During the day, possibilities seem endless. The only limit one can come across are those they place on themselves. The lightbulb was invented specifically to forcibly shunt the darkness away from humanity, encouraging new ideas, new inventions, new reality-shattering impossibilities to be born. Truly, light is the way to go.

For Max Springer, light is a pain in the ass.

Oh, he understands the benefits of it, sure; driving is much more dangerous at night, people can lurk in corners and surprise you, you could get lost anywhere much, much easier than in the day, and darkness always brings cold. People hate being cold.

On the other hand, light brings everything into crystal clear detail. He mentally shrugged it off, but it was only a brief respite. There are some details that he wished the light hadn't cursed him with.

Max shook his head clear of his darkening thoughts. Dr. McCoy's class was coming up, and it wouldn't do to let what was on his mind show. For all his skills in keeping a good poker face, the stockily built, blue-haired chemistry teacher was always able to tell if something was bothering one of his students. It was a stark contrast to the rest of the teachers, none of whom cared any more than was necessary. He genuinely cared about everyone in his classroom, and while it was nice, he didn't want anyone asking things he wasn't willing to answer.

At the front of the class, Dr. McCoy was going on about the differences between the elements of the periodic table between their groupings, slowly pacing back and forth in front of his desk. "Remember class, the difference between the alkaline metals and the earth alkaline metals is not only that they're split into two numerically different groups, it is also the number of valence electrons in their outer shell. Alkaline Metals have one, while Earth Alkaline Metals…" The chemistry teacher then proceeded to press his fingers on the bridge of his nose, letting out a small grunt of pain.

This was something that piqued Max's interest, despite his intentions not to. Every several days, Dr. McCoy would look like he'd start to get a migraine, and then just trudge on through the rest of the class. This had been happening for the past three months, and with the winter break soon approaching, Max started to think. He started to raise his hand, then caught himself before his arm fully extended. The Good Doctor (god, why did he have to say that of all things?) had recovered, and started charging through the lesson again like nothing had happened.

Before he knew it, the final bell had rung, and Dr. McCoy grinned. "Everyone who gets an 'A' on your midterm will get a special treat at the end of the year!" The entire class, minus Max, hooped and hollered, and rushed out, ready to "get ready to cram" and "get another awesome surprise from the Good Doctor", with that last statement getting Max to grit his teeth. He wanted to whisk himself away from the building, but he had to pack up his notebooks first. He had priorities, after all.

As he walked out the classroom door, he heard a grunting sound. He turned around, and saw Dr. McCoy sitting at his desk, with his glasses off and his hands pressed against his temples. Despite knowing he was going most likely be late getting to work (and regret this act of generosity in about thirty minutes), he turned around.

The young man pulled a small plastic bag from his pocket and placed it on his teacher's desk. The crinkle of plastic was enough to grab his teacher's attention, and looked up at him, still clearly trying to ignore his headache.

Dr. McCoy squinted at the contents within the small bag. "What are those?" he asked.

Max took out a bottle of standard ache-relief pills, shaking it to show it was empty. "Over the counter pain killers," he replied with a shrug. "You look like your head is pounding and I just thought I'd, you know….," he made a small gesture with his hands, "help? I know that headaches can be a colossal train wreck on your day."

The teacher let out a chuckle. It was the first time anyone had actually tried to help him that didn't already know of his…. Problem. "Thank you, my boy, but I have grown accustomed to these over the past several years. I've tried many such medications, but none have worked." He smiled, "But I do appreciate the gesture, Max. I'm grateful for the gesture."

Max let his lips tilt upwards in his version of a smile. "What can I say? You're the only teacher here that actually seems to care about your students. I figured someone should show some appreciation, more than words alone, at least." Turning around to leave the classroom once again, he waved a hand. "Rest up, professor!"

OOOOO

As Max's footsteps blended into the rapidly receding sounds of shoes thundering their way home for the weekend's brief respite, Hank McCoy grabbed the pills, which were in the shape of the medicine Ibuprofen.

He knew that students weren't allowed to bring in any medication without a doctor's note, and Max had shown him his. The same also applied for physical limitations, which Max also provided for his excusal from gym activities. He looked fine, but he couldn't argue with the doctor's note. It surprised him that he'd be willing to share his medication, though. He knew that Max was one of the quieter kids in his class, not for a lack of group projects that encouraged cooperation. He was just somebody that never really talked more than necessary. In fact, he seemed to spend more time in his own mind than in class, yet still came up with astounding work on a regular basis.

There was something different about his quiet student, but the recent conversation gave a little insight into his character. Maybe Max would be one of the few who wouldn't judge his unique situation. After all, Hank had seen him often downing three of these red, round pills just before leaving his class every day. For him to give up that daily ritual because he thought his teacher had a simple headache…

Hank McCoy let out a genuine laugh for the first time in quite a few weeks. Max was quite unique, compared to his other students. Everyone knew he had recurring 'migraines', but he was the only one to actually offer any sort of assistance. Hank realized that he might be jumping to conclusions, but he desperately hoped that his friendly student would be someone that could be tolerant of his condition, should it get out of control.

The man began to focus. It was dark now, the best time to prepare his temporary salvation.

OOOOO

"Hey! You forgot the ketchup, idiot!"

"Sorry, sorry. Here you go, sir. Have a good night."

The beady-eyed and very overweight man snorted, and sped away in his Prius. The car swerved nearly out of control, and Max snorted. 'If you could pump those legs like you pump that pedal, maybe you wouldn't practically flip your car with every turn.'

The teen sighed, then locked the drive-thru window. There was always somebody who loved to come through right before closing, and he always had the pleasure of servicing them. They didn't even read his name tag! Screw Burgertopia, he had money, dammit!

Another sigh, and Max corrected himself. He barely had anything to his name. A run-down, three room apartment most certainly did not scream 'Steve Jobs'. A nearly empty fridge didn't capture the eyes of the hungry like 'Cake Boss' did. And a desolate house didn't let out a 'welcome home' at his entry.

And because of his conscience, he didn't even have the Ibuprofen to last him through the shift. His shoulders were protesting every minute movement, and he still had to wait for his ninth hour to wrap up. That left him with nothing to do but spend the next half an hour being assaulted by his mental anguish, deciding that now would be the perfect time to pop up!

"No," Max grumbled. "I don't have anything to look forward to." Not anymore, at least.

The ring of the door opening took him out of his dazed state, and he looked up to see a man in a wheelchair rolling his way to the counter. He was bald, and had a brown jacket over his black shirt, likely long-sleeved at this time of year.

What really stood out to Max, however, was the confidence the man held as he strolled (ouch, bad choice of words, Max) up to the counter. It was as if he knew what was going on around him at all times. Oddly enough, he was looking at Max with… recognition?

"Pardon my late arrival, young man, but may I have a hamburger? One of my children recommended this place as 'the one fast food joint that doesn't taste like grease between two slices of bread.'"

Smirking at the common hype everyone at Bayville High held for here, Max nodded. "Of course, sir. Max Springer, at your service! One burger coming up!"

OOOOO

As Max proceeded to prepare the food, Charles Xavier let his frown show on his face. This Max was a troubled young man. While he seemed like the stereotypical teen (yet more polite than most), there was a darkness clouding his mind. It seemed to be in a tug of war in young Max's head, and for the most part, it was being pushed back fairly well, for somebody who was still in their teens. The Professor was impressed.

Xavier was taken out of his musings by the crinkle of a paper bag. He looked up, and saw that Max was looking at him with a vague hint of concern. Surprising, since it was almost one in the morning, and most people would get impatient with his distractedness, not worried.

"Here you go, sir. One burger with the whole package, just like you asked… Are you alright?"

The Professor formed a light grin, and nodded his head. "Yes, I am fine. Just wondering if my children wrapped up their homework yet."

Max chuckled. "Probably not. I mean what kind of high school kid wants to do homework this early in the morning?"

Xavier let out a hum of amusement. "You have a fair point. Well, I should get going; my ride will likely come in to check on me if I don't come out soon. Have a pleasant night, Max."

"You too, sir." The Psychic Professor turned around, and proceeded to approach his car.

Ororo opened the passenger door, and helped Charles get inside, since they were in public. "So," the African woman asked, "what was it like, to go inside Burgertopia?"

The smell of an unusually salivating fast-food burger filled the car; He smiled. "I can see why people like the food here. It smells delicious. And if the people who work here are like Max, then it'll be easy to keep coming back."

Ororo looked inside the building, and saw the mentioned young man cleaning everything up, turning off the lights as each section was polished to his liking. For some reason, he looked…. Familiar… "Hmm... where have I seen him before?"

Charles gave his two cents. "Perhaps you recognize him from one of Jeans' soccer games?"

Ororo let out a noncommittal hum. "Maybe. Anyway, we should get going. Logan's going to get antsy, with us being gone for so long."

Xavier voiced his agreement. "I concur. We can think more about this later. For now, we should get going."

OOOOO

A key slid into the lock. It twisted, and the knob turned, swinging inward. The door opened, revealing a very tired Max. His jet black hair was flattened and greasy from wearing his Burgertopia hat for so long. His skin's natural pale tone was nearly a ghastly white. His eyes, which used to be a bright blue, had once more become a choppy, dark azure, barely holding back the building storm of emotions.

Forcibly shoving the maddening, treacherous thoughts, Max closed and locked his door, and walked to his room. He stopped, however, right in front of his bedroom. He turned to his left, and looked into the empty, untouched room. It was a complete mess, as if a hurricane had swept through and torn the room to a giant, messy pile.

Unbeknownst to him, tears finally broke through Max's defenses. "I'm home, Sarah."

He hated himself even more, once he realized he fell into that old habit again. He then sprinted to his room, and let the damn break, choked sobs breaking free once again.

There was no response to his words. Sarah's room was empty; just like it was every night for the last eleven and a half months.

Almost a year ago, she died because of them. They took everything from him.

And tonight, he wondered if they took away his will to live, as well.

OOOOO

And that's a wrap!I've been thinking about and X-Men: Evolution story for months now, but I had no idea how to write it.Honestly, this story, combined with college, is why I haven't been updating anything for the past several months.So much is on my plate right now, and I'm still figuring out how to organize it all.

Then I stated to watch the show again, and I got hit with a few plot bunnies.What will Max bring to the table?How are his decisions going to impact Xavier's school of mutants? Find out in two weeks, friends and fans!