The first thing that hit her was the sound. The school was still anything but quiet during daylight hours. Stray students wandered the halls between classes, friends talked and laughed on the way, sports were constantly played outside and echoed through the open courtyard doors, soft whinnies from the stables—someone was always doing something here, even at night.
Next was the smell, riding the light breeze fanned at her upon opening the door quite roughly. It was the same as well—floral but musk, pungently so. Her senses were bombarded by the stimuli, flooding her veins with a dangerous rush of adrenaline, almost dizzyingly. Head spinning, stomach in her toes, she took uncertain steps along a familiar path to the Professor's office.
Despite her rigid shoulders and neck, her eyes wandered—mind following them into each open room she passed. It felt like an unsettlingly real dream. But she carried on, somehow finding her way to her destination in spite of it. She'd been so distracted by it all that seeing the door to the office caused her a moment's pause. Cassandra stared at it, as she had done many times before, and she exhaled a shaky breath.
Come in.
Charles' voice echoed softly at the back of her mind, though she couldn't quite tell if it was a memory or the hand reaching out to pull her back to the present. The sound of his voice triggered a rush of anger, a sudden realization with a hard blink, and she forced herself to swallow the lump in her throat. It was the present, she knew. And it was demanding far too much of her.
So, she pushed open the door and stepped inside, muscles tensing to brace against the sight of the professor behind his desk—a once comforting sight. "I repeat-" she balled her hands into fists at her sides, digging half moons into her palms, the door falling closed with a soft thud. "-what the fuck, Charles?"
"You kiss your boyfriend with that mouth?"
Logan's voice drew Cassandra's eyes. As her gaze swept to the left, she saw more than just one familiar face. Logan stood almost directly on the other side of the office from her with thick arms folded over his chest. Beside him was Storm, eyeing Cassandra with a reserved expression of shock. Though, the most painful sight of the three was Scott, standing by the window.
He'd paused in his position, halfway turned to see her with a slack jaw. Cassandra forced herself to swallow again. He looked older—they all did, except Logan—and worn out, and a worried thought fluttered quickly across her mind, as delicate and small as a butterfly, but it was there. Was he not sleeping again? Was it the reason for her summon here keeping him up?
With a small, unnoticeable shake of her head, she turned her eyes to Charles. He waited patiently behind his desk. He was always patient with her, even in times like this when she, arguably, didn't deserve it. But being too stern with her would force her away, and he might not ever get her back. So, there he waited.
"I'm with family right now," Cassandra added an explanation to her anger, before crossing her arms. "Why do I need to be here?"
"I understand and, again, I apologize. Unfortunately, this now involves you, too. We've been keeping an eye on certain persons of interest, in case they should attempt another revolt. Magneto's allies have been committing small crimes here and there, and we didn't think much of it. However-"
It was then that Logan spoke up, once again gaining Cassandra's attention, "They're connected somehow. Found out the hard way, thanks to a run-in with the blue bitch."
"Mystique," Storm corrected him.
Logan barely refrained from rolling his eyes back into his skull, settling instead for a huff of annoyance. "That's why you came to my apartment?" Cassandra asked him, an eyebrow raised in a mixture of surprise and intrigue.
"Yeah."
Cassandra turned back to the professor, then. "What does this have to do with me?"
"Last night, your brother came to our door in search of you," Charles answered. "He was badly injured but only insisted on your safety. It would seem Magneto is looking for you. For what purpose, we're not sure."
Cassandra's heart rate spiked, sending the organ spiraling into her throat with the mention of a brother. Clint was home last night and there was no way anyone came there in the night. She would've heard it, she would've woken up. Wouldn't she? That left Barney, the brother she was sure no one knew about, given she'd never mentioned his name here or around Magneto.
If anything, that thought only drove a knife into her chest. The sharp pain shown through in her eyes as her expression changed. Her jaw slacked, features smoothed with shock—but her eyes remained full of worry. "Barney? He was here? Where is he now?" the questions tumbled out, each word fighting the next to get past her lips.
"He's downstairs, asleep. He's going to be fine," Storm answered with a calm voice. Under any other circumstance, it just might soothe her enough to relax.
"Cassandra," Scott spoke her name and her head snapped to the left, eyes landing immediately on the dark lenses of his glasses. "Do you know why Magneto would be looking for you?"
"No," Cassandra's voice had risen with her emotions, adding unintentional—subconscious—venom to every syllable. "No, I don't, Scott. We weren't exactly on speaking terms last time I checked. Whatever he wants can wait—I need to see my brother."
Charles turned his chair and started around the corner of his desk, traveling toward Cassandra. "Yes, of course. Come with me."
He went on by her in a straight line. The door opened for him seemingly on its own a moment before he passed through, and Cassandra exhaled a heavy, rueful breath as her feet turned instinctively to follow. It seemed more and more obvious that the price to pay for reuniting with her oldest brother was a trip down memory lane. And, although she didn't protest it, her hands trembled at her sides from the thought of it.
Her time spent alone, away from everyone and everything here, felt like a kind of progress. She was more independent, self-sufficient, responsible, and in control of herself. But returning to the depths of this building only showed just how much she'd been fooling herself. There was no control in the way she felt, the thoughts entering her mind with every step.
Heat was traveling to her palms, congregating faster with every extra beat of her heart, forcing her to keep every finger in a tight fist. Cassandra was embarrassingly out of practice. Though, she didn't need another blow-up, another broken vase—so she took deep breaths as she walked a step behind Charles, following him to the elevator. Children of varying ages passed them in the hall.
Some glanced up curiously at her, but most kept their heads down or simply didn't care to look. It wasn't out of the ordinary behavior. There were, more often than not, new students every week. New names, new faces, new abilities. Children and teens came and went like the weather as they always had. "There's no need to be nervous," Charles spoke suddenly, entering the elevator.
Cassandra's eyes followed him inside before her feet did, stepping inside to stand beside him. The bright, white light of the fluorescents illuminated them both as she inhaled. "You said you'd stay out of my head."
"I don't have to read your mind to tell when you're nervous, Cassandra," he replied, as the door slid shut with a soft hiss. "Do you honestly believe I never noticed what you do with your hands? When you're standing, you make a fist. Sitting, you wring them—rather aggressively."
For lack of a proper response, she kept her jaw shut, clenched. It was true—every word he said, every observation he'd had, was as true as it always was. If anything, it only made her more angry. She didn't want to bond with him, she didn't want to know he cared. Not on the surface. The elevator only took a moment to descend before reopening, and Cassandra didn't wait for the professor before stepping out, already well aware of her way around.
She knew exactly where the infirmary was. As a teen, she'd been taken there more than her fair share, with injuries ranging from a broken limb to a third degree burn. Every time was drilled into her brain. The pathway stored in her memory, she walked quickly, bordering on jogging to her destination.
The silver tunnels, brightly illuminated hallways, finally let out to a decently sized room. In the center, a table with medical equipment. This time, on the table was an unconscious man, IV's in his arm and a monitor beeping beside him. The closer she became, the more her heart stumbled, staggering, falling into the pit of her stomach as she came to a stop next to the table.
There he was. His hair unruly and much longer than he liked, thick stubble covering his jaw and chin, and even in sleep his features sagged—drooping with a heavy mixture of exhaustion, pain, and age. Cassandra's eyes caught on the deep coloring of the skin around his left eye, the red and irritated slit in his lower lip. Even the underside of his nostrils was stained a faded red, tinging it pink with the history of a bleeding nose.
She looked to his bare torso as her chest tightened. Bruising peppered his abdomen with purple, pink, and yellow. The sight turned her stomach on its head, nauseated with anger and worry. "Oh...Barney," her voice was a shaken whisper against the lump in her throat as she reached out a hand, carefully touching his shoulder. "What did they do to you?"
Charles stayed a few feet away, sitting silently. These situations were always so difficult. Although he didn't personally know either of her brothers, seeing her so distraught over Barney's injuries pained him, and even more so the knowledge that she would blame herself for every wound.
Arguably, it was her fault. However, not at all consciously—and, even if she knew what Magneto was up to, there wouldn't be many ways to stop him. Blame was a slippery slope, a thin line between fact and fiction often blurred by emotion. Charles knew that better than anyone. He waited patiently aside the table for any questions she may have, anything she may want to say.
But she was just as quiet, trying desperately to swallow, the corners of her eyes burning. It was all she could do not to react somehow. To yell, to scream, to cry, to wail. The urge to do something was itching just beneath her skin. Finally, Charles tilted his head as he rolled forward a few inches, looking up to see her face.
"Cassandra?" he spoke gently.
She sniffled hard and shook her head—the action more to shake herself free from her thoughts than anything else. "I thought Magneto was powerless," she mumbled. "Does he not have something better to do with his time now?"
"I'm afraid...the cure wasn't all it was hoped to be. It is a temporary fix."
Cassandra's head turned quickly, eyebrows drawing together. How could she not have heard this? Wouldn't that information spread across the news networks, warning people of incoming mutant resurgence? Maybe she'd been so distracted during one of Loki's visits that she missed it entirely?
But Charles gave a shake of his head, "No, dear. It's not public knowledge—not in the way it should be. If they told everyone it didn't truly work, that would only worsen their fear, and the government would be forced to do more than they should."
The laugh that escaped Cassandra was heartless, empty. "They've been doing that this whole time. Now they care about anti-mutant optics?"
"I understand your rage, Cassandra. It can be very useful, but you mustn't let it use you—you will need to be able to focus if you're to face Erik again."
Her eyes wandered back to Barney's face, turning away from the professor. He was right. She would need to be fully focused and prepared. However, this was the worst possible time for a mutant manhunt. Clint might even be looking for her at this very moment. "I need to talk to Clint first," she said. "I'm supposed to be visiting him for the weekend. He's not gonna believe where Barney finally turned up."
"Your brothers care for you greatly. From what we could understand of his ramblings, Barney here never gave them a location, yet he somehow managed to come straight here in search of you. If he and Clint are anything alike, I'm sure he'll understand the interruption."
Although she knew Barney was safe here, Cassandra didn't want to leave him. The very instinct to protect that drove her to join the war on mutants was compelling her to stay. But she knew better than to leave Clint in the dark, especially when it concerned their brother—and, despite the difficulty, she retracted her hand.
It left a nauseous feeling in her gut, an uneasiness that dizzied her mind with its gentle lull. "I'll be a minute. If he wakes up, can you tell him I'm coming back?" she asked, eyes shifting down to meet Charles'.
He nodded once. "Of course."
Once the words left his mouth, she was gone, and his shoulders settled against the back of his chair. It was hard not to consider the drastic change in her temperament over the course of their relationship. He knew she was simply a victim to circumstance, to unfortunate events and horrible accidents. Though, the wish for a different outcome existed in his heart.
Logan announced his presence with a grunt as he entered the room. Charles turned his chair to face him as he approached, holding in a heavy sigh at the sight of a cigar between Logan's fingers. "Don't you think it would be best to smoke those outside?" Charles posed the question rhetorically, with a pointedly raised brow.
"Yeah, yeah—don't shit your Depends over it," Logan grumbled. "The kid's coming back, right?"
"Yes, Logan. She's gone to tell her other brother what's happened and then she will return. In the meantime, we need to focus our efforts on finding out Erik's motive."
Logan huffed a stoic chuckle, "Could it have something to do with her practically blowing him away at Alcatraz?"
"Well, if he wanted fire power, there are much better options out there at the moment," Charles pointed out. "And not just for the sake of stability."
"You weren't there, Charles. You didn't see what she did. This girl—my girl—jumped from a class two to a class four in the span of a couple hours. If he's gunning for her, he's gotta be planning somethin' big."
In a bat of her lashes, Cassandra appeared in the guest room at Clint's house, feet from the end of the bed. And although in many ways it were as if she never left, her absence had been found out. At first, Clint knocked on her door to warn her breakfast was almost ready. When she never answered the door, even after more knocking and persuading, worry began to take hold. Was she really that heavy a sleeper?
He enlisted Laura's help before jumping to conclusions, asking her to listen for a response as he knocked a fourth time. She put her ear to the door, he knocked and called out for Cassandra, and Laura shook her head. There was no sound from the other side whatsoever. That was when the worry truly settled in, making itself comfortable in the center of his chest, pulling the strings of his emotions as he sent his boot into the door.
The knob needed replaced anyway, he told himself. Though, truly, his mind was spiraling to the worst possible conclusions. His heart began to race as he hurried into the room, eyes scanning the space before checking the bathroom. Laura stepped inside, but it was clear Cassandra was not in the room. She was worried as well. However, she opted to first take the more rational approach.
"Clint, honey-" Laura waved a hand to draw his sporadic gaze as it zig-zagged around the room once more, approaching her from the empty bathroom.
"Where's her cell phone?" he was thinking out loud, distracted by the adrenaline, as he passed her. His feet carried him toward the bed, hands quickly yet carefully diving into the duffel bag at the end. "Did she take her phone?"
While he frantically searched, Laura did her best to help, coming to the bed to look around. There was a charger plugged in at the nightstand—but there was no phone attached. Quickly, she reached for his shoulder, fingers taking hold to make sure he was paying attention this time. He looked up, and she pointed to the nightstand. "No phone. That's a good thing, right? She left on purpose?" she questioned.
Clint exhaled a heavy breath and took a step back, running a hand over his hair. "Yeah...that's at least a good sign," he nodded as he reached for his pocket. "I'm gonna try calling her."
"And if she doesn't pick up?"
All he could do was shake his head, thumbs moving quickly over the dial pad of his phone. Fingers threatening to shake, he clenched his jaw to steady himself—then, movement. A flash of something jerked his head up, robotic in his determination, only to see his wife hurriedly waving him down.
One of her hands grabbed his right shoulder and the other pointedly wildly at something behind him. The words her lips formed caused him to blink hard—there she is. Almost immediately, he turned on his heels. There she was. Standing at the end of the bed, she looked grim, her features washed out and noticeably sunken. Clint's body flushed down all the worry and adrenaline with a sudden rush of relief that forced an exhale from him. "Jesus Christ, Cass," he breathed, forcing his phone back into his pocket.
"I'm sorry I didn't warn you guys before I popped out, it just happened," Cassandra apologized, taking steps toward her brother. "There's something going on back in New York. I'm not sure why it involves me, but it does—and part of it's about Barney."
Clint's eyebrows knitted in confusion. He never knew just where his brother went all those years ago, and he'd wondered occasionally where he got off to, but New York never quite landed on the list of possibilities. "What are you talking about?"
"Barney showed up at the school last night. He didn't know I moved out, so he thought he could find me there. But, he was hurt, Clint. Magneto—the guy the military wanted when I was on the news you mentioned? He's looking for me. I guess he thought Barney might know where I went."
"Oh my god. Is he okay?" Laura asked, as she came to stand beside Clint. She placed her hand on the space between his shoulder blades, a comforting gesture he didn't quite know he was in need of until the warmth of her palm reached his skin. His heart was sufficiently in his throat. First, worry consumed him on behalf of his missing sister. Now, it was creeping in on the pretense of a negative answer on behalf of his brother.
Cassandra sighed, bobbing her head left and right in a fifty-fifty gesture. "He doesn't look great, but he'll recover. He's still asleep, though," she replied, eyes shifting between Laura and Clint. "I'm sorry to cut the visit short—I really need to be there."
Again, Laura spoke up, "No, don't apologize. Barney needs you. Clint, you should be there when he wakes up, too."
Clint understood her words, catching enough of them to gather meaning, but that was the least of his problems. "I'm not sure that's a good idea, honey," he shook his head.
"She's right, Clint," Cassandra agreed with her sister-in-law. "I can take you- you'll be back just as fast. Magneto doesn't even know this place, or your family, exists. No one does. They'll be safe."
It felt like the right thing to do, going with her to see his brother. Although, the anxiety from the thought of another meeting gone wrong with Barney and the bone-crushing fear for his family's safety was a recipe for disaster. All it would take to lose his mind was for the two to collide. But how was he to tell these women 'no', when all parties involved would know he was simply scared?
Both fears were things that had a fifty-fifty chance of coming to pass. Though what Cassandra said did drastically diminish the chances of Laura and the kids being harmed, Barney violently protesting Clint's presence when he woke up was still too high for comfort. "Yeah, okay," he grumbled his agreement with hesitation.
Laura rose on her toes to kiss his cheek, running her hand across his shoulder blades before stepping away. "I'll handle the kids until you get back."
"I'll be back as soon as I can," he told her, as his head tilted ever so slightly, eyes filling with the warmth that bubbled up in his chest. Then, with fondness, he said, "I love you."
"I love you, too. Both of you be safe."
Cassandra walked across the few feet between her and Clint, reached out a hand. Her fingers encircled his wrist as she gave Laura a small smile—the biggest, most heartfelt she could force onto her lips, given the morning she'd had. "Thanks, Laura," she said, with a nod. "Call if you need us."
It was then that she took them both, a cloud of purple wisps and faint sparks taking their place in the guest room. When they reappeared, they stood in the infirmary, not far from the place she'd left the room from. "There you are," Storm acknowledged Cassandra's reentry, passing by to check the vital signs of the monitors beside Barney.
"Here I am," Cassandra let go of Clint only to step closer to the table, her voice a grumbling sarcasm beneath a deep exhale. She spoke up as she introduced her second sibling, "This is Clint, by the way. He's only here for Barney."
Storm turned her head to see them both, expression vague as her eyes met Clint's. Cassandra had mentioned him many times over the years she'd stayed at the school. Sometimes he was a source of stress and hurt, sometimes he was brought up in conversation to tell a heartfelt story. "It's nice to meet you. My name is Storm. I was one of Cassandra's teachers," she told him, with a small nod.
The tension, the past between Storm and Cassandra was thick enough to feel, tangible in a thick awkwardness that coated the skin. Clint knew something happened between the two long before she admitted to being a previous teacher. Their interactions were strained enough that he wondered, briefly, if he should regard Storm with such pleasantries.
But, regardless, he returned the nod. "Nice to meet you."
"Oh, great," Logan's dryly sarcastic voice forced Cassandra's head to turn, twisting her torso to witness his second entrance to the room, Scott striding in by his side. "There's two of them."
"You'll have to excuse Logan. He's just the local asshole," Scott spoke looking to Clint, walking on a path set straight for him. He held out his hand as he approached and Cassandra instinctively took a step back, removing herself from his proximity. Instead, she turned back to Barney, carefully brushing her index finger through the overgrown hairs at the side of his head.
Clint noticed the shift, but he remained still, raising an eyebrow at the odd shape of Scott's glasses. "Clint. Cass's brother," he introduced himself, grasping Scott's hand in a firm shake. "If he's the asshole and she's the teacher, who are you supposed to be?"
"You'll have to ask your sister. Usually I'm just Scott. Sometimes I'm Cyclops—when the situation calls for it. It's good to finally meet you, Clint."
Logan stood at the end of the table, folding his arms over his chest with a sigh. It was hard not to roll his eyes. Though, he did find himself fighting that urge so many times in a day that he couldn't possibly count. At this point, that reaction was simply an instinct of habit, but he still believed it was called for in most situations.
He eyed Cassandra while the others exchanged names. With Magneto's sudden interest and Logan's strong hunch, he thought it best keep watch—to keep track of details and mannerisms to further prove, or disprove, his theory. Although, right now, she was simply and very clearly depressed. She had been since he first met her. It was a day that would stay with him, he knew, for good as well as bad reasons.
One of the starkly good reasons being their rather abrupt introduction. He was shaken and, admittedly, fearful of his circumstance—then she teleported in, simply on her way to suit up for a danger room session, and her blue doe eyes found him frantic in the silver hallways. Now, he noticed her eyes were dull, unfocused and borderline lifeless as she gazed down at her brother.
The version of her he knew—the fearless, broken girl he fought so hard to save all those years ago, the girl who saved him—was gone. It was an unsettling realization, but he kept it to himself as he watched her, one ear with her and the other on the conversation taking place beside them both.
"So, what happened to him? That Magneto guy did this?" Clint questioned Scott.
"Yes and no. Magneto is behind it, but—from what we can tell—it was done by mutants working with him," Scott explained. "We're not sure yet why, but he's looking for Cassandra. We assume he thought Barney would know her whereabouts. After the attack, he came straight here."
Clint glanced back at his brother before raising an eyebrow in a mixture of confusion and skepticism at Scott, "Barney told you all that?"
"We've pieced a lot of it together. He wasn't very lucid when he got here," Scott shrugged one shoulder, unsure of how else to phrase it.
Clint then looked to Cassandra, turning his head to see her, and her eyes left Barney only to meet Clint's at the sight of movement in her peripheral. "You're going to go after these guys, aren't you?" he asked the rhetorical question with rue.
Her irises refocused as she nodded, a shadow fallen over her features, "I'm gonna find Magneto, and he's going to wish he never came looking for me."
