"We need to radio for help!"
"There's no time Katherine!"
Alex watched as his father unbuckled and ran to the back of the plane. He could already see the flames start to spread over the roof. The air was becoming thick and smoky, making it difficult to breathe. His brother whimpered and Alex pulled him closer.
"It's gonna be okay Scotty boy, it's gonna be okay," he said.
His voice sounded thick and uncomfortable. What was he saying? He knew it wasn't going to be okay. His father would never abandon the controls if he could land them safely. His mother was still trying to radio for help, but from the look on her face he knew that his father was right. There wasn't enough time. It only made the panic rise in his throat even more sharply.
His father staggered towards them, carrying two parachutes. His eyes met Alex's mother's.
"Katherine..." his father said.
His mother's eyes filled with tears, and she nodded.
"What's going on?" Alex said.
"Get these on," his father said.
Alex knew the tone his father was using left no room for argument. He got to his feet, pulling his brother with him. His father passed him a parachute and began to buckle Scott into his. Alex knew how to do his up: it was one of the first things his father had taught him when he'd said he wanted to be a pilot. At thirteen he could buckle himself into a parachute in his sleep.
His mother got out of her chair. She walked up to Alex as he finished the last buckle. She held him close, and Alex felt a pit of dread in his stomach.
"Mom..." he said.
"I love you Alex," she said, "I love you."
She let go of him and wrapped her arms around Scott. Alex's father walked up to him, his expression solemn and earnest.
"Count to fifty when you jump," he said, "When you reach fifty, pull Scott's parachute, and then pull your own. Do you understand?"
Alex nodded, his throat dry. His father pulled him into a rough embrace.
"It's going to be alright," he said, "I love you."
The horror and certainty of the situation began crashing down on him. Tears began to spill out of his eyes.
"I love you too," Alex said, "Dad-"
"Alex," his father said.
He pulled away from him. His father's smile was forced and his eyes were locked on his.
"Take care of your brother, alright?" he said.
Alex nodded. His mother wrenched open the plane's door. Alex grabbed Scott's hand.
"Hold on tight Scotty boy," he whispered.
He cast one last, desperate glance at his parents, and then stepped off the plane, Scott in tow. He felt the wind whipping around him, heard his brother whimper. He forced himself not to look back at the plane, to count calmly to fifty.
When he reached it he let go of Scott's hand and yanked on his brother's parachute cord. He watched it blossom into the sky, and Alex risked a smile. He pulled his own cord and felt the parachute pull him back into the sky.
A second later he was hurled forwards. In shock he looked back at his parachute. Some of the debris from the plane had clipped the side of his parachute, setting it on fire. He could feel his descent begin to speed up, could see his brother's frightened eyes before they faded from distance. Minutes flew by as Alex struggled to figure out what to do, and the ground rushed up to meet him-
Alex awoke, drenched with sweat. He sat up and ran his fingers through his hair, breathing hard. He looked around his room at the Institute, trying to focus on something other than the image of a burning plane.
He let go of his hair and let his hands fist in the sheets. The fabric he was sleeping on, that was real. His room, the darkness, the mess he'd made, that was real, that was happening now. He took another shaky breath and glanced at the clock.
It was still two hours before he was supposed to get up. Alex knew better than to think that he was going to get back to sleep though. He swallowed and got to his feet, his toes burying themselves in the rug. There hadn't been any rugs in any of his foster homes: just cold wooden floorboards. It made him appreciate carpets.
Still feeling shaken he walked to his window and pulled back the corner. He looked out at the lawn. No one was out yet. He hadn't expected them to be. The only ones who were ever up this early were Hank and the Professor, and it was never to take a brisk walk. He had plenty of time to compose himself before someone saw him. He was grateful for that.
In the two years since Cuba, Alex had seen quite a few changes at the Institute. He estimated that they had about twenty students now, not including him, Sean, or Hank. He couldn't think of them as students. Not when they went out some days and fought Erik and his goons. All of the homework was just another burden.
He closed his eyes. They'd just gotten back from another mission yesterday. He'd seen Erik again, seen the comic book villain outfit, and wondered just what the hell had happened. He never knew how to feel when they fought them other than a sense of indignation and an urge not to die.
It never really seemed to fade, despite all the time that had passed. In another year or so he was going to graduate. The professor had started bugging him about colleges, what he wanted to do with his future. Alex wasn't really sure what the Professor expected him to say when they had these discussions, although he knew the Professor had some ideas about him possibly becoming a teacher.
It was laughable to Alex, it really was. He wasn't smart like Hank or interested in continuing his schooling like Sean. He'd been good at punching people and fixing up vehicles. Nothing else. That didn't exactly translate well to teaching in his mind.
He let the curtain drop back in front of the window, trying not to think about his parents, about the little brother who had followed him around with such admiration in his eyes. Before he'd joined the X-men, that had been the last time he'd felt like he could be something. It had been four years since Scott's death, and it didn't seem to get any easier. He'd barely talked to the Professor about the issue. All he'd said was that he'd had a younger brother and parents who'd died in a plane crash. He couldn't see a way to burden him with even more misery.
The Professor's sister and best friend had betrayed him, left him for dead. Then, for reasons Alex still didn't fully understand or agree with, he'd sent Moira away. He'd hoped that the Professor had a plan somewhere, some idea of having her come back. The only reason he wasn't telling them was because he was uncertain she would come back, although Alex knew that she would.
As time passed, it became increasingly obvious that he'd sent her away for good. A small core of anger still burned within Alex for that. He'd discussed it with Hank and Sean: he knew they felt the same that he did. Moira might not have been a mutant, and he might not have been close to her, but she'd been loyal. She'd stayed with the Professor when the ambulance took him to the hospital, had held his hand when they'd learned that he'd never walk again.
She had taken them back to Westchester during the Professor's recovery, helped them as they reeled from betrayal and shock. She had avoided the CIA's calls instead of doing her duty. Moira had helped them stay together when they were drifting apart. She'd done it all for them, been ready to sacrifice everything she'd worked for to protect them, and she'd been dismissed like some misbehaving child.
Meanwhile, the people who had betrayed them kept their memories and gallivanted around the country, making the world fear them. His own thoughts on the matter were jumbled, but they tended towards anger when he thought of his former friends. They were failures as friends though, and perhaps failures as human beings.
He sat down on the edge of his bed, his own past creeping in and poisoning his thoughts. He probably shouldn't be so hypocritical about people failing others. Alex should have found a way to stay closer to his brother's parachute. Scott had been a smart five-year-old, but he'd been five. Something had apparently gone wrong during the descent, and when Alex woke from his coma, he learned that he was the only survivor.
The death of his parents had been painful, but his brother's death had crushed him. Scott had been his responsibility. His parents, knowing how much he loved his brother, how dependable he was, had told him to look after Scott. He'd failed.
That night wasn't the first time that he'd dreamed of that day in the plane. It was a constant nightmare, one that stalked his thoughts. Every few months, no matter what had happened, his mind felt it necessary to remind him of that day. As if he could forget.
He sighed and got up. Alex considered getting dressed, but he didn't see the point. Not when it was so early. He ran his hand through his hair and headed downstairs. He figured he should get some breakfast. It wasn't going to help to go about moping so early in the morning. He got into the kitchen and poured himself some cereal. Alex began heating up some water for coffee.
In the distance he could hear the creak of wheels. Alex took two mugs out and began looking for tea. By the time the Professor wheeled into the kitchen, Alex had a cup of tea waiting for him.
"I was that obvious?" the Professor asked.
Alex shrugged. He began drinking his own coffee.
"You're up early lately," the Professor said.
Alex shrugged again.
"I don't sleep much," he said, "You're up early too though."
The Professor nodded.
"There was an incident in Omaha the other night," he said, "A young mutant lost control of their powers. I was hoping to get there early and ask him if he'd be interested in the Institute."
Alex drank some of his coffee.
"Why the rush?" he asked, "Afraid the other guys might recruit him?"
He still didn't feel too comfortable using the phrase "The Brotherhood." "The other guys" was the best he could do. The Professor hesitated, looking at his cup of tea.
"No, he's much younger than what they'd be interested in," the Professor said, "But his power...he accidentally blew up a building."
Alex winced.
"Yeah, an early start sounds like a good idea," he said.
The Professor nodded and took a sip of his tea.
"I was hoping to have someone come with me," he said.
Alex put his coffee mug down.
"I'm probably not the best choice," he said.
The Professor hesitated again.
"I understand that now might not be the best time," he said, "But I was wondering if you'd given any thought to my suggestion."
Alex snorted. The teacher thing again. On the surface it looked like a good idea. He knew he could probably teach P.E. or shop if he really worked for it, and it would allow him to stay at the only home he'd had since he was thirteen.
The Professor certainly thought he could do it. Alex knew he couldn't. If anything, his latest nightmare served as a reminder why he couldn't be trusted with other people. His parents had trusted him with the life of his brother, and he'd failed. He was just barely scraping by with the X-men, no matter what the Professor said.
"It won't work Professor," he said.
"I wish you wouldn't dismiss it so easily," the Professor said, "You could do so many students here so much good."
"Really?" Alex said.
He laughed.
"I'm not great at relating to other people," he said.
"I would have taken that excuse two years ago," the Professor said, "You're a different man from then."
Alex snorted again.
"Professor, I'm not sure there's much a foster-system reject can offer students in the way of relating to them," Alex said.
The Professor cocked his head in a knowing way. Alex had the feeling that he'd been talked into a corner somehow.
"Funny enough, the student I'm visiting today is part of the foster system," the Professor said, "After his traumatic experience, it might help to have someone he could relate to with me."
Alex felt distinctly uncomfortable.
"Professor..."
"Just one recruitment trip Alex," the Professor said, "That's all I'm asking."
Alex picked up his mug and considered it. He'd never been on a recruitment trip: those were reserved for the Professor and, occasionally, Hank. Sometimes Alex would accompany him as a kind of bodyguard in case they thought Erik's people might show up, but he would never go into the house with him.
He wanted to dismiss the Professor, tell him he was barking up the wrong tree, but it was the Professor. Despite his own reservations, and the Professor's own faults, the Professor tended to have sound judgment. He'd often seen things in Alex that Alex hadn't seen himself. Even now he didn't see quite a few things that the Professor saw.
"If I do this, will you stop bugging me about it?" he asked.
"I promise," the Professor said.
He finished his coffee.
"Alright," he said, "What's one trip gonna change?"