Silence reigned in the van the rest of the way back to Westchester. Erik remained silent and glossy-eyed, Raven stared at the back of Hank's seat and refused to speak another word, Alex stared out the window with a pensive look on his face, Charles was still mulling over everything Erik had shown him, and Hank was trying to ignore everyone else in favor of keeping his focus on the road.

As they pulled up the drive to the mansion, Alex couldn't keep his mouth shut one more moment. "So, we have a baby now," he mumbled to Hank, staring down at the vacant-eyed boy curled up in Charles' lap. He looked so different from the imposing, Nazi-hunting adult Alex had met years before.

"He's not a baby," Hank replied, helping Charles down into his wheelchair while trying not to jostle Erik from his grip. "More like six or seven years old."

Alex took over pushing the Professor into the mansion, taking them into the house while the other two trailed behind. Raven had at least gotten out of the car of her own volition, but she looked miserable about it. She hadn't spoken since her conversation with Charles, and it seemed that the conversation hadn't eased any of her fear or sadness. Hank was silent too, watching Erik sit bonelessly in Charles' lap, wondering just how he was going to be expected to remedy this situation.

Once they reached the entryway, Raven peeled off from the rest of the group, continuing up the stairs to her old bedroom and closing the door behind her. Charles sighed, but there wasn't much he could do to help her at the moment. He passed Erik off to Hank and turned his attention on to Alex.

"Do you happen to remember which room Erik used when we were here before Cuba?" At Alex's nod, Charles requested, "Could you please make it up for him again? Perhaps familiar surroundings will help him regain himself quicker."

Alex agreed easily and slipped upstairs. Hank decided to take Erik down to his lab to give him a physical, frightened that the scientists might have caused him worse damage than what was visible on the surface.

However, the moment they entered the room and Erik caught a whiff of the sterile smell, Erik's eyes widened and he started flailing in Hank's grip. "Nein, nein, nein!" he pleaded, hysterical tears streaming down his cheeks as he tried to scratch his way out of the bigger mutant's hold.

"Erik! Erik Lehnsherr, stop it." He tried shushing the boy, bouncing him, walking around the room with him, everything he could think of. The boy wouldn't stop his frightened struggle until Hank finally brought them both out of the too-white room.

Erik's ragged breath was full of relief as he melted against Hank's shoulder in exhaustion. Hank sighed, not quite sure what to do now.

"Erik, you know I wouldn't hurt you. You know who I am, you know I wouldn't do anything like that," Hank reminded, touching his small back lightly to get his attention. Erik's eyes rose to meet Hank's own, but they were still unfocused, a ring of fear and apprehension shining through the fog of vacancy.

"Hey, Beast. His room's ready, if you want to lay him down for a nap or something," Alex announced, eyeing the little metal bender dubiously. Erik was burrowed into Hank's shoulder, eyes far too wide for his thin face, staring at nothing.

Hank nodded his thanks and started mounting the stairs, stopping outside of Erik's old room. "Do you remember this place?" he asked calmly, jostling Erik a bit in his arms just to get a response.

Peeking around his shoulder, Erik stared at the door for a long moment before nodding with a quick jerk of the head, and then burying his face back into Hank's neck.

"Good. That's good. I'm going to have you take a little nap, just for a bit, and then we'll see if that helps any. Okay?" Erik nodded, but his grip on Hank's shirt tightened. When Hank tried to lay him down on the bed, Erik whined and refused to let go. "Come now, Erik. You have to let me go so you can go to sleep." When prying the tiny hands off didn't work, Hank sighed and lay down on the bed himself. Erik cuddled into Hank's side and latched onto his arm with a content sigh, letting his weary eyes slide closed as he faded from consciousness.

Erik woke in a panting, frightened mess atop the large, cushioned bed. His body was covered in sweat and his heart was racing. He rubbed a hand across his face, trying to wake himself up from the nightmare. When he realized where he was and how he had acted in front of Hank, he felt his face heat in shame and embarassment. He was no child to be clinging and throwing tantrums like he had! What was wrong with him? His recollection of the past few hours felt like a dream coated in fog; he couldn't remember what he had been thinking or feeling or why he had acted the way he had, as if he had been on auto pilot the whole morning.

As he glanced over at Hank, he felt a terrible realization hit him. He had done so much to these people. He had left them stranded on a beach by themselves, with Charles grieviously wounded. He had betrayed them, and now he was small and young and vulnerable and in their clutches. What would they do to enact their revenge? How far would they go to make him suffer for his sins?

Shaking overtook his body, fear racing through his veins as he started looking for an escape. He may be young now, but he still had the instincts that had been pounded into him for years: he knew exactly how to hide and keep himself breathing long enough to get somewhere safe. His eyes darted around the room, recognizing it from his time with the team before Cuba. The only escapes were the large window (but they were on the second floor) and the door they had entered through (but that would mean sneaking through the whole house undetected, and he was still exhausted).

Somewhere deep inside, he knew he was being ridiculous. These people were good people, unlike him. They wouldn't harm him, he knew, even though he also knew he would deserve whatever they dished out to him.

Before he had gotten much further than the edge of the bed, Erik saw movement out of the corner of his eye. Hank was stirring. He would be awake in a few minutes, so Erik was on a strict time limit. If he could just get to the door, then he wouldn't be trapped in the room when Hank woke. Just as he turned his back on the scientist to race to the door, he heard Hank snort in his sleep, and then he was stirring far more than he had been moments before. He was awake, and Erik was trapped.

In a panic, Erik turned and caught Hank's eye. The doctor was still muggy, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. This was his chance, then. Before Hank could grab him up, Erik dove beneath the bed, hoping Hank hadn't noticed him.

Erik crumbled beneath the bed, wrapping his arms around his head as he made himself as small as possible. He felt childish, but he felt like if he couldn't see Hank, then Hank wouldn't be able to see him. He squeezed his eyes shut tight, and waited.

Hank made confused noises from atop the bed and started searching the room. "Erik?" he called out. Erik heard him sniff the air, and cringed. Could Hank track him by smell alone? If so, he was royally screwed.

Sure enough, moments later Hank was sprawled on the floor, peeking beneath the bed in exasperation. "Erik," Hank groaned, reaching out blindly for Erik to tug him back out in the open. Erik shrieked, shoving himself further beneath the bed, scrambling as far away from Hank's outstretched hand as possible.

Retracting his hand, Hank sighed in annoyance. He took a deep breath and tried a different tactic. "Good. You're awake. I take it you aren't feeling any better?" he asked conversationally, pillowing his head beneath his arms. Erik peeked through his fingers at Hank, both confused and interested. He wasn't going to tear the bed apart trying to get to him?

"Why are you hiding under the bed?" Hank asked quietly, sounding far too confused for the conversation. Erik just gave him an incredulous look, feeling confused himself. Wasn't it obvious why Erik was hiding, or trying to hide, anyway?

"Please, Erik. Can you come out here? I'm not going to hurt you. I promise." Erik bit his lip, feeling torn. Hank had always been so gentle, forever calm and easygoing. What if he was telling the truth, and they didn't have plans of their own for him? What if they really didn't want to hurt him?

It seemed that Erik had been silent for too long, because Hank rose up from the floor, sitting there instead, rubbing his hand through his hair, down his face, at his temples. The situation was giving him a headache, and he wasn't quite sure what to do to make Erik trust him. He hated himself for it, but he could feel himself getting more and more frustrated and angry at Erik for being so stubborn and wary.

If this was how all children acted, he was very certain that he was not going to be cut out to ever be a father. He also felt like he should probably send some sort of 'I'm so sorry' gift to his parents for his own childhood.

But instead of letting his anger break through, he flopped down onto the floor on his back, rolling his head to look at Erik, whose eyes had resumed their previous fearful, uncertain look. As he looked closer, though, he realized that it wasn't just fear clouding the boy's vision, but downright terror. Erik was terrified of what Hank would do if he left the bottom of the bed, and Hank felt his frustration and anger slip away like water. He just couldn't stay mad at someone that frightened.

"Erik," he said softly, keeping his hands on his chest where Erik could see them. He kept his eyes warm, his voice soft and kind. Erik's shaking slowed, his eyes calming ever so slightly as he raised his head slowly. Hank smiled serenely. "That's good," Hank praised, seeing the subtle shifts in his body language as a sign of progress. "There we go. Are you feeling a bit better now?"

Erik bit his lip, and Hank found the sight adorable. Erik at this age didn't seem to have as much control over his emotions, because when he had been older, he had been one of the hardest people to read. Now, his every feeling was broadcast on his face for all to see.

Arms held carefully in front of himself, Erik inched just the slightest bit closer to Hank as he nodded. Hank wasn't really sure how to get him to come closer, so he just remained on the floor, turning his head to face the ceiling, and then closed his eyes. "That's wonderful to hear," he continued sleepily. Perhaps if he looked as unassuming as possible, Erik would come out on his own?

Sure enough, after a few silent moments he heard Erik crawling slowly but surely across the floor, the material of his pants rubbing against the floor. When the sound stopped and he could feel breath on his cheek, Hank opened his eyes slowly to meet Erik's solemn gaze. They were nearly nose to nose, and Erik was eyeing him distrustfully, on the verge of diving beneath the bed once more if Hank made one wrong move.

Instead of moving, Hank smiled up at Erik. "Thank you for coming out from there. Thank you for trusting me not to hurt you." Erik watched him warily but eventually nodded, his eyes narrowing when Hank shifted ever so slightly to get more comfortable.

"Would you be alright with me sitting up?" Erik frowned, scowling down at Hank, but eventually nodded, scooting further away from him as he rose slowly.

Hank studied him calmly, and then leaned forward. "How are you feeling, truly? I need to know if your insides hurt, or if you have any injuries I need to take a look at. I'll have to do an exam eventually to make sure they didn't hurt you more than the obvious."

Erik pouted, hating the sound of that, but reminded himself that he was an adult. He was an adult, and he needed to start acting like one instead of a defenseless, pitiful child.

A deep breath fortified his internal declaration and he nodded, coming close enough to touch once more. Hank looked surprised, but went along with it.

"Thank you, Erik. I'll try to be quick. You didn't answer me, though. Does anything hurt?" Erik debated with himself for a moment, before shrugging out of his shirt to show Hank the incisions on his chest. Hank's eyes widened at the stitched up slices that looked too similar to autopsy incisions for comfort.

"They hurt?" Erik nodded and Hank ran a finger over the stitches lightly, but saw Erik's flinch. "I'm sorry, Erik. I'll get you some painkillers and antibiotics when we go back downstairs. That will dull the pain, but I can't do much else for it. They stitched it back up correctly, but it will hurt for a while, yet. No running around for a bit, with that healing." Erik nodded in agreement; he didn't think he would be able to run around, anyway.

"Is there anything else?" Erik pointed lower down on his chest, indicating his rib cage. "That too?" A nod was his only answer as Hank began running his hand over the ribs that he could see through Erik's skin. "We'll definitely need to get you eating specific foods to get some fat on you," Hank mumbled to himself. "It's not broken," he decided. "Just bruised. Do you think you could come with me downstairs, to get those pills? You'll feel much better afterwards, I swear."

Erik ground his teeth, but nodded, getting to his feet with a grimmace. Hank rose, as well, watching the pain filled face below him. Without warning, Hank reached down and plucked Erik up, tucking him into his arms.

Looking very unamused, Erik struggled with his words until he spit out, "Not... a baby." Hank grinned and tried to hide it by ducking his head, but Erik saw it and shoved against Hank's shoulder, trying to get as far away from him as possible.

"No, no. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have laughed, it's just Alex said something similar earlier. I know you're not a baby. But you are in pain, and I would like to make it easier on you, so you don't hurt so much. Is that alright?"

Erik felt like a right jerk. He shifted uncomfortably in Hank's arms, peeking up at Hank through his lashes before finally nodding reluctantly. Hank reached out and ran a large hand up and down Erik's back, trying to soothe him, and gave him a gentle squeeze, the slightest bit of a hug.

"I'm sorry they hurt you so bad," Hank said softly as he started out of the bedroom and down to the lab. Thankfully they didn't run into anyone, but Erik wasn't even aware of his surroundings any longer. Hank kept bringing up his torture because he didn't know the extent of it, just the scars that had been left behind. Distantly, Erik felt his chest starting to heave, his blood rushing in his ears.

It took a second for Hank to realize that Erik was in the middle of a panic attack, but once he did, he squeezed Erik close to his body and tried to calm him down. "Erik! Erik, I'm sorry. Please, come back to me." Obviously, Erik was not taking his torture as calmly as Hank had thought he was. He was frightened and traumatized and not handling it at all well, and Hank felt like an idiot.

Erik was panicking. He was no longer in Westchester. He was in an endless loop of day after day full of being poked and prodded and cut open and sewn back up again. The doctors and nurses, Trask smiling creepily into his cell, Angel sharing a frightened glance with him. He was too hot, he was burning up, he couldn't breath, he couldn't think, he couldn't speak, there was nothing anymore but the pain and the fear and the oh God not again please not again running through his mind.

And then like magic, Hank's voice broke through his panic. It was something familiar, something he could latch onto from the real world that didn't involve fresh pain or fear.

When Erik blinked sluggishly and looked up at Hank blankly, Hank sighed in relief. "Good. God, sorry. I'm sorry, Erik. Are you alright now?" When Erik didn't answer, just continued to stare at Hank, Hank took that as a yes and continued on their way. "Alright. Well, we'll go get those pills for you, and then we'll see if we can find something for dinner." Erik didn't argue, just continued staring at Hank like he was trying to see something there just beneath the surface. Hank tried to ignore his piercing gaze as they made their way back downstairs.

Curled up on her bed, Raven wasn't sure just what to do with herself now. Azazel was gone. Angel was gone. Erik was damaged, a child that seemed extremely traumatized. Charles was stuck in a wheelchair, fighting with his own depression. It seemed that everyone she cared about was dying or getting hurt or something else equally terrifying, and most of the time it was because of her.

Would she ruin her baby's future, too? Maybe once the baby was born, she should just give it to Charles and disappear. Causing trouble seemed to be her secondary mutation. She ran a loving hand over her swollen belly, picturing her future if she followed through with that thought.

She would hand the baby over to Charles, watch his eyes light up as he looked down at the newest addition to his family. The baby would be well cared for, she knew. She was well aware how well Charles could raise a baby, he had done well enough with her as a child. And then she would just disappear, maybe lie low for a few years in some small town in the middle of nowhere. She could look like anyone, it wouldn't be too hard. Her baby would grow up happy and loved, and Charles wouldn't have to see her everyday and remember that she was such a terrible person that she had left him bleeding and broken on a beach. Everyone would be better off without her around.

She didn't realize she was crying until she went to shift her position and found her pillow soaked right through. She wiped her face off, hating the feel of the scales on her face. Even after almost a year of Azazel telling her just how beautiful he found her, she still hated her natural appearance. She knew she scared people, and the thought that she might scare her own baby was something that constantly clawed at her mind.

The knock at her door drew her attention away from her morbid thoughts. She just didn't have the will to stand up and answer it. She couldn't even gather enough strength to say 'go away'.

The door opened anyway after a few moments, so all that internal debate had been for nothing. Charles sat there in the doorway, staring warily at his sister sprawled on her bed. He hadn't touched a thing in her room since she had left and there was a thin film of dust on everything, atesting to that.

"Little sister," Charles said, his face exhausted and drawn and sickly pale. She felt her heart shred to pieces at that look. She had caused that, for him to go from her warm, bubbly brother to the broken, addicted wreck she saw in front of her now. Tears welled up in her eyes once more and she sighed, shoving her face back into the pillow so she wouldn't have to see the effects of her failures anymore.

"You're projecting quite loudly, love," Charles explained, sounding far too weary and understanding. Charles had always been like that, taking on the weight of the world with a smile and some kind words, meanwhile he was crumbling and breaking apart inside. She hated that about him, hated that he took her pain with such ease and grace and soothed her soul with just the right words, while hating and blaming himself for every little thing that went wrong.

"Sorry," she said anyway, instead of all the things she really wanted to tell him. She tugged the blanket back up her body, huddling beneath it and setting her yellow eyes to stare at the wall. There was a long silence, and then she heard his wheelchair coming closer. He stopped at her bedside and pried her hand off of the blankets to take in his own.

"I know we have all had our problems with each other. I am not perfect, and I never expected you to be either. But we can move on from all of this. We all have our issues, sister. They won't be fixed overnight, but we can at least try."

When Raven just scowled at the wall, lying there limp and frustrated, Charles sighed. They stayed that way for a long time, before Charles took a deep breath and squeezed her hand once more.

"I heard from a little bird that Azazel was a fine man. Tell me about him?"

Raven shuddered and closed her eyes, feeling her heart both swell and shatter at the same time. At least Charles was trying. She kept reminding herself that Charles had only ever known Azazel as an enemy, and she admitted that he had done terrible things during his time with Shaw, but she loved him all the same.

So she wiped away her tears, cleared her throat, and started telling him stories of her year away from home. Any hovering thoughts of leaving the moment the baby was born were carefully shoved aside in favor of reminiscing.