After a while Pietro and Erik moved inside to get the boy a snack-- or more like a meal.

He could tell how exhausted Pietro was as they walked through the halls towards the dining room. The boy was moving slower than usual, dragging his feet. Erik figured he'd get his son some food then make him go back to bed.

As they approached the room Erik could hear the clanging of silverware and roar of young voices.

It must be lunchtime, he recognized absentmindedly.

As they turned the corner and passed through the doors Erik's suspicions were confirmed. Surrounding several rows of tables were children of various ages, ranging from thirteen to nineteen. They paid the pair no attention as they made their way to the front of the room towards the buffet.

When Erik went to grab a plate he realized his son was no longer beside him. He turned quickly, scanning the room.

There, between two rows of tables they had walked through. He stood with his eyes downcast, staring at nothing, arms pulled towards his torso as his hands shook.

Erik rushed to his son, kneeling in front of him to gently hold his shoulders.

"Hey, hey, what's wrong?" He asked softly.

Pietro continued to avoid his gaze, eyes flicking all over the room, his body tensing at every sound. He shook his head tensely.

"...can't...can't..."

Shit, Erik realized, he's probably never seen this many people before.

The dining room started to quiet as the children noticed the silver haired boy.

"Woah that's him!" One kid said loudly.

"Wow he looks like shit."

"Why's he have gray hair? What is he, eighty?" Said another.

"I heard he killed someone and that's why he's not allowed around anyone."

Dozens of similar comments began to fly through the air, each rising in volume to be heard above the others.

Pietro's breaths sped up as the sounds rose, hands shaking even more.

Erik's tried again to calm him down. "Pietro, hey, it's ok. Focus on me." The boy continued to hyperventilate.

While Erik watched his son helplessly as he mentally called for Charles, a boy around the age of seventeen from one of the tables stood and made his way over to the pair.

Without warning the seventeen year old grabbed onto Pietro's hair and pulled his head back roughly.

"Weirdo. Wanted to be more of a freak, so you dyed your hair?"

Erik was almost as fast as Pietro when he grabbed the boy's hand and wrenched it away.

"GET YOUR HANDS OFF MY FUCKING SON."

The seventeen year old looked at him in shock and quickly walked away. At Erik's words the lunchroom fell silent minus Pietro's rapid breaths.

"Shhhhh, shhhhh," Erik said soothingly as he picked up Pietro and carried him to the door, gently rubbing his back. "We're going back downstairs."

As they left the room Erik could hear the loud whispers starting.

"Did he say son?"

Once they reached the basement Pietro's breathing still hadn't calmed. His eyes were squeezed shut and his arms curled up against him.

Erik could feel I'm trembling under his fingers, struggling to get enough air.

As he continued to coax his son, Charles exploded down the stairs.

"Erik, what's wrong?"

He kept rubbing the boy's back as he held his paper-thin son.

"He's having a panic attack. There were too many people," he said, letting his frustration seep through his words. This wouldn't be happening if he'd had the common sense to ease his son into everything.

It's not your fault, Charles told him as he raised his hand to the clammy silver haired boy's head.

"Sleep," he said gently. Within moments Pietro's breathing leveled out as he went limp in his fathers arms.

A.N: I'm gonna be honest, I actually like this chapter. Not the execution, which sucks, but the concept. Feel free to leave a review because it makes my ego feel good.

And also I can't believe alice.in.ink reads my story, your fic Belong is what made me want to write this. Let me know if I accidentally steal anything. Ignore me while I go fangirl...