Present Day
She woke to the sound of birds, soft in her ears from an open window across the room. Light pooled against the skin of her eyelids but they remained shut. Even just lying there, completely still, every muscle gently ached. And she was still so tired. How could she still be this exhausted? Maybe it'll wear off? Surely, it has to.
If she wasn't careful, using her powers often left her feeling drowsy—but this was different. As her eyelids cracked open, light flooded in, and it felt as though the skin weighed half her body weight. She struggled to pry them fully open. There was a thin haze over her vision—a blurriness she tried furiously to blink away—but even still, her eyes moved slowly to take in the room.
It was as she left it the night before, simply lit by the morning sun. Her joints hesitated as she moved her arms, folding them to push up on her elbows, like hinges that hadn't moved the weight of a door in far too long. The sweep of her eyes continued over the rest of the room—then, stopped entirely. There was a man slumped in a chair near the foot of the bed.
Cassandra blinked harder, squinting. Surprise swirled with dread in her gut as she recognized Clint's features. His arms crossed loosely over his chest as his head leaned to the right, eyes closed as he slumbered quietly. "He's only been asleep for the last hour," Barney's voice startled her, forcing her head to the left in a sudden snap. He sat in a second chair beside the bed, holding a towel-wrapped ice pack to the side of his head.
"W-what-" her voice broke and she cleared her throat, swallowing hard. Her neck was still so sensitive, so raw. A heavy exhale of frustration escaped her. It seemed as though her voice was only worsened the morning after. At least last night, she could speak full sentences uninterrupted. Though, the full weight of her injuries hadn't settled in yet. "What...is he...doing here?"
"Same thing I am—waiting for you to wake up. I guess the professor called him after you passed out. That guy Logan's been in here about a hundred times. I have a theory he's secretly some kind of angry robot that doesn't sleep."
Instinctively, Cassandra chuckled a little at the sarcasm behind his comment. But the mention of Logan only turned her stomach, bringing back all the things he'd said, the ugly truths that recolored her brothers' faces. They appeared to her in a different hue now. Yes, they were still her brothers. She grew up with them, shared blood with them. Although, they didn't know what she knew.
They didn't know their aggressive, alcoholic father was just that—theirs. She was a mutant because her biological father was, which finally gave an answer to the age old question of her brothers' lack of mutation, but the revelation was bittersweet. Somehow, she thought, she would be better off never knowing. "You feeling okay? You've got some gnarly bruising," Barney said, adjusting his ice pack.
Cassandra nodded numbly. "Fine. Voice is...delicate."
She pushed herself upright into a sitting position and Clint jolted awake, startling both of the other siblings. His eyes were a little wide as they blinked away the dryness of exhaustion, but they relaxed as they settled on Cassandra, his mind awake enough to comprehend his surroundings. "Hey," he said, sitting up a bit more in his chair as his hands fell to the arm rests. "Everything okay?"
Instead of speaking, Cassandra opted to simply sign her response, saving her throat from any more trauma and allowing her sentences to run much longer. "I'm okay, just a little sore. My voice is pretty fucked up from the swelling. But I feel okay. You didn't have to come all this way—I know I forgot to call, and I'm sorry, but I'm fine."
"Cass, look in a mirror. You look like hell. Your neck is totally purple, the bandages on the back don't help, and you look like you haven't slept in days," Clint pointed out, with a tilt of his head.
"I know, I know," she sighed, hands moving tiredly. "It doesn't look good. But it could've been so much worse, and it wasn't. I've trained for situations like this since I was thirteen. It's not as bad as it looks, I promise."
"Saying you've been trained just makes this worse," Clint argued. "You could've been killed—you clearly only just escaped death."
"I had no choice, Clint! This is my life, it always has been. You don't understand and you never will, because you're not a mutant. You don't have to be trained for daily life. You chose your profession. I don't get paid to keep other powered people and high-ranking government officials from killing me and my friends just for being alive. It doesn't end when I'm bored! Either I fight or I die. That's it."
The room was eerily silent. Barney had kept up enough with the swiftness of her signs to understand the gist, and his eyes were now on Clint. Though, Clint's features were rather unreadable. He knew the hatred for mutants ran deep within the country—he would even go so far as to say it ran deep throughout the world. He'd seen it with his own eyes, the unprovoked malice and the justified concern, both existing at the same time.
It was a hard pool to wade through. Clint had to choose his words very carefully, or she could easily accuse him of siding with the hatred. The line was thin, getting thinner every passing year as the nuance was all but obscured from the conversation, fear and hate breeding a new kind of ignorance.
Barney had also seen it—much closer than Clint ever had. He spent his days working on cases of mutant crime, some of which were false accusations or drastically inflated charges. The anti-mutant sentiment was palpable. Seeing the way Cassandra defended herself so fiercely was painful. She shouldn't have to, he knew. And he wished she had no reason to even think such things.
Though, they were all true. Cassandra exhaled a deep breath before signing, "I'm sorry. I'm just tired, and...angry, about a lot of things."
"Don't apologize," Clint shook his head, exhaling as well. "You're in pain, under a lot of stress. I'm just worried."
A pang of guilt hit Cassandra's chest but the frustration lingered despite it, eliciting another deep exhale. Though, it didn't help. Her hands pushed the comforter down her body, knees pulling up to slip her feet out, before swinging her legs over the edge of the bed. It turned her back completely to Barney, and partially to Clint—but her shoulders felt like a shelter. So many things demanded her attention, demanding she give some kind of emotional response, and all pulled her in a different direction.
It was overwhelming, to say the least. Her hands were shaking—didn't they always?—and her throat burned, another reminder of yesterday's altercation and what came after, and it was all so much. Aching, throbbing, her head swirled, dizzying even as she sat still. She reached up a trembling hand, tipping the right side of her forehead into the palm as she braced herself against the onslaught.
The raging anger, running rampant within her veins, remained even as grief and sorrow entered. Edith came to mind—bringing along the frustration of realising what Victor had done too late, but something darker, something more crushing. Underneath the outbursts and the pushing and shoving of self-isolation, she was simply a little girl who missed her mother. Cassandra was filled with a rush of grief, sadness, and hurt. And she cried.
At first, her tears were silent. Barney and Clint eyed Cassandra suspiciously, but they wanted to give her some space. She was clearly distraught and could use it. And then a small, whiny sound touched Barney's ears, followed by a strong sniffle, and he looked to Clint. He knew that, behind that veil of brown hair, she was beginning to sob. All her pain, all her grief she could not process at such a young age—and refused to touch since—was forcing its way out of the chest she'd locked it in.
It had been bound and thrown inside, with heavy chains wrapped around it, a solid and sturdy lock keeping it shut tightly for as long as she needed. But she was unaware of just how breakable that lock was. After so many years of the little things hitting the metal, chipping away at it moment by moment, it was slipping out. Barney stared knowingly at Clint, and Clint understood. He'd assumed from her posture what was happening, but he needed a second opinion, someone who could hear her tears a little clearer.
Though, once he was sure, he surged from his chair and moved swiftly around the end of the bed. Clint dropped onto the exposed sheets beside her and wrapped his arms around her frame, pulling her against his chest. She didn't have the energy or the mental clarity to fight—instead, she fell into him, trembling hands gripping tightly to the fabric of his shirt in a desperate search for something solid, something safe.
Barney stood and walked to the end of the bed, before grabbing the back of Clint's chair and giving it a tug. He repositioned it beside the bed to be closer, angled right for a better view, but still far enough away to allow the others space. His heart broke for his sister just as Clint's, but it was no secret those two were already much closer than Barney was with either. His fault, he knew. Either way, he was unsure of how much of this he was allowed to take part in, and how much he was a part of simply out of coincidence.
So, he lowered himself into the chair and repositioned the ice pack against his temple, and he listened. The revisited loss of her mother and what it caused was hurtful enough, but Cassandra was also plagued by the knowledge that she wasn't a full sibling to either of her brothers. What would they say if they knew? Would they look at her differently? Treat her differently? Would they happily be rid of her and the mutant half of their family? After all, this was their mother's doing. Edith had lied to all of them—could they resent Cassandra as well?
Surely, they wouldn't be so callous. But the thoughts were so prevalent, so intrusive, that crying was all she could manage to do. "Hey, it's okay," Clint ran a hand up and down her back soothingly, speaking quietly. "Everything's gonna be okay, Cass. I promise. Even if it's not, you have us. You have me. Whatever's going on—we can handle it, together."
Barney sat forward a little, quick to confirm, "You've got me, too."
Yes, she knew she had them both. Though, it didn't give her the kind of hope and confidence either of them intended. This was something her brothers could not fix. They could not mend this wound—only watch as it ran its course. Cassandra fought herself, pulling away from Clint to sit upright on her own, and she scrubbed at the wetness on her cheeks. Her hands still shook as they furiously combed her hair back, out of her face.
The urge to continue crying was ever present in the form of a dry, burning throat, but what good would it do her? What could she gain? Nothing she wanted. No, she wanted an outlet. A place to put her overflowing, unstable emotions that would be useful, helpful. There weren't all too many options at the moment big enough to fit all of this inward chaos—though, there was one that stuck out to her amongst the mess at the back of her mind.
Stark Industries was building sentinels. That knowledge alone was now enough to gain the attention of her anger, the rage trapped within her rib cage, giving her the strength to sniffle away the last of her tears. There were much more important things happening, so many important things to do. She could cry later, she told herself. There would always be time for tears. Action, on the other hand, was rare only for the sake of swift decisions.
Cassandra, and most mutants alike, had formed a habit of checking the news, keeping a lookout for a sudden turn in the political weather. Waiting for someone to reintroduce the Registration Act or something worse. This habit held her in front of the television, eyeing the screen with disdain as Tony Stark gave his infamous press conference. The day he declared himself Iron Man.
It wasn't too surprising that an arrogant, self-centered war profiteer would give himself such a sudden hero status, but it smarted. People like Tony Stark could afford to come forward and expose themselves. They could easily save lives and fight crime in the light of day and they would return home to applause. Just like Reed Richards after his accident in space, yet another rich, white man applauded for his abilities and regarded as a hero.
Steve Rogers dedicated his life to the US military during World War II, allowing the government to enhance him and give him super strength, and he was a war hero—even now with his resurface, he was still a hero regardless of his physicality. However, Mutants like Cassandra were immediately met with hostility, threatened with violence, and forced to help those they could in the shadows. Anyone who sided with the mutants were also hated and subtly shunned.
So, it was easy to place her anger here, to choose to focus on this problem instead of any others. Added to her already existing resentment of Stark, he was—unknowingly or otherwise—manufacturing her people's genocide. "W-what do you...know about Stark Industries?" Cassandra asked, signing as she forced the words past her lips.
"It's horse shit," Barney didn't hesitant to answer. His quick reply drew Cassandra's eyes, and Clint followed hers curiously to Barney's face. With all eyes on him, he elaborated, "The guy had, what- fifteen years to stop selling weapons to terrorists—foreign and domestic—and only pulls the plug after his life is threatened? Bullshit."
"Know anything...about his stance...on mutants?" Cassandra probed, with another hard sniffle.
Barney cocked his head momentarily in a gesture, his features colored in with a certain shade of righteous disgust. "If I remember correctly, he was a proud supporter of Senator Kelly in oh-three. Hasn't spoken on it since, though."
"Stark backed the Registration Act?" Clint questioned. His eyes were narrowed with surprise and confusion, and only a very small ounce of disbelief. Though, it was only hard to believe S.H.I.E.L.D. would want such an eyesore working for them. Working with him.
Cassandra scrubbed another hand over her face, exhaling heavily as Barney replied. "Yeah, I'm pretty sure you could find some juicy quotes by just googling, 'Tony Stark hates mutants'," he said. "There's more groups supporting him than denouncing him for it, but that's humanity for you."
Carefully, Cassandra stood. She pushed herself to feet and took quick but ginger steps to maneuver around Barney's chair, and Clint's eye's followed her. "Hey, where are you going?" he asked. Concern and confusion swirled behind his voice. Though, Cassandra didn't blame him for being worried—with the direction her gut was pulling her, she would be concerned, as well.
But she was not, because the sensible part of her brain had been forcibly switched off. It was the only thing keeping her from outright accepting Magneto's mission on the spot. Without it, she was free to follow the rage. "I need to...find a friend," she said, turning as she reached the door to sign her response to him. "I'll explain later." In all honesty, she had no real intention of explaining anything set to take place after this moment.
She shuffled quickly through the doorway, stepping into the hall—and she'd decided. Magneto was right. If the new sentinels were unleashed, put to use as they were made for, they would kill thousands. Although, it only didn't matter what side she was on because she planned to make her own. There was no need to use whatever resources Magneto had, when she could easily handle the task alone. Of course, she wasn't entirely alone.
The only problem would be getting her selected partner on board with the new mission. Stepping into the hall, she ducked quickly to the left to avoid an incoming student. It was such an odd sight, the busied hallways of the school still bustling, as though nothing else was happening. They were blissfully ignorant to the threat looming over them all. Cassandra continued on her trek, walking with a quickened pace to the staircase. She took the steps two at a time, hopping down them despite the dull throbbing ever present at the base of her skull, and hooked a sharp left.
It was still so effortless, navigating her way through the mansion. There was a map in her mind she followed, relying on her feet to take her when that failed, and she arrived safely at the kitchen. The room was quite empty, save for Lori at the island and Peter to her left, leaning against the cabinets as he bounced Max in his arms. Lori occupied herself with a stack of small, plastic containers on the counter, each filled with various foods to match their colored lids. "-but he doesn't like peas, so I tried to keep those to a minimum," she was talking when Cassandra entered the room. "I figured we could work those in gradually and see if he changes his mind?"
"Yeah, that's a good idea," Peter agreed, only looking away from Max to give Lori a nod. Though, as he did, he noticed Cassandra lingering just inside the entry. He smiled in greeting, "Good morning. We were wondering when you'd finally get up."
Lori's head shot up, her eyes finding Cassandra's face, and she bared her teeth in one of her terribly infectious smiles as she put down the plastic container in her hands. "Hey, how are you feeling? Any better?"
"Um...no," Cassandra shook her head, allowing the unnatural rasp of her voice to answer both questions. A bit hesitant, she stepped forward, coming to stand beside the island. She bent to lean into the countertop on her forearms aside the containers.
Lori's lips quirked to one side apologetically. "Oh, I'm sorry. Want some tea? That seemed to help last night."
"No, thanks...that's okay," again, Cassandra shook her head. Her fingers fiddled before her as she looked up at Lori. "Actually...I need...a favor. A big one."
In her mind, Lori braced herself. Nothing good ever came from those words leaving Cassandra's lips. And, by the looks of it, she already felt guilty for asking. It would have to truly be big, Lori knew, for her to act so timid requesting it. So, she took a deep breath in through her nostrils and straightened her shoulders. "What's up?" Lori asked, wiping any apprehension from her features.
Cassandra opened her mouth to force more words from her vocal cords but stopped short, her jaw snapping shut as her eyes flicked over Lori's shoulder—landing right on Max's ridiculously sweet face. How could she ask this of her? Lori was a mother now. She had much more to lose than just her own life. It would be incredibly foolish to ask her to take such a large risk. Though, if done right, there was virtually no risk at all.
However, she was not truly confident they could pull it off. But with just the two of them, it would definitely be a lot easier. And there was no one else in the mansion that could help her quite like Lori could. "I...I'm gonna do...something stupid," Cassandra pushed the words past her lips. "But it's gonna...help a lot of...people. And I...need cover. Complete cover."
"You're going after Stark, aren't you?" Bobby's voice preceded him as he entered the kitchen from the opposite end, having caught the last bit of conversation.
Cassandra stared up at him in bewilderment. She'd been the only one in the room with Magneto—how could he possibly know? Did Charles read her mind while she slept? Or, while she was awake, and she hadn't noticed? But, Lori was quick to explain. "Jubilee brought back a flash drive from Magneto's base," she told Cassandra. "Almost got slimed getting it, too."
Bobby continued to press the issue, coming to a halt at the other end of the island, "You're going to do what Magneto wants and blow up that warehouse—tell me I'm wrong."
"Yes. I am. Why...shouldn't I?" Cassandra questioned, pushing off the counter to stand upright.
It was then that Kitty appeared, stepping through the kitchen wall—cupboards and all—to the left of Peter. "Why don't I take Max for a bit?" she offered, quietly, as she looked up at the giant. He nodded and bent to hand over the child, the transfer taking place almost silently in the background as the debate began to boil at the island. And that was precisely why Kitty arrived. She bounced Max as she turned on her heels and exited the kitchen—using the door, this time.
Peter was then free to join the heated discussion, crossing the short distance to stand at the island beside Lori, his arm across her back as his hand rested on her hip. "Because there could be people working in that building," Bobby argued, voice gentle despite the sentiment. "And you're not a killer, Cass—no matter what that jackass thinks."
"It's Stark. Robots build...everything now. I'll make it...empty. But this...has to be...done, before...those things...start working," Cassandra countered.
Lori sighed. "I doubt destroying it will deter him—it might do the opposite. But, it might slow him down?"
"Yeah, and then what? If he's just gonna keep building them, what's the point? That buys us, maybe, a month. We just need to make sure it's worth it first," Bobby rested his palms against the counter, leaning on them lightly as he spoke.
Cassandra understood both sides of this argument. There were many reasons not to do it, but there were just as many reasons to go through with it. Ultimately, it was up to whomever agreed to help. Anyone else's opinion didn't really matter—not in the grand scheme of it all. This wasn't war. This was chess. Every move had to be thought out and strategized for the optimal result.
Sometimes, daring moves put them closer on the board to the queen. Sometimes, it lost them another piece. They'd all lost far too many pieces already to take many more chances. For Lori, there was an additional piece to consider. Though, her abilities did come in quite handy in these kinds of situations—and adding Cassandra's teleportation created an arguably lethal duo.
She tipped her head to look up at Peter, trying her best to convey the internal questions of her mind through her features. He understood her confliction. He'd felt some of it himself when the professor told him he'd been requested for Cassandra's mission. It was a simultaneous peace and terror that rushed through his rib cage every time he was told to suit up, without fail. That was the life they lived, he knew. That feeling would never truly go away.
Peter exhaled through his nostrils, hand tightening on Lori's hip as he pulled her closer against his side. "If you believe it's the right thing to do, you have to do it," he told her. "But if you don't—stay."
Lori nodded as her eyes fell briefly to the countertop. Just long enough to collect herself with another deep breath, relaxing her shoulders as she exhaled. "Alright. I'll cover you," she agreed, moving her eyes to meet Cassandra's.
"Thank you," Cassandra tilted her head, an apologetic echo to the way her features slumped.
Bobby sighed heavily and scrubbed a hand over his face. "Scott's gonna blow someone's head off," he mumbled.
"He's not...gonna know," Cassandra shook her head.
"You're not gonna tell anyone you're doing this?" Bobby's voice rose increasingly with an oncoming panic. "What if you guys get caught? Or nearly blow yourselves to bits?"
"That's why…" Cassandra began walking around the arch of the island. When she reached Bobby's side, she slung her arm over his shoulder, forcing him to lean to the left a bit. "...we have you."
Bobby only looked down at her with a displeased expression as rue tightened his stomach. The senior members of the team would be absolutely furious. So, naturally, the idea that he would be the one forced to tell them Cassandra's terrible plan didn't sit well with his nerves. He knew what she could accomplish when focused, how much damage she could cause—though, he also knew how easily it could all get away from her.
His only hope was that Lori could keep her mind in the right place. It would be easy to suit up and disappear without any of the others noticing. Cassandra took Lori to the dressing room in the bat of an eyelash. Lori hadn't worn her suit in almost two years—since before Max's arrival—but putting it on was like riding a bicycle. It needed to stretch in a few places it hadn't before, though it still fit rather well.
"Do you know where we're going?" she asked, tugging on her other glove.
Cassandra zipped her suit up over the bandaging at the back of her neck. "I saw a...picture of it," she replied. "Should be enough."
"And you know what you're doing once we get there?"
"I'm blowing it up."
