Together We Stand
Author: Jenskott Summary: A What-If where Xavier and Magneto elected working together instead fighting at each other. How would be the Marvel Universe?
Notes: I've been in a writer's block, but now new ideas are coming again. I'm going to end Shifting Times, but is a bit hard continue some of my other stories right now.
Similarities to the Marvel timeline and AOA saga will be fully intended. Similarities to Evolution, Ultimate and Movie universes won't be, though.
Rating: PG-13. At least for now.
Disclaimer: They're Marvel's. But I'm treating them well.
Feedback: To But isn't necessary you write me telling me what you think or to correct my flimsy English. Really, don't take the effort to type a pair of lines... What do you mean with reverse psychology?
Part One. First Warning-
Logan halted his stride in front of the solid door of oak, pausing to stare thoughtfully at the varnished wood of maroon color. His roughened hand lingered on the plank as he dwelt on the changes he'd experienced and the life he led now. Shaking his head, he knocked softly on the door. A mental invitation answered to the dull rapping of his knuckles, and he pushed the knob.
The room was filled with the shimmer of the early sunlight flowing through the large windows, lighting with its clarity the rich furniture, mainly the desk and the library with its long sheaves full of thick books and portfolios. Charlie was leaned over the table -not that he expected otherwise-, scrabbling in paper leaves. Grading reports, probably.
After some seconds without apparently acknowledging his existence, the Professor looked up, with a haggard smile tilting his corners' lips up. "Welcome, Logan. Forgive me for getting you awaiting for me, but-"
"Never mind, Charlie" He cut off warily. He had taken notice, when he went into, of the aspect the Professor displayed. Dazed, weary, fainted. Like someone who hasn't slept pretty time. His eyes, bleary and with dark bags below them, confirmed that suspect. Again he was overworking, forgetting of sleeping or resting. "Why had you called me earlier?"
Charles Xavier rubbed his eyes with his backhand, struggling for focusing his mind. Just like Logan had guessed, he was tired and half-asleep. "Because I need you tell them to the students come to class. I know this can be annoying, but I'm feeling me unwell and-"
Logan shook his head heavily. Feeling me unwell. What euphemism. Other than smelling his fatigue, he had glanced sideways the empty bottle of headache pills by his side. The third that week -and today was Thursday morning- if his memory served correctly. Those kids were going to kill him if the job or the lacking of sleep didn't it first. "Without troubles, Charlie. But make me a favor and get yourself a break from the work sometime. Otherwise you'll end up six feet underground any day."
"I'll take that under advice, Logan. Good-bye" The Professor said off-handily before returning to his papers. He finished correcting, and began to sort them out before transmitting them to a folder. "Oh. And thanks you."
"They're for nothing." Logan mumbled, turning the doorknob and heading outside. When the door shut, stirring the air with a faint noise, he sighed. He had very little faith in his promises when they involved resting. The man was constantly testing his limits and resistance. One of his hands threaded resignedly along his raven and ruffled hair.
Of course those five hellions weren't any help, he thought balefully. He had a soft spot for those children, but all of them together were potentially more destructive than a nuke. However Charlie had request his aid to teach them to use theirs heads and develop theirs skills to survive when the imminent tempest came. A worthy cause. And he was forever indebted with Charles and Erik. They had rescued him from the Weapon-X facility, and saved his life, his soul, his very sanity with it. He could never pay back that. Charlie not only had given him back his freedom, but also he had tried restoring his fragmented and skewed memory. He'd only recovered patches, flashes of his former life, but at least he wasn't a blank slate anymore.
With a sigh, James Logan, Ph. Ed. teacher in the Xavier School for Gifted Youngsters -said otherwise, combat instructor- began to stride towards the bedrooms. Yes, a lot had changed in his life that last year.
He started with the girls' side. In this instance, girl.
He kicked open the door violently, without knocking beforehand, and rushed inside hastily.
The sixteen-year Jean Grey raised her head from her book and greeted him with a cheerful albeit surprised exclamation on her mouth. She was sat on one chair, with her nightgown clinging loosely around her body, and the long locks of her red hair flowing over her shoulders as a cascade of fire.
She stared at him with a perfect mixture of innocence and confusion on her face. Tilting her head, quirking her thin brows and batting twice her eyelashes while her cherry lips shaped a 'o'. A perfect, uncanny mask of lovely naiveté. Actually it might have even worked if she hadn't used it formerly and he hadn't heard very clearly the muffled sound of she sitting hurriedly on her stool just when he stormed in.
"Jeannie" He uttered in an incongruously mild voice, laced with saccharine. That tone got to Jean automatically suspicious. And scared. "You'd sure read that book better if it wasn't upside-down."
He snickered inwardly seeing to Jean blanching before turning around her reading frantically. A blush burnt on her cheeks. "I-I'm practicing my fast-lecture level." She stammered.
"While you do that, maybe you want to cover up those purple nicks on your neck." He uttered casually. She gasped, startled, and her hand rushed to hid the trail of violet bruises marking her collarbone's fair skin. He didn't pay her attention, though, but he stomped past her, stopping in front of her bed. Logan folded together his arms and tapped his foot angrily on the floor.
"That trick would only work with the Bobby's bed, where the stench of filthy socks chokes my nose. Get out right away!"
After seconds of strained silence, the seventeen-year Scott Summers crawled out of his hideout beneath the bed. His pajamas and hair were laden with filth and dirt, and the visible part of his face sported a sheepish expression. At least he got the decency of seeming ashamed.
He stared at the young, brown-haired boy with a stormy countenance. He was mightily angry, but not only for their conduct, but also because they should know better to think he could buy that farce.
At least both of them were dressed. Fine, or else he would have to kill Scott.
"You're appointed to class. Scott, get a shower first." He stated gravely, and whirled to face the exit. "Meanwhile don't make anything I wouldn't. Or that I would." He rushed to add before banging the door.
Scott blinked, ungluing some specks of dirt of his short bangs, and stared thoughtfully at the door. Then his look swiveled at Jean, with one eyebrow arched behind his goggles and a faint grin. She writhed with anticipation. It was THAT grin.
"I believe he's just given us permission to make whatever." He stated, extending his hand to take her own.
She sat up, smirking lustfully. "A true gentleman never kisses a dame when he's so dirty and stinky."
Jean kissed him tenderly. Outside someone groaned, but they ignored it.
Outside Logan was clutching his skull between his hands and considering ramming it into the wall. Damned teens were going to kill him someday. At least both of them were responsible and wouldn't make anything before they were enough adult to deal with it -castration would be carried out otherwise-. Yes, he ought to be thankful by the little favors, like Charlie told. Although it was ironical. Before they couldn't keep their hands off each other because they were so edgy they came to blows every time they were together. After Scott got enough balls to declare, they couldn't keep theirs hands off each other either. And his sanity longed for the old times, when they crumbled whole rooms in dust.
He began to walk away, when Bobby Drake turned hastily the corner and rushed to shelter and shrivel behind him. Logan noticed, jokingly, his brunette hair was still singed and hadn't grown back yet. From now the kid would think twice before stepping into the lab when Hank was laughing maniacally.
"Protect me" The fourteen-year -going on five- kid whined.
Warren Worthington appeared right after, blazing with fury. Logan gave him a perplexed -and amused- look. It looked like if someone had dumped a bucket loaded with tar on his head, and after burst several pillows. Hs body part where there were fewer feathers was his ivory wings.
His eyes squinted at Bobby. Ire distorted his handsome features, and a high-pitched howl erupted out of his mouth. "Drake! When I am through with you, I swear-" He raged.
"You deserve it right." Bobby shouted back, shrinking further behind Wolverine. Even though he was very frightened of Warren, he couldn't keep a delightful snicker out of his voice. "So you'll learn to not tie me and lock me in the basement cause I'm spying on your dates to spoil them..."
"Oh, I learnt something, all right" Warren bristled. "If you really want getting rid from a plague, exterminate it at your first chance. I reckon this time I'll tie you to a radiator and I'll watch the fun!"
The winged, seventeen-year and usually blonde boy lunged on Bobby, but he stopped abruptly when Logan stepped in between, spreading his arms and putting up the fists warningly. "Very well, it's enough-"
His words died on his lips when he saw to Henry McCoy passing by swiftly. The eighteen-year student was perusing attentively and thoroughly each corner, while one of his hands wielded a fishnet, sewn with barbed wire instead rope strings. Another of his hands brandished a weapon Logan acknowledged as a rifle used for zoo guardians. It shot darts capable of anesthetizing an elephant. Hank had probably assembled it during his spare-time.
"Hank?" He called aloud, and the boy stopped, tilting slightly his head. So he intended showing he was in a hurry and had no time to stay and chat. It failed utterly with Logan. "What are you up now?"
The young man looked pensively at Logan, after at his fishnet, back to Logan, and then sighed, defeated. "I fear it has escaped again from my watching, Sir."
A minute of tense, deafening silence.
"IT?" Screamed three voices at once.
"I thought you had finished off that thing!" Logan roared.
"You said it would never get out again!" Bobby shouted.
"How could you let it escaped?" Warren yelled. "The last time it tried killing us in our beds!"
Logan frowned a glared sideways at the kids. They had all but confessed they not only had allowed to Hank keep that thing but also had helped him. Interrogatory and punishment would be conducted later.
"Y-yes" Hank, who usually ranted with long and flowery speeches, stuttered. Wordless for once. "I was certain of the confinement in that bulletproof glass jar would preserve my find till the world was prepared to it, but a chemical explosion shattered the glass and it sprang out of its jail and sneaked in an air duct before I was able of restrain it. Right now I was seeking it..."
"We have to find it!" Bobby squealed, shivering with panic twisting in his guts. He remembered when it bit him once. He'd been bedridden one entire week, sick of whatever disease it infected him with.
"No! It's too vicious and dangerous to you!" Logan roared. A snikt sliced the air and sharp blades slid out of theirs sockets on the forearms. "You go to class. I'll look for it."
The kids stared at him for seconds, but elected no arguing. They knew what Logan was like when he was set. With a shrug, each one marched to their respective headquarters to shower and dress.
Logan bolted swiftly towards the lab, actually hoping sniffing the trail of his prey. He could feel the thrill of the hunt throbbing and rushing along his veins.
However he wondered if his life wouldn't be easier if he wasn't working with the Magneto's crew. Probably. But more bored too.
Mountain Wundagore. A steer peak of jagged stone, with walls of flat rock, ledges of razor borders and handholds of craggy rubble. Hidden in the innermost Balkans, only vultures, eagles and ravens dared to nestle on its vertical cliffs.
Within the mountain, Magneto wondered if his life wouldn't be easier if he wasn't educating to the Charles' pupils. Agreed his methods sought different goals -Charles taught to control the skills instead of to stomp their limits-, but his students were more docile and trusted in his wisdom. He had to deal with overconfident mutants, too proud of their abilities to pay attention to his advises gladly.
However he couldn't repress a pang of pride as he contemplated on his monitor to his troops run through the program he had made up in the Danger Room. Ha. Danger Room. Charles had stifled a guffaw when he heard it. And then he had questioned his need for dramatizing.
On the battleground several towering humanoids of golden and silvery metal advanced heavily, waving menacingly the assassin weapons inserted on their long limbs and shaking the floor with each thundering step. The monsters of twelve-feet of height cornered the team, and cocked simultaneously theirs lasers and plasma rifles, aiming at the group. Cybernetic eyes locked on theirs targets, and guns started to hum with energy coalescing.
One second earlier they shot Quicksilver had bolted in a sprint and had circled ten times the robots, moving with a speed no machine could keep up. Transformed in blue blur of speed, Pietro dashed around the droids in swift loops, once and over until the wind his sprint generated transformed in a swirling twister sucked the looming robots in its tendrils. Wanda, dressed in a skimpy scarlet bodysuit, hurled a probability-altering bolt on the vortex, and it blew up.
Men-like robots were tossed outwards by the shockwave and slammed brutally on the walls. Many were shattered with the impact, and their wrecked pieces rolled along the floor, but some were trying rising up still, tottering dangerously on bent and broken legs, with sparks sizzling and crackling out of frayed cables. Then a shadow covered them, and ruthless fists of tough steel rained over them. As Piotr ravaged the battered robots, pummeling them into scraps of twisted metal, Psylocke watched over his broad back, taking down every android without using her telepathy. Her ninjutsu was rather to make a difference. However the blonde British psychic didn't detect a last robot, crawling over the tiles only with its hands since its lower body was missing, and aiming a rifle towards her head.
A cloud of black brimstone exploded loudly above it. A three-fingered hand slid out of the smoke, grabbed its arm, and vanished back in the thick smog. The cloud reappeared instantly twenty feet in midair, and the device dropped out of it. As it shattered on the floor, Kurt Wagner hopped on a wall, sticking on it with his four limbs as he grinned wolfishly.
So absorbed and drawn in the training was Magneto, enthralled in the display of skill, he nearly missed the red light flashing and blaring in another of the screens. Disturbed and lightly disgusted, Erik approached to the computer.
Color was drained of his roughened face, and he combed backwards his grey-silvery hairs with one hand.
This was bad. Very bad.
A trembling finger turned a panel on. A comm. link with the USA. He needed warn to Charles.
End Part One.
In the next Part the two groups gather to face the ultimate threat. Who is it?