Standard disclaimer: I don't own them; I'm just borrowing them for our entertainment.

Rebirth and Awakenings


Chapter 1

"Charles, good to see you. How was your flight?" Agent Fred Duncan met his guests in the FBI Headquarters lobby and happily shook hands with the man in the wheelchair.

"The flight was very good," Professor Charles Xavier replied. "You remember Hank McCoy, one of my students." Hank McCoy looked like a linebacker (and in fact had had an impressive high school sports career) but Agent Duncan knew he also possessed a fine mind and, at the age of twenty five, had already racked up an MD and a PhD.

He ushered the two men up to his office and passed Professor Xavier a manila folder. "This is the kid I was telling you about. His name is Scott Summers and he'll be sixteen in a couple of months. Thankfully, he's been reasonably cooperative or I wouldn't have been able to put together this much." He let the other man skim the information for a few minutes.

Much of it was biographical information -- Scott had been orphaned at ten and hospitalized for a year for head injuries after the plane crash that took the lives of his parents. There had been a younger brother who had been adopted and disappeared through adoption confidentiality laws. After his release from hospital, social services had tried their best, but because Scott was older and had "brain damage" stamped in his file, he was never placed for adoption. The first group home he went to seemed to be a decent place and he was there for the longest period of time. But his mutation was beginning to manifest and he was soon back in the hospital for chronic migraines, the cause of which no one could diagnose. The downward spiral of Scott's condition was painfully obvious. Duncan had tracked a succession of group homes, foster homes, hospitals, and with increasing frequency, psychiatric wards. There was nothing to cover where he had been for the past two years.

Xavier turned the page and winced at a horrific photograph of the boy's lower back. He looked inquiringly at Agent Duncan.

Duncan knew what photograph he was looking at. He had children himself and the thought sickened him. "He's been beaten, but he wouldn't give us any details. All he'd say was that it happened about two years ago, which would have made him fourteen at the time. I found reports of a suspicious explosion at a psychiatric institution in Omaha. Scott had been a patient there and disappeared at the same time as the blast. The place was investigated later for abuse; it probably happened there."

Xavier sighed. After everything he had seen, brutality against children could still shock him. "And he's been on the streets and on the run ever since?"

Duncan nodded. "Like I said, he's not too chatty about it, but he seems to have gone city to city until he got to Washington. I found two more explosions similar to the one at the psychiatric institution during that time. One in St. Louis and another in Pittsburgh. And there's one more thing you should know." He hesitated.

"Yes?"

"There is evidence he's been sexually abused. It's even possible he was pulled into the sex trade; it happens a lot with runaways. The first doctor who examined him had us call in a specialist in child abuse cases, who confirmed it."

"What did Scott say about it?"

"Nothing. He can shut his mouth tighter than a clam if he doesn't want to talk. Hell, I've seen mob leaders spill their guts more than this kid has." Duncan took a deep breath and continued. "On the plus side, he's in good health and he doesn't appear to be into drugs. I asked him if he was a user and he told me he wasn't completely stupid." Duncan grinned in spite of himself. "I'm not exactly handing you a boy scout, Charles."

"I'm not exactly expecting one," Professor Xavier remarked. "How has he survived?"

"My guess would be from what little he *has* said, he'd stay in runaway shelters when he could, and hustled pool and resorted to petty theft when he couldn't. I know he's a talented little pickpocket. The second night he was here he stole my cell phone and called an auto garage in South-East, of all places. That was the only call he made and he was pretty slick getting the phone back in my pocket the next day. We traced the call and went to see the owner, a Mr. Ernest Reynolds, but he denies knowing Scott. Which is probably why Scott called him. He may have wanted to warn him."

"Can you blame him?" This was from Hank, who had been sitting in horrified silence at the story.

"Not really," Duncan conceded. "However, we got to the neighbors before Mr. Reynolds did and they confirmed someone resembling Scott being there; a white kid in that part of town is noticeable. Apparently, he stayed in the garage for the first couple of weeks, which at least beats living on the streets, and ended up in a room above the hairdressers next door. As far as I can tell, they seem to have liked him."

Professor Xavier continued perusing the file. They had measured the output from the boys eyes. Or tried to.

"Is this accurate?" he asked as he handed the paper over to Hank. He read it and whistled.

"It's as accurate as we could get before the equipment overheated. We took him to Aberdeen Proving Ground twice to make sure. Same results both times."

"And this?" Professor Xavier held up the results of a cat scan.

"We tried to see if there was something in his brain that would give us an idea of how he does it," Duncan explained. "But the only thing we saw was that dark patch there. Dead tissue. Old dead tissue. The doctors think it was the original plane crash injury."

"What's he like?" Professor Xavier asked as he handed back the file.

Duncan grinned again. "He's a teenager; what else can I say. His favorite word is "no." He can be a bit of a smart aleck, too, when he's not scared."

Professor Xavier returned the grin. "Where is he?"

"I've got him stashed at Walter Reed in a closed ward."

"In a hospital?" Hank asked "Is that safe? If he can do this kind of damage ... ?"

"Very safe," Duncan replied. "He's not going to cause any trouble. The kid's terrified of hurting someone. He knows he's in a hospital and he knows people will be hurt if he uses his powers to try to leave. He also knows he's in danger himself out on the streets. Apart from that phone call, he's made no attempt to leave or contact anyone."

"How many people know about him?" asked Professor Xavier.

"Just me, my people who have been watching him, the doctors that have seen him, and my assistant director -- about half a dozen people in all. We pulled all the records from the local police station where he was first brought in after the building explosion -- who were *not* happy about it -- and kept everything on a need-to-know basis internally. If you take him, he's free and clear and our files get lost for good."

Professor Xavier smiled. "When can I see him?"

* * *

Scott Summers sat by the window of his hospital room, shaking. He had been at the hospital now for over a month and he still shook uncontrollably. At least he wasn't crying at night anymore. He had suffered through two humiliating medical examinations (although the doctors had tried to be kind) and had been "tested" several times. He was treated almost like a weapon and Scott hated that.

But days of anxiety had given way to days of tedium. He almost welcomed the idea of being taken out and "tested" again -- just to break up the monotony. Other than being bored, Scott had to admit he was being treated decently, overall. He was fed regularly, he had a warm bed (even if it was in a hospital), he was clean, he had clean clothes to wear that more or less fit, and no one was actively trying to hurt him. It was better than anything he had experienced in a long while, his stay at Mr. Reynolds garage being the only exception. And if he rarely had someone to talk to -- the agents who watched him didn't seem to like small talk and Scott wasn't any good at it either -- well, those were just the breaks.

But there was still this nagging worry of what they would do with him in the end. Scott had been told by the FBI agents that they had blamed the explosion of the building -- the building *he* blew up -- on a faulty gas line. He touched the bandage that kept his eyes shut to assure himself it was still there. He wouldn't do it again. He was *not* a weapon and no one could turn him into one.

The door behind him opened. Scott turned towards the sound, surprised. It wasn't lunch time yet and lately, that was the only reason anyone came to his room. To feed him. Like an animal. A lab rat.

"Scott?" It was Agent Duncan. "I have a visitor for you." He murmured to the other person before leaving them together. Scott heard no other sounds, no one else in the room breathing. They were alone.

"My name is Professor Charles Xavier, Scott," the other man began. He had a slight British accent and Scott realized the voice was at his level, sitting down. He heard the soft squeak of wheels. Was the guy in a wheelchair?

The man continued. "I run a school in New York. For gifted students. Like you."

"Don't you mean freaks?" Scott's voice was bitter.

"No," Professor Xavier corrected calmly. "I mean students."

"So?"

"I'd like you to come with me. You have a very powerful gift. I'd like to help you with that."

"Gift?" Scott spat out. "I *blew up* a building. A whole fucking building! People got hurt. It's no gift. It's a curse." He turned back to the window.

"Right now, I'm sure it seems that way. But it doesn't have to stay that way. You might be able to learn to control it."

"Really?" Scott voice sounded dull and unconvinced.

Professor Xavier nodded although the boy couldn't see him do it. "Yes. I won't promise anything, but it might be possible. In any event, there might be artificial means to control it."

"What's the catch?" Scott hadn't spent two years on his own without developing an intense sense of self preservation.

"Unless you consider living in New York a "catch", there isn't one."

"Right," Scott drawled. He was silent for a moment before continuing. "They'd never let me out of here."

"In fact, it was Agent Duncan who told me about you." The boy's look of disbelief was almost laughable. "He doesn't want anyone else to find out about you. He doesn't want you turned into a weapon. I don't think you want that either."

The boy was silent again. Professor Xavier didn't need his telepathic abilities to know he was coming to a decision.

"When do we leave?" Scott asked.

* * *