward the building, and Dawn followed, still rubbing her temple from the bell. The crowd of students was already flooding toward the cafeteria entrance, a bottleneck of bodies and noise. Dawn felt her temperature rising, that familiar prickle of too many people in too small a space.

Someone shoved past Todd, hard enough that he stumbled. Dawn's hand shot out on instinct, grabbing his arm to steady him.

And froze.

Her fingers wrapped almost completely around his bicep. Under the layers of fabric, she could feel—

Bone. Just bone and thin muscle and barely any substance at all.

Todd righted himself, grinning. "Thanks, saved me from eating concrete." He didn't seem to notice her expression, already moving forward again.

Dawn's hand fell away slowly. She stared at her own fingers like they'd betrayed her, still feeling the ghost of how *thin* his arm had been under her grip.

She'd assumed—the layers made him look normal. Healthy, even. The long sleeves under t-shirts, the slightly baggy jeans, the oversized hoodie he wore sometimes. She'd thought it was just his style.

But that was wrong. That was *camouflage*.

"You coming?" Todd called back, already halfway to the cafeteria doors.

Dawn shook herself and followed, but something had shifted. She found herself watching him differently now—the way he moved, quick and light like he didn't weigh much because he didn't weigh much. The way his clothes hung on him in a way she'd dismissed as teenage-boy-doesn't-know-how-to-dress but now recognized as something else entirely.

In the cafeteria line, Todd grabbed a tray and loaded it with the cheapest options. A sad-looking burger, some fries, a bruised apple. Dawn watched him count out exact change from his pocket, mostly quarters and dimes.

Her own lunch was packed—the Institute provided meals, and she'd grabbed a turkey sandwich, an apple, a bag of pretzels, and a granola bar this morning out of habit more than hunger. She never ate all of it anyway.

They found a table in the corner, away from the main X-Men group and the Brotherhood kids Todd apparently lived with but never sat with at lunch. Neutral territory.

Todd demolished his burger in approximately four bites.

Dawn pushed her sandwich across the table. "Here."

He looked up, mouth still full. "Wha?"

"I'm not hungry. You want it?"

Todd swallowed. "You sure? That's like, an actual good sandwich. Not cafeteria garbage."

"I'm sure. I ate a big breakfast." She hadn't, but the lie came easily.

"Well, if you're not gonna eat it..." He grabbed the sandwich without further argument, already unwrapping it. "Thanks dude."

She watched him eat—not desperately, but efficiently. Like someone who'd learned not to waste food because there might not be more later. Like someone who was always hungry.

Her stomach twisted uncomfortably. This wasn't pity. Dawn didn't do pity. But this was... something. Concern, maybe. The kind she wasn't used to feeling for people who weren't herself.

"What?" Todd asked, catching her staring.

"Nothing." She pushed the bag of pretzels over too. "You want these?"

"Are you just not eating today, or...?"

"Big breakfast," she repeated. "Seriously. Take them."

Todd shrugged and grabbed the pretzels, crunching happily. "You're alright, you know that?"

"I'm fine."

"No, like—you're cool. Most people at this school are either scared of me or think I'm gross. You just... hang out." He gestured with a pretzel. "It's nice."

Dawn felt something crack open in her chest. Something uncomfortable and warm and entirely unwelcome.

"You're not gross," she said quietly.

"Tell that to literally everyone else."

"Everyone else is stupid."

Todd grinned, that same grin that had made her agree to skip class with him in the first place. "See? Cool."

---

The next day, Dawn packed two lunches.

She told herself it was practical. She wasn't going to eat all of it anyway, and Todd was clearly not getting enough food, and it was just logical to bring extra. Nothing weird about it. Just being efficient.

She found him at their usual spot behind the gym during third period. He was doing homework—actually doing homework—with a textbook balanced on his knees.

"You're actually studying?" Dawn dropped down next to him.

"Shocking, right?" He didn't look up from the page. "Got a test next period. Figured I should at least try to not fail."

"What subject?"

"History. It's all dates and dead white guys. I can't keep any of it straight."

Dawn peered at his textbook. World War I. "What do you need to know?"

"Literally everything, apparently." He sighed, closing the book. "Whatever. I'll wing it. I'm good at winging it."

"You're gonna fail if you wing it."

"Probably." He didn't sound particularly bothered. "Not like it matters anyway."

Dawn frowned. "Why doesn't it matter?"

Todd shrugged, that casual dismissal that she was starting to recognize as deflection. "Just doesn't. You bring lunch today?"

"Yeah." She pulled out the two bags she'd packed—one for her, one for him, though she'd made sure they looked different enough that he wouldn't notice the pattern. "I'm not hungry though. You want mine?"

"Again?"

"I told you, big breakfast."

"You say that a lot." But he was already reaching for the bag, checking inside. His expression brightened. "Whoa, is this roast beef? Where are you getting this stuff?"

"Institute kitchen. They let us pack whatever." Another lie. She'd specifically asked Storm if she could take extra food for "training days" and gotten approval. "It's just gonna go to waste otherwise."

"Well, if you insist..." Todd unwrapped the sandwich—thick slices of roast beef, actual cheese, vegetables that weren't wilted. Dawn had made it carefully that morning, packing it with the kind of attention she usually reserved for fixing broken machinery.

She ate her own lunch slowly, watching him from the corner of her vision. He ate like yesterday—efficient, practiced, not savoring but not rushing either. Just eating.

When he finished, he leaned back against the gym wall, looking more relaxed than she'd seen him. "You're like, an actual lifesaver. You know that?"

"It's just a sandwich."

"Nah, it's not." He turned to look at her, something serious flickering across his usually-grinning face. "Thanks. For real."

Dawn felt that uncomfortable warmth again, spreading through her chest like an infection. She didn't know what to do with it. Didn't know what it meant that she cared whether this weird, funny kid with green skin and too-thin arms was eating enough.

"Don't fail your test," she said instead of addressing any of that.

"I'll try my best." He reopened the textbook. "Which is not saying much, but hey."

Dawn scooted closer, looking at the page. "Okay, what do you actually need to know?"

---

It became routine.

Third period, behind the gym. Dawn brought two lunches. Todd stopped questioning it after the third day, just accepted the food with that grin and a "you're the best, Dawn."

She started paying more attention—to the way he never bought more than the minimum at lunch, to how he'd eye other people's trays when they threw away half-eaten food, to the careful way he rationed whatever snacks he managed to get his hands on.

The Brotherhood house, she learned through careful non-invasive questions, didn't have a lot of food. Mystique didn't exactly prioritize grocery shopping. The boys mostly fended for themselves, which meant Todd either ate at school or didn't eat.

Dawn started packing bigger lunches. Sandwiches, fruit, granola bars, sometimes leftovers from Institute dinners that she claimed she "didn't want." Todd never questioned it, just ate whatever she brought with that same efficient gratitude.

Two weeks into the routine, Dawn made a mistake.

They were walking to the cafeteria—she'd actually decided to show up for lunch period for once—when Pietro Maximoff came streaking past, silver blur that knocked Todd sideways into the lockers.

Dawn reacted on instinct. Her hand shot out, grabbing Todd's waist to pull him away from hitting the metal.

And felt nothing. Just fabric over ribs, each one distinct under her palm. His waist was narrow enough that her hand nearly wrapped all the way around him if she were to try, and there was no softness, no healthy layer of anything, just bone and skin and that was wrong—

Todd laughed it off, pushing away from the lockers. "Pietro's such a dick. Thanks."

Dawn's hand fell away slowly. She felt sick. Actually, genuinely sick, heat rising in her throat.

"You okay?" Todd was looking at her with concern now. "You look weird."

"Fine." She forced the word out. "I'm fine."

But she wasn't fine. She was furious—at Mystique for not taking care of them, at the system that let kids fall through cracks this big, at Todd for acting like this was normal, at *herself* for not noticing sooner.

That night, Dawn cornered Storm in the Institute kitchen.

"I need to take more food," she said without preamble. "For training. Extra portions."

Storm raised an eyebrow. "More than you're already taking?"

"Yes."

"Dawn—"

"Please." The word came out harder than intended. "I'm not—I'll eat it. I just need more. For energy. Training with Logan is intense."

Storm studied her for a long moment, and Dawn kept her expression neutral, meeting her eyes as much as she could with her perpetual squint. Finally, Storm nodded.

"Take what you need. But Dawn—if there's something else going on—"

"There's not."

"—you can talk to us. That's what we're here for."

Dawn nodded and escaped before Storm could press further. She didn't need to talk. She needed to make sure Todd Tolansky ate more than one meal a day.

---

Monday morning, Dawn packed the biggest lunch she'd ever assembled. Two sandwiches, an apple, an orange, a bag of chips, pretzels, three granola bars, and a container of leftover pasta from dinner.

Todd took one look at the spread during third period and laughed. "Okay, now I know you're not eating all this."

"I'm hungry today."

"Dude, this is like, four meals."

"I train a lot. High metabolism." She pushed the container of pasta toward him. "Here. I don't like leftovers anyway."

"You brought me pasta?" He looked genuinely shocked. "Like, actual home-cooked pasta?"

"Institute food. It's not that special."

"It's homemade pasta in a real container. This is extremely special." He opened it carefully, like it might disappear. "Holy shit, this smells amazing."

"There's a fork in the bag."

Todd found it and immediately dug in, and Dawn watched him eat with something like satisfaction settling in her chest. He wasn't scarfing it down desperately—he had more self-control than that—but she could see the way his shoulders relaxed, the way he closed his eyes briefly like the food was the best thing he'd tasted in weeks.

It probably was.

"You know," Todd said eventually, mouth half-full, "you're like, way too nice to me."

"I'm not nice."

"Yeah you are. You bring me food every day. That's the definition of nice."

"It's just extra food. I wasn't going to eat it anyway."

"Still nice." He pointed his fork at her. "You can just admit you're a good person, you know. It's not gonna kill you."

Dawn looked away, uncomfortable. She wasn't a good person. Good people didn't have the kind of thoughts she had when she got angry. Good people didn't struggle with the urge to hurt things. Good people didn't carry around the weight of what she'd been forced to do under her father's control.

But maybe—maybe she could be the kind of person who made sure her friend ate. That seemed manageable.

"Just eat your pasta," she muttered.

Todd grinned, that same bright grin that made her want to protect him from every shitty thing in the world. "Yes ma'am."

---

By the end of the month, it was completely routine. Dawn brought food, Todd ate it, neither of them acknowledged what was really happening.

But Todd looked better. Not healthy—he was still too thin, still wearing layers to hide it—but better. His face didn't look quite so hollow. He had more energy during their skipped classes, bouncing around and telling elaborate stories instead of conserving movement.

And Dawn—Dawn had discovered something she hadn't expected.

It felt good to take care of someone. To see him eat the food she'd carefully packed. To know that at least one person in her orbit was getting what they needed, even if she had to be sneaky about it.

She'd spent so long being controlled, being used, being forced to hurt people. This was different. This was choosing to help someone with no strings attached. No ulterior motives. Just—care. Simple, uncomplicated care.

"Hey Dawn?" Todd said one afternoon, finishing off the last of the turkey sandwich she'd brought.

"Yeah?"

"Thanks. For, like—" He gestured vaguely at the empty containers. "This. All of this. I know you know what you're doing."

Dawn froze. "I don't know what—"

"Yeah you do." His voice was soft, not accusing. "I'm not stupid. You're bringing me food because you figured out I don't get a lot at home. And you're being cool about it and not making it weird." He met her eyes, serious in a way he rarely was. "So thanks. Really. It matters."

Dawn didn't know what to say. Her throat felt tight, heat building behind her eyes in a way that had nothing to do with anger.

"You're my friend," she said finally, quietly. "Friends take care of each other."

Todd's expression did something complicated. "Yeah. They do." He bumped her shoulder with his. "You're still the coolest person at this shitty school, you know that?"

"Obviously."

"And humble too."

"It's one of my best qualities."

They sat there in comfortable silence, shoulder to shoulder behind the gym, and Dawn let herself feel it—that unfamiliar warmth that she was starting to recognize as something like happiness.

She'd made a friend. A real friend, who made her laugh and didn't ask invasive questions and appreciated her weird method of caring.

And tomorrow, she'd pack another lunch. And the day after that. And the day after that.

For as long as Todd needed it, she'd make sure he ate.

It was, Dawn decided, the least terrifying thing she'd ever cared about.

And maybe—just maybe—that meant she wasn't as broken as she thought.

Chapter Text

Storm found Logan in the garage, working on his motorcycle with the kind of focused intensity that usually meant he didn't want to be bothered.

She bothered him anyway.

"We need to talk about Dawn."

Logan didn't look up from the engine. "She in trouble?"

"Not exactly." Storm crossed her arms, leaning against the workbench. "She's been lying to me. About the food."

That got his attention. Logan straightened, wiping grease off his hands with a rag. "What about it?"

"She's been taking extra portions. A lot of extra portions. Said it was for training, for energy." Storm's expression was troubled. "I didn't think much of it at first, but then I saw her at school yesterday. She gave her entire lunch to that Tolansky boy. The one from the Brotherhood."

Logan's expression didn't change. "And?"

"And?" Storm's frustration bled through. "Logan, she's been lying to us for weeks. That boy is clearly malnourished—I've seen him at the school. Those children are living in squalor with minimal supervision and—"

"Storm." Logan's voice cut through her building momentum. "She's feeding him. What's the problem?"

Storm stared at him. "The problem is that these are children living in completely unacceptable conditions. Mystique isn't providing proper care. They're working for Magneto. This is—"

"Not our business."

"How can you say that?" Storm looked genuinely distressed now. "They're children, Logan. Someone needs to help them properly. The Institute could—"

"Could what?" Logan set down the rag, giving her his full attention. "Bring 'em all in? Feed 'em, clean 'em up, give 'em the Xavier treatment?"

"Yes! We have the resources, the space—"

"They tried to be X-Men." Logan's voice was flat. "Every single one of those kids showed up here first. They all left for one reason or another and no one stopped them. Said they weren't right for the team, weren't ready, whatever excuse they used. You think they're gonna accept help from us now?"

She stopped, shaking her head. "Those children are living in that house with barely any supervision, and clearly no one is making sure they eat properly. This is neglect. We should be doing something."

"Dawn is doing something."

"Dawn is a teenage girl sneaking food to her friend because the adults in his life have failed him." Storm's voice rose slightly. "We're the adults here, Logan. We should be stepping in. Properly."

"Properly how?" Logan set down the rag, giving her his full attention. "You want to call someone? Report it? Those kids work for Magneto. You think CPS is gonna show up for known mutant criminals?"

"Then we bring them here. Offer them resources, meals, stability—"

"They won't come." Logan's tone was flat, certain. "And even if they would, you know damn well why they can't accept help from the X-Men."

Storm's jaw tightened. 

"Storm." Logan's voice cut through her building momentum. "She's feeding him. What's the problem?"

"So we just... do nothing?" Storm's frustration was palpable. "Watch them struggle?"

"We're not doing nothing. Dawn's doing something." Logan picked up a wrench, turning it over in his hands. "She's feeding her friend. Quiet, no politics, no judgment. That's the only kind of help those boys'll accept right now."

"But she's lying to me—"

"Yeah, because she knew you'd make it into a thing." Logan pointed the wrench at her. "Which you're doing right now."

Storm was quiet for a moment. When she spoke again, her voice was softer. "I don't like this, Logan. I don't like that children are living like that and we're not—"

"Neither do I." Logan's expression was grim. "But Dawn found a way to help that actually works. You wanna do something? Help her do it better. Get her more food, no questions. Let her handle it her way."

"And if it's not enough? If the situation gets worse?"

"Then we deal with it. But right now, that kid's eating more than he was a month ago because Dawn gave a damn." Logan met her eyes. "Sometimes that's all you can do. Take care of the person in front of you."

Storm absorbed this, her shoulders dropping slightly.  "You approve of this?"

"I approve of a kid taking care of her friend." He paused. "And I approve of her being smart enough to do it in a way that doesn't humiliate him or turn it into some X-Men charity case."

"The other Brotherhood children—"

"Are Tolansky's family. If he's eating better, he'll make sure they eat better. That's how these things work." Logan finally looked at her. "You want to help those kids? The best thing you can do is stay out of Dawn's way and make sure she has what she needs to keep helping them herself."

Storm's shoulders sagged slightly. "It doesn't feel like enough."

"It's not. But it's what we've got." His voice softened, just barely. "Sometimes the right thing looks like doing nothing. Letting someone else handle it because they can do it better than you can. "You want to help?" Logan didn't look up. "Make sure Dawn has access to whatever food she needs. Don't ask questions. Don't make it official. Let her keep doing what she's doing."

Storm was quiet for another moment, then nodded. "I'll talk to her. Let her know she can take what she needs. No more lying."

"I'll talk to her," Logan corrected. "She'll actually listen to me."

Storm's mouth twitched despite herself. "Fair point." She started toward the door, then paused. "Logan? For what it's worth... I'm glad she has you. Someone who understands her."

"Kid's alright. She just needs people to trust her judgment instead of trying to fix her."

"Is that what I do?"

Logan gave her a look. "You tell me."

Storm left without answering, and Logan returned to his motorcycle. But twenty minutes later, he cleaned up, headed inside, and went looking for Dawn.

He'd need to catch Dawn after her next training session. Make sure she knew she had backup without turning this into more of a circus than it already was.

---

Dawn was still cooling down from training, sweat soaking through her shirt despite the cold October air, when Logan approached. They'd spent the last two hours going through combat drills—her in human form because transforming was still too vulnerable, too painful to use casually.

"Good session," Logan said, tossing her a water bottle.

Dawn caught it, suspicious immediately. Logan didn't do small talk. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong." He leaned against the wall of the training building, arms crossed. "Storm came to me. About the food."

Dawn's stomach dropped. She forced herself to take a drink of water, buying time. "What about it?"

"She knows you're not eating all of it. Knows you're bringing it to Tolansky."

"I—" Dawn started to deny it, then stopped. This was Logan. He'd smell a lie from a mile away, and more importantly, she didn't want to lie to him. "Yeah. I am."

"Why?"

"Because he's not getting enough food at that house." The words came out defensive. "Mystique doesn't feed them properly. He's—" She gestured frustrated. "He's my friend. I'm not gonna just watch him starve."

Logan nodded like this was exactly the answer he'd expected. "Storm wants to help. The official way. Bring him in, feed him here, whole nine yards."

"No." Dawn's response was immediate, forceful. "That would—he can't. They all tried to be X-Men. Xavier turned them down. You think they're gonna accept help from here now? It would be a slap in the face for any of them."

"I know."

Dawn blinked. "You... know?"

"Told Storm the same thing." Logan pulled out a cigar, didn't light it, just rolled it between his fingers. "You're handling it. Keep handling it."

The relief was so intense Dawn felt her knees go weak. "So I'm not in trouble?"

"For taking care of your friend? No." Logan finally looked at her directly. "For lying to Storm? That wasn't smart. But I get why you did it."

"She would've made it a thing."

"Yeah, she would've." He was quiet for a moment. "Kid's gotta eat. You're making sure he eats. That's the beginning and end of the conversation as far as I'm concerned." Logan nodded at the containers. "How bad is it? How much more do you need?"

Dawn stared at him like he'd grown a second head. "You're... okay with this?"

"Don't see why I wouldn't be. You're taking care of your friend. That's good."

"He's Brotherhood."

"So?"

"So the X-Men—"

"I don't give a shit about X-Men versus Brotherhood politics," Logan said bluntly. "You like the kid, you're helping the kid. That's between you and him."

Dawn was quiet for a moment. "You're not gonna tell me to stop hanging out with him?"

"Why would I?"

"Because everyone else does. Scott, Jean, even Storm—they all think the Brotherhood kids are bad influences."

Logan snorted. "Kid, you're a bad influence all on your own. You don't need help with that."

Despite herself, Dawn's mouth twitched toward a smile.

"You got good instincts," Logan continued. "You saw someone needed help, you helped. Didn't make it weird, didn't make it about politics. Just took care of business." He leaned forward slightly. "I trust your judgment. If you think this Tolansky kid is worth your time, then he probably is."

"You don't even know him."

"I know you. That's enough for now."

Dawn stared at him. "Just like that?"

"Just like that." Logan finally stuck the cigar in his mouth, unlit. "But Dawn—you're spending a lot of time with these boys. With Tolansky specifically."

Here it was. The part where he told her to stay away, that they were bad influences, that she should stick with the X-Men.

"I trust your judgment," Logan said instead. "You're smart. You can take care of yourself. But if any of them try something—if Tolansky tries something—you come to me. Understood?"

"He's not like that," Dawn said quietly.

"Maybe not. But the offer stands." Logan pushed off the wall. "You keep doing what you're doing. Take care of your friend. Just don't lie to Storm about it anymore. She's gonna help you—let her."

"Okay." Dawn's voice came out smaller than intended. "Thank you. For not... making this weird."

"Nothing weird about it. Kid's gotta eat." Logan started to walk away, then paused. "And Dawn? This thing you're doing—taking care of people—that's good. Don't let anyone tell you otherwise."

He left before she could respond, leaving Dawn standing alone in the training yard with a water bottle and a crushing sense of relief.

The next morning, Storm caught Dawn in the kitchen loading up what was clearly two full meals' worth of food into her bag.

"Dawn."

Dawn tensed, turning slowly. "Ms.Monroe."

"I spoke with Logan." Storm's expression was softer than Dawn had expected. "I want you to know—I'm not upset with you. I'm upset with the situation."

"Okay."

"Those children shouldn't be living like that. They deserve better."

"They do," Dawn agreed carefully. "But they're not going to get better from the X-Men. Not after—" She stopped herself.

"Not after how things turned out," Storm finished quietly. "I know. Logan explained." She moved closer, her voice gentle. "What you're doing—taking care of your friend—that's admirable. I just wish you'd felt you could ask for help instead of lying."

"I didn't want to make it a thing."

"I understand that now." Storm pulled open the refrigerator, retrieving a container of leftover stew from dinner. "Here. This reheats well. And there's fresh bread in the pantry—take a whole loaf if you need it."

Dawn took the container slowly, something tight in her chest loosening. "Thanks."

"There's more where that came from. Whatever you need." Storm paused. "I can't help those children the way they need to be helped. But I can help you help them. If that makes sense."

"It does."

Storm squeezed her shoulder briefly—Dawn didn't flinch, which was progress—and left her to finish packing.

Dawn added the stew and bread to her bag, along with extra fruit and a bag of cookies that had been sitting on the counter. Her bag was heavy now, almost too heavy, but it felt good. Like she was doing something that mattered.

Her phone buzzed.

**Logan:** You get what you needed?

**Dawn:** yeah

**Dawn:** thanks

**Logan:** Don't thank me. Just keep doing what you're doing.

**Logan:** And kid?

**Dawn:** yeah?

**Logan:** You're doing good. Don't doubt that.

Dawn stared at the message for a long moment, then typed back:

**Dawn:** okay

She shouldered her bag and headed out, ready for another day of third-period behind the gym, terrible cafeteria food, and making sure Todd Tolansky ate enough to keep existing.

It wasn't much. But it was something.

---

The next day, Dawn arrived at their spot behind the gym with the biggest lunch she'd ever packed. Storm had helped her that morning, wordlessly providing containers and extra portions without comment.

Todd took one look at the spread and whistled. "Yo, did you rob the cafeteria? This is like, a feast."

"Just had extra." Dawn handed him a container of leftover chicken. "Eat."

"You don't have to tell me twice." Todd dug in immediately, and Dawn watched with that now-familiar satisfaction.

Her phone buzzed.

**Logan:** Storm says you got what you needed.

**Dawn:** yeah. thanks.

**Logan:** Keep me updated. And if those boys give you trouble, I mean it—you tell me.

**Dawn:** i can handle myself

**Logan:** I know you can. Doesn't mean you have to.

Dawn stared at the message for a long moment, something warm and unfamiliar settling in her chest. She had backup. People who trusted her judgment but would step in if she needed them.

It was strange, having people care like this. Having people who weren't trying to control her or use her, just... supporting her in doing what she thought was right.

"You good?" Todd asked around a mouthful of chicken. "You're doing that face thing."

"What face thing?"

"The one where you look like you're thinking too hard." He grinned. "It's very serious and intimidating."

"Shut up and eat your food."

"Yes ma'am."

Dawn allowed herself a small smile. Logan was right—she was handling this. And now she had help to keep handling it, without anyone taking over or making it weird.

Sometimes, she thought, taking care of people was exactly this simple. See someone who needs help. Help them. Don't make it complicated.

Todd finished the chicken and moved on to the sandwich, still talking between bites about some ridiculous thing Pietro had done that morning. Dawn half-listened, mostly just enjoying the fact that he was eating, that he looked a little more substantial than he had a month ago, that she'd managed to make even this small difference.

Her phone buzzed again.

**Logan:** You're doing good, kid.

Dawn didn't respond, just tucked the phone away and let herself feel it—the quiet pride of taking care of someone who needed it, the relief of having backup, the simple satisfaction of watching her friend eat.

It wasn't saving the world. It wasn't Xavier's grand mission or Magneto's revolution.

It was just making sure Todd Tolansky had enough to eat.

And right now, that was enough.

Chapter Text

Dawn had been begging to go on a real mission for weeks.

"You're not ready," Scott kept saying. "You need more training, more control—"

"I have plenty of control," Dawn would argue, even though they both knew it was a lie.

Xavier had been more diplomatic. "When the right opportunity presents itself, we'll consider it."

The right opportunity turned out to be a Brotherhood raid on a medical facility—something about stealing research data. Nothing too dangerous, Xavier assured them. A good chance for Dawn to see real field work.

Of course, there was a catch.

"You'll go in your wolf form," Xavier said during the briefing. "Your enhanced senses will help track the Brotherhood, and your strength will be useful if things escalate."

Dawn's stomach had dropped. "The whole mission?"

"Yes. I know the transformation is painful, but—"

"It's fine," she'd interrupted. She wasn't about to admit weakness in front of Scott and Jean, who were already looking for reasons to keep her benched. "I can handle it."

Wrath had vouched for her. He'd been the one who got her to actually participate in the team exercises, who convinced Xavier she could work with others. She owed him.

So she'd transformed before they even got in the X-Jet, biting back screams as not to alert anyone while every bone in her body shattered and reformed; she was seven feet of fur and fury, ready to prove herself.

The facility was downtown, all concrete and steel. Dawn's enhanced senses immediately picked up the Brotherhood—she could smell them, that distinctive combination of swamp water, ozone, and teenage boy that apparently transcended teams.

She couldn't speak in this form—vocal cords wrong, mouth wrong—but she'd worked out signals with the team. Three fingers held up then a gesture toward the east. They understood.

"Good," Scott said into the comm. "Storm, Jean, you take the west entrance. Kurt, Wrath, with me through the front. Dawn—you track them. Don't engage unless necessary."

Don't engage. Right.

Dawn split off from the group, moving silently through the shadows. Her paws made no sound on the concrete. She could hear everything—heartbeats, breathing, the soft squelch of someone with amphibian-adjacent skin moving through a hallway.

Todd.

She recognized him before she saw him—that same smell from school, mud made of decay and river water. The try-hard kid who'd flirted with Kitty and made Dawn laugh despite herself with his ceiling trick.

He was alone, separated from his team, looking nervous as he crept down the hallway. Easy target.

Dawn's predator brain kicked in. She could take him. Should take him—he was the enemy, this was a mission, she was supposed to stop them.

But...

She could play with him first. Just a little. He'd been tossed around in school fights, bounced off walls, always got back up. He was tougher than he looked. And something about his nervous energy made her want to see how he'd react to being hunted.

Dawn moved ahead of him, positioning herself around the next corner. Waited until he was close.

Then she let him hear her.

A low growl. Claws scraping concrete.

Todd froze. "Hello? Who's there?"

Dawn's lips pulled back in what might have been a grin. She stepped into view.

Todd's eyes went huge. "Oh shit—"

He ran. Dawn gave chase.

It was exhilarating—her powerful legs eating up the distance, Todd bouncing between walls and ceiling, trying to shake her. He was fast, creative, using his mutation well. But Dawn was faster.

She herded him down hallways, let him think he was escaping, then cut off his routes. Playing. Hunting. She wasn't trying to catch him yet, just seeing what he could do.

"This isn't fair!" Todd yelled, ricocheting off a wall. "You're huge!"

Dawn rumbled with amusement. Pushed harder, closing the distance.

Todd made a desperate leap for a ventilation shaft. Almost made it.

Dawn's clawed hand shot out, caught his ankle, yanked him back down.

He landed hard, tried to scramble away. Dawn was on him before he could move, pinning him to the ground with one massive paw on his chest.

Got him.

Todd stared up at her, breathing hard, eyes wide with fear. Up close, she could see how scrawny he really was. All bones and nervous energy, heart hammering against her paw like a trapped bird.

"Okay, okay, you got me," he said, trying for bravado and failing. "Can we maybe talk about this? I'm very reasonable—"

Dawn applied a little more pressure. Not much. Just enough to emphasize the point. Just to tease him.

She'd seen him get thrown around in school fights. Seen him bounce off lockers, hit the ground hard, always get back up laughing. She knew he could take it.

Except.

The crack was unmistakable.

It sounded like tree branches breaking. Wet and woody and wrong. Todd's words cut off into a scream—high-pitched and agonized—and Dawn felt something give way beneath her paw.

His ribs. Three of them.

She'd broken his ribs.

Dawn jerked back like she'd been burned. Stared at Todd, who was curled on his side, gasping, one hand pressed to his chest. Blood on his lips where he'd bitten through them.

"I—" she tried to say, but couldn't. The whine that came out was inarticulate, helpless. She couldn't explain, couldn't apologize. Just stood there frozen while Todd gasped in pain.

"What the hell is that thing?!" Lance's voice, distant but getting closer.

Dawn stood frozen. Todd was making sounds—little gasping whimpers that made something in her chest feel like it was being crushed. She'd hurt him. Really hurt him. Not playfully, not careful like she'd thought she was being.

She'd broken him.

"Dawn, status report!" Scott's voice in her comm, tinny and commanding.

She couldn't respond. Not in words—her vocal cords couldn't form them in this shape. Couldn't move. Could only stare at Todd's huddled form, at the damage she'd caused, at the blood—

"DAWN!" Wrath's voice, sharp with concern. "Where are you?"

Footsteps. Multiple sets. Both X-Men and Brotherhood converging on their location.

Todd was trying to crawl away, every movement clearly agonizing. Dawn wanted to help, to apologize, to fix it somehow, but she didn't trust herself to touch him again. Didn't trust her strength, her control, herself.

"There!" Lance came around the corner, saw Todd, saw Dawn. His expression twisted into fury. "You fucking monster—"

He slammed his hands against the floor. The ground buckled, throwing Dawn off balance. She stumbled back, still staring at Todd.

"Get away from him!" Lance snarled, creating a rock wall between them.

More voices. The X-Men arriving from one direction, Pietro zipping in from another. Someone—Fred, maybe—carefully lifting Todd. Todd's pained sounds as he was moved.

"Dawn?" Wrath was beside her suddenly, hand on her massive shoulder as he shifted from his own form. "What happened?"

She made a sound—distressed, guilty, impossible to translate into human words. But Wrath had known her long enough to know even if he couldn't understand her. The way she kept staring at where Todd had been. The trembling in her massive frame that had nothing to do with physical pain. He was one of the few people who could understand her perfectly due to their mutations but he didn't need to.

The mission dissolved into chaos. The Brotherhood retreated with their injured teammate. The X-Men secured the facility. Dawn stood motionless in the hallway, overwhelmed and trapped inside herself. She couldn't speak, couldn't explain, could only follow when ordered.

"We need to move," Scott ordered.

She moved. Mechanically. Following orders because her brain had shut down, locked in an endless loop of that sound. Crack. That scream. Those gasping whimpers.

The ride back to the Institute was a blur. Someone—Jean, maybe—tried to communicate telepathically, to ask what happened. Dawn's mind was too chaotic, too horrified, for coherent response.

Xavier was waiting when they arrived. "I'll need a full debrief—"

"Not now," Wrath said firmly. "Give her time."

"But—"

"Professor. Not now."

Dawn transformed back in her room. The breaking and reforming hurt like it always did—bones cracking back to human size, fur slicking off in sheets, skin knitting itself together. But once it was done, the physical pain faded quickly, leaving only the emotional agony. She sat on the floor, naked and shaking and replaying the mission over and over.

He'd looked so scared. So small. And she'd just—

She'd been playing. Having fun. Treating him like prey because some predator part of her brain thought it was a game.

And she'd broken him.

There was a knock on her door. "Dawn? It's me." Wrath.

She didn't answer, but he came in anyway. Sat down next to her on the floor, close but not touching.

"You want to talk about it?"

"I hurt him," Dawn said, voice hollow. "I didn't mean to. I thought—I'd seen him get thrown around before, I thought he could take it—"

"Who?"

"That Brotherhood kid. The frog one. Toad." Her hands were shaking. "I just—I was being careful. I thought I was being careful. But I heard his ribs break and—"

"Hey." Wrath's hand on her shoulder, grounding. "Accidents happen."

"It shouldn't have happened. I should've been more careful. I should've known—" Her voice cracked. "I've broken bones before. On purpose. When I meant to hurt someone. But this—I didn't want to hurt him. I was just playing and I fucked up and—"

She was crying now, which she hated, but couldn't stop.

"He's probably fine," Wrath tried. "These Brotherhood kids, they're tough—"

"I heard his ribs break." Dawn looked at her hands—human hands now, but she could still feel the memory of that fragile body beneath her paw. "What if I killed him? What if—"

"You didn't. Jean would've sensed it if—" Wrath paused. "Dawn, you need to breathe."

She couldn't. The panic was overwhelming, crushing her chest the way she'd crushed Todd's. She'd been so stupid, so careless, so convinced she had control when clearly she didn't—

"I can't go on missions anymore," she said suddenly. "Tell Xavier I can't. I'll hurt someone again, I'll mess up again—"

"You won't—"

"I will! I did!" Dawn pulled away from his touch. "I'm too strong. I don't know how to be careful enough. I shouldn't—I can't—"

Wrath didn't argue. Just sat with her while she spiraled, while the guilt ate her alive, while she replayed that crack over and over in her head.

Eventually—she didn't know how long—she exhausted herself. Sat there hollow and empty.

"For what it's worth," Wrath said quietly, "Xavier said the mission was a success. They didn't get the data. You stopped them."

"I don't care."

"I know."

Silence.

"That kid at school," Dawn said finally. "The one who made me laugh in the hallway. The ceiling trick."

"Yeah?"

"That was him. That's who I hurt."

"...Shit."

"Yeah."

More silence.

"He'll heal," Wrath said, though he didn't sound entirely convinced. "And you'll figure out how to control your strength better. This isn't the end, Dawn."

But it felt like it. It felt like she'd crossed some line she couldn't uncross.

The funny try-hard kid from school with the ceiling trick and the terrible flirting. She'd made him scream. Made him bleed. Broken his bones while he was helpless beneath her.

Monster, Lance had called her.

Maybe he was right.

---

One week later, Dawn saw Todd at school.

He was moving carefully, one hand occasionally pressed to his ribs. But he was alive. Walking. Laughing at something Fred said.

Relief hit her so hard she had to lean against a locker.

He was okay. Not dead. Not permanently damaged. Okay.

Todd caught her looking. For a moment, their eyes met across the hallway. He didn't recognize her—why would he? He'd never seen her human face, only the wolf. To him, she was just the new girl from the Institute.

He smiled. That same try-hard, hopeful smile from before.

Dawn looked away.

She couldn't face him. Couldn't reconcile the guilt with his obvious lack of recognition. Couldn't figure out how to tell him, when to apologize, if she even deserved to.

"You okay?" Kitty asked, appearing beside her.

"Fine," Dawn lied.

She wasn't fine. She wouldn't be fine for a long time. Every time she saw Todd, she'd remember that crack. That scream. The knowledge that she'd hurt him while playing, while being careless with her strength.

It would take months—meeting him in the stairwell, slowly building friendship, learning to trust herself around him again—before she could even begin to forgive herself.

And when she finally told him, when they were close enough that the secret felt like a lie between them, he'd look at her with understanding instead of blame. Would tell her it was okay, that he healed, that accidents happen.

But that was later.

For now, she just had to carry the guilt and hope that someday, she'd be brave enough to confess.

Chapter Text

They'd been hanging out for two months now. Two months of skipping class together, sharing lunch at the Brotherhood table, trading stupid jokes in empty stairwells. Two months of Dawn slowly, painfully, learning to be comfortable around Todd.

And two months of her avoiding any situation where she might have to touch him.

Todd noticed. Of course he noticed.

"You know I don't bite, right?" he'd joked once when she'd flinched away from his attempt at a friendly shoulder bump. "Well, okay, I could bite, but I wouldn't. Not you, anyway."

Dawn had laughed it off. Made some excuse about personal space. Ignored the hurt that flickered across his face before he covered it with that try-hard grin.

She was a coward. She knew it. She just didn't know how to stop being one.

It was Fred who finally forced the issue.

They were at the Brotherhood house—Dawn's first time actually being invited inside. It was exactly as much of a disaster as she'd expected, but somehow that made it more comfortable. No pressure to be perfect in a place that was already falling apart.

They were sprawled in the living room, some dumb movie playing on the TV. Dawn had positioned herself carefully in the armchair—alone, away from the couch where Todd and Fred were sharing space.

"Dawn, you want some pizza?" Todd called, holding up a slice.

"I'm good."

"You sure? Fred ate most of it but there's still—"

"I said I'm good."

The sharpness in her voice made everyone look over. Dawn felt her face heat up.

"Okay, jeez," Todd said, that practiced casual tone that meant he was hurt but pretending not to be. "Just offering."

Silence. The movie played on. Dawn could feel everyone's eyes on her, then carefully looking away, giving her space she didn't deserve.

"I'm gonna get some air," she muttered, standing up.

She made it to the back porch before Fred's voice stopped her.

"You know he thinks you hate him, right?"

Dawn turned. Fred was standing in the doorway, too big for the frame, expression more serious than she'd ever seen it.

"I don't—"

"You act like he's got the plague. Every time he gets close, you pull away. Every time he tries to share something or be friendly, you shut him down." Fred crossed his arms. "If you don't want to hang out with us, that's fine. But don't string him along just to make him feel like shit."

"That's not what I'm doing—"

"Then what ARE you doing? Because as far as I can see, you're being kind of cruel, and I didn't think you were cruel. Did those X-Men put you up to it?"

The words hit like a slap. Dawn's hands clenched into fists.

"I'm not trying to be cruel."

"Then what?"

"I'm trying not to hurt him again!"

The words burst out before she could stop them. Fred blinked, clearly not expecting that.

"What?"

"I—" Dawn's throat felt tight. "I already hurt him once. Bad. And I can't—I don't trust myself not to do it again."

"When did you hurt him?"

"That first mission. The medical facility. I was—" She couldn't look at Fred. "I was in my other form. I caught him. I thought I was being careful but I wasn't and I—I broke his ribs."

Silence.

"That was you?" Fred's voice was quiet.

"Yeah. That was me. And I heard it, Fred. I heard his bones break and I—" Her voice cracked. "I've never felt so horrified in my life. I thought I killed him. And he doesn't even know it was me, and I've been too much of a coward to tell him, I have no idea how to bring it up with out causing a fight, so instead I just avoid him like an asshole—"

"You need to tell him."

"I can't—"

"Dawn." Fred moved closer, and despite his size, there was nothing threatening about it. "You need to tell him. This—" he gestured at the house "—this weird distance thing you're doing? It's hurting him worse than any broken rib ever could."

"But what if—"

"What if nothing. Tell him. Let him decide how he feels about it." Fred's expression softened. "For what it's worth? I think he'll forgive you. Todd's good at that. It's everyone else who sucks at apologizing."

He left her there on the porch, door clicking shut behind him.

Dawn stood in the cold evening air, shaking. Fred was right. She knew he was right. She'd been carrying this guilt for months, letting it poison what could have been an actual friendship, hurting Todd by trying to protect him from hurt.

She was an idiot.

Dawn took a breath, then another, then went back inside.

Todd was still on the couch, staring at the TV without really watching. The others had made themselves scarce—even Fred had disappeared, probably herding everyone out to give them privacy.

"Hey," Dawn said quietly.

Todd glanced over, then back at the TV. "Hey."

"Can we talk?"

"If you want." His voice was carefully neutral. "You don't have to though. I get it."

"Get what?"

"That you don't really want to hang out with me. It's cool. I'm used to it."

Something in Dawn's chest cracked. "Todd—"

"I mean, I get it. I'm annoying and gross and I try too hard—"

"That's not—"

"And you probably just felt bad for me or whatever, and that's fine, but you don't have to keep pretending—"

"I broke your ribs."

Todd stopped mid-sentence. Stared at her. "What?"

Dawn forced herself to sit down on the couch—not close, but closer than she'd let herself get in months. "That first mission I went on. The medical facility. I was in my wolf form and I caught you and I—" She had to push the words out. "I broke your ribs. I heard them snap. I felt it. And I've been terrified of hurting you again ever since."

Todd's mouth opened. Closed. Opened again. "That was you?"

"Yeah."

"The big scary werewolf thing that chased me through the hallways?"

"Yeah."

"That—" Todd's expression went through several rapid changes. Confusion. Realization. Something that might have been understanding. "You've been avoiding me because you felt bad about that?"

"I didn't just feel bad, Todd. I felt like a monster. I was playing with you like you were prey and I got careless and I hurt you and—" The words were tumbling out now, months of guilt spilling over. "I thought I killed you. For like a full minute, I thought I'd actually killed you. And then I saw you at school and you were okay but you had no idea it was me, and I didn't know how to tell you, and every time I got close to you I remembered that crack and I was terrified I'd fuck up again—"

"Dawn." Todd's hand landed on her shoulder. She flinched, but he didn't pull away. "Breathe."

"I'm sorry," she managed. "I'm so sorry. I should've been more careful. I should've known how strong I was, I should've—"

"Hey. Hey, look at me." He moved so that he was on his knees and fully facing her. Wanting to grab her and make her but resisting the urge.

She did. Todd's expression was soft, concerned, completely without the anger or fear she'd been expecting.

"That was months ago," he said gently. "I healed. Like, completely. Took a week, maybe? I barely even remember it."

"I remember it every time I look at you."

"Then stop remembering it." He squeezed her shoulder. "Dawn, I've had way worse than some broken ribs. Pietro once threw me into a brick wall going like fifty miles an hour. Lance dropped a rock wall on me. Fred's sat on me. Multiple times."

"That's not the same—"

"Isn't it? We're mutants. We fight. We get hurt. It happens." His thumb rubbed a small circle on her shoulder—comforting, casual. "And for what it's worth? I'd way rather get hurt by accident by someone who actually cares than on purpose by people who don't."

Dawn felt something hot behind her eyes. "I care so much it's stupid. Embarrassing."

"Yeah?" Todd's smile was soft, genuine. "That's like, the least stupid thing I've ever heard."

"I thought you'd hate me if you knew."

"Nah. I could never hate you." He said it with such simple certainty that Dawn felt the last of her defenses crumble. "I thought YOU hated ME. That you figured out I was annoying and gross and were trying to find a nice way to ditch me."

"You're not gross."

"I secrete slime."

"Okay, you're a little gross. But in an endearing way. I like it."

Todd laughed—that wheezing, genuine laugh that made Dawn smile despite everything. "So we're good? You're not gonna avoid me anymore?"

"I'm not gonna avoid you anymore," Dawn confirmed, biting down the embarrassment. Then, making herself be brave, she added, "Can I... can I hug you? I've wanted to for like two months but I was too scared I'd break you."

"Dude, I'm not made of glass—"

"I know, I know, it's just—"

Todd solved the problem by pulling her into a hug himself. His arms wrapped around her shoulders, his chin resting on top of her head. He was smaller than her, lighter, but the hug was solid and real and exactly what she needed.

Dawn hugged back, carefully at first, then more firmly when Todd didn't shatter or flinch or pull away. He was warm and slightly damp and smelled like that river-mud scent that reminded her of home.

"For the record," Todd said into her hair, "no one's ever apologized to me before. Like, ever. For anything."

Dawn pulled back enough to look at him. "What?"

"Yeah. Most people just hit me and move on, or ignore it, or whatever. You're like, the first person who's ever actually said sorry for hurting me." His smile was a little wobbly. "So that's... that's really cool. Even if you didn't need to, it's really cool that you did."

Something in Dawn's chest felt too big for her ribcage. "People should apologize to you more."

"People should do a lot of things." Todd shrugged, trying for casual and not quite making it. "But you did, and that matters. A lot."

They stayed like that for a moment—close, comfortable, the months of awkward distance finally dissolved. Dawn could hear the others moving around upstairs, clearly listening, probably taking bets on how this conversation would go.

"So," Todd said eventually, "does this mean you'll actually sit on the couch with us now? Instead of banishing yourself to the armchair?"

"Yeah. Yeah, I can do that."

"And share pizza?"

"Don't push it. You guys eat like animals."

"Fair enough." Todd's grin was bright and genuine. "But you'll hang out? Actually hang out, not weird hovering-from-a-distance hanging out?"

"Actually hang out," Dawn confirmed. "I promise."

"Cool. That's—yeah. That's really cool."

They settled back on the couch together—closer than Dawn had let herself get before, but not touching. Just existing in the same space without the weight of guilt crushing her lungs.

The movie was still playing. The others gradually filtered back—Fred giving Dawn a subtle thumbs up, Lance pretending he hadn't been listening, Pietro making some comment about "finally" that earned him a thrown pillow.

It felt normal. Easy. Like maybe she could actually have this—friends, belonging, closeness without catastrophe.

"Hey Dawn?" Todd said quietly while the others argued about what movie to watch next.

"Yeah?"

"Thanks. For telling me. And for caring enough to feel guilty, even though you didn't need to." He glanced at her, something vulnerable in his expression. "It means a lot. You mean a lot."

Dawn bumped her shoulder against his—gentle, careful, but contact nonetheless. "You mean a lot too. That's why I was so scared."

"Well, stop being scared. I'm tougher than I look."

"I'm starting to figure that out."

They stayed like that—shoulders touching, comfortable silence between them—while the Brotherhood argued and laughed and existed around them. The guilt was still there, probably would be for a while, but it was manageable now. Shared.

And Todd had forgiven her. More than that—he'd been grateful for the apology, like it was something rare and precious instead of the bare minimum.

Dawn made a silent promise to herself: she'd never take that for granted. Would never make him feel like his pain didn't matter, like hurting him was acceptable, like he deserved anything less than genuine care and respect.

He'd had enough of that from everyone else.

From her, he'd get better.

She'd make sure of it.

Chapter Text

The mission was supposed to be simple: intercept a weapons shipment, neutralize the guards, secure the cargo. Standard SHIELD cooperation stuff that the X-Men handled regularly.

Nobody mentioned Mystique would be there.

Or Sabertooth.

Or Pyro.

"SCATTER!" Scott's voice over comms as Pyro sent a wall of flame toward the team.

Dawn rolled left, came up in a crouch. Assessed the threats immediately—Mystique morphing between forms to confuse, Pyro controlling the flames, and Sabertooth.

Sabertooth, who locked eyes with her across the warehouse.

Something passed between them. Recognition, maybe. Two predators spotting each other. His lips pulled back in a feral grin, showing elongated canines that matched her own.

"Well, well," Sabertooth's voice was a growl. "Baby's first real fight."

Dawn felt her own lips pull back, teeth bared. "I'm not a baby."

"Compared to me? Yeah, you are."

He moved. Dawn moved.

They collided in the center of the warehouse with enough force to crack the concrete beneath them. Sabertooth's claws raked toward her face—Dawn ducked, drove her fist into his gut. He barely grunted, grabbed her arm, threw her into a shipping container.

Dawn hit hard enough to dent the metal. Rolled with the impact, came up ready.

This was... fun? 

Sabertooth fought like Logan. All aggression and instinct, using claws and teeth and raw strength. Dawn knew how to handle that—she'd been training with Logan for months.

She launched herself back at him. Landed a solid hit to his jaw. Felt satisfaction when his head snapped back.

"Not bad, kid," Sabertooth admitted, working his jaw. "You got some training."

"Logan," Dawn said, circling.

"Ah. That explains it." Sabertooth's grin widened. "He teach you all his moves?"

"Enough of them."

"Let's test that."

They went at it again. Dawn blocked, countered, used her speed to stay ahead of his greater reach. It was almost like sparring with Logan—familiar patterns, predictable attacks.

Except Logan pulled his punches in training.

Sabertooth didn't.

Dawn realized her mistake when Sabertooth's fighting style shifted. Stopped being predictable. Stopped being like Logan's at all.

He was playing with her. Testing her. And now that he'd figured out her skill level, he was done being nice.

Sabertooth's claws caught her across the ribs. Not deep, but enough to sting. Dawn hissed, retaliated with a kick to his knee. He didn't even stumble.

"You done warming up?" Sabertooth asked. "Because I am."

He moved faster than before. Stronger. Dawn barely blocked the first real hit. Didn't block the second. His fist connected with her jaw, sent her spinning.

She tasted blood.

"DAWN!" Jean's voice, distant. "Fall back!"

Dawn couldn't fall back. Sabertooth was already on her, claws raking down her arm. She felt skin part, blood well up. Threw a desperate punch that he caught easily.

"You fight like Logan," Sabertooth said, twisting her arm until Dawn gasped. "But Logan had decades to get good. You've had what, months?"

He threw her. Dawn hit the ground hard, rolled, tried to get up. Sabertooth's boot caught her in the side. She heard something crack.

Rib. Definitely a rib.

"Problem with healing factors," Sabertooth continued, stalking toward her, "is it makes you sloppy. You think you can take hits because you'll just heal. But healing takes time. And pain—" he grabbed her by the throat, lifted her off the ground "—pain slows you down."

Dawn clawed at his hand, couldn't get free. Couldn't breathe.

"DAWN!" Multiple voices now. The X-Men were coming.

Sabertooth's eyes flickered toward them, then back to Dawn. "Shame. Was just getting fun."

His claws drove into her side.

Dawn felt them punch through muscle, scrape against bone. Felt them twist before he pulled them out. The pain was blinding, all-consuming.

Sabertooth dropped her. Dawn hit the ground, hand going to her side. Blood poured between her fingers.

"See you around, kid," Sabertooth said. Then he was gone, disappearing into the chaos as Mystique called retreat.

Dawn tried to stand. Failed. Fell back to her knees, hand pressed to her side, trying to keep her insides inside.

"Dawn!" Kurt appeared next to her in a puff of smoke. "Mein Gott—"

"I'm fine," Dawn managed.

"You're not fine! You're—Jean, ve need a medic!"

"No—" Dawn tried to push Kurt away. "I'm fine, just—give me a minute—"

But Jean was already there, Scott behind her, both of them taking in the blood.

"We need to get her back to the Institute," Jean said. "Now. Scott, can you carry her?"

"Don't—" Dawn's protest was cut off by a cough that brought up blood. "Don't need—"

"You're going into shock," Jean said firmly. "Kurt, take Scott and Dawn. We'll secure the cargo."

"I'm not—"

But Kurt had already grabbed them both, and the world dissolved into brimstone and dizziness. When it reformed, they were in the Institute med bay.

"Put her on the table," Jean directed. She'd appeared seconds after them, apparently convincing Kurt to come back for her.

Scott lowered Dawn onto the medical bed. She tried to sit up, was pushed back down gently but firmly.

"Stay still," Jean ordered. "I need to assess the damage."

"I'm fine—"

"You have four broken ribs, internal bleeding, and a puncture wound that's dangerously close to your kidney." Jean's hands glowed as she used her telekinesis to examine without touching. "Dawn, this is serious."

"I'll heal," Dawn gritted out.

"Not fast enough. Your healing factor is good but not—"

"I'll heal," Dawn repeated. "Just—leave me alone. I need to be alone."

"You need medical attention—"

"I need privacy!" The words came out sharper than intended. "Please. Just—give me an hour. Alone. I'll be fine."

Jean and Scott exchanged looks.

"Dawn, I understand you're probably in shock and scared, but—" Jean started.

"I'm not scared. I know how my mutation works. I need to be alone. Please."

"We can't just leave you—"

"Yes, you can." Dawn tried to sit up again, gasped when the movement sent agony through her side. "One hour. Lock me in here if you have to. But leave me alone."

"I'll stay with her," Scott said.

"NO." Dawn's voice was sharp, final. "Alone. Or I'm leaving."

She tried to stand, to prove her point. Made it halfway upright before her legs gave out. Scott caught her, lowered her back to the bed.

"You're in no condition to leave—"

"Then give me an hour." Dawn met his eyes behind the visor. "Please. I'm asking nicely. One hour alone. Then you can come back and check on me. But right now, I need privacy."

Another look between Jean and Scott. Then Jean nodded slowly.

"One hour. But if you're not stable when we come back, we're calling Xavier and you're getting proper medical treatment whether you like it or not."

"Fine."

They left. Dawn heard the lock click—they'd actually locked her in, probably worried she'd try to leave. Smart.

The moment they were gone, Dawn rolled onto her side, gasping through the pain. Every breath hurt. Every movement sent fresh agony through her ribs, her side.

She needed to transform. Now. While she had privacy.

But the transformation required breaking every bone in her body.

Dawn closed her eyes, tried to prepare herself. The ribs were already broken. The puncture wound was still bleeding. Transforming would make all of it worse before it made it better.

But it would heal her. The complete reformation would reset everything. Broken bones would form whole. Torn flesh would knit together. She'd emerge from the wolf form completely healed.

She just had to endure the transformation first.

Dawn took as deep a breath as her broken ribs would allow. Then she let go of her human shape.

Her jaw broke first. The crack was nauseating, especially combined with the grinding of bone reshaping. Dawn bit down on the scream, didn't want to alert anyone outside.

Her spine next. Each vertebra popping, extending. The broken ribs screaming as her chest cavity expanded. She did scream then, couldn't help it, muffled it into the pillow.

Her legs broke. Reformed. The pain was so intense she nearly passed out.

Her arms. Her shoulders. Every bone systematically breaking and reshaping while the puncture wound in her side tore further open, then slowly, agonizingly, knitted back together as the transformation restructured her entire body.

Three minutes. Three minutes of hell.

When it was done, Dawn lay on the medical bed in wolf form, panting, covered in blood. But whole. Healed. Everything reformed correctly.

Now she just had to change back. God she wanted to rest first though. Needed to. She wasn't immune to pain by any measure.

The reversal was worse. Always was. Bones compacting, organs shifting back, skin and fur peeling off. Dawn buried her face in the pillow and endured.

When she finally returned to human form, she was shaking, covered in sweat and blood, but her ribs were whole. The puncture wound was gone. Just a faint scar that would fade in days.

She had maybe twenty minutes left.

Dawn forced herself upright. Staggered to the med bay sink, cleaned the blood off as best she could. Her clothes were ruined—torn and soaked—but she couldn't do anything about that. The sheets of bloodied fur and skin went to the waste bin.

She climbed back onto the bed, arranged herself to look injured but stable. Controlled her breathing so it wouldn't give away that her ribs were fine.

Waited.

Jean and Scott returned at exactly one hour.

"Dawn?" Jean pushed the door open cautiously. "How are you—"

She stopped. Stared.

"You're sitting up."

"Told you I'd heal." Dawn's voice was rough from screaming into the pillow. "I'm fine."

"But—" Jean moved closer, hands already glowing to scan. "Let me just—"

"I'm fine," Dawn repeated firmly. "Can I go now?"

Jean's scan completed. Her expression went from concern to confusion. "Your ribs... they're healed. And the puncture wound is... gone?"

"Healing mutation," Dawn said. "Works fast when I need it to."

"But that's—that's not possible. No healing factor works that fast—"

"Mine does." Dawn slid off the bed, testing her weight. Everything held. "Can I go now, or are you going to keep me locked in here?"

Scott and Jean exchanged another look.

"Professor Xavier is going to want to talk to you," Scott said.

"I'm sure he does." Dawn moved toward the door. "Tell him I'll stop by later. Right now I'm going home."

"Home?" Jean's eyebrow raised. "You mean the Brotherhood house?"

"Yeah. I mean the Brotherhood house."

"Dawn, you were just seriously injured—"

"And now I'm not. So I'm leaving. Curfew isn't for hours yet." Dawn pushed past them into the hallway. "Thanks for the medical bay use, I guess."

She made it outside before her legs started shaking again. The transformation had healed her, but it had also exhausted her. She should have probably gone back to her room at the Institute where she could collapse in private. But she didn't.

She made it three blocks before she had to sit down. Leaned against a building, trying to gather the energy to keep moving.

Footsteps. Dawn's head snapped up, body tensing despite the exhaustion.

Todd. Coming down the sidewalk with a bag from the corner store, probably getting snacks for the house. He spotted her, did a double-take.

"Dawn?" He jogged over. "What are you—holy shit, is that blood?"

"I'm fine." Dawn tried to stand, failed. "Just need a minute."

"You're covered in blood!" Todd crouched next to her, eyes scanning. "What happened? Are you hurt?"

"Mission went bad. I'm fine now."

"You don't look fine. You look like you're about to pass out." Todd's hand hovered near her shoulder, not quite touching. "Let me call someone. Jean or—"

"No. I'm just tired. I'll be fine once I..” What? She hadn't really thought that far, just running on instinct like always, “get back to the Institute." She said as nothing else even made sense to say. It's not like she had anywhere else to go or needed a hospital either.

"That's like a mile from here."

"I can walk a mile."

"Dawn." Todd's voice was gentle but firm. "You can barely stand. Let me at least give you a ride."

"You don't have a car."

"Lance does. I'll call him."

"I don't need—"

But Todd was already dialing. "Lance? Yeah, I need you to bring the van... I'm on Fifth and Market... Just trust me, okay? Thanks."

He hung up. Sat down next to Dawn on the sidewalk, careful to leave space between them.

"You don't have to do this," Dawn said.

"I know. But we're friends, right? This is what friends do."

Dawn didn't have an argument for that.

Lance arrived ten minutes later. Took one look at Dawn and raised an eyebrow but didn't comment. Just opened the van door.

"Where to?"

"Xavier's Institute I guess," Dawn said.

"You sure? You look like you need a hospital."

"I'm sure."

The drive was quiet. Dawn could feel both of them glancing at her, could sense the questions they weren't asking. She was grateful for the silence.

When they pulled up to the Institute gates, Dawn forced herself to straighten up. Look less sore than she felt.

"Thanks for the ride."

"Dawn—" Todd started.

"I'm fine. Really. Just need some sleep." She climbed out of the van before he could argue. "I'll see you at school Monday."

She didn't wait for a response. Walked toward the mansion with as much steadiness as she could manage, knowing they were watching.

Made it inside. Made it to her room. Locked the door and finally let herself collapse on the bed.

The transformation had healed her. But it had also taken everything she had left.

Dawn closed her eyes and let the exhaustion take her.

---

Monday at school, Dawn showed up with fading bruises that she didn't even waste her ‘healing factor's on. Obviously she could train if she was fine. Nothing serious-looking—just enough to make it clear she'd been in a fight.

Todd cornered her at lunch.

"You doing okay?"

"Yeah. Fine."

"You sure? Because Friday you looked—"

"I said I'm fine." Dawn's voice was sharper than intended. "Drop it."

Todd held up his hands. "Okay. Okay, I'm dropping it." He paused. "But if you ever want to talk about what happened..."

"I don't."

"Okay."

They ate lunch in slightly awkward silence. Dawn could feel Todd wanting to push, wanting to ask more questions. She was grateful when he didn't.

After school, she found a note tucked in her locker.

*If you ever need a ride or just somewhere to hang out that's not the Institute, Brotherhood house is open. No questions asked. - Lance*

Dawn stared at the note for a long moment. Then folded it carefully and put it in her pocket.

She wasn't ready to tell them anything. Wasn't ready to be vulnerable or explain her healing or admit how badly Sabertooth had hurt her.

But knowing the offer was there?

That meant something.

---

That night, alone in her room at the Institute, Dawn let herself think about the fight. About being outmatched. About the choice she'd made to suffer rather than reveal her secret.

She'd survived. That was what mattered.

The skill would come with time. Until then, she'd keep her secrets close and her guard up.

Even with people who were starting to feel like friends.

Especially with them.

Because letting people in meant they could hurt you. And Dawn had been hurt enough for one lifetime.

The Brotherhood's offer stood. The note stayed in her pocket.

But Dawn wasn't ready to take them up on it.

Not yet.

Chapter Text

Part One: Discovery

Dawn had been in Todd's room exactly twice before—both times briefly, just dropping something off or waiting while he grabbed his jacket. But this was the first time she was actually in it, door closed, Todd flopped on his bed scrolling through his phone while she sat cross-legged on the floor.

"Sorry about the mess," Todd said for the third time. "I know it's kind of—"

"It's fine." Dawn was examining the room with genuine curiosity. Band posters covered most of the walls. Probably covering holes. Clothes were scattered everywhere in various states of clean and dirty. The desk was buried under a mountain of... papers?

Dawn stood up and moved closer. Not papers. Schematics.

Detailed, intricate technical drawings covered in calculations and notes in Todd's surprisingly neat handwriting. Mathematical equations she couldn't even begin to parse. Diagrams of machines she didn't recognize.

"What's all this?" she asked, carefully lifting one page.

Todd glanced over, then sat up quickly. "Oh, that's—it's nothing. Just stuff I mess around with—"

"This doesn't look like nothing." Dawn held up the schematic. It showed some kind of complex mechanical system with dozens of interconnected parts, each labeled with precise measurements. "What is it?"

"It's, uh..." Todd scratched the back of his neck, looking embarrassed. "A hydraulic amplification system. For Magneto. Makes it easier to manipulate non-ferrous metals by creating an induced magnetic field through pressure differentials and—" He stopped. "Sorry. It's boring—"

"No, keep going." Dawn sat down on the edge of his bed, still holding the schematic. "How does it work?"

Todd blinked. "You... actually want to know?"

"Yeah. I can't make sense of any of this—" she gestured at the equations "—but I want to know what it does."

Something shifted in Todd's expression. That careful guardedness melted away, replaced by genuine excitement.

"Okay, so—" He moved to sit next to her, pointing at different parts of the diagram. "Non-ferrous metals don't respond to magnetic fields naturally, right? So you can't just move them like Magneto does with iron or steel. But if you create a hydraulic system that generates enough pressure, you can induce a temporary magnetic property—"

He kept talking, hands moving animatedly, explaining concepts Dawn only half-understood. But she watched him, fascinated not by the machine but by the transformation. This wasn't the try-hard class clown. This was someone brilliant, passionate, completely in his element.

"—and that's how you get the amplification effect without needing an external power source. Pretty cool, right?" Todd finished, looking at her hopefully.

"That's really fucking cool," Dawn said honestly. "You built this?"

"Well, the prototype. It's still in testing but the theory's sound—" He stopped, seeming to catch himself. "I mean, Magneto thinks it's promising. Which is good. I guess."

Dawn looked around the room with new eyes. There had to be dozens of schematics scattered across the floor, the desk, even a few stuck to the wall with tape.

"What else have you made?"

Todd's face lit up. "Oh man, okay so there's this thing I'm working on for Lance—helps him control the amplitude of his seismic waves more precisely..." He hopped off the bed and started gathering papers, showing her project after project. Each one more complex than the last.

Dawn couldn't follow all the technical details, but she understood enough: Todd was genuinely, legitimately brilliant. And from the way he talked—apologetic, downplaying his own work—nobody had ever made him feel like that mattered.

"Does Magneto pay you for this stuff?" she asked.

"What? No. I mean, he lets us stay in the house—well, used to before we got kicked out—and sometimes he'll get materials if I ask but..." Todd shrugged. "It's just something I do. Not a big deal."

"It's a huge deal," Dawn said firmly. "You're building machines for one of the most powerful mutants alive. That's not 'just something you do.'"

Todd looked down at the schematic in his hands. "Most people don't really care about the tech stuff. They just want the finished product."

"Well I care." Dawn stood up, surveying the mess of genius scattered across his room. "This is amazing. You're amazing."

Todd's face went red. "I'm not—"

"You are." Dawn met his eyes. "Don't downplay it."

They stood there for a moment, Todd clutching his schematics, clearly not sure how to handle genuine praise. Dawn filed that away—another thing nobody had ever given him enough of.

"Anyway," Todd said eventually, voice a little rough. "Thanks for... for asking. And for listening. Most people's eyes glaze over when I start talking about this stuff."

"Their loss," Dawn said simply.

Todd's smile was small but real. "Yeah. Maybe."

Part Two: The Gifts

Three days later, Todd came back to his room after a supply run with Lance and stopped dead in the doorway.

There was a box on his bed.

Not wrapped, just a plain cardboard box, but definitely not something that had been there when he left. Todd approached cautiously, half-expecting it to be a prank from Pietro.

Inside were:

- A set of professional drafting pencils, the expensive kind he'd always wanted but never justified buying

- A proper metal ruler and protractor set

- Three pads of high-quality graph paper

- A set of precision screwdrivers

- Several spools of different gauge wire he'd mentioned needing for his current project

Todd stood there staring at the contents like they might disappear if he looked away.

"Yo, Todd, you coming down for—" Lance appeared in the doorway. "What's that?"

"I don't know." Todd carefully picked up the drafting pencils. They were perfect. Exactly the brand he'd been eyeing at the art supply store for months. "Someone left them here."

Lance grinned. "Someone, huh?"

"What?"

"Dawn was here earlier. Said she forgot her hoodie."

"Her hoodie's in the living room. I saw it—" Todd stopped. Looked at the box. Back at Lance. "She... she brought these?"

"Couldn't say. Didn't see anything." But Lance's smile said he definitely knew. "Must be a mystery."

He left. Todd sat down on his bed, carefully examining each item. They were all things he'd mentioned—some just in passing—during that conversation about his schematics. Dawn had listened. Had remembered. Had gone out and bought them.

Nobody had ever done that for him.

Todd pulled out his phone.

*did you leave something in my room?*

The response came a few minutes later.

*your room is a mess, could be anything*

*Dawn*

*what*

*thank you*

*idk what youre talking about*

*the drafting stuff. the wire. all of it. thank you.*

A longer pause this time.

*you need good tools for good work. not a big deal*

*it is to me*

Another pause.

*youre welcome then*

*you didnt have to do this*

*i know*

*but you did anyway*

*yeah*

*why?*

*because your work matters. you matter.*

Todd had to put his phone down for a minute because his vision was getting blurry and he was NOT crying over drafting pencils, he wasn't—

Except he kind of was.

Because nobody had ever said that to him before. That his work mattered. That he mattered.

Nobody except Dawn.

Part Three: The Wall

Two weeks later, Dawn showed up while Todd was out with Fred, getting pizza.

"He here?" she asked Lance, who was on the couch watching TV.

"Nah, food run. Be back in like twenty."

"Cool. I'm gonna borrow his room for a minute."

Lance glanced at her, at the bag she was carrying, and smirked. "Sure. Have fun with... whatever you're doing."

Dawn ignored him and headed upstairs.

Todd's room was still a disaster zone. Clothes everywhere, bed unmade, desk buried under his current project. But the schematics—those were scattered across the floor like always, getting stepped on, pushed aside, treated like trash when they were anything but.

Dawn set down her bag and pulled out what she'd brought: a package of push pins and some clear plastic sleeves she'd found at the office supply store.

She started with the floor, carefully gathering the loose papers. Some were old projects, some were in-progress, some were just ideas sketched out with notes in the margins. All of them were impressive, even if she couldn't fully understand them.

Dawn slipped the best ones into the plastic sleeves to protect them, then started pinning them up on the empty wall space above Todd's desk. Arranged them carefully—not neat enough to look sterile, but organized enough that they wouldn't get lost or damaged.

By the time she finished, an entire wall was covered with Todd's work. A gallery of genius that had been hidden under dirty laundry and forgotten.

Dawn stepped back, examining her work. Better. Much better.

She heard voices downstairs—Todd and Fred returning. Quickly, she grabbed her bag and headed for the door, nearly running into Todd in the hallway.

"Oh, hey!" He brightened immediately. "Didn't know you were here."

"Just dropping something off," she said casually. "Gotta go though. Told Xavier I'd be back by six."

"Oh. Okay." Todd looked disappointed. "See you tomorrow?"

"Yeah, absolutely. Tomorrow."

She left, passing Fred on the stairs. He gave her a knowing look but didn't comment.

---

Todd pushed open his bedroom door, pizza box in hand, ready to hide in his room and work on the new pressure valve design—

He froze.

The wall. His wall. It was covered in his schematics.

All of them neatly protected in plastic sleeves. Carefully pinned up. Displayed like they were... important. Like they were art.

Todd set down the pizza box with shaking hands and moved closer.

She'd organized them by project type—all the Magneto commissions in one section, his personal experiments in another, the sketches and concepts in a third. Each one visible, protected, valued.

His throat felt tight.

Nobody had ever treated his work like this. Like it deserved to be seen. Like it was worth preserving.

He sank down onto his bed, staring at the wall of schematics. His phone buzzed.

*wyd?*

Dawn. Of course it was Dawn.

Todd looked at the wall again. Felt something crack open in his chest.

*just got to my room.*

*cool*

*Dawn*

*what*

*you hung up my schematics*

*they were getting stepped on*

*you didnt have to do that*

*yes i did. theyre important.*

*theyre just drawings*

*theyre YOUR drawings. that makes them important.*

Todd had to wipe his eyes. This was ridiculous. He was crying over wall decorations.

Except it wasn't about the wall. It was about what it meant—that someone saw his work and thought it deserved to be protected. That someone saw *him* and thought he deserved care.

*thank you*, he typed. *seriously. thank you.*

*stop thanking me for basic shit*

*its not basic to me*

A longer pause.

*youre welcome*

*you know youre amazing right?*

*im really not*

*you are. you just dont see it yet.*

*todd*

*what?*

*thank YOU. for showing me your work. for trusting me with it.*

*always*

Todd looked at the wall again. At his work, displayed and protected. At the evidence that someone cared enough to spend time and money making sure his genius wasn't wasted.

He grabbed his nicest set of pencils—the ones Dawn had given him—and pulled out a fresh sheet of graph paper.

He had a new project idea. Something special. Something for her.

Because if Dawn was going to show him he mattered, the least he could do was return the favor.

---

The next time Dawn came over, Todd had something waiting for her.

"What's this?" she asked, looking at the carefully rolled schematic tied with string.

"Open it."

She unrolled the paper carefully. It showed a design for... some kind of mechanical brace? Lots of small, precise components arranged around what looked like a skeletal system diagram.

"I don't understand," she said.

"It's a support brace. For transformations." Todd pointed at different sections. "See, if you wore this before transforming, it would provide structural support during the bone-breaking phase. Wouldn't stop the pain completely but it might reduce it by distributing the force more evenly. And these pressure points here—" he indicated several small mechanisms "—they could deliver localized anesthetic at key nerve clusters."

Dawn stared at the schematic. Then at Todd.

"You designed this for me?"

"Well, yeah. I know the transformation hurts like hell. Thought maybe I could help make it less terrible." He scratched his neck nervously. "I mean, it's just theoretical right now. Would need to actually build and test it, and I'd need your measurements, and it might not even work—"

Dawn kissed him.

It was quick, almost desperate, and when she pulled back Todd looked dazed.

"What was that for?"

"For being you," Dawn said, voice rough. "For seeing me in pain and wanting to fix it. For using your brain to try to help me."

"I mean, that's just—that's what you do for people you—" Todd stopped, face going red.

"People you what?"

"People you care about," he finished quietly.

Dawn looked at the schematic again. At the hours of work Todd had clearly put into this. At the careful notes about her specific anatomy, the calculations to accommodate her unique physiology.

Nobody had ever made her something like this. Nobody had ever cared enough to try.

"You're kind of perfect, you know that?" she said.

"I'm really not—"

"You are." Dawn rolled up the schematic carefully. "And I'm keeping this forever."

"It's just a drawing—"

"It's not just anything. It's proof that you see me. The real me. Pain and all." She met his eyes. "Thank you."

Todd's smile was soft and genuine. "Thank you for making me feel like my brain is worth something."

"It is. You are."

They stood there in his room, surrounded by his work hung carefully on the walls, holding proof of how much they'd come to mean to each other.

Some people said "I love you" with words.

Todd and Dawn said it with drafting pencils and push pins and schematics designed to ease pain.

And somehow, that meant even more.

Chapter Text

The Brotherhood house smelled like a combination of dirty socks, pizza boxes that should've been thrown out two weeks ago, and whatever science experiment was currently dying in the back of the fridge. Dawn barely noticed anymore. It smelled like home in a way the pristine, sterile Xavier Institute never quite managed.

She was sprawled on the beaten-up couch, one leg thrown over the armrest, squinting through barely-opened eyelids at the flickering TV screen. Some B-movie creature feature that Todd had insisted was "cinema gold." The sound was too loud, the lighting too bright, but she'd learned to manage.

"Yo, watch this part!" Todd bounced—literally bounced—beside her, nearly launching himself off the cushions. "This is where the guy's head, like, totally explodes. It's awesome."

Dawn snorted. "You got a real refined taste in entertainment, Todd."

"Says the girl who made me watch that documentary about wolves for three hours last week."

"That was educational."

"It was boring."

"You fell asleep."

"Exactly!"

She grinned, that lopsided smile that showed off her uneven canines. Todd was already laughing at his own joke, that wheezing, snorting laugh that most people found grating. Dawn found it genuine. Real. Nobody at the Institute laughed like that—all measured and polite, like they were afraid of taking up too much space.

The front door slammed open with enough force to rattle the walls.

"TOLENSKY!" Pietro's voice cut through the movie like nails on a chalkboard. "Did you seriously eat my leftover Chinese food? I had my name on it!"

Dawn felt her shoulders tense, that familiar prickle of irritation crawling up her spine. Her eyes opening a bit more than she normally would let them be, more alert and ready.

"Chill out, speedy," she called back, not bothering to look toward the door. "It was probably Fred. Everything's 'probably Fred' in this house."

"Stay out of this, dog breath!"

The growl that rumbled from her chest was involuntary. She was on her feet before she'd consciously decided to move, teeth bared, eyes blazing red even in the light.

Todd's hand landed on her arm—light, barely there. Not restraining, just... present.

"Hey, hey. Not worth it," he said quietly, though there was a smile playing at his lips. "Besides, I totally did eat his food. It was gonna go bad anyway."

Pietro was already speeding off in a blur of silver, muttering something about "freaks" and "animals."

Dawn's muscles stayed coiled tight for another few seconds before she forced herself to sit back down. Harder than she meant to. The couch springs groaned in protest.

"One of these days I'm gonna knock his teeth in," she muttered.

"Get in line." Todd flopped back beside her, closer this time. Their shoulders touched. "Pretty sure Wanda's called dibs anyway."

They settled back into the movie, but Dawn couldn't quite focus anymore. That restless energy still crawled under her skin, looking for an outlet. She hated how easily Pietro got under her fur—quite literally.

"Hey." Todd's voice was softer now. "Wanna get outta here?"

She turned to look at him, really look at him. He was watching her with those big eyes, head tilted slightly. Concerned but trying not to show it too obviously.

"Where to?"

"I dunno. Somewhere. Anywhere." He shrugged. "Could hit up that junkyard with the good stuff. See if there's anything worth scavenging."

Despite herself, Dawn felt her mood lift. Todd got it. He always seemed to know when she needed to move, to do something with her hands, to not be stuck in her own head.

"Yeah. Yeah, okay."

They grabbed their jackets—hers a worn hoodie that had seen better days, his a ratty windbreaker that was probably older than both of them. Sneaking out wasn't even really sneaking when nobody cared enough to keep track. The Brotherhood house had a freedom the Institute lacked, even if it came with a side of complete chaos.

The junkyard was a twenty-minute walk, mostly in comfortable silence. Dawn kept her eyes mostly shut, navigating by sound and smell. She could hear Todd's footsteps beside her, the slight squelch of moisture in his skin that seeped into his clothes and made them sound distinct, the rhythm of his breathing. She could smell the mud-and-marsh scent that clung to him, that Nanjemoy-river smell that made something in her chest ache with homesickness.

"Can I ask you something?" Todd said suddenly.

"You're gonna anyway."

"Fair." He hopped over a fallen trash can without breaking stride. "That first mission. When we fought. You ever gonna tell me what that was about?"

Dawn's steps faltered. Just for a second. "What do you mean?"

"I mean, you had me. Like, dead to rights. And then you just... let go. Looked like you'd seen a ghost or something."

She was quiet for a long moment. They'd reached the junkyard fence, and she busied herself with finding the gap in the chain-link, the one they'd used a dozen times before.

"I hurt you," she finally said, not looking at him. "I heard it. The snap."

"Oh." Todd followed her through the fence. "That? That was nothing. Healed up in like a couple days. I've had way worse."

"That's not the point." Dawn's voice came out rougher than she intended. "I didn't mean to. I just—I didn't know how..." She gestured vaguely at him. "I didn't know you were that fragile."

"Gee, thanks."

"You know what I mean." She turned to face him fully now, eyes actually open despite the ache building behind them. "I can't always tell how strong I am compared to normal people. Hell, compared to most mutants even. And you—you're tough in a fight, you take hits, but you're also..."

"Scrawny?"

"Breakable."

The word hung in the air between them. Todd was quiet, really quiet, in a way he almost never was.

"I thought I killed you," Dawn admitted. "For like a minute, I thought I'd actually killed someone I..."

She didn't finish the sentence. Didn't need to.

Todd moved closer. Not fast, not a pounce or a leap, just a slow shuffle until he was right in front of her. He reached out and took her hand—his skin cool and slightly damp against her perpetually-warm palm.

"Hey. Look at me."

She did. Met his eyes straight on even though the moonlight reflecting off the junk piles made her wince.

"You didn't kill me. You didn't even really hurt me that bad. And yeah, maybe you gotta be careful, but like... so what? I gotta be careful I don't accidentally slime people. Fred's gotta be careful he doesn't sit on someone. We're all freaks with freaky powers." He squeezed her hand. "You think I don't know you'd never hurt me on purpose?"

"How do you know that? I've got a temper. Everyone knows it."

"Yeah, and I've seen you throw down with Pietro like fifty times. You always pull your punches just enough." His grin was crooked, genuine. "You act all tough and mean, but you're careful with people you care about. Even when you're pissed."

Dawn felt something hot and uncomfortable lodge in her throat. She looked away, back at the scattered junk yard treasures.

"You're such a sap, Tolensky."

"Yeah, well. You're stuck with me anyway."

"Unfortunately."

"Tragically."

"Devastatingly."

They were both grinning now like idiots. Todd still hadn't let go of her hand.

"For the record," he said, "I think you're pretty great. Teeth, temper, dog smell and all."

"You're one to talk about smell, swamp boy."

"Hey, you *like* how I smell. You said so."

"Did not."

"Did too. You said, and I quote, 'You smell like home.'"

Dawn felt heat rise to her cheeks. "I said you smell like Maryland. That's different."

"Is it though?"

Before she could respond—probably with violence—Todd leaned in and pressed his lips to hers. It was quick, chaste, tasting slightly of the sour candy he'd been eating earlier. When he pulled back, he looked both pleased with himself and slightly terrified of her reaction.

Dawn blinked. Once. Twice.

"...Did you just kiss me?"

"Maybe?"

"In a junkyard?"

"Seemed romantic at the time!"

She considered this. Considered him. Considered the fact that her heart was doing something stupid and fast in her chest.

"...Do it again."

His face lit up. "Yeah?"

"Yeah, you idiot."

This time it was slower. Sweeter. Her hand came up to cup the back of his neck, feeling the unique texture of his skin under her fingers. He made a small, happy sound that might have been a croak, might have been a sigh.

When they finally broke apart, Todd was practically vibrating with excitement.

"So does this mean—"

"If you tell Pietro about this, I'm breaking both your arms." Bravado.

"My lips are sealed. Well. Except for kissing purposes."

"Oh my god."

"I'm serious! I'm very dedicated to kissing purposes now. It's my new calling."

Dawn shoved him, but she was laughing. Really laughing, the kind that came from somewhere deep in her chest. Todd stumbled back, caught himself with his tongue on a nearby car hood, and swung back to her side like some kind of demented pendulum.

"C'mon," she said, tugging him deeper into the junkyard. "Help me find some copper wire. Xavier's been on my ass about fixing the Danger Room sensors that got fried last week."

"You're thinking about homework? Right now?"

"I'm thinking about free copper wire. There's a difference."

"You're so weird."

"Says the guy who eats flies."

"They're a delicacy!"

"They're gross."

But she was smiling. They both were. And when their hands tangled together again as they picked through the junk, neither one let go.

Back at the Brotherhood house, Fred would later ask why they were both covered in rust and grinning like maniacs. Lance would make a comment about getting a room. Pietro would complain about literally everything.

Dawn would threaten to fight all of them. Todd would laugh his wheezing laugh. And somewhere in the middle of all the chaos and the noise and the smell of swamp and wet dog, they'd exchange glances that said more than words ever could.

The Institute was clean and safe and proper. But here, in this disaster of a house with these disaster people, Dawn had found something better.

She'd found home.

Chapter Text

Dawn hated third period English with a passion that bordered on religious fervor.

It wasn't the subject itself—she actually liked reading when it was something interesting. But Mrs. Henderson had a voice that could strip paint off walls, the fluorescent lights made her head pound, and worst of all, they were currently reading Romeo and Juliet. Which would be fine, except Mrs. Henderson insisted on making students read it aloud, and Dawn would rather eat glass than perform in front of the class.

She was slouched in her seat, hood up despite the "no hats or hoods" policy, squinting at her desk while some kid butchered Shakespeare's dialogue up front. Her phone buzzed in her pocket.

*roof. now. emergency.*

Dawn didn't need to check the contact name. She knew Todd's texting style—all lowercase, no explanation ever, blessedly devoid of dancing around subjects.

*what kind of emergency*, she texted back.

*dying of boredom. also found something cool.*

*thats not an emergency*

*it is tho. trust me.*

Dawn glanced up at Mrs. Henderson, who was currently lecturing the kid on "proper enunciation" like they were training for Broadway instead of suffering through high school English. No one was paying attention to her. They never did—she was good at being invisible when she wanted to be.

She gathered her stuff as quietly as possible, which was pretty damn quiet given her enhanced senses meant she knew exactly how much noise she was making. The moment Mrs. Henderson turned to write on the board, Dawn slipped out the door.

The hallway was empty except for a hall monitor two corridors away—she could hear his footsteps, the jingle of his keys. Easy to avoid. She'd mapped out this school's blind spots in the first week.

The roof access was through a maintenance door on the third floor that was supposed to be locked. It was not locked, because Lance had broken the lock two months ago and no one had noticed enough to fix it. Dawn climbed the ladder quickly, pushing open the hatch to bright afternoon sunlight that made her wince and squint even harder.

"You made it!" Todd was sitting cross-legged near the roof's edge, grinning. "Thought you might've gotten caught."

"Please. Henderson doesn't even know I exist." Dawn climbed out and let the hatch close behind her. "This better be good, Tolensky. I was actually almost enjoying watching Brad butcher a death scene."

"Oh, it's good." Todd gestured dramatically at the space beside him. "First, check out the view."

Dawn sat down, dangling her legs over the edge. Three stories wasn't that high, but it was high enough to see most of Bayville sprawling out below them. The school parking lot, the football field, the woods beyond. From up here, the world seemed smaller. Manageable.

"Okay," she admitted. "View's decent."

"Right? But that's not even the best part." Todd reached behind him and pulled out a plastic bag. "Found this in the dumpster behind the cafeteria."

"You went dumpster diving?"

"It's not diving if it's right on top. And look—" He pulled out what appeared to be at least thirty packages of the good chocolate chip cookies. The expensive ones they only served when the PTA was visiting. "They threw out a whole box! Just because the expiration date was yesterday!"

Dawn stared at the haul. "You texted me an emergency to show me stolen cookies?"

"Rescued cookies. Big difference." He tore open a package and offered her one. "Plus, I knew you were in Henderson's class. I'm basically a hero."

She wanted to argue, to point out that this was stupid and they were going to get caught and Xavier was going to murder her. But the cookie was still warm from the sun, and Todd was looking at her like she'd just solved world hunger by showing up, and...

"You're an idiot," she said, taking another cookie.

"Yeah, but I'm your favorite idiot."

"You're my only idiot."

"Even better!"

They sat there for a while, eating cookies and watching the world below. Dawn could hear everything from up here—conversations in the parking lot, someone's car radio, birds in the trees. Usually the sensory overload would bother her, but something about being up high made it easier to process. Like the sounds were far enough away to not be overwhelming.

"So what're you skipping?" she asked.

"History. We're talking about the Cold War, which is like, the least interesting war."

"It wasn't really a war though."

"Exactly! It's not even living up to its name. If you're gonna call something a war, there should be at least some actual fighting." Todd leaned back on his hands. "What's Henderson teaching today?"

"Romeo and Juliet."

"Oh man, the suicide one?"

"They all die at the end, yeah."

"That's so depressing. Like, just talk to each other! Communication!" He paused. "Wait, do I sound like a teacher right now?"

"Little bit."

"Gross."

Dawn snorted, then froze. Below, she could hear footsteps in the stairwell. Heavy ones. Adult ones.

"Someone's coming," she whispered.

Todd tensed. "Shit. Think they know we're up here?"

"Probably checking the door. Lance's break job is obvious if you actually look."

"What do we do?"

Dawn's mind raced. They could hide—there was an AC unit big enough to crouch behind. But if whoever it was came all the way up, they'd be trapped. And if it was another student, fine, but if it was a teacher...

The footsteps stopped at the third floor. A pause. Then a voice.

"I'm telling you, I heard something up here."

Jean Grey. Of fucking course.

"We should just report it to the office." Scott Summers, naturally. Those two were attached at the hip.

Dawn met Todd's eyes. They had maybe thirty seconds before Jean and Scott decided to actually investigate.

"Can you make it to the fire escape?" she whispered, pointing to the rusty ladder on the far side of the roof.

"Yeah, but what about you?"

"I'll be fine. Just go."

"I'm not leaving you—"

"Todd." She grabbed his shoulders, forcing him to focus. "I can take the fall if it's just me. They'll give you detention for a week if they catch you skipping again. If just that. Xavier will just lecture me. Go."

He looked like he wanted to argue, but the door handle was rattling now. He squeezed her hand once, grabbed the bag of cookies, and bounded across the roof in three impressive leaps. Dawn watched him disappear down the fire escape, then turned back to the hatch.

It opened.

Jean's red hair appeared first, followed by her annoyingly perfect face twisted in concentration. Then Scott's head popped up beside her, visor gleaming in the sunlight.

"I knew it," Jean said triumphantly. Then she actually looked at who she'd caught. "Dawn?"

"Yeah?" Dawn responded flatly. She didn't particularly care for what ever the teachers pet duo had to say to her at this point. It was never anything worth talking about.

"What are you doing up here?" Scott climbed fully onto the roof, Jean right behind him. "This area is off-limits."

"Clearly." Dawn gestured around at the very illegal roof they were all currently standing on.

"Don't get smart," Scott said in that voice that made her want to bite something. Mostly him. "You're supposed to be in class."

"So are you."

"We have study hall," Jean interjected. "And we were asked to check on a noise complaint."

"By who?"

"Mrs. Henderson noticed you left."

Of course she had. Dawn really needed to work on her exit timing.

"Look," Scott said, crossing his arms in what he probably thought was an authoritative stance. "You know the rules. No skipping class, no going to unauthorized areas—"

"It's not unauthorized if the door's unlocked."

"The door is broken," Jean said. "Because one of your friends broke it."

"Who said any of—" Dawn stopped herself. This was going nowhere. Even if Lance hadn't done it, she wouldn't believe it anyway. "Are you gonna bust me or what?"

Jean and Scott exchanged a look. The kind of look that meant they were having a silent conversation, probably telepathically because Jean could do that. Dawn hated when they did that.

"We should report this to Professor Xavier," Scott finally said.

"Of course you should," Dawn muttered. "Y'all are physically incapable of not snitching."

"It's not snitching," Jean said defensively. "It's following school rules and—"

"And being the teacher's pets, yeah, I know."

Jean's expression tightened. "At least we take our education seriously. Some of us actually want to be here."

"Some of us didn't have a choice about being here."

The words came out harsher than Dawn intended. She saw Jean flinch slightly, saw Scott's jaw tighten behind his visor. There was a moment of tense silence, broken only by a bird calling somewhere in the distance. She knew, logically, that it wasn't their fault she ended up in the situation life put her in, and they had no control of anyone but themselves. But it was hard not to hate them when they refused to make space for that.

"That's not fair," Jean said quietly.

And the thing was, she was right. It wasn't fair. Jean and Scott were just trying to do the right thing, trying to be good students and good X-Men and good whatever else Xavier wanted them to be. They hadn't asked to find her on the roof. They were just doing what they'd been taught.

But Dawn was tired of fair. Tired of rules that felt like they were designed for people who weren't her. Tired of feeling like a problem that needed solving instead of a person who needed space.

"You gonna tell Xavier or not?" she asked, standing up and brushing roof grit off her jeans.

Scott hesitated. "We... We have to. You know we do."

"Yeah. I know."

She walked past them to the hatch, preparing for the lecture she'd inevitably get. The disappointment in Xavier's eyes, the way he'd try to understand but never quite get it. Maybe Wrath would help her sneak out tonight to make up for the lost afternoon.

"Dawn." Jean's voice stopped her. "Were you up here alone?"

Dawn turned back, meeting Jean's eyes. They were genuinely curious, not accusatory. 

"Yeah," Dawn lied smoothly. "Why wouldn't I be?"

Another look between Jean and Scott. Then Scott shrugged.

"Just wondering. We thought we heard two voices."

"Probably just me talking to myself. I do that."

She could tell they didn't quite believe her, but they also couldn't prove anything. And despite being the poster children for rule-following, neither of them seemed particularly eager to push the issue.

"Alright," Scott said finally. "Let's just... get back to class."

They climbed down in awkward silence. Dawn could hear Jean and Scott whispering behind her, probably debating whether to mention their suspicions to Xavier. She hoped they wouldn't. She'd taken the fall plenty of times before, but she preferred to do it on her own terms.

The office was predictably disappointing. Principal Kelly gave her the standard lecture about responsibility and making good choices. They called Xavier, who sighed in that particular way that meant he wasn't angry, just disappointed, which was somehow worse. She got detention for the rest of the week and a meeting with Xavier after school to "discuss her choices."

Fun times.

When she finally made it back to class, Todd caught her eye across the hallway. He mouthed "you okay?" and she nodded, jerking her head toward the exit to indicate they'd talk later. He grinned and gave her a thumbs up before disappearing into his classroom.

Worth it, she thought. Totally worth it.

---

That evening, Dawn found a package waiting for her when she got back to her room at the Institute. No note, but she knew Todd's handwriting on the brown paper wrapping. Inside were six packages of the fancy chocolate chip cookies and a small bottle of aspirin with a sticky note attached.

*for the headache jean and scott probably gave you. also sorry you got busted. also also these are the best cookies so you get more than half. - T*

Despite everything—the detention, the lecture, the general exhaustion of existing—Dawn smiled.

She pulled out her phone.

*thanks. worth it for the cookies*

His response was immediate.

*worth it to hang out with you*

*sap*

*you love it*

She did. She really, really did.

From her doorway, she heard footsteps approaching. Xavier, probably, ready for their "discussion." Dawn quickly hid the cookies under her bed and steeled herself for round two of lectures.

But before Xavier could knock, her phone buzzed one more time.

*same time tomorrow? found another good spot*

Dawn grinned.

*youre gonna get me expelled*

*nah. youre too good at not getting caught*

*i literally got caught today*

*yeah but you didnt snitch on me. that's like, advanced not getting caught*

Xavier knocked. Dawn sighed and shoved her phone in her pocket.

*detention all week. ill let you know*

*😔*

*did you just emoji at me*

*my bad. too much time with fred. its contagious*

Despite the impending lecture, despite everything, Dawn was smiling as she opened the door.

"Come in, Professor."

Xavier wheeled in, looking tired but patient. He began his speech about responsibility and community and being part of a team. Dawn nodded at appropriate moments, made the right contrite noises, promised to do better.

But in her pocket, her phone buzzed with another message. And under her bed, cookies waited for midnight snacking. And in her head, she was already planning which class to skip next week.

Some things, Dawn figured, were worth the detention.

Chapter Text

Dawn had been having a good day. 

That was her first mistake.

She'd finished her training session with Logan early, suffered through only one lecture from Scott about "Brotherhood associations," and managed to slip out to the Brotherhood house by late afternoon. The place was its usual disaster—half the furniture held together with duct tape and hope, mysterious stains on the couch that she'd learned not to question—but it felt more like home than the pristine halls of Xavier's mansion ever had.

Todd had answered the door with that grin that made her stomach do stupid things, already launching into a story about Pietro accidentally running face-first into a glass door. She'd laughed, actually laughed, and followed him inside.

Fred was in the kitchen attempting cookies (she'd have to salvage those later). Lance was sprawling on the couch with his feet on the coffee table, flipping through channels. Pietro was nowhere to be seen, probably off stealing something. 

And Wanda was there.

Dawn kept her eyes in their usual slits against the afternoon light streaming through the broken blinds, but she clocked Wanda's presence immediately. Perched on the arm of Lance's couch, dark hair perfect, looking effortlessly cool in a way Dawn knew she never would.

"DogTeeth!" Todd bounded over, and she let herself enjoy the nickname, the way he said it like it was something special instead of the slur it used to be. "Check it out—I fixed the TV antenna with a coat hanger and some wire from Fred's old headphones."

"Innovative," Dawn said, because it actually was. Todd was smart in ways people didn't give him credit for. "Does it actually work?"

"Seventy percent of the time." He looked genuinely proud.

"Better odds than most things in this house."

She settled onto the couch, Todd dropping down next to her close enough that their shoulders almost touched. Not quite, though. They hadn't—she didn't—

That was her second mistake. Getting comfortable.

"So Wanda," Todd said, and Dawn felt him shift, turning away from her slightly. "You, uh, you doing anything Friday night?"

Dawn's enhanced hearing picked up Wanda's heartbeat, steady and unimpressed. Her own kicked up a notch. She kept her expression neutral, eyes on the TV even though she couldn't have said what was playing.

"Why?" Wanda's voice was flat, but not hostile. That was almost worse.

"There's this thing, y'know, at the—there's a—" Todd was stumbling over his words, and Dawn recognized the routine. She'd seen him do this with three different girls at Bayville High in the past two weeks alone. "Movie. There's a movie. We could, like, go see it. Together. If you wanted."

"Pass."

"Right, yeah, cool, cool. That's—yeah, no worries."

Dawn dug her nails into her palm. This was fine. This was completely fine. She'd known—she'd *known*—that getting close to someone was stupid. People didn't stick around. People saw the red eyes and the fangs and the temper and they left, or worse, they tried to control her.

Todd was just being Todd. Flirting with every girl in a five-mile radius because that's what he did. She was nothing special. Just another person to hang out with between attempts at getting an actual girlfriend.

Stupid. She was so stupid.

"You good?" Lance's voice cut through her spiral. He was looking at her, one eyebrow raised.

"Fine," Dawn said automatically. She could feel her temperature rising, heat creeping up her neck. The room suddenly felt too small, too bright, too loud. "Just—I forgot I've got that thing."

"What thing?" Todd turned back to her, and she couldn't look at him.

"Training. With Logan. Tomorrow morning, early, I should—" She was already standing, muscles tense. "I gotta go. Curfew and all."

"It's five-thirty," Lance said mildly.

"Xavier's been strict lately." The lie tasted bitter. "I'll text you later, yeah?"

She was moving toward the door before anyone could argue, before Todd's confused "Wait, seriously?" could land. Before Wanda could look at her with that knowing expression.

"Dawn—"

"Later!"

The door slammed behind her, probably harder than necessary. The late afternoon air hit her face and she breathed it in, trying to cool down the heat in her blood. Her hands were shaking.

Idiot. What did you think was going to happen?

She'd let her guard down. She'd started to think that maybe, maybe this time could be different. That Todd's laugh when she made a sarcastic comment meant something. That the way he always saved her a spot on the couch was intentional. That the texts at midnight about nothing and everything were—

They weren't. He was just friendly. She was just convenient. Another person in his orbit while he chased after girls who were actually worth chasing.

Dawn made it back to the mansion on autopilot, slipping past Storm in the hallway with a mumbled greeting, taking the stairs two at a time to her room. She shut the door and leaned against it, closing her eyes fully for the first time in hours.

The darkness behind her eyelids didn't help.

Her phone buzzed.

**Todd:** hey you ok? you kinda bolted

She stared at the message. Typed and deleted three different responses.

**Dawn:** yeah im good just remembered the thing

**Todd:** what thing???

**Todd:** logan doesn't do sunday training on saturdays

Shit. He remembered her schedule.

**Dawn:** different thing. xavier stuff.

**Todd:** oh

**Todd:** ok well if you want to come back later we're probably gonna order pizza

**Dawn:** maybe. tired though.

**Dawn:** gonna crash early

She silenced her phone and threw it on the bed. Then picked it up again, because maybe he'd—

No. No, this was pathetic. She was being pathetic.

Dawn forced herself through the evening routine. Dinner in the mansion dining room, suffering through Kitty's cheerful questions about her day and Jean's pointed looks. Scott's reminder that "the Brotherhood aren't good influences" that she ignored. Logan's brief nod from across the room that at least felt like he understood she didn't want to talk about it.

By nine PM she was in her room, door locked, trying to focus on fixing a busted alarm clock she'd found in the trash. Her hands usually steadied when she worked on something mechanical. Small pieces, specific problems, clear solutions.

Tonight her hands wouldn't stop shaking.

Her phone lit up on the nightstand.

**Todd:** so fred's cookies were inedible

**Todd:** lance said you would have prevented this tragedy

**Todd:** he blames you actually

**Todd:** im defending your honor obviously

Dawn's chest ached. She picked up the phone.

**Dawn:** tell fred to use less baking soda

**Todd:** THATS WHAT IT WAS

**Todd:** he used like half the box

**Todd:** they tasted like salt and regret

**Dawn:** sounds right

**Todd:** you shouldve stayed

**Todd:** it was funny watching him try to pretend they were good

There it was. That little hook in her chest, pulling tight. She should've stayed. She should've been there, laughing with them, being part of it.

Except she couldn't. Because watching Todd flirt with Wanda, with anyone, made her feel like her skin was too tight and her bones were trying to break out of her body. Made her want to transform and run until the feeling went away.

**Dawn:** next time

**Todd:** you keep saying that

**Todd:** but like

**Todd:** are you actually ok?

**Dawn:** im fine

**Todd:** thats what lance says when hes pissed

**Todd:** and what fred says when hes sad

**Todd:** and what pietro says when hes plotting something

**Todd:** so like

**Todd:** try again?

Dawn stared at her phone. Her throat felt tight. She could lie. She was good at lying. Had spent years lying to survive, lying to hide, lying to keep people from seeing too much.

**Dawn:** just a long day

**Todd:** yeah?

**Dawn:** yeah

**Todd:** ok

The typing bubble appeared. Disappeared. Appeared again.

**Todd:** im coming over

**Dawn:** what

**Todd:** im coming to the mansion

**Todd:** be there in 20

**Dawn:** todd its after curfew

**Dawn:** youll get caught

**Todd:** ill be sneaky

**Dawn:** YOU'RE NEVER SNEAKY

**Todd:** wow rude

**Todd:** my feelings

**Todd:** theyre hurt

**Dawn:** todd seriously you don't have to

**Todd:** yeah i do

**Todd:** window or door?

**Dawn:** YOU'RE NOT BREAKING INTO XAVIER'S MANSION

**Todd:** window it is

**Todd:** which side of the building?

Dawn groaned, pressing her palms against her eyes. He was actually going to do this. He was actually going to hop the fence and scale the wall and probably get caught by Storm or Logan or god forbid Xavier himself, and it would be her fault.

And the worst part—the absolute worst part—was that she wanted him to.

**Dawn:** east side. third floor. window with the broken lock.

**Dawn:** if you get caught im not bailing you out

**Todd:** sure you wont ;)

**Todd:** see you soon dogteeth

She tossed her phone aside and paced the length of her room. This was stupid. This was so stupid. What was she even going to say? "Hey, sorry I ran off, it's just that watching you hit on other girls makes me want to put my fist through a wall because apparently I caught feelings like an idiot"?

Yeah. That would go great.

Fifteen minutes later, there was a soft thump against her window.

Dawn crossed the room and eased it open. Todd was clinging to the side of the building, using the old ivy and decorative stonework as handholds. His tongue was sticking out slightly in concentration, and despite everything, she felt her mouth twitch toward a smile.

"You're insane," she whispered, reaching out to help pull him through.

"Yeah, but like, you texted me which window." He tumbled through gracelessly, landing in a heap on her floor. "So really this is on you."

"I should've let you fall."

"You would never." He bounced up, grinning, and Dawn's heart did that stupid thing again. "You like me too much."

She froze. He didn't notice, already looking around her room with obvious curiosity. It was sparse—she hadn't accumulated much. Some clothes, her tools, a few books. Nothing like the personalized spaces the other students had.

"Cozy," Todd said, which was generous.

"It's a room." Dawn crossed her arms, suddenly aware of how close the space was. How Todd smelled like the Brotherhood house—dust and pepperoni and that specific laundry detergent they used. How her enhanced senses were picking up his heartbeat, slightly elevated from the climb.

"So." He turned to face her fully. "You gonna tell me what's actually wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong."

"Dawn."

"I'm fine."

"There it is again." He moved closer, and she resisted the urge to back up. "The 'fine' thing. Except you're not fine because you ran out of the house like it was on fire, and then you did the texting thing where you use short sentences, and now you won't look at me."

"My eyes are always like this."

"You know what I mean."

She did. That was the problem.

"Todd." Her voice came out rougher than intended. "Just—why are you here?"

"Because you left."

"People leave places. It's normal."

"Not like that." He was close enough now that she could feel the cooler temperature of his skin contrasting with her perpetual heat. "Not you. You don't just bail unless something's wrong."

"Maybe I wanted to leave."

"Did you?"

The question hung between them. Dawn's nails dug into her palms again. She could lie. Should lie. Should tell him to go back to the Brotherhood house and forget about it.

"No," she admitted quietly.

"Then why?"

"Because—" The words stuck in her throat. She forced them out anyway, even though they tasted like failure. "Because I'm tired of being stupid."

Todd's expression shifted to confusion. "What?"

"I'm tired of thinking—" She gestured vaguely, frustrated. "Of getting my hopes up. Of thinking maybe things could be different this time."

"Different how?"

"It doesn't matter."

"It clearly does if it made you leave."

"Todd—"

"Was it something I did?" He looked genuinely worried now. "Because if I did something—"

"You asked Wanda out."

The words came out sharper than intended. Todd blinked.

"I—yeah? I mean, I tried. She shot me down. Like usual." He said it so casually, like it didn't matter. "Wait, is that—were you mad about that?"

"No." Yes. "I don't care who you ask out."

"Okay, but like, you kinda seem like you do?"

"I don't."

"Dawn—"

"Why would I care?" She could hear her voice rising, heat building under her skin. "You flirt with everyone. That's your thing. I've seen you try with half the girls at Bayville. Why would Wanda be any different? Why would I be—"

She cut herself off, but it was too late. The words were already out there, hanging in the air between them.

Todd stared at her. "Why would you be what?"

Dawn turned away, running a hand through her hair. Her face felt hot. "Nothing. Forget it."

"No, seriously, finish that sentence."

"I don't—"

"Dawn." His hand caught her wrist, gentle, and the touch sent electricity up her arm. "Why would you be what?"

She could pull away. Should pull away. Her father's voice echoed in the back of her mind—never let them see weakness, never let them have power over you, this is pathetic—

But this was Todd. Todd who saved her a seat. Todd who texted her at midnight. Todd who climbed through her window because she seemed upset.

"Different," she finished, barely audible. "Why would I be different."

The silence stretched. Dawn couldn't look at him, couldn't bear to see his expression shift to pity or worse, to awkward realization that his friend had caught feelings.

"Oh," Todd said finally.

"Yeah. Oh." She tried to pull her wrist free. He didn't let go. "So now you know. I'm that pathetic person who caught feelings for her friend. Congrats. You can go now."

"Wait, hold on—"

"It's fine. I'll get over it. Just—" She finally yanked her arm away, wrapping it around herself. "Just give me some space and we can go back to normal. Pretend I never said anything."

"I don't want to go back to normal."

Dawn's head snapped up. "What?"

Todd was staring at her like she'd just spoken a foreign language. "I don't—why would I want to go back to normal? Normal sucks."

"Todd—"

"Do you know how long I've been trying to figure out how to—" He ran a hand through his hair, looking genuinely distressed. "Lance literally just told me like two hours ago that you—and I thought he was messing with me because why would you—"

"Why would I what?"

"Like me!" It burst out of him, loud enough that Dawn glanced nervously at the door. He lowered his voice. "Why would you like me? You're—you're you. You're smart and strong and you think my jokes are funny and you don't look at me like I'm—"

He gestured at himself, encompassing everything. The green skin, the too-large eyes, the way other people saw him.

Dawn felt something crack open in her chest.

"You think I care about that?" Her voice was rough. "You think that matters?"

"It matters to everyone else."

"I'm not everyone else. I like it." She took a step closer. "Todd, you're—you're brilliant. You engineer things I couldn't begin to imagine. You make me laugh. You remember that I train with Logan on Sundays. You text me stupid memes at two in the morning. You're—"

She stopped, overwhelmed by the look on his face.

"I'm what?" he asked softly.

"You're the first person in a long time who made me feel like maybe I could trust someone." The admission felt like pulling broken glass from her chest. "And then today I saw you with Wanda and I thought—I realized I was just another person you were friendly with while you actually wanted someone else."

"That's not—" Todd shook his head emphatically. "Dawn, that's not what—I flirt with everyone because I don't know what else to do. It's like this thing I do on autopilot because at least if I'm the one making the joke first, it hurts less when they laugh."

"What?"

"But with you it's—" He stepped closer, and she could see the way his hands were trembling slightly. "It's different. You're different. I don't have to try to be funny or charming or whatever because you just—you like me anyway. And that's—that's terrifying, actually."

Dawn's breath caught. "Terrifying?"

"Yeah. Because what if I mess it up? What if I do something stupid and you realize I'm not worth—" He gestured between them. "This. Whatever this is."

"You're an idiot," Dawn said, but there was no heat in it.

"Yeah, probably."

"You climbed through a third-story window."

"Seemed important."

"You could've just texted."

"You were doing the short-answer thing. That doesn't work." He was so close now she could count his heartbeats. "I needed to see you. To make sure you were—to tell you—"

"Tell me what?"

Todd took a breath. "That I like you. Like, really like you. Not in a 'you're cool to hang out with' way, in a 'I think about you literally all the time and it's kind of a problem' way. And I'm sorry it took Lance spelling it out for me to realize that maybe you felt the same way, because I'm an oblivious idiot."

Dawn felt like all the air had left the room. "You're serious."

"So serious." He laughed, slightly manic. "I'm standing in your bedroom at Xavier's mansion after climbing through a window to tell you I like you. I'm pretty sure this is the most serious I've ever been about anything."

"You asked Wanda out this afternoon."

"I'm an idiot! We established this!" He threw his hands up. "I ask everyone out because I don't think I have a real shot with anyone. But you—you're different. You matter. And that's scary, so I just—kept doing what I always do instead of actually dealing with my feelings like a functional person."

"We're both idiots," Dawn said.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah." She reached out tentatively, her fingers catching his. He was cooler against her perpetual heat, the temperature difference sending goosebumps up her arm. "I bolted because I saw you flirting with Wanda and I couldn't handle watching you want someone else."

"I don't want someone else." His hand tightened around hers. "I want—this is gonna sound so cheesy—"

"Say it anyway."

"I want you. Like, specifically you. The person who fixes our house and threatens Peitro and makes fun of my sticky hands but still holds them anyway." He looked down at their joined hands. "Is this okay?"

"Yeah," Dawn breathed. "Yeah, this is okay."

They stood there for a moment, hands linked, both slightly trembling for entirely different reasons. Dawn's enhanced senses picked up everything—Todd's heartbeat still racing, the slight catch in his breathing, the way his grip was careful despite the sticky adhesive quality of his skin.

"So," Todd said eventually. "What now?"

"Now you sneak back out before someone catches you here."

"Romantic."

"I'm practical." But she was smiling, really smiling, for the first time all evening. "We can figure out the rest tomorrow."

"Can I text you when I get home?"

"You better."

Todd grinned, that same grin that had made her stomach flip the first time she'd seen it. Except now she knew—she was different. She mattered. This wasn't just friendly; this was something real.

He started toward the window, then paused. Turned back.

"Hey, Dawn?"

"Yeah?"

"For the record? You were never just another person to me." His expression was soft, sincere in a way that made her chest ache. "You were always different. I was just too stupid to realize I was allowed to do something about it."

"Todd—"

"Okay, now I'm actually going before I say something even more embarrassing." He climbed onto the windowsill, maneuvering back out into the night. "Text you in twenty minutes!"

"Don't fall!"

"No promises!"

She watched him climb down, using the same ivy and stonework, somehow making it look easy despite the danger. When he reached the ground, he looked up and waved—actually waved—before disappearing into the shadows.

Dawn closed the window and leaned against it, pressing her forehead to the cool glass. Her reflection stared back at her—red eyes, visible fangs, all the things that usually made people uncomfortable.

But Todd had looked at her like she was something precious. Like she mattered.

Her phone buzzed.

[Write cheesy ass convo]

Chapter Text

Jean's Observation

"I'm just saying it's interesting," Jean said, arms crossed as she watched through the mansion window.

Scott followed her gaze to where Dawn was visible across the grounds, walking with some of the Brotherhood boys who'd shown up to pick her up. She never asked any of the older kids for a ride, always Lance.

"What's interesting?"

"Watch."

They watched. Todd said something that made Dawn laugh—actually laugh, not that polite smile she gave the X-Men. Then he stumbled over something, and Dawn's hand shot out to steady him. Casual. Easy. Her hand stayed on his arm for a moment even after he'd regained his balance.

"She touched him," Jean said.

"...Okay?"

"Scott. Dawn doesn't let anyone touch her. Remember last week when Bobby tried to give her a high five and she nearly bit his hand off?"

"She didn't bite—"

"She growled. Actual snarling." Jean turned to face him. "But Todd Tolensky trips and suddenly she's all comfortable with physical contact?"

"Maybe she just likes him."

"That's what I'm saying! She likes them—" Jean gestured at the Brotherhood boys "—more than she likes us. Her actual team."

Scott shifted uncomfortably. "I don't think it's about liking—"

"Then what is it about? Because from where I'm standing, Dawn treats us like we have the plague while she's practically cuddling with the Brotherhood."

"She's not cuddling—"

"You know what I mean." Jean's voice had that edge to it that meant she was more hurt than angry. "We're supposed to be her family. Her team. But she flinches—"

"Growls."

"—growls whenever we get close unless it's Logan. Meanwhile Todd Tolensky gets casual arm touches like it's nothing."

Scott didn't have a good response to that. Because Jean was right—Dawn was different with the Brotherhood. Softer. More open.

"Maybe we should talk to the Professor about it," he said finally.

Jean sighed. "Maybe."

But they both knew they wouldn't. Because what would they even say? Dawn likes other people more than us? It sounded petty even in her own head.

Still. It stung.

Kurt's Concern

"Has anyvone else noticed zat Dawn doesn't like being touched?" Kurt asked during team training.

"She's always been like that," Kitty said, adjusting her gloves. "Some people just aren't touchy-feely."

"Ja, but..." Kurt gestured vaguely. "It seems more zan zat. Like, yesterday I accidentally bumped into her in ze hallway and she made zis... sound."

"What kind of sound?"

"Like a cat. But deeper. More... threatening."

"That's just Dawn," Rogue said from where she was stretching. "Girl's got boundaries. Ain't nothing wrong with that."

"I know, I know. But zen today I saw her viz ze Brotherhood boys—"

"Oh here we go," Kitty muttered.

"—and she was completely different! Todd made a joke and she pushed him. Playfully! And zen Lance said somezing and she leaned against his shoulder for like a whole minute."

"Maybe she's just more comfortable with them," Kitty suggested.

"But vhy? Ve are her team! Ve train togezzer, live togezzer—"

"They don't make her feel like a project," Rogue interrupted quietly.

Everyone turned to look at her.

"What?" Rogue shrugged. "Y'all are always tryin' to 'help' her. Make her more controlled, more team-oriented, more whatever. The Brotherhood just lets her be herself."

"We're not trying to change her—" Kurt started.

"Ain't you though?" Rogue met his eyes. "Think about it. When's the last time any of us just... hung out with Dawn? Without it bein' a training thing or a mission thing or a 'let's help Dawn adjust' thing?"

Uncomfortable silence.

"The Brotherhood don't treat her like she's broken," Rogue continued. "So yeah, she's gonna be more comfortable with them. Touch is trust. She don't trust us yet."

"Zat's..." Kurt trailed off. "Zat's kind of sad."

"Yeah," Rogue agreed. "It is."

Pietro's Commentary

"Have you guys noticed DogTeeth only touches people she actually likes?" Pietro announced, sprawled across the Brotherhood couch.

"What?" Fred looked up from his sandwich.

"Physical contact. She's got like, a hierarchy." Pietro started counting on his fingers. "Todd's at the top—she's always in his space, touching his arm, leaning on him, whatever. Then Lance and Fred—casual shoulder bumps, high fives, that kind of thing. Fred even gets to pick her up. Then me and Wanda get like, occasional acknowledgment that we exist. Everyone else? Might as well be radioactive."

"I don't think she has a hierarchy," Lance said, but he was smiling slightly.

"She totally does! Watch next time the X-Kids are around. If Scott so much as looks at her wrong, she goes all feral. But Todd can literally climb on her and she's fine with it."

"I don't climb on her," Todd protested.

"You fell asleep on her last week."

"That was different—"

"Was it?" Pietro grinned. "Face it, you're the favorite. The golden boy. The chosen one of physical contact."

"Shut up."

"I'm just saying, it's nice to know where we all stand in the DogBreath Touch Hierarchy. I'm above the X-Men atleast. Could be worse."

"You're so weird," Fred said.

"And you're high-tier, so you can't judge me. Some of us are suffering down here in occasional-high-five land."

"You literally vibrate if people touch you for too long," Lance pointed out. "Maybe that's why you're mid."

"That is a personal attack and I'm offended."

But Pietro was right, and they all knew it. Dawn had her people—the ones she trusted enough to be in her space, to touch casually, to let her guard down around. And the Brotherhood (or at least most of them) had made the list.

It felt good, being trusted like that.

Even if Pietro was going to be annoying about the ranking system.

 Logan's Callout

Dawn was in the Danger Room, beating the hell out of a training dummy, when Logan walked in.

"You're dropping your left shoulder," he commented.

Dawn adjusted, threw another punch. "Better?"

"Better." Logan moved closer, circling her like he always did during their sessions. Then he stopped, sniffed, and wrinkled his nose. "You smell like Tolensky. Again."

Dawn paused mid-punch. "What?"

"The frog kid. You reek of him. You two practically attached at the hip now?"

"We just hang out," Dawn said defensively. "What's wrong with that?"

"Nothing. Just making an observation." Logan crossed his arms. "You also smell like Alvers and Dukes. Spend a lot of time with them too?"

"They're my friends."

"Uh-huh." Logan's expression was knowing. "And Summers? Grey? The other kids here? They friends too?"

Dawn's jaw tightened. "That's different."

"How?"

"They just are."

"Kid, Summers tried to hand you a water bottle yesterday during training. You growled at him. Actual growling. Like you actually believe you're an animal." It almost felt hypocritical to say, almost.

"He got too close—"

"He was three feet away. Meanwhile I've seen Tolensky literally drape himself on you and you didn't even blink."

Dawn opened her mouth. Closed it. "I... I don't..."

"You got a hierarchy," Logan said bluntly. "People you trust get close. People you don't? Might as well be made of poison."

"I don't have a hierarchy—"

"Yeah, you do. And it's getting obvious enough that even Jean's noticed, which means everyone's noticed." Logan sat down on one of the training benches. "Not saying it's bad. Just saying you might want to be aware of it."

Dawn stood there, processing. Did she have a hierarchy? She knew she was more comfortable with the Brotherhood, but...

She thought about the last week. Todd falling asleep on her shoulder during a movie and she moved him into her lap. Lance casually throwing an arm over her shoulders while explaining something. Fred giving her a high five that turned into roughhousing. All of it easy, natural, comfortable.

Then she thought about the Institute. Scott trying to pat her shoulder in congratulations after a training exercise—she'd stepped away before he could make contact. Jean attempting to guide her by the elbow to Xavier's office—Dawn had pulled away sharply. Kurt trying for a friendly fist bump—she'd left him hanging.

"Oh," she said quietly.

"Yeah. Oh." Logan stood up. "Look, I get it. Trust isn't easy, especially when you've been burned before. And the X-Kids, they come with a lot of baggage—expectations, rules, that whole 'perfect team' thing. The Brotherhood's different. Easier."

"They don't try to fix me."

"Exactly. They just let you be." Logan moved toward the door. "But the X-Kids aren't bad people, Dawn. They're just kids trying to figure shit out, same as you. Might be worth giving them a chance. Not saying you gotta cuddle with Summers—"

"God, no."

"—but maybe don't growl every time he gets within arm's reach."

Dawn was quiet for a moment. "I didn't realize I was doing it. The touch thing."

"Most people don't. It's instinct—wolves are pack animals. You pick your pack, and everyone else is a potential threat." Logan paused at the door. "Just remember—you're not just wolf. You're human too. And humans? Sometimes they need more than one pack."

He left. Dawn stood in the empty Danger Room, thinking about hierarchies and touch and trust.

She pulled out her phone.

*do i touch you guys a lot?*

The Brotherhood group chat exploded immediately.

**Pietro:** FINALLY SOMEONE ELSE NOTICED

**Lance:** what brought this on?

**Fred:** You do but it's nice! Makes us feel like you like us!

**Todd:** i mean yeah? is that bad??

**Todd:** wait is it bad

**Todd:** DAWN IS IT BAD

Dawn smiled despite herself.

*its not bad. just didn't realize i was doing it*

**Pietro:** you have a HIERARCHY. 

**Pietro:** Todd's at the top

**Pietro:** then Lance and Fred, then—

**Lance:** shut up Pietro

**Todd:** IM AT THE TOP???

**Fred:** we all know you're at the top, Todd

**Todd:** :D

Dawn shook her head, still smiling. Maybe Logan was right. Maybe she did have a hierarchy. Maybe she was more comfortable with some people than others.

But looking at her phone, at the rapid-fire messages from people who didn't mind being touched, who actually seemed to *like* that she was comfortable enough to be in their space...

Maybe that wasn't such a bad thing.

She could work on being less aggressive with the X-Kids. Could try to meet them halfway, build some trust, maybe eventually get to a place where she didn't automatically growl when they got close.

But the Brotherhood? They were her pack. Her people. The ones she trusted enough to touch, to lean on, to let into her space without fear.

That wasn't a hierarchy.

That was family.

And she wasn't apologizing for it.

*for the record*, she typed, *todd's at the top because he doesn't mind when i fall asleep on him*

**Todd:** YOU CAN FALL ASLEEP ON ME ANYTIME

**Pietro:** SIMP

**Lance:** we know

**Fred:** it's cute though

**Todd:** IT'S NOT SIMPING IF SHE'S PERFECT

**Pietro:** MEGA SIMP

Dawn was definitely smiling now. Blushing even. She pocketed her phone and went back to the training dummy.

Touch hierarchy. Pack dynamics. Whatever Logan wanted to call it.

She just called it knowing who her people were.

And she was okay with that.

Chapter Text

7:30 AM - Breakfast

Dawn's eyes were barely open—her usual squint against the bright dining room lights—when Scott's voice cut through the morning quiet.

"You're late for breakfast. Again."

She'd been reaching for the coffee pot. Her hand stopped mid-motion. "I'm here, aren't I?"

"Barely. Xavier expects us at the table by seven-thirty—"

"It IS seven-thirty."

"It's seven thirty-two." Scott's voice had that edge to it, that perfect-student tone that made Dawn's teeth ache. "Being on time means being early."

Dawn felt her jaw tighten. Felt her canines press against her lower lip. Breathed through her nose and counted to five.

"Got it. Thanks for the tip." She poured coffee, added way too much sugar, and moved to sit as far from Scott as physically possible.

"You know, if you actually tried to follow the schedule—" Scott started.

"Scott." Jean's voice, warning. "Leave it."

Dawn gripped her mug hard enough that her knuckles went white. Took a sip. The coffee was too hot, burned her tongue, made her want to throw the mug across the room just to watch it shatter.

She didn't. She sat. She drank. She ignored Scott's pointed looks and Jean's concerned ones and Kurt's awkward attempts at small talk.

One hour down. Sixteen more until she could sleep.

She could make it.

Probably.

10:15 AM - Training

"Again!" Scott barked. "You're telegraphing your moves!"

Dawn reset her stance in the Danger Room, sweat already soaking through her shirt. They'd been at this for forty-five minutes. Every time she thought she'd done it right, Scott found something to criticize.

"I'm not telegraphing—"

"You drop your left shoulder before every punch. Anyone with half a brain could read it."

"Then maybe you should fight me yourself instead of hiding behind the control panel!"

Silence. Scott's jaw tightened behind his visor.

"That was inappropriate," he said coldly.

"So is acting like you're perfect when you—"

"Dawn." Xavier's voice, telepathic and disappointed, echoing in her skull. "Control yourself."

Dawn's hands clenched into fists. She wanted to scream. Wanted to transform and tear the Danger Room apart. Wanted to do literally anything except stand here and take criticism from someone who'd never once said she did something right.

"Again," Scott said.

Dawn reset. Threw the punch. Kept her shoulder up.

"Better. But your footwork is sloppy."

Of course it was.

1:30 PM - Lunch

"I'm just saying, if you actually participated in our study groups, you'd do better in class," Kitty said, picking at her salad.

Dawn stabbed her fork into her food with more force than necessary. "I do fine in class."

"You got a C on the last history test."

"C's are passing."

"But you could do better if you just applied yourself—"

"Kitty." Dawn set down her fork carefully. Very carefully. "I appreciate the concern. But I'm good."

"I'm just trying to help—"

"I know. And I'm telling you I don't need help."

"There's no need to get defensive—"

Dawn stood up. Grabbed her tray. "I'm not defensive. I'm done eating."

She dumped her half-finished lunch in the trash and walked out, ignoring Kitty calling after her. Ignoring Jean's telepathic brush against her mind (concern? judgment? didn't matter, get OUT).

The hallway was too bright. Too loud. Too everything.

Dawn found the nearest bathroom, locked herself in a stall, and pressed her forehead against the cool metal door.

Breathed. Counted. Tried not to think about how much easier this would be if she could just hit something.

4:00 PM - After School Academics

"Dawn, are you paying attention?"

She snapped back to the present. Ms. Monroe was looking at her expectantly. So was the rest of the class.

"Yes," Dawn lied.

"Then you can tell us the answer to the question?"

Dawn had no idea what the question was. She'd been staring at the wall, trying to ignore the fluorescent lights and the smell of too many bodies in one room and the sound of pencils scratching and people breathing and—

"I... don't know."

"Perhaps if you were listening instead of daydreaming—"

"I wasn't daydreaming." Dawn's voice came out sharper than intended. "I just didn't hear the question."

"Because you weren't paying attention."

"Because this room is too loud and too bright and I'm trying not to have a sensory overload in the middle of your class!"

The words burst out before she could stop them. The classroom went silent.

Ms. Monroe's expression softened. "Dawn, if you're having difficulties, you should have said something—"

"I'm saying something now."

"I meant earlier. Before it became a problem." Ms. Monroe's voice was gentle, patient, understanding in a way that made Dawn want to scream. "We can make accommodations—"

"I don't want accommodations. I want everyone to stop treating me like I'm broken!"

Another silence. Heavier this time.

"Perhaps you should take a break," Ms. Monroe said quietly. "Go to your room. Calm down."

Dawn stood so fast her chair scraped against the floor. Grabbed her bag. Walked out.

Behind her, she heard whispers. Felt Jean's telepathic presence trying to reach out (are you okay? do you need to talk?).

Dawn slammed her mental walls up so hard she hoped Jean got a headache from it.

6:30 PM - Dinner

Dawn didn't go to dinner.

She stayed in her room, door locked, lights off, lying on her bed and staring at the ceiling.

There was a knock. "Dawn? It's Kurt. Ve saved you some food—"

"Not hungry."

"Are you sure? You didn't eat much lunch—"

"I said I'm not hungry."

A pause. Then footsteps retreating.

Another knock, ten minutes later. "Dawn, it's Jean. Can we talk?"

"No."

"I just want to make sure you're okay—"

"I'm fine."

"You don't sound fine—"

"Jean. Please. Just leave me alone."

A longer pause. Then: "Okay. But if you need anything..."

Dawn didn't respond. Eventually, Jean left too.

The room was dark and quiet. Dawn's eyes were fully open now, staring at nothing. Her jaw ached from clenching. Her shoulders were tight with tension she couldn't release.

She'd made it through the day. Barely. Without transforming, without hitting anyone, without completely losing her shit.

Success, right?

So why did she feel like she'd failed anyway?

10:47 PM - The Window

Dawn was still awake, still staring at the ceiling, when she heard the soft tap on her window.

She went very still. Listened.

Another tap. Deliberate. Careful.

Dawn crossed to the window and looked out.

Todd clung to the side of the building, one hand stuck to the wall above her window, the other raised to tap again. When he saw her, his face split into a grin.

Dawn opened the window. "What are you doing here?"

"Checking on you." Todd climbed through with practiced ease, landing in a crouch on her floor. "You weren't at lunch at school. Or in the stairwell. Figured something was up."

"I'm fine."

"Uh-huh." Todd straightened, looking at her in the dim light from the hallway under her door. "You look tired."

"I'm always tired."

"No, you look tired tired. Like bad day tired." He moved closer, careful and slow like approaching a spooked animal. "Wanna talk about it?"

"Not really."

"Okay." Todd sat down on the edge of her bed, not pushing, just present. "Can I stay anyway?"

Dawn should say no. Should tell him to leave before someone found him here, before she got in even more trouble, before—

"Yeah," she heard herself say. "Yeah, you can stay."

The tension in her shoulders eased slightly just having him in the room. Todd had that effect—his presence was like a reset button on her nervous system.

"You want me to go?" Todd asked, misreading her silence. "I can head out if you need space—"

"No." Dawn sat down next to him. Close enough to feel his body heat, not quite touching. "Stay. Please."

"Okay." Todd settled back against the wall, legs stretched out on her bed, kicking off his shoes so they didn't get mud on the sheets. "What happened?"

"Nothing. Everything. I don't know." Dawn pulled her knees up to her chest. "Just... a bad day."

"Institute stuff?"

"Yeah."

"Wanna elaborate or just sit?"

Dawn was quiet for a long moment. Then: "Scott was on my ass about being two minutes late to breakfast. Then he spent an hour in the Danger Room telling me everything I did wrong. Then Kitty tried to get me to join a study group. Then I snapped at Ms. Monroe in class. Then everyone kept trying to check on me and I just—" Her voice cracked slightly. "I just wanted them to leave me alone."

"But they wouldn't."

"No. Because they're 'concerned' and they 'want to help' and they think I'm broken and need fixing."

Todd was quiet for a moment. "You're not broken."

"Tell them that."

"I'm telling you." Todd shifted so he was facing her. "Dawn, you're not broken. You're just... you. And the Institute doesn't know what to do with that because you don't fit their perfect student mold." He chuckled a bit, a hollow sound, “Hell, they couldn't even handle me.”

"Maybe I should try harder to fit—"

"Why? So you can be miserable all the time trying to be someone you're not?" Todd's voice was firm. "That's bullshit. They should adapt to you, not the other way around."

Something in Dawn's chest loosened. "That's not how Xavier sees it."

"Yeah, well, Xavier's not always right." Todd reached out, slow enough that she could pull away if she wanted. When she didn't, his hand found hers. "You know where you don't have to be perfect?"

"Where?"

"The Brotherhood house. We're all disasters. You'd fit right in."

Despite everything, Dawn smiled. "I basically live there already."

"So make it official. Move in. Tell Xavier and his perfect students to shove it."

"I can't—"

"Why not?"

"Because..." Dawn trailed off. Why couldn't she? What was actually keeping her here? "I don't know."

"When you figure it out, let me know." Todd squeezed her hand. "But until then, you've got us. Me, Lance, Fred, even Pietro when he's not being a dick. We don't care if you're grumpy or if you snap at people or if you need to be left alone. You're allowed to just... be."

Dawn felt something hot behind her eyes. She blinked it away. "You're being sappy again."

"Can't help it. You bring it out in me."

"It's annoying."

"You love it."

"...Maybe."

They sat in comfortable silence for a while. Dawn felt herself relaxing properly for the first time all day. The tension in her jaw eased. Her shoulders dropped. Her breathing slowed.

"Hey," Todd said softly. "When's the last time you actually slept?"

"Last night."

"When's the last time you slept well?"

Dawn didn't answer.

"Yeah, that's what I thought." Todd shifted, lying back on her bed. "Come here."

"Todd—"

"I'm not leaving until you sleep. So you can either lie there uncomfortable and awake, or you can come here and actually rest."

Dawn wanted to argue. Wanted to point out all the reasons this was a bad idea. But she was so tired. And Todd was warm and safe and steady.

She lay down next to him. Carefully at first, maintaining space.

"You can get closer," Todd said. "I don't bite."

"I might."

"I'll risk it."

Dawn shifted closer until her head was resting on his shoulder, his arm around her. He was cool to the touch—his amphibian mutation—but it was soothing against her perpetually overheated skin.

"Comfortable?" Todd asked.

"Yeah."

"Good. Now close your eyes."

"I'm not tired—"

"You're exhausted. Close your eyes."

Dawn closed her eyes. Todd's hand traced slow patterns on her shoulder—mindless, soothing. She could hear his heartbeat, steady and calm. Could smell that river-mud scent that meant safety and home.

"Tell me if I need to move," Todd murmured.

"You're fine where you are."

"Good. Because I wasn't actually planning on moving."

Dawn felt herself smile against his shoulder. "You're such a dork."

"Yeah, but I'm your dork."

"Unfortunately."

"Tragically."

"Devastatingly."

Todd's laugh was quiet, just a soft exhale. His hand kept tracing patterns. Dawn felt herself drifting, the exhaustion of the day finally catching up with her.

"Todd?"

"Mm?"

"Thanks for coming."

"Always." His voice was soft, already half-asleep himself. "Anytime you need me, I'm here. Bad day, good day, whatever. I'm here."

Dawn wanted to say something profound. Something about how much that meant, how much he meant. But the words stuck in her throat, too big and scary to voice.

Instead she just held on tighter.

Todd seemed to understand anyway. His arm tightened around her, keeping her close.

"Sleep," he murmured. "I've got you."

And for the first time all day—maybe the first time in weeks—Dawn felt safe enough to actually let go.

She drifted off to the sound of Todd's breathing, his heartbeat steady under her ear, his presence a shield against everything that had tried to break her today.

The Institute could wait until morning.

For now, this was enough.

---

When Xavier did his nightly telepathic check of the students, he found Dawn's mind finally at peace. Calm. Resting.

He also found another presence in her room.

Xavier paused. He should intervene. Should remove the Brotherhood boy from Institute grounds. Should have a conversation with Dawn about appropriate boundaries.

But Dawn's mind was quieter than he'd felt it in months. And the boy's thoughts were uncomplicated—just genuine care and protectiveness and a desire to help and the contentment knowing he could.

Xavier withdrew. Made a note to discuss this with her in the morning.

But for tonight, he let them rest.

Sometimes rules mattered less than peace.

And Dawn, for the first time since arriving at the Institute, finally looked peaceful.

---

Dawn woke up at 6 AM to Todd still there, still holding her, still keeping the world at bay.

She should wake him. Should sneak him out before anyone noticed. Should deal with the inevitable consequences of getting caught.

Instead, she closed her eyes and burrowed closer.

Five more minutes.

The world could wait five more minutes.

With Todd, she could face anything the Institute threw at her.

Even Scott Summers at breakfast.

...Okay, maybe not Scott.

But everything else.

Probably.

Chapter Text

The Danger Room was set to "Canadian Wilderness" which meant lots of trees, uneven terrain, and the smell of pine that made Dawn's nose twitch. She preferred this to the sterile metal training scenarios Xavier usually ran. At least this felt real.

Logan stood across from her, arms crossed, looking entirely unimpressed.

"You're late."

"Detention ran long." Dawn rolled her shoulders, loosening up. Her muscles were still sore from yesterday's session, but she'd never admit it.

"Detention." Logan's eyebrow raised. "That the one from the roof thing?"

"News travels fast."

"Chuck told me. Asked me to 'talk to you' about your recent choices." He said it in a way that made it clear what he thought of that request. "Figured we might as well make it productive. You warmed up?"

"Always."

"Good. Then move."

He was on her before the word fully left his mouth. Dawn's instincts kicked in—she dropped low, rolled right, came up with her guard up just in time to block the strike that would've caught her in the ribs. Not that it would've hurt her too bad, but Logan didn't believe in pulling punches during training.

"You gonna actually try or just play defense all day?" he growled.

Dawn bared her teeth—all of them, the dog fangs prominent—and lunged. She was fast, faster than most kids he trained, but Logan had decades of experience on her. He sidestepped, grabbed her arm mid-swing, and used her momentum to throw her into a tree.

She hit hard enough to knock the wind out of her lungs. Before she could recover, Logan was there, claws out, stopping just short of her throat.

"Dead. Again."

Dawn snarled and kicked out, catching him in the knee. It didn't do much—his healing factor meant he barely felt it—but it gave her enough space to roll away and get back on her feet.

"Better," Logan said, retracting his claws. "You're thinking. That's good."

"You're just trying to piss me off so I'll fight sloppy."

"Is it working?"

"...Maybe."

He grinned, the kind that was all teeth and no humor. "Come on then, pup. Show me what you got."

They went at it for another twenty minutes. Dawn landed more hits this time, using her strength and speed to her advantage, but Logan still had her beat on technique and sheer stubbornness. By the time he called a break, she was breathing hard and her hoodie was shredded in three places.

"Not bad," Logan said, tossing her a water bottle from seemingly nowhere. "You're getting better at reading attacks."

"Thanks." Dawn drank half the bottle in one go, then poured the rest over her head. The cold water felt good against her overheated skin.

Logan sat down on a fallen log, pulling out a cigar. He didn't light it—Xavier's rules about smoking in the mansion—but he chewed on the end anyway. Old habit.

"So," he said after a moment. "You gonna tell me what's really going on?"

"What do you mean?"

"The skipping class, the roof thing, the attitude with Summers and Grey." He gave her a look. "This is more than just teenage rebellion, kid."

Dawn was quiet for a moment, squinting out at the simulated forest. She could end the program with a thought, but she kind of liked it here. Peaceful. Reminded her of the woods back in Maryland in winter.

"They don't get it," she finally said.

"Who doesn't?"

"Any of them. Xavier, Jean, Scott. They all act like this place is supposed to be some kind of sanctuary, like we should be grateful to be here." She kicked at the dirt. "Maybe they are. Maybe this is exactly what they needed. But for me? It's just another place where I don't fit. Another group of people who own me."

"And the Brotherhood fits?"

Dawn's head snapped up. "How did you—"

"I got a nose, kid. You come back here smelling like swamp water and concrete dust. Doesn't take a genius." Logan shifted the cigar to the other side of his mouth. "Plus, Jean's got a big mouth when she's worried."

"She told you?"

"Didn't have to. I can read between the lines." He studied her for a moment. "It's the Tolensky kid, isn't it?"

Dawn felt heat rise to her cheeks. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Sure you don't." Logan's grin was knowing. "Relax. I'm not gonna rat you out."

"You're not?"

"Why would I? You're seventeen, you can make your own choices about who you spend time with." He paused. "That is what this is about, right? The skipping class, the sneaking out. You're seeing someone Chuck wouldn't approve of."

It wasn't a question. Dawn slumped down onto the log next to him, suddenly exhausted in a way that had nothing to do with training.

"His name's Todd," she said quietly. "And yeah, he's Brotherhood. But he's not…” She gestured vaguely with her hands, something she did a lot when she didn't quite know how to explain, “He's not what everyone thinks. He's funny and genuine and he doesn't look at me like I'm something broken that needs fixing."

"And that's important to you."

"Yeah. It is." Dawn pulled her knees up to her chest. "Everyone here—they're nice, I guess. But it's that kind of nice where they're always trying to help, always trying to make me better. More patient, more controlled, more like them. They're superficial." She shook her head. "Todd just... lets me be me. Temper and teeth and all."

Logan was quiet for a long moment, chewing on his cigar. Dawn could hear the simulated wind in the trees, the distant call of a bird that didn't exist.

"You know what Chuck wants me to say, right?" Logan finally asked.

"That I should focus on training, that I should stay away from the Brotherhood, that I should be a good little X-Man and follow all the rules."

"Yeah. That." Logan looked at her sideways. "You know what I'm actually gonna say?"

"...No?"

"That you're gonna do what you want anyway, so there's no point in me lecturing you about it." He pulled the cigar from his mouth and pointed it at her. "But I'm also gonna say that you need to be smart about it. Chuck's patient, but he's not stupid. Keep pushing and eventually he's gonna push back."

"So what, I'm supposed to just give up the one place where I actually feel like I belong?"

"Didn't say that." Logan tucked the cigar back in his mouth. "I said be smart. Keep your grades up, show up for training, don't give Chuck a reason to come down on you harder. You can have your freedom and your boyfriend, but you gotta play the game a little bit."

Dawn made a face. "He's not my boyfriend."

"Sure he's not."

"He's not! We just... hang out."

"Uh huh."

"...And sometimes kiss."

"There it is."

Despite everything, Dawn felt herself smile. It was small, but genuine.

"You're not gonna tell Xavier?"

"What's there to tell? Far as I'm concerned, you're doing fine. Better than fine, actually." Logan stood up, stretching. His joints popped like gunshots. "You're learning control, even if you don't realize it. You stopped yourself from really hurting me three times during that fight. Old Dawn would've gone for blood."

"How do you know that?"

"Because old me would've gone for blood too. Still want to sometimes." He offered her a hand up. "But we're learning, right? We're getting better at being part of the team even when the team doesn't always get us."

Dawn took his hand and let him pull her to her feet. His grip was strong, steady. Reliable.

"Logan?"

"Yeah, kid?"

"Thanks. For getting it, I mean. For not... being like the others."

Something softened in Logan's expression, just for a moment. "We gotta stick together, the ones who don't quite fit the mold. Otherwise this place'll sand all the rough edges off until we're not ourselves anymore."

"Is that what happened to you?"

"Hell no. I'm still plenty rough." He started walking toward the exit, gesturing for her to follow. "But I've been around long enough to know how to make it work. You will too."

They walked in comfortable silence for a moment. Then Logan spoke again, quieter this time.

"Your old man really did a number on you, huh?"

Dawn tensed. They never talked about her father. She'd made sure of that when Xavier had tried to dig into her past during their first sessions.

"I don't want to talk about him."

"Don't have to. Just want you to know—" Logan stopped, making her stop too. He looked at her straight on, serious in a way he rarely was. "Just want you to know that you're doing good, kid. Better than good. You survived something that would've broken a lot of people, and you came out fighting. That takes strength."

Dawn felt something tight in her chest, something that might have been tears if she was the crying type. She wasn't.

"You're getting sappy on me, old man."

"Don't let it get around. I got a reputation to maintain." But there was warmth in his voice, rough as it was. "Come on. One more round before we call it. And this time, actually try to land a hit on my ugly mug."

"Your face is already ugly enough without me adding to it."

"There's that attitude. Now put it into your punches."

They went another round, then another. Dawn landed more hits this time, even managed to sweep his legs once, which earned her a grunt of approval. By the time they finished, she was exhausted but in a good way. The kind of tired that came from pushing herself, not from constantly trying to be someone she wasn't.

As they left the Danger Room, Logan put a hand on her shoulder. Not restraining, just... there.

"You ever need to talk, or train, or just get out of your head for a while—you know where to find me."

"Even if I've been skipping class?"

"Especially then. Means you probably need it more." He squeezed once, then let go. "And Dawn? For what it's worth—I think the Tolensky kid's lucky. Not everyone gets someone willing to take detention for them."

Dawn felt her face heat up again. "Jean told you about that too?"

"Didn't have to. It's what I would've done." Logan's grin was sharp. "You're more like me than you think, kid. Try not to hold it against yourself."

He left her there in the hallway, heading toward his room with that particular swagger that said he was done being serious for the day. Dawn stood there for a moment, processing.

Her phone buzzed. Todd, asking if she was free later. There was a monster movie marathon at the old theater downtown and he'd already bought tickets.

She looked down the hallway toward Xavier's office, where she knew he was probably waiting to "check in" about her progress. Then she looked at her phone.

*yeah. pick me up at 8. don't be late.*

*wouldnt dream of it. btw logan gave me the most terrifying look at school earlier when he picked you up. im pretty sure he knows*

*he definitely knows*

*am i gonna die?*

*probably not. he likes you*

*HE DOES???*

*i didnt say that*

*YOU TOTALLY DID*

Dawn smiled and pocketed her phone. She'd go see Xavier, sit through his concerned lecture, promise to do better. And then she'd sneak out at 7:45 to meet Todd, and they'd watch bad movies and eat too much popcorn and she'd feel like herself.

Logan got it. And maybe that was enough to survive this place.

As she walked toward Xavier's office, she heard Logan's voice echo from down the hall.

"And Summers? If you give the kid a hard time about her choices, you and me are gonna have words."

"Logan, I'm just trying to help—"

"Yeah, well, help less. She's doing fine."

Dawn grinned. Yeah, Logan definitely got it.

She knocked on Xavier's door, squaring her shoulders. Time to play the game, like Logan said. Be smart about it.

But she'd do it on her own terms. Rough edges and all.

"Come in, Dawn," Xavier's voice called.

She opened the door, already planning her evening escape route.

Some things were worth the detention. Some things were worth fighting for.

And some people—whether it was the swamp boy who made her laugh or the gruff man who understood what it meant to not quite fit—were worth keeping close, even when the world told you that you should let them go.

Dawn had never been good at doing what she was told anyway.

Chapter Text

The Brotherhood had been kicked out of Bayville High two weeks ago, and the collective mood was somewhere between "funeral" and "dumpster fire."

It was late April now, warm enough that the trees were green again and the air smelled like growth instead of decay. But the boys were still moping around the house, stuck in the funk of having lost what little normalcy school had provided—even if they'd hated it most of the time.

Dawn had had enough.

"Alright," she announced, bursting into the living room where everyone was sprawled in various states of depression. "Everyone up. We're going on a road trip."

"What?" Todd mumbled from the couch, one eye cracking open.

"Road trip. Pack your shit. We're leaving in an hour."

"Dawn, it's eight AM," Pietro groaned from the armchair. "On a Saturday."

"Yeah, and you're all moping around like someone died. So we're going somewhere fun."

"Where?" Lance asked from his spot on the floor, looking haggard.

"My hometown. Nanjemoy, Maryland."

"That sounds made up," Pietro said.

"It's not. Now get up before I start throwing things."

To emphasize her point, she grabbed a pillow and chucked it at Pietro's head. He caught it at super speed, but the message was received.

Forty-five minutes later, they were all piled into Lance's van. Dawn rode shotgun, Todd squeezed in the middle row with Fred, and Pietro sprawled in the back making comments about how the van smelled like old gym socks.

"It's a five hour drive," Dawn said, spreading out a gas station map on her lap. "We'll stop for food and bathroom breaks. Everyone brought swimsuits?"

"Swimsuits?" Fred perked up. "There's swimming?"

"River swimming, yeah. Best kind."

"In April?" Lance pointed out.

"It's almost May. Water's perfect this time of year. Trust me."

"That sounds like a lie," Pietro said.

"Then don't swim. More river for the rest of us."

The drive started out quiet—everyone still too tired and moody to really talk. But somewhere around hour two, after they'd stopped for gas station breakfast sandwiches and terrible coffee, the mood started to shift.

Todd was telling some elaborate story about a frog he'd befriended as a kid, Dawn learning he could communicate with amphibious creatures how she could with dogs for the first time. Fred was laughing so hard he was crying. Even Lance cracked a smile.

"Your turn," Todd said, nudging Dawn. "Tell us a Nanjemoy story."

"What kind of story?"

"I dunno. Something that happened there. Something fun."

Dawn thought for a moment. "Alright. So when I was like twelve, before everything went to shit, me and some kids from school decided to jump off Slavin's Cliff into the river—"

"There's a cliff?" Fred interrupted, eyes wide.

"Yeah, like a twenty foot drop. Anyway, we're all jumping, having a good time, and then someone spots what they think is a snake in the water. Everyone freaks out, scrambling to get out. Turns out it was just a stick."

"That's it?" Pietro said. "That's the story?"

"No. The story is that while everyone was panicking about the stick, an actual snake swam right past them and nobody noticed except me."

"What'd you do?" Todd asked.

Dawn grinned. "Didn't say shit. Let them figure it out later."

"That's evil," Fred said, but he was smiling.

"That's hilarious," Lance corrected.

They stopped for lunch at a diner that had definitely seen better days. The waitress called them "hon" and the coffee was somehow worse than the gas station stuff, but the burgers were huge and greasy in the best way.

"So what's Nanjemoy like?" Todd asked, stealing a fry from Dawn's plate.

"Small. Real small. Everyone knows everyone, which sucked for me cus I look exactly like my dad who's got his own shit reputation I got to inherit ." Dawn squinted through the window at the gray November sky. "But the nature's good. Lots of woods, the river, places to run without people bothering you."

"Sounds nice," Fred said quietly.

"It was. Before..." She trailed off, not wanting to get into her father, into why she left. Had to be rescued by goody two shoes telepaths from a new York mansion. "Anyway. It'll be good to go back. Show you guys what actual country living looks like."

"As opposed to our very urban lifestyle?" Lance said dryly.

"Hey, Bayville's basically a city compared to Nanjemoy."

They got back on the road. Dawn watched the landscape change outside her window—less suburbs, more farmland, trees getting denser. The smell changed too, even through the closed windows. Damper, earthier. 

Home.

"We're close," she said as they crossed into Maryland. "Another thirty minutes."

"What's the plan when we get there?" Pietro asked.

"Drop our stuff at the motel I booked, then hit the river. There's a trail I used to run that leads to the good swimming spot. Nice and secluded."

"Secluded is good," Lance agreed. "Don't need people freaking out about mutants."

They pulled into Nanjemoy just before three. The town was exactly as Dawn remembered—tiny main street, more churches than restaurants, and a gas station that looked like it was held together by prayer and rust.

"This is..." Pietro looked around. "Wow. This is really small."

"Told you."

The motel was cheap but clean enough. They dumped their bags and changed into swim clothes—shorts for the guys, since none of them had actually brought proper swimsuits. Dawn kept her hoodie on, hood up.

"You gonna swim in that?" Todd asked.

"I'll take it off when we get there. Come on, daylight's burning."

The trail started at the edge of town, marked by a weathered wooden sign that said "River Access." Dawn led the way, moving with a confidence that came from having walked this path hundreds of times.

"How far is it?" Fred asked after about ten minutes.

"Another half mile. You good?"

"Yeah, just asking."

The forest was different in November. Bare branches, leaves crunching underfoot, that particular smell of decay and dormancy that meant winter was coming. But it was still beautiful in its own way. Still home.

"Alright," Dawn said when they reached a fork in the trail. "You guys keep going straight. Trail opens up at the swimming spot in about five minutes. I'm gonna hang back, catch up in a bit."

"Why?" Todd asked, immediately suspicious.

"Just trust me. Go ahead. I'll be right behind you."

Lance studied her face, then nodded slowly. "Come on guys. Let's give her a minute."

"But—" Todd started.

"Todd." Dawn squeezed his hand. "It's fine. I promise. Just go."

He looked like he wanted to argue, but Fred was already moving down the trail, and Pietro was complaining about mosquitoes. Todd gave her one last worried look, then followed.

Dawn waited until their footsteps faded. Then she waited another minute, making sure they were really gone.

Then she started taking off her clothes.

The transformation was never easy. Never painless. But it was necessary for what she was about to do.

She folded her hoodie and jeans carefully, putting her bra and underwear safely between them, leaving them at the base of a tree she'd remember. Her shoes went on top. Then, she braced herself.

Breaking was always the worst part.

She closed her eyes and let go of her human shape. Felt her bones start to crack, to splinter, to reshape. Her jaw elongated with a sound like green wood snapping. Her spine curved, vertebrae popping like firecrackers. Her legs bent backward, knees reforming, feet stretching into paws.

The pain was exquisite. Blinding. She bit down on her lip to keep from screaming—tasted blood, felt her canines extend and sharpen. Her skin stretched, tore in places as fur pushed through from underneath. Greys and reds, (contrary to Wrath’s Canadian Grey wolf she was naturally an American red), thick enough to keep out the cold.

It took two minutes to shift forms. Three minutes of agony, of her body destroying and rebuilding itself and then settling back into normalcy. When it was over, she stood on four legs, panting, adjusting to the different weight distribution and sensory input.

Better.

She shook herself, testing the form. Everything worked. She could hear the river now, much clearer than before. Dawn waited until Todd was directly parallel to her position.

Then she charged.

The underbrush exploded as seven feet and 300 pounds of werewolf burst onto the trail. Todd's scream was high-pitched and deeply satisfying. Fred stumbled backward with a shout. Pietro blurred away so fast he was just gone.

Todd tried to run—instinct, probably—but Dawn was already on him. She grabbed him around the waist with one massive clawed hand and hoisted him up like he weighed nothing. Before he could process what was happening, she had him positioned on her back, his arms desperately wrapping around her neck, legs scrambling for purchase against her sides.

Then she ran.

The forest became a blur. Dawn knew every inch of this terrain, every turn and dip and rise. She took the most direct route to the river—which meant off-trail, through thick woods, over fallen logs and around massive trees.

Todd's grip on her neck tightened to almost painful. She could hear him making sounds—not quite screams, not quite laughter, maybe both. His heart was hammering against her back like a drum.

Behind them, distantly, she heard Lance shout "WHAT THE FUCK WAS THAT?!"

Dawn pushed harder, legs eating up ground. The river smell got stronger—water and mud and fish and home. The trees started to thin.

Then they broke through the tree line.

The swimming spot opened up before them—a wide section of river with a rocky beach on one side and, on the other, a fifteen-foot cliff jutting out over deeper water. The water was that perfect greenish-blue of spring, clear enough to see the bottom in the shallows.

Dawn didn't slow down.

She hit the rocky beach at full sprint and launched them both into the air.

Todd's scream was definitely a scream this time.

They hit the water together with a tremendous splash. The cold was shocking but good—refreshing after the heat of the run. Dawn released Todd immediately, letting him surface on his own while she dove deeper, enjoying the pressure and clarity.

When she broke the surface, Todd was treading water, hair plastered to his face, eyes huge.

"WHAT—" he sputtered. "YOU—WE JUST—"

Dawn let out a rumbling sound that might have been a laugh and paddled closer. She was careful to stay far enough away that she wouldn't accidentally swat him with her size.

"WAS THAT DAWN?!" Fred's voice echoed from the trail. The rest of the group was just emerging from the tree line, looking various shades of terrified and confused.

"THAT'S DAWN!" Todd yelled back, now starting to grin despite the shock. "SHE JUST—SHE GRABBED ME AND—"

"Is he okay?" Lance called, moving down to the beach.

"I THINK SO?!" Todd laughed, slightly hysterical. "THAT WAS INSANE! YOU'RE INSANE!"

Dawn snorted and dove under again, swimming in a wide circle around Todd. When she surfaced, the others had made it to the beach.

"Holy shit," Fred breathed, staring at her massive form in the water. "You're HUGE."

Pietro had reappeared—probably had to come back once he realized what was happening. "That's what grabbed Todd? That's Dawn?"

"Yeah," Lance said slowly, watching her paddle and putting 2 and 2 together. "That's her wolf form."

Dawn stood up in the shallower water, revealing her full height. Seven feet of muscle and dark fur, red eyes glowing even in the bright spring sunlight. Water streamed off her coat. When she shook herself dry like a giant dog, she sent a spray of river water over all of them.

"Okay that's actually really cool," Pietro admitted.

"Can you... understand us?" Fred asked cautiously.

Dawn huffed—as close to "obviously" as she could get—and rolled her eyes in a very human gesture.

"She understands us," Todd confirmed, swimming closer to shore. "She's just... big. And scary. And apparently likes to terrify her boyfriend."

Dawn made a sound that was definitely amusement and splashed him with one massive paw.

"Oh, so that's how it is?" Todd grinned and splashed back, which was completely ineffective against her size, resulting in her dropping all her weight into the water next to him and flooding him in a wave.

Dawn resurfaced and let out a bark that echoed off the cliff walls. Then she dunked back under.

"Fuck it," Lance said, pulling off his shirt. "We came here to swim, right?"

He waded in, followed by Fred. Pietro hesitated for a second, then super-sped into the water with a huge splash.

The water was cold but not unbearable. Dawn let them adjust, swimming lazy circles, before she dove deep and came up right next to Todd.

He yelped, stumbling backward, then started laughing. "You're an asshole."

She snorted—the closest she could get to agreement in this form—and nudged him with her massive head. Almost knocked him over.

"She's like a really big, scary dog," Fred observed.

They swam for over an hour. Dawn showed them the best spots, the deep pools where the current was calm, the places where you could stand and still have your head above water. She even let Fred grab onto her back and she towed him around like a very strange pool float, much to everyone's amusement.

Lance found the cliff trail and they all took turns jumping—all except Pietro, who claimed it was "unnecessarily dangerous" but probably was just scared. Dawn went twice more, launching herself with enough force to send up a geyser of water.

As the sun started to dip lower, painting everything in orange and gold, they dragged themselves back to the rocky beach. Dawn's transformation back was always worse—bones resetting, body compacting, fur slicking off to reveal fresh skin. She'd hidden behind some rocks and held in the screams as best she could to do it, and by the time she emerged in her human form again, she was shaking and covered in blood from where the skin had split during the shift.

Todd had her hoodie ready, having apparently gone back to get it. He helped her into it without comment, though his eyes were worried.

"I'm fine," she said, voice hoarse. "Always looks worse than it is."

"That sounded like it hurt."

"It did. But it was worth it." Dawn gestured at the river, at the cliff, at the fading sunlight. "This. All of this. Worth it." Her grin was proof enough, nearly a whole smile.

They walked back to the motel as dusk settled in. Fred talked about how cool it was that Dawn could swim so fast in that form. Lance was already planning to come back in the summer when the water would be warmer. Pietro grumbled about sunburn. Dawn flopped into the closest bed, bloody hair be damned, and grinned at the boys calling her gross with no real heat behind it, wondering if this is what everyone else got to experience while she was held captive…

Chapter Text

Dawn was elbow-deep in the Brotherhood's refrigerator when she heard footsteps on the stairs.

She went still, enhanced hearing immediately cataloging the weight and rhythm. Too light for Fred. Too steady for Pietro. Not Lance's heavy boots or Todd's characteristic shuffle.

Wanda.

Shit.

Dawn straightened slowly, a jar of pasta sauce in one hand, trying to calculate her options. The kitchen only had one exit, and Wanda was coming down the hallway toward it. She could transform—break through the wall if she had to—but that seemed like an overreaction that would definitely piss off the one person in this house she absolutely did not want to piss off.

The Scarlet Witch's reputation preceded her. Dawn had seen the news footage. The overturned cars, the screaming civilians, the "dangerous mutant terrorist" headlines that never quite captured how genuinely terrifying Wanda Maximoff could be when she was angry. Dawn had watched her hex bolt turn a solid steel door into flower petals once. 

You didn't pick fights with someone who could rewrite reality on a bad day.

Wanda appeared in the doorway, and Dawn forced herself not to tense visibly. Keep it casual. Don't look threatening. Don't look threatened.

"Hey," Dawn said, aiming for normal and landing somewhere in the vicinity of "person trying very hard to seem normal."

Wanda raised an eyebrow, moving past her to the cabinets. "Hey."

Dawn watched her grab a mug, fill it with water from the tap. Watched her lean against the counter like this was completely routine. Which, technically, it was—Wanda came by the house sometimes, usually forced to by Magneto or check that Pietro hadn't burned the place down.

But this was the first time they'd been alone. Properly alone. All the boys were off doing some Magneto errand that Dawn had explicitly opted out of because she didn't take orders from him and never would.

"Making dinner?" Wanda asked, nodding at the sauce.

"Yeah. Figured I'd actually cook something before Fred tries again." Dawn set the jar down, hyperaware of her own body language. Not aggressive. Not defensive. Just... existing. "His last attempt was... ambitious."

"I heard about the cookies."

"The cookies were a war crime."

Wanda's mouth twitched. Almost a smile. "Todd said you would've prevented it."

"Todd says a lot of things."

"He does." Wanda took a sip of water, studying her over the rim of the mug. "He talks about you constantly, actually. It's an improvement over the alternative."

Dawn's stomach tightened. Here it was. The real reason Wanda had cornered her in the kitchen. "Look, if this is about—"

"It's not about anything bad," Wanda interrupted. Her tone was flat, matter-of-fact. "I'm not here to fight you."

"Okay." Dawn didn't quite believe her, but she also didn't have a lot of options. Running would look weak. Standing her ground might look aggressive. She settled for leaning back against the fridge, arms crossed loosely. Casual. Totally casual.

Wanda sighed. "You look like you're about to bolt through the wall."

"Can you blame me?"

"Fair." Wanda set her mug down. "For the record, I really am just here for water. But since we're both here, and the house is actually quiet for once..." She paused. "I wanted to say thank you."

Dawn blinked. "For what?"

"For dating Todd."

Of all the things Dawn had expected to hear, that wasn't even on the list. "I—what?"

"Todd," Wanda repeated, like Dawn might have forgotten who her boyfriend was. "Before you, he'd hit on me every single time I came over. It was exhausting. Now he just nods and goes back to whatever he's doing. It's a significant quality of life improvement."

Dawn felt her brain trying to catch up. "You're... thanking me? For dating my boyfriend?"

"Yes."

"That's—" Dawn stopped, recalibrating. "Okay. You're welcome? I guess?"

"You guess?"

"I didn't do it for you." Dawn's tone came out sharper than intended, defensive. "I didn't date him to get him to stop hitting on you. I dated him because I—because he's—" She gestured vaguely, frustration building. "Because I wanted to."

"I know that." Wanda's expression didn't change. "I'm not saying you did it for my benefit. I'm saying I appreciate the side effect. There's a difference."

Dawn studied her, looking for the catch. The angle. The moment when Wanda's civility would crack and reveal whatever she was actually here for. But Wanda just stood there, leaning against the counter, radiating the same tired energy that Dawn recognized from her own bad days.

"You really just came down here for water," Dawn said slowly.

"Yes."

"And to say thank you."

"Also yes."

"That's it?"

Wanda shrugged. "That's it. Did you expect something else?"

"Honestly? Yeah." Dawn uncrossed her arms, some of the tension bleeding out of her shoulders. "Your reputation kind of suggests you're not the 'casual kitchen chat' type."

"My reputation suggests I'm a dangerous mutant terrorist who should be locked up," Wanda said dryly. "Reputations aren't always accurate."

"Fair point."

"Besides," Wanda continued, picking up her mug again, "you live here basically. We're going to run into each other. It seemed easier to establish that I'm not going to hex you into a toad just because you're dating one."

Dawn snorted before she could stop herself. "That's—okay, that's actually kind of funny."

"I thought so." Wanda's expression remained neutral, but there was something almost amused in her eyes. "For what it's worth, you're good for him. Todd, I mean. He's less... desperate. More like an actual person."

"He's always been an actual person."

"You know what I mean."

Dawn did. She'd seen the way Todd used to throw himself at any girl who'd give him the time of day, like he was trying to prove something. Like he didn't quite believe he deserved to be wanted, so he'd take whatever scraps of attention he could get.

"He's good for me too," Dawn said quietly. "In case that matters."

"It does." Wanda tilted her head slightly. "You're fixing the house."

It wasn't a question, but Dawn answered anyway. "Yeah. Someone has to. The plumbing was a disaster."

"Lance mentioned you replaced half the pipes."

"And the water heater. And most of the electrical in the kitchen." Dawn glanced around at the space that still looked like a disaster zone, but at least now it was a functional disaster zone. "It's not much, but—"

"It's more than anyone else has done." Wanda's tone was still flat, but there was something like approval underneath it. "This place was falling apart. You actually care enough to fix it."

Dawn shifted, uncomfortable with the observation. "It's just practical. Can't live somewhere if the pipes are going to explode."

"You could live at the mansion."

"No," Dawn said immediately, instinctively. "I couldn't."

Wanda nodded like she'd expected that answer. "Too many rules?"

"Too much control." The words came out before Dawn could stop them. She tensed, waiting for Wanda to ask follow-up questions, to pry into trauma that wasn't her business.

But Wanda just said, "Makes sense," and took another sip of water.

The silence stretched between them, but it wasn't hostile. Just... quiet. Two people existing in the same space without needing to fill every second with conversation.

Dawn turned back to the stove, pulling out a pot to start boiling water for pasta. Behind her, she heard Wanda shift, still leaning against the counter.

"Can I ask you something?" Wanda said eventually.

Dawn's shoulders tensed again. "Depends on the question."

"Were you actually scared of me? Just now?"

Dawn considered lying. Decided against it. "Yeah."

"Why?"

"Because I've seen what you can do when you're pissed off." Dawn kept her eyes on the pot, filling it with water from the tap. "And I'm not an idiot. You could turn me inside out before I even finished transforming. Fighting you would be the dumbest thing I could possibly do."

"So you weren't going to fight."

"No."

"Smart."

Dawn set the pot on the stove, finally turning to look at Wanda directly. "Are we good? Like, actually good? Because if you've got a problem with me being here, I'd rather know now."

"We're good," Wanda said simply. "You're not bothering me. You're helping the boys. You make Todd happy, which makes him less annoying. And you haven't tried to tell me what to do or fix me or whatever it is people usually try." She paused. "So yeah. We're good."

"Okay." Dawn felt something unclench in her chest. "Good."

"Plus," Wanda added, pushing off the counter, "if I had a problem with you, you'd know. I'm not subtle."

"Yeah, I've noticed."

Wanda's mouth twitched again, that almost-smile. "Just so we're clear—I'm not here to be your friend. I don't do the whole bonding thing."

"That's fine. I'm not great at it either."

"But we can coexist."

"Yeah," Dawn said. "We can coexist."

"Good." Wanda headed toward the doorway, mug in hand. Then she paused, glancing back. "You know, Todd used to recite bad poetry. When he was trying to impress me."

Dawn stared at her. "He what?"

"Bad poetry. Really bad. Like, painfully bad." Wanda's expression was completely deadpan. "I'm assuming he doesn't do that with you?"

"No. Oh my god, no."

"Consider yourself lucky." Wanda turned to leave, then added over her shoulder, "The pasta sauce in that jar expired two months ago. Check the cabinet to the left of the sink—I brought over new ones last week."

She disappeared down the hallway before Dawn could respond, leaving Dawn standing alone in the kitchen, holding a jar of expired pasta sauce and trying to process what had just happened.

They'd talked. Just... talked. No fighting, no posturing, no drama. Wanda had thanked her, they'd established boundaries, and now they were just two people who happened to exist in the same space sometimes.

Dawn set down the expired sauce and checked the cabinet Wanda had mentioned. Sure enough, three jars of fresh marinara, plus some other basics that definitely hadn't been there yesterday.

She pulled one out, studying the label. Then she started laughing—actual laughter, the kind that came from relief and absurdity in equal measure.

Her phone buzzed.

**Todd:** how's the house

**Todd:** lance made me come on this thing but its so boring

**Todd:** magnetos doing a whole speech

**Todd:** save me

Dawn smiled, setting the jar on the counter.

**Dawn:** house is fine

**Dawn:** had an interesting conversation with wanda

**Todd:** WHAT

**Todd:** are you ok???

**Todd:** do i need to come back

**Todd:** i will literally leave right now

**Dawn:** im fine

**Dawn:** we're good actually

**Dawn:** she thanked me for dating you

**Todd:** ...what

**Dawn:** apparently you used to recite bad poetry at her

**Todd:** OH GOD

**Todd:** WE DONT TALK ABOUT THAT

**Todd:** DAWN

**Todd:** DAWN NO

**Dawn:** dawn yes

**Dawn:** im going to ask for details

**Dawn:** im going to ask for SO MANY DETAILS

**Todd:** this is betrayal

**Todd:** this is a betrayal of the highest order

**Todd:** im breaking up with you

**Dawn:** no youre not

**Todd:** ...no im not

**Todd:** but im not happy about this

**Dawn:** you'll survive

**Dawn:** dinner will be ready when you get back

**Dawn:** actual edible dinner

**Todd:** you're the best

**Todd:** even though youre BULLYING ME

**Dawn:** one of my many talents

She set her phone down and got back to cooking, feeling lighter than she had in weeks. The house was quiet, the kitchen was functional, and she'd just navigated a conversation with Scarlet Witch without anyone getting hexed.

Maybe, Dawn thought as she stirred the pasta, this whole "living here" thing was actually going to work out.

When Wanda came back downstairs an hour later, Dawn was plating food. She glanced up, caught Wanda's eye, and made a split-second decision.

"You want some?" Dawn asked, nodding at the pasta. "I made too much."

Wanda paused in the doorway, something unreadable crossing her face. Then she shrugged. "Sure."

Dawn pulled down another plate, dividing the portions. They ate standing at opposite ends of the kitchen, not talking, not needing to. Just two women with too much power and too much trauma, choosing to share space peacefully in a falling-apart house in Bayville.

It wasn't friendship. It probably never would be.

But it was respect. Understanding. A mutual acknowledgment that they could destroy each other and were choosing not to.

And in this house, with these people, that was enough.

"The sauce is good," Wanda said eventually.

"Thanks. Needs more garlic though."

"Everything needs more garlic."

"Truth."

Wanda finished her plate, rinsed it in the sink, and headed back upstairs without another word. Dawn watched her go, then turned back to her own food.

**Todd:** magneto FINALLY shut up

**Todd:** coming home soon

**Todd:** lance is driving so well be there in like 20

**Todd:** i missed you

**Dawn:** missed you too

**Dawn:** oh and todd?

**Todd:** yeah?

**Dawn:** tell me about the poetry

**Todd:** IM BLOCKING YOU

**Dawn:** no youre not

**Todd:** ...youre right but im not talking about it

**Dawn:** we'll see

She was smiling when the boys came home twenty minutes later, and when Todd immediately wrapped himself around her in the kitchen, she let him. Even when he saw the clean plates in the sink and realized Wanda had been there.

"You actually talked to her?" he asked, slightly awed.

"Yeah."

"And you're both still alive?"

"Surprisingly."

"That's—okay, that's actually really cool." He squeezed her tighter. "My girlfriend is braver than me."

"Was that ever in question?"

"No, but still. I'm impressed." He pulled back to look at her, grinning. "Also we're never talking about the poetry."

"Oh, we're absolutely talking about the poetry."

"Dawn—"

"Was it haikus? Please tell me it was haikus."

"I hate you."

"No you don't."

"...no I don't."

She kissed him, tasting the smile on his lips, and decided that yeah—this was exactly where she was supposed to be.

Falling-apart house, temperamental housemates, scary reality-warping witch upstairs and all.

Chapter Text

Dawn had been having a bad week.

Not just a bad day—a bad week. Xavier on her case about control. Scott criticizing everything she did. Jean's constant telepathic check-ins that felt more like surveillance. The fluorescent lights giving her migraines. The noise. The expectations. The constant, grinding pressure to be better.

So when Kyle Martinez decided Friday afternoon was the perfect time to start shit, Dawn was already at her limit.

"Hey, Dog Girl!"

Dawn kept walking. She had five minutes until her next class. If she could just make it to the library, she could sit in the quiet corner and—

"I'm talking to you, freak!"

Dawn stopped. Turned slowly.

Kyle stood with his usual group of asshole jocks, all letter jackets and smug expressions. He was pointing at her, grinning like this was the funniest thing in the world.

"What?" Dawn's voice was flat.

"Just wondering when the circus is gonna come pick you up. You know, with the whole—" He gestured at her face, her clothes, everything. "—sideshow thing you got going on."

His friends laughed. Dawn felt her jaw tighten.

"Walk away," she told herself. "Just walk away."

"I mean, seriously, do you even own normal clothes? Or do you just raid dumpsters?" Kyle was getting bolder now, stepping closer. "And those teeth—Jesus, did your dentist have a seizure? You look like you could chew through a chain-link fence."

More laughter. A small crowd was starting to gather—people pulling out phones, sensing drama.

Dawn's hands clenched into fists. "Fuck off."

"Or what? You gonna bite me? Bark at me?" Kyle made exaggerated dog noises, his friends joining in. "Here, puppy, puppy—"

"I said fuck off."

"Make me, freak—"

Kyle reached out—going to shove her, probably, or grab her hood. Dawn didn't think. Her body moved on instinct, on weeks of pent-up rage finding an outlet.

Her fist connected with Kyle's face.

The crack was audible. Kyle's nose exploded in a spray of blood, his head snapping back. He stumbled, hands flying to his face, and Dawn was already moving.

She grabbed his shirt, yanked him forward, and drove her knee into his stomach. Kyle folded with a wheeze. Dawn shoved him to the ground and followed him down.

Everything went red.

She was dimly aware of screaming—Kyle's, other students', maybe her own. Her fists kept moving. Ribs. Face. Shoulder. Each impact satisfying in a way that made her want more, more, more.

Kyle tried to protect himself but it was useless. Dawn was stronger, faster, and absolutely fucking done with everything.

She felt his collarbone snap under her fist. Heard Kyle scream. Felt hands trying to pull her off—she shrugged them away like gnats.

"DAWN!"

Todd's voice. Distant. Didn't matter.

"DAWN, STOP!"

Closer now. Strong hands—Fred's—hauling her bodily off Kyle. Dawn struggled, snarling, teeth bared.

"Let me GO—"

"Dawn, please!" Todd was in front of her now, hands on her face, forcing her to look at him. "Look at me. LOOK AT ME."

Dawn's vision slowly cleared. Todd's face came into focus—eyes wide, scared but determined.

"It's over," Todd said firmly. "You won. It's done. You need to stop now."

Dawn looked past him. Kyle was on the ground, curled up, blood everywhere. His face was a mess. One arm bent at a wrong angle. He was making sounds—high-pitched whimpers that might have been words once.

The crowd had backed way up. People were filming. A teacher was running toward them, shouting.

"Oh god," Dawn breathed. "I—"

"Not here." Todd grabbed her hand. "Come on. We need to move."

Fred still had one massive hand on her shoulder—keeping her steady or keeping her from running, she wasn't sure. Lance had appeared from somewhere, already positioning himself between them and the crowd.

"What did you DO?!" A teacher—Mr. Harris—reached them, eyes going wide at the sight of Kyle. "Someone call 911! NOW!"

"She was defending herself," Lance said immediately. "Kyle started it—"

"I don't care who started it! Look at him!"

Dawn looked. Kyle wasn't moving much anymore. Just breathing in shallow, pained gasps. Blood pooled on the linoleum.

She'd done that.

She'd done that. And she didn't even remember doing it.

"Dawn, you need to come with me." Mr. Harris's voice was shaking. "Right now. Principal's office."

Dawn let herself be led away, Todd's hand still gripping hers tight. Behind them, she heard the sirens in the distance.

---

The principal's office was too bright. Too small. Principal Kelly sat behind her desk, face grave. Mr. Harris stood by the door. And Xavier—of course Xavier—sat in the chair next to Dawn's, disappointment radiating off him in waves.

"Kyle Martinez is being taken to the hospital," Principal Kelly said. "Broken nose, fractured collarbone, three cracked ribs, possible concussion. The doctors are still assessing the full extent of his injuries."

Dawn stared at her hands. There was still blood under her nails.

"Do you have anything to say for yourself?" Kelly asked.

"He started it," Dawn said flatly.

"That's not an excuse for—"

"He's been harassing her for weeks," Todd interjected from where he sat against the wall—technically not supposed to be there, but no one had made him leave yet. "Calling her names, making fun of her mutations—"

"Mr. Tolensky, this doesn't concern you—"

"It does when you're acting like Dawn just attacked him for no reason!" Todd's voice rose. "Kyle's a bully. He's been harassing mutant students all year and nobody does anything about it!"

"That may be true, but it doesn't justify—"

"Dawn." Xavier's voice cut through the argument. Quiet. Heavy. "What were you thinking?"

Dawn finally looked at him. "I wasn't."

"Clearly."

"Professor—" Todd started.

"Todd, please." Xavier's gaze didn't leave Dawn. "You've been struggling lately. I've noticed. We've all noticed. But this?" He gestured vaguely at the situation. "This is unacceptable."

"I know."

"You could have killed that boy."

"I know."

"And yet you didn't stop. Multiple witnesses say you kept hitting him even after he was down, even after he stopped fighting back—"

"I KNOW!" Dawn's voice cracked. "I know, okay? I fucked up. I lost control. I'm sorry."

"Sorry doesn't fix this." Principal Kelly pulled out a form. "You're suspended. Two weeks, minimum. Possibly expulsion depending on what Kyle's parents want to do. They're talking about pressing charges."

Dawn's stomach dropped. "Charges?"

"Assault and battery. Given the extent of his injuries and your... enhanced strength, it could be charged as assault with a deadly weapon."

"That's bullshit!" Todd was on his feet. "He provoked her—"

"Mr. Tolensky, sit down or leave!"

"It's fine," Dawn said quietly. "Todd, it's fine."

"It's not fine—"

"Please." Dawn met his eyes. "Just... let it go."

Todd sat back down, jaw clenched, but stayed quiet.

"You're to go directly home," Kelly continued. "No stopping, no detours. Professor Xavier will be responsible for your supervision during the suspension. If charges are filed, you'll be notified." She slid the suspension notice across the desk. "Do you understand?"

"Yes."

"Then get out of my office."

---

The ride back to the Institute was silent. Xavier drove. Dawn sat in the passenger seat, staring out the window. Todd had tried to come with them but Xavier had firmly—telepathically—told him no.

"I'm disappointed in you," Xavier said finally.

Dawn didn't respond.

"You have such potential, Dawn. Such strength. But you refuse to learn control—"

"I know."

"—refuse to work with us on managing your temper—"

"I know."

"—and now a young man is in the hospital because you couldn't restrain yourself for five more seconds—"

"I KNOW!" Dawn's hands clenched into fists. "I know I fucked up! I know I'm a disappointment! I know I'm the problem! You don't have to keep saying it!"

Xavier was quiet for a moment. "You're not a disappointment. You're just... struggling. And I don't know how to help you if you won't let me in."

"Maybe I don't want your help."

"Then what do you want?"

Dawn didn't answer. Because the truth was, she didn't know. She just knew that everything here felt wrong. Too tight. Too controlled. Too much pressure to be something she wasn't.

They pulled up to the Institute. Xavier turned to face her.

"You're grounded. Your room, meals, and supervised training only. No leaving the grounds. No visitors." His voice softened slightly. "I hope you'll use this time to reflect on what happened today and what changes you need to make."

"Yes, Professor."

Dawn climbed out of the car and headed inside. Students scattered when they saw her—word had already spread, apparently. She climbed the stairs to her room, closed the door, and locked it.

Then she sat on her bed and stared at her hands.

Kyle's blood was still under her nails.

She'd broken him. Easily. Without even trying that hard.

What if she hadn't stopped? What if Todd hadn't been there?

Would she have killed him?

The thought made her stomach turn.

She stumbled to her bathroom, barely made it to the toilet before she threw up. Once. Twice. Until there was nothing left but bile and self-loathing. She didn't want to keep being her father's weapon against the world. Angry.

Dawn slid down to sit on the cold tile floor, head in her hands.

She was a monster. Xavier was right. The Institute was right. Everyone was right.

She was dangerous. Out of control. A weapon waiting to go off.

And now Kyle was in the hospital and she was facing charges and everything was falling apart and—

A soft tap on her window.

Dawn's head snapped up.

Another tap.

She forced herself to stand, to move to the window. Opened it.

Todd clung to the wall outside, looking worried. "Can I come in?"

"Xavier said no visitors—"

"I know what Xavier said. Can I come in?"

Dawn stepped back. Todd climbed through, landing in a crouch on her floor.

"You okay?" he asked.

"Do I look okay?"

"...No. You look like you're about to fall apart."

"Good observation."

Todd moved closer. "Dawn—"

"You should go. If Xavier finds you here—"

"I don't care."

"You should. I'm already in enough trouble—"

"DAWN." Todd grabbed her shoulders, making her look at him. "I don't care about Xavier's rules right now. I care about you. And you look like you're two seconds from a breakdown."

"I'm fine."

"You're not fine. You're shaking."

Dawn looked down. He was right. Her hands were trembling.

"He's in the hospital," she said quietly. "Kyle. I put him in the hospital."

"He's an asshole who had it coming—"

"I broke his bones, Todd. I heard them crack. I felt them break under my fists and I didn't stop." Her voice was rising now, shaking. "I didn't WANT to stop. I wanted to keep going. I wanted to hurt him more."

"But you didn't—"

"Only because Fred pulled me off! If he hadn't—if you hadn't—" Dawn's breath was coming faster now. "What if I'd killed him? What if next time I do kill someone?"

"There won't be a next time—"

"How do you know?! I can't control it! Everyone keeps saying I need to learn control but I CAN'T!" She was yelling now, hands clenched in her hair. "I'm too angry all the time! Everything pisses me off! And today I just—I snapped and now Kyle's in the hospital and I might go to jail and Xavier hates me and I—I can't—"

Her legs gave out. Todd caught her before she hit the floor, lowering them both down until they were sitting on the carpet.

"I can't do this anymore," Dawn sobbed. Actually sobbed, tears streaming down her face, breath coming in gasps. "I can't be here. I can't be what they want. I can't control it. I can't—"

"Hey. Hey, breathe." Todd's arms were around her, solid and real. "Just breathe. In and out. Come on."

Dawn tried. Failed. Tried again. Her chest was too tight, her breath coming in sharp gasps, everything spiraling—

"With me," Todd said firmly. "In—" he took an exaggerated breath "—and out." Slow exhale. "Again. In... and out."

Dawn matched him. In. Out. In. Out. Slowly, painfully, her breathing evened out.

"That's it," Todd murmured. "You're okay. I've got you."

"I'm not okay."

"Then you will be. Eventually." He held her tighter. "But right now, you're allowed to not be okay."

Dawn clung to him like he was the only solid thing in a world that wouldn't stop spinning. Her face pressed against his shoulder, tears soaking into his shirt.

"I hurt him so bad," she whispered.

"I know."

"I didn't want to stop."

"I know."

"What's wrong with me?"

Todd was quiet for a moment. Then: "Nothing's wrong with you. You're just... you've been pushed too far for too long. And today something finally broke."

"That doesn't make it okay—"

"I'm not saying it's okay. I'm saying it's human." Todd pulled back enough to look at her. "Dawn, you've been holding everything in for months. All the frustration, all the anger, all the pressure. Of course you eventually snapped. I'm honestly surprised it took this long."

"Xavier thinks I'm dangerous."

"You are dangerous. So am I. So is everyone with powers." Todd wiped tears off her cheek with his thumb. "But that doesn't make you a monster. It just makes you someone who needs to be careful."

"I don't know how to be careful. I'm always too angry, too rough, too much—"

"For the Institute, maybe. But not for everyone." Todd's voice was soft but certain. "Not for me. Not for Lance or Fred or even Pietro. We don't think you're too much."

"You should."

"Well, we don't. So deal with it."

Despite everything, Dawn felt a tiny smile tug at her lips. "You're ridiculous."

"And you're a mess. But you're my mess, so." Todd shifted, pulling her more firmly into his lap, arms wrapped around her. "What do you need? What can I do?"

"I don't know. Just... stay? Please?"

"I'm not going anywhere."

They sat like that for a long time. Dawn's breathing slowly returned to normal. The shaking stopped. The tears dried on her cheeks.

"They might press charges," she said finally.

"They might. Or they might not. Kyle's an asshole but his parents aren't monsters. They might just take the suspension and move on."

"And if they don't?"

"Then we deal with it. We break Peitro out all the time. We'll figure it out."

"Xavier's not going to let you help me."

"Xavier doesn't get a vote." Todd's arms tightened. "You're family. That means we show up. Always."

Dawn was quiet. Then: "I think I need to leave."

"Leave?"

"The Institute. It's not working. Today proved that." Dawn pulled back to look at him. "I've been thinking about it for a while. Today just... confirmed it."

"Where would you go?"

"I don't know. Maybe... maybe the Brotherhood house? If you guys would have me."

Todd's face lit up. "Are you serious?"

"I don't know. Maybe. I need to think about it more. But I can't stay here. Not after today."

"We'd love to have you. You know that, right? Like, we've basically been waiting for you to figure out you belong with us."

"I'm a lot of work."

"So are we. We'll figure it out together." Todd pressed a kiss to her forehead. "But right now, you need to rest. You've had the worst day ever and you're exhausted."

"I'm not tired—"

"You're falling apart tired. Lie down."

Dawn wanted to argue. But Todd was right—she was exhausted in a bone-deep way that made even thinking hard.

She let him guide her to the bed. Let him lie down next to her, arms still around her like he could shield her from the consequences waiting outside her door.

"Todd?"

"Yeah?"

"Thank you. For coming. For staying. For..." Dawn's voice cracked. "For not thinking I'm a monster."

"You're not a monster. You're just someone who had a really bad day." Todd's hand traced slow patterns on her back. "Tomorrow we'll figure out what next. But tonight, you just need to sleep."

"What if Xavier finds you here?"

"Then he finds me. Worth it."

Dawn closed her eyes. Felt herself drifting despite everything. "I don't deserve you."

"Too bad. You're stuck with me anyway."

"Lucky me."

"Damn right."

Dawn fell asleep to Todd's heartbeat and the feeling of his arms around her. The consequences would still be there in the morning—the suspension, the possible charges, Xavier's disappointment.

But for now, wrapped in Todd's warmth and certainty, she could pretend everything would be okay.

Even if she didn't quite believe it yet.

---

In the morning, Xavier found them like that—Dawn asleep in Todd's arms, both of them fully clothed, Todd clearly having stayed all night.

He should be angry. Should wake them and remove Todd from the premises. Should add this to the list of Dawn's infractions.

But Dawn's mind was quiet. Peaceful in a way it hadn't been since the incident.

And Todd's thoughts were uncomplicated—just worry and genuine care over someone he cares deeply about.

Xavier sighed and closed the door quietly.

Some rules could bend.

Especially when they were the only thing keeping someone together.

He'd deal with the Todd situation later.

For now, he'd let them rest.

They'd both need their strength for what was coming.

Chapter Text

The kitchen sink had been dripping for three weeks.

It wasn't a loud drip—just a steady *plink, plink, plink* that most people could tune out. Most people didn't have enhanced hearing. Dawn had tried ignoring it, had tried stuffing toilet paper in her ears at night when she crashed on the Brotherhood's couch, had tried sleeping in different rooms. Nothing worked. That damn drip echoed through the entire house like a metronome counting down to her inevitable violent breakdown.

"I'm gonna rip the whole sink out," she announced one afternoon, standing in the kitchen doorway with her arms crossed.

Todd looked up from where he was attempting to make a sandwich—if you could call balancing an alarming amount of bologna and cheese between two slices of bread "making a sandwich."

"What'd the sink ever do to you?"

"It's dripping."

"Yeah, it does that."

"For three weeks."

"Sounds about right." He took a massive bite of his creation, and Dawn watched with a mix of horror and fascination as he somehow managed to chew it all. "Fred said he'd fix it eventually."

"Fred said that two weeks ago."

"Time's relative, yo."

Dawn closed her eyes—well, closed them more than they already were—and counted to ten. She'd been practicing patience. Xavier said it was "good for her personal growth." Xavier could bite her.

"Forget it," she muttered, pushing past Todd to crouch down and open the cabinet under the sink. "I'll do it myself."

"You know how to fix sinks?"

"Can't be that hard."

"Famous last words."

She shot him a look over her shoulder, one eye actually opening enough to give him the full red-eyed glare. He just grinned and took another bite of his sandwich tower.

The cabinet under the sink was a disaster. Cleaning supplies that looked like they'd been there since the house was built, a mysterious sticky substance coating the bottom, and approximately seven different types of mold competing for dominance. Dawn grimaced and reached past it all to examine the pipes.

"Okay," she muttered to herself. "Pipe connects here... water comes from there... so the leak's gotta be..."

"Whatcha doin'?"

She startled—which was rare, given her hearing—and nearly smacked her head on the cabinet frame. Todd had crouched down beside her, face way too close to hers, blinking with curiosity.

"What does it look like I'm doing?"

"Looks like you're talking to yourself like a crazy person."

"I'm fixing the sink."

"Oh cool. Can I help?"

Dawn paused, wrench in hand (she'd found it in the cabinet, mysteriously sticky like everything else). Her first instinct was to say no—she worked better alone, always had. People just got in the way, asked too many questions, breathed too loud.

But Todd was looking at her with those big eyes, genuinely interested. Not mocking, not skeptical that she could do it. Just... wanting to be involved.

"...Fine. But you gotta actually help, not just sit there and be annoying."

"I'm never annoying," Todd said, clearly lying. "What do you need?"

"Duct tape. There's gotta be some around here somewhere."

"On it!"

He bounded off—literally, using his legs to launch himself across the kitchen and into the living room. Dawn heard him rummaging through drawers, muttering to himself, occasionally making triumphant sounds followed by disappointed ones.

She turned her attention back to the pipes. The P-trap was loose, which wasn't surprising; explained part of the stink of the house actually. Everything in this house was held together with hope, spite, and what she suspected was actual spit. She'd need to tighten it, maybe replace the washer if she could find one, and—

"Found it!" Todd reappeared, slightly out of breath, holding up a roll of duct tape like it was the Holy Grail. "It was in Lance's room. Don't ask why."

"I wasn't going to."

"Good call."

Dawn held out her hand and Todd passed her the tape. Their fingers brushed—his cool and damp, hers warm and calloused—and she pretended not to notice the little flip her stomach did.

"Okay," she said, focusing back on the task. "I'm gonna tighten this connection. If water starts spraying everywhere, that towel—" she pointed to a ratty dish towel on the counter "—throw it at the leak."

"That's your plan? Throw a towel at it?"

"You got a better one?"

"...No."

"Then shut up and be ready with the towel."

She fitted the wrench around the connection and started turning. Slowly at first, testing. The metal was old, corroded in places, and she had to be careful not to use too much strength and just snap the whole thing off. Behind her, she could hear Todd shifting his weight, the slight squelch of his skin against the linoleum.

"So like, how'd you learn to do this stuff?" he asked after a moment.

"Necessity." Dawn grunted as the connection finally started to move. "When shit breaks and you can't afford a plumber, you figure it out."

"That's pretty cool though. I can't fix anything."

"You fixed the TV last month."

"I hit it until it worked. That's not the same thing."

Despite herself, Dawn smiled. "Sometimes that's all it takes."

The connection came loose enough for her to examine the washer inside. Sure enough, it was cracked and worn, barely holding together. She'd need to replace it, but that would require a trip to the hardware store, and she wasn't sure any of them had money for that right now.

"Gonna have to MacGyver this," she muttered.

"What's that mean?"

"Means we're gonna use duct tape and prayer."

"The Brotherhood special!"

Dawn snorted. She tore off a strip of duct tape, then another, carefully wrapping them around the worn washer to give it more bulk and grip. It wasn't a permanent fix—hell, it might not even last a week—but it would buy them time.

"You're like, really focused right now," Todd observed.

"That's generally how fixing things works."

"No, I mean... I dunno. It's cool. You get this look on your face like nothing else exists."

Dawn paused, glancing at him. He wasn't teasing. He looked genuinely fascinated, watching her work like it was the most interesting thing he'd seen all week.

"You're weird, Tolensky."

"Yeah, but you like it."

She couldn't argue with that.

Twenty minutes and half a roll of duct tape later, Dawn carefully tightened everything back into place. She turned on the faucet, watching the pipes underneath with the intensity of a predator watching prey.

No drip.

She waited. Ten seconds. Twenty. Thirty.

Still no drip.

"Holy shit," Todd breathed. "You actually did it."

"Don't sound so surprised."

"I'm not surprised! I'm impressed. There's a difference." He leaned in closer, examining her handiwork. "That's gonna hold?"

"For a while." Dawn stood up, stretching out her back with a satisfying crack. "Eventually someone's gonna have to actually replace the washer, but this'll work for now."

"You're like a wizard."

"I'm really not."

"A sink wizard."

"That's not a thing."

"It is now. You're the official Brotherhood sink wizard."

Dawn rolled her eyes, but she was smiling. She gathered up the tools, sticky and gross as they were, and dumped them back in the cabinet. She'd clean them later. Maybe. Probably not.

"Hey," Todd said suddenly, quieter. "Thanks. For fixing it. I know it was bugging you."

"It was bugging everyone. You guys are just too used to living in squalor to notice."

"Nah, I mean... Thanks for caring enough to fix it. You don't even technically live here."

Dawn was quiet for a moment. It was true—she had a room at the Institute, a bed with clean sheets and everything. But she spent more nights on the Brotherhood's couch than she did in that pristine room. More meals at their chaotic table than the Institute's formal dining setup.

"Yeah, well," she said finally, not quite meeting his eyes. "Someone's gotta keep this place from falling apart completely."

"And we're lucky it's you."

There was something in his voice that made her look up. Todd was watching her with that soft expression he sometimes got, the one that made her feel like maybe being seen wasn't the worst thing in the world.

"You're being sappy again."

"Can't help it. You bring it out in me."

"Gross."

"You love it."

She did. She really, really did.

Before she could stop herself—before she could overthink it or talk herself out of it—Dawn leaned in and kissed him. Quick and simple, tasting like bologna and that weird sour candy he was always eating.

When she pulled back, Todd's eyes were wide.

"What was that for?"

"For being here. For caring that I fixed the sink. For being—" she gestured vaguely at all of him "—you, I guess."

His face split into the biggest grin she'd ever seen. "I'm gonna break stuff on purpose now just so you'll fix it."

"Do it and I'll break you on purpose."

"Promises, promises."

They cleaned up the kitchen—or at least pushed the mess around until it looked slightly less catastrophic. Todd made another sandwich (smaller this time, thankfully) and Dawn sat on the counter, squinting through cracked eyelids at the ceiling where water damage bloomed like abstract art.

"That's next on your list?" Todd asked, following her gaze.

"That's Lance's problem. It's his room that's leaking."

"Fair enough."

The sink didn't drip. The afternoon stretched on in comfortable quiet, broken only by the distant sounds of the TV in the living room and Fred's occasional shouting at whatever game he was playing. 

Dawn thought about the Institute, about her clean room and structured schedule and the way everyone there looked at her like a problem to be solved. Then she looked at Todd, at this disaster kitchen in this disaster house, at the sink she'd fixed with duct tape and stubbornness.

"Hey, Toad?"

"Yeah?"

"You got anymore of that bologna?"

His grin could've lit up the whole house.

"For you? Always."

It wasn't perfect. The house was still falling apart, the sink would eventually break again, and someone really needed to do something about that ceiling. But sitting on the counter, sharing a sandwich with a boy who smelled like home, listening to the blessed silence of a faucet that didn't drip?

Perfect enough.

Later that night, after Dawn had gone back to the Institute (Xavier's curfew, unfortunately non-negotiable), Todd would lie on the couch and stare at the kitchen. At the sink that didn't drip. At the evidence that someone cared enough about this place—about them—to fix things instead of just dealing with the broken pieces.

He'd fall asleep smiling, dreaming of duct tape and dog teeth and the way Dawn's eyes actually opened all the way when she was focused on something she cared about.

And in the morning, when Pietro complained about the lack of hot water, Todd would just shrug and think: At least the sink works.

Small victories.

Chapter Text

Dawn had been crashing at the Brotherhood house three, maybe four nights a week for the past two months. It was an open secret—Lance knew, Fred knew, Pietro complained about it but didn't actually care. Even Wanda had given her a nod of acknowledgment once, which from Wanda was basically a blessing.

The one person who didn't know was Mystique.

Mystique, who barely showed up except to bark orders and criticize. Mystique, who treated these kids like soldiers instead of teenagers. Mystique, who Dawn had watched make Todd flinch with nothing but a look.

Dawn hated her on principle.

"She's not even here most of the time," Todd had said when Dawn first asked about it, shrugging it off like it didn't matter. "Off doing whatever Magneto wants. We just do our thing."

"And when she is here?"

Todd's expression had shuttered. "We stay out of her way."

That had told Dawn everything she needed to know.

So they'd been careful. Dawn learned Mystique's patterns—she'd show up every week and a half, stay for a day or two, then disappear again. It was easy enough to avoid her. Dawn would crash on the couch, leave before dawn if Mystique was due, come back when the coast was clear.

It worked. Until it didn't.

---

Dawn woke up to the smell of something unfamiliar in the house. Not bad, just... different. Wrong. Her eyes snapped open—actually open, not her usual squint—and she went very still on the couch.