Only You Can Save the World
by awayshegoes

Chapter One: "It All Started with Eric"

Author's Note: "Only You Can Save the World" incorporates select elements of the X-Men comics, movies, and cartoons. It's a new take on the "Days of Future Past" comic/movie line, but it will divert from both. Fair warning: not all elements of this story will be canon, so read with a small grain of salt. This is a fanfic: no copyright infringement intended.


Kitty shifted her legs just slightly. She had been in this position for what felt like a lifetime: on her knees, fingers pressed against Logan's temples, eyes squeezed shut. The muscles in her legs screamed to be stretched out and her hands felt like stone; she ignored the pain as best she could, because she knew the fate of the entire world depended on her concentration.

A small group of people were huddled nearby, completely silent minus the occasional sound of shuffling or sniffling. All eyes were fixated on Kitty and Logan, as they had been for hours. They were waiting: waiting to see if their efforts and sacrifices were all in vain; waiting to see if the world would change before their eyes; waiting, with bated breath, for their hopes to be extinguished.

Logan was lying on his back, eyes closed, still as death. A faint purple glow emanated from Kitty's fingertips. Her breath was slow, rhythmic, and seemed to fill up all the empty space in the temple. The air was still. It was dark. The only light, other than that surrounding Kitty's hands, was the faint glow of the midnight moon peeking through the open windows. It was eerie, silent. The purple glow seemed all too pleasant and pure for the current situation.

The temple they were in was their temporary safe haven (as safe as their world could be). They had escaped the internment camp not long before. Sacrifices were made, lives were lost, but it was all in hope that the world could be saved: that the future could be altered.

It all started with Erik.


Erik was imprisoned with Kitty, Logan, and countless other mutants. Kitty was in line with a food tray, waiting for her daily rations, when he wheeled up behind her. She didn't notice him until the foot rest of his wheelchair bumped into her calf. She turned slightly and glanced at him out of the corner of her eye, before facing forward once more. Armed guards were present, posted on each side of the Rationer, who was passing out substance at the front of the line.

When his wheelchair bumped her again, Kitty jerked her head towards Erik, just in time to see his tray slide off his lap and clatter to the ground. She felt her hair bristle at the sound, which broke the silence like a banshee's cry. Instinct caused her to bend down and pick up the tray (if not out of kindness or care, just to conserve the ever-present silence that it had shattered). The guards quickly approached, weapons pointed at her. When she noticed, she let go of the tray, which fall back to the ground, as she held up her hands at her sides. She didn't notice Erik flinch as the tray hit the ground, once again breaking the silence.

"Pick it up," one of the uniformed guards ordered Kitty, weapon pointed at her face. Kitty looked up at him, meeting his hard gaze for just a moment, before she slowly leaned down and picked up the tray, holding it in one hand, while her other hand remained in the air at her side. When she didn't move further than that, the guard growled, "...and give it to him." Kitty slowly placed the tray on Erik's lap. Erik glared at her, which surprised her slightly, but she remained stone-faced and turned to face the front of the line. The guards watched her for a moment, ensuring she didn't try anything else, before they returned to their posts. The line moved forward.

When Kitty stepped forward in line, she noticed a faint glimmer out of the corner of her eye, only a few inches from her feet. She turned her attention to the shine for a brief moment, before she turned her gaze back to the guards, whose hawkeyes were focused on the mutants in line. When she glanced back down at the anomaly, she knew she had to get it.

It was a small glass bottle without a stopper: no taller than an inch or two, clear, but caked inside with dirt. She took in a deep breath, glanced toward the guards once more, and kept her head facing forward. She performed a quick mental calculation (which she prayed was right): she didn't think Erik would be able see what she was about to do, due to his seated position and the placement of the tray on his lap.

Slowly, carefully, she slipped her heel out of her shoe. It was a test of balance and control: one that would have deadly consequences if she failed. Slowly, she inched her raised foot so it was close to the bottle, all the while making sure to keep her moving foot and leg directly behind the person in front of her and, thus, out of the guards' view. She used her bare toes to carefully pull the bottle closer to her, close enough that she could grasp it in her toes. Her heart raced as though it were on fire, as though it would beat right out of her chest, as she slowly, hesitantly, and with the mental whisper of a prayer, picked it up between her toes and the pad of her foot, before maneuvering it into her shoe. Kitty maintained her forward-facing position as slid her foot back into her shoe, toes scrunched up against the bottle.

And the line moved again.

Kitty held back a wince as she took a step forward, her toes painfully pressed against the bottle she had stowed at the front of her shoe. She forced herself not to limp with each step.

She received her rations: a piece of thick bread, government cheese, a bruised apple, and plastic cup of water. She didn't look the Rationer in the eye as she accepted the food. She held her breath as she walked past the guards at the most normal gait she could manage.


When she got back to her quarters, not long after eating, she sat down on her bed and slipped off her shoes. She glanced around to make sure the eyes of her quartermates were not on her, before reaching down, grasping the bottle in her hand, and sliding her shoes under her bed. She stood up, bare feet lightly hitting the cold wood floor, which caused her to shiver (or maybe it was just her nerves?). She pulled back the sheet on her bed, before climbing in. She then slid the glass bottle under her bare pillow, laid her head down on it, and stared up at the wood ceiling.

"Ya feelin' all righ', Pryde?" Kitty glanced over to the woman who had addressed her. The woman was sitting on the bunk next to Kitty's; she was thin, her skin was tanned and marred with scars and stretched so tightly over her bones that she almost looked like a statue. Her brown eyes were dull and her greasy, wavy hair was pulled back in a messy bun.

"Yeah. I just—" Kitty shrugged her shoulders, "Just had a run in with two Charlies at Rationing."

"Oh, hun, I'm sorry," the woman said as she stood up and moved to sit on the edge of Kitty's bunk, which lifted the mattress slightly at its edges and squeaked under her weight. Kitty's heart sped up and she forced herself not to wince: she prayed to God that the glass bottle would stay in its place beneath her pillow and not roll to the floor. "Ya wanna talk about it?"

Kitty shook her head and turned on her side to look at the other woman, as she pressed her head harder into the pillow to keep the bottle in place, "No, it's fine," she said quietly, "Thanks though, Mel."

"Well, you just let me know," Mel said, lips pursed into a barely-there smile as she stood up and went to chat with another bunkmate. Kitty nearly swallowed her heart for a second time when Mel's weight lifted off the mattress: she said another quick mental prayer for the glass bottle to stay put. It did, despite the cheap, firm mattress moving and squeaking under the other woman's weight.

Kitty stayed in her bed until lights out was called by the Bunkmaster. Over and over in her mind she ran through the possibilities of what the glass bottle was, where it had come from, and whether it was something significant or just trash.


She waited for what she hoped was hours. She couldn't be caught: whether it was trash or not, it was unauthorized paraphernalia. In the internment camp, mutants were only allowed to possess items given to them by the officers, which basically boiled down to clothing and a power-nullifying collar that could only be unlocked/removed by a select few officers. If a mutant was found in possession of any items not given to them by an officer, they were publically and severely punished. In order to dissuade the possession of unauthorized items, officers encouraged mutants to report suspicious activities; if a mutant reported another who was found to be in possession of an unauthorized object, they were given extra rations and shower privileges. Because of this, most mutants kept a sharp eye out for suspicious activity and were quick to make reports. She had to be extremely careful.

She listened to the symphony of breathing and snoring in the otherwise still bunkroom. Slowly, carefully, she reached under her pillow and pulled out the bottle, holding it in her hand under the sheet. She turned on her side, feigning moving in her sleep, and brought the covers closer to her face, so she could peek under them in the dim moonlight. Staying as still and quiet as she could, she turned the bottle around and around in her fingers: it looked like an ordinary, old-time medicine bottle. She slowly brought her other hand up and placed her pinky finger against the bottle's opening, in which she felt something other than just smooth glass. Her heart sped up so much that she could hear it pumping in her ears. Carefully, she moved the object inside around: it had sharp edges, which she was able to fold over slightly. After a few minutes, pausing every so often to listen above the sound of her heart to make sure everyone was still asleep, she managed to slide the object out. It was a rolled piece of paper. Confusion etched across her features as she quietly laid the bottle on the mattress and unfurled the small piece of paper.

One word was scrolled across the page in small, red, shaky letters: Time.

Kitty stared at the paper and quickly flipped it over to check the other side, which was blank. She flipped it again and stared at the word, running it over and over in her head. It meant nothing: there was no context. She crumpled up the paper, annoyed that she had risked her life for a nonsensical piece of trash.

When she turned on her side more forcefully than she had intended to, she thanked the heavens that the glass bottle didn't fall to the floor. She held both the crumpled paper and the glass bottle tightly in her hand and mentally congratulated herself for impulsively getting into such a dangerous position for something so useless. She applauded herself further for getting her hopes up, intrinsically knowing she'd be let down, just as she always had ever since she arrived at the camp.

While she mentally chided herself, Kitty's fatigue and hunger overcame her and she fell into a dreamless sleep.


Just as the sun peeked through the windows, an officer with a loudspeaker called out over the complex for "all prisoners: prepare for morning duties."

Kitty groaned softly and rolled over onto her back, arm coming up over her eyes to block out the sun for one last moment. As soon as she did, though, conscious thought entered her mind and she realized the two contraband items were still in her hand. She quickly shoved them back under the sheet and sat up, glancing around to make sure no one had seen. They hadn't: mostly every other woman was still in the process of opening their eyes for the day.

Kitty immediately felt a cold sweat come upon her. How was she going to hide the items? She stood up and began to make her bunk (which was easy, considering it was a bare mattress with a sheet and a pillow with no pillowcase). During this process, she cringed slightly and popped the paper into her mouth, swallowing dry. She tucked in the edges of the sheet and could feel herself starting to become frantic, the bottle still grasped tightly in her hand as sweat ran down the back of her neck. The Bunkmaster walked in, ripping the sheet off the first bunk in line and announced, "Strip your beds."

And she did: hastily. She shoved the bottle within the folds of the sheet and prayed to God it wouldn't be found until it arrived at the laundry facility, where hopefully they couldn't point a finger at anyone in particular. She stood in line and deposited her laundry in the bag while the Bunkmaster overlooked the whole process; Kitty ensured she did not make eye contact.


The rest of the day went by uneventfully. The writing on the paper lingered at the back of Kitty's mind while she performed her daily work (washing floors and windows throughout the camp), but she didn't think much on it.

She was so numbed by her daily imprisonment, which was monotonous and spirit-crushing.


It happened again that same day at Rationing. Kitty was already on edge, as she had been since that morning when she turned in her bunk sheets: this was the reason she heard Erik wheel up behind her in line. She didn't turn to look at him, just bristled slightly when a bad feeling washed over her: something was about to happen.

And it did.

The foot rest of his chair bumped the back of her leg; this time, she didn't even acknowledge it. When it happened again just moments later, she heard the tray clatter to the floor, which sent the guards in their direction. She didn't move a muscle, but from behind her, so quietly she could barely even hear it, Erik whispered, "It's solid, Pryde," and then the guards arrived and shoved the tray back into Erik's hands, while they harassed him about how 'if he was too weak or old to hold his own tray, he'd be sent to Hospital.'

Kitty straightened her stance, still as a stone. She hadn't heard Erik's voice in years – hadn't heard a male's voice, other than guards, since her stay at the internment camp began. Despite her shock, she remained stone-faced and didn't act as though she heard anything.

But she had heard...and she immediately put two-and-two together.


That night was when her personal-training began.

As she laid in her bunk and lights-out was called, she said a quick prayer.

From that point forward, each night when she laid in bed and her fellow bunkmates were asleep, Kitty trained herself to pick the lock on her power-nullifying collar. It took weeks. Eventually, she was able to unlock and lock the device in a matter of minutes.

Once that was accomplished, each night she would focus all her energy on trying to train herself to do something that she didn't understand, something she had no idea how to even approach, and something she didn't know if it was even possible to do: she tried to project herself through the very fabric of time. She trusted Erik to an extent: if he believed time was solid, and he knew she had the ability to phase through solid objects, there was a chance that her efforts would be worth it.

Her personal-training continued for months (she thought; passage of time was difficult to gauge in the camp). Each time she thought she took a step in the right direction, upon reflection, she realized she hadn't made any progress.

Until one night.


It was pitch black in the bunkroom: there was no moon to illuminate the darkness and lights-out had been called hours ago. Kitty laid still in her bunk, having already unhooked her collar, fingers pressed against her temples and eyes closed. She concentrated, just as she had for so many nights. She focused on emptying her mind, pushing away all thoughts and memories and focusing only on her energy. She focused on not phasing herself through the bunk; focused on not phasing in the physical world.

And suddenly, there was this bright flash of purple light, which caused Kitty's eyes to widen.

And she was standing in line at Rationing.

Her heart raced as she clutched the tray in her shaking hands. She hesitantly glanced from side to side, slowly enough not to alert the guards to anything being out of place, but enough to try and stabilize her thoughts (and her shaking legs). The only thought that raced through her mind, over and over again, was 'I think I did it.'

And that's when she heard the sound of wheels on bare ground and she felt her stomach tie up in knots. She knew what was about to happen, because she had been here before. She closed her eyes, steadying her shaking breath, and as the sound of the wheels grew like thunder in her ears, at that perfect moment, she lifted her foot out behind her, just a slight movement, and stopped the foot rest of Erik's wheelchair from bumping into her calf.

And what she didn't see behind her was Erik's eyes widen slightly, before a momentary look of relief crossed his features. She heard him breath out a soft 'hmm' sound and then, with the sound of his tray clattering to the floor (which nearly sent the already-on-edge Kitty out of her skin), she heard him say lowly, below the sound of the approaching guards' clanking boots, "Tonight."


Which is how they ended up in the temple. Kitty still didn't understand how the others were able to organize so quickly, but she guessed much of it had to do with Erik. Obviously, he had been planning this for a while.

Kitty shook her head just slightly and pressed her fingers more firmly against Logan's temples. She had to concentrate; she couldn't afford to let her mind wander and linger on the earlier events of that night, on the people they had lost, and on the danger that no doubt was out searching for them.

And that's when it happened: that's when the hearts of all those in the room broke in unison.

Logan sat straight up with a roar, claws swinging wildly in the air; Kitty's eyes widened and she barely had enough time to duck. Thankfully, the claws missed her, minus part of her ponytail: the cut tendrils slowly drifted to the floor, shining in the moonlight. Logan sat there, breathing hard as he retracted his claws, before slamming his fists down on the cold, stone floor and shouting a string of obscenities, which sent once-slumbering bats flying out the windows.

Kitty winced at the sudden noise, the purple glow fading from her hands. She allowed herself to finally stretch out her legs.

And all was quiet for a moment: like everyone was waiting to see if the world would suddenly morph around them. Logan pushed himself into a standing position and started pacing back and forth, "Fuckin' Sabertooth," he growled out, punching a wall before he continued pacing.

"What...happened?" Bobby asked hesitantly, stepping away from the group he had been sitting with. His hair was mussed, dirt was smeared across one of his cheeks, and he had a long scar across his forehead, which was still angry and red. Logan turned his eyes to Bobby, slowed his pacing and sighed as he ran a hand through his hair.

"I don't know how he found me. He just came out of nowhere," he admitted, growling again and clenching his fists, "Next time, I'll—" but he was cut off by Kitty, who's eyes were averted to the floor.

"I don't think there will be a next time, Logan," she said quietly. This caused a hush to fall over the temple and all eyes directed to her. She held her hands flat on the floor at her sides and didn't look up at the others as she continued, "I don't know if we have enough time. I don't know if I have enough energy," and then she laughed: a hollow sound that showed she obviously didn't have her heart in, a sound that reverberated across the temple for what seemed like too long, "What was it that Kurt always said?" She asked, finally raising her eyes to look at Bobby, who froze on the spot. All of them, except Kitty, bristled: Kurt had been slain by the Sentinels so long ago, before any of them had even been apprehended.

"Kitty—" Bobby started, breaking the momentary silence that had fallen over the group, but Kitty seemed as though she didn't even hear him as she continued.

"Wasn't it 'not enough 'oomf' for zee 'bamf's'?" She asked, more to herself, head tilting in thought, "Or something like that. God, it's been a lifetime. And then—oh goodness—and then he'd chow down about twelve cheeseburgers," as if on cue, Kitty's stomach growled loud enough for the others to hear, and she chuckled quietly, staring down at the floor. "You know, I never really understood any of that— until now," she said quietly, looking up blankly at Logan, "But yeah, it doesn't matter what it was he said, but I don't have enough 'oomf' to 'bamf' you back thirty years, again, Logan."

They all sat there, silent as Kitty forced herself to stand up on her weak, somewhat wobbly legs. She stretched her arms out in front of her, twisting her stiff wrists.

Piotr stood from where he'd been seated and slowly approached Kitty, taking only a few large steps to reach were she was, "Katherine," he began softly and she looked up at the tall man, tears stinging at the corner of her eyes. How did they get here? "Thank you. From all of us. Ve vould not have made it this far vithout you," he said, placing a hand on her elbow and staring down into her eyes, "You are an amazing voman."

She avoided his eyes and stepped into his embrace, resting her head against his chest as silent tears began to fall from her eyes. They stood like that for a long time—long enough for her nose to start running: she didn't reach up to wipe the snot off her face, because what did it matter? Soon, they'd probably be killed, or apprehended and brought back to the camp, and who cares what you look like when you're dead (or basically dead)?

The moment was interrupted by the whine of a door opening: it sliced through the silence like a knife. They all froze and turned to look for the source of the noise, which echoed against the walls and ceiling.

They noticed movement at the far end of the temple and immediately fell into defensive poses. A figure cloaked in black stepped through the doorway and into the shadows of the room. Logan was the first to growl, claws poised to attack, "Who are you?"

The figure said nothing as they stopped in place. "Relax," they (she) said quietly. Bobby glared out the corner of his eyes at Logan, whose clawed hands lowered just slightly ("Not literally, asshole," he shot at the clawed man). The strange figure slowly reached up pale hands to grasp the hood of their cloak, before lowering it to reveal dull, red hair, streaked with white.

Kitty let out a choked sob from where she was standing and immediately let down all of her defenses, barely able to keep her legs from crumbling beneath her. Bobby stared, slack-jawed ("No way,") and Logan's hands dropped completely ("It can't be."). Piotr was the only one who stayed still as stone in his defensive pose.

Kitty, despite her better judgment and a lifetime of training, took a few wobbly towards to the other woman: someone she recognized immediately as an older version of a friend she had lost so long ago. "R-Rogue?" She stuttered, the name feeling so foreign on her lips. She reached out, hands shaking, "I must be mad..."

"No, Katherine," Piotr spoke, lips pressed in a line, "Ve all see vhat you see."

Kitty didn't look back at the others as she let her hands drop to her sides, staring at the other girl, "Is it...a trick?" she asked, swallowing hard.

Rogue's eyes widened slightly and she quickly shook her head, "God, no!" she reached into the pocket of her cloak, eyes still on Kitty, "I know—this is so strange. But, Kitty..." she said, carefully pulling out a purple glowing orb from her pocket and holding it in her hands so securely: like she was holding the entire world, "You sent me here to tell ya'—" Kitty's vision blurred as tears welled at the corner of her eyes, "—that we've tried ev'rything. We've sent ev'ryone," Rogue pursed her lips into a straight line, "Kitty, you're ah last hope. Only you can save the world."


End Note: Please review!