Disclaimer: I own none of the characters within.

Author's Notes: There will be an epilogue after this chapter, but otherwise, we're almost there. Merry Christmas. Love.

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The sun was just coming up on a cold winter morning. The icy ground shimmered and sparkled in the faint light, a thousand little diamonds scattered through the grass and catching the dawn. Everything was quiet and church-like, a sacred moment, a prayer being whispered for the new day to bring better times than the last.

When the gentle pink light slanted through the window, Pietro opened his eyes and drew his first deep breath of rebirth. It took an eon to fill his heavy lungs, and another eternity to release it in a long, exhausted wheeze. His vision was blurry, his body numb, but even as he became aware of this he became aware of the sensation returning, his vision sharpening. He took another serving of air, savoring it like a feast. He felt like a baby who had just been born, not quite connected to his body yet, still trying to understand the world he had suddenly opened his eyes to behold. Everything felt slow and sedated, and as he looked groggily down at his arm, he concluded that it must be because he was being pumped full of tranquilizers. It didn't matter, he didn't care, because now— another glorious breath.

I'm alive at last.

As his clarity crept back in increments, he realized that the warmth he felt all over was not from quilts or blankets. It was Wanda, curled up in bed next to him, one arm draped protectively across his chest, her face detailed with the stripes of dried tears. His left arm was pinned under her, so he reached carefully towards her with his right, wincing at the gentle tug of the IVs that moved with him. Tenderly, adoringly, he brushed his fingers through her raven hair, a sob of joy catching in his throat as reality became clear.

She awoke to the delicate caress tracing down her face, and looking up suddenly, she found herself lost in the eyes she had believed she would never see again.

Time, for once discreet, slipped away politely, allowing an eternity to drift between the two. Ice blue met storm blue, no words, no need for them. Eyes are the windows to the soul, but between these two, they became doors flung open wide and inviting the other to enter. Their kindred spirits met on the air and entwined, sinking back into their owners with a portion of the other still held close and secure. Two hearts pulsed and glowed, their strength returning, their life flooding back into them from the one who had been holding it for them.

How could either of them speak? What could they say, where to begin? So they said nothing at all, just spoke through their eyes, thoughts and passions too deep to be described. And finally, they both whispered at the same time,

"I know."

- - -

Lance entered the room and almost broke down, because there was Pietro, awake and breathing and here and real and alive. He couldn't think of how to greet him, how to tell him how much it meant to have him back, how much he had missed him, how much he wanted to beg him to never ever leave again.

He managed to croak stupidly, "Hey!"

And Pietro looked at him with his sharp blue eyes and his thin pale face and his messy white hair, and he smiled. The angular misery that had twisted his expression for too long melted into a soft, genuine, heartfelt smile.

"Hey," he said.

"Dude, you look like shit."

And Lance almost laughed as he said it, because it was so true. There were bags under his eyes, dark and bruised against his ghostly pale skin, marked at the forehead with a red stripe from where he had slammed his head into a wall. He was haggard, scrawny, skeletal; he had lost a lot of weight, the Top Gear sucking its energy directly from him. He seemed fragile, weak, and helpless. But his eyes were still the same. His eyes were still proud and fierce. Inside that devastated shell, Pietro was still hanging on.

"I feel like shit," Pietro muttered, his voice slurring a bit. "Feel heavy. Underwater."

He shifted his weight and Wanda sat up, giving him room to try and prop himself up on the pillows. He gasped sharply, one hand clutching at his chest, his expression startled, frightened.

"It's okay, man," Lance soothed, pulling up a chair. "That part's normal. It's from the defib. They start pounding your chest with electricity, it's something you're gonna feel the next day."

Pietro gave up on trying to achieve a sitting position and just settled back down in his nest of his blankets. He felt a bit sleepy, a bit dazed. Tranquilizers. He smacked his mouth open and closed. Dry.

"I'm kind of thirsty," he observed.

There was a glass of water already waiting for him on the nightstand, and with Wanda's help he managed to drink half of it. Then he relaxed back into her arms and she just held him, cradled him there, stroking his hair in a gentle rhythm. He almost fell asleep, but he forced his eyes open and kept himself awake.

"What happened?"

"It's a long story," Lance said. "But it involves blood. It was like, yours was tainted, so they took it out and replaced it with clean stuff."

"Clean stuff? Like, clean blood? From where?"

Lance smiled and said, "Guess."

Pietro craned his head back to look up at Wanda. She kissed his forehead and said, "You didn't I was going to let you get away that easily, did you?"

He reached up and touched her face, reading it like Braille with his phantom fingertips, feeling the warmth of love and the depth of devotion, and he said, "Thanks for that, little sister."

"Hey," she nudged him. "I believe you mean big sister."

She leaned down and pressed her forehead against his, and their eyes closed at the same time. Lance was almost embarrassed to be there, intruding on this intimate communication. But just as he was about to leave, they separated and smiled at each other, that infuriating secret smile that silently affirmed whatever had just passed between them.

"Pietro!" Todd shrieked from the doorway. "You're awake!" And he stuck his head out in the hallway and bawled, "Freddy! He's awake!"

Then Pietro was being suffocated under the desperately-relieved grasp of a Todd-hug.

"Oh, man, oh, man, I'm so glad you're okay!" he gushed, squeezing Pietro so tight that he might break, but unable to relax because he never wanted to let him get away again. "I was so scared, Pietro! I was so scared!"

And Pietro hugged back weakly, sighing, "Me too, Todd."

His eyes closed as the memory of terror crept into his consciousness. He pushed it away. Focus on now. Focus on Todd giving you the biggest hug you've ever gotten in your life. This is your life. You're here to stay.

"Todd!" Lance scolded half-heartedly. "Careful, man, you're gonna rip his IVs out."

"Whoa, I'm sorry, I'm sorry!" Todd sprang backwards, about to burst with energy. "I'm just, I was just really— I'm just happy!"

And they all looked at each other and realized that's what felt so different. They were happy.

Freddy trundled into the room and ruffled Pietro's hair with one massive hand, a hand that could crush steel girders now being used with a tenderness that wouldn't even break an eggshell.

"Hey, man." said Freddy, and that was all he needed to say.

Pietro felt tears prickling his eyes, but he managed to hold them. Here they were. All of them. And they were happy to see him. They cared that he was all right. They were going to take care of him. It was more than he had ever hoped to wish for, and to have an unspoken prayer answered was overwhelming. He leaned back against Wanda and listened to her heartbeat. And then he noticed something.

"Guys," he said quietly. "Where's Johnny?"

No one answered.

But then Johnny wheezed from the doorway, "That's my cue!"

There he was, slouched in a wheelchair and with an oxygen tube snaked under his nose, still alive somehow. He had no strength left to give, and when he awkwardly tried to maneuver himself into the room, his hands couldn't quite form a sturdy grip on the wheels.

"Is everyone... just gonna stare?" he rasped in annoyance. "Or can the cripple... get a little help?"

Freddy hurried over and pushed the wheelchair over to the bed. An oxygen tank was fixed to the back of it, and Johnny was taking deep drags off it like a junkie. The lesion on his forehead had clarified into an ugly black mark, and his whole face was slick with sweat. But he cracked a grin as wide as the sea, his eyes just as deep, as he grabbed Pietro's hand.

"You're a dick," he said affectionately.

"No, you're a dick," Pietro seized the hand with both of his. "I turn my back on you for two seconds and you completely give up."

"I'm a weak man," Johnny admitted. "Without constant reassurance, I very easily lose track of myself."

"You think you're back on track now?"

"I don't know," That familiar, painful honesty. "I'm trying. I just wanted to... see you. One last..." He shook his head. "I'm gonna try. I swear."

"Good. Because if you give up, I'll kill you."

Johnny's face brightened. The sickness seemed to shrink before his smile, the hope and loyalty that caused him to sit up straighter and breathe a little steadier. This was what he needed: someone to tell him not to die. Left to his own devices, he would just idle away to dust. Under orders to survive, he would cling on to the last.

Pietro closed his eyes and let his other senses work. He could hear Wanda's heartbeat from where his head rested against her chest. He could feel Johnny's warm, warm hand in his. He could smell the cheap cologne that Lance had sprayed on to cover up the fact he hadn't showered since the whole mess started. He could hear Todd giggling and Freddy chuckling over some little joke.

"Pietro?" Lance's voice said. "What's the matter?"

When Pietro opened his eyes again, he smiled. "I was hiding."

Johnny squeezed his hand, while Wanda kissed the top of his head and said, "We found you."

- - -

In the hallway, Logan was guarding the door. Erik was standing nearby, dying to go inside but forbidden entry by Wanda. As much as it pained him to acknowledge it, he knew that her death threat was not mere angry talk. If he ever came near Pietro again, he was quite confident that his daughter would cause him a great deal of harm. Craning his neck, he was able to see in through the little observation window in the door and see his son surrounded by the new family he had created for himself. It broke his heart.

"They don't need you anymore, Magnet," Logan smirked. "Don't know what you're stickin' around for."

"I'm waiting." Erik said distantly. "I have nothing else to do."

He had turned down Charles' sympathetic offer to stay in the Mansion. His friend had been quite insistent on it, but Erik could not bear to accept. He did have a home to return to, he reminded. He neglected to add that the home was empty. He had parted ways with Charles on guarded, guilty terms, burdened by the realization that in the eyes of the X-Men, he no longer had any power. He was just a sad, broken man trying to pick up the pieces of his mistakes— a depressing, undignified end to a legend.

"Get lost, bub," Logan was getting a bit more hostile. "You ain't welcome here no more."

The revelation of Erik's experiments had set Logan permanently against him; the victim has no love in his heart for the attacker. Logan had allied himself with his fellow sufferers, with Pietro and Johnny, and he was the one strong enough to take a stand against the man who stood for everything he hated. He would never forget the way Erik turned his back on his dying Acolyte, when the defibrillator was inches away and Magneto had sent it over to Pietro instead. It was a terrible decision in a situation where there could have been no correct choice, but Logan could not fathom how Erik had made that decision so quickly, so coldly.

For a stretch of time, however, it had seemed like that choice wouldn't have mattered at all. For a few horrible moments, it seemed like they had lost both of them. Pietro wasn't responding to the defib, and the CPR didn't seem to be helping Johnny. It was eerie, the way both of them seemed to staring at the same thing with their glassy eyes. In death, they were almost the same person.

But they weren't dead. Pietro suddenly surged to life, sucking in a long, painful breath, no longer flat-lining but now only unconscious, his eyes sliding closed as his head turned away from the sky he had been gazing at. McCoy had instantly scooped him up into his big arms and carried him quickly over to a bed to begin the transfusion. Everyone followed him in a frantic crowd.

Logan was alone with what he thought was a corpse, but he couldn't bring himself to stop compressions. He'd been so alone for so long, and the idea of his one kindred spirit dying like a dog on the cold floor was unbearably painful. He could hear himself begging the kid to wake up. He felt like an idiot.

But then Johnny was alive, his eyes wide with pain as he gasped for air, his hands clinging to the front of Logan's shirt in a desperate grip. He just hung there, panting, staring up at Logan in wonder, completely amazed that someone had gone through so much effort to save his miserable life.

Logan had said automatically, "Hey, kid, everything's gonna be okay."

And Johnny had answered weakly, "I do appreciate a good lie. Thanks for that, mate."

Now Logan stood in the hall and guarded the kids from the Bogeyman. He glared at Erik, hoping he would take the hint and scram, but the old man stood resolutely, waiting for something that even he probably didn't understand.

There was a creak of wheels, and then the door opened enough for Johnny to slowly maneuver his way into the hall. The door slid gently closed behind him. He was exhausted, closing his eyes and taking several deep breaths before beginning his laborious journey down the hallway. Looking up, he saw Erik at the end of hall and gave him a big grin.

"Hey, mate," he wheezed. "Give us a hand?"

He held up his arms, allowing Erik to reach out to the metal in the wheels and draw the chair towards him. Johnny rolled to a stop at Erik's feet and smiled up at him.

"Hey, kid," Logan said gruffly, ruffling Johnny's hair.

"Hey, buddy," Johnny grasped his hand gratefully. "I owe ya one."

"Not a problem, kid," Logan shook his head. "We're even."

Johnny turned his attention to Erik and said, "We heading home, now?"

Erik was stunned. He managed to say, "We?"

The boy nodded and said, "You and me."

Logan growled, "No way. This guy left you to die. You don't owe him nothing."

"He saved my life once," Johnny said calmly, still staring into Erik's eyes. "And he threw it away once. I owe him nothing and he owes me nothing. Now, are we going home?"

Frustrated, Logan tried again. "Kid, he's not worth it."

"I appreciate your advice, buddy," Johnny acknowledged, "But I have to disagree. He's very much worth it."

Erik felt his eyes burning with tears. His legs trembled. He felt too weak, too dizzy to stand. He leaned one hand against the wall to brace himself. Johnny held out his hand for his, but Erik could only stare at it, hesitating.

"I know he made a mistake," Johnny said quietly. "Because he didn't know what else to do. I know he can't let go of something he's already lost. I know he's very confused and sad and he doesn't want to be alone. And I figure..." He looked up at Erik with serious, intense eyes. "One of these days he's gonna realize that I'm the best investment he ever made."

"John..." Erik almost choked on the name. "I don't know what to do."

"I'm sick." Johnny said honestly. "And I need someone to take care of me. I want it to be you."

"Why me?"

"I told you once you were like a father to me. Were you even listening?"

Erik looked away, ashamed. "I wasn't ready to hear it."

"Are you ready now?"

Erik stared at the boy in amazement. In those four words, he had just been offered a second chance he thought he would never get. After falling through the void of self-loathing and despair for so long, the last person he had ever expected was reaching out a hand to pull him back to the light. He looked back towards the hospital room— the door was closed. He looked down at Johnny's hand— it was open and waiting for him to take it. He felt something deep within him trembling with great fear and great joy. It was like he had been living in a dark cave all his life, and he had just emerged to see daylight for the very first time.

He placed his hand in Johnny's and said, "I'm ready."

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