(Author's Note: Okay, so, I just wanted to give a heads up. There's going to be some rather choice language used in this chapter. I apologize in advance, but I assure you it makes sense in context.)

Scott wasn't kidding when he said Craig was beside himself.

Before I even knocked on the door, it swung open. Craig walked past me, barely turning his shoulder to avoid coming into contact with me. That was all the acknowledgment of my presence I got as I watched him storm down the hall towards the elevator.

"Come in, Peter," Kitty ordered. I looked inside of the apartment, seeing a distraught Kitty in front of me. "We need to talk." I nodded as I walked inside. As I removed my shoes, Kitty took care of the door, closing it behind me before she locked it. I looked over at Scott, who was seated on the couch, massaging his temples with the index and middle fingers of both hands. Behind his glasses was a red glow. Some bits of energy were actually falling down, dissipating just before they reached his lap.

"You okay?" I asked. Scott took in a deep breath before he looked up at me.

"No, I'm not," he said simply. "Please sit."

I felt the tension in the air. Something happened before I got there, I was sure. I took a seat on the sofa. Kitty walked over and took a seat next to me. I looked back and forth between them.

"Why do I feel like I just walked in on the aftermath of a huge argument?"

"That's because you did," Kitty replied.

I swallowed. "Does it have to do with Carmilla?"

Scott nodded. "Yes." He took in another deep breath. As he exhaled slowly, the glow behind his glasses faded away. "Allow me to explain. The three of us received a text early in the morning. It was at 5:36, to be exact." He pulled out his phone and went through it. After he found he was looking for, he tossed his phone over to me. I caught it with both hands before I turned it around and looked at the screen. I saw a long series of sets of lines and dashes.

"Morse code?" I asked.

"It's actually a different kind of code based on a mix of Morse code and Tap code," Kitty explained. "It was something that Scott and Carmilla came up with. Craig and I are the only other people who know it."

I started to put two and two together. "…And you guys think this is from Carmilla?"

"It's a huge possibility," Scott confirmed.

"So what does it say?"

"'Need help, jammed up', followed by a set of numbers. Said numbers are 33.40591485194438, followed by negative 115.30740312252894. From what we can tell, they are coordinates. A quick google search, though, puts said coordinates in the middle of the Sonora Desert. There could be something there, or it could be a trap."

"That's what we tried to explain to Craig," Kitty added. I looked over at her, and she had a frown on her face. "Scott wants to do his due diligence, and I agree with him on that. However, Craig feels like we should be heading over there now to rescue Carmilla from whatever situation she is in… assuming she is there."

"I mean…" I paused for a moment as I looked off to the side in thought. I looked at Scott. "If only four people know this code, who else could it be?"

"Codes are able to be broken," Scott pointed out. "We haven't seen Carmilla in six months. That's more than enough time for something to happen. I tried to explain that to Craig, too. But he blew a gasket." He sighed as he stood up. "…I… I don't blame Craig for feeling the way he does. I know he wants a chance to make things right with Carmilla. And I feel guilty, because I had a hand in the fallout between Craig and Carmilla. But we can't do things carelessly – that's how people die."

I sighed. "Ain't that the truth?" I shook my head. "So…what's the plan?"

"While we technically have our vehicles back, they're still in Pepper's possession," Kitty stated. "…We don't have a place to discretely store them in New York yet. The only thing we can think of is tracking down the source of the text. It'll take me a bit of time, but I think I can do it. Before I can do that, I need to make sure Craig is okay."

"I'll do it," I offered as I stood up. "Where would he be right now?"

"Probably on the roof," Scott replied. "…You sure? I was about to talk to him."

"He's my family too, you know?" I smiled. "I'll see you guys in a bit."

"Okay."

I nodded at them before I walked out. I walked down the hall until I reached the door to the stairwell. Once I opened the door and entered it, I made way up until reached the roof access. I opened the door and stepped out. Some feet away was Craig, who was looking out towards the city. From what I can tell, he was wearing all gray sweats and a black ski hat. Slowly, he looked over his shoulder at me. In the one eye of his that was visible to me, I could see he was upset. Without saying a word he looked back out towards the city. Quietly, I walked up to him, stopping at his side. I didn't say a word. I just waited for him to talk, if he wanted to talk. After a few minutes, he did.

"Did I ever tell you about how I discovered I was a mutant?" he asked.

"…I don't think you did," I replied slowly.

Craig sighed as he walked forward a few steps. "I used to be a high school football player. I… tried out for the team during my freshman year. I made the cut, but..." He paused as he stopped in his tracks and looked towards me. "I was raw and unseasoned. I never played a down of real gridiron football. So, I bounced around from position to position until I ended up as a strong safety. I didn't want to go through that again, so the summer before my sophomore year, I did everything I could to learn the position and excel at it. I worked on my tackling. I challenged our best receiver practice after practice so I can learn how to cover the best. I hit the weight room. I changed up how I ate. I did speed training. And I studied the playbook like it was a copy of The Holy Bible given to me by The Messiah himself. All of that all paid off, too. I came out the camp the starter.

"My first game was… okay. But, on a crucial play, I wanted to go for a big hit instead of a sure tackle. But, as Coach 30 would say, moment was too big for me. I basically pissed down my leg when the receiver I was covering – a tight end – tested my gangster and handed me an F grade. His shoulder went through my chest as he ran me over. And then he scored the winning touchdown." At that, Craig scoffed and shook his head. "That's all everyone was talking about that week. I was playing decent up to that point. But I made a crucial mistake at the worst possible time, and that was what I was remembered for. So I made sure that never happened again. I kept my word. I was part of what became one of the most feared defenses in the county. And we went on to win the state championship."

I actually allowed myself to smile, imagining Craig in shoulder pads as he battled tight ends, receivers, and running backs and intercepted quarterbacks. I wished he went to Midtown High when he was a player – I would have gladly rooted for him.

"Not to toot my own horn, but I was considered one of the best players in my state," he continued as he looked to his right and upward, puffing out his chest a bit. "I became the talk of the county. On the field, I was a dang menace. Off the field, I was holding down an A-B average in the classroom, I kept my nose clean, I was getting offers from colleges all across the country, and I ended up dating one of the most popular chicks in school." He deflated a bit as he looked back at me, shaking his head. "But then, junior year came around. That girl left me for a teammate. I was heartbroken. My grades slipped, and I ended up fighting that teammate when he kept on getting under my skin about it. I was benched because of those two things, and both my coach and my parents made it perfectly clear – I get my act together, or I'm being taken off the team. But… that became the least of their problems a couple of weeks later.

"See, we had a rivalry game coming up. Everybody was hyped for it. It was one of those games that was a must win, no matter if you lose every other game that season. So, it was a big deal when my team's top three cornerbacks weren't able to play. One of them injured their ankle in practice. The game prior, another one tore their ACL and MCL." We both visibly cringed, and I took a moment to shake out both legs. "And the third one got suspended and benched because the idiot thought missing detention to go spend time underneath the bleachers with his girl was a good idea. Needless to say, he got caught. So, I got put into the game as cornerback. I never played the position in a game before, but I've done so in practice."

At this point, the unhappiest smile I ever saw in my life came across his face. He averted his gaze, but not quickly enough for me to not notice the sadness and bitterness in his eyes. "Game rolled around. It was raining so hard the field might as well have been a swamp. And, things went crazy with my performance. It all started when the receiver I was covering would slip down to the ground before the ball was even snapped. And then he'd have trouble getting back up. Then, I was covering him in his route, I would run step and step with him as if the field bone dry before I suddenly lost my footing. I managed to intercept the quarterback three times, even though I wasn't even wearing gloves and my hands were soaking wet. Stuff like that kept happening until I was no longer able to keep my footing. Each time I tried to get up, I would just slip to the ground. I had no grip whatsoever. I shouted for help, but all everyone did was look at me."

He looked at me, the same sadness and bitterness still in his eyes. "…You want to know what the mutant equivalent of Nigger is?" he asked me. I was a bit taken aback by him using the N-word. I never once heard him using it, let alone with the Hard R. Granted, he had that privilege. But it took me a moment to get over it before I shook my head. "It's Mutie. That was the first I time heard it directed at me, by not only the opposing team, but my own teammates, a lot of whom I considered friends and family. To them, I was no longer Craig Pierre, Jr. I was no longer one of their friends or one of the best players on their team. I was just someone… something that needed to die. And all of them rushed at me to try and hurt. Fortunately, my powers kept them at bay."

He sighed as he looked down at the ground. "We used to live in a school, you know?" He looked up at me. "Like, there was a whole mansion that doubled as a boarding school for mutants. There were mutants from all over the world were living there, with a lot of them coming to earn a high school diploma while they learned how to control their powers. Most of those people there… they had a traumatic background. I'm talking the kind of stuff that would make them perfect characters for Shin Megami Tensei and Persona games, bruh. So… I didn't complain much when I got there. I mean, it sucked that everyone on the football team – people I trained with, ate with, and hung out with – turned on me when my powers became active, during a game of all times. But, my family still loves me and looks out for me. And since I lived in a place where kids who are disowned by their own family are a dime a dozen, I didn't talk much about how I felt. Fast forward to about three months before Kitty and I met you and the rest of the American Idiots. During that time, it took me making some appointments with a therapist to realize that me going off on Carmilla without giving her a chance to explain or defend herself stemmed from my nigh-inability to forgive people who I consider traitors and backstabbers. And that stemmed from trauma from that event."

I frowned. "I'm sorry," I said, not knowing what else to do.

"…I should be the one who's sorry." His eyes were starting to look rather shiny. I knew tears were forming. "I know Scott and Kitty are right. I know they are. But …I thought I was over Carmilla completely, Peter. I thought I came to terms with the fact Carmilla was never coming back. I thought I moved on. But, when I saw the text this morning, all I can think of was seeing her again and apologizing for how I treated her." He took in a breath. "I just want to tell her I'm sorry, man. And I just want to make sure she's okay. She can hate me for the rest of her life. She has that right. But I just want to do those two things."

"You will get to," I assured him with a small smile. "But, dude… you have to understand that all of us care about you – both the X-Men and The American Idiots. And we would really hate if something happened to you. I understand where you are coming from – there's not a single thing I wouldn't do for MJ. But if Scott decided that we all just go to that location without proper planning, and you get hurt and killed, he wouldn't be able to forgive himself." I lifted my hand up and placed it on his shoulder. "We'll get to the bottom of this. And if it's really Carmilla, we'll get her out of there."

He nodded as he took a breath. "I hope so, man." He nodded. "I hope so." I nodded. Without thinking, I stepped up and hugged him. At that moment, I realized I wasn't quite sure if he was a hugger or not. But before I could apologize, he wrapped his arms around and returned the embrace. We didn't let go for a while. He held me tight as his breathing deepened, and I stood there, embracing him and giving him all the time he needed to pull himself together. After some minutes, he pulled away. His eyes were a bit red, but he looked stable. "Thanks Pete. I needed that."

I gave him a slight smile. "Anytime, dude," I replied. I then patted the side of his left shoulder with my right hand. "Come on, let's head back." He nodded, and we both walked back towards the door.

We headed back to the apartment. Craig barely opened the door and stepped inside before Kitty was right front of him and hugging him. He returned the hug, embracing her for a bit before he pulled away.

"I'm sorry, KitKat," Craig apologized. He then looked over at Scott, who was sitting on the couch. "I'm sorry, Scott."

"Don't worry about it," Scott said with a small smile. "I understand." He stood up. "We'll get Carmilla back if she's there. I put that on everything."

Craig nodded. "Okay. Well, I'm going to go take a nap. I'll see you guys later." With that, he walked towards his room. I watched him as he opened the door to his room and entered. As the door closed, I looked back at Kitty and Scott.

"He told me what happened when he found out he was a mutant," I told them. "…Is it usually that bad for mutants?"

"It's usually a lot worse," Scott replied with a grim tone. "I hate to agree with Craig because I don't like downplaying what he went through, but, all things being considered, he got off kind of lucky. Others get disowned by everybody. And some… some don't even survive their persecutors." He took in a breath. "…I'm going to get ready for work. Peter, I'll see you in class. Kitty, would you kindly give him a ride home?"

"Sure thing," Kitty obliged. "Let's go Peter."

Once I was home, I sat on the bed, replaying Craig's story in my head. The last part stood out to me – about how his trauma from that event affected his relationship with Carmilla. I frowned. In a way, I understood. Everything that led to The Spell had me convince that I was better off not being in anyone's life. Of course, it wasn't quite the same. Quite a few of my wounds were self-inflicted. The only thing Craig did was be born with a certain gene. Still, it reminded me that there was something I needed to do.

I had a phone call to make.

I stood up from my bed and walked over to my desk. On the desk was a piece of paper. Written on it was the name Jericho Drumm right above a phone number. I pulled out my phone and checked the time. Figuring it was late enough in the morning, I dialed the number in my phone before I sent the call. I put my phone to my ear and walked back to my bed. The called ringed three times. As soon as I sat down, someone answered.

"…Hello?"

"Hello," I greeted back. I took a moment to take in a breath. "Is this Doctor Jericho Drumm?"

"The very same. May I ask who is speaking?"

"I'm Peter Parker, sir. I was suggested to you by a friend of mine. I think you know him."

"…Was it Doctor Strange?"

I raised my eyebrows in surprise. "You know Doctor Strange?" I shook my head. "Actually, no, that's not important. To answer your question, no I didn't get this number from Doctor Strange. The friend in question is Scott Summers."

The line went quiet for a moment. Then came a soft chuckle.

"Let's chat."