Peter and Wade sat on the roof of the Institute, nothing but stars above them in the soft heat of a summer night too warm for a blanket, but cool enough to be close without being uncomfortable. Wade had his eye to a telescope, looking at Jupiter while Peter talked about the moons and rings and red spot, giving a textbook version of what he felt was the most beautiful thing in the night sky.

For some reason, Wade was naked. But then again, so was Peter. Even that felt comfortable, and while Peter wanted to keep talking about astronomy, he was far more interested in mapping the constellations of scars that covered Wade's glowing body.

"You're so full of Dust, you shine," Peter said as he took in the full glory of the merc, who was still studying the planet through the lens. Taking a chance, Peter touched Wade's knee. He let out a soft, pleased sound and turned towards Peter with his eyes glowing like gold in sunlight.

Wade kissed him, and Peter felt himself being filled with light. It swept through him until it was pouring out his own eyes and nose and fingertips. He felt like he was kissing the sun. Everything felt like it was fading as he became brighter. Lighter. He was floating in the stars. Peter didn't want it to end. He wanted to always be in that moment of weightless light and joy.

"This has to be a dream," Peter said as Wade moved to straddle his lap. The merc's skin was super-heated; his mouth searing as he nipped at Peter's neck and shoulder. "You are weightless, and I'm glowing. Glowing is not a typical human phenomenon, at least without some kid of augmentation."

"You're getting too technical," Wade said, though his voice sounded strangely like Gwen. "Stay in the moment. This is going to be good."

Then his cell phone was buzzing, and Peter woke half-humping the mattress. He shook his head, swept back the hair from his face and grabbed the phone with a slurred, "ThisisPeter."

"I need you to come down to the garage." It was Tony, and he sounded wide awake. The man was probably a quarter caffeine. "Five minutes."

"Tony, I—"

"Five minutes," Tony repeated, then hung up the phone.

"Dammit," Gwen whined from her pillow.

Peter groaned and pushed his face into the pillow and said, "That dream was starting to get good."

"I'm going to bite Pepper," Gwen said with the same amount of annoyance. "You never have good sex dreams. That was going to be yummy."

"You're terrible," Peter said. He got out of bed and grabbed lounge pants and a t-shirt, then slipped into his flip-flops and headed out the door. And if his eyes lingered on Wade's door a little before exiting the hall, that was his business.

The clock in the lobby said it was just after 7am, and Peter wanted to remind Tony that sleep might not be important to him personally, but sleep was something Peter greatly valued. Peter planned an entire lecture, except that when he entered the garage, Peter couldn't quite wrap his mind around what he was seeing.

"Are you wearing a robot?" Peter said as he walked into the workshop.

Tony turned towards him as best he could with his lower half trapped in a pair of robotic legs with one arm suspended in the air and trapped inside a metal exoskeleton. Pepper sat on the floor, giving Peter a look that he could only describe as long-suffering. Tony motioned for Peter to come closer, and Peter could tell just by the gesture that Tony had been drinking. The inventor said, "I sorta got caught up in this thing. Couldn't really… I fucked up. I just need you to push that button over there."

Peter walked across the room to the control station, and after a minute of study, he found the disengage button that released Tony from his trap. The billionaire collapsed to the floor and remained there a little too still, and Peter went to him, diving to his knees to check for injuries. Tony was not unconscious, but he was too drunk to move without assistance.

After extracting the rest of the inventor from his robotics, Peter half carried Tony to sit in the rolling chair by his workbench. This was a mistake, and Peter once again had to scoop Tony off the floor after he decided to roll backwards and somehow ended up under the table with his feet in the air. Peter moved him to the desk chair, propping it to keep it from swivelling too much, and then went to the coffee maker to start a pot.

"I don't want coffee," Tony pouted as he opened his desk drawer and fumbled around for a bottle of cheap booze he had stashed behind his ink pens. He unscrewed the cap, but Peter snatched it out of his hand before he could take a sip. Tony looked very put out, and said, "You're not my favorite anymore."

Peter sniffed the bottle, and said, "This smells like gasoline."

"Fuel for a sex machine," Tony said, laughing at his own joke before his smile fell into a frown. "Why do I do this to myself?"

"Because you have a problem with self control?" Peter ventured.

Pepper nodded and flopped on the floor. Gwen jumped down into the pillow of her fur, and crawled to the top of her head to massage the spot of tension between her eyes. The fox looked very pleased, and made a soft humming sound.

Tony slouched, resting his head against the back of the chair. "You ever get involved with someone, knowing it's going to totally fuck your entire life, but you do it anyway because your luck can't seriously be that fucking bad, but then it is, and it is, and I should be happy right now. Shouldn't I? Why aren't I happy? I mean, fuck… A year. I've been working on Ultron for a year, and we've solved it. Mostly. At least fuckin' Bucky is, you know, here?"

"It's a breakthrough," Peter agreed. "We still need to figure out how to get the machine to concentrate Dust. Lots of work to be done still."

"Yeah," Tony said, drawing out the word. He fell silent for a few seconds and closed his eyes, breathing through his nose, his knee bouncing. "Did you see the look on Steve's face? Like… it was his worst day ever. And I should be with him right now. I should be, but I can't because he's guilty. He's always guilty. He's fucking ashamed of the whole me and him thing. And Bucky doesn't know. Bucky has no idea, but Steve will feel guilty forever and regret me just like everyone else."

Peter didn't know what to say. Then again, Tony wasn't looking for answers or comfort. Not from Peter. Maybe not from anyone. Tony wasn't a sharing-emotions kind of guy. So Peter sat with him, listening as Tony recapped everything from the beginning again, rambling and repeating himself until he looked up at Peter and said, "Why does Deadpool call you Spidey?"

"It's just an old nickname," Peter said with a shrug. "Why?"

"It's just funny," Tony said. He chuckled and resumed his slow swivelling. "How bad of a person am I, really, for hating that Deadpool was the solution all along? Because I kind of hate him right now."

Peter smirked, and said, "You're also pretty drunk right now, and in a few hours you're going to be hating everyone in equal measure."

"To-fucking-che," Tony said. "What about the coffee? You said something about coffee."

Peter looked at the coffee pot, and there was still nothing dripping out of it. It wasn't even making noise. Then he realized he hadn't turned the machine on, and he wanted to cry a little. Instead he got up and went to the pot. "My coffee is the worst. It always gets burned. I should get Wade to make coffee. His coffee is perfection."

Tony grinned. "Is it inappropriate to ask if his ass is perfection? Because he looks built."

"I know nothing of his ass," Peter said, internally cursing himself for how his face heated up. He was 25 years old. Old enough to be past all this blushing bullshit. The machine started gurgling, and Peter said, "Not that I'm opposed to investigating his ass's perfection. Just, you know."

"He's a scary mercenary and you're scared of his scariness?" Tony said, chuckling.

"No." Peter grabbed a coffee cup with the big Stark Institute logo on the side, and said, "He's on a mission here. He doesn't have time for anything else."

"Right," Tony said. He was quiet until Peter started to pour. "You know, Steve said the same thing to me. He was all 'I've been assigned by the Magitristra-er-Magistererumrum. Fuck! My mouth isn't working. The fucking Magisterium. I can't break their pansy rules about whatever the fuck'."

"Is that verbatim or paraphrased?" Peter asked as he handed off the cup.

"Fucking paraphrased," Tony said as he accepted the coffee. "Steve is well spoken and wholesome, and doesn't say 'fuck' even in the correct context."

"There's a reason he's the Star-Spangled Man," Peter said.

"He hates that song," Tony said.

Peter poured himself a cup and took a sip, then grimaced and grabbed the sugar. He put a generous amount into the exceptionally strong brew, then held the sugar out to Tony, who covered his cup with his hand and shook his head. After a minute, Tony removed his hand, and a small cloud of steam poofed up towards his face.

"You should probably think about sleeping," Peter said.

Tony said nothing. His eyes were fixed on the coffee in his cup. He again put his palm over the cup, then removed it and another puff of steam appeared. He started to repeat the process again, and Peter said, "Do you want me to clean off your couch?"

"I want…" Tony paused. His brow scrunched, head slowly tilting in that way he did when he was in deep thought. Then he looked up at Peter, blinking a couple times before saying, "Can you bring your Dust camera to the lab?"

Steve woke with a start, certain that someone had said his name. Certain it was Bucky. It took a moment of stretching in the uncomfortable vinyl chair before he remembered he was in the medical unit at Stark Institute, and Bucky's silver eyes were looking at him from where he lay in the hospital bed.

"Steve," he said again, his voice soft and creaking.

Steve walked to the bed, sitting on the edge of the mattress. Bucky's eyes followed his every movement, clear and alert. He took Bucky's hand in both of his, and asked, "How long have you been awake?"

"I don't know," Bucky answered, looking up at him through the veil of his hair. Steve swept his dark locks out of his face. "You… You didn't leave."

"No," Steve said, a small smile on his face. "I wanted to make sure I was here when you woke up."

"That not—" Bucky's voice cracked and he fell into a coughing fit. Steve was quick to pour a glass of water and hit the button to raise the head of the bed. Out of habit, Steve held the glass up to Bucky's mouth, and almost dropped the cup when Bucky attempted to take it out of his hand. Eventually, Bucky managed to get a few drinks.

Steve smiled, and said, "Better?"

Bucky nodded.

"Good." Steve set the glass aside, and looked at Bucky expectantly. After all this time, Steve only wanted to hear the man speak, to know what was happening inside his head, and know what he was feeling. It had been years of silence, and Steve didn't want to keep him from a single syllable.

Bucky lay back against the bed. "I meant to say, I know you never left me. Ever."

Steve again took his hand.

"It really was like a dream," Bucky said, looking down at their entwined fingers. "I could see you and hear you, but I couldn't… I don't know how to explain it. I was trapped." He looked up at Steve, who was doing his best to hold back his tears. "You never left me. You were with me every single day, and there is nothing I can ever do to thank you for that."

Steve looked down, the tears finally finding their escape from his eyes. He was being torn between extreme happiness and self-loathing, and in the end the only thing he could do was hug the man whom he had loved since he was a kid. Steve cried, and Bucky's arm wound around him, rubbing circles on his back. Then Bucky kissed Steve's cheek, and Steve couldn't remain silent any more.

"I haven't been as good as I could have been to you," Steve said as he sat up and wiped his cheek with the back of his fingers. "The last few months… I've—"

"I know about Tony," Bucky said, still smiling. "I told you, I've seen and heard everything. Including your tearful confessions and apologies. I know. And I'm happy."

"You should hate me," Steve said softly.

"For what? Being human?" Bucky laughed, and it was music in the air. "I've seen Tony. I don't blame you. Dark haired, ruggedly handsome. Seems like your type."

Steve still couldn't quite meet his eyes. "I've missed you."

"Come here," Bucky said as he tugged Steve forward. Then he smirked and said, "I hope you don't feel so guilty you won't kiss me."

Steve shook his head and laughed. "I've missed you."

Kissing Bucky felt as natural as breathing and as frightening as the first time when they were kids and scared someone would catch them. Now, as then, it was Bucky who kept Steve from fleeing in terror, and it was Steve who stopped to look around.

"It's good to know nothing ever changes," Bucky said with a chuckle, pressing another kiss to Steve's lips before sitting back and saying, "So when do I get to meet your billionaire, playboy, inventor guy?"

Steve shook his head, and said, "I'd rather just be with you for now."

Bucky smiled, squeezing Steve's hand. "I need to speak with him soon, because I know this isn't going to last. I can already feel myself getting a little blurry, and there are things I need to say."

"Okay," Steve said softly, managing a smile eventhough the idea of Bucky dissolving back into himself was shattering. Steve stood and helped Bucky to his feet.

The years of only walking short distances and very little exercise left Bucky's body weak and his joints stiff, even with the daily exercises performed by Steve and Nurse Carter. They moved slowly, Bucky doing his best to not show how exhausted each step made him. The distance to the end of the hall felt like miles, and Bucky had to take a break when they arrived at the elevator.

The two of them sat on a cushioned bench, Bucky leaning heavily against Steve, and Steve's arm around Bucky's waist, both to keep him in place and to just feel closer. Margaret lay on the side opposite Bucky, keeping her distance as she became accustomed to doing over the years. Steve didn't want her to be in Bucky's line of sight, afraid it would somehow add to his suffering.

Bucky could still see her, though. And more than this, he could remember what it was like to hold Margaret in his arms. It was very inappropriate to ever touch another person's daemon—at least without their permission. Touching another's daemon was an intimate act, much more intimate than sex for most. To touch another's daemon was to touch their soul physically. It was an act of trust, and Bucky could still remember the feeling, and the way Steve shivered. Simultaneously, Bucky remembered the electricity that went through him when Steve held Ida, how his whole body filled with warmth and the air seemed to smell of ozone.

"Ida," Bucky whispered.

Steve's arm tightened around him.

About that time, Wade came around the corner with Evan at his side, both carrying cups of coffee. Evan's daemon was in the form of small doe with a white-spotted rump. Bob sat on Celestia's back, appearing to enjoy the ride.

"Good morning," Wade said. He held out a cup to Steve, and said, "I figured I'd see how you're faring."

"What's in it?" Bucky asked.

Wade had a moment of surprise hearing Bucky speak, considering all he could do the night before was gibber and sob. Then his brain cleared, and he said, "Just coffee. Black."

"Good," Bucky said, and accepted a cup from Wade. He opened the lid and inhaled deeply, before saying, "I have missed coffee. Thank you."

"Any time," Wade said.

Steve smiled, watching Bucky enjoy the simple pleasure of coffee, which he couldn't deny was pretty damn good. The idea that his time might be limited made Steve want to give him every little hint of pleasure available.

"Are you going down to the laboratory?" Steve asked.

Wade nodded. "Yeah. Peter sent me a text a little bit ago, figured I'd make a delivery. Guess he and Tony have some project happening."

"We're on our way to talk to Tony, too," Bucky said.

"Is this one of those conversations little ears shouldn't be present for?" Wade asked, gesturing to Evan.

"Seriously, Wade?" Evan said with an eyeroll.

"Bucky just wants to meet him." Steve chuckled, and added, "I doubt it is anything Evan hasn't been subjected to, being around you."

"Hey!" Wade said with mock hurt. "I resemble that remark."

Bucky cocked his head to the side. "Have we met before?"

"He's been working with Tony's assistant," Steve answered.

"Oh," Bucky said, though he still looked to be in deep thought. Then he shrugged and downed the last of his coffee and said, "Let's move."

Wade and Evan walked ahead of them, keeping a slow pace to match with Steve and Bucky. Bucky seemed to be a little more peppy, be it because of the rest or the coffee. He still hung on to Steve's arm, but that was more out of a need to feel human contact than anything else. It was one thing to be handled; it was something else entirely to touch and be touched. Bucky was never a needy person, but the idea of not touching Steve felt frightening. Especially knowing that at some point in the future, he wouldn't be able to enjoy that touch anymore.

Upon entering the workshop, the four were greeted with a sight that was reminiscent of an explosion. There were parts of items scattered over every surface, all appearing to have originated from the central table, where Peter was holding a black casing on which Tony was soldering circuits. The two scientists were so wrapped up in their work, they didn't hear the door open or close, nor hear Steve pushing scraps out of the way as he emptied a seat for Bucky.

Tony finished his work, and studied the item a moment before saying, "That should do it. Stick it in the Stark-o-meter."

"I thought we were calling it the Peter Meter," Peter said with a chuckle.

Tony pointed at him using his soldering gun, and said, "No more jokes. None. In fact, no more speaking."

"Are you making up terms now?" Steve asked.

Peter looked exhausted, but he smiled and said, "We made things today. Lots of things." Then his eyes brightened seeing Wade. More specifically, seeing what was in Wade's hand. He quickly went to the strange conglomerate of parts that made up the Stark-o-meter, and put the device inside and started a cycle. Then he rushed over to Wade and took the cup of coffee out of his hand. He took a long drink, before saying, "You are my favorite person ever."

Wade smirked, and said, "You just like the way I grind my beans."

"Don't," Tony said, pointing a stern finger at Wade. "I'm starting to like you. So don't."

"I'm talking about coffee, you philistine," Wade said, chuckling.

Bucky's eyes brightened as he blurted, "I do know you!"

Tony, who was only vaguely aware that other people were in the room due to his haze of exhaustion, creative explosion, and hangover, hadn't noticed Bucky, and wasn't prepared to hear the man's alert voice. Nor was he prepared for the adorable Brooklyn accent that matched up perfectly to Steve's.

Wade, meanwhile, was looking at Bucky with a raised eyebrow. "What do you mean?"

"You were in Da Nang, right?" Bucky said, almost excited. "The Siam War?"

Wade nodded.

Bucky laughed, and said, "I knew it! You look a lot different with the scars, but it's the way you laugh, and the words you use." He looked down a moment, then snapped his fingers and said, "They called you the Merc with a Mouth, right?"

"Yeah," Wade said, feeling a little worried. He said, "I didn't think you remembered that. I mean, it was kind of a long time ago."

Bucky jabbed Steve in the side with his elbow, and said, "Remember? We went on that side op to rescue those three officers, and we wound up in the middle of a typhoon and had to stay in that weird little village north of Da Nang with that group of mercenaries. Ended up playing poker for like five days with that guy Stryker and his crew?"

Steve looked confused for a moment, then he looked at Wade and said, "You're that guy?"

Wade nodded. He remembered those few days well. More than anything, he remembered feeling a little star-struck at meeting the famous team of Captain Rogers and Sergeant Barnes. Wade was just a kid back then, barely 19 with no business being in that jungle, let alone running with Stryker (and Logan, among others). But he was pretty good at what they did, and that was killing people. The money was pretty good too.

However, Steve and Bucky were the good guys. The best of the good guys. They didn't do the dirtiest of the dirty work. And from the moment Wade saw Captain Rogers at the aerodock, he worried that the good Captain would remember their meeting in the jungle. Then again, Wade often remembered things a little backwards. Sometimes, he would remember himself already being part of the Brotherhood, except that the Brotherhood came after the cancer, and the jungle was way before that. Back when he was just the Merc with a Mouth, gaining a reputation for his dark sense of humor as much as his swordsmanship.

"You're old, aren't you?" Evan said with a laugh.

Wade nodded. "Yes. I'm very old."

"You know what they say," Peter said, giving Wade a pointed look.

Tony pointed at Peter and said, "No. Do not finish that. I don't care how it ends, I don't want to hear it." Then he gestured towards the contraption across the shop, and said, "Check the Peter Meter. If everything is stable, we're going to get this baby installed."

"Get what installed?" Steve asked, doing his best not to chuckle.

"Oh!" Tony downed the last of his coffee. "I forgot to tell you. Actually, I composed about 40 text messages to tell you, but Peter kept hiding my phone because apparently I was about to break some kind of etiquette or something, but anyway…"

Steve smiled, amused by Tony's rambling.

Tony pointed at a metal arm on the workbench, and said, "I have solved it. It happened this morning because of steam and my brain did that thing where I rabbit trailed and found the solution to the world's big questions."

"What do you mean?" Steve asked.

"He means he figured out how to make Ultron gather and condense Dust," Peter said upon returning with the black object. It was very small, oblong, with a concave side. He held it out and said, "We decided since the material inside my Dust camera can block out Dust to give a clear image of a person's Dust signature, that it might be able to hold Dust. Turns out, we were right."

"And because it holds Dust, it can concentrate Dust," Tony continued. "See, all this time I wanted to make something that operated exactly like a daemon, producing a continuous stream of Dust. But nothing I did made it work. I was thinking about it wrong. Now, I'm not going to bore you with the technical advancements that had to be made in the last few hours just to make this possible—"

"We had most of the technology, just had to adjust the method of use," Peter interjected.

"—But the point is, with some lenses and a filter and this awesome black material, we can now concentrate Dust almost to the same level as what Wade produces," Tony finished. "Basically, this little device in my hand is a prosthetic daemon."

Tony handed it to Steve, and Steve looked the device over. "This is Ultron?"

"No," Tony said. "Ultron is what I'm calling my new line of intelligent limb-prosthetics. No, this is an Integrated Daemon Apparatus."

"I.D.A.," Bucky said, his hand immediately going to the place where the pain flared in his chest. "You named it Ida."

Tony nodded.

"How does it work?" Bucky asked.

Tony looked at Steve, then back at Bucky and said, "This is designed to be housed inside of an Ultron arm, and with the other components, it will monitor your Dust and pump it into you on regular intervals as needed. Plus, you'll have the most advanced artificial arm in the history of artificial arms." He paused, before saying, "That is, if you are willing to do this. It is entirely your decision."

Bucky looked at Steve, and Steve said, "You make the call."

Bucky was silent a moment before he finally nodded, and said, "Hell, why not? What do I have to lose at this point. Let's do it."

Tony beamed a smile that was matched by Steve. For a moment, the two looked at each other until Bucky shoved Steve into Tony. The billionaire immediately latched onto Steve to keep from falling, and Steve's arms found their way around him. It was an awkward hug, but it made Tony smile even wider.

"Thank you," Steve said. "For everything."

Tony, who was still off balance with his fingers dug into Steve's hips, said, "I keep my promises too."

Steve straightened them both up, and Bucky said, "When do we get started?"

"You need sleep first," Steve said to Tony.

Peter chimed in with, "We'll need to brief the medical team on the procedure, since, you know, we have to kind of wire Ultron into his central nervous system."

Bucky nodded. "So this thing's gonna be wired into me. Nifty."

"Very nifty. Could be the niftiest thing ever, and probably will win me another Nobel Prize. Possibly another Magisterium Hearing." Tony shrugged at Steve's somewhat concerned look. "It wouldn't be the first time. Or even the ninth."

When Dr. Jane Foster arrived with her small medical team for the briefing, Wade and Evan departed so that they could discuss the procedure in private. So for an hour or so, Evan worked with the alethiometer while Wade sat on the couch and read. He found a paper that Peter had published about advanced polymers derived from the chemical composition of spider silk. A lot of the jargon was confusing, but it was nonetheless interesting. Especially the diagram of a device to shoot these synthetic webs. Wade had to wonder if Peter built one.

Outside, the clouds were starting to gather for what was probably going to be a nice rain storm. Nothing was in the forecast, but that didn't mean mother nature couldn't brew up something on a whim.

Evan put the alethiometer in its box, and put it back in his bag, then turned his attention to Wade.

Wade looked up at him. "Yes?"

"You want to go for a run?" Evan asked.

Wade looked out the window and shrugged. "It kind of looks like rain."

"Are you going to melt?" Evan asked with a chuckle.

Wade gave his best half-hearted glare, and said, "No, mother."

The rain started shortly after they got on the trail. It was a nice, steady rain. The kind that farmers love and makes people really want to take a nap. Wade kept his pace steady, enjoying the chill of the rain in comparison to the warm summer air. Evan seemed to be content in the elements, now and then stopping to pick up the remnants of the peanut-fireworks from the night before that had landed on the path.

Celestia was also enjoying herself, splashing in every puddle they passed. Wade opted to leave Bob in the room, since the daemon didn't deal well with water. When Wade closed his eyes, he could see that Bob was seated at the window, keen eyes looking their direction. The more the rain soaked him, the more smug happiness Wade could feel coming from his daemon.

They reached the bench that marked the two mile point of the trail, and after tossing the trash in the receptacle, Evan was ready to go. The boy was at the point that he could run five miles without needing a break, thanks to Jessica's training. He'd learned to pace himself and control his breathing. When Evan sprinted, he was faster than Wade, though he still couldn't keep up with Jessica. Jessica was like lightning when she didn't hold back.

In addition to running, Wade had also started giving Evan self defense lessons. Wade didn't want to say it, but he knew that at some point, Evan would need to fight. Or at least, fight to escape from the Magisterium. He stuck with the basics—pressure points, weak spots, how to break holds—and only threw in a few extras like how to crush someone's windpipe and the proper way to crush someone's skull with the heel of a boot.

Peter found the skull-crushing in poor taste, but overall agreed with Wade's life motto: better to know and not need to, than to need to and not know.

In the almost 2 months since coming to Stark Institute, Evan had grown an inch and developed a bit of muscle. He also aged, though that had little to do with training and everything to do with trauma. There was a wary alertness to his eyes that no 12 year old should possess.

As they started down the hill that led to the river, the first rumble of thunder echoed through the air, and Wade came to a stop looking up at the sky. The clouds were getting dark fast, and he called to Evan, who had jogged ahead. "I think we should head back."

Evan turned, still jogging in place. "It's just a little thunder. I grew up in Tornado Alley. This is nothing."

Just then, a bolt of lightning struck the path ahead, and Evan jumped.

"With all these trees, we're in Lightning Rod Alley," Wade said when Evan got back to him. "We'll go 10 tomorrow to make up for being slackers."

Lightning streaked the sky again, followed by a loud roar of thunder. The storm was close, and so sudden it made Wade shiver. Or maybe that was just the cold wind that swept through the tunnel of trees that stirred up enough leaves and debris it was difficult to see very far ahead.

Another flash of lightning, and a tree fell across the path ahead, and Evan grabbed Wade's arm. He pointed ahead and shouted, "Did you see that!"

"Yeah, big tree," Wade said.

"No! That!"

Wade looked harder, and could almost make out the shape of someone in the driving rain. He whipped his gun out of the holster and shouted above the howling wind, "Don't fucking move another step."

Then a voice entered Wade's mind, soft as the flutter of butterfly wings, saying, "You are not in danger, Wade. Turn around."

Wade took a quick look over his shoulder and saw that the storm had disappeared behind them. When he looked back, the shape in the storm had emerged. It was a woman with lightning in her eyes, and electricity crackling in her fingertips and making the white strip of hair on her head shimmer. Her dark skin glowed with her power, and Wade knew immediately who she was.

"Ororo," Wade said, keeping the gun trained on the middle of her chest.

She nodded, and said, "Sorry for the theatrics, but we needed to conceal our landing."

"I guess the voice in my head is Psylocke," Wade said as he started to lower the gun. Ororo nodded, and he asked, "Bishop?"

"He's in Bolvanger," Ororo answered. "He lost his sanity."

"Do you really think Bolvanger is the best place for him to get it back?" Wade asked, frowning. He never really liked Bishop to begin with, but still.

"We're not here to discuss the mental health struggles of former teammates," Ororo said coldly. She gestured for Wade to follow her, and Evan grabbed Wade's arm.

"It's okay," Wade said. "I know these people."

Evan still clung to Wade as a small plane appeared out of thin air. Wade realized that it must have been telepathically concealed. He'd flown these planes before; they didn't have shimmer camouflage. The ramp lowered, and two figures were descending on it. Just judging by the legs, he knew one of them was Betsy Braddock, also known as Psylocke. The other he recognized by the fluffy white cat in his arms.

"Uncle Cluster?" Evan said, his grip tightening on Wade's arm.

"Bonjour, neveu," Jean-Philippe said with a smile. "Forgive my tardiness. I was quite delayed."