Chapter 1: Age 13

Anya Lehnsherr regretted every life decision she had ever made. Really, most people would have just regretted the series of decisions that had led to this horrible, horrible, I-would-rather-burn-my-eyes-off-with-acid-than-stand-here-any-longer moment, but Anya was a smart girl. A smart girl who'd spent the past 13 years watching every time travel movie under the sun. Even the crappy ones. Especially the crappy ones. She knew about The Butterfly Effect. She knew that any one of her millions of decisions over the course of her 13 years of life could have led to this moment.

Best to just regret all of them and be done with it.

"Dad," she poked her father in the side.

He looked down at her, sharp features splashed with a neon rainbow of reflected light from the crooked disco ball spinning lazily at the center of the middle school's multi-purpose room ceiling above their heads. "Yes?"

"Can we leave?" She kept her lips pressed together, standing an arm's length away from him, making sure there was enough space between them to make it look like they weren't talking, but still remaining within poking distance.

He raised a single, expressive eyebrow. "Why? We just got here," he observed flatly, the barest hint of a smirk ghosting along the corners of his lips.

"Well can you put on a coat or a frumpy sweatshirt or something, then?"

"Am I violating your school's dress code?" he asked in that way that told her very clearly that the words might sound like a question but most definitely were not actually anything of the sort.

"No," Anya grumbled, squinting disagreeably up at him out of the corners of her eyes. He was laughing at her, she could sense it.

"Well, then what's wrong with my choice of wardrobe?" Erik Lehsherr's eyes did not do anything so jovial as sparkle, but they were gleaming with something akin to the unholy glee as shark feels upon spotting a crippled seal flopping through the water all alone.

"Daddy," Anya sighed, wished he'd just spontaneously develop telepathy and just understand what she meant without her actually having to say it.

"Anya." He was grinning. She poked him sullenly again. Did he really have to wear tight black turtlenecks and slacks everywhere? She was 98% sure none of her friends' dads' dressed like a dapper hit man from the 60s. Then again, the clothes he wore at home weren't much better. The ripped jeans and stained t-shirts he wore in his studio weren't exactly fashion-forward. Or nearly frumpy enough to deter her classmate's unwanted hormone-fueled attention.

A clump of girls approached them, whispering amongst themselves and shooting their corner furtive glances before dissolving into giggles. Erik's grin disappeared and he just stared at them. Almost in sync, they all blushed and skittered away, still giggling.

"That, Dad!" Anya said, pointing dramatically after the fleeing passel of her peers, "That is why we need to leave early!"

"Are the other kids being mean to you?" another expressive eyebrow arch, "You know it's okay to be mean back, right?"

Anya puffed out her cheeks indignantly, "Dad, we will address your alarming tendency to advocate violence later." She ignored the spasms that ticked across his face as he tried to smother the urge to comment on her word choice. "But the problem is…you!"

"Me?" He said blandly, eyes crinkling into the beginnings of a smirk.

Anya soldiered on, "Yes, you. You're all the girls, (and some of the boys, too, you're extremely popular) can talk about!"

"What exactly have I done?" Erik folded his arms and slouched against the wall. Across the multi-purpose room Anya could see the cluster of girls (which had now expanded) start ogling and giggling all over again.

"Everyone, and I do mean everyone, is crushing on you," she hissed, "And it's horrible."

A smirk bloomed on Erik's face and Anya poked him again, sharply in the ribs. "Is that so?"

"Yes."

He looked thoughtful for a moment and Anya thought they might just be able to go home now…when he shrugged. "You should have fought harder to keep me at home when that horrible PTA woman called and begged me to chaperone your school dance."

"I didn't realize what a problem it would be until you got here and became some sort of sex icon."

"Hey, you're not supposed to know about that stuff yet," he gave her a hard look, "And frankly, being a sex god to a pack of middle schoolers is incredibly creepy and gross."

"I know. I don't know what they see in you! You're my dad! You're like, old!"

"I'm thirty."

"Old!"

There was a moment of amicable silence, punctuated only by the thumping bass of another generic 90s pop song.

"Does this make me as cool as Justin Bieber?" Erik said flatly, "Because I have mixed feelings about that. No. Unmitigated disgust is not a mixed feeling. I take back my question."

"If Justin Beiber were German. And terrifying. And old," Anya answered his question anyway.

"Not old," Erik grumbled, shifting slightly and folding his arms even tighter across his chest. He cut his gaze over to encompass his posse of admirers across the multipurpose room and made face. "Do they have to keep staring?" He said irritably, glaring at the group in question, "It's creepy. I feel like a gross old man."

"See, are so old."

Erik pulled a face at her and Anya laughed, impulsively leaning forward and hugging him tightly around the waist. "Love you, Daddy. Now please don't speak to me in public ever again."

"No promises," he said dryly, "You do live in my house and eat my food and spend my money."

The next morning in pre-algebra class, Anya Lehnsherr discovered that someone had taken her phone off vibrate the night before…and changed the ring tone to the 'Stacey's Mom' parody 'Stacey's Dad'.

She dashed out into the hallway, cheeks burning, ignoring the curious glances of her classmates and lazy frown from her teacher, and hissed into the speaker, "Dad, what did you do?"

"I like the ringtone."

"Dad, you're embarrassing me."

He chuckled evilly, "That's my job."

"Go back to work," she grumped.

"Love you, schatz."

"You too. Now go away. And you're fixing my ringtone tonight!"

"No promises."

"Dad!"

But he'd hung up. Grumbling furiously to herself, Anya threw her phone back in her bag and trudged back into class. Never leave a cellphone within reach of one's ever-so-slightly-evil metallokinetic father.

And never let your freakishly-young-looking dad chaperone school events. Ever.