Hi there fellow writers and readers and reviewers! This is KSimonT-X with the latest update for "Downfall Blessings and Uprising Legacies." The story is evolving as it's going along, and I hope it becomes better and better with time. Here's the next chapter. Also, my previous chapters have been too long for their own good, so from here on out, with a few possible exceptions, I'll be trying to make them shorter, but I'm not perfect so remember that.

Oh and lastly, I have redone some concepts of my character's powers. If you want to see what I mean, refer to previous chapters, possibly from the beginning, and work your way forward. Feel free to send me a message if you have questions.

AN: I would like to thank Agent-G for all the support and advice and great suggestions he's given me on this fic. He's helped me out a lot of things that could have escalated into some pretty bad jams, but thanks to him, I've managed to catch them in time.

Chapter 16

Nightmares

Xavier Institute

It was now very late at night at the Xavier institute, it was nearing midnight and the moon and stars had come out to shine with all their glory. It had been quite a day for everyone at the institute, especially for their newest member, Raiden. It had been a day of seeing, learning, and new experiences for Simon, and a day of the others getting to know him better, even though it was at a relatively slow pace due to Simon's loner nature.

The New Mutants had gotten through their training session earlier that day with pretty good results, and quite a few of them were edger for tomorrow where they would start their training with the senior X-Men, and show them what they were made of. While most of them wanted a chance to show them who was tough and gruff, zeal could never substitute for actual experience.

As the day was drawing to a close, some of the members had turned in for the night, Ororo, Logan, Hank, and Xavier had all gone to bed, for they had to be up and at em' early in order to prepare for the first X-Men/New Mutant training session, which would happen first thing in the morning. The adults had also managed to talk the youngsters into going to bed early, for they needed the rest to be at their best when the time came. The New Mutants had been reluctant to say the least, for apparently their childhood desires to stay awake long after bedtime still hadn't subsided. Most of the senior X-Men were in bed now as well, but a select few, including a young leader who needed food in his stomach to sleep, were still up.

Scott was currently in the kitchen, fixing himself a late-night snack before he hit the hay. He stood at the counter, carefully spreading creamy peanut butter over a slice of whole wheat bread with a knife to make a sandwich. And of course, the cookie jar stood not too far away, which would help satisfy his sweet tooth should that ever come up.

As Scott busied himself with his food, he noticed a figure walk into the room, looking remarkably awake for this time of night. It was Simon, wearing his sleepwear, which consisted of black cotton pants and a black tank top.

At first Simon didn't notice the young leader who was fixing himself some food. Scott made himself known. "Hey, Simon," he greeted him.

The words made Simon immediately aware of Scott. He didn't exactly seem surprised by Scott being there, but his head snapped up anyway. "Oh, Scott," he replied, "I didn't see you there. What are you up to at this time of night."

"I could ask you the same thing," Scott answered.

For a moment, the two boys looked at each other, as if waiting to see who would speak next and preparing to pounce on any real reaction the other made. "You want to answer first?" Scott offered Simon.

Simon decided to go along with it. "I was coming done here for a quick bite before I hit the sack," said the energy-morphing teen, "and I do believe----," he added, eyeing Scott's food, "that you're doing the same thing."

"Got it in one," said Scott, "you're pretty observant." He said the last few words with half sarcasm and half seriously. "That could help you a great deal with your future Danger Room sessions."

"Ah, yes the Danger Room," Simon snorted, "I hope I don't have a recurrence of today's session when we go at again tomorrow."

"Still stressed on failing that exercise huh?" asked Scott, knowing how he felt.

Simon let out a sigh. "Am I that transparent?" he asked Scott with a frown, who only turned up a corner of his mouth in response.

"I was simply asking," said Scott.

Simon let out a big breath of air. "Well, I'm not AS stressed," he admitted, "But I still think I could have done better that I did." For a few moments, Simon was silent as he watched Scott finish his sandwich. Finally, he spoke again. "Scott," he said.

"Yeah?"

"Do you ever try your very hardest to do something, even if you're good at it, and feel like you could have done better afterwards?"

Oh, how Scott knew that feeling. He felt that way after practically every Danger Room session. He always felt that he could have done better, or succeeded on a higher level. And of course, there were the battles against the Brotherhood of Evil Mutants. He'd often felt they could have done better. And then there was the battle against the Scarlet Witch, which he still was getting over.

"All the time," Scott answered honestly, "I've tried for years to shake it off, but I've learned to live with it."

"Why?" asked Simon, looking curious.

"I've come to use it as a tool to teach me how to try harder," Scott explained, "It makes me rethink every situation, every outcome, every detail. It's something I've grown to do after every training session. Even the ones with unexpected portions."

Simon stood there at the counter contemplating Scott's words. He'd never really figured it that way before, mostly because he was a guy who hated to fail, even if it was his first time. That had caused him a lot of unnecessary discomfort in the past. I could really learn a lot from this guy, Simon thought.

"Well, I'll sure keep that in mind," Simon said, turning to open the fridge. Scott had taken a seat at the table and started to eat his sandwich. "You wouldn't have any Mountain Dew here would you?" asked Simon, looking through what he saw.

Scott's eyebrows rose as he looked at the clock. "Mountain Dew? Simon, it's almost midnight."

"So what?" asked Simon in response.

"What do you mean 'so what?'" Scott shot back at him, "Mountain Dew is drink for a time when you want to be awake, not when you want to be asleep. Would you really drink it at this time of night?"

"Wouldn't be the first time."

"You mean you've done it before?" asked Scott.

"I once drank a whole 2-liter bottle of Mountain Dew at one in the morning," said Simon, smiling like he was proud of it.

"You what?" Scott asked incredulously, "How long did that keep you awake for?"

"Not too many hours," Simon answered, looking down, remembering what a miserable school day the following day had been.

"See," said Scott smirking at Simon in triumph, seeing him indirectly admitting it was a bad idea, "You shouldn't drink that stuff at this time of night."

"What can I say," sighed Simon, "It's an addiction." He continued looking for the fridge for any Pepsi product that wasn't of the diet sort. Finding none, he pulled out the milk instead. "Well, I guess this'll do," he announced as he poured himself a glass. He also reached into the cookie jar, pulling out some cookies, some for himself and some for Scott.

"So, how's like treating you here?" asked Scott, as Simon sat down at the table.

"Let's just say that I had an…" he paused hoping to get the right word out, "interesting day for me. I've seen the Danger Room, the entire mansion, which in my opinion is like a state-of-the-art training facility, and then there's all the commotion around here with a bunch of kids running around with powers firing all the way."

"Well," said Scott, smiling as he thought of how Simon would react to what he was about to say, "This was one of the less destructive days here."

Simon's eyebrows rose. "What do you mean by 'less destructive?'" he asked.

"We're still trying to get the New Recruits to keep their powers down, but this still like to go all out with their powers. And when they do that, it's usually followed by pretty expensive repairs more often than not."

Simon put two and two together. "Yeah, I can see how that would work," he said, "From what I saw at the game of Frisbee today, I don't really think they realize how destructive powers can be."

"Yeah, but we're hoping to fix that and soon," said Scott.

Simon was carefully looking into Scott's eyes, or trying to, as he spoke. Simon could see his own reflection in those ruby red shades and suddenly realized that Scott had never taken them off. And he also realized that he had never asked anyone why.

"Scott?"

"Yeah?"

"I just realized that I've never seen you without your shades ever since I got here. Not even in the Danger Room. Why is that?"

Scott looked a little uncomfortable as Simon spoke those words. He had never really liked talking about it in the past, mostly because it brought back memories of when he lost his parents and supposedly lost his little brother. Seeing the look on Scott's face, Simon immediately realized he'd hit a sensitive spot on Scott's mind. He suddenly wished he hadn't said anything.

However, before Simon could say that Scott didn't need to talk about it if he didn't want to, Scott spoke up again. "You see," the young leader explained, "Back when I was young, before my mutant powers manifested, I was flying with my parents and little brother in a plane."

"You have a brother?" asked Simon.

Scott nodded. "Yeah, his name's Alex. Anyway, there was a fire in the plane and all the cutes were gone but one. My parents tied me and Alex into it and pushed us out. But the chute caught fire and we had a crash landing. My parents were both killed, my brother was lost. As for me, I got a head injury that caused some slight damage to my brain. And as a result of that head injury, I lost my ability to turn my powers on and off."

Simon looked surprised at that. Before he'd figured that Scott simply wore those for looks, or perhaps some eye condition that made seeing with his eyes alone dangerous or painful. But he'd never would have thought of that had Scott not told him.

"So those aren't ordinary glasses are they," he stated.

"Nope, ruby quartz. It's the only stuff that can safely disperse the power of my optic blasts without causing damage to anything."

"I'm—sorry about that," said Simon honestly.

"It's taken some time," Scott admitted, "But I've come to live with it. Though it gets tiring of seeing everything through a red haze all the time."

"Yeah, I bet," said Simon. He suddenly wondered how he could take it if the only color he saw was blue, which was the color of his energies. He sure didn't want that to happen.

Simon passed Scott half of the cookies he had taken from the jar. "Here're some cookies," he offered.

"Thanks," Scott thanked him, taking the offered treats.

Simon popped one into his mouth and started to chew it. He was taking a drink from his glass of milk when something, or rather someone, unexpectedly appeared.

BAMF!

A puff of sulfurous smoke and the stench of brimstone filled the air as Kurt teleported into the kitchen right beside Simon. Simon's mouth came away from his glass, the milk spilling over his front as he toppled off his chair.

Kurt was unaware of how his entrance had taken affect on those around him, and immediately noticed Simon lying on his back on the floor of the kitchen with spilt milk on him.

"Oh, I'm sorry mien friend," he apologized to Simon, offering the fallen teen one of his three-fingered hands to help him up.

"Man, Kurt," Simon grumbled, holding a hand over his heart, "What are you trying to do? Give me a heart attack?"

Kurt pulled Simon to his feet and looked at him sheepishly. "I just thought I'd grab a snack," Kurt told him, "But I thought to get here by zhe quickest vay possible."

Simon nodded after he pulled himself up. "Kurt, you really shouldn't port in front of people like that. It's----,"

"Annoying?" Kurt finished the sentence for him, glancing at Scott, who had a look that said, "you did it again didn't you." Simon nodded, wiping milk off his chin. "Yeah, I get zhat a lot." With that, he went to the refrigerator for some food.

"I thought you were in bed, Kurt," said Scott accusingly.

"I vas," Kurt admitted, "But I grew hungry."

"I guess teleporting really does take a lot out of you," said Simon, remembering Kurt's comment on his need for food at breakfast.

"You now it," Kurt admitted, not too ashamed of his appetite. For all he ate, he remained as fit and trim as an Olympic-Class athlete. Simon only shrugged.

"I hope zhere's no more of Kitty's leftovers in here," said Kurt hopefully.

"Last time I checked, they were long gone by some unknown reason," said Scott, even though he knew where they had gone.

"What?" asked Simon, looking confused.

"Kitty's cooking," said Kurt, "She likes doing it. But trust me, she needs a lot more practice!"

"Aw what's so bad on that?" asked Simon, "Food is food is food. Can't be all bad."

Kurt gave Simon a look that was so serious it made Simon think twice. "Trust me, it can be bad. If you'd tasted some of her food, you'd see it for yourself. " he said ominously.

Simon didn't like those words. He made mental note to be careful in the future, even though he had doubts.

"Well I just hope it isn't as bad as that stunt she pulled on me at breakfast this morning," Simon complained, thinking of how weak he had felt when he saw her look.

"Terrible isn't it?" asked Kurt, "Kitty is famous around here for her puppy dog eyes." And it was true, Kitty had used it one pretty much everyone. Not anyone of the New Mutants, bur all the senior X-Men had gotten it. Mostly because they were older than her and she had trouble convincing those who had the advantage of age on their side.

"No one told me about them," Simon continued to grumble.

Scott glanced at Simon, seeing how uptight he was to have fallen victim to those eyes. Scott suddenly wondered if being warned before hand could have helped. Sometimes being prepared for something worked. But then again, with a look like Kitty's, nothing did. Unless you had a heart as hard as rock and metal. "Do you honestly think you would have been able to say 'no' to her if you knew she was going to do that?"

Simon thought for a second, then shook his head.

"I thought not," Scott sighed.

"You'll get used to it," Kurt offered, sitting down with a snack of his own.

For a while, the three boys sat and talked, discussing the day, and what the plans were for tomorrow. They didn't eat that much.Well, Scott didn't at least. Simon and Kurt on the other hand, had a sandwich and banana each, along with another glass of milk to fuel their bodies and powers, which casued their metabolism to burn calories like a star burned its hydrogen through nuclear fusion. They talked about what they hoped to achieve over the course of the spring break, and also of who things there were to do in Bayville, which Simon listened to carefully, for Bayville was new place for him.

They also shared stories of their lives, which focused a fair amount around the negative details. Scott told Simon of the time he'd spent at the orphanage in Omaha, Nebraska, of what life was like, being bullied by the mean, older residents of the orphanage and the harsh Spartan rules made by the authoritarian staff members. He'd been treated harshly an awful lot, and then he was sent away to a hospital in solitary confinement which the staff had said, for his "'safety," even thought Scott felt they did for theirs rather than his. And finally, salvation had reached him in the form of Professor Charles Xavier.

Kurt's story was interesting as well. Kurt was from somewhere in Germany, which Simon had already figured, and had been raised by a kind couple named the Wagners, who had found him in a stream floating by. Simon had asked how he had gotten there, but Kurt avoided answering. The Wagners hadn't been repulsed by his appearance and had raised him like he was their own child, like unconditional love and care. However, due to Kurt's demon-like appearance, he had been home-schooled most of his life and couldn't go out and play with other children. But after he came to the institute, Kurt really was one to enjoy life to the fullest. And it shown clearly.

Simon also told them of his life. He had always moved around a lot, since his parents were scientific experts of the highest order and were constantly on the move due to the nature of their careers. Moving from school to school had never been easy for him, for he had always had trouble making friends, and the fact that his family was a very wealthy and respected one, that made things even more difficult. He had been looked upon as the "spoiled rich kid" by a lot of people, and they used that assumption as an excuse to stay away from him before they even knew him. Simon had hated that, but since he was a loner, it hadn't bothered him that much. And here at the institute, he felt more at home for so far, no one had counted him out due to his rich upbringing.

After they had exchanged stories for about half an hour, they realized it was late and they had to get some rest for the night to up and alive for the training session tomorrow.

"We'd better hit the hay," said Scott, "We have a DR session in the morning."

"Yeah, the Danger Room," sighed Kurt, "I almost forgot."

"Why do you do it so early in the morning?" asked Simon.

"It's a thing of Logan," said Scott, giving Simon a smile, "He likes to push you to the max."

"Doesn't seem to bother you, Mr. Fearless Leader" Simon pointed out, noticing how chipper Scott seemed at the thought of getting a hard morning session. A little too chipper perhaps.

"Scott's zhe dude of Danger Room sessions," Kurt explained as a matter-of-factly, "It's like a natural zhing for him."

"I'm not even gonna ask," Simon said, rolling his eyes.

"Besides," said Scott warningly, "You don't want Wolverine getting you out of bed."

And image of a raging Wolverine, with his adamantium claws drawn and a smug smirk on his face pulling him out of bed with the sheets around him popped into Simon's mind. Not a pretty picture.

"Right," he admitted, "I wouldn't want that."

Kurt chuckled. The three young X-Men then headed off to bed.

Somewhere in Bayville

Trent Havener was feeling great at the moment, and he had every reason in the world to. He'd just spent the last few hours hanging with his buddies in their favorite bar, which was equipped with its own nude dancing section. They'd smoked and drunk and laughed their asses off all night long and damn did that feel good.

Now here he was, walking back to his apartment several block away from the bar. It was dark and there weren't many cars around, so he didn't really have to worry about accidentally stepping into the street in his alcohol-induced wooziness and get squashed like a bug. Living so close to your favorite bar had its advantages in a big way. You didn't have to worry about driving, which was a real low deal in the world of alcoholism.

In the morning, he'd probably have on hell of a hangover, but at his age of thirty nine who had to worry about that. He wasn't married, nor did he have a girlfriend to smack him upside the head for making himself drunk as a skunk. When you were alone, things were easier than with a partner.

Maybe tonight, Trent had had too much to drink. His vision was slightly blurred, and his equilibrium was less than perfect. Was he unintentionally trying to set a record of how many of his brain and liver cells he could kill in one evening? The body could only take so much. He just hoped enough of his organ remained to get tonight's booze out of his system. He'd had fun and didn't want it to come with a price as high as the need for a liver transplant.

Trent walked as best he could past the houses and apartments that lined the street. The moon was out and the breeze was blowing gently, sending fallen leaves flying over the pavement and sidewalks. And since it was spring, the air was warm. In fact, it was warmer than most springs were around here. But for those who were fans of warm weather, regardless of what time of year it happened to be, that mattered not. But since Trent was worn out with all the partying he had done tonight and the toll the alcohol and nicotine were having on his system.

After several minutes of walking through the dark warm Bayville night air, Trent was nearing his apartment that was located on a corner of the street. His muscles felt like they were turning to jelly, and the jelly was getting mushier and mushier with every step he took. He couldn't wait to crawl under his sheets and let his body sleep it off.

"Hey, Handsome," a female voice reached his ears, "Need some company?"

Surprised by the voice, Trent looked at the source of the voice, and saw a woman, wearing a long black trench coat standing not seven feet from him at the foot of stairs leading up to his apartment. And she was about the most gorgeous woman Trent had ever laid eyes on. Her slender face was as sculpted as the most perfect bust of the goddess Venus, long raven hair flowing past her shoulders in dark waves of night, eyes as dark as the night itself peered at him as full vermillion lips smiled sultrily at him, revealed perfect teeth as white as pearls.

Did I have more to drink than I thought, Trent asked himself, Or is there a god who finally decided to bless me? The most beautiful woman he'd ever seen was asking him if he wanted company? There was a god!

Trent smiled sheepishly, and gathered himself as best he could, trying to look manly. He wasn't fat, for he spent a good deal of time at the gym working out to keep in shape, but in a hang over even super-athletes could look a floppy as a noodle.

"We-we-well," Trent sputtered, "I was just goin' up to my room. But you'd sure be welcome to come along?"

The woman smiled with zeal, those dark red lips reminding Trent of blood droplets on a rose. "You inviting me to have some fun with you?" she asked, shifting her weight form one foot to the other in a provocative pose.

Trent was feeling more stupid by the second, but before he could say anything, the woman merely smiled at him, fluttering her eyelashes. "I'd say yes," she whispered softly, licking her lips hungrily.

Trent could have died and gone to heaven at those words. God had blessed him tonight.

The woman walked up to him, swaying her hips in a sexual sort of way, and waved her hand over Trent's face. But what happened next was something Trent didn't expect. The wooziness faded, and he felt strength returning to his muscles. It was like his drunkenness was fading like vapor in the wind. Less that a few seconds later, he was feeling like his old self, and very energetic.

"Come on," she suggested, and pulled her finger out from under his chin, beckoning him up the stairs to go inside. He complied without a thought.

Once the two of them were inside Trent's apartment, Trent closed the door behind him and locked it. He knew that this woman, whoever she was, was in the mood for some "fun" as she put it, and he was going to make damn sure that she didn't leave until he was ready to be finished. And with his wooziness gone, that would probably be until morning!

Turning around, he expected the woman to be standing behind him, waiting to make his acquaintance. But surprisingly, he didn't see her. For a moment, he wondered, with sense of dread, that the alcohol from this evening had gone to his head so much that he was having hallucinations, and the beautiful raven-haired woman he'd let in was merely an illusion induced by the effects.

"In here," he heard a silky voice called to him.

Relief flooded through Trent as he heard the woman's voice call to him from his living room. It hadn't been the booze after all. Thank the fates, he thought merrily.

Trent followed the sultry sound into to the living room, and indeed, the woman was there. But Trent was met with an unexpected sight. The woman had discarded her black trench coat to reveal her attire underneath, and Trent took a minute to take it in. She was wearing a shiny black latex top that allowed a slight view of cleavage and left her right shoulder and flat stomach bare. Below that she wore sleek black latex tights with built in high-heels. The outfit displayed every curvy of her body in the perfect way. Trent was afraid he would drool.

The raven-haired woman walked up to Trent with a twinkle in her eyes and thin smile on her lips. Trent couldn't take this anymore. He had to know who she was. "Wh-what's your name?" he asked, mentally cursing himself for the stutter in his voice.

The woman's smile deepened, and her eyes grew mischievous. "You want to know who I am?" she asked, coming right up to him so that she could look right into his eyes.

Trent nodded eagerly.

"You worst nightmare," the woman answered.

Trent was surprised. What sort of a name was that? That was no name. And what the hell did she mean she was his worst nightmare when she was his dream girl?

What happened next made his face turn white with terror. The woman's sultry smile vanished, replaced with what was the most terrifying death glare Trent had ever seen on a person. It would make a lion cower in fear. Then her eyes glowed red, like flaming blood.

Trent's eyes widened in horror. This couldn't be happening. He opened his mouth to shout for help, but the woman raised her hand to his mouth, an eerie red aura surrounding it. Trent tried to scream, but not a sound escaped from his lips. He tied to make a sound, any sound, a squeak, a moan, a gasp, even a whimper, but it was like his vocal cords no longer functioned.

Something was way off here. He had to fight back. Trent raised one of his muscular arms and tried to strike the woman. But as Trent brought his arm to hit her face, the woman grabbed it, her face still covered with death's expression. And what surprised Trent further was the strength of the grip. The woman was holding onto his arm with bone-crushing force, like his arm was being held in a steel clamp being twisted tighter and tighter. Trent wanted to scream from the pain, but couldn't.

"You males," she hiss dangerously, eyes flaring, "Always with your muscles and might. It's so pathetically quaint!" Then, with a flick of her wrist, the woman snapped Trent's arm.

The pain was like a bomb going off in Trent's brain. The room started to spin with the sensation. But seconds later, he managed to see the woman bring back her hand and then strike him across the face, striking with the speed of a serpent. Rather than a hand, it was like being hit with a garbage sack full of bowling balls.

Trent felt the force lift him up off his feet and he was sent flying through the air, smashing to a bookshelf that smashed under his weight. The woman approached him with a glare that was nothing less than murderous.

"Your life is so useless," she growled venomously, "I hope your life force isn't so worthless."

Life force? Life is useless? What was she talking about?

"Snack time."

Trent tried to pull pack, the pain from his arm blurring his vision, but at that moment, the woman captured his head in powerful hands. Trent felt the pain suddenly subsiding, but his strength and awareness was fading as well. His heart was slowing, his thoughts, his mind, his breathing. It dropped like a stone. It was becoming harder and harder to remain conscious. The last thing Trent saw before he would forever fall into darkness was the evil red eyes of the woman who turned out to be his literal worst nightmare.

Selene looked at the miserable waste of flesh on the bookshelf before her. He no longer looked as human, but his flesh was now stony grey, his eyes milky and lifeless. His life was gone, leaving only an empty shell that most biologists would call a corpse.

She had needed a little life force energy to keep her youth and beauty up. This little worm's life was a jump for a brief time, but she would need better victims later on.

She looked at the stone-like face of the dead man whom she had drained, then spat on him. Selene had left Sinister's complex not too long ago in search of someone to drain of life essence. It had been awhile since her last feeding and she had wanted to get a little bit of an appetizer before she drained a whole group of unknowing victims.

Frankly Selene was less than satisfied with this little creep. If he'd been a food morsel, he would have been as bland as a cracker or slice of bread. His drunkenness was totally stupid and the guy himself probably had less brains that an oyster in the ocean. But she didn't want to leave much of a scene with her victims, for she didn't exactly want people to really make a newspaper cover story of it. She would leave this waste of flesh here. No one would find him for a least a few days. If he was found they would think he merely died of alcohol poisoning or something else.

All in all, Selene didn't need to be concerned. She just hoped that next time she could have a more appetizing victim to drain. She liked the kind with rich, power-laced essences. Those really made her feel young and beautiful.

Without even looking at him again, she left the room, leaving the lifeless corpse behind.

Simon smelled something. It was strong, and pungent, like a chemical or something like that. And it burned the insides of his nostrils. Then, a brilliant light was shining directly into his face, a real bright light, for it hurt his eyes even through his closed eyelids.

Opening his eyes and then sitting up right, Simon looked around himself, and what he saw shocked him. He wasn't in his room at the Institute, nor was he wearing his sleeping attire. He was in some sort of operating room, in a hospital, lying on the main surgical table, trays of medical instruments and cabinets filled with drugs and medicines all around. And he was wearing a white hospital gown that patients wore for surgery.

The next thing he became aware of was the feel of something, maybe gauze or bandages wrapped round his torso and stomach, and he felt a slight stinging there. Simon's heart started to race as he pulled up the top of his hospital shirt, and the sight he saw made his blood run cold. His chest and stomach were wrapped in gauze pads and snow-white bandages, going all around his torso, his back, his sides, all around.

No! This wasn't possible. It couldn't be possible! It was in the past. Not now in the present. What was happening?

The heavy doors of the operating room suddenly pushed open with along swing. Several doctors, both male and female, came marching in, all dressed in surgical aprons, caps, and masks. The air in the room seemed to drop several degree in seconds as they entered, for Simon saw real cold and fierce looks in their eyes, like they were planning to do something awful.

"Hello, Simon," one of the doctors, a man, spoke in greeting, his tone dark and dangerous.

Simon's eyes darted from one doctor to the next, his fear growing with each second.

"What's going on?" he asked fearfully.

"Isn't it obvious?" asked another doctor, his voice just as venomous.

Simon had no idea what these doctors, whoever they were, were talking about, but his gut was telling him that they were not in here to fulfill to Hippocratic oath to relieve pain and suffering.

The Doctor's gathered around the table Simon lay on, their eyes narrow with evil intention. Simon was starting to panic now. He hadn't been in a hospital, let alone an operating room, in over two years, and that last visit had been one he'd been haunted by ever since. And hospitals were nothing like this.

"It's time," another doctor, a woman, spoke, she pulled on her latex gloves, snapping the rubber into place as she pulled them on.

"Time? Time for what?" Simon asked nervously, his heart racing.

"They didn't have the spine to finish you, Simon," said the first masked doctor, "So we have to finish the job."

"I can't believe we were stupid enough to patch you up," said a new voice, "We should have finished you without even stitching you back up."

If Simon didn't now any better, he could have sworn certain areas under the bandages surround his torso were starting to itch, maybe sting. The sensation was faint, but now it was grow more and more intense with each passing second. What the hell was happening?

"I-I-I don't get it," Simon stammered.

"You're such as brainless bastard, Simon," said a female surgeon, "This is obvious, yet you can't grasp it."

"This is a good news/bad news scenario, Simon," the head operator spoke up, this time, in a hideous, mocking tone of voice, like an evil hyena.

"What?" Simon asked fearfully.

"Good news for us, this town, the country, and the rest of the world," said one doctor, and especially her. What you did to her was worse than murder." He held up something in his hand that gleamed, and Simon paled when he saw it was a large syringe filled with dark red fluid that could only be blood, or something that looked like blood.

"And the bad news," said a voice to Simon's right, "is yours. For now you can never show your mockery of humanity mug to darken a human's soul ever again." Simon looked at this one, and his fear doubled in two seconds. In this doctor's hand was a large stainless steel surgical scalpel, the blade gleaming.

"But-but-what do you want?" Simon was on the verge of bolting up and running out the door, and the next words he heard were what drove him.

"To see what your insides look like."

"NO!" Simon leaped off the table, the fiery sensation on his torso increasing, but he ignored it. All he wanted to do was to escape, leave the burning for later. Two of the doctors stepped in front of the doors leading out of the room, but Simon pushed past them, adrenaline surging through his blood like fire. He bolted out the doors.

Beyond, the hall was long, eerie and forbidding, but there was nowhere else to go other than back to the operating room from hell. Simon ran as fast as he could down the corridor, his head and chest on the verge of bursting. He ran until he reached what was the lobby heading out of the hospital, he had to make it out. Once he was out, maybe he could run somewhere to get help. But he never got the chance, as groups of patients and doctors gathered around him. He was trapped.

"There's Simon Valley," he heard voices to his left, and saw some other doctors in lab coats and patients glaring at him like he was a thug, "The hell spawn!"

"No!" Simon shouted frantically, trying to convince them he was a human, "I'm a person! I'm not like that?" He was paralyzed, all the eyes on him, which were now glowing white like stars, all showing nothing but hatred and malice towards him. It was more crushing that any physical weight.

"Why did you take everything from them, Simon?" asked one of them, "Why did you act so selfishly?"

"I-I was trying to help?" Simon protested.

"Help who? Them? Or yourself?"

"You hurt them, Simon," came a new voice, "And you enjoyed it."
"No!"

"That shows us what you are. You're worse than a killer!"

"No!" Simon cried, "It was an accident! I'm not a killer!"

"What are you then?" asked a voice.

"A monster?"

"An abomination?"

"A thing?"

"A fake?"

"A freak?"

The names cut Simon's heart out with emotion. But now he found his strength leaving his body at a rapid pace. The images of faces and eyes started to spin and dizziness overcame him. He fell to his knees.

Too weak to do anything except look on in terror, he saw the faces closing in.

"You're not human! You're something worse than a demon!"

"You're a wolf in sheep's clothing, the viper that destroys all who care about him and thinks nothing of it!"

The pain in Simon's chest was now excruciating and the pain sent stars to his brain. As he looked down at himself, he saw red stains on his hospital shirt, which weren't there before. Simon ripped off his shirt, and to his utter terror, saw that the bandages on his torso were now blood-soaked, crimson streams oozing down his chest and then dripping onto his pants and the floor. The wounds were bleeding as if they were freshly inflicted! Simon screamed out in terror, and in pain.

But then, the crowd parted in front of Simon, even though he was barely aware of it. Then a voice, that made Simon's heart freeze in mid beat reached his ears. The beautiful, yet shattered and furious, voice of a girl. "Why did you do it, Simon? I trusted you. But you used my trust. You took everything I cared about away. You hurt me and didn't even care. You're just a heartless freak. How could you bear having my trust?"

That voice, it was like an explosion in Simon's heart. Through the powerful fires of the wounds on his chest, Simon saw the face of which the voice belonged to. And it made his freeze as if he was encased in steel-solid ice. And it made his flesh go icy, his bones frigid. And he shouted before all went black.

"NO!"

He wasn't sure what woke him, the feelings in his chest, or the sound of his own scream. Simon bolted up right in his bed, panting like he had run a marathon. His face was soaked with sweat, and his tank top was damp from the perspiration. Simon ran a shaking hand over his chest, feeling so relieved that no blood was there.

He fearfully looked around the room with cautious eyes, trying to see if he was where he was supposed to be. He was in his room at the institute, alone in his room, in his bed.

He let out a relieved sigh as he tried to regain his breathing.

The nightmares. They were coming back to haunt him. But why now? He hadn't had one of them since a month ago. But they were returning. And this had been even worse than those before. It was a reminder of his mind, never allowing him to forget. It was his ultimate failure, not just to himself, but also to everyone who trusted him. When would these images ever stop haunting him?

Tears started to run down his face at the memories of what he had done. "I'm sorry," he spoke aloud, even though no one was there to hear him "I'm so sorry."

Suddenly the door opened and light spilled into the room. Simon looked up through his bleary eyes to see some of the other members of the institute pour into the room. He saw Scott, Jean, and Kitty at the door and as they came into the room, Rogue and Kurt followed. All of them had their eyes fixed on Simon. Simon suddenly wished that he was more composed that he was. He really didn't want them to see him like this, but the feelings were impossible to dampen down.

"Simon?" asked Jean, worry and concern sketched into her features.

"What, like happened?" Kitty asked, "I like heard your shrieking all the way down the hall." That gave Simon the impression that maybe he'd awoken the entire institute with his cries. Now everyone would see him in this emotionally shattered state.

The group came closer to Simon, taking in his messed up hair and his sweaty appearance, his eyes red and bloodshot with tears that were streaming down his face. But the haunted look in his eyes really worried them.

"Vhat happened?" asked Kurt, "You look awful!"

"I-I-," Simon found himself sputtering, for he found he couldn't make the words come out. He couldn't tell them what he had seen. Never.

Scott and Jean edged closer to Simon's bedside, taking dae not to approch too quickly. Jean was feeling a tremendous amount of feeling radiating off of Simon, dread, terror, sorrow, and so many other emotions. She hadn't felt emotions this strong in ages.

"Simon what happened to you?" asked Scott, "Did you have a nightmare or something?"

Simon barely nodded. "Yes," he managed to get out, "It was terrible, the images the voices, everything was everywhere. I couldn't---," he couldn't finish his sentence, for the memories were overwhelming. He started to tremble.

Jean placed an assuring hand on Simon's shoulder, trying to calm him. "Easy Simon," she soothed, "Try to breath. Take slow deep breathes."

"Are yah okay?" asked Rogue, "What made yah shout out like that? Tell us."

"I-I can't," Simon choked out, "It's-it's indescribable."

Just then, a new face appeared in the room. Logan. His animal keen sense of hearing had more than picked up Simon's cries of terror and had been more than enough to wake him. "What's all the commotion?" asked the Canadian.

"Simon's been having nightmares," Kitty explained, "It woke us all up, so we came to check on him."

Logan looked at Simon, who looked like he had seen a ghost. He could smell the fear on the kid's scent. And God almighty was it strong.

"You okay, kid?" asked Logan, in a remarkably soft voice for him.

"What makes you ask that?" asked Simon, in sarcastic tone, "Please, just leave me alone."

"What's going on?" came yet another voice, this one with fatherly concern in it. Professor Xavier came into the room, having sensed Simon's powerful emotions in his sleep. He looked to Logan, who merely raised an eyebrow and motioned to Simon, who Scott and Jean were trying to comfort as Rogue, Kitty, and Kurt looked on in wonderment.

"What's wrong?" asked the professor.

"Simon's just had a nightmare," Scott explained, "And we're guessing it was a pretty harsh one."

Xavier wheeled closer to the bed as the others got out of the way. With a telepath of his strength, it was like being ina smoke-filled room with emotion being the smoke. "Are you alright, Simon?"

"I had a dream. A nightmare," Simon told him, "I though they'd gone away, but they haven't." That last statement made people's eyebrows rise in question. He'd had these nightmares before? Since when?

"You mean you've had zhem before?" asked Kurt, sounding surprised.

"What are they about?" asked Kitty, "When did they start?"

"Everyone, please," Xavier tried to maintain control, "let me handle this. Do you want to talk about it, Simon?"

The boy shook his head in denial, hoping to be alone. "No," he said quickly, "I just want to be alone."

Xavier took that a sign to need some space and understood it. "Very well, we'll see to this later when you feel more up to it." He then looked to his students. "Simon needs some time alone."

"But can yah get back to sleep?" asked Rogue.

"I think so," Simon responded.

"You sure?" asked Kitty.

"Yes," Simon said irritably, "Now I just want to be left alone."

"Come everyone," said Xavier, "Everyone back to bed. In case you've forgotten, we have a DR session in the morning."

With that, the occupants of the room filed out, leaving Simon alone once more. Tired from his experience, Simon sank back on the bed. Hopefully he could fall asleep again for the reminder of the night without the nightmares returning.

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