"So, this is some kind of...superhero team?"

Clint's eyebrows raised as he looked at Cassandra from the leather X emblem on her old suit. It was no longer hung, but folded and placed aside—and, although it smarted to some extent, she could understand why. They needed the space. They needed a replacement. She couldn't expect them to mourn her absence forever. No, the X-Men would move on. And, in most ways, they already had. Hadn't she?

With a small huff of tired laughter, Cassandra nodded as her shoulder blades touched the sliver of wall between displays. "Yeah, you could call it that," she signed her reply, despite the shake of her hands. "Not sure these guys would use that word. They're a brittle bunch."

"Who you calling brittle?"

Her head snapped to the left, eyes quickly searching for the sudden voice. Standing in the entry to the room was yet another familiar face attached to childhood memories, though this one was arguably one of the most positive. Bobby. A smile of surprise and genuine, internalized joy crept onto her face as she pushed away from the wall. "Bobby? Oh my god. Did you get taller?" she asked, taking steps toward him.

He returned the smile and moved into the room, looking down at her with bright eyes of relief. "Me? You should see Pete."

Cassandra wrapped her arms around his shoulders and he reciprocated quickly, his arms sliding around her torso to give a comforting squeeze. Many years ago, young Cassandra's friend pool was small, the pool of close friends even smaller. Bobby Drake swam in both with ease. She often found herself in positions of needing protection—from other people, from herself—and Bobby had a habit of giving it to her. He was like an older brother.

Though, at the time, it was hard to know just what that looked like. She could only assume what his unwavering support was as her own older brothers exited her life so unceremoniously. When they pulled away from their hug, Bobby looked to Clint, who stood back with a curious, observant eye. "Hey, I'm Bobby. You must be Clint," he stepped forward, holding out a hand.

"That's me. Nice to meet you," Clint nodded and shook the young man's hand. "So, uh, what're you in for? If you don't mind me asking."

Bobby chuckled at the choice of words, glancing briefly at Cassandra. "I guess you could say I'm just a really chill guy-"

"Ugh, really? I told you how lame that sounds."

Kitty Pryde entered the small room with a wrinkled nose, squinted eyes of secondhand embarrassment aimed at the back of Bobby's head. A heavy sigh escaped Bobby but any words he might've said were silenced by Cassandra's voice. It rose an octave, her eyes wide as they looked over the woman in place of a girl she used to bunk with. "Kitty!" she practically gasped.

"Hey, Cass," Kitty smiled warmly, before throwing her arms around Cassandra. "It's so good to see you."

Bobby turned to see both sides of the room. It was an odd sight to behold—Cassandra Barton, years older, in a place that virtually hadn't changed from their youth. On one hand, it was a startling acknowledgement of passed time. But on the other, It was a warm, sweet string that tugged at his chest, putting a light behind his features that had been dimmed for far too long. His friend had come home. His family.

"Did Charles tell everyone I was here?" Cassandra asked, stepping back from Kitty.

Bobby shook his head, "No, just the team. Storm filled us in on what happened to your brother. I thought maybe some familiar faces might help with the nerves."

"Is Kurt-?"

"He's out doing recon," Kitty placed a hand on Cassandra's shoulder, a small gesture radiating gentle reassurance that forced Cassandra to swallow. "He won't be back for a while. But, he does know you're here."

That was the second most alarming thing she'd heard this morning. Dread mixed with guilt mixed with relief, swirling in her gut like a stirred drink, the force of the emotions adding a dull throb to the base of her skull. She introduced Kitty to Clint to distract herself, but the thought was still there. Despite recalling her time with him fondly, the possibility of seeing him again after all this time was terrifying.

Part of her mind tried desperately to hold onto the prospect of gentle reunion. The X-Men moved on—maybe he had, too? However, she knew it couldn't be that simple. Hearts don't heal from lacerations easily, but she held his in her hands, felt the pulse beat against her palms, and shattered it. Hers was just as damaged that year. Though, it was dragging him down with her that drove the final nail in.

Cassandra's eyes unfocused, drifting slightly as her mind raced. No one had quite noticed. Bobby and Kitty were giving Clint a more in-depth explanation of just what the X-Men were, what they did, why they existed. They showed him what they could do—Kitty taking a step through the nearest wall and Bobby turning his hand to solid ice.

Clint was thoroughly shaken from the day he'd had—and it wasn't even noon yet!—but he tried his best to keep an open mind. Though, the concept of a group of superhero mutants was equal parts comical and infuriating. It angered him to know that these people saw what his sister could do and put it to use, putting her in harm's way more often than not.

It was Cassandra's choice to join, yes, but what reasonable adult tells a child to stand in the way of bullets? What greater good was worth his kid sister's life? It was a hard pill to swallow, much less digest. "I bet you're a hit at parties," Clint remarked, eyes moving up from Bobby's icy fingers.

Bobby chuckled once, nodding a little, "I'm real handy when the cooler ice melts."

"Or when you need someone to freeze the water balloons." Kitty tilted her head as she looked up at Bobby. Her expression was easy to read, and Clint couldn't hold back a brief grimace. She was speaking from experience, he knew. Frozen water balloons weren't something he'd ever been hit with. Though, it was easy to imagine the pain, especially when hurled at other children.

"That's a little violent, isn't it?" Clint questioned, glancing between the two. "Don't you have any supervision at this place?"

Cassandra caught the last few words as her mind slowly eased its way back to normalcy. Eyes still slightly unfocused, she exhaled. "If you think freezing a water balloon is violent, I'd hate to hear your thoughts on the danger room."

Clint's eyebrows shot up simultaneously, "Danger room?"

"It's not what it sounds like-" Bobby's quick defense was interrupted by an empty, dizzied laugh from Cassandra. Of course it was. It was every bit what it sounded like and more—a room of manufactured danger, designed to help train the X-Men for future battles. At one point, it was Cassandra's second favorite room in the mansion.

Her first? She'd been living there for almost two years and still didn't quite fit. There were plenty of small social circles to swim in, but she could only float and wade around the currents, so she clung to a rock along the edge—the untouched corner of a space on the third floor, practically in the attic. It was bordered by bookshelves with a couch and dusty coffee table.

Though, she spent her time on the wide window sill, tucked into the glass where she could use the natural light and take mental breaks from a book to look down at the gardens. It was perfect, and safe. Somehow, the danger room had felt safe, too. The training sessions helped her connect, to others and to herself. She could use her abilities without scrutiny from the outside world—or, more importantly, threat of injury.

But now she fought to hold them inside again. They were banging on the locked doors of her palms, the chains she wrapped tightly around them worn too thin. It scared her to think that just a little taste, a small accident, was enough to awaken them. Cassandra shifted weight between her feet, wrapping her arms around her torso as the laugh that escaped her faded as quickly as it had emerged, palms against the ribs of her sweater.

Everyone was looking at her now. She could feel their eyes, but hers were on the ground—that is, until Logan stepped in front of the doorway. "Hey," he alerted them to his presence. "He's awake." Cassandra looked up to see him only as he'd already turned away, but she didn't need to fully comprehend his words to follow him.

She moved subconsciously, her feet carrying her out of the room and along the silver halls, back to the infirmary. Clint wasn't far behind her—shuffling quickly despite the anxiety threatening to cripple his lungs. It was the voice Cassandra heard that overwhelmed her first, the same voice she'd heard like a muted tin can through the phone all those years ago. This time clearer but gruffer, worn and tired, and frustrated.

Then, there he was—sitting upright on the table, legs lazily hanging from the edge, as his hands weakly swatted Storm away—and a breath caught in her throat. It was surreal to see him animated and functional, to hear an active voice after so long of still photographs and muted memories. "Barney," she gasped, feeling the sting in her eyes return, building pressure against her temples as she approached.

Barney's head turned, lifting, and his bloodshot eyes swept up her frame. It was equally as surreal for him—but the relief was much stronger, flooding down his spine hard enough to force a shudder in his shoulders as they relaxed. "Cassie," the tension he held through his slumber dissipated with the realization that she was safe, and she was within reach for the first time in a decade. "You're okay? They didn't find you-"

His words were silenced as her arms wrapped tightly around his neck, the throbbing and aching of his beaten muscles forcing a groan in place of the next question mark. She'd tried to slow herself down, to be gentle, but she couldn't. Carefully, his arms encircled her, palms flat against her shoulder blades, and his eyes fluttered closed. "I'm okay- I'm okay, I'm fine-" she answered him, words repeating themselves with the tremble of her lips.

"Hey, I'm okay, too—alright? It's not as bad as it looks."

Clint stood aside, blocked by Cassandra in Barney's line of sight, but he'd seen his brother enter the room. He felt the anger in his gut that was always there—but it was quieter, dampened down by an obtuse mixture of shame and relief like fire retardant on his soul. It wasn't the time, Barney knew. So, he swallowed enough pride to keep it quiet.

When Cassandra pulled away, shuffling back a step or two, she exhaled a shaking breath. "How did this happen? Where did they find you?"

"I don't know—I was at home, alone, and they tripped my alarm," Barney recalled the night before, brows knitting in focus as he tried to pluck the details out of a darkened sea of jumbled memories. "There was...two- no, three."

"What did they look like?" she pressed.

He shook his head, "Two males, one female. All of them were average height. One of the guys sounded like it was personal—like he was pissed at you. I remember- the others had to tell him to stop."

Blood drained from Cassandra's face, leaving her skin a ghostly white. As her stomach churned, she folded her across in front of her chest, and took another step back. Clint's brows lowered, eyeing the change in demeanor with curiosity and concern. "Cass? Who is it?"

Her lips were unable to move. They were sealed shut by a tense jaw and grinding teeth, both anger and fear taking a strong hold of her pulse. But a voice came from behind her—"Five-eight, blonde hair, had a lighter with him?"

It was Bobby. His rueful, rhetorical tone and sullen features gave his knowledge away. Cassandra turned to see him with the same rueful feeling, sharing in it as their eyes met, but it only solidified as Barney answered. "Yeah," he nodded a little. "Is he a frequent flier for you guys?"

"He used to be one of us," Bobby explained.

"Until he stabbed us all in the back," Cassandra finished Bobby's sentence as she turned to face her brother once more, the sentiment hanging bitterly from her tongue. Even still, she signed the gist of it all to Clint. It was hard to remember him in such intense situations. To remember not to leave him out of the loop. Of course, he could read lips. Though, most times, he wasn't positioned properly to gather everything said and that left him at a large disadvantage in such group settings.

However, it was hard to keep the symbols and motions straight—all of them bouncing around the jumbled mess of her brain. She'd been bombarded with too much information, too many memories. The last time she'd seen John Allerdyce was at the lowest point of her relatively short life. Despite it also being part of the catalyst that sent her rebounding, it wasn't any less painful, or easier to accept.

"So, this guy wants revenge or something?" Clint questioned. "Why's he pissed at you?"

Cassandra exhaled through her nose. "He wanted me to be a killer with him, and I wouldn't. I might have actually broken his nose and let him get arrested with the other mutants at Alcatraz. But the real question here is—how did he know who Barney was? How could they even find him?"

What she didn't dare say is that his anger toward her was the product of a lover scorned. It fed her guilt too much to recall the beginnings of that domino effect—even if he did in fact choose to leave her first. It was then Barney shifted on the table, adjusting with a hiss at the protest of his wounds. "All it would take is access to a government computer and security clearance," he said. "I bet the shapeshifter did it."

"Shapeshifter?" Storm questioned, finally adding herself to the conversation taking place. It seemed wise to simply observe—but it was the heading in a different direction, one that might actually provide more answers than they'd been able to gather on their own.

"Sorry- Mystique. It's hard to remember all these names."

"What am I missing, Barney?" Cassandra asked, an eyebrow raised. "Why would Mystique need a government computer? How do you even know her name?"

Barney sighed ruefully. "Look, a lot's changed. About a year after our last conversation, I turned some things around, got on the right track. I've been an FBI agent for three years. They assigned me to the Mutant Civil Rights Task Force last year—we keep tabs on repeat offenders, like Mystique."

The room fell silent—each occupant at a loss for words for a different reason. Clint turned to step away, slowly following the wall as he sighed heavily, scrubbing a hand over his face. Bobby and Storm shared a knowing glance. It made a little more sense now, what they'd learned from Logan's altercation with Mystique, however vague. Though, the need for Cassandra's attention still felt pointless.

There was always a reason with Magneto. Always a plan in motion with too many moving parts, chaotic but balanced enough to yield results, and it was often one they didn't suspect. He'd only gotten better at operating in the shadows in his old age. Every day, he recruited new mutants, poisoned minds and convinced them his way was the only way.

Cassandra was tired. Frustrated, confused, and tired. It was shocking to think her brother would want to work for the government, given his past statements adamantly against that establishment. Though, it did make her question if he was put on the mutant task force for an excellent record or for the discovery of his sister's species.

Surely, the government already knew. How could they not? Her face had been on every news station right alongside Magneto's. She was hard to miss. Maybe her final acts against him gave her some credit? No. Certainly not. Government officials didn't work that way—she knew that too well to forget it for the sake of hollow hope. Cassandra looked at Barney in silent thought for a moment, and he remained silent, as well.

He could see her wheels turning, spinning, skidding, starting to slide—it was a harsh splash of cold water, he knew it would be. So, he sat quietly for that moment and waited patiently. Where else was he to go? His muscles still ached, eyes burned, and it felt like his very bones had been bruised. But, a moment was all it took. Cassandra took a step forward, regaining the step she'd lost, as seriousness firmed her features.

"Who else was there? Can you describe them?" she asked him.

Shrugging, he bobbed his head as if to say yeah maybe, before exhaling a deep breath. "I didn't get the best look...I couldn't really see the other guy, but the girl that was with them had dark hair, kinda thin, and she wore a lot of black. Her voice was real annoying."

"I know what you're thinkin' kid," Logan's voice prompted all heads in the room to turn, except Clint's, already facing his direction. Unbeknownst to Cassandra, he'd been standing beside Bobby—and now, Scott and Warren—for the last few minutes of the conversation, listening to the new information carefully. He took steps toward Cassandra. "Don't you dare fuckin' do it."

Cassandra fought the spiteful urge to toss her eyes and he knew it, he could see it in the twitch at the inner corners. "I'm going to take Clint home and then I'm going to get some goddamn answers."

"You're not gonna get much out of the peons. They're insanely dedicated," Bobby pointed out.

"I will bust as many kneecaps as I have to," Cassandra replied, her exasperated tone an octave louder than before. "John knows he can't beat me-"

"And if he has a mutant with him that can?" Logan challenged her. He was inches away now, looking down at her with stern features colored in anger-laced concern that pierced her resolved like a sharp knife. But she stared back with a clenched jaw, letting her hands fall to her sides in tight fists in an attempt to stiffen their tremble.

They were both incredibly stubborn—a quality that once provided them with a kind of solidarity. It was difficult, now, for Logan to see so much of himself reflected back at him in her demeanor in ways he could never explain. Not to anyone but her. "What- you want me to sit around and wait for Charles to call me when he thinks the time is right?" she spat the words at him with contempt. "Magneto ordered the hit, but John knew what he was doing. And if I know that bastard at all—he volunteered. If you want me to stay home, you're gonna have to fight me, Logan."

Logan shook his head, "I'm not gonna fight you, Cassandra."

"Then get out of my face."

It was then that Barney groaned, sliding off the table to stand with his bare feet against the silver flooring. The sound pulled Cassandra's eyes away, straight to her brother, and she moved quickly to support him. A palm against his back, fingers gently wrapped around his upper arm, she helped steady him as he kept a hand on the edge of the table. "Hey, hey- hold on," Cassandra spoke quickly. "You shouldn't be walking."

"Listen to me—I don't care how powerful you think you are, don't go after these guys alone," he told her. "He's got a point and you know it."

"Barney, you don't know what I can do. I'm not defenseless-"

"I know you have to go—I would, too—but take backup. Please." His head tilted slightly on his shoulders as his pleading eyes settled on hers, and she sighed heavily. Taking backup would mean relying on people who would ultimately refuse to listen to her if it came down to a crossroads between her leadership and Charles'. Or worse, her mission would be delayed at his order.

But, much to her dismay, Logan did have a point in the question he posed. What would she do if Magneto had employed someone above her power category? That might be a stretch, given the rarity of such high level mutants. Though, it would be just like Magneto to find one, especially for situations such as this. Agreeing to Barney's request would mean swallowing her pride—and, much stronger, her anger.

However, she knew how to navigate Logan's turbulent waters more than Charles, and she didn't have to read his mind to do it. Cassandra turned her head to see him and the others behind him, still standing a foot away with a similar expression to the serious one he held before, and his head cocked like that of an intrigued canine. "I'll do it your way on one condition—I choose who comes with me," she said.

Logan huffed a breath through his nostrils as he shifted his weight, adjusting his position as the tension released from his muscles. "You say that like it's my decision to make."

"I wasn't talking to you," Cassandra corrected him, before leaning an inch to better see Scott over his shoulder. "I choose or I go alone, Scott. Pick one."

Storm, Bobby, Warren, and now Logan all turned their eyes to Scott—some expectantly, some ruefully. If Scott agreed to her terms, Logan would be forced to follow them or step aside. Though, he was never one to step aside when Cassandra was involved. "That depends. Who would you take?" Scott humored her, sliding his hands into his pants pockets.

Cassandra squared her shoulders. "I want Bobby, Peter, Kitty, and Jubilee."

"That's quite the list," Logan remarked, with a raised brow.

"I need people I can work with, and I need power. That's who I want."

Scott didn't have much room to think on the issue. If he said no outright and Cassandra left the mansion, there would be a high probability of casualty. Though, he couldn't fully say yes in good conscience. So, he gave the only answer he could—"Take Clint home. I'll talk to the professor. When you come back, I'll have your answer."

"Fair enough," Cassandra nodded a little before turning her eyes back to her injured brother. "Rest, okay? I want you to be better when I get back, not worse."

Barney grumbled as though he were a disgruntled old man, adjusting his stance to better hold himself up. "I think I'm supposed to be saying that to you."

Reluctantly, Cassandra pulled away from him, prying her fingers from his arm in a step backward. Once again, it felt wrong—but, this time, it wasn't all encompassing. He was safe there beneath the mansion. Seeing him awake and hearing his voice added an extra ounce of reassurance, something small to warm the chill of her spine like a blanket over her shoulders.

Clint stepped around the end of the table, coming to stand beside them both. As Barney looked up, Clint met his eye, and the last time the men stood face to face flitted through their minds. It took shape in the form of anger and resentment. Though it felt necessary, justified, at the time, now it only looked ugly. "We'll talk," Clint spoke first, breaking the silence with words that meant more than their face value.

Barney tipped his head in a nod. The promise was nerve-wracking but welcome. However, Cassandra knew better than to let herself feel relieved—she knew better than to allow herself to think this was the end of it. Not now, at least. She needed to see the results to accept them. She turned to Clint and reached out a hand, fingers encircling his wrist as her eyes found his. They were questioning—are you ready? His answer was a nod of his own.

Then, they were gone. Barney's shoulders dropped as he exhaled heavily, leaning back against the edge of the silver table. He hadn't seen her purple cloud since he was a teen. Though, that wasn't what caused him pause—this was the first time he was getting an unobstructed, detailed look at the people around him. The night before, he'd been a wild man on a desperate search with only half his wits.

He'd been badly beaten and his vision was doubling. Everything was spinning. Now, it all was so much clearer, the lights so much brighter. The fluorescents illuminated the features of each strange face perfectly. His eyes swept over the room, taking in the little details and basic layout of his surroundings. When they faced ahead, something caught his attention. Logan and Scott were conversing quietly—of course, not as quietly as they intended due to their shared frustrations.

With Logan's back to him, Barney couldn't help but feel a certain pang of déjà vu. Was it his build? Something familiar about the back of his leather jacket? Was it simply him? He couldn't tell, but it startled him, if anything for the slight dizziness of vague remembrance. Finally, most of the room's occupants left the room. Scott was on his way to speak with the professor, Storm and Bobby with him.

Logan stood still a moment longer as anger flushed through his veins, along his metal bones. Today was not his day. No one would listen to him—though, that wasn't an uncommon occurrence. However, Cassandra used to listen to him quite often, even sharing his ideals on most matters before he'd spoken them. Letting her face someone like Magneto without him felt horribly wrong.

He wasn't sure how much help he would be, given Magneto's proclivity for manipulating his very skeleton, but the idea of standing by as it all took place was terrifying. Though, after a moment, he could feel Barney's eyes. Logan raised an eyebrow over his shoulder, teeth bared from the prior conversation and his all-encompassing thoughts of rage.

It was then that Barney knew. He swallowed thickly, adjusting his position once more to square his shoulders, something to give himself a false sense of confidence. With an uncertain, however rhetorical voice, he asked, "Have we met before?"

Logan's vicious expression faltered. Images flashed before his eyes—sweet memories, gentle and delicate like a leaf between the pages of a book, holding his place. A woman with dark hair. Blue eyes. Her smile, her laugh. A farmhouse in autumn. Wood smoke, apples. They were things he'd kept to himself, slowly remembering more than just things. More so, how they made him feel.

He couldn't answer such a question. Of course, he had the ability to. But he couldn't. He couldn't do such a thing to Cassandra—his Cassandra—he couldn't. It would only stoke the flames of the day's fire and she needed now more than ever to stay focused. However, in his mind, he whispered—a long time ago, kid.