Chapter 8


Jason crumpled up the two paper plates he held in his hands, and tossed them into the plastic trash bin. He ran a hand over his whiskers, in hopes of shaking out any crumbs of food that may have gotten stuck, when he overheard his charge ask the annoying teenager if he was okay. With a frown, Jason stepped around the kitchen island that separated the dining room from the kitchen and folded his arms across his narrow chest.

"Bunny, something wrong?"

The little girl turned in her seat, and looked back at him with ridiculously large eyes. Her small hands gripped the back of the chair she sat on in an impossibly tight grip. "I think I broke him," she exclaimed in awe. She faced the teen again, and stared.

Jason rolled his eyes as he rested his hip against the corner of the countertop. He found himself doing that more and more when in the presence of the teenage mutant. He waved a hand in the air as he claimed, "He was already broken when we found him, Lorna. "

"Dude," Peter drawled in a dumbfounded voice. "I think- I'm pretty sure- You're my sister."

Jason's normally stoic facade faltered as his eyebrows shot up. Lorna's mouth drooped until it was gaping towards the teen. Jason gathered his resolve faster than the little girl, and ignored the want to snort. "I don't think that is possible."

"Oh, it's totally possible." The teen began ticking off his upheld fingers as he said, "She's adopted. She's about the right age. She can control metal. Like her dad. Like my dad." Peter grinned up towards the skeptical man. "It fits, man!"

A retort was ready on Jason's lips when it slowly dawned on him; he didn't know any mutants that could control metal except for the one: the infamous Magneto that was set to kill the President of the United States on live television not very long ago. It wasn't as if it was impossible for others to have some of the same mutations, but there was something to what the teen was saying. There were too many things that made sense as he continued to excitedly speak.

"We were looking for you! It has to be you!" Peter's eyes twinkled in his happiness. It was hard to not feel the genuine excitement that rolled off him.

Lorna's shy grin blossomed into an overbearingly happy smile. "I have a brother! Jase, I have a brother! And a dad!" Her eyes widened. "I have a dad, and a brother. I have a family!"

Jason stifled any comments he felt arise, and simply offered a small smile for her. It wasn't entirely out of the realm of possibility, but he didn't want to encourage her hopes and later see them dashed by too many coincidences. He turned his back on the jubilant pair, and stalked off towards the kitchen. His meager sandwich didn't quite fill him up, and he figured he could whip up a dessert to celebrate their happiness, and to keep himself busy.


With a sharp gasp, Erik's eyes flew open and he attempted to pull himself into an upright position. The sudden move dizzied the man, and he slumped back against the pillows behind his head with a slight pant. He raised a trembling hand to his face, and vigorously rubbed his right eye. He had an impressively sharp headache that seemed to originate in that specific area. When he pulled his shaky appendage away, his weary eyes caught sight of his long and smooth fingers.

He frowned and pulled himself up onto his elbows; his eyes narrowing on his fingers with renewed focus. They looked normal, and it bothered him. They should have been shriveled and pruned after the amount of time he spent being pummeled by water. Erik pushed himself back against the headboard; a thick pillow that was more for decoration than comfort cushioned his aching spine.

Erik looked down at his clothing, and was disturbed to see that they were no more wrinkled than they were earlier. They didn't feel stiff; as they would have had they been soaked in water and then air dried. No, they felt the same. His prismatic eyes drifted from his long torso to his legs to the closed door of his hotel room. Where he could clearly hear laughter on the other side.

Erik's eyes widened in alarm. "Peter!" He threw his legs over the side of the bed, nearly toppled over in his haste, and threw open the bedroom door without physically touching it. The metal-wielder had no idea that the distance between the opposite wall and the door were literally within two feet of each other. He also didn't even know that there was a wall there. Which was his brief, mental excuse to himself as he ran face first into it, and stumbled back with a Germanic curse.

The blindingly white bursts of pain dissipated as he turned on his heel, and stumbled down the short hall, one hand braced against the surface for support. He pulled himself up short when Jason cautiously stepped around the corner. The younger man was wielding a knife, and Erik's panic doubled at the flash of metal. He reached out with his hand, and used his ability to yank the object out of the man's hand, and embed it in the wall with a soft thunk.

"Whoa, whoa," Jason held up his hands in a non-threatening gesture as the older man bore down on him in a nearly fanatic state. Blood was dripping down his pale face, and his pupils were blown wide in a side effect of a more than possible concussion.

"Where's my son!" Erik snarled. He tightened his grip on the man's lapels, and pulled him clean off the floor. He turned with the man in his hands, and slammed him against the wall. With both of his hands holding the younger mutant off the floor, Erik used his power to pull the knife out of the wall and point it at the other's face. "Where!?"

"Dad!" Peter raced to his father's side, and placed a hand on the older man's bicep. "I'm here. It's okay." Peter gently patted the rigid muscle underneath his hand. "I'm here."

Erik's unfocused gaze tore itself off of the mutant against the wall to the teenager at his side. The indents between his brows deepened, and his mouth slackened in his confusion. He knew he wanted his son, but he didn't believe his child was really there. He didn't believe his son was still alive. But there he was, concern radiating off of him so strongly it was as if Erik was the telepath and he could feel the deep swell of worry from the teen.

Erik released his hold on the mutant in front of him, and didn't bother to see where the knife clattered on the floor. He inquisitively looked down at the hand on his arm, and adopted a puzzled expression as he traced his gaze from the hand to his son's face.

Alive, he's alive. My son, he's here. He's alive.

The metal-bender tentatively reached out a hand and cupped Peter's smooth cheek in his calloused hand. The concerned expression on the teen's face melted away into one of understanding. He had almost pulled away from the unfamiliar touch, but his father needed to see he truly was okay, and he secretly wanted the affection.

"Pie?" The soft question emanated from directly behind the teenager.

Peter turned sideways, and offered Erik a clear view of Lorna. It was like a douse of liquid ice down Erik's back. He snapped his hand away, and took a faltered step back. He bumped into the mutant behind him, and made his way back into the bedroom. The breath in his lungs stuttered on its way out, and he felt the edges of darkness start to overwhelm him.

Erik stumbled and fell to his aching knees, one hand blindly clutching the comforter of the bed. He used the thick blanket to pull himself back to his feet, and used the momentum to turn and sit on the edge of the mattress. When he blinked away the spots in his vision, and managed to ease his breathing back to normal, he caught sight of his son standing in the doorway.

Peter zipped into the bedroom, and threw himself to his jean-clad knees by his father's side. "What happened? Are you alright?"

Erik's red-rimmed eyelids fluttered. His voice was rough and devoid of emotion. "This isn't real." His stern gaze was narrowed in on a spot on the carpeted floor.

Peter's sharp laugh startled him. "What are you talking about, dude? This is totally real. I'm real, you're real, she's real. Hey," He placed a hand on his father's knee, "Are you in shock? Do you need to do that heavy breathing into a bag thing? I don't think we have any brown bags. Does it have to be brown? What about that Lamaze stuff pregnant chicks do? He-he-hoo. He-he-hoo."

The girl. The little girl and her brilliantly green eyes. Could she be his girl? What had Charles said about a girl with green eyes?

"Erik," Peter's voice was tight. "That reality-bender isn't here. We are."

Erik's eyes cautiously met the teen's brown ones. "We're here."

Peter nearly felt like he was speaking to a child. He met his father's stare head on and nodded vigorously. His next words felt slow, in stark contrast to his usual demeanor. "She looks like you, doesn't she?" Peter could now easily recall the crease-worn, yellowed photograph of his family. He had noted that he bore more of a resemblance to his mother than Erik. Having the two stand so close to one another made it easy to see how closely Lorna looked like her father. It was no wonder that Erik honed in on that at first glance. That, and her unique colored eyes.

Erik's expression, blank in his attempt to feel nothing, to be nothing, slowly melted away as understanding dawned on him. His pragmatic brain haltingly came back online as he took hold of his bleeding emotions and fully looked into his son's dark eyes.

"She looks like you," Peter repeated. His hand, warm where it rested on Erik's knee, pressed down in an attempt to ground his father in reality. "She's real."

"That's her." Erik's voice was surprisingly controlled.

Having sensed his father was coming back to his self, Peter's previously tense posture loosened and relaxed. A wide, beam of a smile pulled his lips away from his teeth and his eyes lit with the eagerness of someone that had grand news. "Dude," Peter started, "That's your daughter."

The statement was followed by an excited puff of laughter.

And by Erik's completely floored expression.


TBC...

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