A/N: Yeah, I lied. I said I wasn't gonna post anything new but as you can see, I'm in an X-Men mood so I decided to try my hand at a First Class AU. So, please read & review if you like it. Much obliged.
Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters in X-Men, either First Class or the original comics. They belong to Marvel. I make no profit from this fanfiction.
And everybody's telling me you look like me but please don't turn into me.
You look like me but you're not like me I hope.
I have run away from the one thing that I ever made.
Now I only wish that I could show you - wish I could show a little soul.
-A Little Soul, Pulp-
Chapter 1: Superman's (Not) Dead
Charles Xavier was tired.
A deep, bone-ache, slumped shoulders, bleary-eyed, looking ready to cry kind of exhaustion that only came from being the most stubborn man on the planet. He had been using Cerebro everyday, trying to find more mutants, trying to let them know that they weren't alone…but it took its toll on him. Most of the minds he touched were so chaotic it was like a buzzing noise from the radio. A constant stream of fuzzy chatter and blurred emotions, or sometimes panic, fear and loathing so sharp it made him recoil away. Sometimes he spoke to them, tried to communicate with others like him but often times he sent them into waves of panic and he realized that perhaps speaking into someone's mind was not the best way to make new friends (a lesson he should've learnt when he was a child but always seemed to forget in his excitement).
Hank had gone to work in his lab deep within the mansion and the rest of the students were quickly enveloped by sleep after a day of training with Erik. Sean was dreaming about fish floating upside down in an aquarium while Alex's dreams featured him winning the game in football (the American kind that didn't involve the use of feet, Charles amended himself). Raven's dreams were shrouded in a deep blue darkness which had seemed ominous and frightening to Charles but Raven seemed to be sleeping calmly. Erik's dreams were as confusing as the man who dreamed them and Charles chose to respect the mysterious man's traumatic past and withdrew from them. Still, while the rest of the mansion slept…Charles worked tirelessly, using the metal helmet to cast his mind out across America. Hank thought that he could change the range to cast wider but it had so far proved unsuccessful, still the young genius remained optimistic.
Charles rubbed his forehead, creased in strain and pressure from the metal helmet and machine. Hank and Erik had already warned him not to try to use Cerebro for too long after an unfortunate nosebleed caused some panic. Honestly, it was just a little blood and maybe a headache but he was fine. Still, they restricted his use of Cerebro and even went so far as to chaperone him! Alright, so they never outright said that but Hank always had something to fiddle with in the dome machine and Erik always said that Charles looked ridiculous in that helmet and it was a great opportunity for mocking the otherwise infallible Charles Xavier. Charles often wondered if they forgot he was a telepath and could read the worry in their minds as well as their eyes. Still, the concern was nice. He never had friends who had been concerned about his wellbeing- well, except for Raven and she was the first one to call him an idiot when he did something stupid like play football (the one that involved feet) to impress a girl he had liked only to sprain his ankle trying to win the game. Still, Charles thought fondly, the girl he had been trying to impress had graciously offered to be his nurse while he was recovering, so it wasn't the worst idea he'd had.
"Five more minutes" Charles decided, resolutely picking up the helmet again even though his head throbbed with every beat of his heart. "Five more minutes and then I'll go to bed."
Charles took a deep breath through his teeth and put the helmet on over his hair which was damp with sweat and did the strap under his chin. Steeling himself against the onslaught, he slammed his hand down on the button on the console. His hands tightened around the bars as his eyes widened and a groan of pain poured from his clenched teeth. He could hear a thousand voices, cries of pain, laughter and he could feel every single one of them like he knew them as intimately as his own body. They were in his skin; he could taste what they were eating, see what they were seeing. Mists surrounded some, clouded others so that he couldn't tell where the voices were coming from. It was like being relentlessly battered by waves of pain, emotion and feeling. He knew each thought intimately as he pushed through, searching for that tiny spark of recognition which meant mutant. A sense of familiarity, knowing that they were like you. It was euphoria. It was a painful kind of ecstasy as his mind was crowded into by each thought demanding his full attention like a needy child. He pushed through the thoughts until everything blurred together to become one huge echo of suffering that made him gasp as he was pulled and prodded from all sides. This must be what going mad feels like, Charles thought to himself before his thought was snatched away by someone else's pain…someone else's madness. Feeling light-headed in panic as he fought against the invading minds, he latched onto the brightest spark he could find and let it pull him out of the mists of faceless people until he could breathe again.
Finally, feeling air pulling into his starving lungs, Charles glanced around at the mind he was in. It was dark with the tiniest bursts of light which quickly exploded and rained on Charles like a shower of shooting stars. He had never projected himself into another's mind before.
"Hello?" He called out tentatively, feeling the mind awaken, shaking off its' slumber like a sleepy beast. It was a disturbing sensation. Feeling intimately connected to the mind he was residing in but feeling his body pull air into his lungs, feel the sweat running down his back, the slight tremor in his tired limbs at the same time as if one were an echo of the other.
"Go away, "a voice answered.
"My name's Charles Xavier." He answered, trying to pinpoint the source of the voice. "Who are you?"
"I said go away," the voice said again, sounding almost petulant as it surrounded him.
"I'd really like to meet you first," Charles suggested, glancing around. "Perhaps we could talk face to face?"
"No, I'm busy and you're bothering me." The voice answered again and Charles could practically see the angry pout even though the face was still clouded. He felt a push at his midsection and took a step back.
"I'm afraid I don't know how to get back. I seem to be a bit lost and you don't seem concerned that I'm in your mind, talking to you."
"I'm dreaming. Sister Matilda says that when you dream God talks to you." The voice answered, sounding high-pitched instead of the ominous boom it had been before.
"I'm afraid I'm not God," Charles answered with a chuckle.
"I know that!" The voice said, annoyed and Charles felt another weak push but this time it barely moved him.
"God doesn't talk funny," the voice continued.
"I don't talk funny!" Charles exclaimed with a laugh.
"Yes, you do!" The voice insisted and Charles looked straight ahead at the direction it was coming from. "You've got a funny sounding voice."
"That's my accent. I'm from England. Do you know where that is?" Charles asked, staring straight ahead into the shadows.
"Of course I do, I'm not a little baby!" The voice said, hotly.
"My apologies, I never thought you were. Anyways, people in England talk like I do because they have an English accent. Well, it really depends on where you're from but I'd really like to know more about you."
"Why?" The voice said suspiciously. Charles could see the shadows lightening up where he was staring.
"Because it seems rude to come into someone's mind and not know their name." Charles responded. "I already introduced myself and the polite thing to do would be to tell me your name."
The mind was silent, even the mists seemed frozen in place, no longer spinning through the space but staying completely still.
"You don't need to be afraid. I'm not going to hurt you," Charles said soothingly.
"I'm not afraid!"
"Alright," Charles conceded. "But won't you show me your face? It's difficult to have a polite conversation when there's no one to talk to."
Charles wondered if his request had scared the voice off until the mists parted to reveal a tall, muscular figure striding through the gloom. Charles blinked, not quite able to hide the smile on his face as he stared into the stern face of Superman.
"Well, hello there," Charles said. "And who might you be?"
"Don't you read stuff? I'm Superman!" The person said haughtily, its cape flourishing in the non-existent wind. For a moment, Superman's image flickered to reveal someone much shorter and smaller but Charles still couldn't see whose mind he was in.
"Oh, of course, my apologies… Superman," Charles said with a smile, stifling any laughter.
"What do you want?" Superman asked, the voice coming out squeakier than the muscled figure would have been expected to have. Charles clamped down on his laughter.
"You don't seem upset that I'm speaking to you in your mind," Charles observed.
"I'm not upset. I don't care except that you're bothering my sleep. That's not nice."
"I'm very sorry, only I'm a little lost. I was looking for something and I was pulled towards here," Charles explained.
"What are you looking for?"
"Someone like me. I'm a mutant, I can read people's minds and these abilities make me different from other people. I've been looking for other people like me. And I think you might me a mutant too," Charles explained kindly.
"I don't have any powers!" Superman exclaimed.
"Are you sure? I wouldn't have been brought here if you didn't," Charles said patiently even though he was frowning on the inside. He had felt the bright spark that meant mutant- maybe he was so tired he was beginning to imagine things? No, he was certain of it.
"I don't have any powers," Superman insisted petulantly. "But Wanda does."
"Wanda?" Charles picked up on the name. "Who's Wanda?"
He got a rush of images, dark hair and pale skin, hands with surrounded by bright energy before the connection was cut off.
"No one! Wanda's no one! Go away! Go away, go away!" Superman shrieked and Charles could fear the fearful rumbling under his feet, making him take a step back.
"It's alright; you don't need to be afraid." Charles tried to placate the figure even as the mind he was in trembled viciously, throwing him to the floor. "It's alright, please calm down."
"Leave! Leave Wanda alone! Go away!" The voice continued to shriek becoming high-pitched and Charles clamped his hands over his ringing ears.
"Alright! Please, just stop!" Charles cried through the pain piercing his entire body. There was jolt, his stomach jumping into his throat, his ears popping and with a cry Charles was pushed out of the mind and back into his own body. He fell to his knees, the helmet hanging uselessly in the air as he took in ragged breaths, hands grabbing at his head to try to control the pain. He trembled, limbs jerking uncontrollably for several minutes as he fought to get his breathing under control.
'What in the bloody hell just happened?' Charles thought to himself.