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: Thanks for your reviews! Please, keep sending them! Though I've to explain two details: First, the tale is based ONLY upon canon comic, with AoA references; Second, in the official chronology Xavier was crippled during a bout with an alien, shortly after having met to the Shadow King and Magneto, but before founding the X-Men. To the purposes of this tale, it hasn't happened yet. In the next chapter you'll understand the reason.
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 Two. Baptism on the Morning Fire-
"- And I expect your best conduct. Understood? Your BEST conduct."
"Yes, sir" Five synchronized voices chorused. Neither of them sounded as if they meant it. He glared warningly, menacingly, at the five reckless teenagers lined up in a row.
Logan nearly guffawed with the sight of Charles Xavier pacing in circles in front of his disciples, as a caged panther ready to clamp his jaws around whoever prodded him. The man had been nervous and edgy since the Erik's call, situation worsened by his early migraine. He didn't blame him for getting upset or alarmed, especially if what he'd heard off-handily was true, but yelling at the kids wouldn't help.
The seven of them were gathered in the front lawn, warmed by the sun and refreshed by the breeze blowing and sweeping across the verdant sod, awaiting patiently the Magneto's arrival. The day was beautiful but neither of them was in mood to worship the nature. Scott and Jean were glancing fixedly at the front, linking hands furtively, Warren and Bobby were studying the snowy clouds, and Hank smiled nervously and pretended paying attention so the Professor didn't peer in his head.
"My best conduct, all right." Jean mulled sarcastically through her teeth "Better they be in THEIRS"
"Jeannie, please" Scott pleaded, praying inwardly for peace and tranquillity. No likely to happen.
Xavier raised one eyebrow. "Why are you feeling such hostility towards the second team, Jean?"
Bobby raised one hand, earning his curious attention. "It's because that blonde chick is hot for Slim and that brunette babe has a crush on him, and Red is burning in jealousy" He backed down a little when Jean hurled him a venomous, smoldering leer. "What is the trouble? It's right!"
Jean kept on glaring. Bobby began slowly to squirm, fidget and babble. Hank wondered if he would melt and they'd have to mop up the puddle. Scott groaned and palmed his forehead in exasperation.
"Don't blame to yourself, Slim." Warren chirped with a wicked grin. "It isn't your fault you're a suave, slick magnet to hot ladies. You catch them without trying."
"Good-looking, athletic-built, quiet, responsible, loyal to a fault. The alluring atmosphere of mystery the shades compel. The fruition you reject the stupidity with. Your way of despising buxom but brainless bimbos." Hank mocked mischievously. "How are the fine damsels supposed to resist?"
"Guys, make me a favor" Scott massaged his temples. He felt so, so tired "and SHUT THE FUCK UP!"
"That's an excellent idea" Xavier bristled. His students glanced at the bulged vein was throbbing on his temple and recoiled in fear. "I'm sorry be harsh, but you must work together and act like adults instead of quarrelsome children if you hope stand up to the incoming danger and survive. Understood?" He paused and glared sharply at each one. A heavy, ashamed silence had gagged their mouths.
Scott raised one tentative, hesitant arm. "Yes, Scott?"
"Sir, I'm a firm believer of the team work, but I think to beat our enemy we need anything else. How know who it is or what it wants." He stated dryly, with thick and very badly concealed sarcasm.
The Professor blinked, nonplussed. A warm, chagrined smile split his roughened face. "You're right, Scott. I was as obsessed with your behavior I forgot explain your mission. I apologize for it. Now I'll tell you who is your foe, and why we must triumph over him." Stares of eager, engrossed and unwavering attention had substituted the former absent-mindedness, and he nodded with satisfied approval.
"It began shortly after meeting me with Erik in Israel. At that time he and me argued about the next step on the human evolution and the possible consequences of the interaction between both branches of the tree. Both of us foresaw mayhem and conflict, but our opinions differed about the way of avoiding it. Whereas I was already thinking about educating to the people, my skeptical friend defended the only way of guaranteeing a peaceful future to the mutants was becoming the dominant class. However it all changed a day, after of a bout with a nazi criminal. A man visited us in the night to make us an odd proposal..."
"Charlie, I'm sorry cutting you off now you were getting in the interesting part" Logan interjected abruptly "But they're arriving"
He flung his arm Eastwards, where a dark dot stood out on the blue sky. Gradually its shape grew until becoming a large and sleek black flight of pointed nose streaked across the clouds leaving behind a trail of greyish smoke. The plane halted its tracks above of them, rumbling with the hellish noise of its engines burning fuel, and it performed a horizontal landing, whipping the grassland with the whirlwind generated its turbines.
When its wheels touched solid ground the humming ceased. Smoothly the upper hatch slid open, and an ominous and shadowed figure, clad in crimson clothes, floated out of the cockpit, resting his boots on the floor. Erik Lensherr immediately gave a warm hug to Charles, and looked over the young mutants with thorough interest. They greeted him respectfully.
Five mutants disembarked afterwards. They were clad in individual suits of varied shades of red and blue, a stark contrast to the blue-and-golden uniforms the Scott's team wore. Two of them, Betsy and Wanda, had barely spotted to Scott Summers when dashed hurriedly towards him.
Scott had barely spotted them when he withdrew behind Jean with a squeal and a panicked, horror-stricken expression. Jean sensed his mental plead and nodded, spreading outwards her arms and clenching tightly her fists, mirroring a human barricade. Her eyes glowed like green embers, showing how enraged she was, and her lips curled upwards, letting out a seething snarl. Her message was unmistakably clear.
"Butts out." She grated. "This is my hunt territory. And the season is closed."
"I don't see a label with 'Property of Jean Grey' printed on it!" Wanda retorted sourly.
"Do you prefer a cartel hung around his neck then?"
"Wait a minute, girls! Hasn't the prize any said in this matter?"
"NO!" Both chorused.
Betsy pierced to Jean with a squinted glare. She curled a finger around a blonde strand, and sneered contemptuously. "Pretty costume, Jean. I'd never be seen in public with those rags, but they suit you."
Jean glared back balefully. "Thanks, Betsy. Unlike other people I promote cozy outfits rather skimpy clothes spread a chauvinist, superficial image of the women everywhere. Aren't you a little chilly?"
"Are you listening to yourselves? You resemble three-years fighting over a plastic toy" Wanda scolded tartly to both, a tad ashamed herself of her own childishness. Abruptly she walked around Jean and smiled whole-heartily to Cyclops. "Poor Scott. You must suffer so much, chased by women so violent."
"I resent that!" Jean protested. "I'm not violent, only snappy and temperamental!"
"I SAID 'YOUR BEST CONDUCT'!" Xavier and Magneto roared simultaneously. Logan just looked away, locking his grey eyes on the grass and trying very hard pretending he wasn't chuckling.
Magneto took off his helmet and sighed. He felt as much weariness as impatience. "We can't afford waste time in petty arguments. We need get aboard of the plane and attack the enemy."
The girls had been bickering so enthusiastically one minute earlier lowered their head, getting the decency of feeling abashed. The Professor stepped forward, laying one hand on the Scott's shoulder. "Erik is right. You must forget rivalries and act like mature persons, or helpless people shall die. I'll feel very disappointed with you if that's the case."
His disciples looked warily, quizzically at him. "We, sir?" Scott queried. "Aren't you coming along?"
He shook off his head. "No, Logan may lead you on battle with more expertise than me by far. I will be more useful observing the situation afar. Besides, I intend evaluating your performance."
Magneto perused carefully his old friend as he coped patiently with the protests or pleads of his students. Quietly he was meditating on his judgment. Charles wasn't a good physical fighter, but his powers allowed him operating out of enemy's range. And it was a good idea keeping to someone watching over the nearest shelter. On the whole it was a fit, reliable plan, perfectly acceptable.
Then why was he feeling that nagging, foreboding hunch, that spike of ice stabbing his guts and spreading its numbing chilliness within him, frightening him and warning him with a frosty whisper anything was about of going awfully awry?
The sun had dawned clear and bright on Cape Citadel. On the heavily guarded military base, the musical chirping of the birds was swiftly substituted by the human noises of a camp waking up. Under the dense, steaming heat, soldiers ran around and sentinels filled their sentry boxes. Men and women got ready to face another bored, uneventful day.
Suddenly a shadowed, massive shape cloaked a shred of the sky. The sun seemed darken and its rays turn gloomier with its advent. The sizzling air turned more viscous, thicker, it almost trembled. Humans, animals stood frozen and silent, feeling a bottomless horror gripping them with sharp clutches.
Gradually the initial shock wore off, and the startled camp sprang in action. Soldiers ran everywhere as alarms and loudspeakers blared.
Unbeknownst to them, in the heart of the warship, wicked eyes gleaming with ruthlessness and greed and lust and all is evil and obscene in the world were observing to the men and women. From that towering viewpoint, they resembled scared ants, scattered everywhere on a bizarre ant's nest of metal, writhing and running uselessly for cover. A thick tongue licked in anticipation dry lips and glistening fangs.
A ramp expanded outwards. And storming out of the gate, The Beast, followed by The Death, The War, The Pestilence and The Famine, rode from the sky to harvest human souls.
Resistance was overwhelmed in a matter of seconds. Defenses were shattered, disbanded and stomped, and the compound was invaded. Weapons and strategies were useless. Bravery and tenacity didn't make any difference. The soldiers ran away or perished. And an ominous, sticky silence floated afterwards. A deafening calm after the chaos of screams, explosions and rains of bullets. The calm of the death.
And the majestic and foreboding battleship hang on the sky, held by an immeasurable pride.
The army had been mobilized hastily, and had instantly laid siege on the area. But nobody had managed violating the perimeter. Missiles and grenades hadn't scratched a dent on the armor of the ship, jets had been destroyed by a barrage of fireballs when they attacked the craft, tanks had been smashed when they rolled towards the base, and the squads had broken into the zone had been massacred. The generals were considering employing nukes. Some suggested even ask help to some New Yorker super-heroes.
Helplessness and pessimism overwhelmed them when a black plane came from the North.
Pain. It was the Creed's first coherent though passed through the haze numbing his brain. A pain wrecked his body as he was slammed repeatedly on the walls. His healing factor was already taking care of the bodily harm, but it didn't lessen the brain damage. That Candra bitch was slashing viciously inside his skull, ripping it wildly in bleeding pieces as his body was frozen by her powers.
Maybe he should have shut his mouth, but it was a simple, inane, unchallenging comment. When they'd taken over the base, and linked a monitor with the ship's comm. system, he had gloated to the boss over 'his' success. Blue-Lips had grinned broadly -or he supposed it was a grin- and had ordered launch the nukes stored in the base. Shock and confusion gripped him. He believed they were going to blackmail to the Government with those missiles. After all, he was in this operation for money. Kill was a chore he preferred make personally, with his fangs and claws, tasting the salty blood smearing his hands. Bombs or guns were antiseptic, cold and boring.
He had voiced aloud his disappointment, and the boss had deemed him weak and merciful -HIM!-, had revoked his command, and ordered to Candra fry him with her powers.
She had been trying it with a passion and tenacity noteworthy. Victor suspected she wasn't fond of him.
"Cease!" Abruptly he listened to the boss' voice, as deep and booming as ever, reverberating on the entire place. Everybody froze and automatically whirled to face the screen. "New forces are arriving to battle you. Mutants defend to the weak ones instead of embracing their true nature. You will terminate them now." He glanced briefly at Sabertooth. "Perhaps you can redeem yourself. If you combat and annihilate our foes, I'm willing granting you a second opportunity."
A second opportunity? A bone thrown to the dog. And if it catches it in midair, a pat on its crown Victor snarled inwardly. I say one word he dislikes it, and he orders rip off my head. But if he needs me and I do whatever he wants, he'll forgive me He simmered with the idea of someone talking down him, dealing him like that, but he was aware of which were his options. Or lacking thereof.
"I'm glad of we agree at last, General Ross" Magneto stated, procuring masking his inward amusement. Charles had asked them they tried convincing to the army, despite of his preference for going, seeing, winning and retiring. He liked undercover action. Besides, he didn't bear dealing with bureaucrats. He didn't tolerate people too stuck on their standard procedures to act efficiently when it was required.
The general -an old military man, with thick mustache, snowy hair on his head and a skin tanned and rugged by the sun and the rain- brushed his eyes with a tired, fatigued gesture. "All right, all right. You get fifteen minutes, clowns. I should get my head revised. I can't figure out how you have talked me into this."
Jean and Betsy were finding very interesting the cobbles resting on the dust.
"X-Men, follow my lead!" Erik roared, flapping violently his cloak. He strode imperiously towards the fence, a twisted and stomped tangle of irons, and his team kept up with him effortlessly.
They trespassed cautiously the gap on the frontier, and headed for the living quarters, navigating carefully amidst piles of debris and blackened, bowel-shaped craters. The tall towers loomed over them as menacing spears, casting long shadows blended with the penumbra emanated from the giant ship floating on the sky, stationary and immovable as a rock.
Of sudden the Jean's shocked surprise and anguished fear seeped as liquid flares in the all's minds, and she rushed to place herself in front of Magneto, spreading onwards her palms. Erik saw the air shimmering with red light, and he added instinctively his own magnetic shield.
A force bolt struck the energy defense, dispelling harmlessly in purple sparks flickered weakly on the air. Its power was considerable, but it wasn't match to the cloak woven with of strands of telekinesis and magnetism entwined together.
"That was as pitiful as stupid, Candra. We lost the surprise factor by your fault."
"It wasn't my fault, Gideon! I didn't believe that stupid child would find me with a simple scan."
"Who gives a damn about the fucking advantage, morons? We can beat them anyhow."
The X-Men stared upwards. Standing upright on a roof, five figures were situated. One of them was a blonde woman, of unnatural but sinister beauty. Another was a bulky and broad man, with his green hair braided in a plait, staring contemptuously to the group. The person beside him was a young girl, with black and brittle hair, so slim that her yellow skin clung loosely to the bones, as a wraith's. The fourth was an old woman, with short grey hair and wrinkled face where pin-sized pupils shot sharp and baleful glares. All of them were wearing a body-fitting, copper-colored armor glittered weakly on the dazzling sunlight. And in front of them was their leader, a beast-like man, very big and tall, of leonine head and a powerful musculature rippled beneath his tight black-and-saffron outfit. His fingers were topped with tough and razor nails capable of splitting bones. And when he grinned mischievously -a disturbing sight-, his long and sharp fangs glistened.
Some X-Men recoiled in fear. He saw them, sensed it, and tasted it greedily.
However dread was the exact opposite to the emotion he aroused in one person. Logan narrowed his grey eyes and looked askance at him, clenching and unclenching his fists spasmodically. God, his claws itched terribly beneath the skin. Unknown and murky shadows were waking and stirring in the pit of his head where his memories had been buried. His skull beat with brisk flashes of blood and death and iciness and hate. Noise of wretched pleads and cruel laughs burst into his mind. He felt sick and dizzy.
"Have we met earlier?" He wondered. Wheezing laboriously. Words stood stuck in his throat.
The blonde man that ignited in him such hostility, such resentment, peered at his face intensely. When his eyes connected, something clicked and Logan was downright certain he had known him. "Look, it's the runt. Do you mean you don't remember me? I'm insulted." He sniggered.
The word runt. Pointed claws slid with nearly painful slowness out of their sockets. "But we weren't chummy, were we?" He growled, his words leaving a taste to bile in his mouth. His head began to thump with a migraine, and he quelled down the treacherous lump of rage threatening spilling out. Yet not. He couldn't let out the beast yet.
"You get that right, at least. We never were." He laughed. "I'm Victor Creed, Sabertooth to my victims. And these buddies backing me are Death, War, Famine and Pestilence. Our boss is sat cozily on his ship right now" His claw signaled the craft hovering overhead "watching us beating your butts."
"Yes, and we'll get fireworks to party afterwards" The young and emaciated teenager named Famine smirked, showing her rows of yellowish and carious teeth "Blowing up our toys at any city we choose"
Candra sucked her breath and unleashed an energy bolt in her head. She moaned, feeling her brain in fire.
"Idiot, petulant brat" Pestilence hissed. "You should have shut up your mouth! They didn't know!"
Magneto strode forward determinedly. "It wouldn't make any difference. Because we shall ruin your plans, whatever they be."
Sabertooth narrowed his eyes one second, and yelled orders to his troops. "Scatter and protect the bombs! Fast! These assholes mustn't come near from them!"
The four Horsemen nodded reluctantly and leapt out of the triangular roofing. Swiftly they sprinted among the huts, heading for the center of operations.
Erik cursed bitterly and spun around to face his team. "They intend dividing us to kill us separately, but we shall prove useless their strategy! We shall split in groups, search them and win! Quicksilver, Cyclops, we shall raid the command center and deal with whoever protects it!"
"Hold your horses, bucket-head" Sabertooth growled. "You aren't going to anywhere but six feet underground. The only question here is who I'll gut first."
With a gigantic jump, Creed took off and rotated in midair to pounce on Magneto. But a blue blur dived towards him and struck his face several dozens of times before tossing him face down on the ground.
Pietro pulled down his speed and landed softly, glaring with utter contempt to the mutant. Logan smirked, wondering how proud Magneto would be from him, and folded his knees in preparation. "I'll look after of the trash! You take care of the important part!" He screamed, and launched his body onward.
Erik nodded, and instantly the X-Men divided forces to chase the Horsemen. Victor Creed pondered on stopping them when a flurry of slashes rained on him. Wincing with the searing hurt on his flesh, he parried every blow as his inner beast craved for slicing to Logan in ribbons. Very soon he was ripping and biting with delightful enthusiasm. The mission, the X-Men, anything but the fight had vanished in any remote corner of his mind.
Stationed several hundreds of meters atop of the base, the ship remained still and motionless, with its metallic blue fuselage shining with the sunny day. An improperly cheerful picture getting in mind the being lurked within that flying headquarters.
In an inner room, a monitor was displaying the fight between Sabertooth and Wolverine. The screen zoomed insistently on his face of infinite pleasure and raving rage. Lust and fury ruled over him, primal emotions driving him and pushing him forward. It was obvious he existed to the battle.
He smirked. Of course he wasn't pleased with his conduct, but he was willing being lenient, valuing the berserker madness he fought with. He could forge him in a useful tool after all.
Though that matter was a secondary one, far below his notice. His mind was now busy perusing and analyzing the bigger picture. The first phase of his master plan was set on motion.
"The ascension now begins" His voice rumbled. "May only the fittest ones survive."
That character is, of course, the General 'Thunderbolt' Ross, character of 'The Incredible Hulk'. Remember this is the Marvel Universe.
Next Part: The X-Men battle to the Apocalypse's minions. However an ugly surprise will be awaiting them in their home, not matter the outcome of the fight.