Stoic by Eternity's Voice

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***

"No."

"Mr. Summers, you may have a concussion. We need to take a look at your eyes. I know it will hurt to open them, but it is necessary."

"No."

"We've dimmed the lights."

"No."

"Just drop the subject, Mr. Kramsh. He won't go blind in the next five minutes if he can see his eyelids with such little light shining through them. Help me with something important, like that piece of wood impaling his right leg."

It was strange how I could be in such pain -hanging onto my life by a thread, really- and still concentrate on keeping my eyes from being opened. Later, cloth and pads of some cool liquid were placed over them.

"This is just some bandages and ointment to bring down the swelling Scott. You should be able to open your eyes without any problems tomorrow morning. Goodnight."

"Thank you."

The doctor left, leaving the door open only a crack behind her. Outside, I overheard the assistant, Kramsh, speaking.

"I spoke with the anesthesiologist. The drugs we gave him work just fine. There's no reason why he shouldn't have fallen unconscious immediately and stayed that way all night and quite a bit of the morning."

"Mr. Summers did seem desperate to stay awake. He has a tremendous amount of will for such a young man. I suppose it does not matter that he didn't fall asleep, but that he will be fine and come out of this like nothing ever happened. Physically, anyway."

They walked out of my hearing range and I relaxed, letting the exhaustion take me.

.

The next morning, I fought tooth and nail -literally- to keep the doctors from checking my eyes. They decided it wasn't worth prying them open. I agreed. It wasn't worth their lives to see if my pupils were dilated or some other insignificant thing. Even then, it would be assuming I still had eyes. Lying in the hospital bed, I wondered why I had been so stupid. Anything that felt so gleeful at the thought of my pain wouldn't walk away without a serious catch.

Later, with closed eyes, I listened to the Story: a gas explosion. That was it. Somehow radon or some other gas collected in the attic, got trapped, and then blew up. It left me both a little guilty and relieved that I wasn't suspected. Kids like me couldn't afford to be labeled as destructive and dangerous, but it was my fault. In either case, that was the good news.

Bad news: my foster parents couldn't keep me. It was some combination of insurance and being unfit. I thought the unfit parent issue held more weight. An explosion going off, injuring your foster child within an inch of his life, would probably put you on the wrong foot with whoever was in charge of Fostering regulations. It really didn't matter why. It mattered that I was being sent back.

I didn't want to go back to the orphanage. It was nice and a good place, humanitarian and philanthropic. It looked good on your tax return to donate to the orphanage and it gave poor unfortunates a home. Despite all that, you could never forget what you were: an orphan. You were one of those poor unfortunates.

Little kids, they clung to any older person they could find. It wasn't always a literal thing; some wouldn't touch or be touched. I let those kick at me, scream. Or we had staring contests. I was the big, responsible one because they needed me to be.

In truth, I needed to kick and scream, get hugs and understanding gazes that lasted for hours. My family -my life- was dead. Why did I have to be the adult? Acting like the father, the big brother, reminded me of their death every day.

In foster, you could begin to forget -never all of it, but some. In the orphanage, I would always be an orphan.

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My drive to get better was gone. The longer I stayed in the hospital, the longer I stayed away from the orphanage. I could stay near Tim and Kara, maybe give them time to convince the government they made good parents. There was one problem with stopping concentrating on healing, however. I began to feel pain again, all too well. I was kept on painkillers for a week, but they didn't help. The only thing that lessened the hurt was to dig around my mind for Him and find nothing.

.

"Scott?"

"Doctor Mirna?"

"There's someone here to see you."

My heart leapt for joy, and perhaps I would have to, if I could move my legs.

"My parents?" I asked excitedly.

"I'm sorry Scott, but Mr. and Mrs. Ivern still aren't allowed to see you. Maybe it would be best if you went back to calling them by name, it doesn't look good."

"Oh." My eyes started to tear, the moisture sucked up by the bandages over my eyes.

"May I come in Mr. Summers?" a strong male voice asked.

"Yeah, sure."

A few seconds later he continued, "I have a proposition for you, Scott." It startled me to hear him next to me. I had heard no footsteps.

"What is it?"

"I know you don't have a strong desire to return to being a ward of the state. In fact, if I may be so bold, you seem to be delaying your return at all costs. I do have a solution that would benefit both of us, however."

"Which is?"

"I'm offering to become your legal guardian. If Tim Ivern can make the courts believe he and his wife are fit to take care you, I will give you up at once. If he cannot, which I am sorry to may be the case, I will be willing to raise you, let you visit them as often as you wish. In either case, you will stay out of the orphanage."

"Yes."

He laughed. "Don't be so quick to agree Scott, you don't even know who I am yet. Let me introduce myself. I am Professor Charles Xavier."

"So if I agree, you'll be my teacher?"

Again his chuckle filled the air. It was deep and sounded wise. "You are quite right, Mr. Summers, but not in the way you think. There are more things to teach than Mathematics and History."

"What sort of things?"

*The sort of things that people like us do, my boy.* I was so surprised I nearly forgot myself and opened my eyes. My hands clenched the arms of my wheelchair. Was this man -was it even a man- like Him, a presence in my mind? Was it Him?

*You've had experience with telepaths before?*

'Telepaths?'

*Yes, I'm a telekinetic, a mutant. I won't pry into your thoughts, but it is obvious that you've been victimized by one with fewer reservations about hurting people than I do. Why, I have no idea, but I would help you with that as well.*

'Why?'

*Because that is what's right to do. I feel like a father to you, Scott. Like me, you've been given a great gift, though you may consider it a curse. I certainly did when I started to hear others' thoughts. I know about your eyes, what they can do. I may be able to help you control that power; to turn it off if it is possible to do so. I may be able to help you see again.*

When the Professor offered to foster, possibly adopt me, it was going to parole from death row. When he said he might, just might, let me see again, it was from Hell to Heaven. When I agreed to go under Xavier's wing, he patted my shoulder, mentally putting into it all the feeling of a loving hug. I held his hand and then it didn't feel like Heaven anymore.

It was better.

It felt like Life.

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Confession time: The reason why the first chapters were so short is because they were one prologue at first, but I split it up to give me brainstorm time for the rest of the story. Oh, and to drive anyone crazy enough to read my work even more insane. The good news is that the prologue is complete now and the real story may begin. (Yeah, I'm real thrilled there). These chapters are bound to be longer, and include other characters. Jean, Rogue, killer Teletubbies, I've got it covered. Kidding, I would never subject fellow human beings to the horrors of Toddler World. It is my duty to keep my fiction from crossing over into NC- 02.

BYE, and Thank You for Reading.