Title: thefive
Universe: AU resulting from events of 616
Type: Romance/Drama
Pairing: Hellion/Wind Dancer, later Hellion/X-23

Summary: Another dystopian take I thought of. It's the end of the world by war--but instead of focusing on surviving, all the five survivors can think of is making things the way they were.

A/N: One of my little projects that I've almost fully written but restrained from publishing. I'm going to put it up now because I failed so hard on updating everything else I've written (see notes on the updated chapters for the other stories; explains circumstances, a la computer meltdowns...yes, 3 computers broke. I am reduced to writing from someone else's computer, gasp.

Enjoy! ~onelildustbunni



Chapter 1-

They are sitting in a small, dark room that smells faintly of mildew and mothballs, as if it had once contained these things, long ago. Perhaps the mildew has died of age. Perhaps it, too,
has gone into hiding, afraid for its life. Or maybe the room was cleaned before they utilized it. Julian covers his eyes. He's thinking too deeply about things again.

He didn't used to do this; analyze so much. He thinks he started doing it because he's anxious to be alive, and subconsciously feels that by analyzing every detail of life, he will
somehow hold onto it better.

Julian is part of a nearly extinct group of post-humanity. Mutants. There used to be millions of mutants. Then there were 198. Then…

He's astonished to think that the five of them, sitting in this room, are all that are left. In a manner of speaking. They can no longer guarantee who is out there, as their locating
machine—Cerebra—was destroyed and left behind long ago.

Long ago. Thirteen years have passed since M-day, and it feels more like a hundred and thirty. He has difficulty recalling what it was like to rest easy, laugh out loud, and only worry
about school and social situations. Not to mention what it was like to sleep in a real bed, something he hasn't done in three years.

He doesn't complain about his back anymore, despite the hard conditions. No one can fix it for him; the area above his tailbone has tightened into one big throbbing knot that will never
be untied and sends shooting pains up his spine. He'd almost miss it if it were to disappear; it's a souvenir. It reminds him of the friends he failed to save.

There is one person he did save, however, and she's sitting across from him at the small table, looking at her nails. Her beautiful face is beginning to show her age; tiny lines are creeping
across her skin, emphasizing the areas that crinkle when she feels an emotion. Her hair is now cropped short against her head, almost too short. Ever since a near-death experience, Sofia
has been afraid of long hair, even though she won't admit it to him. He only sees the results of her unspoken fears, and it hurts almost worse than all the loss.

He looks at his companions. There's Cessily, who has somehow managed to remain a cheerleader through all of this. Thank god for her. She's the pillar of moral support, the reminder
of 'things will get better', even when they're lying, bleeding on the floor.

There's Santo, too. He's grown darker, more cynical, more serious; he trusts no one. He doesn't make jokes anymore; he has none left. He's invulnerable, but something within him has
died, something that Julian is struggling to nurture and sustain in himself.

Finally, there's Laura, someone he's gotten to know very little of, despite having known her for almost thirteen years. She's always been quiet, her green, cat-like eyes bright and
observing. She's aged well; or perhaps not at all. When he thinks about it, Laura looks the same as the day she was first introduced to the students by Wolverine. The only change,
perhaps, is she seems more matured; she doesn't seem startled or confused anymore about things they say or do. Perhaps she has adapted to them, learning their habits so as to fit in.

Or maybe—he thinks—maybe that's not it at all. Maybe they've changed, adapting to her, becoming more like her with each life-threatening trial they endure. He shudders slightly;
what a strange thought. He doesn't like to think about Laura much. He knows as much as he needs to about her, and there the curiosity ends. She's frightening; she's seen too much.

It's time to get down to business.

"This is a strict intel recon," he says out loud, his finger pointing to a spot on the paper. "In and out. We distract, Laura steals. Those files could be exactly what we've been
looking for the whole time."

The whole time. Thirteen years of searching for the first mutant baby since M-day that had disappeared along with Cable. The X-men had died—one by one—in the conflict that
had followed; and no one has ever found where Cable had gone.

Or where he had taken the Messiah.

Julian has never heard of anything situation like the one he and his companions have endured. The Messiah existed—had arrived—and had left, without changing the world for the
better. And then the world had fallen apart, around their ears, beginning with some bad decisions on the behalf of Cyclops.

Sofia lives every day in fear. Fear of losing Julian, losing herself, losing the only friends she has left. She has become quiet, timid, a shadow of the girl she used to be. She never
mentions her fear out loud, but they are quite evident, from her short-cropped hair and worry lines, to her nails (bitten to the quick), to her shaking hands whenever she uses her
powers. She is afraid of the wind now—afraid of having it. She doesn't want her wind. She wishes that she had never learned that she could control it.

The fact that she is a mutant means she will never be allowed to have a normal life. She can never have the children she wanted. She would never wish this world on another
living being. She's had to watch some things she will never be able to unsee, that has proved to her—once and for all—that there is only evil.

Sofia has stopped praying, stopped believing in the God she once worshipped so reverently. She stopped doing this when her prayer beads were destroyed by her assailants,
ripped violently from her hand, breaking the pinky finger she had looped it through. Of the twenty students caught in the attack, they alone had escaped with their lives.

Julian had spent the next evening carefully splinting her broken hand as she cried silently, and he, too, had remained silent, although his lips were pressed firmly
together. Not just in anger of what had been done to her.

In grim acceptance that she would now believe, as he did, that there was no god.

It was after that night that they had cemented the bond between them. In her now godless world, Sofia realized anything fragile would be broken; she had to carry faith in
her convictions or what they shared would be gone forever. It was a natural survival instinct; when in danger of extinction, breed. She hadn't regretted it, and they hadn't
looked back on stupid childhood quarrels.

She watches him now and thinks he looks older. She never thought she'd see the day when she'd look at Julian and consider him a mature person, mostly based on his
often-aggravating personality and overage of attitude. But here she was. Biting her lip, in fear, because they are being quiet, following Laura down a dark, slimy passage.

Their companion holds up her hand, peering ahead. Her ears cocked.

Sofia stretches her hand out into the darkness and sifts the air molecules, seeking to magnify whatever it is that Laura has detected. Their powers are complimentary, that
of Wolverine's clone and herself; however, their personalities are not. Sofia has never liked Laura, feeling uneasy around the girl-woman who moves so quickly, smoothly
(like a big hunting cat), with green, cat-like eyes.

Laura is also too practical. She does not consider the spirit, or the emotional side of the picture; she is only concerned with tactics. She could care less if they all die,
Sofia feels. But she never says anything.

"Sweetie," Julian whispers, touching her shoulder from behind. Sofia jumps slightly, startled, and looks at him; he reaches up and touches her lower lip.

"Don't bite so hard." There is blood on his finger.

"Be quiet," Laura says, her voice full of irritation. Rawrll. Sofia forces her jaws to unclamp, nods and turns away, now conscious of the taste of blood in her mouth.

Do not let yourself bleed near her, maybe she will get hungry, Sofia thinks of Laura a little fearfully. This is ridiculous—Laura's not actually a cat.

In the darkness, it's easy to lose one's train of thought. Add one more thing to the long list of things she's absolutely terrified of.

"Fruitless," Julian says. "There's no record of mutants born after 2005."

"That is not what I am looking for." Laura is riffling through files in the cabinet, her eyes downturned as she examines the labels on each folder.

"What are you looking for, then?" Julian asks, his voice full of annoyance. Laura hasn't paused to explain one bit of her procedure today, just ordered them around,
forgetting that he's the leader by unspoken agreement. He and the others have been posted sentry in the abandoned building rubble, while Laura has crept around
all day. He finally has found her in what appears to be a reception counter of a hospital.

"Admission records." Laura does not look up, reading.

"Those won't help."

"They will."

"You're wasting our—"

"Be quiet."

He's about to argue further, but Laura raises her hand, the other one pointing to the open file she has been examining.

"These are the files we desire."

"These are admission papers, Laura," Julian says, taking the file from her with a scowl. "We don't—"

"The hospital was destroyed upon the delivery of the Messiah," Laura says, her tone unintelligible. Maybe mocking. "Of course there will not be a birth record."

"Oh." Julian realizes she's right. "So we're after records of anyone admitted for a delivery. That's a very large window still."

"No." Laura continues to study the file. "The Messiah was small, underdeveloped. In other words…premature, by four and a half weeks. She had jaundice. These
facts will allow for a much smaller window."

Julian stares at her for a moment. She has known this much about the Messiah?

She has not divulged any such information to them.

"You've seen her?"

"Yes."

"When? Where? How?"

"I cannot say."

"Damnit!" He bursts in frustration. "That stuff doesn't matter anymore. You can tell us everything. We need to know all the facts."

"You know what is factual," Laura said coldly. "I will not divulge information that is not my own to do so with."

He curses his luck, that of all the mutants to survive, they had to get Laura, the ice-hearted, scheming, conniving, robotic…

"We are done here," Laura says suddenly. The drawer of the filing cabinet closes with a simultaneous snap. "We should hurry."

"Why—"

She is heading towards the door, her expression unintelligible. He follows, telling himself that he is being ridiculous. Laura is a team player and will not do anything
that would put their well-being at risk.

Although she hasn't explained why she wants these files in the first place.