Author's note: Thank you partygirl98 for the review! Good to see you again, my dear! And also, thank you to those who faved/ followed, and at least gave this story a look.

So we're picking up the narrative over a year after the events of DOFP, so the school is reopened and everything has sorta settled into a routine. In this fic we're going to say that Storm, Cyclops, Warren, and Jean Grey are all about sixteen years old even though they're going to be about that age in Apocalypse. I'll make other notes as needed as we go along :-)

Look for Vixen to show up next chapter!

Again, thank you for giving this story a try.

Disclaimer: I don't own X-Men. I'm just playing with the characters!

Times Have Changed

March 1, 1974

"Sounds like the Brotherhood is hitting up an Agent Orange shipment tonight," Alex announces after entering my laboratory (may I add that he did so without knocking?) late one evening at the beginning of March. "Charles wants us to head them off at the origin facility."

I nod, stifling a sigh of annoyance. My plan tonight was to work on a DNA sequence analysis, but it's clear that's not meant to be.

But I know I shouldn't complain, so I don't.

After all, after years of watching Charles wither away from grief and apathy before my eyes, seeing him put forth an effort is extremely gratifying.

I spent years taking care of him after he lost all that he cared about- his best friend, his adoptive sister, his lover, his legs, and then, the one thing that kept him afloat: his school.

It was a thankless task, looking after Charles as he descended into alcoholism and serum-addiction- the very serum I created to give him back his legs, because I suppose I hoped that by giving him back one thing it would make him forget everything else he lost.

That didn't work, of course.

The serum I created had an unexpected side-effect: it took away Charles' telepathy, a condition that he welcomed at the time. I think he relished the feeling of emptiness, of being alone in his own head after years of hearing other people's thoughts.

But not only that... I think the serum took away a large part of himself. The Charles I knew, back before Cuba and the events that followed, was an unmitigated idealist, a man who looked for the good in others no matter what. That man disappeared in the intervening years, leaving a rude, angry drunk who endlessly tried my patience and deliberately made hurtful comments.

Honestly, at this point I'm like an insult Navy SEAL.

But I didn't give up hope that things would turn around, and for good reason as it turned out. Everything changed last January, when we received a message from the future in the form of Logan- the Wolverine- who came to warn us that if we allowed Raven Darkholme, Charles' erstwhile adopted sister, to complete her mission and kill Dr. Bolivar Trask it would cause an apocalypse. Charles, after eight years of languishing inactivity and self-pity, was finally goaded into action to save his sister from herself.

And thankfully we succeeded. Raven gave up her mission. But rather than coming home to her brother, she chose to go her own way and leave us again.

I can still remember the tiny smile she gave to Charles, the way it faded as her eyes met mine as she finally, finally looked at me for the first time in over a decade.

The way Raven looked down, exhaled, and walked away again.

From both of us.

I try (and fail) to ignore the sudden burning, tight feeling in my chest at the thought. It's hard to accept being dismissed like that, to know that you don't matter at all to someone after loving them for so long.

It would probably be easier to move past it if I had something even remotely resembling a social life.

Alex is staring at me with growing irritation as I sit there, lost in my own thoughts. I think at times like this he wonders if I have some sort of attention deficit issue.

I blink. "Sorry," I mutter sheepishly, forestalling any comments. "Let's get going."

He agrees and leads the way over to the locker rooms, where we put on our uniforms. Mine is laughably loose until I shift into Beast, bringing my feral half to the forefront of my mind and giving him free reign.

Beast is a part of myself I don't like to acknowledge much. My feral personality is still a source of shame for me, despite his obvious uses when it comes to combat. Beast is the Mr. Hyde to my Dr. Jekyll- all instinct and animal rage- with the added absolute joy of making me look like an outlandish cross between a blueberry and a gorilla.

Can you really blame me for my lack of enthusiasm?

Within minutes we're joined by Sam, Scott, Ororo, Jean and Warren. Sam, also known as Cannonball, is the only other adult on our team besides Alex and myself. The rest are only sixteen years old.

It's a fact that makes me uncomfortable still, even though this is by no means our first mission together and the four of them have more than proven themselves in the field. The fact that all of them volunteered to be X-Men is slightly soothing to my conscience. I was only seventeen when Cuba happened, and Alex has trained our comrades well. Certainly better than we were back then.

The others listen intently as he explains the situation.

"Logically speaking, the Brotherhood is most likely to hit the supply truck on the road because the security will be minimal," Alex says. "I think we'd better head straight for the facility and just keep the shipment from leaving in the first place."

"What's the Brotherhood after, anyway?" Ororo asks when he's done.

"Agent Orange," Alex replies, his tone serious.

"I don't even want to think about why they want that stuff," Warren mutters.

"Agreed," our field leader says. "So let's get going."

Our target is in New Jersey, only a short jet ride away. There's a silence between all of us during the trip, that sort of quiet that falls when you're completely focusing on the mission to come. It's too highly-charged to truly be comfortable.

Alex sends Warren- Angel- out to do some aerial surveillance once we arrive at the factory. All is quiet and deserted from our view, which worries me immensely. Shouldn't we see men loading the supplies into a truck for shipment or something?

Angel confirms the lack of activity when he returns, landing on the ground with a soft thud.

"There's nothing going on, from what I can see," he reports. "But there are three entrances, all unmanned."

Alex frowns, as do I.

Who keep an incredibly toxic herbicide under such lax security?

Hello America, your tax dollars at work.

"The loading dock must be underground," I hypothesize. "Like the Blackbird hangar is."

"But where are the guards?" Cyclops wonders aloud.

I suddenly have a sinking suspicion that the Brotherhood is three steps ahead of us tonight.

"Beast, Cyclops, you go for the east entrance," Alex orders, his voice harsh with anxiety that we're too late. "Cannonball, take Storm and Angel to the west. Marvel Girl, you're with me. Only engage if absolutely necessary, you got it? And radio in immediately if you find the shipment."

The effect of his words is immediate as all of us begin to execute his orders like a well-oiled machine. That moment of hesitation that comes from second-guessing orders can easily get you killed.

And none of us have any interest in dying tonight.