DISCLAIMER: Nothing you see here is owned by me except the raw fictional material. Characters belong to Marvel, I just play with them.
(Anon goddess, this is the result of my grief and I hope reading it can distract you from your own, if only for a little while. Let me know how you're holding up, okay? Laceylou76, honey you're amazing, I know questions might not be directly answered just yet but damage control is what it is and you can't fix the problem until you've contained it so let me know what you think and don't worry - no one's dying on my watch. LadyMageLuna thanks awfully for replying, really sweet of you and I hope you continue to enjoy my work and let me know. Bloodypassion, thanks for reviewing, you always give me such a lot to go on and I'm glad you like what you've seen so far! TitansRule, this may not answer your questions just yet but rest assured, all will be revealed in time, let me know what you think. Rogue-scholar07 it's a word now and thank you so much! Let me know how you like this one^^ Artista BianKa, I hope this is a fast enough update for you and let me know how this gets you, okay? Your responses always make me feel so proud of what I've written. To all of you, you make me feel such pride in my work and I hope I continue to meet standards and make you all happy. Let me know!)
~Scarlet Letter ~
Damage Control
He was there in twenty minutes, it didn't matter about breaking the speed limits, no one was on the street now, most of the world was cowering away indoors, waiting for another incapacitating psychic projection. Not that they knew what it was, but that didn't matter. He'd never driven through town so quickly before, unhindered by anything and everything, but then, he had a mission to see over. He had to get to the girls before this could repeat itself. Wanda... Gods, she could end the world if she tried, assuming she hadn't already attempted it. If that had been her attempt, Logan was simply grateful that he was still standing. And he hoped they were too.
Pulling up with a screech of gravel the first thing he noticed was Gambit lying on the first step of the porch, eyes closed, and he ran to his side, checking the younger man for signs of life. He had a pulse, but he was out cold, and Logan remembered that Charles had mentioned he might have some empathic abilities. If that were the case then Logan pitied the boy, this close to the source and able to feel it ten times more keenly than the average person. No wonder he wasn't up yet. He let him lie, sniffing the air for traces of another person nearby but there was nothing. Entering the house with caution, he let his nose guide him. The air was acrid with the scent of blood, some he recognised as Rogue's but there were others present and he couldn't discern whose they were. He ascended the stairs with a cold dread growing in his chest, praying that he would find them alive and well, and he stopped dead when he saw his Rogue slumped over the unconscious Scarlet Witch in the middle of the hall, not moving. He was by their side in seconds.
He gently laid Rogue out next to her friend and examined her for injury. She had minor bleeding coming from her nose and ears, but that seemed to be a common denominator for the survivors of the projection. She was breathing steadily and he sighed in relief. She was warm and alive and breathing. That was good enough for him. Laying her carefully aside he turned his attention to the lifeless Wanda, cold and pale as marble, not moving even enough to signify breathing. He unsheathed his claws and held them to the side of her face, waiting. The relief he felt when he saw the faint mist on the metal was equal to that which he had felt at Rogue's being alive but upon a look at them like that, together, it was obvious who was in more dire need of assistance. He heard heavy, unsteady footsteps and looked up. It was Blob, his face dirty and tear-stained, eyes swollen from crying but focused on the two girls lying prone on the floor.
"Wanda... she..." he sobbed, and Logan felt uneasy. What did you say to a teenage boy the size of a baby orca who was crying like that?
"Easy there, bub... They're gonna be fine. I need you to search the house for anyone else who's awake, can ya do that for me?" Blob nodded, swiping at his eyes with a massive hand and walking away from him. Logan took out his communicator and said,
"Charles?"
"Yes, Logan? Do you have them? Are they alright?"
"I got 'em. I can't take 'em back like this, I'm gonna need backup. Can you send the elf?"
"Kurt is not well enough – " there was disturbance in the background and the Professor resumed talking.
"He insists. He will come."
"Good. And – tell Hank the Witch is in real bad shape, will ya?" There was a pause on the other end.
"She is alive?"
"Barely."
"Hold on, Logan. Kurt will be there in a moment." Logan disconnected his communicator and put it away, checking Wanda's pulse again but not finding one.
"Aw, shit, kid, ya can't do this to me!" he growled. The ~bampf~ from behind him had never smelled sweeter.
"Rogue!" Kurt fell forward to his knees by his sister but Logan held him back, claws out.
"She's the least of our worries right now, blue, this one ain't breathin'. Get her back to Hank now!" Kurt glanced at Wanda and his mouth fell open. Nodding, he picked her up gently and with a ~bampf~ was gone again. Rogue's eyes fluttered.
"Kurt..?"
"Whoa there Stripes, he just left ya. Had to get Wanda back home. Does it hurt anywhere?" Logan asked, and she groaned and shook her head.
"Just inside... It hurts so bad inside, Logan... how did you - ?"
"The whole damn world is hurting inside, kid. Wanda projected about a lifetime of hurt and she did a good job of it too..."
"I – I feel dead inside, Logan," Rogue said shakily, and he folded her into his arms and hugged her tightly.
"It's okay now, it's all gonna be okay... It ain't your pain, Stripes, you just hold onto that..."
"Remy! Is he – "
"Gumbo's outside on the porch. Bet ya he ain't feelin' so hot right about now," Logan said, not without sympathy.
"But – he – " Rogue tore herself away from Logan and sprinted down the stairs, and the big man found he couldn't do much but stare after her. It meant that much, whether or not Gumbo was alright?
~***********************************************************~
"Remy!" He opened one eye and looked up into Rogue's beautiful, worried face, and he cracked a smile.
"Chere... Je t'aime..."
"Ah love you too, ya stupid, stupid Swamp Rat, Ah was so scared!" He frowned and let her help him sit up, his brain feeling as though it had been run through a food processor.
"Merde! M' head..." he groaned, and she steadied him with both arms, leaning into him as though she needed to feel him as close as she could, feel his warmth, his presence.
"Sugah... It was Wanda... Logan said it was world-wide... Oh Gawd it was horrible... Are ya alrigh'? Ya must'a' felt it so much worse than me..." He smiled weakly at her.
"Non, chere... 'm alrigh'... I can take a little misery..." She sighed and cuddled into him and he put both arms around her, feeling the scars on his soul heal. He had honestly never been in so much pain as he had when Wanda's agony had invaded his mind. Not only could he feel her projection, his empathy was already coiling itself away from it, the numbing torment of her life of unhappiness and the overwhelming sense of betrayal. And he had desperately clung to the knowledge that he was happy, that his Rogue loved him, that he loved her too, with all his heart, and he had given up his hold on the conscious world and found her in the blackness among Wanda's demons and there he had held on to her, to them. And here she was...
"Tu es une ange, ma belle chere," he whispered, and she threaded her fingers through his hair.
"If ya weren' so beat up Ah'd be kissin' ya ragh' now, sugah... Ah ain' never lettin' ya outta mah sight again..."
"I can live wit' dat, chere..." he mumbled into her hair, breathing in deeply and just savoring the feel of her in his arms.
"Mmm... What did ya do ta Pyro?"
"Notin'. Had a li'l scuffle, den I started gettin' de bad feelin's from Wanda an' I hit de ground..." Rogue frowned.
"So he's runnin' aroun' here somewhere in that state?" Remy shrugged.
"When he's like dat he' ain' makin' sense, even t' himself. He don' know what he's doin'."
"Y'all said he had psychotic episodes... He was bein' a total lunatic..."
"Like I said, chere... Ting's y' don' know about de homme. Bes' if y' don' know everytin'. Where's de petite friponne?"
"Wanda went back t' the Institute with Kurt... Ah don' know if she's alragh' or not... Ah jus' had t' find ya and make sure ya weren' dyin' or some shit lahke that..."
"Chere... Remy ain' never gonna leave y'." He was looking at her with infintiely tender eyes, and she pressed her lips to his briefly.
"That's what they all say, sugah..."
~***********************************************************~
He could hear angels. He knew that was wrong though, he didn't belong anywhere angels frequented. He had just left an angel for that very reason. You didn't deserve to be that happy... I thought you learned that last time... The voice seemed weak. Perhaps the angels were tiring it? He couldn't feel the rest of his body, just the aching in his heart. He felt like he had torn it out and left it somewhere else, like it was calling to him from afar, punishing him for his treachery, and he didn't know what he could have done to make it hurt so much. I just left, I didn't – Betrayer. What? No! I didn't betray anyone, I didn't do anything! You ran away. Weak. You're weak! I am not! You are... you know it, she knows it – look what you've done to her... The agony was excruciating. He had never before experienced anything so horrific. And the worst thing was, some of the images he was seeing he was intimately familiar with. His own worst fears were in her mind too. How he knew these were her memories he did not know, but over them and under them he felt rather than heard himself screaming for it to stop, begging for it to please stop, and the voice laughing at him, enjoying it. And hers, too... Condemning him... For not being there. For not being who she thought he was. For not being what she thought he was. For not helping her when he had had the chance...
He didn't know anything but the guilt and the pain and it burned him the way nothing else ever had, not even fire seared this deep, scarred like this. He wanted to be forgiven, he wanted to tell her he hadn't meant it, hadn't known how to be anything but what he was, but the memory of their heated kisses and the confusion she felt, the way she had felt almost cheated was the worst thing of all. I didn't want it to be like this, I didn't want it to feel like this... You made it this way and you'll take it! It's a lesson and you'll learn it this time! No... Please... Wanda...
~***********************************************************~
Kurt laid her gently on the bed and Dr McCoy hastened to check her over, attaching electrodes to her temples quickly, thumbing back her eyelids and reading her pulse from the now-beeping monitor behind them. A pinched look came over his usually genial blue-furred face and he turned to his table, pulling out a needle several sizes too large for Kurt's liking and prepping it before turning back to Wanda and looking at Kurt.
"Adrenaline. Look away, Kurt." As the doctor's hand came down, needle in place, Kurt ported to his own room, to safety, leaving the care of Wanda to people with stronger stomachs. And then he teleported back to the 'hood house, desperate to check on Rogue. She wasn't in the house, but Logan was, talking in an undertone to Kitty who was safely cradled in Lance's arms, hiccuping through her tears.
"Elf! What did Hank say?"
"He – pulled out a big needle and – and I had to go!" Logan rolled his eyes.
"Fine. I'll just call Charles and ask him how she is. Next time you stay with the patient!" Kurt nodded quickly and looked to Kitty whose face was a tear-streaked mask of misery. Lance kissed her cheek softly and hugged her closer, her arms curling around his neck as though he were her lifeline.
"Kitty... " Kurt said quietly, but Lance shook his head.
"She's in shock. She can't speak." Kurt nodded again, slowly this time, noting how Lance held Kitty as though she were the greatest treasure on the face of the earth and he would die if anything befell her.
"Take good care of her, ja?" Lance nodded.
"You kidding?"
"Where is Rogue?" Lance jerked his head at the window indicating she was outside somewhere, and Kurt ported outside where he was met with the sight of Rogue and Gambit, closely entwined on the last step of the porch, whispering to each other.
"Roguey!" Rogue looked up in shock and then stood up, opening her arms. He ported right into them and hugged her as tightly as he could.
"Rogue, are you okay, are you hurt? The Professor said Wanda did this!! How is that possible? Why?!" Rogue just held him, beyond words, the sight of her adoptive brother safe and well bringing her to the brink of tears again. Until this moment she hadn't fully taken in the gravity of the situation – that people had been harmed, that her family could have been among the casualties, that her loved ones could have been hurt...
"Ah'm fahne, Ah'm okay, what about you? Ya sure?" He ws nodding and couldn't hold himself back, giving her a kiss on the cheek in his relief at seeing her safe.
"Lance and Kitty are inside, Kitty's in shock but Lance is taking care of her," he said using the breath he'd been holding since he saw his sister holding Gambit.
"Is she alraght?"
"She can't talk, Lance says it's the shock. Logan was talking to her when I came, I think she's scared..."
"Not as scared as de petite friponne," Remy said gruffly, rising to stand beside the happy siblings, and Rogue put an arm around him too.
"All mah boys are safe an' well..." she sighed, relief just sluicing off her, and Remy smiled at her.
"You took care of my sister?" Kurt asked with narrowed eyes at the Cajun who nodded, a solemn expression on his face.
"Good."
"Kurt, maybe y'all can help us? We lost Pyro – he's sick an' he went off alone jus' before Wanda did her thang an' we don' know where he is..." Kurt saluted his sister and stepped back.
"I will look!" he said, porting off with a sour smell lingering in the air behind him.
"He can't have gotten far..."
"Je ne sais pas, ma chere, when he is already all messed up dis may have affected him worse dan de rest of us..." Rogue shivered at the thought that someone they knew – however many issues he might have – could be lying somewhere alone, hurt, perhaps dead...
~***********************************************************~
I left because I didn't want to hurt her – see her hurt. That's it. You said you didn't want to get involved but you were lying, weren't you? You can't lie to me, I know you – I am you – You're not me! I don't know what the hell you are but you are not me! Oh but I am... I've always been you... you know it's the truth. How else would I know everything you want and everything you're afraid of? You don't. I do. You're afraid of me, you're afraid of yourself, you're afraid of everything I ask you to do. You never ask, you just make me. I'm tired of listening to you. But isn't the numbness so much worse than this? Think about it... About being all alone...
He didn't want to be alone. He had never been alone. Locked in a cell unable to move he hadn't been alone. He was only alone when they gave him those infernal pills to shut him up – if they didn't, he and the voice would chat all day. The pills made the voice shut up, left him truly alone in the dark. He didn't like being on his own, he needed something else there to remind him that he was still alive. He was so afraid of waking up to nothingness and no longer being there, a ghost, an illusion. Like Wanda's memories. He bitterly wished it had never happened. That she had remained an angry young woman bent on destroying her father and brother, at least then she woud be free, she would be in control. Instead he had been a party to her control being forcefully taken from her, everything she knew to be true wiped away and replaced with poor facsimiles of memories one was supposed to acquire by doing. Not by having a freak like Jason poke about in your noggin. He had never liked Jason since the day he'd altered Wanda's memories. It hadn't been right and he was ashamed that he hadn't spoken up against it. He was just glad that Jason nurtured an extreme distaste for the idea of going walkabout in his mind, claiming it was too screwed up for him to be able to work in it. That suited him fine. Nasty little monkey had no business in anyone's head but perhaps his own.
He still didn't know why he'd kissed her. Obviously, she was beautiful and there'd been the added bonus of her having nothing on, always good, but he hadn't wanted to. He had wanted to, but he hadn't wanted to. He didn't want to get attached. In a way, although Remy had himself set up to be the greatest womaniser since Casanova, it was John who really wore the crown. He wasn't in it for the thrill or for the flirting, the gratification he knew Remy sought. The challenge. Not by a long shot. He was a serial user trying to buy his way out of his own delusions by feeding them a distraction. Usually, that worked fine. He didn't care so long as he didn't have to get close to anyone. Especially someone he knew he wouldn't be able to get on without. He wouldn't admit that he was more like Remy than he thought. Shitty past, wasting away the days between all the bad stuff so it would be easier to get through when it came, and the fixation on the idea that someone could make it better. Remy had found his someone. Remy had found Rogue. Abducted and used her and fallen completely in love with her, he had embarked on a quest to keep her safe that nearly killed him in the end, and had returned to her on the off chance that she didn't hate him. John was happy for them. They were both damaged, and if anyone could find a way around Rogue's powers it was the Cajun, but there was so much they would have to fight to be allowed to give it a shot and he knew that Remy wouldn't be able to go on if he couldn't have her. He'd be once again reduced to stalker extraordinaire, lurking around to catch a glimpse of her, and she'd be living with the constant 'what if?' that always came when you added emotion to things.
John didn't like emotions. His manic episodes were obviously not a manifestation of 'real' joy or anything, but they did a good job of making him feel like they were. Just as the come-down from them always felt real – more than real. But those emotions and the way he dealt with them – his career as a professional arsonist, the pyromania he couldn't remember ever being without – weren't healthy and weren't sparked by real things. Normal people were happy when good stuff happened to them. John could be strapped to a gurney having bones reset and he'd be laughing his head off if he was on an 'up'. It wasn't normal. Just as he knew the voice wasn't normal. Being alone when you were physically alone was. Emotions were always confusing and painful in the end. He vividly remembered being examined by a doctor once who told him that he could look forward to a lifetime of pills and therapy if he ever wanted to be a normal, functioning member of society that didn't have to light shit on fire to have a good day, bandying words about like 'psychoinfantilism' and 'severe mood disorder'. He remembered burning down the hospital. Good times.
He knew the residual memories of being locked away, being kept in the dark couldn't all be his, but some of it was, some of it he barely even remembered as his own experiences, having spent so long trying to repress them, forget them. But he knew her fears. To be locked away, never to escape, never to be free again. Betrayed by those you love, those you trust. The guilt and the pain wouldn't go away, but they were always there whatever he did, no matter what he did, so why was it so much worse now that he knew that part of it was hers and part of it was for him?
Please... Let her forgive me... Let her be alright... I'm so sorry... Let it end...
~**************************************************************~
"My daughter did this." It wasn't a question so Charles just let it hang there in the air between them. The Professor and the haunted father.
"How, Charles? How could she cause this much damage?"
"I believe the question is not how, but why. I have not yet been able to penetrate the layers of her conscious but there is a distinct possibility that her repressed memories were triggered and that the shock and the terror may have caused her to utilise her powers to project the pain she was experiencing. There is no doubt in my mind that if she wakes, she will be a very angry and confused young woman. Uncontrolled. Even more so than she was when Mystique liberated her." The pale face of the man once known as Magneto went paler still.
"What do you mean 'if' she wakes?" Charles sighed, steepling his fingers together.
"Erik, I have made no secret of the fact that your treatment of your children – Wanda especially – appalls and disgusts me, and I shall make no secret of the fact that the emotional and psychological trauma you have inflicted upon the girl has damaged her to the point where even through a lifetime of intensive therapy and training it is unlikely that she will ever be able to bond normally with another human being or fully control her abilities. The extensive damage Mastermind's interference with her memories caused her psyche is another factor to consider here. The sheer volume of pain and loss she projected at what I believe to be the moment of regaining her memories fully is an indicator that she is not only damaged but broken. And you and I both know that broken individuals rarely pull through."
"So..." Erik's voice was a harsh whisper, "You are telling me that... that my Wanda... is going to die?" Charles closed his eyes and pressed his lips together in a hard line.
"I believe that if she does survive the mental trauma of the realisation that her life will have to be rebuilt and the fact that she now has an even greater sense of betrayal where you and her twin brother are concerned will ultimately lead to either insanity or her death by either her own hand or some other way. And either one of those two scenarios are to be feared, Erik. The girl demonstrated enough power today to bring the world to it's knees and she was not even trying – it was simple emotional turmoil that brought it about. Control of that power wielded with destructive intent could wipe every living thing off the face of the earth. And it would be your fault." He watched as Erik Magnus Lehnsherr's face turned grey and he covered it with trembling hands, eyes wide and staring.
"Oh Charles... What have I done? What have I done..."
"More damage than any one man should be capable of." Charles said sternly, some part of him joyous over the sight of his one-time friend reduced to this for his crimes.
"Can you not – can you help her, Charles?"
"I cannot reach her. Her mind is too chaotic, too lacking in reason, and I fear I might accidentally harm her if I tried to alleviate some of the chaos, clear her mind. There's also a strong possibility that she could harm me – or that she could project again, and we cannot risk that. For now, I am recalling Logan and the students. I will also need to speak with the Brotherhood – I need to know what passed before her breakdown. And it is imperative that we locate the mutant you know as Pyro." Erik's face turned to his sharply.
"Why?"
"I believe he is the catalyst."
"This is his fault, you mean?" Charles shook his head.
"When Wanda projected, her sense of loss seemed strongly focused on specific persons. I have spent the morning with Jean, trying to catalogue the psychic imprints Wanda seemed to attach the most pain to, and his was one of the more... severe... impressions."
"What kind of pain? Charles, what do you mean by all of this? My daughter is in a coma because of the way I have treated her, what does a mentally ustable Australian have to do with any of this?" Erik's voice was angry but his eyes told the truth of the matter. He was angry with himself. The master of metal had, after being under Apocalypse's thumb, completely turned himself around. He had been shown just what he would do to the world and as much as he still believed that mutants were meant for better things, he could not condone any of the horrors Apocalypse had shown him. He had reached out to his son again, and through his son tried to reach his daughter, but since the defeat of Apocalypse, the brief bond he had felt with both of his children had vanished. Pietro pulling away to be nearer his sister, Wanda keeping away through a desire she could not explain to go nowhere near her father. Pietro had explained it away as her teenage rebellion, ridding herself of the figurative apron strings, wanting to believe that there was nothing more in it, that the false memories she thought true would hold, that this was not a symptom of their gradual erosion. Erik had gone to his old friend Charles with the news, feigning indifference, claiming it mattered not that his daughter seemed to be unable to fully embrace the idea of them as a family despite Mastermind's best efforts, but it was a lie. He was at the same time saddened since he had turned over a new leaf and deeply scarred by the fact he could not repent and ask her forgiveness for it since she didn't know her past had been what it had been, and afraid that she would someday give in to the press of her true memories and come for him.
"Nothing. Everything. If we are to attempt to control the damage she has inflicted and that has been inflicted upon her, we need to know everything, Erik. I know that you think very little of Pyro as both a mutant and a human being, but if the imprint Wanda projected of him could rival that which she projected of yourself, then I believe we need to question him. Assuming that he is still alive." Erik made a quick movement that was entirely unconstructive and could have been a kind of tic.
"Why shouldn't he be? Last I heard he was healthy enough." Charles smiled grimly.
"A person as conflicted as that would be at greater risk of succumbing to the mental deterioration Wanda was projecting. Therefore he would be less likely to recover as Logan, or one of the more well-adjusted teenagers under my care. It is possible in the extreme that he did not survive, but if he did, I want to question him. If not, sadly the boy has no living relatives that we know of but I shall see to it that he is seen to as befits any child who dies before their time." Charles was pleased to see Erik's face lose it's uncaring shadow and fall once more into folds of self-hatred and guilt.
"I – I am sorry, Charles. I did not mean to say such things or to sound so callous. I admit that I never gave a second thought to the boy's state of mind despite knowing half the story. There have been a great many things over the years that I have not cared about as much as I should have."
"As long as you are willing to admit it. Hank will not allow you in the ward for fear your presence will disturb her, but I will make certain that any change in Wanda's state will be reported to you." Erik stood, and moved for the door, and Charles called after him.
"The sins of the father, Erik. I hope this has taught you something."
"I no longer desire any lesson that costs a life, Charles... Least of all the life of my own daughter."
~***************************************************************~
Logan had been summoned outside by a wild-eyed Rogue who was clutching her brother's three-fingered hand so tightly for support her knuckles were paper-white. And he understood why. Tear-tracks of blood stood out like some sick horror-flick emulation on the pale face of the kid lying in the dirt, and he was barely breathing. His lips were moving as though he were trying to speak, but only by leaning in as close as he could without touching him could Logan hear anything, even with his superior senses. The kid was praying. Not necessarily to any God in particular, Logan couldn't say that, but it was very obvious that he was praying nonetheless. Asking for it to stop. To be forgiven. And as much as he hated to admit it to himself, it was the saddest damn thing he had ever seen. Gambit stood off to one side, hiding his face in Rogue's hair, the Southern Belle's arms around him, her gloved hands stroking his face and soothing him with assurances that it would all be alright, that the deathly pale Australian would live. Logan hoped that she was right. As weird as the kid was, he didn't want anyone dying on his watch.
"Is he going to live?" Kurt asked quietly, and he looked at the elf, the wide eyes, the stricken expression. Shock. Fear. Kids having to see things like this, live through things like this. It wasn't right.
"He ain't dyin' on my time, fuzzy," he said gruffly, and Kurt nodded, slowly, Logan's conviction seeming to help him. He knew it would. Shellshocked soldiers responded to it, why not shocked kids. He'd left Half-pint inside with Rocky, recovering if slowly from her initial shock, Kurt had done his best to help Toad and Blob come to terms with things, Toad proving to be remarkably resilient, Fred terrified that Wanda was dead and certain that Logan was holding back information about her state of health. Pietro was still out cold, Logan assuming that his prior injuries had sapped his strength more than he could stand up to adding the mental torture of his sister's projection. Gambit had recovered somewhat from the projection's devastating effects, and Rogue seemed to be holding up well. Tough as nails, his Stripes, no two ways about it. But the finding of the unconscious Aussie had completely thrown him, and Rogue was finding it hard to deal with his obvious pain at the state of his friend.
"Charles!" he barked into his communicator, rewarded by a crackling,
"Logan, what is your status?"
"Everyone's fine, shock and bruises is the worst of it. Pyro's out cold, can't wake him up, barely has a pulse, talkin' to himself."
"You've found him? Stay with him, Logan, we need him. Can you send Kurt home with him?"
"The elf can't make any more trips, Charles. He's done. It's too much for him. I won't risk him porting with someone that badly hurt when he's not on his game."
"But I can – "
"I said no, elf!" Logan snarled at the teenager, and Kurt flinched and nodded, moving away to stand next to Pyro, looking completely blank.
"Charles, these kids aren't well enough to deal with this and I can't do much more for Pyro like this. I need back up. Can you send 'Ro over to take care of them?"
"Ororo is trying to console the students here and Hank is trying to stabilise Wanda. I have no one I can spare. Do what you can for them – when Kurt is ready send him to me – directly to me! – with Pyro."
"One question: what do you need him for so bad?"
"He needs immediate medical attention. His mind was already compromised when Wanda projected and he is at great risk of dying if he is not helped as soon as possible. We need him here, Logan."
"Right..." with a soldier's eye, Logan asessed the situation. Of all of them, Stripes and Gumbo seemed to have the best handle on things, however distraught the Cajun was, and Logan made a snap decision.
"I'm drivin' him up. Be there in half an hour Chuck – tell Hank the boy's gonna need some serious transfusions. Logan out." He disconnected the device and nodded to Rogue.
"Stripes, I've gotta get this kid to Hank before he gives up – you and Gumbo keep an eye on things while I'm gone, I trust you." Rogue's face was a rigid mask of fear.
"But Logan – Ah ain' even on the X-team anymore – Ah ain' done a mission in months – Ah ain' ready for this!" He looked at her steadily.
"You're on the team, Rogue. And you can do this. I trust you and so does the team. We need you for this. Gumbo, take care of her." Remy smiled weakly.
"Je promesse," he mumbled, and Rogue looked from the younger to the older man.
"He can barely stand! Ya can' do this!" Logan ignored her, striding over to where Kurt stood by Pyro and bending to check the kid's pulse again. Flickering. Weak. He picked him up carefully, cursing the fact that he looked lighter than he was – compacted muscle, no doubt – and turned to face her again.
"'Ro and I decided to put you back on the team last week. Y' know why? Because you're strong enough to handle things like this and we all trust you. Bet even Gumbo here trusts you. This is your scene now, Stripes, and I expect a full progress report when I call you. Now move out!" She stared at him, open-mouthed, and Remy put his arm around her.
"C'mon chere. Y' can do dis." Without a backward glance, Logan strode to his bike and draped the Aussie over it, gunning the engine and taking off.
"... forgive me..." he heard him say, before his lips finally stilled, and he swore loudly and all but tore up the asphalt as he sped toward the Institue, holding on to the kid for dear life.
He only hoped Pyro was holding on to his.