Disclaimer: (I just noticed I didn't have one of these in the fic.) Todd, Lance, Pietro, Fred, Rogue, Professor X, Storm, and Logan, not mine. Everybody else, MINE!!!! (*rolls eyes* Not that anyone would want them.)

A/N - *spotlight shines on a single figure standing at a microphone* Um, hello everyone. *gives a nervous little wave* As you might of noticed, I kind of disappeared for a while. Two months, in fact. *grins sheepishly* It's NOT my fault. *mutters about stupid, crappy internet services that decide to no longer service your area* But it's all good now!!!!!!

Anyway.

While writing the Ch. 6 that actually had something to do with the plot line, I suddenly became inexplicably, uncontrollably FURIOUS with Prof. X and I wanted to make him PAY for what he did!!! Therefore, this chapter was born.

Other factors were vital in the conception of this ch.6. One was a line in a review by blackskye. Xavier's a TELEPATH he should be able to SEE what his cowardice spawned. And ya know what? YOU'RE ABSOLUTLY CORRECT!!!!!!!!!!!!!

The second factor was that I noticed in the summary of Bruder Nicht Mehr, I said, and I quote, " the scars left upon their souls by horrifying pasts." SOOOOOOOOO, I have to show their horrifying pasts. Right? RIGHT?

Okay, that said, LET THE ANGSTY TORTURE-XAVIER-BY-MAKING-HIM-SO-GUILTY-HE WANTS-TO-KNEEL-OVER-AND-DIE FEST BEGIN!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!


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^ These thingies signify a memory ^

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Bruder Nicht Mehr- Memory Lane, Part 1
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That evening...

Professor Xavier sat at his desk, lost in thought. After Rogue's outburst that afternoon, he'd retreated to his study, mulling over her words. She had been obviously appalled at his course of action and to be truthful, Xavier was really beginning to regret what he'd done. Although he did feel as if Rogue had been slightly exaggerating how abhorrent foster homes were. But then again, he wouldn't know. Like she'd pointed out, Charles had never been in one. Neither had the rest of the x-men. Charles sighed. He needed to find out the truth. And only knew one way to do so. He didn't want to do it; invading people's privacy like that was something he always felt guilty for. But it was the only way to find out the truth about the former members of the Brotherhood.

Xavier concentrated and slowly reached out, sensing and focusing on each of the four at once. He entered their minds slowly, gently, so to remain discreet and not alert them to his presence. Avalanche, Blob, Toad, and Quicksilver. Lance, Fred, Todd, and Pietro.

Xavier slipped farther in, taking notice of each boy's emotions. He could feel the overwhelming fear and desolation coming from the small one, Todd. The anger and frustration from Lance, Pietro's depression and growing hate for everyone and everything. The way Fred tried to remain indifferent, but was unable to suppress the loneliness that was growing inside. Charles formed a separate link to each of the boy's minds, making it slightly easier to process the thick emotions and jumbled images. That done, he opened the first link and submerged himself in the thoughts and memories of the young man known as Lance Alvers.

At first all he could see was red. A bloody haze of anger tinted Lance's memories, obscuring them. Xavier made his way through the scarlet fog until he came upon one of the clearer images. He cleared away some of the red mist surrounding the memory, much the same as you would blow dust from an old book. Before him the memory came in to focus, allowing Charles to see what it was. It was the day Lance's powers emerged.

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Cincinnati, Ohio
Three years ago...

The crystal vase flew through the air, narrowly missing Mr. Alvers and smashed against the wall. It was thrown by his sobbing wife who was in the process of screaming her hurt and betrayal at him. " I hate you! Do you hear me? I HATE you. How could you, John? How COULD you! After all I've done for you, all I've given up for you and your dream! How do you repay me? You have an affair with that tramp secretary of yours! After all I've done for you! I hate you!" A moment later, a lamp met the same fate as the vase.

Lance Alvers watched the scene from his bedroom doorway, cringing as his father started to shout back at his mother, saying that she was the one who drove him to it. His mom responded with a long line of obscenities and another crash was heard. Then Lance heard the words he'd come to fear over the past few years. The words he dreaded hearing every time his parents fought.

"That's it, John! I'm leaving you! I never want to see your cheating face again!" Lance shut his eyes as tight as he could, trying to remain calm. He couldn't take much more of this. He opened his eyes again just it time to see his mother slap his father. This triggered another onslaught of accusations and curses. Suddenly, an intense anger and hate arose inside of Lance. He was sick of this. Sick of the fighting and the yelling. Sick of cleaning up the broken glass that always littered the floor after their fights. Sick of having to listen to each of his parents complain about the other to him. All he wanted was for it to stop. Now.

"STOP IT!" he screamed. He was ignored. "Stop it, stop it, stop it!" Lance's fury grew to the point where he could no longer see. Lance screamed in agony as a sudden, white-hot spurt pain erupted behind his eyes. He clutched his head in his hands, eyes shut tight, wishing for the blinding headache to subside. Lance was so focused on trying to make the pain stop that he didn't notice as the ground began to shake. His parents' argument ceased as they tried to remain standing on the quaking floor. As Lance's headache intensified, so did the shaking. Lance's mother shrieked as the cupboards flew open and dishes spilled out, shattering on the linoleum. Pictures fell from the wall and smashed on the bare floor, slivers of glass skittering across wooden planks.

Lance was surrounded by the sounds of shattering glass and his mother's cries. He could smell the sickly sweet scent of his mom's spilled perfume and his father's musky aftershave. Another round of pain sent him to his knees, shaking. He felt the pieces of glass cut through his jeans and into his knees. The new pain in his legs diverted his attention from the throbbing agony in his head. Mind slightly cleared, Lance cautiously opened his eyes, only to witness utter chaos around him. A low groan and cracking noise sent his dazed attention to the floor, watching with a detached sense of dread as it began to split in half. As darkness began to creep into his blurred vision, Lance, suddenly tired, collapsed face first on the cracked floor, heedless of the broken glass cutting into his skin.

The last thing he heard before he blacked out was his mother's agonized screams.

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Xavier watched the horrible memory with a growing sympathy for the young man. The apartment building that Lance had lived in had collapsed. Out of one hundred and fifty two people, five survived, Lance among them. The tragic event was reported to be caused by a freak earthquake, which was, in a sense, true, but Lance knew something they didn't. He knew he'd caused it.

The emergence of his powers had caused his parents' death.

Turning away form the pain-filled memory, Charles sifted through Lance's other remembrances, most of them unclear and brief, like faded snapshots. He saw the drastic changes Lance went through as he moved from foster family to foster family. How he retreated inside himself, building up walls around his heart and soul. How he'd suppressed every emotion except anger and hate, only spoke when it was to make a snide remark or cruel taunt. He'd thought that, by causing others pain and alienating himself from his emotions, he'd be free of having to deal with anything besides the constant anger he'd come to know. And in a sense it worked. Lance cared for no one and no one cared for him. His heart turned to stone. He became cold, unforgiving. Untouchable.

Then, something changed.

As Charles approached Lance's more recent memories, he was surprised to notice a lack of red. These images were clearer and had a more content aura surrounding them. Getting closer to one of the memories, Charles reached out and touched the image, causing it to play for him.

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Bayville, New York
1:45 a.m.
Six months ago...

Lance stumbled down the stairs, trying not fall in the darkness. He woken up in the middle of the night and, after an hour of unsuccessfully trying fall back asleep, decided to come down and get a glass of water. As he reached the bottom of the steps, Lance saw the flickering lights of the TV coming from the living room. He crept into the room silently, curious to see who else was up besides him. "Todd?"

The smaller boy jumped at the sudden voice and glared at Lance. "Don't do that!" Lance grinned and sat down on the couch next to him. "What are you watching?" he asked. Todd sighed and gestured to the TV screen. "I couldn't sleep either, yo. So, I came downstairs and turned on the news and... and they were doing this 'special report'. Listen." Todd reached over and turned up the volume slightly, allowing Lance to hear the end of the news report.

* -was reported that the majority of the Senate strongly feels that the mutant phenomena has grown to the point where toleration of any kind is out of the question. Senator Joseph Westing of Texas was heard to say that the Senate, and the American public are finally realizing the threat that mutants pose to the human race. And that mankind needs to take up the responsibility of preserving our race and vote for mutant registration. More on that tomorrow. See you then and remember, 'Fox News is news that you can count on.' Good ni-*

Lance grabbed the remote and muted the television, cutting of the suddenly warm and friendly voice of the female news reporter. After a moment, he glanced at Todd, whose pale face was eerily illuminated by the screen's flashing lights and colors. "Todd? You okay?" Todd nodded, not looking at him, but Lance knew he was lying. These kinds of reports had been appearing more and more since the Mutant Registration bill had been brought up. He was beginning to hear of mutants suddenly disappearing and mass slaughtering of mutants in other countries. Lance had seen the many surveys asking the American public what should be done about mutants. 85% had said mutants should be exterminated. To be truthful, it scared the hell out of him.

Lance shook his head sadly. He reached over and laid a hand on Todd's shoulder, noticing he was shaking. "Todd?" The younger mutant slowly turned to look at him and Lance could see the fear in his eyes. "I just...what if they find out we're mutants? What if those 'Friends of Humanity' people find out about us? They'd probably kill us, yo. I mean, Mystique and Magneto would...I don't know. It's so stupid. We never did anything to them, yo. Why don't they just leave us alone?" Lance sighed. "I don't know why, man. But I do know they're never gonna get us. We won't let 'em." Todd nodded, looking a little relieved. Lance squeezed his shoulder reassuringly, then dropped his hand.

Lance broke the silence a moment later. "What else is on?" Todd glanced over at him and shrugged. " I dunno." Lance clicked through the few channels they had until he landed on the opening credits of the early 1930's comedy 'A Day at the Races', starring the Marx Brothers. "This okay?" he asked. Todd nodded and they both settled back to watch the witty dialogue and clever antics of Groucho, Chico, and Harpo, fears temporarily put aside. Soon, both boys were asleep.
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Lance's fellow teammates had, unknowingly, saved him from himself. They had, just by being there, slowly, gradually, disintegrated the tight shield Lance had kept around himself since his powers appeared, allowing him to feel again. After a while, it seemed as if they were no longer the Brotherhood, mutants fighting to take over the world, but instead four teenage guys that had become one another's only family.

Lance was presently sleeping and mental shields blocked Charles from Lance's most recent recollections. Slightly disappointed, Charles looked at a few more of the memories, then slowly pulled out of the rock-tumbler's mind, briefly wondering why recent occurrences were blocked off but past ones were not. Guilt, like a black, cold liquid, began to seep through him as he broke off the link, but he pushed his feelings aside for the moment and focused on the next young man.

Taking the mental equivalent of a deep breath, Charles slipped into the mind of the speed-demon known as Pietro Maximoff.

The difference between Lance's mind and Pietro's was drastic. There was no angry red haze blanketing everything. No scattered images, barely remembered. Pietro's memories were ordered and clear, streamlined and in focus. He either recalled things completely or not at all. Rarely did Charles encounter such an uncluttered mind. In fact, the *only* time he'd seen memories so strongly preserved was in the mind of Eric Lensherr. Charles wondered briefly at that, then pushed his thoughts away and concentrated on the images before him.

Suddenly, one began to play.

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New York City, New York
Three years ago...

Pietro Maximoff ran through the living room, grabbing his basketball on his way. He opened the front door and hesitated, turning and shouting, "Mom! I'm going out to play basketball for a while, 'kay?" He waited for a reply impatiently. "Mom?"

He closed the door and jogged into the kitchen. Pietro saw his Mom sitting at the table with his Dad, looking nervous and like she was about to cry. "Mom? What's wrong? What...?" Pietro's dad gestured one of the chairs. "Pietro...sit down. We need to talk to you. It's important."

Pietro sat down warily, looking back and forth to each of his parents. He had a feeling he wasn't going to like this. "What is it?" His Mom took a shaky breath and turned her sad gaze on him. "T-there's no easy way to say this..." she stammered, looking back down at her hands. "Pietro, your father and I...We think you should know..." she broke off suddenly, crying. Mr. Maximoff rested a hand on his wife's hand and sighed.

"Pietro...you were adopted."

Pietro jerked back as if he'd been slapped. " I...what? You mean...you mean you're not my parents?" They nodded slowly. Pietro stared at them, deathly pale. "How could you...why did you wait until now to tell me?" His mother, no not his mother, looked at him pleadingly. "Pietro, we never would have told you if we didn't have to. But we had to tell you. We had to warn you about- " she was cut off as Pietro's chair scraped back across the floor. He stood quickly and started to back away from the table, shaking his head. "No. I don't want to hear it. I..." his voice cracked, "I just need to get out of here." With those words he turned and ran, dropping his basketball to the floor and ignoring the shouts of the two people he'd once known as mother and father.

As Pietro flew through the front door and out into the streets, he tried to remain focused on nothing but running. He channeled all his hurt and betrayal and sadness into his will to run faster, to get as far away from his house as he could.

He heard shouting behind him, but he ignored it; kept on running. Hurt and pain coursed through his veins, followed by confusion and doubt. A small voice in his head hissed that he was being stupid, illogical, that he should go back. He promptly told the voice to shove it; they didn't care about him. They didn't even have the guts to tell him till now.

They thought you'd take it hard and bad, the voice shot back. And, surprise, surprise, you did. Pietro shook his head trying to clear it. 'Okay, let's just say they do love me. My REAL family obviously didn't. I don't even know who they are. Why didn't they want me?' At the last thought, Pietro speed up, trying to out-run his pain and confusion. If he could just run fast enough, he could leave it all behind.

And suddenly, something snapped.

It was as if a gate had been opened to him, allowing a flood of incredible energy to flow through him, into his veins. Like hundreds of great weights that had been on him his whole life were suddenly lifted, causing him to fly. He felt on fire, like he couldn't stop running, or even moving, if he tried. His surroundings became a blur, a smear of color and light, no longer recognizable. He'd never felt anything like this before.

Thoughts, memories, emotions, song lyrics, ideas, epiphanies, commercial jingles all sped through Pietro's mind on fast-forward. The little voice in his head became tinny, like a chipmunk, and starting babbling about finding a logical explanation for why Pietro was moving faster than a jet plane that was flying a Mach 3 and being piloted by a madman on Speed.

Part of him began to panic. At the moment, he felt there was no way his body would even consider slowing down; something just kept screaming for him to go faster. The other part wanted to speed up, loving the thrill and exhilaration. But he knew he had to stop. He promised himself that once he stopped and figured out what had happened, then he could run as fast as he wanted, for as long as he wanted. That done, he started to lay on the brakes.

Instead of focusing on going fast, he concentrated on slowing down. After what seemed like an eternity, he finally stopped. Even then he began to bounce up and down, hopping from foot to foot, unable to stop moving even for a second. He looked around him, feeling the panic grow as he realized he was, at the moment, standing on the side of a completely unfamiliar highway. He noticed a road sign several dozen yards away and squinted at it, hoping for a clue to where in New York he might be. Pietro's jaw dropped in shock as he read the signs bold, white lettering.

Welcome to Philadelphia.
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Charles shook his head as the memory faded out. In a sense, the emergence of Pietro's powers hadn't been too traumatic. It had been frightening for the young man in the same way it was frightening when you rode a roller coaster for the first time. Terrifying, but thrilling. But the events that had followed had been truly horrific.

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Pietro had hitchhiked his way home, intent on going back to his 'parents' and talking to them, telling them about what had happened. Telling them that he didn't want to lose them even if they weren't his real parents, and finding *who* his real parents were. Why they'd given him up. And finding out what they needed to warn him about.

When Pietro arrived, he quickly walked into his house. It was eerily silent. Pietro made his way around the house and came to an abrupt halt when he saw something that made his blood run cold. A trail of blood was smeared across the floor's wooden planks, leading down the hall, around the corner and into the living room. Pietro sped into the living room, heart hammering in his chest. When he saw what was there, he fought not to throw up.

His 'parents' were lying sprawled on the living room floor, their throats slit. The room was in a shambles around him, furniture smashed, blood staining the floor like some sick, gory painting. Horrified, Pietro fell to his knees beside the two people he loved most in the world, staring at their cold, stiff bodies in shock. 'Who could have done this? And why?' At that thought, the overwhelming guilt, sadness, and disgust he felt was temporarily replaced by an intense anger. Unable to look at the destruction and carnage any longer, Pietro stood and whirled around, intent on leaving and finding the sick psychos who'd done this...and making them pay.

He came face to chest with a tall, white-haired man.

"Hello, Pietro."

Pietro quickly stepped back from the man, asking, "Who are you? How do you know my name?" Instead of answering Pietro's questions, the strange man gestured to the still bodies. "That is the work of prejudice. Of intolerance. Humans that believe anything different is beneath them and should be eliminated." Pietro shook his head, confused. "What are you talking about?"

"You're a mutant, Pietro. As am I. Others saw you this morning who are violently intolerant towards our kind. The couldn't catch you, so they came to take care of your adoptive parents, believing they were mutants as well." Pietro stood in shock for a few moments, then slowly fell to his knees, face deathly pale, whispering a mantra of "Oh my God, oh my God..." and "It's my fault." The white-haired man gazed down at his shaking frame for a moment, then turned to leave, murmuring over his shoulder, "I will return for you when you're ready, Pietro. Until then."

"Until then."
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Charles felt sick as he realized what Magneto had done. To insure Pietro's hatred towards humankind, Magneto had killed the boy's parents, then told him normal people had committed the act, tricking him, swaying him towards his path a year before he'd even invited the young man to join him. And Pietro had never realized it.

Xavier, shocked and disgusted by his old friend, moved on to another memory.

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Bayville, New York
6:00 a.m.
One year ago...


Pietro lay sprawled on the kitchen floor, head lolling to the side, eyes unfocused and staring at nothing. 'Whoever decided school should start this early in the morning should die. Slowly. On second thought, whoever invented school in the first place should die. Then again, they were probably the same guy. ' Pietro snorted and quickly decided it was too early to be philosophical. He'd never felt this tired in his life. Lack of energy was never really a problem for the speed-demon. This morning, however, it was.

He watched as a half-awake Todd stumbled into the room, rubbing at his eyes. Not seeing Pietro, Todd kept on walking and wound up tripping over the young man's legs, falling in a heap to the floor. Once down, he didn't move.

"Todd?" Pietro asked, his voice thick with exhaustion. "You dead?" "Yeah..." came the slurred reply. Pietro returned his dazed attention towards the doorway, waiting for the house other two residents to show up. A series of loud thumps and a muffled groan announced Lance's arrival downstairs. Pietro grinned faintly. Served Lance right for last night. The dark-haired boys shuffled into the kitchen, limping slightly, stepped over Pietro, fell into a chair, and collapsed face first on the table, muttering about the 'stupid stairs' and 'stupid mornings' and...'stupidness' in general.

Pietro rolled his eyes at his friends complaining and turned back to the doorway. A few moments later, Fred entered the kitchen, looking well rested and chipper, and whistling. Pietro lifted his head just enough to effectively stare at Fred, eyes wide and mouth hanging open. "Oh. My. God."

Fred glanced down at Pietro, the confusion obvious on his face. "Why are you on the floor?" he asked, his voice laced with puzzlement. "Why are you acting...", he couldn't bring himself to speak any of the horrible words that crossed his mind,"...like...you are?" Pietro asked back. Fred shook his head and sat down in the chair across from Lance. "I slept really well last. The best I've slept in years. Now, why are you on the floor?"

Pietro stared at Fred incredously for a moment, then propped himself up on his elbows, deciding he might as well just answer the guy. "Because Freddy," he drawled. "Some of us didn't get a goodnight's sleep. Some of us were kept up ALL NIGHT because SOMEONE's alarm went off at TWO IN THE MORNING and would NOT SHUT UP." He glared pointedly at Lance. "Not my fault." He heard him mumble. Pietro shook his head. 'Whatever.' He thought, collapsing back onto the linoleum. A few moments later, Fred spoke up. "If you guys are so tired, maybe you should just skip today and sleep."

Lance thrust a finger lazily into the air. "Excellent idea." As soon as the words were out of his mouth, his arm fell to the table with a thump and he was instantly asleep. Pietro let out a short, hysterical giggle at the sight. 'And I thought *I* was tired.' He watched Freddy stare at him strangely, then shake his head, stand, grab Lance's keys and leave.

A few moments later, Pietro pulled himself to his feet, grumbling softly. His little conversation with Fred had cost him his half-awake state. He stared at Lance, then Todd, who was lying in a state of blissful unconsciousness on the floor. He eyed their positions for a moment, thinking. 'That can't be comfortable.' Sighing, he shuffled over to Todd, picked the small boy up with relative ease and carried him into the living room and sat him on the recliner. Then gathering up his energy, he returned for Lance. As he lifted the tall boy's limp body, he let out an 'oomph!'. 'God Lance. You're HEAVY!'

He struggled to carry his friend to the couch and dropped him unceremoniously on the cushions when he reached it. He collapsed next to Lance, suddenly tired. Casting a half-lidded gaze over their strangely peaceful bodies, Pietro grinned faintly. "You guys are lucky I care." He said to the silence.

Suddenly, the smile vanished.

Pietro's eyes widened as he realized what he'd just said. The words replayed themselves over and over in his mind as his panic and astonishment grew. 'Oh God...I care. When did this happen? This wasn't supposed to happen.' Pietro's eyes darted to his sleeping friends.'I care.' He took a deep breath then let it out slowly. Pietro bit his lip, thinking. 'Maybe...it won't be like last time. Maybe it's okay to care.' Satisfied for now, but doubt still lingering in the back of his mind, Pietro closed his eyes and whispered, "Night guys."

With those words, he was asleep.

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The guilt was deeper now.

Charles had never felt so horrible in his life. And he knew this was just the beginning.

The other two minds still awaited.
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To be continued...
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So, that's the first part. Todd and Fred's pasts'll come in the next part (and I swear this one won't take as long) and *then* I'm gonna finish this thing!!!! I SWEAR!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

So, what'd ya think? REVIEW!!!!!!!!!! PLEASE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

P.S. Anyone have any suggestions or ideas for Fred's past?

P.P.S. Aren't you all so proud of me? This was 11 pages!!!!!!!! That's the longest chapter I've EVER written. Christ it was hard!!!!!