I know, I know...it took way too long for me to post this, but I wasn't happy with the way it was going. I hope you like it, and I do appreciate every review I get. If you think it's crap feel free to tell me.

It was dark in the corridor of the dreary castle sitting on top of the hill in the forest. It had been there for as long as anyone could remember, and no one had ever cared enough to find out who inhabited it; especially since whoever did kept a pack of wolves on constant guard of the premises. A little boy was illuminated by the flickering torch on the opposite wall of where he was sitting. He was very fidgety and his nervous eyes darted to the large door in front of him every so often. The boy had shocking white hair that was styled in a most unusual manner, and he had a presence that made him seem older than his years. His vivid blue eyes that seemed to large for his pale face focused suddenly on the door and he gripped the arms on his chair so tightly that his knuckles turned white. Someone was screaming inside the room, and the shrieks subsided when the door was flung open and a little girl with short black hair walked out. She was whimpering and holding one of her arms tightly, and the boy examined her as she proceeded down the hall, without acknowledging the boy at all.

"Come in boy."

The boy gulped, sweat beading down his little face as he stood from his chair and entered the genetics lab.

"Sit there."

The boy made his way over to an examining table made out of stainless steel. On his first attempt to climb onto it his hands slipped off of the smooth surface. Once he was sitting a man emerged from the shadows from in between a monitor and a table stacked with test tubes. The boy's mouth opened and shut a few times, but no words came out, and it looked like he was dying to protest, to say something that would prevent what inevitably was coming next. The man was wearing a white lab coat and a surgical mask and all else was hidden in the darkness. All except for the large syringe he was preparing in his gloved hands. The boy let out a strangled cry when he saw what the man was holding, but the man paid no attention. He had already shut the door and was approaching the boy with determined coldness in every step. He seized the boy by the arm before he could try to escape, and the boy struggled in his grasp, eyeing the needle with his wide petrified eyes.

"This won't hurt," the man insisted.

"NO!" the boy yelled, writhing even more violently in the man's grasp. The man forced the boy to lay back on the table while he held him down with one arm.

"Daddy please!"

With the hand that was holding the syringe the man used two fingers to summon metal restraints that were hanging on the wall over to the table. While he held the squirming boy down the man attached the restraints to the table and with a click he had the boy's arms and legs locked into place. Lightning struck outside and the man stood up straight as he tried to subdue his temper.

"I don't see why you always insist on making this so difficult Pietro," he said. He pulled up the boy's sleeve and readied the needle once more. The boy pulled at the restraints weakly, but he knew it was no use.

"Please," the boy whispered, looking at the man with tears in his eyes. The man ignored the plea and brought the needle up to the boy's arm. The boy abandoned all hope and shut his eyes tightly, bracing himself for the pain.

17-year-old Pietro Maximoff's eyes flashed open and he shot up into a sitting position, his eyes moving wildly in every direction. He was breathing heavily and his body was drenched in cold sweat, and as soon as he realized that he was safe in his bed at the Institute his breathing slowly began to return to normal. His sheets were tangled around his ankles and he groaned and rubbed his eyes as he felt the pain of his headache returning. Pietro turned his sore body to the side and tried to make out the numbers on the digital clock. Squinting, he untangled himself with one hand and reached out and grabbed the clock from his dresser with the other. Bringing it up to his face so he could see clearly Pietro saw that the numbers read: 3:20. He put it back on the dresser, closed his eyes, and pinched the space between his eyebrows, a trick he had picked up from Mystique. He had seen her do it many times, usually right after she finished yelling at the Brotherhood for being such an embarrassing failure. Pietro was surprised to find that it actually eased his pain a little, at least enough for him to be able to think straight. He looked over at Wanda, hoping that she might be awake, but she was sleeping peacefully. Pietro had wished that she too might have been woken up by some disturbing nightmare about her past, but unfortunately Pietro was the only one who couldn't sleep at night. He knew that he should be used to the awful memories that took the place of any sweet dreams he might've been having instead by now, but it seemed like every time he closed his eyes it was getting harder and harder to think about anything else.

Pietro got out of bed and tried to straighten out his sheets. He knew he wouldn't be able to get back to sleep, so he wasn't even going to try; he had fought that losing battle many times without success. Pietro walked over to his dresser and pulled a white tee-shirt out of one of the drawers. He was only wearing his boxers at the moment and didn't fancy prancing around the mansion in them, even if most normal people didn't make it a habit to walk around at 3:20 in the morning. Before putting on the shirt Pietro slowly peeled the wash cloth off his shoulder where it had dried while he was sleeping. It was caked with blood and Pietro stared at it, obviously disgusted, before tossing it to the side and pulling on his shirt. Normally at the Brotherhood house he would just wander around the house, maybe watch a little late night TV, but this time his wandering had a purpose. There was something he needed to do. He needed to talk to Toad.

The medical ward was silent when Pietro entered, but he hadn't expected anything else. He pushed through the curtain to the room where Todd's bed was, his injuries causing him to move slower than he usually would. Only the light above Todd's bed was lit, and he looked up curiously, trying to make out Pietro's form in the shadows. The fact that Todd was still awake didn't surprise Pietro at all; in fact he had been counting on it.

"Hey," Pietro said, pulling a chair over to Todd's side.

"Hey," Todd answered when he was sure who he was talking to. He looked suspicious, like he was trying to figure out Pietro's motives for coming to visit him at such a late hour. He couldn't think of any reason Pietro would come to visit him in the first place, as they weren't exactly close.

"So Xavier told us that you wanted to turn yourself in. What's up with that?" Pietro asked, getting straight to the point. Ever since Xavier had revealed this to the Brotherhood, it had remained in the back of Pietro's mind. He didn't want to see Todd go to jail because his appearance made it obvious that he was a mutant and Pietro was pretty sure 'muties' would get 'special treatment', especially since the law had been passed that Juvenile Hall was not an option for mutants.

"Why do you care?" Todd asked with a frown.

"I…I don't know," Pietro said with a shrug, "I just don't want to see you go to jail. I've been in there."

"So? It can't be as bad as staying here. Everyone knows I killed him, and they all think we're criminals anyway," Todd said darkly.

"Who cares what they think? This place is a new start for all of us and you're just gonna blow it so you can sit in a jail cell for the rest of your miserable life?"

"Thanks for that…"

"Sorry. I just think you should let this thing sort itself out before you throw your life away."

"My life? My life is shit. I ain't staying here."

"Fine, but don't say I didn't try to help you," Pietro huffed. This wasn't going like he planned at all.

"Help? Since when do you help? You don't care about me or anyone else. You left us and I don't fucking care what you think," Todd retorted, his voice rising steadily.

"You think I had a choice?"

"Yeah. You saw something better than what you had and you went for it."

Pietro laughed, "That's what you think? Jesus Christ Toad…that's gotta be one of the funniest things I've ever heard."

"What? Don't act like you didn't wanna be Magneto's golden boy," Toad said defiantly.

Pietro laughed so hard tears streamed down his face and he clutched his sides, and Toad stared at him like he was insane until he finished laughing.

"…So you don't like your dad?" Toad asked meekly.

"Like him? Like him? You really don't have any idea do you? I fucking hate his guts," Pietro said, wiping away the tears with the back of his hand and a smile on his face. Toad gaped at Pietro with disbelief, and he would have remained in such a state of shock except for that a door opening brought him back to his senses.

"I'm glad we had this talk," Pietro said quickly, patting Toad on the shoulder and racing back through the curtain as fast as his battered body would take him. He dodged Beast at the door who had come to see what was causing all the noise, and Pietro ran back up the stairs and into his room. Shutting the door behind him, Pietro looked over and saw that Wanda was still sleeping so h tiptoed over to his bed. Now the clock read 3:51 and Pietro sighed as he flopped down on his bed and waited for the day to start.