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 the reviews! Please keep on writing them! I haven't read the New Mutants so I didn't get the reference. It was related to Legion? Anyway my story uses mainly Silver Age material.
Rating: PG-13. There's disturbing imagery in this chapter. You've been warned.
Disclaimer: They're Marvel's. But I'm treating them well.
Feedback: To But isn't necessary you wrote 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 Four. Recoveries and Revelations-
It had become a sort of ritual.
She awoke with a violent jolt in the bowels of the night, drenched in an awfully cold sweat, feeling the last pangs of the nightmare gripping her with its chilly, skeletal clutches. Then she jumped out of the bed, unable of remaining in her own lonely room. Wandering along the hall, she reached his room and knocked on the door. The wooden sheet slid open, and he showed up between the jambs.
Taking a look at her haggard face and her teary, bloodshot eyes, he hugged her fiercely and nodded. Then he locked the door and escorted her to his bed. His arms laid her softly on the mattress before lying down himself and tucking both in the sheets, a protective white cloak wrapping them. They snuggled underneath the blankets and he kissed tenderly her temples.
Then she draped tightly her arms around his neck, buried her head on his chest and wept bitterly. She talked and sobbed and cried her heart out, told him her nightmares, unleashed the anxieties and fears she bottled up during the day, in front of the people. Usually she screamed but she babbled also incoherent whispers, hushed gusts of sound in the darkness. Her hands wrung his pajamas and her tears soaked it. And he kept quiet, listening to her and enveloping her in comfort and warmth and love. He was always a good listener, never invading her mind with screeching mental shouts, unlike other people. His mind was tranquil but passionate, even though he suffered nightmares just as dark as hers. He remained ever silent, ever calm, stroking soothingly her hair and her taut backside.
He just held her and gave comfort, never anything else. Oh, he wanted her. She could feel his body stiffening when she squashed her breasts against his chest, she could hear his ragged, steamy breath tickling on her ear, she could sense the lurid, lascivious thoughts lurking on the rear of his brain and tempting him.
Sometimes she wished they were able to forget past, tragic experiences, toss caution to the wind, stop shying away from the physical contact, and get on it. But her boyfriend was responsible and selfless to a fault, and both were still scared and reluctant to intimate physical touch. Sort of.
Once her thigh had accidentally rested on his crotch, and a wicked impulse drove her to rub it to rouse a reaction in him. Inwardly he had burnt in blazes, but he'd quelled down his lust with great effort.
She'd sighed, mortified and guilty of that despicable control trick. And frustrated, but Scott was right when he said if their feelings were real they'd be the same now and within long time.
Early sunlight filtered through the blinds, greeting the slumped bodies and burning their dreams in cinders.
Sensing the warm hotness on his face, Scott stirred awake, and leaned onward with a loud yawn.
Next to him sounded a raspy, drowsy groan. "I hate the mornings."
He regarded her with a thin smile on his lips. He adored her cute whining pout. And her temper. When it wasn't unleashed upon him, that is.
His palm rested on her cheek before pecking her sweetly. "Slacker."
Jean giggled teasingly. "Easy for you to say. You're fresh with only four hours of dream."
"At least I don't threat our friends with a dire fate if they interrupt my communion with the coffee!" He drawled sarcastically with a playful smirk on his face. Then he drew backwards the covers.
"Why are you getting up so early? The classes are canceled today." She inquired, curious and a tad disappointed.
"I have to talk to the Professor. He's been very withdrawn and glum since the battle. He helped us to come out of our shells when we were scared children. It's only fair we repay the favor." He stated fiercely. "I'll be in the shower."
A wanton grin split her face. "Do you want we take the shower together?"
He blushed, eliciting musical snickers from her. "Jean, you know I don't turn the lights on when..."
"Please, spare me of silly excuses, Slim" Jean said, rising. It was true. He took off his eyewear to not soak it. And since his eyes were forcefully shut, the light was useless. But it was a pretext he was using.
She strode at him slowly and leaned onward her face. Inches parted their noses, and their breaths mingled, brushing with feathery warmth both faces. Jean paused, feeling his hot gasps tickling her cheeks, and smooched his forehead. After her mouth traveled through his face, caressing every inch of exposed skin with her lips.
Jean knew perfectly how sensitive to touch was Scott. The beatings and mistreatments Jack Winters gave him were branded with red-hot iron on his skin. The Professor could shout him or scold him as much as he wanted, but he associated gentle, reassuring strokes with his face. She hoped leave a nice imprint on him.
You're only scared of what you can or be ready to do She sent. Trust in yourself, Slim, please. I trust in you. Don't you trust in me?
Predictably he crushed her in an anxious hug and locked lips with her. After a passionate, breathless, long kiss they wrenched theirs mouths apart and panted roughly and heavily.
"All right. But don't try my control. Understood?"
"Don't worry. I don't think I'm ready to something else that kiss and fool around"
Awhile after Scott was still sporting a silly grin of insane glee and giggling dumbly as he trudged along the hallway. Usually he'd appreciate the rich and beautiful paintings decorated the walls, or the oak planks they were covered with, but his one-track mind wouldn't allow him divert his thoughts of the mission.
Along the way he ran accidentally into Peter -who was as early-rising as him- and greeted him. After the last battle's mess the X-Men were very busy with the repairs, and the European team moved to the mansion to help. Gossip assured they'd stay in the mansion permanently, keeping Wundagore as a backup hideout. He usually ignored rumors but his first-hand information told they were right for once.
When he reached Professor's office, he noted with surprise that the door had been left ajar. Hesitantly, concernedly, Scott pushed it inwards.
Magneto and Xavier turned at the door, giving him confused glances. They were conversing over a table and obviously they weren't expecting being interrupted. Scott winced under their demanding scrutiny, but he masked it. He never scratched his crown or coughed or gave away telltale signs of nervousness.
"Good morning, Mr. Lensherr. Good morning, sir. If it's all right, I'd like speak with you. Alone."
Xavier glanced at his friend and Erik nodded. Quietly Magneto collected several sheaves sprawled on the desk, and walking past Scott, left the room.
The Professor's eyes lingered a moment on the door before beaming at Scott. The smile intended being warm and reassuring, but he read a bitter sorrow and forlorn despair underneath.
"What can I do for you, Scott?"
He hesitated yet again. "It's rather the other way around, sir." He glanced passingly at the new wheelchair. "That chair seems cozy. It's... strange watch you on it."
The Professor lips quavered slightly. His smile wavered. Apparently he had hit a soft spot and the mask had shown a chink. Well. "Erik made this wheelchair. Practice, he called it. I guess he feels sorry for no having returned in time from the mission... what did you wish talking me about, Scott?"
A retreat. Scott read the signs clearly. His mentor had used a noncommittal, plain tone, but he'd changed subjects with abrupt swiftness. Because he'd been about of cracking. It might have worked with someone who wasn't the undisputed king in running away from twisted emotional issues.
"I'd rather talking outside, sir. The weather is fine this morning. Fresh and sunny. We can stroll along the maze of rosebushes as we chat. But it has to be now, before one of my schoolmates kills someone or blows up something." Scott noticed Xavier fidgeting uncertainly, and he pressed further. "Come on, sir. You're entitled to SOME peace."
Charles Xavier blinked, bemused, and chuckled. "All right, Scott. I give up. Let's walk."
Moist droplets of dew damped still the leaves and drenched the grass when the sun was starting its climb towards the summit. Blossoms of intense, raw colors unfolded theirs petals to greet the warming sun and receiving the stroke of the wind. Overhead flocks of jays flew, and far away in the wood ringed the steady drumming of a woodpecker drilling pines.
The maze of tall hedges on the backyard was one of the favorite spots from Scott to relax, mull things over or brood silently. The Professor had shown himself the place the first day he arrived to the mansion. Though the luscious bunches of roses and the blooming buds needed a specific care he couldn't give.
As Scott rolled the wheelchair slowly along the winding path, he spared a gaze at the mansion. There had been weeks since the raid, and in that time they had managed rebuilding the destroyed area. Now it seemed whole, like if nothing had happened.
He wished Professor's disability was so easily fixable. But he was realistic. The mansion wasn't the same, despite its deceiving mask of oldness. Likewise his mentor wouldn't be the same person even though they repaired the damaged nerve.
The Professor eyed him pensively and cut off his reverie. "I can feel you practically steaming, Scott. Why don't you tell me what is weighing on your mind?"
"Because I'm thinking how broaching the issue, sir." He replied with a sigh. What was he doing? He wasn't built to meaningful conversations about deep emotional troubles. He wasn't a psychologist or counselor -and he never trusted them at the slightest-. Jean, Hank, Kurt were better suited to it. "How are you feeling these days? We barely see you. We're worried about you."
He had always thought honesty and bluntness were the best policies, hadn't he?
The slightly frantic and sidelong stare the Professor shot him showed he knew what was this all about. "I'm sorry, Scott. I didn't intend worrying you. Still your fears are unnecessary. I can assure you, Scott, I'm coping fairly well with my new-found disability-"
"Bullshit" Scott mumbled. His snout had wrinkled in disdain. "You aren't acting like yourself, sir, and there isn't use in pretending otherwise with me. Do you remember when I came here?"
"Of course" He retorted quietly.
Scott swerved the chair around a corner, avoiding bumping on a flat stone of slippery surface. "Do you remember how I was then? A prickly, moody, brusque, angry, wary teenager, who was distrustful of you?"
"How forgetting it?" Xavier snickered. Scott nearly could see the smirk splitting his face. He shook his head.
"I didn't quite believe my luck. In the orphanage I learnt nobody loved me ever. In the streets I learnt nobody cared for me, and I only could rely on myself. In clutches' Jack I learnt kindness may be a lure. And what being an abused child is like." Scot trailed off. Memories lay asleep menaced with stirring, harming him again, but he squashed them down with a shudder. He sported still bruises and cuts of Jack's beatings. But the punches weren't at all the worst thing the bastard did him. The stuff he forced him to do was most awful by far. And the scars ran much deeper. "And at the same stroke I was free from him, and someone had offered me a home. I couldn't believe it. Or understand it. In my experience, true generosity isn't common. And a rich man who offers take you to his house was NOT a good thing."
Neither of them spoke further words for seconds. Then "I know you had little reason to trust wholeheartedly on a stranger, Scott. I haven't got words enough to thank your faith on me. I worked hard to earn your trust and prove you my intentions."
"You did" He nodded resolutely. "And because that, sir, I can't let you down now you need me. You worked very tough to extricate me out of my shell. You goaded me to accept my disability, my fucking uncontrollable power, and to live with it. Even though I pushed you away or lashed out angrily on you."
Scott stopped the chair and stepped around it. He stood at attention, as a soldier, in front of Xavier. Yet his countenance wasn't of submission, but of concern. He took his hand gingerly. Willing reaching out for him. "Please, sir, don't push us away. Let us help you. I figure this is very painful, but I -all- want helping you to bear with this. You aren't alone. You haven't to live through this alone."
Xavier hunched forward as well as he could and hugged to his disciple. Warmly. "Thanks, Scott. I needed the encouragement. Though listen to me: I took the choice of battling evil mutants and I don't regret it, not matter how frustrating being imprisoned to this wheelchair is. That monster must be stopped at any cost. And I'd be glad if my lower body was the worst prize we'll get to pay to save the world."
Scott recalled Cape Citadel. Collapsed buildings, cadavers laid on the dust, blood and chaos everywhere. Sweaty tremors rocked his body. "But who is him exactly? And how did you meet him?"
Xavier shook his head. "Scott, it's time to you hear the whole history. Just like I said you, we had just defeated the Baron Strucker, chief of Hydra -some day I'll have to tell you that story-, and doing it we had come out like mutants. Erik insisted on the humans would never accept us, but Gabby... an acquaintance of mine... rather mined his theory. She was truly grateful of her salvation, and didn't matter her I wasn't quite 'human'. The Invaders wielded powers but they were heroes nevertheless."
"Erik's wife had abandoned him when... in his fury by his daughter's unfair death... his powers blew up abruptly with vengeance... and he destroyed a town. If his beloved spouse, who had survived to the camps with him, feared him, why should not other people? But a doubt lingered on his mind. Had she run away because he was different? Or because he had single-handily killed in an unrestrained burst of rage? The uncertainty and the suffering were eating him alive. He stalled, taking care of the patients, wondering what was the right answer."
"Then a night a man came to see us. He revealed himself like mutant. He stated his master was the mightiest and strongest of the 'beings dwelled in this mudball' and he knew we were two alpha-level of his brethren. He stated his master had a proposal to us, an offer we would be wise in taking up. We were too intrigued to refuse."
Xavier sighed ruefully. Grief tinged his thoughts. "I should have blasted Nemesis right then."
Jerusalem. Five years earlier.
"I really hope this be worth of our time" Erik growled, stomping on the stairs.
"Hush, Erik. Steady your temper." Charles whispered. He was more focused on the weird place where they were descending. That blond man had led them to an apparently abandoned and ruined warehouse. Though, when he opened the rusty iron door they went into a secret complex. The chamber was plunged in slippery shadows, but he could tell it was larger than it looked in the outside, and the walls were carpeted with an odd circuitry. Practically alien. With a quiet frown Nemesis had locked down the door with steel bars and pointed mutely at a trapdoor. Through that pit they were now dipping in the heart of the Earth. And he couldn't help a bad hunch.
"Silence, underlings!" The man whirled around and grated furiously. "Your ceaseless gibberish is driving me mad. I fail completely in understanding what my Lord intends conscripting two fools."
Charles Xavier spread an arm to hold back his friend, who was giving the man an absolutely murderer glare. Nemesis simply huffed contemptuously, spun around and kept striding.
Both followed him along steps spiraled downwards as a twisted corkscrew, and a narrow shaft. Xavier looked around relentlessly, studying the walls and the gadgets he could make out in the semi-darkness. This was... downright alien. Nothing on the Earth, not even the technology his father and his colleagues used in Alamogordo, resembled this. Who was that man?
He was also puzzled -and alarmed- by the yells and screams echoed from everywhere. It unsettled him.
Then they trespassed a threshold, and the tunnel turned in a bridge crossed a pit... No, it was a training chamber of nearly thirty feet height, and the platform slithered like a snake along the ceiling. Erik and him walked hesitantly along the bridge, staring down at people. People with inhuman appearances, fighting with berserk fury, using raw force, speed, claws, fangs, poison, energy blasts, swords or guns. Whenever someone was defeated, the winner slaughtered the loser instantly. If someone hesitated the tiniest second, the instructor executed both without mercy.
Xavier's eyes widened contemplating this. What was the point of that butchery?
"This is the training chamber. Here's where the fittest are chosen. Every so often our master enjoys perusing the exercises. Hence the overpass." Nemesis said lamely. Like if the carnage wasn't important or noticeable.
Finally they reached the passage across the pit, and stepped in it. Doors and windows lined up along both sides of the corridor, and as they walked, both seized the chance to watch what transpired in the rooms. Horror drained blood from theirs faces. Some of those halls were armories or storage rooms. But many were labs. And there were persons fastened with straps to stretchers, while people in white lab coats walked around, performed autopsies on them or experimented with their bodies. They injected fluids in their veins, electrocuted them or dissected. Sick curiosity hinted Xavier that there weren't corpses in sight. Blotches of flesh and shards of bone littered the tiles, puddles of blood smeared the floor, and human organs were stored in glass jars, but there weren't corpses around.
Then he noticed the ovens. His heart skipped several heartbeats as arctic cold froze his blood.
Erik was also shivering, but if it was out of terror or of blistering, choking rage, Charles couldn't tell. Still he knew why his friend was so affected. Disturbing images and visions were projected in his head. Images of harsh-looking soldiers bursting into filthy and fetid huts at the midnight, fetching roughly one of the scrawny and starving persons, and dragging the prisoner with inhuman coldness, ignoring his or her desperate screams as the heartless beast of Doctor Josef Mengele stared at his chosen subject with an arrogant and dispassionate look on his eyes.
Charles felt like throwing up.
His long downward path finished in an ample gate. As Nemesis advanced at it and pressed a panel, Charles wondered who would be waiting for them. Ancient Greeks used to believe the Underworld was deep in the core of Earth. He suspected they were about of meeting Hades.
With a hum the double gate slid open on its own, and they entered in a great lounge, filled with strange devices and illuminated with fierce light of a crackling, blue brightness. Across the room was a tall platform with steps, and a wide throne had been placed atop it. Sat on the chair waited the man -man?-they were going to know.
A massive, vaguely humanoid being, clad in a blue armor, was staring at them with the expression of who studies a curious insect. His limbs were wide as pillars, and his round and ugly head was grey, with odd blue marks. And his eyes... God, his blank eyes, without pupils, without light, without life, without soul...
He had seen statues less petrified and warmer in Egypt. And mummies more alive.
And the evil that thing bereft of warmth and emotions irradiated, his stench of corruption pervaded the polluted air of the room. It was oppressive. Overwhelming. Xavier restrained again urges of retching.
The monolithic man then talked. His voice was a potent rumble. "Welcome to my abode. I have been awaiting you for a long time. And now the chesspieces are on the board, the ascent is nigh."
He laughed.
Charles squinted at him. "Who are you?"
Nemesis, who had kneeled down in respectful submission, whirled around swiftly. "How do you dare to speak so disrespectfully to the Apocalypse?" Embers sparked in his suddenly shimmering eyes.
"Silence, my servant. They are naive. They are still ignorant. But I'll explain them now. And if they are worthy, they'll understand. The test is hardly at its beginning stage."
Erik crossed his arms sternly. His patience was ebbing quickly. "What do you mean? What test?"
He was feeling like a guinea pig. And the notion wasn't appealing.
"I'm the Apocalypse" The man stated simply. "I was born in Egypt, when the civilization was young, and the King built his magnificent tomb in Gizeh. The Stormriders, a tribe of dune-dwellers bandits, raised me long before Rama-Tut was overthrown by four blue demons. Since then I have roamed the planet, culling the unfit ones who sully this land with their weakness to assure the ascent of the strong ones."
Apocalypse stood up abruptly, and his body began to shift and grow. Meanwhile, Charles and Erik were ruminating over his words. He was a mutant. The first born in the history if his words were truthful.
"And now my time has come at last! Thanks to my work during millenniums, groveling worms have evolved to gods. Now I shall lead my kin to their rightful place on the world, exterminating the beasts that prowl around the planet! Those humans have polluted this world too many ages with their unfitness. Evolution has decreed their extinction. They will die and the mutantkind will thrive free of them. My ascension has begun now! Only the fittest ones will survive, and Apocalypse shall reign supreme over them!"
Xavier eyed him up and down. With growing dread on his face. His talk, his manners... he was downright insane. But what if that madman had power to achieve his goal?
Erik was giving him a queasy, unsettled glance. "I don't understand." He stated at last. "You talk about evolution and fittest's survival. According you, the humans will die because they are weakest. Then the very nature will take care of it. Why chase them, hunt them and exterminate them if it'll happen anyway?"
Apocalypse pierced him with a glare. "I'm not got used to be contradicted. My will isn't analyzed... but obeyed! You have been led here to learn it. And you will learn or die!" His mouth erupted words of hatred and spite as his rage arose and churned, threatening spilling out of him. "You are mutants like me! Forget those silly things like... love and pity" he spat those words like venomous acid blistering his throat "and join my crusade. Together we shall turn this planet in a heaven to our race! We deserve reign because we are superior to our inferior genetics!"
Wrath, loathing and immeasurable pride emanated from him as ripples, washing over Xavier with the intensity of a hurricane. A whirlwind of images of executions, tortures, confinement camps, razed cities, war and death struck and whipped his mind. The wrenching agony was too unbearable, and he released them. And those visions of evil and ruin flowed in his friend like a cascade. Erik cringed inwardly with the sharp flashes tearing up his mind like glass shards, but he didn't let out his shuddering agitation.
Each Apocalypse's word brought implications didn't like him at all. The superior race? Where had he heard- Oh. Of course.
To Apocalypse violence and evil are inherent to the mutantkind. To the nazis, kill, rape and loot were inherent to good German's nature. They taught such values to innocent children, brainwashing them.
And what he wanted doing... Erik had thought time and again that the mutants needed conquer the power to not be decimated like the Jewish. But was preferable bring about a Holocaust instead of suffering one? And when all was said and done... the mutants would be hated and reckoned like a kind of heartless murderers?
Could he brook that?
As he pondered heavily, feeling the foundations of his beliefs cracking, Charles faced the monster with an undaunted, challenging frown. The whole indignation of his soul shimmered on that glare. "I've been in Korea, Apocalypse, and I know by a fact that heaven doesn't exist on the battlefield. Often I've seen people like you, who believed might is equal to right, and they were always brought down. You intend build a nation without solid foundations. You can't build anything with war and destruction, only with peace and creation. And there isn't justice on killing someone out of bigotry."
"Altruism, mercy, loyalty... are diseases corrode the soul and deteriorate the spirit. The true nature of any mutant is lust for killing his inferior and proving his superiority. Only through the war, the death, the destruction, the bloodshed, the strong ones will prevail. Peace is an absurd fantasy weakens the minds. And the only justice worth will be mine." He retorted, ever filled with haughty contempt.
"And so we reach the core of your being: those who oppose me must die!" Erik glowered angrily. "That's the root of your beliefs. You are nothing but a conceited, preposterous madman, Apocalypse. You don't strive to save the mutants. You fight to amass power!"
Xavier contemplated his friend. A thin beam enlightened his expression, before hardening in an unyielding glare led at Apocalypse. "He's right. You wish not helping mutants but global domination, killing who stands up to you. And if you truly expected I would assist you with that... you're crazier than you words suggested."
Still silence settled on the room, deafening like a thunder. "You have chosen your destine then, Xavier. A pity wasting your potential. But you, Erik. I can see your mind. I can sense the affinity of your soul. I know you. I know the bitter rage, the burning resentment, the seething hate dwells in you. You yearn for unleashing your ire upon those puny specks of flesh. Don't repress your instincts. Don't follow that dreamer in his ill-fated road. I'd grieve see you potential squandered. Join me. Together we'll rule over this mudball."
Erik crossed his arms sternly. Instants of silence ticked off. Tense, stiff, demanding silence.
Charles glanced fearfully at his friend, and for a second he allowed doubt crept in his mind. The mirthless, sarcastic Erik's laughter vanished that fantasy like smoke.
"You and me know two tigers can't reign over the same jungle, Apocalypse. So don't bother saying 'us'!" Erik thundered powerfully. "I don't wish conquering the world but peace among humans and mutants, but fearing a war will be necessary to it. You dream with dominating the world to squash people beneath your boots, and you wish war to increase the pain and the suffering. And if you -the deity I've turned my back to forbids- gain power, there'll be death and genocide not only to humans but also to mutants! I'll NEVER join forces with you, accursed butcher!"
Apocalypse stomped abruptly one foot on the ground, and a booming shockwave exploded, spreading as a ripple. The whole chamber quaked. "You have chosen perishing, then! Dark Riders, to me!"
Secret panels on the walls slid open with a swish, and a stream of armored soldiers flowed out of every shaft, flooding the chamber as an impetuous tide. Charles and Erik were surrounded and circled quickly by a wall of grim faces, long claws and fangs, gleaming blades, shinning guns, and dazzling energy balls begging being fired.
Erik and Charles were back to back, surveying uneasily the multitude. "Hm. Erik? I have no qualms with rehashing our bar brawls picking a good fight, but I estimate we are slightly outnumbered here."
The silver-haired man waved his hand dismissively. "I know, I know. Don't worry too much again."
His eyes narrowed, and blue flares welled out of them. Inwardly he was tapping in his power, enhancing his awareness. Mentally he visualized the metal framework held together the complex. He sensed each wall, each girder, each screw. He tasted each particle of electricity flowing on the facility, each electron floating on the atmosphere.
His eyes flashed with blank ivory, and he slashed outwards.
With the ear-shattering rumble of a massive detonation, every bit of metal in a half-mile radius imploded in shredded and wrecked shards of steel, and the basement collapsed. Straight after a blast of crispy, sizzling electricity blasted, piercing the sky with glowing-grey brightness lighted up the erstwhile quiet night.
Nobody saw how a translucent sphere darted out of the pillar of swirling energy, concealed with the intense radiance. Crackling sparks burst and curled along its round surface, and two figures hovered inside. One of them drove the sphere. A man with eyes shimmered with unholy glow, and clenched fists pulsating with energy. His partner stared with stunned amazement at the devastation. He showed no fear otherwise.
"That was quite the exhibition you have treated us with, Erik." He laughed nervously. "Now if you can -preferably slowly- lead us to the ground..."
Erik chuckled heartily. Charles dreadful from heights. Who would think it? "Agreed, Charles. But bear in mind this. That... abhorrent monster has given me unbidden thoughts to mull over..."
He nodded sagely. Encouraging him to talk.
"I've also got a dream, but perhaps it's as hopeless as yours and I've... just realized it. I've seen the worst the humanity can offer, Charles, and the homo superiors... like or not... are humans all in all. Perhaps I was able to bring off a lasting peace, but... you were right. Maybe peaceful coexistence is a pipe dream, but it's worth of trying. It's better pursuit a peace than unchaining a war."
"And a war will happen if Apocalypse succeeds. And the winner will reign over the ruins of an obliterated planet. The smoking, charred cinders of a civilization devastated." Xavier muttered darkly.
His squinted eyes were fixedly narrowed at the skyline, as if he tried reading the incoming future.
Westchester. Today.
Scott was drawn in an awkward silence, mulling thoughtfully over the flood of events had been revealed. He was deeply troubled, unsure of what telling. It was too much to absorb right away.
The Professor displayed one of his bleak, serious frowns he developed when he was reflecting and analyzing thousand patterns at once. His unreadable look in those times was really eerie. Nobody could guess what he was thinking beneath those sharp eyes that pierced the soul.
A flock of birds darted overhead, breaking the stillness with theirs squawks.
Xavier came round and smiled thinly. "Now do you understand why we must triumph over Apocalypse?"
Scott nodded.
"Well." The Professor glanced idly at his wristwatch and grimaced. "Oh, dear. We must return now to the mansion or we'll run out of breakfast."
"Don't worry, sir. I'm sure the cook will get enough pancakes stashed away."
"It isn't the pancakes or the coffee what I'm worried about. Without supervision, Robert will feel free to consume anything with sugar stored in the kitchen, and we'll be dealing with a hyper Robert. A hyper Robert, Scott."
Scott couldn't help the laughter as he pushed the chair back to the mansion.
The 'four blue demons' were obviously the Fantastic Four. In Fantastic Four 19 they traveled to the past and overthrew Rama-Tut, who would become Kang the Conqueror.
In the next chapter the X-Men go to the mall after a workout. Will Salem Center survive the experience?