Title: Strange Encounters                       

Date: 06/14/03

Author: Water-Soter

Summary: Scott looks up an address given to him on the streets, and soon finds himself in a place beyond anything he had ever imagined. 

Main Characters/Pairings:  Scott, Jean, Professor X, Bobby, Warren, Hank, Logan, Ororo.

Series:  The Road Home Book I Part 1

Author's Notes: Even though this story is an AU, some facts are taken from the various X-Men verses. This story is dedicated to Nadja for her kind words and support, and to Amber for her inspiration. Thank you both. Without you this wouldn't be posted. I want to thank my beta-god Tarch for his initial work on this fic and as always, my current beta Kris for working her magic on this. You so RULE! J

Feedback: Absolutely! I'm new at this, so please don't burn me at the stake. Nevertheless I will appreciate any comments or suggestions you have on this story J. Write to me at www.Water_Soter@yahoo.com

Disclaimer: These characters belong to Marvel comics and the almighty Stan Lee. It's free so please don't take the shirt of my back J.

Warning: this story contains violence and some foul language. So be warned, if you're easily offended, please don't read. Otherwise J be afraid, be very afraid . . . hee! ha ha ha ha  (diabolical laugh

           Squishy  thoughts          "Yummy"  spoken         Whoopee   telepathy

It was cold outside. The young boy in the train station felt the freezing wind on his back as it sent shivers through his much too thin frame. His light brown hair fell on his face and he absently pushed it to the side. His eyes were taped safely shut, hidden behind dark sunglasses. He held a white cane in his right hand and an old duffel bag in his left as he stood on the platform and waited for the train that would take him to Westchester.

He'd been blind – for all intents and purposes – since his mutant power manifested five years ago. Forced to leave his home, going from city to city in fear of persecution, but now, barely thirteen, he prepared to make another trip. Hopefully he was going to a place a bit safer than the dark alleys of New York City. If not, he'd stay at least until the worst of the winter had passes and he could hit the road again. It was last night when he had made his decision. 

He still felt uneasy about the whole thing, but he really needed a place to stay. These last few months had been the worst, most of the money he made had been taken by one "bully" or another. He barely had anything to eat most of the time, and his regular buildings were becoming more dangerous as a new gang emerged to creating an all out war as they tried to move in on the others territories. Even the cops seemed to be keeping a closer eye on things making hard for Scott to evade them. 

It was near seven-thirty in the evening when he arrived. At first he had hoped to find a motel and begin his search in the morning, but everything Scott could afford was full. It had started to snow and the cold had begun to numb his fingers. The sidewalk was slippery, and it  made his movements clumsy and slow.

It took young man nearly two hours to find the address; he could barely feel his limbs. He was freezing, but could bring himself to ring the doorbell. C'mon Summers, this isn't the time to wimp out. He thought and he unconsciously felt for the paper where the address was written on. Feeling it in his hands the memories of that night came back full force.

It had been a bad situation, the worst he had been in, in a while. He had made many mistakes, one of them was playing three on one. He had been cocky, young and stupid. He had won a lot of cash in that area recently and he got careless. Beating them was no problem, but he shouldn't have smiled afterwards, should have left when he heard the angry comments from the trio. Shouldn't have asked for another game but he was foolish and when he did leave, they followed him outside.

The first punch was a surprise. He hadn't expected them to come after him. The second knocked the air out of his lungs. "Stupid freak thinks he can make fools of us."

"Little shit's gonna get what's coming to him." He heard another one say as he was hauled off the ground and slammed painfully against the wall. He tried to get loose, panic and survival instincts overriding the rational part of his mind. He was a cornered animal and reacted as such. He really didn't remember clearly what happened next except that the hands that were holding him were suddenly gone. He heard screams but that only made him more frightened. One minute, two, and then silence.

Scott had gotten himself bundled in a small corner, waiting for whatever came next, not at all expecting a gruff voice to call out to him.

"Ya okay kid?" A man spoke, not the any of the ones that had been beaten him, this was a new voice.

The boy merely nodded, hoping the guy didn't have a thing for little kids.

There was silence again and then he heard footsteps coming his way. He was shaking, but tried to put on a bravado. The sound stopped just short of him then the man spoke again, "That's a pretty nasty bruise ya have."

He suddenly felt a hairy hand touch his cheek and sharply flinched away. "I ain't gonna hurt ya, kid, just here to help."

He didn't know what the man wanted, but he got the nerve to whisper, "Who are you?"

"Just call me Logan," the man said carefully. Maybe sensing some of the fear he felt. "Ya shouldn't be out here at this hour."

And despite himself, Scott snorted, panic quickly turning into anger. "Yeah, well . . . my Jag got a flat and I was waiting for my driver to pick me up," he answered bitterly while thinking, What does this guy know about it?

But the man, Logan merely sighed and put a piece of paper and some cash in his hand. "You want off, there's a place for people like us here." Like us, shit, did this man know about me? He thought shocked, but despite that he managed an indifferent, "Yeah, whatever," As he uncurled and carefully made his way away from the man running like hell as soon as he hit the sidewalk. 

Sighing, Scott rang the bell. For some strange reason, the memory made him angry, and very reckless, Whatever that guy meant by 'us', I'm not gonna play it safe. Shit! I don't care what they do to me, I'm so tired, I just wanna go. He thought as he ran a hand though his messy hair, breathing hard. His whole existence revolving around five simple words that came straight from a battered soul. I just wanna go home.

Inside the Mansion, Jean sighed as she put her coat on to walk outside to see who it was that had rung the bell. Do to a certain mad scientist, the electricity was out in the main gates needing manual handling to open or close. 'Jean, I simply cannot leave my experiment unattended' my ass. Hank just didn't want to freeze his butt out here, she thought bitterly as she opened the door to walk onto the frozen wasteland. Not even full blown winter and they had already gotten two inches of snow. "If it's the last thing I do, I'm going to get him for this."

Using her telekinetic powers to keep the cold air from hitting her directly, Jean carefully made her way through the white covered lawn to the a young man standing on the other side, wearing dark sun-glasses and holding a white cane in his right hand, blind without a doubt. He was visibly trembling from the cold, and his ragged clothes were worn thin, providing little protection from the unbearable cold. He was taller than her, but not by much. Dark brown hair that looked kept despite its greasiness. 

"Hello! May I help you?" She asked uncertainly, trying to get a reading on the young man.

"This guy named Logan told me to come here if I ever needed a place to stay," Scott stated simply, with an unnervingly blank expression.

Jean was somewhat rattled by the mention of Logan's name. He wasn't someone you just casually know, least of all have given this address.  

Let him in Jean, and bring him to my office,  the professor's mental voice rang in her head.

But professor . . . She tried, unsure of the wisdom of letting a complete stranger in their home.

Please allow him to enter before he freezes.  She could hear the professor's amusement.

Confused, she let the boy in at the professor's request. "Uh . . . do you . . . um, need a hand or . . .?" Jean asked nervously, unsure as how to offer help.

"No." The boy answered simple, as Jean tried to keep her temper under control. He was rude, but there was something behind it that she couldn't quite put her finger on. She moved toward the mansion slowly, letting the boy keep up. He was young, she could tell almost immediately, a few years younger than her and despite the baggy clothes, he looked like those children of India. All bones and skin with barely any meat on them. Sad, really. Then a sudden thought crept into her mind, as though she just realized that the boy came unaccompanied, Where're his parents? 

He really didn't know what he'd been expecting, maybe a halfway home or run down shelter, but every sense he had was showing a very different picture. It was warm, that was the only word to describe this place, warm and fresh and expensive. All smooth and clean. The smell of flowers and polish, scented candles and old furniture. Long and wide halls covered with rugs, footsteps and the house's constant shifting echoed in the large extended area. It was like nowhere he had ever been or thought he would be in his lifetime – no matter how long or short it would've be.

It was unnerving that anyone living in such a place would want street trash like him in their home, all the more adding to his anxiety. The man in the wheel chair – the sound of rubber giving it away – seemed kind. A slight British or English accent toned the gentle voice. He hadn't been demanding or an overbearing snob, just . . . nice. Introduced himself, the girl that let me in and welcomed him as though he were another student joining his flock. He hadn't known how to react to that, but was quickly lead to "his" room and not another

Now he sat on a bed that felt as though he were sitting on a cloud, in a room he had no business occupying. He couldn't believe they had let him stay, no matter what that man Logan had said and for a brief moment, panic had nearly made him leave before they did whatever they had planned for him. He couldn't believe they had let him stay and But then logic kicked in, that and the depression that had been plaguing him for months now. Where would he go that wasn't as bad as the places he had been in most of his life – at least that that he could remember –. There was no one, he had no one to care for or be taken cared of, not anymore. No friends, no family, he was alone.

What did it matter if he lived or died? Nothing they did to him could be worse than what he had been through on the streets. Listening intently to make sure he was alone, the boy laid down on the bed, letting the listlessness wash over him. For tonight, he was going to sleep in a warm bed with clean sheets and nothing else mattered beyond that.

Tum! Tum! Tum! . . . To be continued J.