{Author's Note: I feel so guilty when I don't update because I hate waiting on fics but unfortunately my writing pace probably won't change. This is a pretty long update though, so I hope you will forgive me. Anyone see the new X-men Apocalypse trailer? I'm so excited and more quicksilver! Yeah! I'd really like to have this fic finished before the movie comes out, so I'm not influenced by it, but that's probably wishful thinking on my part. Warning: This chapter gets a little graphic in terms of describing injuries.}

Damn dog.

Al Walker thought to himself as he traversed one of the gravel roads running through the corn field of his farm in his beat up John Deere gator. He was out looking for the young pup he had foolhardily taken in. He'd found the pup wandering around his farm a few weeks back in poor shape, and being the old sucker that he was, he had nursed the pup—Copper as he'd deemed him—back to health. But now that Copper was back on his feet, the pup had decided to dig his way out of the fenced in area he had put him in for the night and high-tail it to who knows where.

Al has had a lot of farm dogs throughout the years, and he never kept a close watch on them once they were grown, but he hadn't fully trained this new addition to the farm, and he didn't think Copper was quite smart enough yet to stay off the road. Even though Al often tried to pretend he was an old grump, he didn't want the pup to end up as road kill.

So that's how the 65-year-old Vietnam vet, and third generation farmer, found himself wandering about the back roads of Iowa in the middle of the night, rather than snoozing in his dilapidated lazy-boy arm chair to the sounds of a Cheers rerun he hadn't quite made it through.

I'm getting to old for this.

Just as the farmer was considering giving up and continuing his search in the morning, the young pup ran out in front of him, wagging his tail happily.

Al slammed on the brakes and jumped out of the gator to retrieve the dog. He picked up Copper who just continued to wag his tail and attempted to lick Al's face. "Dammit Copper. You're more trouble than your worth." said Al in feigned anger, setting the pup on the seat beside him and giving his head a pat.

Al was in the middle of a U-turn when a giant red blast lit up the sky off to his right in the middle of the cornfield, but before he had a moment to think 'what the hell?' a shockwave of red energy blasted him off the gator, with Copper flying into his arms. Although the wind was knocked out of him, fortunately, the gator remained upright. He might be sore in the morning, but at least he and Copper weren't dead with the gator on top of them.

Getting to his feet, Al felt extremely grateful that he kept himself in shape. Another man his age might've broken a hip from that fall. Now that he had his bearings, Al was feeling wary. What could've caused that blast? Had something crash landed on his farm?

Grabbing the shotgun and flashlight he always kept with him when he was out and about at night from the back of the gator and tying up Copper to the gator with the leash he'd brought along, the old man headed into the depths of the corn toward the origin of the blast.

Al didn't know what to expect as he crept along as quietly as possible through the corn, so he kept his gun and light aloft, but not on, pointed ahead of him. His heart was thudding in his chest. He wasn't really afraid for himself, just of what he'd find in the heart of the field. If there had been a plane crash—though he had no idea what sort of plane would make a red shockwave—he didn't expect there to be survivors.

Pushing the stalks aside, Al stepped out into a circular clearing about the size of the basketball court that had not been there the day before. Stepping on downtrodden cornstalks, Al advanced toward the center of clearing where he could just make out some shapes in the moonlight on the ground.

As Al came closer to the indistinct figures, he made the decision to turn on his flashlight so he could see just what he was dealing with. Raising his gun and flashlight together, he switched on the light.

The beam landed directly on one of the dark shapes, revealing the face of a young man—at least by Al's standards—in a metal helmet who looked rather disoriented, but before Al could utter a word, the man quickly raised his hand, and he felt the gun leave his arms and himself go flying through the air, as if an invisible force had hit him straight in his belt buckle.

For the second time that night, Al found himself on the ground with the wind knocked out of him, but this time he didn't have the strength to get back up right away. He'd hit his head rather hard, and his ears were still ringing from the impact, but slowly they stopped and he heard voices and what sounded like a young girl's cries pierce the silence of the night.

Then a man's voice spoke up over the cries, "Wanda. Wanda. Look at me. He's alive. He's unconscious, but alive. He's going to be alright now. I promise you. He is."

The crying stopped.

"He's really alive?" asked a small female voice.

"Yes." replied the man's much deeper voice that sounded as if it held some sort of European accent. "Wanda…where…where did you take us?"

"I—I didn't mean to. I just…I saw him lying there and you were…I couldn't control it. I just wanted to get us out of there…away from them…away from everything." The girl choked out.

"It's alright, Wanda…just…do you know where we are?" asked the voice that belonged to the man.

"Iowa in an alternate universe in 2015." came the girl's very quick reply, almost as if she hadn't even thought about it.

"Okay—um—wait—what?" asked the man.

"I don't know how I know that." The girl replied slowly. "I just do. It's true, and there are no mutants in this world besides us." There was a short pause. "I don't know how I know that either, but I'm positive it's true."

"O-k-a-y…okay. One crisis at a time. We need to get Pietro somewhere he can recover." said the man. Al heard the sound of movement, and figured most likely the individuals had risen to their feet.

At this point, Al had managed to sit up, and although he felt like he had recovered, he didn't trust his head yet because he had to have mistaken what he was hearing. The conversation he'd just overheard made not a lick of sense.

Al's eyes had adjusted enough to the dark now that he could distinguish the figures in the field. One was a young girl—he'd guess somewhere around 14 to 16 years old—with auburn hair and a silver jacket that stood out brightly in the night. Another was the young man his flashlight had landed on. Al noticed now that not only did the man have on some sort of shiny metal helmet, but he was also wearing what looked like body armor and cape of all things. There was also a third figure, who the man held in his arms bridal style. The figure was a young boy with silver hair and ghostly pale skin who was wearing indistinct gray clothes that reminded Al of hospital scrubs or a prison uniform, if it had been bright orange instead of gray.

The boy looked like he might be younger than the girl, but Al thought that maybe they were the same age. It was hard to tell in the dark, but the boy looked to be in dire straights. He was practically skin and bones and he had a black eye that stood out starkly against his pale skin.

Just as Al lifted himself to his feet the young man seemed to remember that they weren't alone. There was silence for a moment, as the man glanced toward where Al's shotgun had somehow miraculously been flung, as well as shifting himself slightly in front of the girl.

"Let's talk for a moment." said Al in a voice that he hoped sounded strong and commanding as his eyes made contact with the mysterious man in the helmet and cape. He still had no idea how he and his gun had gone flying through the air, so he was going to be as cautious as possible when dealing with this situation. He'd never believed in aliens, and he still didn't really but there was something definitely odd about these people. Right now though, all he saw were people that needed help.

"I just came out here because I saw some sort of blast, and I thought I better investigate. I brought my gun because I don't take well to trespassing, and you're on my land. But I don't mean you any harm. It looks like someone already caused you enough trouble. I'd say that boy needs help, and you and the girl look pretty exhausted as well. The nearest hospital is about thirty minutes from here, but something tells me you folks won't want to go to any hospital…. But my house is just down the road, and I've got a vehicle that can get us there in a quick minute."

Al watched the man and waited for a reply, and as he did, the man glanced down at the boy in his arms and the girl by his side, and Al knew he was contemplating his choices. Al thought the man looked too young to be the kids' father, but then again, everyone under 40 looked young to Al. And if the man wasn't their father then based on the way the man was holding on tightly to the boy and standing protectively in front of the girl, then he was at least someone who cared for them an awful lot, and Al was positive he wasn't the one who had injured the boy.

Tired of waiting for the man to respond, Al spoke up again. "Look, sonny, you can trust me or not, but the way I see it, you don't have whole lot of other choice. I'm not going ask how you all got out here in the state that you're in, and I don't expect you to tell me right now. My mind can't comprehend how my I landed on my ass with my gun twenty feet away without anyone laying a hand on me, but that's not my concern right now. My concern, and I think yours too, is making sure those kids with you are okay."

The man stared at him coldly, but he seemed to believe that Al was telling the truth and that he was right in saying they really didn't have any other option. "Alright…we'd appreciate your help."

"Well then…do you mind if I retrieve shotgun? I ain't gonna try to shoot ya, but I don't plan on leaving a perfectly good gun out here for anyone to find."

"Go ahead." replied the man, seeming not too concerned.

After retrieving his gun and flashlight, Al said "This way." And he led the trio out through the cornfield toward his vehicle.

"This is it." said Al motioning to the gator when they arrived back on the road. "Oh and that's Copper." he added, pointing at the dog who was sitting on his haunches in the gator's passenger seat with his tail wagging happily right where Al had left him. Why don't you sit in the tail-bed with the boy and—"

"No." replied the man. "Wanda , lehnen Sie sich zurück gibt und sich um dein Bruder . Ich möchte vorne sitzen , so kann ich Uhr auf Old McDonald halten1."

Al didn't know what the man was saying, it sounded like he was maybe speaking German, but after the girl hopped in the back and he set the boy down gently beside her, it was clear that he wanted to be up front so he could keep an eye on the 'threat.'

"Mind if Copper sits back here with you?" Al asked the girl, who responded with a head shake and then smiled slightly as the puppy curled up in her lap.

Al then took up the driver's seat and once the mysterious man had taken the seat beside him, they were on their way.

They drove in silence for a bit, and Al kept an eye on the man in his peripheral vision. He could tell the young man was also watching him, as well as the kids in the back.

Feeling a need to fill the silence Al spoke up, "Name's Al by the way. Al Walker."

The man beside him didn't immediately respond, but then he glanced in his direction with an impassive stare, and replied. "Erik."

Al waited to see if he'd elaborate but when he did not, Al prattled on, "Good name, and the young lady is Wanda, I've gathered. What's the boy's name?"

Once again Al wondered if the man, 'Erik' would reply, but after a brief pause he did.

"Pietro."

"That's a good name too. A strong name. I expect he's a strong kid too. He'll be alright."

Erik remained silent, but Al thought he saw him nod his head slightly as if trying to make himself believe it too.

When they reached Al's old but large white farmhouse house the man jumped out before Al had even brought the vehicle to a complete stop. His cape billowed out around him. On anyone else, Al would've said it looked ridiculous, but the man somehow made it seem imposing.

By the time Al had risen from his seat, the man had swept the boy back into his arms, and was staring at Al expectantly.

"Right then. This way." said Al gathering Copper up in his arms, and leading the group up the worn wooden porch and into the foyer. Under the given circumstances, he decided it be easier just to let the dog stay in the house for the night. Setting Copper down, in the entry way, where he then took off probably to go curl up on the sofa, Al spoke again, "You can lay Pietro down in one of the bedrooms upstairs." said Al leading the way. "Hope you don't mind carrying him up the stairs. I'd offer to put him in my room on the main floor, but the ones upstairs have better mattresses and trust me, they're a lot cleaner, since they've been empty for sometime."

In fact, the last person to occupy the room closest to the staircase had been his own son, before he went off and joined the military, and then to a new war—it seemed America was never in short supply of those—and then…he never came back.

"There are first aid supplies and towels in the bathroom. You're going to have to set that foot too. I have some medical training from the army, so I can help you if you need it, and I've got an emergency IV, so I'll go grab that and get him some water and start some soup. It looks like that boy could use a few hamburgers, but I doubt his stomach could take it right now." said Al exiting the bedroom and wondering what exactly he had got himself into.

ERIK POV

Erik set Pietro down carefully on the bed, and Wanda crawled up on the other side next to him. Wasting no time, and grateful that he could finally do something, Erik went into the bathroom and after searching around for a bit, retrieved the first aid kit, wet a washcloth with warm water, and grabbed a dry towel, before returning to the bedroom.

Wanda was staring at Pietro when he returned, but her eyes were dry. They were no longer filled completely with despair. Instead Erik could see the anger in his daughter's eyes. Thankfully, her eyes were their normal dark brown, and not the red that was brought on by her powers.

"I wish we'd stayed there, just so I could kill them all. Look what they did to him! If we'd gotten there any later than we did, he probably would have already wasted away!" said Wanda in anger.

Erik completely understood what his daughter was feeling, and he wanted to annihilate anyone that had anything to do with the suffering his son had endured too, but he didn't want his daughter to become the monster that he already was, so a part of him was glad that she had inadvertently ripped them from that universe.

"There's nothing we can do about that right now, Wanda. One day, I will take care of them, but right now, we need to take care of your brother." said Erik, wiping the blood, sweat, and grime from Pietro's forehead with the washcloth.

"You're right…I know you're right. I'm just so angry…and…and…I should've protected him. I thought I was protecting him by leaving home, but I wasn't there when they came. I should've been there…he's my little brother…I'm supposed to look out for him…" said Wanda. Her voice trailing off as she took in all of Pietro's injuries.

"Don't talk like that, Wanda. I don't ever want to hear you say that again. You're twins, and you're both kids." Thinking back to what seemed like ages ago when he'd overheard the conversation Marya had with Pietro in their house in the suburbs of D.C., Erik continued. "It's your job to be a kid. If it's anyone's fault, it's my own. I should have been there to stop them from taking Pietro. I should have been there to help you two understand your abilities. I should have always been there…" replied Erik as he put a butterfly Band-Aid on the cut overlaying the bruising around Pietro's eye.

Erik could tell Wanda was about to respond, but just then, the farmer, Al—Erik reminded himself—returned with a pitcher of water, a glass, and an IV.

"Sit him up and see if you can get him to drink any water, and I brought painkillers, but you better wait until he's got some food in him before you give him any." Said Al. "I'll get his IV started if you'll let me?"

"Yes…thank you." Replied Erik as he gently lifted Pietro up, supporting his neck and head as Wanda straightened the pillows behind him. Then, Erik gently prodded Pietro as he lifted the glass of water to his lips.

"Pietro, aufwachen gerade für ein wenig, mein Sohn auf.2 You need to get some fluids in you."

Fortunately, Pietro opened his eyes, as well as he could manage, especially since his left one was swollen, and he proceeded to drink the entire glass of water.

"Good job, Pietro. Sehr gut.3" Said Erik helping Pietro lie back against the bed again.

"Alright." said Al. "This isn't going to be pleasant, but we really need to do something about that leg. Hopefully, he'll stay out of it, but you better hold him down just in case while I get his foot back in alignment. This is gonna hurt like a bitch."

"Ready?" asked Al kneeling down by Pietro's leg at the foot of the bed. Erik looked over at Wanda, who was holding Pietro's hand, and then down at Pietro, whose eyes were closed once again. He hated causing his son any more pain, but he knew they had to get his leg straightened out, or his boy might never be able to run again, and Erik might never get to witness the pure joy on his son's face he got from using his power. But more importantly, he knew Pietro would be devastated if he was never able to run again, and he didn't know if his son would be able to live with that loss, and he couldn't lose his boy, not again.

"Just do it." said Erik.

"Okay." Replied Al. "1…2…" and on 3 Al quickly popped the joints back in place, causing Pietro to wake up with a jerk and scream abruptly, but Erik held him steady, as he and Wanda began issuing soothing reassurances, but there was no need. Pietro had passed out again from the pain.

"I'm sorry he had to go through that, but it should heal alright now." Said Al as he wrapped Pietro's ankle and put a make shift brace on it. "I'll go check on the soup. It should be about done."

Erik looked back at his children after Al had left. He was about to ask Wanda if she might rather go lay down in another bedroom because wrenching people from one universe to another had to be exhausting, not to mention he he'd have to take off Pietro's shirt to examine the extent of his injuries, and he had a feeling it was not going to be pleasant. He didn't want Wanda to have to witness that. He was saved from an argument though, because Wanda had already passed out from fatigue next to Pietro.

That matter settled, Erik retrieved the scissors from the first aid kit, and was about to cut off the dirty grey t-shirt Pietro was wearing, when he noticed Pietro's arms. On his right arm was the word mutant with the number 713 beneath it. Erik refused to let himself feel anything as he ran his thumb over the ink, wishing he could erase the writing and with it all the pain Pietro had suffered. Looking at Pietro's left arm he couldn't completely contain the anger that boiled up inside of him, and the metal lamp next to the bed suffered the consequences.

They branded him! Like he was no better than a piece of cattle! I'm sorry Pietro. I'm so sorry...

Erik dragged a hand across his eyes, wiping away the tears that had started to gather. Then he took a deep breath, and steeled himself before taking the scissors and cutting threw Pietro's worn shirt.

The damage was worse than he imagined.

Scars littered Pietro's pale chest. The most recent ones were intricate and precise, inflicted by a professional, someone who had study the physiology of a human body and knew where to cut to keep an individual alive while gaining knowledge of that person's anatomy. But there were other scars too. Ones that were much older, more sporadic and had long since healed.

It took a moment before Erik comprehended why Pietro had the older scars, but then he remembered.

Bryan.

The twins' step-father or step-uncle. Erik had selfishly let himself forget that Pietro's duration in captivity wasn't the first time the boy had known cruelty and pain.

There was one older array of scars that was worse than all of the others. It took a moment for Erik to comprehend what he was seeing and when he did, it took him a moment longer to believe that it was real, that someone could have been so cruel to do such a thing to his son. But there was no denying it. It was real, and it filled Erik with white-hot rage.

The scars formed a jagged script right over Pietro's heart. Written in all caps with the letters backward, was the sentence I AM NOTHING.

Unable to force his anger down, but still somewhat aware that he did not want to wake his children, Erik reached out with his power to an old rusted frame of a tractor that he had noticed upon entering the farmhouse, and he flung it up into the air and out into the vacant cornfield. When it landed, he still heard a thud, but Wanda and Pietro remained unaffected in their slumber.

In that moment he wished more than ever that Wanda had not killed Bryan, just so he could stab him in the chest himself and watch the man that had hurt his only son bleed out slowly before his own eyes.

What hurt Erik the most was the fact that his children's asshole of a stepfather not only had mutilated his son's body, but he had done it in a way that had and would likely continue to psychology torment Pietro throughout his life. Because Erik had realized why the man—no the monster—had carved the letters backward into Pietro's chest. He had deliberately written it that way so that anytime Pietro was shirtless and looked in the mirror, he'd be able to clearly see in the mirror reflecting back to him the words I AM NOTHING. A completely false but no less painful reminder that in Bryan's eyes, Pietro was worthless and his life was insignificant.

That bastard didn't even write that I am a freak or an abomination. No, he wrote I am nothing, so he could slowly convince my son that he was worthless.

Filled with despair, Erik brushed Pietro's hair out of his eyes, noticing as he did so that his forehead felt a little hot.

I should keep an eye on his temperature. Make sure if he has a fever it doesn't get too high. At least I can do that much for him.

Once again pushing his personally feelings away, Erik set to work cleaning and bandaging the cuts on Pietro's body that were still healing. Just as he finished, a shiver racked through Pietro's battered body and Erik felt the boy's forehead once more. Deciding Pietro was cool enough to cover up, Erik grabbed one of the blankets that had been at the end of the bed and lifted it up to the top of the boy's chest. Then he tossed another blanket gently over Wanda.

AL POV

Al was just gathering bowls and spoons, and placing them along with the soup on a tray while absentmindedly looking out one of the kitchen windows into the night, thinking about his unexpected guests upstairs, when he saw an old tractor frame out in the yard, lifted into the air seemingly of its own accord and thrown out into the night, landing with a dull thud. He had been trying to decide whether to trash the tractor or restore it, but apparently that decision had now been made for him.

"Holy mother of—" Al said quietly, letting his voice trail off. He had just witnessed another unexplainable event that night, and he had no doubt it had something to do with the people currently in his home. Part of Al was frightened by that fact, but Al's years on this earth had taught him that life was unpredictable, and Al was nothing if not adaptable.

Besides, Al had a feeling that the worn-down family upstairs had faced somewhat of a war of their own before ending up on his doorstep, and that was something Al could certainly relate too.

With one last glance out the window at where the old tractor had once stood, Al traipsed up the old wooden staircase, before entering the room where he had left his three guests.

The first thing Al noticed was that the boy and girl were apparently asleep, looking more peaceful than Al had yet to see them. Then Al's gaze went to the man who was with them. He had removed his helmet and was sitting on an old desk chair that had been in the room, with his head in his hands.

"Err—" Al cleared his throat, causing the man to look up. "I brought soup. There's plenty of it, so help yourself to some too."

"Thank you." said the ma—Erik—Al reminded himself. But Erik made no move to help himself.

"Sooo…" said Al leaning against the door frame after having set the tray on the bedside table. "Are they yours?" he asked, inclining his head toward the children on the bed.

"Yes, they're my children." replied Erik, and then after a moment's hesitation, "but I'm not much of a father."

"I thought they might be. They look a bit like you…well I can't say I'm the best judge of what constitutes as a good father, as I was never much of a father myself. My wife was always the better parent. She always knew what to do and say, but it seems you got them out a not-so-good situation and you're looking after them now, so that counts for something." said Al.

Still grim faced, Erik didn't answer, but Al hadn't really expected him to. "I'll bring you and the kids some new clothes, yours look a little worse for wear and slightly…uh ostentatious. I've got a few of my daughter's old clothes that should fit your daughter alright. They're a little out of style, since it's been a while since my daughter was a teenager, but hopefully they'll suffice. My son's clothes should fit you fine too, though your boy will be swimming in them, since I got rid of my son's childhood clothes long ago. But I reckon anything is better than that…garb he's wearing now."

Turning to go Al was stopped by Erik's voice, "Do you have a thermometer?"

"Was there not one in the first aid kit? Well, I've got another downstairs that I'll bring up. That's a good idea, last thing you want is for the kid to get sicker than he already is. Best try to wake him up to get some food in him too." replied Al.

"Thank you." said Erik once more as Al turned again to leave before pausing a final time.

"You wouldn't happen to have anything to do with one of my old tractors flying through the night, would you?" asked Al glancing down at the mangled remains of a lamp that had been sitting next to the bed.

There was a pause, before Erik replied a little defensively, "perhaps."

"Okay…" said Al. "Relax sonny. I ain't gonna try to shoot you or anything, not that I'd imagine I'd be able to if current events have taught me anything, but like I said, my concern is those kids and it looks like you all could use a bit of help. Besides, it was old and you saved me the trouble of deciding if I wanted to restore it….but I'd rather not leave it in the middle of my field, will you…uh…be able to get it out of there?"

"Yes." Replied Erik "I'll move it once Wanda and Pietro are well rested."

"Well then. No harm done…I'll be back with those clothes; then holler if you need anything." said Al as he finally left the room. He still didn't know what to think of his unexpected visitors. The man could evidently move things with his mind, and being that Wanda and Pietro were his kids, Al figured they likely were a bit…different too. But although Al was still uncertain as to how to interact with them, and if they were aliens or whatever, but Al knew one thing for certain: They were suffering, and they needed help. And as a veteran, he was going to do all in his power to help them.

1: Wanda, sit back there and look after your brother. I want to sit up front so I can keep watch on Old McDonald

2: wake up just for a bit, my son

3: Very good.

{Author's Note: Sorry again if the first aid practices sound totally fake. I've never even taken anatomy! I really put Pietro through the wringer in this chapter…yikes. Let me know if anyone has any questions or thoughts they want to share. I appreciate the reviews and your input. Does anyone desperately want Erik, Pietro, and Wanda back in their own universe, or are you interested in seeing what's in store for them in our own world? Thanks for following the story!}