Author's Note: Epoch, Chapter 2 – Revisited. Enjoy.


Fuck.

Even before Pietro Maximoff opened his eyes, he was nearly suffocated by the cloud of dirt that followed his first inhale. Gagging against a cold and unforgiving ground, Pietro finally managed to bring up an arm, which ached like he'd never known in his life, in an attempt to push himself into a sitting position.

Good god, what in the hell had happened to him?

His efforts were in vain. Nothing in his body felt right, and god, it hurt. He could barely coordinate his own movements, much less will himself into a sitting position, so Pietro merely flopped onto his side to avoid smothering himself in the dirt. Bleary images jumped in front of his vision, but it was hard to make anything out. Where ever the hell he was, it was dark. And cold.

"… Bobby, look! Look, Maximoff is awake!"

Voices. And judging from the accent, it was that slutty fairy, the one who talked like a streetwalker from the Bronx. Eugh.

With a heavy groan, Pietro shifted onto his side in the direction of the voices, and if he'd been any more aware of what was going on around him, he would have jumped at the sight of a pair of blue eyes way too close to his.

"Pryde?" he managed to choke, right before a swift kick in the form of a tiny slippered foot landed right in his stomach. "OW!" he shouted, and a flurry of curses spewed out of his tormented mouth before it was broken up by a coughing fit, and hell, that was definitely blood. Great.

"The hell is your problem, you bitch?" snapped Pietro, trying to ignore the way his voice cracked in pain. Moaning, Pietro rolled over onto his stomach, though he kept one eye open incase his vicious 5'3 attacker came at him again.

If he'd been more cognizant, he might've noticed something was really, really wrong. But he wasn't, and he didn't, and to be frank, he didn't give a damn what was going on, only that he planned to unleash some hell as soon as he was able, because what the hell had he ever done to deserve this?

"Kitty!" scolded Bobby Drake from the side. Ooh, splendid, thought Pietro. Just what he needed right now. Frosty the Snowman.

Pietro twisted his head enough to try and look around. What the hell? The X-Dorks were arguing off to the side, and so he interrupted them.

"Is this some kind of – " Cough, hack. " – X-Men torture cave?" He eyed their dank surroundings with mild disgust before falling over ungracefully onto his back. "Nevermind," he said dully when met with stupefied silence. "You losers aren't cool enough to have a torture cave."

Kitty Pryde advanced on him with a hiss, "Shut up, Maximoff. This is all your fault!"

"My fault?" Pietro turned his head and fought a wince. His body was completely trashed. Why did he hurt like this? He'd never felt like this after a run. Never. No matter what he'd done, he'd always been able to bounce back. Fear threatened to creep into his veins. He couldn't even sit up, much less stand and run. The vulnerability was not lost on him.

"Yes, you!" Kitty exclaimed, looking away from him, in the direction of the cave entrance. It was iced over, Pietro noticed with vague, pain-laced interest. "You're the one who dragged us here. Where are we?"

"How the hell should I know?" Pietro grunted. "I wasn't paying attention. I just ran. And it's not my fault you're here, Pryde. I didn't tote your, " Cough, wince. " … sorry asses here. You did that." He stared at the ceiling, unwilling to let them see how his face bunched with pain. He kind of felt like he was collapsing on the inside, which to his limited medical knowledge, did not bode well for him. But damned if he let those X-Geeks know about it.

Already annoyed with the conversation, Pietro sneered at the cave ceiling. "Look, you morons," he curled his fingers in the dirt as pain lanced his right leg. "Call a god damn bus if you're so worried about it –"

"EVAN IS DEAD!"

Pietro turned at the sharp cry, and for the first time since he'd awakened, he saw Kitty Pryde's face fully in front of him, too clear and vivid for his liking.

"Evan…" he repeated slowly. "From school?"

"Yes, Evan from school!" Kitty snapped, and he could see it now, where tears leaked from puffy red eyes and smeared with dirt and blood on her cheeks. The two stared down one another for a long, tense moment before Kitty jumped up and moved away, unwilling to look in his direction.

Pietro said nothing.

Bobby Drake stepped forward, arms folded. "Look, Maximoff. We tried. Our phones don't work. And we can't reach Professor Xavier, either."

After a moment's quiet thought, Pietro assumed a mask of indifference and turned his head in Bobby's direction. "You trying to send him a postcard, Drake? This shouldn't be difficult. Isn't he a freaking telepath?"

"Yes," Bobby snapped defensively, before a frown took over his features and he gave an uncomfortable shift of his body. "Actually, I've never been able to… well, NOT reach him before. I can't feel him at all. That's never happened before." He looked around the cave, a distant drip drip in the back making Pietro feel even dirtier than he actually was. He'd spent enough of his life living outside, thank you very much. He had no interest in reliving the experience.

As Pietro mulled over Bobby's words, that fairy – Angel, or whatever the hell her name was – stepped forward with a sneer.

"I swear to God," she growled, her dark eyes narrowed deeply on Pietro. "When we get back to Bayville, I am going to make sure you get locked up forever, Maximoff. Evan's death is on you, you son of a bitch."

Pietro glared at her, but said nothing. He couldn't defend himself right now, and even speaking took a lot of effort. He'd worry about Angel's threats when they got back to Bayville.

"You messed up, Maximoff," she continued with a huff. "Where ever the hell you took us, it's like – a war zone or something. There were… " she paused, trailing off as she worked over a lump in her throat. "There were, like. Bombers."

Pietro's brows furrowed. "What, like … airplanes?"

Bombers? He looked around the cave again, but it didn't offer many clues. He reclined again, fighting to make himself at least a little more comfortable. Damn these stupid X-Dorks. They had no idea what they were talking about.

He didn't know where he'd run them, but they had to be mistaken. He wouldn't have run into an active war zone. Despite ample evidence to the contrary, he was not stupid.

Before he could think of an appropriate response, Kitty Pryde spoke up again from near the cave entrance. "Look," she inhaled deeply, obviously trying to overcome her divine sense of sympathy and altruism which kept her rooted to her spot, overcome with devout misery. "I'll go out and have a look around. If we can figure out where we are, we can figure out how to get home."

"It's too dangerous," said Bobby, the gallant knight of the square table. "You should let me go. Those bombers could come back."

"Bobby," Pryde straightened her little off-pink cardigan. "If anyone can make it past those bombers, it's me. It's safer if I go. Just stay here and watch – " Here, she sneered at Pietro, an endearing expression, really, "- Maximoff." She tossed him her ugliest look, and Pietro, who had managed to sit half-way up, gasped and made an exaggerated flourish at his heart.

"You wound me with your antagonism, Pryde."

Kitty's glare deepened and she looked away, giving quick hugs to the other two before turning back to the entrance. She did spare him one last dirty look, though, so Pietro raised both brows at her and made flurrying motions with his fingers in the direction of the cave door.

With one last indignant huff, Kitty Pryde phased through the ice and disappeared.


The forest was strangely quiet.

Gingerly stepping around the many craters that now dotted the landscape, Kitty tried not to think about what she'd seen out here. About Evan. About how she'd have to explain to Professor X, to Storm, to everyone back home. She bit back a whimper.

They lived a life of danger. It was true. She knew, without ever having been told, that someday, one or more of them would be lost, and there was never any true way to prepare for that. But this? It felt so senseless. So sudden.

She trudged on through the forest, looking for any sign of civilization. Thus far, only dense foliage and sparse rays of sunlight met her. She kept on, with the sun at her back so she knew which direction she was heading. Not even the sounds of woodland animals broke the heavy silence. They'd been chased off or incinerated, probably.

Kitty's throat tightened. Maximoff. That sorry, spindly, cowardly piece of –

She stopped, gathered herself with a deep, calming breath, and continued walking. For him to just – wake up and brush off their words, to act like this wasn't totally and completely his fault. Which it was. In every single way, this was his fault, that worthless excuse for a mutant. If he'd died in the cave, she might not've been sorry. Well, not right now, anyway. She might've felt bad when her ire cooled, but right now, the pain was too fresh for her to spare a moment's sympathy for that heartless bastard.

It made her feel a little better to call him that, even in her own head. Bastard. Bastard. Bastard.

She knew he was in pain, and whatever he'd done to get them here had certainly cost him, but he deserved it. She agreed with Angel. He was a psychopath, just like his low, dirty, power-hungry fath –

Kitty stopped, her heart seizing in her chest.

A barn loomed in sight, just ahead and visible through a series of tall, aged trees. Kitty edged closer, twigs snapping too loudly underfoot. Pushing aside some branches, Kitty emerged in a clearing, and for a moment, she allowed herself to take in the beauty of a traditional old red barn and the flower-filled pasture behind it. A wooden fence had once looped the open property, but it was falling apart in more than one place, and Kitty had to step over some broken pieces to near the old structure's entrance.

"Hello?" she called timidly, blue eyes darting around the area. Wind caught the edges of the barn door and caused it creak slightly, and the rustle of hay within tempted Kitty to peek inside. It was large, but sparse, with lots of crates that appeared empty, or filled with equally empty milk jars. It didn't seem to be in use, though there were a few old tools propped up against the walls, and chairs in the very back. Kitty's eyes roamed the open layout. Glassless windows opened on either side, allowing the breeze to float through the area and catch Kitty's brunette ponytail.

Unkempt hay crunched underfoot, and the wood groaned below her shoes. There didn't appear to be anyone here, but Kitty turned her gaze to the ladder at the back of the barn and moved to it. It led upwards, to a loft and an open window, as large as the barn doors, which faced out into the flower-filled meadow. Grasping the rung cautiously, Kitty climbed up the ladder bit by bit, until she reached the top.

At first, all she saw was more crates, but as she stepped up on the old wooden platform, she let out a shriek and nearly tumbled off the platform.

"Oh, god," she gasped out loud, hand over her heart. In front of her, propped lazily against a bunch of crates and still dressed in shreds of clothing, lay a human skeleton. After a few moments of chanting mantras to herself, Kitty finally stood again and eyed the skeleton. Freaky. And all too real, after what she'd seen today. What on earth was going on in here? What kind of place just left skeletons of people lying around like throw rugs?

Swallowing her distaste, Kitty edged closer and studied the skeleton. Any hints of flesh or hair were long gone, but it looked like maybe it was male, judging from the clothes. The jaw hung loose, and the skull lolled to the side at an odd angle, so Kitty moved around the skeleton until she spotted an unnerving hint as this person's end, in the form of a nasty hole in the temple. They'd been hit, or shot, she wasn't sure, but judging from the now visible stain of scarlet, deep in the wood surrounding the unfortunate soul, she guessed they'd died right here.

Shivering, Kitty moved to get away. She'd seen enough.

Just before she left to descend the ladder, however, she spotted the rustling of a paper in the wind. Curious, Kitty leaned over and pulled it out from underneath some crates, creating a thick cloud of dust that she swatted away before peering closely at what she'd found.

It was a magazine.

"Der Stürmer," she read aloud, brows knitted with confusion. The language changed after that, and made no sense to Kitty, but at the bottom, a tag line in continued in German.

Die Juden sind unser Unglück!

In the center of the page was a grotesque cartoon, and even though she couldn't read the rest of the words, it didn't take a genius to discern its blatant racism. Her fingers trembling, Kitty's gaze turned to the upper corner of the newspaper, where bold print drew her attention.

Regierungsbezirk Zichenau

Warszawa

10 Lipiec 1942

Heaviness began to form in the center of Kitty's chest, and she shifted the paper this way and that in her hands, as if maybe she could make it talk to her. To let her know that what she was reading, confusing and strange as it was, could not be real.

No, she quickly decided, folding the thing magazine and shoving it in her back pocket. She was wrong. She'd take this to the others, and they'd help her figure it out. She'd just –

POW. BANG.

The sound of gunshots was so jarring, so loud that Kitty phased straight through the loft on pure instinct, falling into the ground of the barn and disappearing beneath the soil.

What is happening?!

She peeked just above the barn floor just as the gunshots rang out again, and this time shouts accompanied it, with thunderous footfalls and angry commands, more shouting, and this time the bullets pierced the side of the barn and burst through in angry, shining holes. Kitty fell back into the ground with a shriek, her heart pounding painfully in her chest, and before she could think of what else to do, she phased up into an empty crate and hid inside.

She leaned to peer through the small gaps in the wood, her eyes on the barn entrance, her head pulsing with prayers.

A flurry of gunfire rang out again, this time so near the barn that Kitty just knew she was going to get shot. She crouched deep in the crate, her arms over her head as a bullet pierced the top of the crate and splinters rained down on her. Only the sound of more bullet disguised her screech, and then the echoes of more shouts replaced it. Men rushed into the barn and, as soon as Kitty dared to take a peek through the crate again, she saw them take refuge under one of the glassless barn windows.

Her lips parted in horror. Soldiers, men armed to the teeth in guns and grenades, each fighting to reload his weapon, stand, take a shot, avoid a bullet. An explosion sounded outside and someone screamed, not a command but the shrill shriek of shock, and the three men in the barn ducked down to avoid the devastating effects of the explosion.

Someone bellowed from outside the barn, and a series of rapid fire cut through the wood again. One of the soldiers inside was hit, and he struggled in vain for a moment to wrap his leg, before another gunshot knocked him off his feet and his head slapped against the ground with a wet, unfeeling thud. Blood pooled beneath him, but his comrades kept firing, only sparing him a moment's glance.

"Oh my god," whispered Kitty, her eyes filled with tears. The eyes of the man who had fallen stared in her direction.

The noise inside the barn was deafening, with the gunshots outside coming closer, growing in frequency, and the frantic retaliations of the soldiers inside responding in kind. "Wstawaj!" one of the men shouted out of the window. The other crouched to reload his rifle with trembling hands, but a single well-placed shot knocked him off his feet and he collapsed to the floor, his hands still poised on his weapon. Blood sprayed the hay bale behind him, adding another layer of grime to the unattended dust.

Kitty gave a little cry and fought to stifle it, her shoulders hunched in the box. She could phase through the ground and maybe get out on the other side, but who knew what waited her out there?

The last soldier looked to his fallen comrades, and as Kitty edged closer to the box, he closed his eyes for a moment of silent tribute. Then he leaped to his feet, his features twisting with fury as he pulled a grenade from his belt and tossed it outside. Surprised yelps and shrieks sounded, but he didn't wait for a proper response, only firing with wild abandon out of the window without even attempting to hide himself.

A flurry of bullets pierced the wall and the last man lurched to the side, first to his left and then his right, as he was hit more than once. He fell to his knees, gun still in hand, and a gurgle escaped him. The choking sound he made was somehow louder than anything else Kitty had heard there.

More footfalls sounded outside, and Kitty heard someone entering the barn, though she couldn't see anything properly from her angle. Instead, she only saw the last soldier, who looked to the doors with an angry grimace. He ripped off his helmet and forced himself to stand, even as he heavily favored one side, and his leg bent awkwardly beneath him.

"Dla Polski!" he shouted, before opening fire on the doorway. More bullets rained down on him, but the barrage of gunfire did not dissuade him. After what seemed to Kitty to be an impossibly long time, the thuds from the front of the barn fell away and stopped.

Only then did he slump to the floor once more, his gun loosening in blood stained hands. Kitty's trembling fingers reached forward to touch the crate, and for a moment, she thought about rushing to him. Maybe she could help, maybe she could – Tears blinded her. She couldn't do anything.

"Niech cię...naziści," he choked out, before his knees finally gave out on him and he slumped to the floor of the barn.

Silence.

No hints of movement sounded, and even as Kitty strained, she couldn't hear any more voices. With one last prayer sent skyward, Kitty emerged from the crate, her instincts in full alert. When her pretty pink flats stepped in a pool of sticky red liquid, Kitty yanked back her foot and fought off a shiver.

She carefully edged around the first two bodies, and even though she tried not to look, she managed to catch glimpses of their faces. They were both Caucasian men, one of them older and grayed, but the other was very young. Brunette, with a few freckles. Upon closer inspection, Kitty realized they were actually flecks of blood.

Her stomach turned.

She came to the last man just in front of the door, and she paused to tenderly check his pulse point. He was dead, and she waited for a moment, her eyes closing. God, hadn't there been enough death today? What was this place, some kind of hell? She straightened, sniffling even as she demanded better of herself. With a deep swallow, she turned to the barn entrance, hoping only to get the hell out of here.

Unfortunately, she found her path blocked by more bodies, suited in grey-green uniforms different than the men in the barn, one piled on top of the other. With a growing dread that weighted her every step, Kitty moved forward, her mind screaming at her that she was wrong, she couldn't be right. This hadn't happened.

Her hand reached forward and, with a heave that stole her breath away, she turned over one of the bodies to see the front.

Outside, her distraught cry startled a flock of nearby birds into early flight.


Pietro jolted awake.

Damn, when had he even fallen asleep? His body was making a mighty effort to recharge, but despite the fact that it had been hours since he'd first awakened here, he felt no closer to recovery. In fact, he might even feel worse. The tendril of fear he'd felt before came back in full force as he maneuvered into a painful sitting position, propped up against a rock.

A faint buzzing sound distracted him from his pain, and he looked up to the cave entrance, where he saw Kitty Pryde appear like a ghost through the ice door.

Bobby and Angel were instantly in their feet, but they came to abrupt halts at the sight of Kitty's face.

Damn, Pietro thought. She looked like she'd been through hell. His eyes drifted to the strap around her shoulder, and the bag she hadn't left with, but when his eyes traveled to her face, she was staring right at him. Something uncomfortable settled in his stomach at her vacant, bereaved stare.

"What is it, Kitty?" asked Bobby. "What did you find?"

Instead of answering him, Kitty crossed the cave with heavy, purposeful steps and stopped in front of Pietro, who schooled his expression into one of calm and eyed her with faint disinterest. "You need something, Pryde?" he croaked, snarky despite his body's best efforts at slowly die on him.

To his surprise, she answered by dropping a rolled up magazine in his lap.

Pietro stared, eyebrows lifted, as he picked it up and unfolded the glossy tabloid. "What the hell is this?" he asked, even as he looked over the bold text. Once, then again.

Slowly, Pietro looked up at Kitty Pryde again, grey eyes narrowed. Surely, she wasn't suggesting…

When she met his gaze, chills danced their way up the limited feeling on his spine. She spoke just as his eyes turned back to the strange lettering, unwilling to take them at face value.

"We're in Poland," she said at last, her voice flat, and even without looking directly at her, Pietro registered her strained pose, the clenching of her fingers at her sides. The tremble of her slight figure, just in front of him, even as she addressed the others.

He felt the heat of glare as if it were a hot brand on his skin. "But Maximoff didn't just run us to a different country," she went on harshly, never looking away from Pietro's face.

"He ran us to a different time."

Pietro tossed aside the magazine roughly. "Have you lost your mind, Pryde?" he snarled, before placing a hand to his chest. "Look, I may be amazing, but I cannot – and I repeat, cannot – time-travel, do you understand me?" Rage flooded his aching limbs, and somehow, it made him feel better to know he finally had the strength to yell.

"You think just because you found this stupid magazine means, what? We're in the year 1942? You're an idiot. You're all idiots."

Pryde snatched up the knapsack she'd brought back with her, her eyes alight with fury. "Oh, you think you can explain that? Fine, explain all this." She overturned the bag and emptied the contents to the dirt floor, making Pietro jerk back his leg with a hiss of pain.

Out of the bag poured a number of items, including a map, a canteen, a carefully packed portion of dry food and a pistol. Pietro leaned forward, his lips parted as he eyed the gun. Angel and Bobby hovered nearby, their expressions a mixture of horror and uncertainty. They didn't fully believe Pryde either, thought Pietro, but an uncomfortable sense of panic welled in his chest at the sight of the bag's contents.

With as calm a motion as he could muster, Pietro reached forward and picked up the sleek black pistol, which had obviously seen better days. He twirled it in his fingers and pointed it at Angel, one eye squinted in her direction.

"Bang," he said.

The others glared, and Pietro shrugged loftily, palming the pistol as he looked it over. "It's empty," he said, his tone lighter and more unconcerned than he felt. After a few moments of silence, he said in a slightly less unaffected voice, "You got this off a Nazi soldier."

Saying the word out loud put a sour taste in his mouth.

"Yes," Kitty Pryde stooped in front of him, blue eyes serious. "How did you know that?"

Pietro shifted his gaze to her, his lips tight. He tossed the gun aside. "It's a Luger PO8. Magneto kept one around for a long time. He took it off the Nazi who killed his mother." Some perverse part of him enjoyed the uncomfortable squirming of the other two X-Dorks, who didn't seem to like the reminder that Erik Lensherr, their most beloved enemy, had endured more than they'd even fathomed.

Pietro continued grimly, "I'll let you imagine what kind of twisted shit he put that bastard through before he killed him."

Satisfied with their horrified looks, Pietro leaned back as far as he could manage, unwilling to stay within hands reach of Kitty Pryde, who finally backed off and drew an arm over dirty face, her expression dark and blank. She toyed with something in her hand, and as Pietro watched with one wayward eye, she clenched it tightly in her palm before tossing it angrily onto the pile of military supplies.

It was a patch with the SS insignia.


They slept in the cave that night, with Pietro further away than any of the others. Even though he had kept his silence for the remainder of the evening, not even opening his mouth to protest the lack of food, his mind simmered with anxiety.

I've run us into Nazi-occupied Poland, he thought, his arm making an uncomfortable cushion against the cold ground and his body aching.

And I have no idea how to get home.