DISCLAIMER: I do not own X-Men; I don't even own my OC (she's not my original character; I took her from the Marvel/X-Men universe; I just kind of put her in First Class).

EDITED: August 6, 2014

prologue: the rain falls down my face, hiding the tears in my eyes

It was raining, the day of the burial. The skies overcast; thick raindrops melting from the dark clouds. They were crying along with her, as she shoveled the tightly-packed dirt, making a barely human sized hole. Every feverish breath she took created a smoky puff, reminding her just how cold it was, along with how unprepared for this she was. Her sweater could barely be considered a sweater—it was too light and too thin—and her pants were barely keeping her warm. With no hat on her head, her ears were starting to feel numb. Every once in a while she sniffled, proving to herself that she was, in fact, getting sick and it would be a better idea to do it all the next day.

But she couldn't.

She wanted to believe that his death—her brother's death—was not her fault, but she couldn't control the racking sobs and the apologies from coming; over and over and over. "I'm sorry," she wept, "I'm so, so sorry." Again, "I'm sorry." It was starting to become a never-ending cycle of pain and misery with him, though that never stopped her from loving him. It was ingrained into her every fiber to love and cherish the boy—the man—whom she had called home for so long. She grew up with him taking care of her, and when he needed her most, she couldn't take care of him.

It's all my fault, it's all my fault.

"What's your fault?" A male voice asked behind her. She was surprised, to say the least, but she recovered quickly.

Her brother was also a telepath—a mutant—and tried to teach her how to block out his invasions of the mind. She had barely learned the basics when he left. She tried to block the man from coming into her mind, but she knew her barriers were too weak. While her brother was alive he had tried teaching her how to block people from her mind. He was paranoid about anyone whose powers were similar to his would hurt her.

She turned around slowly, carefully. "What do you want?" her words were slurred, her tone thick with the misery and anguish of loss.

The man on the left, the one who had spoken before, took a step closer, leading with his hand. She flinched back. He stopped, his hand dropping.

"My name is—"

"Charles Xavier." She finished, then cursed herself for her stupidity—what was she thinking?

He looked surprised, "You're a telepath?"

She flinched again; her brother.

"Oh, I must seem so insensitive, I apologize," he seemed as if he was about to continue, but his co-worker—friend?—cut him off.

"We want to help," he told her, "My name is Erik Lehnsherr, and, as you already know, this is Charles Xavier. We work with people like yourself—like us. We know you don't understand what's going on with you—or maybe you do, how should we know?—we want to make sure you're safe, and protected."

He hit home; it was as if he knew exactly what to say to make her weak.

She sighed, climbing out of the six foot deep hole, with difficulty—she was only 5'2". Even though she had dug steps to make it easier for her to walk out, the ground was muddy; her feet were sinking into the ground. She trudged through though, pulling her feet out of the soft ground.

Then, the bag was in the hole and she wasn't. She didn't even feel like putting the dirt back inside it, yet she knew she had to—he would have wanted it. She grabbed the shovel off the ground, and started shoving the dirt back where it came from.

Racked sobs once again filled the cold, wet air; pulling at the darkness that surrounded her. She fell to the ground, grabbing at the roots that she had broken off when she was digging. He was her last family left. Her blood, he had died because she wasn't good enough, wasn't quick enough. It was her fault.

A warning, they had called it.

A way to get through.

No.

There was a new voice in her head, a calm, soothing voice. He was in her head.

No, you will not give up. You are so young—too young. You shouldn't have gone through this. Your brother was a great man, but he didn't trust you. That was his downfall. You loved him, yes, but he destroyed himself. And now you're letting him destroy you, too. I thought you were stronger than that, Hope Summers.

"It's rude to read people's minds," she whispered; though the comment didn't lighten her mood.

"We can take care of you. We will take care of you."

"Please help me."

Xx.

Raven didn't know who she expected to come through her door, but the girl in front of her was not it. A towel clad around her torso and thighs, and a shy smile gracing her all-too-beautiful features. The girl wasn't confident, nor did she try to act that way. Her red hair—even when wet—hung only just past her shoulders, making her look paler than she probably was.

"Charles told me that you had some clothes," she started, "and I'm sorry if I'm barging in on anything or if me asking is rude, but my clothes are wet, and covered in dirt and don't actually fit me, and I'm sorry if this comes across as rude, but could I please borrow some clothes? Please?"

Raven arched her eyebrow at the red-headed girl in front of her, but went to her suitcase anyways, "Just give me a moment to grab something that would fit you."

"Thank you."

"No problem," Raven replied, handing the girl a bright blue skirt and a black blouse. The girl grabbed them and thanked Raven once again before turning to leave.

"If you don't mind me asking," Raven said, "what's your power? I can show you mine, if you feel uncomfortable doing it alone." The girl was frozen in her place.

"I," it was as if she didn't know what to say, "I don't really know how to control them. I mean, that's one of the reasons why I'm here."

"One?" Raven asked, not sure what other reasons there would—could—be.

She turned around to face Raven once again, "There have been lots of things that have happened to me recently. Lots of things that don't need to be mentioned. And, there are people out there. People who know exactly what I'm capable of and know exactly how to exploit it."

Raven didn't understand.

"I-I have no family left. No home, no one to turn to. I have nothing. What else was I supposed to do? Where else was I supposed to turn? I mean, I know how cliché it is that they found me at that exact time, the time that I needed the most help." It was starting to turn into a deeper conversation, they were both starting to get uncomfortable.

"So," Raven tried to lighten the mood, "what's your name?"

The girl sighed, glad that the question didn't have much weight to it, "Hope. My name is Hope Summers."

Hope smiled at Raven before pointing towards the door, "I should go," she waved the clothes, indicating that she needed to get her clothes on.

Redness had started brightening her face when she turned to go, embarrassed by the situation.

Raven let out a breath, as she re-zipped her suitcase, amused—and confused—by the girl who had left only seconds before. She was different than the impression that she originally gave. Yes, she was shy, but she also had this aura about her—it drew you in.

Another knock at her door. Raven opened it, and wasn't surprised when Charles walked into her room.

"So, I hear you've met Hope." He sat down on her bed, without asking, "How do you like her?"

"She's," Raven stopped, considering her words; Hope was, "confusing. She seemed almost two sided, not two faced, but more like she couldn't make up her mind. She didn't know what to say. She was—"

"Scared." Charles finished for her, letting out a breath as he said it.

"Yeah, scared," she said, "how did you know?"

Charles mumbled something unintelligible.

"Charles?" She asked, still confused, "how did you know?"

"She," Charles sighed, contemplating his words, "she's been through a lot. Much more than the both of us. Combined. You need to understand that."

Raven still didn't understand, "Charles," she asked, seriously, "what are you hiding? What is she hiding?"

"Raven. When Erik and I found Hope, she was burying her brother's corpse."