Author's Note: Whoo hoo, you're still here. I guess that means you're giving me another chance. Glad to hear it! I hope you like this chapter. A plot will start to develop...soon...I promise lol. Keep reading and thanks!

Chapter 1

"One day I want to come in here and hear you say to me that you've got a girlfriend, Pietro. You're too sweet and handsome a boy to be single. Why, if I was your age, I'd scoop you up and have you proposing at graduation."

Pietro Maximoff smiled kindly at the older woman, taking her soft wrinkled hand into his own, "What makes you think you'd have to be my age for me to propose to you, huh, Miss Pearl? You're beautiful enough as it is; what more could I want?"

Miss Pearl laughed, her watery blue eyes smiling. Patting his hand in hers, "I bet you said that to Sharon too."

Pietro's eyes widened innocently, his face a mask of mock injury, "Miss Pearl! Are you accusing me of being insincere?"

"You, my darling, are full of shit."

They chuckled. "Maybe so, but I know you still love me."

"Who wouldn't?" she tucked her purchases into her large purse. "Take care, dear, and mind you bring me your next report card. Sally and Mae are always going on about how smart you are, but I won't know how much cash to give you if I can't count those A's myself."

Pietro raised an eyebrow and shook his head, "See ya later Miss P." He closed the cash register and leaned on the counter to watch and make sure she got to her car all right.

"Pietro, I'm going to close shop tonight. Go on and take that order to Elena, before it gets dark, honey," a light voice called to him from across the store.

"Alright Aunt Mae; see ya Aunt Sal," he removed his backpack from the shelf beneath the counter and then slipped the small brown paper-wrapped books into it. The sky was just starting to take on a pinkish tint, signaling the end of the day. He turned back to wave to his "aunts" through the bookstore's picture window, rolling his eyes as they both blew different variations of kisses at him.

The bookstore was personally owned by the two women who'd "adopted" him since the first day he'd discovered the shop, a week after his arrival in Bayville. He loved to read and with his inhuman speed he could devour a book in minutes. He preferred classics to the new stuff being released though, and had searched the town for a decent half priced bookstore. Books For Less was small and made virtually no profit, but had been Pietro's dream come true. In there, he'd found the original version of The Never Ending Story and good and bad Shakespeare quartos alike. So amused by his enthusiasm, the ladies invited him back the next day to have a book chat with them. Within days he'd been taken into the strange but loving old family of the antique bookstore.

Books For Less had regular customers, all over 55, retired, and mostly single women, who met regularly on Saturdays for book chats and tea. Then they had the occasional newcomer, sometimes they were inducted into the book society and sometimes not. Pietro found himself the youngest, and most "precious" new initiate. He returned to the store everyday, slowing himself down enough to choose one book, and spend an afternoon reading it while keeping Sally and Mae company.

Sometimes he'd helped out around the store, stocking shelves, and doing handiwork. After two weeks of all the free labor, Sally and Mae offered him an after school job. The store didn't bring in much money, but the two older ladies had their own funds and mostly paid him out of pocket. If he hadn't needed the money, he would have declined. He liked helping them because....well because they were nice to him. He liked the old women that hung around the store, and he was often invited to come visit their homes on the weekends and had his fill of homemade culinary delights made especially for him.

He kicked it into high gear once he was out of the view of the store window. His "Aunt" Elena, a tiny Romani woman, lived on the other side of town, and there was no way he was moving at snail speed to go that far. He slowed when he reached her large white wood porch and knelt to scratch her cat, Mathilda's, chin. The porch creaked a bit under his weight, and he made note of that. He'd offer to fix it when he had some free time. He smiled at the rocking chairs with the checkered cushion and the small table with a forgotten crossword puzzle spread across it. He knocked on the door lightly, after opening the screen door. Aunt Elena answered after the second knock and beamed at him spreading her arms for him to give her a brief hug. He had to lean over a bit to plant a small kiss on her check. The woman was nearly a head shorter than him. "Pietro! You've brought my books! Come in, come in; you're letting in the mosquitos."

He entered and shut the heavy wooden door behind him. The room was lit by many colorful antique lamps rather than a main light. He followed her through the landing into the living room, where he was always amazed at the sheer amount of decoration the woman was able to squeeze into the room without it looking tacky. All of the heavy dark wood furniture was covered with lace and doilies, lined with pictures of smiling or solemn relatives, and knickknacks from this country and that. He set his bag on the floor and removed the brown package, handing it to her as she reentered the room holding out a glass of room temperature lemonade, no ice. He thanked her and had a seat as she opened her package and examined her new/old books.

He sank back into the plush chair, relishing the time spent in such a comforting environment, for he knew in a little while he would have to return home. He gazed at woman as she cooed her pleasure in Romanian. "How is school, Pietro?"

"It's going pretty well, Matusa."

"You look tired; are you sleeping enough?"

"I sleep ok."

"Eating well?"

"Oh yeah," Pietro grinned lazily, he ate more than a healthy horse usually. Being Quicksilver came at a price; he had to constantly refuel to keep himself at optimal condition.

Aunt Elena was frowning, leaning forward to touch his brow, she said, "You are too pale and too skinny." Her words were brief and to the point, "Where you live...this foster place, this woman, Darkholme, does not take very good care of you. You are not happy there."

Pietro sighed, knowing where the conversation was going, for it had been there many times before. Elena Parnova wanted Pietro to live with her. She was old and lonely, having a young boy around the house to help out and keep her company would be to her advantage. She was also a Roma of the same tribe Pietro was, Sinte, so they spoke the same dialect of Romanes and also the common tongue of Romanian. She felt a sort of responsibility to him. Then, there was the fact that Pietro couldn't deny: she genuinely cared about him. He wanted to agree to her offer more than he'd ever let her know. In her home, he would flourish. The environment was stable, loving, and he wouldn't have to worry about where his next meal was coming from. He'd be away from...

"I'm alright Matusa," Pietro said softly, rising slowly. He pressed another kiss against her cheek in parting. "Don't worry about me."

He let himself out, pausing on the porch to speedily fill in the empty blanks left on the crossword puzzle before taking off again.

If he moved out of the Boarding House and stayed with Aunt Elena, he's be away from his father. A man he should by all means hate, but he just couldn't. As much as he liked to pretend and put up fronts of nonchalance, it wasn't in him to hate. He stood on the broken porch of the large house he shared with his 3 teammates and "brothers." All any of them had was each other, if he moved out he'd be away from his father, but he'd also hurt his friends beyond repair.

He opened the unlocked front door and stepped in. He chose not to alert anyone to his presence by announcing his arrival. He set his book bag down and ventured into the kitchen to see what they had to eat.

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Fred Dukes added more water to the pan of tomato sauce to make it stretch further, and turned the fire down beneath it as small bubbles rose to the surface of the red goo. Spaghetti was a common dish in the Boarding House, ingredients were cheap, it was easy to make, and no one could complain about not liking it. He poured in more salt and pepper, and turned his attention back to the boiling noodles. He'd used half a whole package that time, and was silently trying to assure himself that Lance wouldn't get that angry when he found out. They would have to eventually eat it anyway, after all. It was just when food was already prepared it was easier not to limit yourself, and eat it all up. That was when Lance started enforcing that they cook in daily rations.

Lance had been doing a lot of enforcing lately. Ever since Mystique vanished, Lance had dubbed himself head of the household, just because he was oldest. Fred would have complained more, but Lance was also the only one with a steady real paying job. His money went towards bills and groceries, so everyone figured he should have say on when lights where to be turned on or off, and what was to be eaten or not. Pietro had a job, but it was only for a few hours after school and some weekends. He didn't bring in much cash, and Lance always insisted he use it on himself. Todd probably could have gotten a job too, but Lance forbid it; said he didn't need anymore reasons to flunk out of algebra.

Now Lance was on his case about getting a job, and Fred did feel like a freeloader, but looking as he did, it was hard for places to even consider hiring him. He was too large and too clumsy, and he refused to go back to being in freak shows for money. He smelled smoke; oh no...the hamburger meat! He'd forgotten all about it!

"Watch it Freddy; you'll-set-your-big-ass-on-fire," suddenly Pietro was beside him with an oven mitt lifting the smoking skillet from the stove and rushing it over to the sink to put out the flames.

Fred blushed in embarrassment. He just couldn't do anything right, and it seemed the others were always around to see that. "Well, I think this is done." Pietro was frowning into the sink. He whipped around and smiled at Fred teasingly, "Look on the bright side, at-least-we-know-no-one-will-get-bacterial-food-poisoning-from-undercooked-meat."

"I ruin everything," Fred grumbled.

"Hey, you do not.... uh...ok, well... You don't mean to," Pietro looked to be at a loss for words; a strange expression for him. "Uh...hey, it's salvageable. Not all of it's burnt, and you and me eat just about anything anyway... We could separate all of this into burned and slightly singed piles and give the slightly singed to Lance and Todd, and we eat the rest."

"There's more burned than anything, I bet."

"Then more for us!" Pietro looked victorious , and got to work on his plan, "Hey- pay-attention-to-the-noodles-man; those go wrong and there ain't nothing we can do to fix em'."

"Yeah," Fred turned back to the sauce and noodles stirring one or the other occasionally. He was glad Pietro had turned up when he did. Though the quick moving younger teen made him nervous with his fast-talk, large vocabulary, and eery manner of appearing right in front of or beside someone with no warning, he had some nicer qualities that comforted Fred at times. Sometimes, when in a good mood, as he usually was when he returned home from the bookstore, he was kind to Fred, helping him out, and assuring him he wasn't as dumb and clumsy as he looked and acted at times. He removed the sauce from the fire and turned the heat down on noodles.

"How was work?"

"Great, got a new shipment of cool old stuff. I get to go through it all tomorrow and figure out what should be offered to the public, what is too precious to part with, and what's junk. Can't wait. Oh...Miss Martha is making gingerbread again; she said she'd bring me two loaves."

Fred licked his lips, dreaming of the sweet, spicy dessert melting in his mouth. He glanced back at his slender friend, who was setting the small kitchen table while humming to himself. He hated how the boy could eat almost as much as he could and not gain a pound. They were literally genetic opposites, Fred's mutation made him hungry all the time and gain weight, even if he didn't eat, and Pietro's kept him starving, but for every pound Fred picked up, he lost.

"Hey what's burnin' in here, yo?" Todd Tolensky came into the kitchen cautiously, he looked from Pietro to Fred yellow tinted eyes curious.

"Don't worry about it, Frog-boy; you'll eat whatever's on the table," Pietro said rather snidely. He moved quickly and ducked under one of Fred's massive arms to abduct the pan of tomato sauce. He then poured half of it into another pan, then added the slight burned meat to original pot, and the charred almost beyond recognition meat to the new pan. He stirred vigorously and set both pots back on the stove, smirking at Fred.

Todd stuck his long green tongue out at Pietro, who shuddered with distaste. "Keep that thing in your mouth when in the kitchen. No one here- but you- likes the possibility of slime in their food."

"Hey, my tongue is not slimey! You wanna see slime, Quickie?" Todd was getting aggravated as usual when Pietro started slinging insults at him.

"If-you-so-much-as-aim-that-muck-at-me..." Pietro began, as Todd got down in his natural crouch and starting making loud demonstrative noises in his throat like he was hocking up slime ready to be shot at Pietro.

Before the first splash of slimey saliva could fly, Fred put himself between the two. "Hey! Both of you cut it out! Don't you ever get tired of teasing and arguing with each other?"

"No," Todd frowned.

"Uh-uh," Pietro shook his head negatively.

Don't get mad...don't get mad....Fred had to calm himself. When he got mad, he broke things, and the house was already run down enough. He took a deep breath; he was older and bigger than the both of them...they should listen to him. "Todd, why don't you go back to what you were doing before you came in here, and Pietro...go read something. I think I can handle the rest of dinner."

Blue and gold eyes stared at him momentarily, then Pietro was gone, and Todd was hopping away.

Fred let out a breath of relief; that had been easy.

A furious howl of disgust from Pietro startled Fred and almost made him turn over the noodle-pot. There were a few loud crashes and high pitched screams of distress from Todd. Fred closed his eyes; he'd thought too soon.

He took the noodles off the fire and went to drain them over the sink. He'd let them kill each other, so long as they stayed out of the kitchen with it.

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Lance Alvers parked his jeep in the driveway, and cut the ignition. He rolled his eyes as he glanced at the gas gage again. For some reason his mind kept trying to convince him the gas tank wasn't really nearly empty, if he looked away and looked back the needle would be at the "F."

Yeah right and if he clapped his hands, he could save a fairy. He trudged to the front door, thinking about how someone really needed to get around to fixing the hinges on the back door. He would have gone in that way, but he didn't feel like wrestling with it that night. He was tired, and his back hurt from lifting boxes and stocking shelves. He'd gotten stuck with the produce section, for he'd once again been the only person who'd showed up for their shift and was flexible enough to stay overtime because he really needed the extra money. He was waiting for a promotion; everyone else in the store who'd been there as long as he had was now on register or bagging. He knew he was being duped; he was too hard of a worker, and the new kids coming in were too lazy. He should quit; he bet he could find a better job where his employer wouldn't take advantage of him so...but he couldn't gamble like that with his income. What if he didn't find a better job? He knew of some people looking for after school jobs that were about to give up the search. No, he had to stay where he knew there would be money. He had a family to support.

That made him smile to think about, and want to cry in frustration at the same time. He wanted to smile, because he actually had people he could refer to as family for once in his life. People he cared for and he believed cared for him back. That warm feeling kept him from throwing down his Food Lion apron and saying to hell with it. He wanted to cry because...because he was 17, going to school, and working to keep a scrap of food on his plate and the plates of his family, heat in their rooms, and water to bath in. He wasn't getting to be himself, young and unrestrained. He always had too much to think about. He worried about everything. He worried about Fred's self-esteem problems, about Pietro's dating habits, and about Todd's unhygienic rituals. He worried Social Services would come and take them all away, and he'd never see the ones he thought of as younger brothers again. He worried Mystique would return and punish them for not looking for her, for not helping her during the disastrous Asteroid M incident. Maybe she'd throw them all out on the street, then what would they do? The only wonderful thing about the Boarding House was, it was paid for. Lance didn't have to bother with rent. If they had to get an apartment or something... Lance quickly brushed away that thought, as his belly burned in sympathy with him.

The smell of spaghetti assaulted him upon entrance, and his stomach churned. Spaghetti again. It was easy, cheap, no one complained... yet. Placing a hand against his aching middle he bypassed the dark kitchen, wanting to lie down and sleep... forever. But that wasn't an option, he had homework, and then he would probably have to help Todd with his homework. Freddy couldn't help him, because Freddy had enough trouble doing his own homework. Pietro couldn't help him, because Pietro talked too fast and got too impatient when Todd couldn't follow him.

The den was as dim as the kitchen only lit by the brilliant blue glow of the television. Pietro was draped over the couch dead to the world. Lance looked at his watch with a frown, he hadn't gotten in that late had he.... 8:30. He moved to the couch and sat down awkwardly with half his butt on the first cushion. The speed demon was very slender, but he found ways to make his small mass take up more space than what was necessary. Gently he placed a hand on his back and gave him a little shake, "Hey, Pi... wake up."

He got a grunt, and a, "Not now Melissa..."

Melissa? Parker? Hmm, Lance was impressed, the girl was a varsity cheerleader with legs for days and amazing breast. Pietro was sleeping with Melissa Parker? When and why wasn't Lance aware of this?

"Guess again, sweet'ums," Lance tickled the boy under his rib cage, making him curl in on himself, kicking Lance.

"What?" blue eyes snapped open, confused at first by the scenery, then coming to attention. He glanced at Lance, "What?" he asked again, more mildly.

"Hi, to you too," Lance snorted smirking at the unamused expression etched on his pale friend's face. "You feel ok, man? It's 8:30 and you're asleep."

"I'm fine," Pietro got comfortable again, and shut his eyes. "You, on-the-other-hand, look like shit. Do YOU feel ok?"

Lance was annoyed at the way Pietro always found ways to turn the conversation around, "I'm tired. Where are Todd and Fred?"

"Fred's in his room... Todd can drop dead."

Lance rolled his eyes, "What happened this time?"

"He slimed my dresser."

Lance wondered where he would locate the new Todd-sized holes in the wall that had undoubtably been the results of Pietro's short temper. "I swear you two are like toddlers. Can you go one day without bickering and trying to kill each other?"

"If you can get Todd to-take-a-bath, teach-him-proper-etiquette, and-dry-up-his- mucus-glands, then I-might-be-willing-to-give-it-a-shot."

Lance shook his head, then knitted his brows at the fact that Pietro had gone completely still again. He touched his forehead. "I said 'I'm fine,' Momma Lance."

"Yeah, yeah," Lance pulled himself from the couch, he wouldn't fuss over someone who obviously didn't appreciate his concern. He ventured upstairs, scanning the walls for new damage. None found, but he was still wary. The door to Todd's room was closed and light shone beneath the door. Lance knocked twice, before opening it. The younger boy was lying on his stomach on his bed with a comic book open in front of him. He jerked at Lance's entrance, "Uh...I .... I was just taking a study break, yo. Look," he raised the comic book, and underneath it was his biology book.

Lance knew he should have given him the third degree, and sat and watched him at least start his work, but he was just too damn tired. "Whatever Todd, just make sure your homework gets done, ok. The next test you flunk the teacher's gonna call home, and want to speak to Ms. Darkholme. I can forge her signature really good, but I do bad impersonations. Get the picture?"

Todd grimaced, "Yeah..." He looked sadly at his comic book, before dog-earing it and putting it away to start on his homework. Lance closed the door back. He walked passed Fred's room, the radio was playing in there. Fred liked to listen to radio epics. Lance thought they were cheesy beyond belief, but if they made Freddy smile he would never express his true feelings about them. Fred smiles were so rare, for a while Lance wasn't even sure if they existed. The big guy was always so down on himself. Lance had caught him one time glaring at his reflection in a full length mirror, pinching his gut and saying hateful things to his reflected image. He noted the pain in his eyes whenever Pietro walked into a room he happened to be in, or when he thought Lance wasn't paying attention and he stared at him. Lance and Pietro's mutations didn't make them socially unacceptable. Fred and Todd were easily singled out and teased. He knocked on Fred's door gently, and opened it a crack, "I'm home, Freddy."

"Just now?"

"Yeah."

"Did you eat?" Lance chuckled quietly, Pietro had called him "Momma." That title should have been reserved for Fred... Lance was more of a father figure. His eyes grew large as he contemplated that. If Fred was Momma and he was Dad, wouldn't that make them... and then Todd and Pietro would be their spawn. Which would mean that he and Fred...oh yuck! Never mind.

"I'll get something later, Fred. I'm gonna get started on some homework."

"Ok."

He pulled the door closed, and then shut himself in his own room. The walls were bare, aside from one wall with a poster of a rock group on it. He wasn't even sure if he'd heard anything by this particular group, they just looked interesting, the poster was cheap, and his walls were unbearable blank. He kicked the growing pile of dirty clothes out of his way, and flopped down on his unmade bed. He yawned loudly, and hugged his pillow to his face. Maybe he'd take a little nap before he started on his work, a little rest couldn't hurt. Before he knew it his eyes were closing.

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Todd Tolensky stared at the small text with a look of incomprehension on his face. His mind was still on Shredder and Krang about to take over the world with the Ninja Turtles nowhere in sight. It was hard to concentrate when one's mind is that preoccupied. Perhaps he should finish reading the rest of the comic, or at least pass that cliffhanger before trying to do the assigned reading for class he was certain Ms. York was going to give a pop quiz over.

He reached for the comic book, letting the text book slide from its precarious perch on the bed. As he gazed at the colorful pages of the graphic novel, he began to feel guilty. He'd told Lance he was going to do his homework. It wasn't that he had a problem with lying, he just didn't like doing it to Lance. The guy was just too good to him. He looked after him, stuck up for him, and actually gave a damn about him. The least he could do was make Lance's life a little easier, and do what he was supposed to. Lance would freak out if someone from the school called. The poor guy was stressed enough.

Todd sighed and put down the comic again in favor of the hateful textbook. Ooh, amoebas...

The door to his room crashed open, "Todd, there is still slime on my dresser," the silver haired teen's voice was tightly controlled, but the twitching of the mouth muscles let Todd know he was pissed. He grinned devilishly. He loved getting on Pietro's nerves. He was such an easy target. "Sounds like a personal problem to me, yo."

Pietro was dangerously still, his eyes icy. He'd kept an arm behind his back since his entry, but slowly he brought that arm forward. Todd blinked, then gasped, "Hey! That's my Batman #2!"

"Is it?" Pietro cooed, smiling evilly. He caressed the cover delicately, "Bet it was hard to come by, huh?"

"Yeah, give it back! This ain't funny! You can wipe slime off your dresser, but I can't get another Batman #2!" Todd leapt from his bed and dove at Pietro who moved at lightning speed, and was now sitting on his dresser.

"Too slow Todd; I'm going to start thinking you don't want this," he waved the comic, its plastic coating crackling.

"GIVE IT BACK!" He jumped again crashing into his dresser which Pietro had vacated nanoseconds before. He now stood on Todd's bed, and he was opening the plastic seal! "NO, DON'T OPEN IT!!"

"How else will I read it?"

"NO, YOU'LL RUIN IT!" He flew at the bed, only to feel a gust of wind pass under him. Pietro stood at the door again looking smug, he toyed with the plastic seal to the comic again, "Hmmm...looks like I'll need scissors for this one."

"LAAAAANCE!!! LAAAAAANCE!!" Todd began to wail hopping desperately after Pietro who teased him by moving out of his path, but managing to stay inches in front of him waving his comic.

"Here Toddie, Toddie, Toddie," he purred.

"What the hell are you doing?" the ground shook beneath their feet, and Pietro stumbled backward nearly toppling down the stairs. He caught the banister, and glared at Lance angrily, "I could have broken my neck!"

"What...are....you...doing? I was trying to take a nap!" He reached to snatch Todd's comic book from Pietro's hands and rolled his eyes as Pietro pulled back.

"What is that?"

"It's my Batman comic; he took it and won't give it back to me!" Todd whined, inching closer to Lance. Lance glowered at the both of them, causing Todd to stop his approach and take a step back.

"There's-slime-on-my-dresser," Pietro spat. "I'm-not-giving-anything-back-until-that-slime-is-off-my-dresser!"

"Todd, go clean it up," Lance waved a dismissive hand down at Todd. Todd choked in indignation, "W...What? He's got my Batman #2!"

"And he'll give it back after you clean up," Lance said flatly.

"I don't trust him!" Todd folded his arms over his chest.

"Congratulations on your new comic book, Pietro; hope you enjoy it. I'm going back to my room."

"WHAT?"

Pietro smirked nastily, "It'll make nice shelf paper."

"Dammit! Fine!" Todd stormed into Pietro's room. Yech, he hated this place. It was too clean, and orderly. The bed was always made, books arranged alphabetically, clothes folded and put away according to color... It made him itch. He located the slimy dresser. A fine coat of green film covered the light pressed wood, he dipped a finger in it to find it still moist. He needed a towel, he was about to go to the bathroom when he had a better idea. Opening one of Pietro's drawers he extracted a nice long sleeved shirt. He snorted at the label, The Gap...

The shirt made a very nice towel actually, and within minutes the goo was gone. Why Pietro couldn't clean it up himself was a mystery to Todd. He refolded the shirt, gooey side in, and tucked it back in the drawer. He snickered, I'll hide all my good comics before Pietro finds this. Tomorrow would prove to be very interesting, he thought as he took his comic book back from a scowling Pietro with a smile.

"What are you smiling about asswipe?"

"Nothin'."

You'll see when you get your surprise tomorrow.

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Ok, that's it for now. Please review. If someone out there likes it, I'll put up another chapter this week :).