Oh dear. Charles tried to keep his whirling thoughts under control, but it was hard. Things had developed in leaps at home and he had never even thought about what might be going on outside his little world. Now a whole new door had been opened and he felt ill-equipped to handle it.
For the first time he wished Erik was here. His partner was a lot better at this than him. Charles was still very much a scientist and scholar, not a politician or soldier, and this information, the news… they were mind-blowing.
But he had come here for Scott. The young man needed his help – because he had fought for him.
"Needs time to sink in, hm, bub?"
Logan sounded way too cheerful and Charles gave him an annoyed look. That resulted in an even bigger grin. Resolutely he turned to Scott and gave him a small smile.
"Tell me about yourself, Scott. What is your gift?"
There was a breathy laugh and another wince as it jostled the injured ribs. "Gift? Logan said you would call it something other than a Curse. I wouldn't say it's a gift. I can shoot energy beams from my eyes."
Charles took that information with a calm expression. "Since puberty?"
"Pretty much. At first only when I got really angry. Then I learned how I could control it."
"How did your parents react?"
The mouth thinned. "They died in a car accident when I was little. My foster family… let's say leaving when I was eighteen was almost too late."
Logan's whole posture had grown more tense by the minute and Charles realized how difficult this topic was.
"I met some guy who taught me a little about what I could do. He said I'm dependent on the sun. Staying underground or indoors for a long time depletes my powers."
That made sense. It also covered what Charles had discovered about Alex's gift.
"Problem is… when Jean knocked me around, she hit me pretty hard on the head." Scott touched the big bruise on his temple that extended down his cheek. "After that… I can't control it anymore."
Charles stared at him.
"It's why I have to wear the glasses. They keep the energy in check. Otherwise I'd annihilate whatever I'm looking at." Scott looked at him, face drawn. "It's why Logan came to you. For your help."
"I'm not a doctor, Scott…"
"I'm not expecting you to magically heal me, professor. But you can look into my mind. You might be able to fix at least some of that. Or tell me if it's forever. And if it is… Logan said you might have the means to help me."
Maybe. Maybe he had. But maybe all those high hopes… Charles stopped.
"Would you be willing to come to Westchester?" he asked.
Scott nodded slowly.
Feeling Logan's argumentative state, the Shifter looked at him, expression firm. "I'm not going to venture into another person's mind in the basement of a house in a place I know nothing about. I know we will be safe in the mansion. I know back-up is there. I know Hank can tackle this problem. It's either that or nothing at all."
Logan chuckled. "You drive a hard bargain, Chuck."
He glared more at the nickname.
"I'm coming with you," Scott said, shooting Logan a hard look. "I can make the trip."
"Sure you can, Slim." Logan drifted toward the door. "I'll let our host know we're leaving."
And then he was gone.
Charles was alone with an almost-stranger. He respected Scott's privacy and wasn't delving into the other mind, though he was very, very tempted.
"Will you be able to make this trip?" he asked, voice calm.
"I have to."
Charles inclined his head a little.
"You don't understand why I helped, right?" Scott asked.
A sharp mind, Charles mused. "Yes," he answered.
"You're Cursed, like me. I know you're more than just a telepath, too. You're Omega and you've bonded."
Logan, Charles thought with a suppressed sigh.
"Things like that spread. About safe places, about those who accept the Cursed, about you who wants to learn about this and teach others how to control what they are." Scott shifted, trying to get more comfortable. "I know about Haven. Not my favorite place to be. Well, right now it would have to be if I wanted to live without the glasses." He gestured at the specialized shades. "But I agree with you that suppressing what we are doesn't make us any different. We're… mutants. I've lived with the Curse since puberty and it's part of me. I can accept myself. It's the rest of the world that has this problem, not me."
Charles smiled. "A very commendable mind-set, Scott."
"This isn't something that can be healed. I know it, many know it. Sinister and his friends believe that it makes us superior. I highly doubt it. Mutations are changes. Like hair and skin color."
A bright, sharp mind. Charles hoped that he could help Scott, that the other man would stay after he had healed his physical injuries.
"You look past that. There aren't many like you, professor. I want to help if there is any way I can. I tried to help Logan, but look how that worked."
"You did fine, Slim," the man in question growled. He had slipped in almost unnoticed. "We're ready when you are," he added.
Charles stepped back, aware that he wasn't needed or wanted, and he watched with pained eyes as Scott moved slowly and like an old man with Logan's assistance. Going up to the car was almost too much for the injured man and Charles winced with him when he finally lay back heavily against the back seats of the truck.
"Lie down," Logan ordered roughly.
Scott did. Without even the smallest argument. Logan pushed two pills into his hand and a bottle of water into the other. Scott swallowed the medication without protest. Then his eyes behind the glasses slid shut, his breathing still reflecting his pain.
They were on the road no ten minutes later and Charles stared out the window, his mind going a mile a minute with what he had learned today.
It was a lot to digest. It was a lot to understand. It was a lot on his shoulders.
x x x x x x xx x x x x x xx x x x x x xx x x x x x xx x x x x x xx x x x x x xx x x x x x xx x x x x x x
They had driven almost non-stop, with only a brief coffee stop once. Logan was adamant that they keep moving. Even Scott, who was in pain and couldn't hide it any more, argued that a hotel or motel would only draw attention to them. So Charles had let Logan drive, nodding off in intervals, always keeping half a mind's eye on Scott.
It was around midnight, the streets deserted where they drove, dark and cold, that Logan suddenly tensed. Charles had been dozing, but he was immediately alert.
"What?" he asked quietly.
"Someone's following us," Logan replied just as quietly.
On the back seat, Scott stirred, apparently unable to sleep as well.
"Are you sure?" Charles asked.
"Yeah. This is a backroad. No one uses it if they can avoid it. No one living here either."
Charles trusted in Logan knowing this stretch of land and he probably did down to the last pebble. He looked into the side mirror, but there was nothing.
"Headlights went off a while back. Thought they could fool me." A feral smile crossed the other man's features. "I can still see their sorry asses."
The telepath was aware of that. With his heightened senses, Logan was better than any alarm system.
"Who do you think they are?"
"Sinister's men, most likely," Scott murmured. "He's not happy about the last confrontation."
Logan chuckled in the darkness of the cab. "You can say that again."
Charles' lips became a thin line. "What's your plan?" he asked, though he suspected something.
"Let them think we're prey, then hit them hard and fast."
Logan had just finished when bright lights flared up ahead of them and Logan cursed loudly, stepping on the breaks and throwing the car around in one move. Scott gave a wheeze of pain and Charles was flung into the safety belt, barely hanging on and managing to breathe.
"Shit!" Logan gnashed and pushed the accelerator down, only to break again when their pursuer cut off their escape.
Charles touched two fingers to his right temple, scanning, and found five minds. Four of them violent, one primal. He sucked in a sharp breath, so much reminded of Logan and Erik in one, but with a lot less control, a lot more love for violence, and a blood lust that boiled inside him that was threatening to drown the telepath.
"Five," he managed. "Five men. One's… dear god, he's like carnage incarnate."
Logan bared his teeth. "Sabretooth."
"Who?"
"Don't worry about him. You think you can take care of the rest?"
"Yes," Scott hissed.
Charles had never tried to take out anyone like this before, invade and switch off the brain for the body to collapse, and it wasn't easy when his own mind was dazzled by the darkness in them.
Something hit the car and Charles flinched. The car actually moved!
"Let's party then!" Logan snarled and threw open the door, jumping out into the semi-darkness outside the bright beams of light from the two cars.
Charles heard a howl, then a yell, and then loud bangs as guns were fired.
Behind him, the window shattered as something tried to get through.
He removed his seatbelt and twisted around.
Scott ducked, then tore off the glasses and blood red beams of energy shot out of his eyes, incinerating not only part of the door and roof, but also drawing a cut-off scream from whoever had been there.
Charles felt himself shake. He had never, ever fought anyone before. Memories of Muir Island returned, of the attack, the pain, the fear, the panic.
The car shook as something… someone jumped onto the hood.
A vicious mask of a face leered at him from behind the windscreen.
Cursed, Charles realized. Witchbreed.
And strong.
The windscreen shattered, showering him with glass, but Scott's blast had the mutant evade and disappear into the darkness.
"Professor!" the younger man called. "Can you stop them?"
He breathed in shakily, feeling completely out of his depth. He had never… well, until Muir Island. Back then he had used his ability and it had left him scarred. And scared.
Charles touched two fingers to his right temple and sought for the minds of the attackers, finding the carnal one, a chaotic mix of vicious beast and cold human logic. He knew it would take a hard blow to make this one fall, and Logan was handling him, so he looked for the others.
One. He had one. Near-by. Lusting for blood, too. Looking forward to the kill. The one who had been on the hood. He homed in on the bright light of the mind, then struck out hard.