Author's Note: Hello, all! This was originally posted on AO3, but I've decided to cross-post and figure out which site and community I like the best. I hope that you enjoy this work! I'll be posting about once a day until I'm caught up with where I'm published up to on AO3.
Chapter 1- Charles: 2007
It was an odd thing, to know your name but not be able to say it.
It was the first of the binds to be put on Charles, the first invasion. The boy's name was Charles Xavier. He knew this, of course. He was seventeen years old, of course he knew his own name. But, as the blonde woman watched him coolly, he found himself stalling, like a car breaking down. "My name is-" his words cut off, his throat closing up with a choke. She watched him, cool eyes remote, and he stared up at her. "My name is C-" the choke was more painful this time, like someone had yanked on a choke chain. Charles wheezed, catching his knees.
"Give up," she advised softly. "It's easier if you don't push it, sugar."
"Why?" He found his voice again, though it came out hoarse. "Why take my name?"
"Because your name indicates that you are someone." She crossed her legs elegantly. "Which you no longer are. You're just Twelve now."
"Twelve? Out of what?" He stared up at her and she smiled, clapping her hands together.
"Excellent question. Come on, I'll give you the tour and introduce you to the others." She stood on heels that were three inches high, brushing nonexistent dust off of her white dress.
"Others," Charles -now Twelve- echoed, staring up at her, and she smiled, tilting her head at him.
"Up, Twelve. We're not going to tolerate any sort of rebellion, here." He couldn't hear anything from her, a diamond-like shield blocking and refracting any attempt quite painfully. He flinched at his own attempt and stood slowly, his feet moving numbly as she led him out of the room. She moved forward smoothly, leading him down the hallway. "You're at Hallow Hall, Twelve. You're here to learn how to train and enhance your gift. In a safe place, with others like you, where you can't do any damage to the rest of society."
"I wasn't damaging society," He countered sharply. "I was in school I was-"
"When I want your opinion, I will ask for it," she interrupted coldly. "You are here, and until you graduate from the program, you won't be leaving here."
"Program," He echoed, his eyes narrowing. "A program built to enhance individual abilities while simultaneously stripping us and repressing any sense of individuality? How do you think that would be conducive to growth?"
She laughed, the sound light and dry. "They were right, you are a smart one. No surprise there, graduated high school at fourteen and you were doing just fine in Oxford at your age… but smarts aren't going to help you in here, honey. Honestly, you might want to dumb yourself down a bit. Your peers won't like you pretending you're better than them."
"Peers." Potential allies. Others like him. A way out. He found himself counting the windows, noting the doors and possible exits as they passed. He wasn't going to stay in this goddamn place, he was going to get out. This, whatever this was, wasn't good. He hadn't stayed in Kurt's house, and he wasn't going to stay here, either. She laughed again and Charles tensed, each muscle tightening and locking down at her mockery. "How could you betray a fellow telepath? We could learn from each other, we could-"
"Learn? From you?" The glance she cast back over her shoulder was pure ice. "Unlikely. Honestly, Twelve, I doubt you'll make it a month in here. Ah, here's the dayroom. Over there are Two and Ten. By the window is Eleven." She flicked her finger at each in turn.
Eleven was petite and blonde. Her mind was a brutal, barren landscape, one that had Charles staggering back a step despite himself. It was empty, so empty it hurt, and he found his mind reeling and reaching out desperately in the opposite direction. It hit Ten's mind next. She was sharper, and her mind was almost hot to the touch.
New kid looks like a puppy. Won't last the week, she predicted in harsh Russian tones, taking a drag from a cigarette held loosely between two fingers. She was a brunette and lovely, though her dark eyes were too large and cynical for her face. Just like Nine…
He turned from this mind to the last, the one that glowed like a lighthouse amongst the others. 'Two' was taller and looked older, maybe eighteen or nineteen. His face was sharp and angular, and he looked like someone from a Gothic romance-era novel with short dark blonde hair and nearly-black green eyes. His mind was calm and quiet, a steady and solid presence that Charles had never experienced before. It glowed like an ember, smoldering and incandescent.
Two looked back at the interlopers to the room, his eyes focusing on Emma first. He didn't like her, Charles caught, and noted in no small amount of fascination that this mind operated more in general emotions than full thoughts. He loathed her and there were shadows of pain echoing behind the anger. Then he turned that endless and intense focus on Charles, looking him over slowly.
Pretty, he thought in slight surprise, focusing on Charles' eyes, and Charles found himself caught there, trapped like a bird in a cat's paws, a slight flush brushing over his arms and cheeks like paint. Two looked back at Ten, and motioned to Charles slightly. "New boy," he said, voice low. He was German, Charles noted from the accent, fascinated by this.
"Mmh." Ten wasn't outwardly interested, blowing out smoke at the ceiling. "He looks soft. A new one will be in his room by Monday." But he'll take the heat off us for this week at least, she noted silently, and Emma Frost laughed.
"Stay here." She clapped his shoulder and Charles moved away sharply, more out of reflex than intent. "I'll be back to get you in half an hour or so for your first session. By all means, catch up with the others. I'm sure they'll have tales to tell you… if they care to." She wiggled her fingers at him in a mockery of a sweet wave, then left, her heels clicking softly on the floor in her wake.
Charles watched her go, internally examining the diamond of her shields. Sharp. Hard. So far, they were flawless. But there had to be a chink in there. No telepath's shields were truly unbreakable, he knew this as well as anyone ever could. They all had a weak spot. Charles just had to find hers.
"Rivers and roads," Eleven murmured faintly to the window. "Rivers and roads."
"'Leven, come sit down," Two called, then looked back at Charles. "Welcome to the family," he said, looking him over with an external skepticism that his internal mind didn't necessarily share. Two's mind, strangely, was lingering on Charles' curls and the color of his eyes, the sound of his voice. "Enjoy that."
"Where are we?" Charles tracked Eleven's progress as she slowly wandered from the window and to one of the squashy armchairs. They looked, at first glance, like they might be comfortable, but they were threadbare in several places, revealing metal poking through, and in the spots where they weren't, the upholstery seemed hard and uninviting. "Geographically," Charles clarified as Eleven sat, curling in on herself and tucking her head against her knees.
Two waved a hand and metal creaked inside the chair Eleven was sitting on, then looked back at him. It took Charles a moment, then he realized that Two must have been trying to make the seat more comfortable for her. "No idea. None of us know and they won't say."
"They." Charles crossed the room quickly, studying the grounds from the window. The trees were bare, that was a good sign. It meant he was still in the Northern Hemisphere, then. His last memory of a date was November 15th, and he couldn't have been asleep for more than two days with the degree of stiffness in his muscles. "How many adults? Emma and…?"
"Shaw." Ten's voice was cold, her thoughts suddenly painfully hot, searing via proximity. Charles retreated behind his own shields quickly. "Just the two of them. They leave us alone unless they need us for a 'session.' We're the ones who clean and cook. No one else ever comes in or out. It's just Emma and Shaw."
"Shaw." Charles tasted the name, continuing to study the grounds. The trees weren't coniferous, so they couldn't be too terribly North. Unfortunately, the group was made up of a Brit, a Russian, and a German. Eleven sounded like she could be American, as did Emma. There was no hint on geography based on their origins… But perhaps that didn't matter. Unless Shaw was also a telepath, he couldn't keep Charles out unless Emma shielded him all the time. But if he could distract her, if there was any time at all where he was unprotected… "Are you able to think your names, or are they blocked from thought?" Calling them all numbers would become exhausting rapidly, and, more importantly, it would reinforce the intent that Emma and Shaw had renamed them with.
"Think them?" Ten's eyes were on Charles abruptly, her thoughts turning from considering how to get more cigarettes in favor of running rampant and tense with violent suspicion and mistrust. Charles didn't react to the nature of these, well used to this suspicion.
Two looked at him for a long moment, then, "He's a telepath," he said, and surprisingly, there was no fear or worry attached to that. "We could think our names, but if they hear us using them, it wouldn't go well." He flicked back to a memory that tasted like blood and rang with screaming.
Better for him not to even know, then. Better that he not be able to make the mistake that would get them so punished. Charles nodded slowly, inclining his head. "I see."
"Rivers and roads." Eleven drew designs slowly on the cushion of the couch and he studied her small form. She was a petite thing, maybe fifteen or fourteen.
"Is… she….?" Charles didn't know how to approach tact for this, didn't know how to ask the question on the tip of his tongue.
"What, you can't read? it?" Ten's hostility rose, and her accent was thicker as a result.
"Ten." Two didn't look away from Eleven, watching her with a strange mix of emotions that was difficult to read- fear, sadness, affection, and resignation shifting in a kaleidoscope. "It's not his fault. He is what he is."
"Da," she agreed shortly. "And Frost is what she is, and Shaw is what he is. Ptitsa of a feather, Two. You don't know that he's not working with them. If he is, we might as well end him now. If he's not, he'll not last the week."
"Charming," Charles noted with a small chuckle, reaching out toward Eleven's mind cautiously. It was like a barren, scorched wasteland. Thoughts drifted through the wasteland like tumbleweeds, fragments and images and memory more than actual thoughts. Chair, cold, papers, rivers, roads, home, chair. It all felt very frail, like touching an empty birdshell with his fingertip. It was less startling now that he knew what to expect, and he found his fingers brushing against his temple as he watched her, delving just slightly deeper. There was more substance, beneath that shadowed and burned layer of her mind, but again it was so frail…
Charles felt eyes boring into his face and realized that Two was watching him, trying to figure out what he was doing. If you can hear me, be careful with her. She needs help, not more harm. I will break you if you try. Anger boiled beneath the surface of the thoughts and Charles realized with sudden interest that the calm, cool exterior was hiding a very serious amount of rage. He couldn't blame him, if what he suspected about this place was true. More concerning was the fact that Charles found that anger attractive. Fury like this normally set him on edge after his experiences at home, but this wasn't normal anger. This was anger born out of a protective instinct, something Charles had very little experience with.
"I wouldn't dream of it, my friend." Charles offered him a smile and crossed to crouch next to Eleven, searching her face. She barely even seemed to notice him, still drawing patterns on the cracked leather of the chair. Charles' chest ached. "Ten," he said absently, resting his hand on the arm of the chair. "I am absolutely sure that you could make a stunning bonfire out of me if you so chose, but I will ask that you hold on the friendly fire while I do this."
Angry silence on her part, British bastard echoing across her mind, and he chuckled, returning his fingers to his temple as he sank back into Eleven's mind. It was cold here, and he wondered as he searched through her thoughts and memories if her ability was cold-based. Weather or temperature, or maybe water or ice? Fascinating, really… But her mind was the important thing, the frail shell beneath the salted earth.
"Rivers and roads," she mumbled. "Til I…"
"Reach you. That's right, love, you're doing very well." He was barely aware of the words leaving his lips as he reached down, sifting through the dirt to try to clear it away from some of the thoughts inside. Memories- sharp and extraordinarily bright- and he let out a small laugh of wonder. "Oh, you're absolutely magnificent," he assured her. "That's lovely."
But it had been a while since she used her gift, nearly two weeks. The sessions, the memories of which were blurred and bright red as if they were made of freshly-burned skin, had made it harder and harder since then. They were angry she wasn't using her ability, and their methods were pushing her farther from it rather than closer to it.
"What do you see?" He felt rather than saw Two move to crouch beside him.
"Her ability isn't offensive. It's not made to… endure, it's made to flee. So she's burying herself, dissociating." Charles blinked out of the images slowly, sinking back into his own skin. It was shockingly warm back in reality, and he rolled his shoulders back in an attempt to dispel the discomfort. "She needs to use her power, it would help, but it's out of reach because she's too-" he turned his head, finding him so, so close, and was slowly made aware that his mouth had gone rather dry as his eyes dropped to Two's lips for a brief second. Charles focused on his eyes again quickly with a thrill of what felt almost like panic. "She's too scared," he finished quickly, flushing.
Two considered this, looking at her thoughtfully. His hair was such a dirty blonde that it was almost brown, and his eyes had more green in them than black when they were this close. Charles pulled himself away from examining him and let himself see what he was thinking. Two was thinking about who she had been when she'd come, and was comparing it to now. She had gone from being nervous and flighty, but sweet, to downright hollow and the shell she was now, in less than three months. It upset him deeply, awoke protective instincts in him that he hadn't known he had. "What do we need to do to help?" Two asked quietly.
"She needs to feel safe," Charles said, shaking my head helplessly. "And that-"
"Twelve," Emma's voice rang softly from the doorway, all too content. "Time for your session, sugar."
"Don't make eye contact," Ten advised him abruptly, stamping her cigarette out on her own forearm. She avoided meeting Charles' eyes and seemed more interested in examining the hole she had made in her sleeve, but he felt her send a small pulse toward him, a grudging sort of appreciation for the attempt to help Eleven. emIt'll just piss him off worse/em, she added after a moment as he rose to his feet.
"Just do what he wants. Ignore everything else." Two met his eyes, staying near Eleven.
Charles searched his face, faltering for a moment. Two was shielding his mind as heavily as he could, burying it under that false layer of calm. Charles couldn't blame him for this with a hostile telepath around, but suddenly, Charles wished he wasn't shielding. That glimmer of fury he had glimpsed, even if only for that second, had been… oddly and shockingly beautiful. It would feel warm in the face of her freezing telepathy. Her name was well chosen- Frost was appropriate for her gift.
"Twelve." Frost's voice cracked like a whip and he turned away, ignoring the oddly beautiful boy with his oddly beautiful mind. She smirked at him as she caught the thought and Charles stood, crossing the room and brushing past her quickly.
It was funny- he had never known how annoying it emactually/em was to be around a telepath all the time, having them know your thoughts. Raven was right, it was incredibly irritating.
Raven. He turned his thoughts away from her sharply, viciously, buried the memory of her under layers of loud thinking about Two's eyes and the set of his jaw. He couldn't risk them finding Raven the way they'd found him.
"You're in for a rough go of it," she informed Charles cheerfully as she led him down the hall. "Two's really not the one to set your hat at, kiddo. Though, considering your choices are brain-dead, bitch, or asshole hot guy, I guess I understand."
"Shut up," he muttered, sending a prod at her shields. They refracted back, shifting and sharpening into points like some sort of hedgehog-diamond-kaleidoscope, and he kept his flinch from his face. She beamed.
"We're going to have a lot of fun with you, honey. Sebastian's got very high hopes." She rested a hand on his shoulder and turned him, directing him into a small room that almost looked like a dental exam room, complete with silver instruments and a white exam chair.
"High hopes for what?" Charles redirected his efforts, scanning the building as carefully as he could. He could feel the three in the dayroom, could feel Emma, could feel… nothing else. Charles frowned and glanced up at her, then turned quickly as the opposite door opened and a tall man with shrewd blue eyes walked in.
"Hello, Charles," he greeted him under a false veneer of pleasant civility. "Welcome to Hallow Hall."