A/N: Warning for bad language, alcohol use, and hilariously inappropriate grabbing. Also, see how many easter eggs you can find!
That night in downtown New York, next to a girly bar advertising "Exotic Dancers" in flashing neon lights, 5 figures seemed to materialize out of thin air. Stray newspapers followed in the wind behind them. Peter had carried his teammates all the way from Salem Center to Manhattan, giving them plenty of long rest stops during the 50 mile journey. Even then, it was an hour faster than driving. He took his arms from around his friends' shoulders and let them get their bearings. Jean, Scott, Kurt, and Ororo were dressed to kill, and Peter would make sure they'd have the time of their lives.
Nightcrawler looked around him at the trashy street littered with trashy people. Some scantily dressed ladies on the corner stared at him, mildly intrigued. One man slumped against a wall, muttering to himself, holding a bottle in a paper bag. He drank from it before coughing his lungs out.
"This is New York City?" Ororo asked, saying exactly what Kurt was thinking. "I thought it would be cleaner. And where is the Empire State Building?"
"It's around," Peter replied, patting her on the back. "But that's not why we're here."
"Would you mind explaining that part?" said Scott. He shoved his hands in his pockets and looked around, on alert. "New York isn't a place you want to be at night."
"Pfft, only if you're a normie."
Jean cringed. "You can't say that."
"Why?"
"Because, if humans can't say 'mutie,' then you can't say 'normie.' It's like, an unspoken rule."
Peter rolled his eyes. "God, Jean, you're so sensitive." She glowered at him as he turned his attention back to Scott. "Dude, we have mutant powers. I can't believe you're worried about humans mugging us."
"We are going to get mugged?" Kurt shrieked. The hookers on the street corner laughed at him, making him blush an even darker shade of blue. He popped his collar so that it covered everything but his gleaming yellow eyes.
"Nobody's getting mugged." Peter reassured him. He zipped away for a moment, then came back with a rolled up poster he'd ripped off a wall. "We're here for this."
He unrolled it and his friends' eyes lit up with excitement. On the poster was Dazzler, the mutant pop superstar, in her signature blue eye makeup, pointing to the sky with a ball of light glowing from her fingertips. The jagged, multicolored words read:
Dazzler
Sounds of Light and Fury tour
Madison Square Garden, New York
August 18th 1984, Midnight
"You got Dazzler tickets?" asked an ecstatic Scott, completely forgetting his earlier apprehension. "They've been sold out for months! And they were $50 each!"
"Yeah, how did you score tickets, Peter?" said Jean, crossing her arms over her chest.
He shrugged. "If by 'score tickets' you mean, 'I can sneak anyone into anywhere,' then yeah, I guess I scored some tickets."
She raised an eyebrow, which he ignored completely.
"But first, since it's only..." he checked his digital watch, "9 o' clock, I suggest we start the night off with a good old-fashioned club crawl."
"Must we crawl to them?" asked Ororo, confused. "Why can't we walk?"
Peter took a deep sigh and pinched the bridge of his nose. "No, Ororo, it's just a figure of speech." He was starting to wonder if he was going to have to literally teach them how to have fun.
She pulled her leather coat on a bit tighter. "I have never been to a club before."
"Really?" asked Peter and Scott, in unison.
"They do not have many in Cairo," she explained, "only in the nice neighborhoods. I have heard that Egyptian beer tastes like dog piss."
"So, have you never had a drink before, either, in your entire life?" asked Peter, a suspicious tone in his voice.
She shook her head. Apparently, he was going to have to teach Storm, at least.
"I've never had an American drink in my entire life," Kurt piped up with a grin. Storm rolled her eyes, unimpressed.
Peter slung an arm around his shoulder. "That's gonna change tonight, birthday boy," he said, guiding him down the street. The rest of the team followed close behind.
"Das gibt's nicht!" said Kurt as they walked. "I can't believe it! A concert in New York City!" He smiled wide, then hissed with pain and covered his mouth with his hand. The cut from the accident had swollen a bit, and was even more tender than before.
"How'd you get that thing on your lip, dude?" said Peter.
He glanced behind him at Ororo, loath to tell his wisecracking friend who had punched him.
"I just... you know... hit my face on something during training, I guess."
They walked through Manhattan until they reached a club called the Roxy, the chunky letters of its sign shining in bright white neon against the drab brick wall. The inside thumped with music that bled into the streets each time the bouncers opened the doors. There was a line down the block, completely obscuring the sidewalk. Crowds of people waited impatiently outside to either be rejected by, or let into, one of the most exclusive clubs in New York City.
Peter held his friends close and easily sped past the hulking bouncers. He stole a hand stamp from the front and stamped each of them.
"Ta-da!" He threw his arms wide. Laser lights flashed in the darkness around them to illuminate hundreds of people sweating and dancing to the deafening music under a disco ball. The people at the bar looked like the cream of the crop of New York; posh, beautiful, wearing the latest fashions, ordering the most expensive and trendy drinks.
Ororo grabbed Jean's arm without hesitation. "Let's dance!" she exclaimed, an uncharacteristically huge grin on her face. Jean gave a helpless shrug to Scott as Ororo dragged her off to the dance floor.
"I've got to piss, anyway," Scott muttered to himself, and began looking for a bathroom.
"Meet you at the bar, Scott!" shouted Peter, leading an overwhelmed Kurt in that direction.
Peter squeezed them in between a couple of patrons and flagged down the barkeeper. "A rum and Coke and a Yuengling, please," he said, pointing to himself and Kurt.
The bartender scowled at them and shook his head. He pointed at Kurt accusingly. "No way, weirdo. We don't serve people like you."
Peter was too shocked to even speak. He stared at the bartender as he turned around and started making a drink for someone else.
He could practically see Kurt's spirit break. Kurt looked down at the floor as he said, "It's all right. Let's just go to another bar."
"No, dude, don't worry, we'll-" but before he could finish his sentence, Kurt teleported away.
Finally, Peter's shock was overwhelmed by rage. "You... you fucking asshole! You bigoted, racist shithead!" he exploded, making the people on either side of him back away. "What kind of garbage doesn't serve mutants? We live in the United States of America, god damn it!"
The barkeep turned around again, leaning over the bar and getting an inch away from his face. "I can serve whoever I want. You'd better leave now before I call security."
"Mark, what's your problem?" said a woman's voice, above the din of the crowd. Peter looked behind him and couldn't believe his eyes. It couldn't possibly be who he thought it was.
It was her. Dazzler. In the flesh.
She was recognizable, even without her blue makeup and skintight suit. In fact, she looked shabby compared to the other clientele, in a regular tee shirt and jeans. A large man stood next to her, her own personal bodyguard, he guessed. She glared at the barkeeper, who slowly backed away from Peter.
"Did I just hear you say you don't serve people like them?" she asked.
"What? That's not what I said! I mean, that's not what I meant, Alison... Ms. Blaire," he stammered, holding up his hands like she was pointing a gun at him.
"Good. Then get him whatever he wants." She produced a $100 bill from her pocket and laid it on the bar. "This is for my tab, and his drinks. Keep the change."
Mark nodded, casting a last, distasteful glance at Peter before making a rum and Coke.
Peter snapped his fingers at Mark, with a cocky smirk. "Oh yeah, I forgot. I'm gonna need... let's see... two whiskey sours for the girls, and an old fashioned, too. And don't forget the beer."
He rolled his eyes, but put a bottle of Yuengling out on the bar.
Alison leaned in closer to Peter. "I am so sorry," she said, her long, blonde, wavy hair nearly touching his face. "They always serve me here, I don't know why he was so rude to you."
Peter laughed, trying not to let his voice crack with embarrassment. "That's because you're... well... you know... famous. Really famous."
She smiled at him, and he got a look into her wide, blue eyes before her bodyguard tapped her on the shoulder. "Ms. Blaire," he said expectantly, motioning towards the door.
"Oh, I have to go," she said. "I shouldn't even be here, I'm already super late for sound check. Really nice to meet you..."
"Peter," he said, with a dumbfounded look on his face.
"Peter," she repeated, then walked away with a little wave of her hand. Her bodyguard followed closely behind her.
He chuckled stupidly to himself. I just got three inches away from Dazzler, he thought. She almost touched me.
His smile vanished immediately, and he smacked himself in the head. He'd just talked to Dazzler, and he had nothing to show for it. The team would never, ever believe he just saw her in person. Forgetting all about his drinks, he zipped away after her.
She screamed a little and backed into her bodyguard when he appeared suddenly before her.
"Hey, Dazzler, Alison, hi," he spoke as fast as a hummingbird on cocaine. "I can call you that, right?" He didn't wait for an answer. "It's Peter, from 5 seconds ago. I know you've got a show tonight but my friends would really love to meet you, I mean they would freak the hell out, I swear it will literally take like 20 seconds of-"
"Move!" yelled the bodyguard, and reached for him with an arm built like an ape. Peter dodged him easily, leaving him clutching for thin air. He reappeared right next to Alison.
"-20 seconds of your time," he continued. He grabbed her arm and put his hand behind her head.
"Get off!" she yelled. She tried to pull away from him, but Peter kept a firm grip on her as she squirmed.
"No, don't worry, I'm not going to hurt-"
From Dazzler's hand came a blinding flare of pure, white light, ten times as powerful as a strong camera flash, and pointed directly into his eyeballs.
He yelped as his world turned blank. He felt her and her bodyguard brush past her as he rubbed his eyes, trying in vain to regain his sight. He groaned in pain and blinked.
"Alison!" He groped blindly in the air around him. "Wait!" He grabbed something soft and squishy in front of him, which was followed swiftly by a woman's ear piercing scream and a blow to the head, knocking him out cold.
Kurt crouched outside, leaning on the club wall, sweating in the humid night air. He watched the bouncers as they carefully hand selected the guests, telling most of the hopeful clubgoers to beat it.
Maybe it was just this club, he rationalized. They all seem like assholes. Nobody was ever mean to me at the mall. He knew he should be attempting to enjoy himself, despite the racist bartender, but his thoughts began stray to a bad place, a place he rarely allowed them to go.
The bartender was talking to me, not Peter. What if they would all have a better time if I weren't here? What if I am the problem? My own mother never wanted me in her life, maybe-
He forced himself to stop. He couldn't let those kinds of terrible thoughts send him down into a spiral of self-loathing. Instead, he took a long, deep breath, and reached for the rosary beads he always kept in his pocket. He felt for the cross, closed his eyes and softly began to recite the Apostle's Creed in German.
His prayer was interrupted when the back doors flung open. The rest of the X-Men filed out, Ororo and Scott with Peter's arms slung over their shoulders. Peter looked as if he could barely stand.
Kurt teleported over to them. Peter had a bruise and a welt quickly growing on the side of his head. "What happened? Did you get in a fight?" he asked.
"No," Scott answered for him, clearly irritated. He let go of him and let him lean against Ororo. "He grabbed some chick's boob, and she clocked him, and when we went to help him we all got thrown out."
"'S not what happened," Peter slurred. "You guys, I saw Dazzler, I swear to god. She bought me drinks and I was going to introduce you to her but- oww..." He held his head with one hand.
Storm's eyes clouded over. She made a tiny cloud in front of her, which produced miniscule balls of hail, and she held out her hand to catch them. She gave a handful to Peter, which he pressed to the side of his head.
"Thanks."
She took another handful and cautiously gave it to Kurt.
"For your lip," she said softly. Surprised, he took the ice and pressed it to his mouth.
"Jean, tell them that I'm telling the truth," Peter pleaded.
Jean and Peter stared at each other for a long moment before Jean finally said, "Yeah. He met Dazzler."
"Thank you!" he said, throwing up his free hand.
She continued, "he also grabbed her like a total creep, which scared the hell out of her, so she used her powers on him, and then he accidentally grabbed someone's boob."
"You weren't supposed to tell them that part," Peter muttered.
"Warn me next time, and make sure I know which part of the truth you want me to tell, then," she said sarcastically.
"Shit," said Scott, rubbing his forehead. "We're gonna have to go home already and none of us have even had a drink yet."
"No, hold on," said Peter, standing up straight and putting up a finger. "We're not done with this night yet."
"Peter, you might have a concussion!" said Jean. "And you're our ride!"
"I'm totally fine! We are not letting this get in the way of Kurt's birthday party," he said, putting an arm around Kurt, much to his chagrin. "And we are not going home until he says so, because this is his night, and he calls the shots, right dude?" He gave Kurt a desperate smirk and patted his shoulder.
Kurt opened his mouth, and closed it again. He looked at the concerned faces of Scott and Jean, silently begging him to end the night early. On the other hand, he knew how excited Peter was for this concert, and how much Kurt wanted something good to happen for himself tonight. If Peter said he was okay, then...
"Let's go to the next bar!" he said, with as much enthusiasm as he could.
"All right!" said Peter, holding up his hand to give Kurt a high five. Mortified, he slapped it weakly. Jean and Scott groaned, Ororo giving Peter and Kurt a confused stare.
Peter gathered his friends once again. "You heard the man, let's go have fun!" he said, then sped off into the night with them.
They stopped in front of a much smaller venue, simply named "Stan's Bar and Grill." Its sign wasn't lit, no line formed down the street, no bouncers greeted them at the door. Inside, a few dozen people shouted at the Yankee's game playing on the TV in the corner, the air thick with cigarette smoke. A dusty, multicolored jukebox played Rolling Stones through the hubbub. A wrinkled old man with coke-bottle glasses tended the bar. His dour expression barely changed as Peter slid up to him.
"You got quite a lump there, kid," he barked. He let out a dry, wheezing cough that Peter thought might have been a laugh. "Whad'ya do, piss off a rhinoceros?"
"It's a long story," he muttered. He leaned over so the ancient bartender could hear him better. He motioned to his team. "We've all had a really shitty night so far, so if you've got a problem with mutants, just tell me now and we'll go. I'm not looking for trouble."
"Pfft," The bartender waved his hand dismissively. "I've owned this bar for 40 years. I've seen stranger things. As long as your money's green, kid, I don't care if your friends are blue or zebra striped or whatever."
"Thanks." He slapped down $5 and brought 5 beers back to the table.
"A toast!" Peter proclaimed, as the X-Men lifted their glasses, "To Kurt!"
"To Jean, too!" Kurt said, "For getting into college."
"Don't make it about me," said Jean, embarrassed, as they clinked glasses. "It's your night."
"Don't be so modest," said Scott. He scooted closer to his girlfriend, put an arm around her waist, and gave her a kiss on the cheek.
Kurt, Jean's telepathic voice called out to him in his head, startling him. He saw her lift her finger to her temple. No one else seemed to notice as they drank to their toast. Are you sure you want to keep going tonight? After what the Professor told you, and the danger room thing?
Don't get into my head, Jean! thought Kurt, a bit more forcefully than he meant to.
Sorry, she replied. I can't help it sometimes. I just don't want this night to turn into a disaster for you.
Today was already a disaster, he thought back at her. I want to have fun tonight. I need to. Please don't tell anyone what's going on. I can deal with it tomorrow.
If you say so, she thought, then dropped her hand to put her arm around Scott's waist.
Kurt took a sip from his glass, then made a disgusted face at his beer. "Are you sure this is American, not Egyptian?" he asked Peter. "It tastes like pisswasser."
Ororo took a long swig, draining half her glass.
"Whoa, slow down there!" said Peter. "You have like, no alcohol tolerance. That's gonna catch up to you later."
"It is... not so bad," she said, suppressing a belch. She took another drink just to spite him.
Not to be outdrank by a girl who'd never had beer in her life, Kurt reluctantly took another sip. He hoped it would taste less disgusting the more he drank, like how most alcohol was supposed to.