these hands had to let it go free
prologue
Summary: In which Peter finds out his half sister is alive, and leaves to find her. Because terrorist and all that aside, Peter still wants to make his father proud, in a morbid sort of way.
Prompt: I just recently finally watched Apocalypse and I bawled right after because it was so beautiful and the characters meant so much to me and everything. And most importantly, the angst between Peter and Erik just got me.
A/N: I'm computer/laptop bound so this isn't beta'd, and my tenses still need some work so sorry for any typos or grammatical errors. Enjoy :)
Disclaimer: I just don't own the X-Men okay, be it the comics, films or cartoons.
Peter did not admit it, but he had always been jealous of his dead half-sister.
It wasn't like he wanted a father. He didn't even need one. Contrary to popular belief, his life was pretty damn complete. He had a mom that could kick anyone's butt had anyone even thought of getting too close to her children, a twin sister that was slightly psychotic—which was understandable since their own father had been borderline insane—but pretty awesome with her psychic witchcraft whatever powers, and an adorable little sister who was the only person he'd ever sit still for because she smiled like everything was going to be okay—and sometimes, he thought they were.
The idea of any other male presence in his life, besides all the policemen that came barging in every now and then, didn't really occur to him. It never did. The father figure had always been a blurred picture hung up the wall, holding his supposed dead older sister. That was as a far as he had thought to ever having a dad. Until of course, ten years ago when he broke out an extremely dangerous man—mutant—from prison. It was all fun and games until he levitated an entire stadium and readied to kill the president in front of live television. Even now when he looked back on that day, his silver hair would still stand up, and he remembered little Aly's touch, her tight hold on his hand, wondering if things were going to be okay.
Post that, the guilt drove him mad. He ran all across town, all over the neighborhood, and returned all things he'd stolen—the ones he hadn't eaten or broken—until he felt so tired he threw up in front of his mom—all the twinkies and ice pops he'd consumed that day, carried along with the truth of his pentagon escapade. He was sure it wasn't the fatigue that caused his stomach to churn. His mom cried for hours, a shaking mess she was. But nothing would ever replace how he felt when she reached for his hair – because that's what she did when things went wrong—touch his hair gently with her fingers, and tuck the strands behind his ear to remind him that she was there, and always will be – and pulled back, before she could even get too close.
He realized, she was afraid of him. And damn did she have every right to be. He was the son of a wanted terrorist who vowed to wipe out all humans, and even mutants, had they stood in his way. And to make matters worst, he was the son that broke his terrorist father out from the highly secured, most heavily guarded place on earth, because the thrill was just too much to miss out on. If the saying the apple doesn't fall far from the tree held anything, his fate had been sealed and screwed the minute he was conceived.
However, nothing big happened for the next few years. He hadn't even heard of the guy in such a long time, he sometimes wondered if he was even still alive. His mom had already filled him in with the whole he's your father discussion, starting from how they met—a sick love story if you asked him—and how they separated. So he kind of got why his father had turned out to be such a mad man. The whole Anya incident, he deduced, had just been history waiting to repeat itself—and it did, ten years post the sentinel extravaganza, in the form of his father's new family. He threw up again, for the first time since he last watched his own father on tv, and this time there was even a little blood mixed with the chunks of twinkies and foul smelling alcohol.
Then Apocalypse came into the picture and no matter how many times he tried to brave the situation, just so he could tell his father about his identity, he just couldn't do it. Fighting a super villain with the power to wipe out the entire nation didn't seem so scary compared to telling Magneto he—Peter—was his blood son. Also, there never was a right time—what with the exploding mansion, he and a bunch of the others getting kidnapped and trying to escape, and the fight against the four horsemen – one of which was the said father himself! – and then when it came down to his father actually asking him, he chickened out. Because really, when he thought about it, who wanted to hear your current opponent spout some nonsense about being your son when you've recently just lost your whole family, bearing pain that could easily be exploited, specially moments such as this? He may have been faster than the tick of seconds, vibration of sounds and quite possibly the speed of light, but if anything, his timing sucked. So maybe another day – when his father wasn't so busy controlling a giant magnetic sphere, and he wasn't so busy getting his leg crushed into pieces by some wannabe God.
Another opening came just before Erik decided to finally leave the mansion. Peter hadn't really gotten around to deciding what he wanted to call him yet if not Dad. Erik? Mr. Lensherr? Magneto? Mags? Mag-man? All he knew was every time they met in the hallway, out the vast yard, even every now and then in the living room, his mind called him dad, father, daddy-o, dadneto-man—but his lips, they refused, and halfway between the d he ended up calling him dude. Which was just as well, it's the kind of thing people call each other nowadays, right?
They held a small conversation as Charles wheeled away with Kurt and his barrage of aggravating questions, four days before Erik was set to leave, and three days after he finally got his cast off. Sure, his leg was still a little bit banged up in places here and there, and he still had to be on crutches for balance reasons, but it wasn't entirely broken any more. So he half walked and stumbled his way to Erik who was busy watching the other students through the living room windows.
"Hey man."
Erik turned to the struggling young man who, despite all the trouble he had making it all the way across the room, seemed to be chipper compared to the last couple of days.
"I see you've gotten better."
"Yeah, big blue said it had something to do with my mutation. Fast healing and all."
"Big blue?"
"I like giving people names."
Erik nodded, before he turned his attention back to the outside. Peter managed to get onto the chair closest to where Erik stood, and lay his crutches just right beside him.
"So, I heard you're leaving soon."
"Indeed I am." Erik nodded pleasantly. "I've done everything that was needed for me to do, and despite being Charles' old friend and sharing some common sentiment with the people here, it still does not change the fact that I follow a different ideology."
"I guess."
"How about you, young man, what do you believe in?"
"Me?" The question struck Peter a little in the heartstring, and he wanted to so badly say you but he knew the word was a lump on his throat harder to swallow than his heart. "I want—I just want to have fun, and live with people like me, I guess."
"I see."
"I don't have big plans for the future. I'm a high school dropout with a bunch of stolen stuff lyin' around my mom's basement." Peter shrugged as Erik finally left the window to take a seat across Peter, giving him his full attention. "The only thing I was ever good at was running, whether it was running away from getting caught or running towards trouble, you name it, I get there with just enough time to spare."
He left out the part where he was always just a little bit too late when it came to his father but Erik didn't need to know that, at least not right now.
"I just want to make use of what I can do."
"And you suppose Charles will help you accomplish that?"
"It's not a bad thing, is it?"
"No." A soft smile—well, the softest someone like Magneto could offer—graced his father's lips. "It's good."
And Peter felt, for the first time, something he never thought he actually wanted. For someone—no, not just someone, but this very person that sat right in front of him—to be proud of what he'd done and the decisions he's made.
So when Magneto actually did leave, he felt a little sad, even though he'd never admit it himself. He tried to bypass it by busying himself training under Raven at the time Charles and Erik bid their usual farewells—old friend, professor, whatever the hell they wanted to call each other. It was fun and all, but he kind of wanted to give his dad a proper send off, but that would just look odd. So he stayed.
He didn't think any other big thing would happen until at least for another five or ten years, given the last time. So imagine his surprise when news came barreling—literally—into the mansion, not even half a year later at 2am in the morning in the form of gambit student Remy—the one that carried cards everywhere he went and had a knack for setting things off in explosions. Peter was eating cereal because he slept faster than a normal person—or he never actually slept properly at all—when the cherry brunette kid came in crashing through the window. Or so, he would have had the window not been open. Bruised with slightly tattered clothes, Remy looked up to see Peter's casual stare, as if the scene was something he saw almost all the time—which it was.
"Kid, what are you doing now?"
He never really had enough moral in him to stop all of Remy's activities anyway.
"I've got news, for you."
"Me?"
"Yeah, you're Magneto's kid right?"
"Sure."
It surprised Peter to know that the Professor hadn't found out about his relationship with Erik—given Raven's big mouth. Either he knew and didn't mention it out of respect—he's a mind reader for goodness' sakes—or genuinely didn't care enough to know. It sometimes baffled him that Charles wouldn't come out and talk to him about it, specially when everyone around him already knew—everyone being Raven, Hank, Ororo, Jean, Scott, Remy, Kurt, and he was pretty sure that Kitty Pryde doll knew as well even though she was only like seven.
"What's up?"
"Ever heard of Nina Gorzky?"
"No."
"Well, she's your half sister."
If Peter was any normal boy, the spoon would've dropped, and maybe clutter around the table for a bit. But Peter wasn't normal, and just like everything else in his life, he processed the information quite quicker than one usually would. Remy wasn't surprised though.
"That's great to know."
"And she's alive."
"Even better."
It was a few seconds of awkward silence—except a few seconds for Peter actually lasted hours and that was what pained him the most. He didn't know what Remy wanted of him, but the pointed look directed his way told him that he was expected to do something—rejoice, cry, anything.
"What do you want, kid?"
"Are you going to get her?"
"I don't even know where she is."
"I can tell you."
"And then what?"
"Maybe then you could make him happy, maybe change him back, I don't know."
"Why do care so much?"
"I don't. I thought I'd just let you know."
"Okay."
It may have been a quick conversation but Peter had never felt anything longer before. As soon as his cereal was done he hastily dropped his bowl and spoon into the sink, and sped up the stairs to his room. He then spent next few hours mulling over what to do next.
The following day he paid a visit back home, to his now seventeen year old sister Aly who still smiled that beautiful smile, his mom who was tougher than ever, washing dishes by the sink and dancing to new classics, and his twin sister Wanda who came home for the weekend, lying across their couch flicking through the tv without even using a remote. He plopped down beside Wanda and spent half an hour watching her do whatever it was that she did, before he eventually got bored and left to help his mom make dinner.
They were silent, the whole way through their meals, but it wasn't the kind of silence that killed him inside. He liked that silence. The one where he heard his mom sip her soup and watched his twin grunt in distaste at his eating habits. One where Aly was happily typing on her phone, the clicking sound resonating across the whole table, and he could hear his own fast heartbeat above all other white noise. It was the kind of sound that harbored understanding. And when everyone was done, Wanda was packing to go back to university, and his mom was downstairs in his old room, dusting old stolen goods, and Aly was upstairs on her phone talking to whatever new boyfriend she had these days. He walked out the house for just a few seconds m, to take in the fresh air, before he confronted his mother.
"You're going to look for her, aren't you?"
"Yeah." He lazily made his way over to the old arcade machine that hasn't been touched in a very long time. "I gotta see if she's still okay."
"She's not your responsibility, Peter. Neither is your dad."
"Yeah but the mutant blood in me says otherwise."
"You haven't even told Wanda yet."
"Neither have you."
"I think it's best she doesn't know."
"She's not stupid mom, she probably knows like half of it already, if not all. She just doesn't talk about it because she doesn't care."
"She was never like you in that respect." Magda sighed as she sat down on the couch and watched helplessly the back of her only son. "You always wondered about your father. She never did."
"I never wanted a father. We were fine on our own mom."
"You keep saying that Peter, but your eyes say a lot more than what your mind prefers to think."
"That doesn't even make sense."
"Even with someone as fast as you, I am still your mother. No telepath alive can tell better what you're thinking than I can."
"Super mom."
She laughed lightly as he turned to face her. Not even a second later, he was right in front of her, holding his hand out as he reached for the stray curled locks of brown hair on the side of her face. She stared at him, carefully taking note of how he gently and slowly—as slow as someone like Peter could manage anyway—tucked the strays behind her ears.
"I don't think I'll be able to visit for awhile."
"Of course."
She stepped forward to hug him, envelop him in the tightest hug she could ever give someone. Up the basements stairs Wanda stood, hands shakily wiped the streaks of tears that dared slip out of her control. She wanted to hit Peter, for always always shouldering everything on his own. She wanted to go down and yell at him, or tell him hey I'll come with you, but she couldn't. Because she knew it'd only make him more upset. Her powers slipped past her fingertips and she thanked God Peter was too busy bawling on their mother's shoulder to notice the slight flicker of the arcade game's monitor.
When the mother and son let go, Wanda was already on her way out of the driveway. Aly had been watching the car reverse and speed off, the red and orange lights blared across the silent neighborhood. Not everyone gave her credit because her silence meant so much to all of them, but she knew everything that went on within those very four walls of her family—how despite being one of the two humans, she was the odd one out, and how her brother really was never happy until he left for that boarding school, and how her sister who seemed the most grounded out of all of them, was the one that struggled with feelings the most. She wondered how long it would last, the nice little picture they painted for themselves, before it all breaks into pieces and she finds herself replaced. She suddenly didn't like Mr. Erik Lehnsherr very much – not that she ever did, but at least back then she tolerated any mention of his name, now she couldn't stand even the thought of the guy.
It was a little late into the night when Peter finally decided to leave. Magda was sleeping—or she appeared to be—and Aly walked with her brother down the stairs as he shuffled around with his duffel bag. Like always with Aly, there was silence, of course until Peter broke it.
"You better be good."
"I always am." She laughed lightly, nudging his shoulder. "You be good too, and take care of her I guess."
"Hey, don't worry about it, she'll be fine if I ever find her."
"Yeah, but Pete?"
"Hm?"
"Come back home safe, okay?"
She kind of wanted to cry. Just the thought of her brother, never running into the house again, crowing about all his misadventures, it made her sick to her stomach. She wanted to grab his hand right there and then, and stop him from running away forever. So she tried. And she found she couldn't do it, hand mid-air. So she made him swear instead.
"Promise me, no matter what, however long it takes, I don't care, just please come back home."
His heart hurt a little. And he ruffles her hair gently.
"Yeah Als, I'll come home, okay?"
That was the last they spoke, for a very long time.