· I don't actually know how to write Darwin's return at the moment. Just take it for granted that he's back for now.
"This is my son, Jason," the man, William Stryker, says stiffly. He is a corporal, holds himself with strict uprightness, and, Charles thinks, absolute unyielding uptightness. Since his miraculous return, Darwin has been of great help to Charles in presenting a kindly front to prospective students and their wary parents. Unfortunately, all too frequently, racial prejudice counts against the young black man, and in those cases Charles reluctantly asks Darwin to withdraw his assistance. This is one of them. Moreover, Stryker hates all minority groups, anyone different from the white supremacist, human norm.
Charles tries to smile affably as he greets the sullen boy, Jason and his father. Stryker says peremptorily, "Jason is a very difficult child. I suspect it's more than the usual teenage rebellion. He's one of those freaks that are growing in alarming number—mutants is the term. Somehow he can create illusions, and he uses these parlor tricks to harass others, including myself and my wife."
Charles murmurs something vaguely placating.
Stryker continues, "I expect that with the respectable reputation this school has built for itself, you can cure him of his … peculiarities?"
Charles takes a moment to formulate a somewhat acceptable answer to this incredibly offensive question. He answers firmly, "Mr. Stryker, this educational institution strives to guide gifted youths into becoming responsible members of society." He knows this response will not please Stryker for long, but Charles does genuinely want to help this troubled boy, and in order to do that, he must get him enrolled.
After a few more terse exchanges, Stryker nods and signs the papers as Jason silently watches, his expression giving away nothing. However, Charles can hear his gleeful thoughts on getting away from his parents.
I'll play the good little student for a while if I have to. Then …
After Stryker leaves, and they sit in silence for a time, Jason looks up suddenly and sees Charles looking at him intently. His reaction is a sickly smile.
Now, Jason, we'll have to chat a bit.
The boy jerks, staring around the room until his eyes settle on Charles gazing at him with a kind smile. Frightened, he lashes out with his own mutant abilities, his fear allowing only childishly instinctive illusions. The walls begin to crawl with clawed shadows, congregating on Charles, who remains still, a thoughtful look on his face.
"How did you do that?" Jason demands. When Charles does not answer, only cocks his head, Jason curls his hands into fists. The shadow monsters exude menace, ready to attack. "You'd better tell me!"
Jason. Calm yourself. Your father just agreed to enroll you at this institute. Before we begin your instruction, you should be aware of exactly what that education entails.
"What the fuck do you mean?!"
Charles frowns and changes tactics. "No obscenities, for one. Second, as you know, you have special abilities. All the students here, indeed, the teachers as well, share the term 'mutant.'"
Confused and still wary, Jason lowers his fists and the monsters recede somewhat. "What are you saying?"
"At this school you will have an opportunity to learn to cope with these abilities, improve them, and use them more effectively. That is, in addition to regular academic classes." Charles waits for Jason's spoken answer, though it would be obvious even without his telepathy.
Jason grins slyly. "You serious?"
Charles realizes that Jason's interpretation of what he is saying is not in accordance with the meaning of his actual words, but he hopes that the boy will change with time, attention, and care.
"I am very serious," Charles tells him. "There is a condition: you are not to share what was said in this room with anyone outside of the school, including your parents."
Jason shrugs. "Duh. Can I see my room now?" he suggests, wanting to get away from Charles' penetrating eyes.
Charles nods. "Yes. And remember, because there will be consequences otherwise."
/
Jason quickly tires of the academic aspects of learning. "Why are we learning this, Professor McCoy?" he wants to know, inserting just enough respect to offset his obvious annoyance. After shrieking in a most undignified manner at the first sight of Hank, who honestly may have been the more frightened of the two, Jason had soon learned to step all over the mild-mannered blue-furred mutant.
The bespectacled scientist adjust his glasses out of nervous habit. "Physics? Well, it's an important science, concerning matter and energy and their interactions." He looks around the room. "Does anyone else have thoughts?"
13-year-old Jean raises her hand. Hank nods at her. "Without physics, people wouldn't be able to understand the behavior of the universe," she says primly. A few seats over, Kitty giggles.
"Teacher's pet," Rogue mutters in the back, sticking out her tongue when Jean shoots her a nasty look.
Jason sighs impatiently. "But when are we getting to the good stuff?"
Almost everyone turns to look at him with a questioning expression; one of the less motivated students, Gambit, snickers quietly in agreement. Hank is taken aback. He can't fathom how science can't be important.
"Getting more powerful," Jason enunciates slowly, as though to idiot children.
Hank blinks. "Well, that sort of learning belongs in the class of Professor Lensherr and his assistant, Ms. Darkholme." After some weeks of suspicious silence from both parties, Erik had offered his expertise and assistance in teaching lessons in various languages, and lastly, his favored choice, the use of mutant abilities. Charles, certainly not smiling, acquiesced to his generous offer, and they had fallen in a sort of not entirely comfortable détente.
"Right. So why are we wasting our time here?" Jason demands, smirking at the attention he is receiving.
Ororo audibly gasps, open-mouthed, at his audacity and the rest of the class sits in stunned silence. All the students like Hank, even if he did stammer when he became excited in teaching his subjects, which is often, and goes off on unbelievably complicated tangents no one could understand, which is even more often. Such rudeness is unthinkable.
Hank tries to remain calm, but he doesn't realize he is blaring panic. Thankfully, Charles intervenes. Jason, step outside. Professor Rasputin is waiting to speak with you in his office.
Jason's face mottles in an ugly shade of embarrassed red. A giant chicken, incongruously dressed in a gray cardigan and brown slacks, abruptly materializes in the front of the classroom. Shocked, Hank jumps onto his desk. Jason snorts. The chicken squawks loudly, causing the rest of the students to jump.
Very amusing. However, the joke, you'll find, is on you. Jason's mouth drops as he sees the chicken dressed like Charles begin to peck at a comically wiggling large worm with Jason's head. The students burst into laughter.
Jason hears them only dimly. For a horrible few moments, he is the worm, squirming in the chicken's beak.
Now then. I believe we were talking about Professor Rasputin's office?
Jason nods dumbly and walks to the door.
As he disappears from view, everyone starts whispering until Hank clears his throat. "Class, please turn to page …
/
*So I'm incorporating a bunch of mutants into the story without ever having read the comics and basically slaughtering their roles and personalities. Uh, sorry?