"Charles, come get your dinner dear!" The nine-year-old in question, all wide blue eyes and a thick head of auburn curls set on a round face and boyish expression, looked up and scowled.

"Mother! I am reading Shakespeare!" he called over his shoulder into the elaborate dining room where a blonde-haired woman, all deep and kindly gray eyes and small, pink lips with a angelic face, was scurrying around holding a dish in her hands. She chuckled at his whining.

"Shakespeare will be there when you return, young man. Now come, and… Oh, there you are dear. Have you been reading ancient texts as well?" She asked, kissing a mustached man on the cheek. His face, a manicured statue of high cheekbones and hair as brown ass autumn leaves, his shoulders were set, straight. He had the look of a man used to being obeyed and his blue eyes held an intelligence which marked him as an accomplished scholar.

"Only a bit," he replied, grinning as he set his briefcase down. "Nothing as advanced as our boy, though, yes? What is your choice of poetry this time? Macbeth, Cleopatra and Marc Antony? You seem to like betrayal and poisonings," this news seemed to delight the old man as he leaned over Charles's shoulder to get a peek at the reading.

Charles smiled at his father, eyes shining. "Julius Caesar," he corrected proudly. The other man's eyes brows shot up.

"Betrayal and stabbing? Why, Charles, you're getting more brutal. Well, what do you think then? Is Brutus a traitor or a savior?" He wondered. Charles's lips puckered into a thoughtful expression.

"He assassinated his friend," he pointed out. "But he did it because Caesar was becoming a dictator. He did it because he thought what he was doing was the right thing. So… he's both, I suppose," he looked to his father, wondering if this was the correct answer.

"I say he was a man who listened when his mother called him for dinner!" The woman informed them of her seasoned opinion. Charles's father had the same contemplative look on his face that his son did now, though, his concentration on the pages his son was absorbed in. He opened his mouth, suddenly interrupted by a shrill sound that permeated the very air.

Everyone froze as the sound of planes flying overhead broke through the walls, which then began to shake and tremble. Charles was out of his seat in a second, gasping out the word which had become like Armageddon all over the English Empire. "Bombers!"

"Quickly now! We have to get to the bomb shelter!" With the speed of a family that had practiced the moves many times, the threesome snatched coats and bags full of supplies before rushing out into the darkening streets. Giant plane lights sat on the ground manned by men in uniforms, being shined into the sky. A few dark objects whizzed overhead. From their bellies came small circular objects.

Charles stumbled after his mother, hand gripped firmly within both of his parents as they splashed through puddles blackened with soot, past the houses already destroyed and laid bare and crumbling like skeletons, beneath sky that had no stars or light but plenty of planes and death… Past the men sitting next to the plane lights, desperate to catch sight of the attacking Germans before they could drop anymore bombs. London, once part of Julius Caesar's empire itself, was under one of the most brutal sieges in human history.

Its citizens fled their homes quietly, their minds consumed by the one dire need to get underground before… "Down!" Charles screamed as he was pushed forward by his father, who grabbed his mother and dove to the ground next to him.

A few feet away, the ground trembled so much it threw Charles into the air like a bucking bronco. He heard the sound of men screaming, and a newly made fire suckling itself into life.

He laid his head in his arms, gasping for breath and trembling as the ground shook again. All over the city where he had been born, the ground shook with bombs. He hated bombs, he hated bombs, he hated…

"Timothy!" Charles gasped as he heard the voice of a woman scream the name. He looked around, and saw a now familiar sight. Men and women limping away from the sight of disaster, still struggling to the underground and the safety it held. Houses burning and men running with buckets of water to put it out. Where were his parents?

"Kayla! Kayla, where are you?" He spun around to his hands and knees. He could have sworn that the voices weren't coming from the outside…

"Come help me!"

"Fire, fire, put it out!"

"Get down!"

"No! Please, no!" Emotions crashed down upon him. Anger, despair, fear, horror, sadness, grief and searing, searing agony. Charles cried out with the sudden influx as his heart beat rapidly in time with everyone else in the entire world. He swung left, right, searching for the source of the images and sounds assaulting his head, but saw nothing but blurriness as more and more fragments kept coming, bringing with them emotions and sounds that he did not want.

His ears rung with the screams of women. He could see the flames, see the exploding houses and… Something else, something more…

Places. Dreadful, horrible places where smoke came from giant machines and the skies turned red and people were marched into the forest where their screams intensified but no one came, no one came…

Battlefields where men were standing one minute and then the next lying on the ground with their heads leaking droplets of blood and the sound of grenades and gunshots nearly ear-shattering…

Other parts of the world where women bent, anguished and afraid, over a letter with an official and splendid seal which told them horrible and dreadful news painted in gold and red….

Charles screamed. He grabbed his head, which saw and felt every pain all at once, and screamed and screamed.

"Get down!"

"Oh, no! My brother is dead, my brother!"

"London Bridge is falling down, falling down…London Bridge is falling down…"

"Don't worry. It's only a shower…"

"We're all going to die!"

"Please, help us! Help us!" And by the time his parents found him in the smoke and ash of London, he had screamed himself hoarse. He just lay on the ground, curled into a ball and silent tears running down his face as he watched the world around him burn, one agonizing life at a time.

"Why did you scream, darling? Are you afraid?" A shake of the head.

"Are you sick? Did you see something… Bad?"Charles did not look up. His father grabbed his chin and forced him to look up, but he didn't really see him. And he couldn't explain past the sobs coming from his mouth. The other inhabitants of the underground sat around and listened as he whispered over and over again:

"The world is burning, mama. The world is on fire. The world is on fire!"

The family Doctor for the Xavier's was an old, blonde-haired man, who had so many bags beneath his eyes that he looked like a ghost, and his pale skin and dull eyes did not help. He examined Charles emotionlessly, poking and prodding. Charles watched him anxiously, desperate to get any kind of medicine that would stop the visions from coming again. They had stopped for awhile, but they always came back.

His parents were near their wits end. After a month of listening to their child scream almost every night, they looked as sleepless as the doctor. His mother had her arms wrapped around him from behind, pressing gentle kiss after gentle kiss to his curls as she watched the doctor inspect him. His father stood behind them both, watching the doctor with eyes that trusted him too much for his own good. It took an eternity for the elder to inspect Charles. When he was done, he shook his head and stuffed his supplies into his bag. "Voices, you say?" Charles nodded.

"Yes, sir,"

"And visions? Of what?"

Charles shivered. "People dying. People crying. The world burning," he felt tears build up again and whimpered. "The world has burned so many times… Please, sir, what's wrong with me?" The doctor eyed him suspiciously before pointing to the door of his clinic.

"Wait outside for your parents," he ordered. Charles was surprised by the sudden harsh tone, but he obeyed numbly. His mother let him go with a soft reassurance and his father gave him a smile as he left.

As soon as he was out, Charles pressed his ear to the door without hesitation. "What is your diagnosis, Geoffrey?"

A deep and troubled sigh from the elder. "Do you trust me, Mr. Xavier?" He suddenly asked. Charles knew without seeing that his father was tapping his foot, eager to pace. "Of course Geoffrey. You've served my family faithfully for years. You cured me of smallpox when I was young. I respect you as I would a brother. Now, my boy?" But the doctor was not forthcoming with answers.

"Do you know why London is being targeted, Mr. Xavier?" He felt his father's confusion. His mother's tight worry.

"Because we're at war, of course,"

"Oh, please, sir. You're an educated man. We're being punished for our sins," Charles gasped out loud. His mother did as well.

"Sir, I don't understand…"

"That is why the government is sending away all of our children, to the countryside. There is a curse upon this city and only a few will survive. It has been ordained by providence," Charles felt a shiver go through his body. This couldn't be right. This couldn't be so…

A stunned silence before his mother spoke. "But what does that have to do with Charles?"

"Because the demons that inhabit this city have been preying on the minds of men. I've seen a few cases like it all over London. Voices in the head, sounds, feelings of evil and doom. Unnatural urges. We're being condemned, our children taken over."

Charles was shaking with terror. He heard his mother gasp. "By what?"

"By demons, Mrs. Xavier. I'm afraid Charles is being slowly possessed by… A devil," his world crashed into a hole of terror and anguish. Charles could barely hear over the blood now rushing his ears.

"No," he whispered, as tears leaked down his face.

His mother was weeping. "There must be something we can do…" His father was desperate, pleading.

"The only way to expel him is to make the vessel unappealing. You have to beat the devil out…"

Doors slamming. Blinds being closed against the murky daylight. His mother crying out: "please, please. Perhaps the doctor is wrong!" as she gripped Charles hard to her chest. And an abnormal light in his father's eyes as he took down the whip which hung downstairs. He had never used it. Charles never imagined he would.

"Father?" A plaintive, scared voice.

The sudden pressure behind his temples which meant the voices were coming back. Charles felt fear spike, along with panic. He just wanted it all to go away.

"Go, Marian," his mother gripped his hand tightly once before she fled upstairs. His father came towards him, the curled rawhide weapon held in his hands like a club. It uncurled to the ground. Charles stared at it, wide-eyed.

"Father?" He backed away, suddenly less afraid of what was inside than out. His father advanced, eyes limpid with pain.

"Don't worry son. I'll save you," the whip snapped. Charles jumped.

"Father, what are you doing?"

The large hands grabbed his arm and yanked him none too gently towards him. Charles felt his feet grinding against the floor as he fought it, crying.

"Mother! Father!" Neither parent came to his rescue. On the contrary, his father raised the whip overhead.

Then there was only pain.

"Do you still hear voices?" The same question asked day after day at the breakfast table. At first, Charles would answer honestly. He had been taught not to lie. But after a week of being whipped whenever he answered in the affirmative, he had learned just to keep his mouth shut and bow his head.

"No, sir," a lie, for he always heard them now. It was a constant stream.

His mother caught the lie, and her eyes would fill with tears. "He never lied before he was…" She would stammer to her husband as if Charles weren't even there.

His father would frown grimly and study the son before him. "I'll have to try harder," Charles sniffled, his heart racing. His father said he was only trying to protect him. That he had to get the devil inside of Charles out before it overtook him. He was hurting Charles because he loved him, because he was desperate for him to be better again.

Somehow Charles was starting to doubt that.

At twelve years old, he had to be carried when they went to the bomb shelters. His father slung him over his back, and Charles smiled and waved when his name was called by neighbors, pretending that his back was not in shreds. His mother walked silent behind them, and numbly. Her smile had faded a year before, and the golden strands of her hair were fading into grayness prematurely. His father's eyes stared straight ahead, dead to the world, shoulders slumped.

They all moved in their own bubbles of misery.

"Fire! Fire!" yes, they were all well acquainted with that word by now. Charles only glanced at the building that was going p in flames, lighting up the city like a Christmas Tree. Was it near Christmas? He had long ago lost track of actual seasons.

"Help me!" Then there was the voice again. He cringed, assaulted by a wave of panic and terror so intense it burned.

It burned like… Charles's eyes went to the blazing house. Mindy lived there. Mindy, she was his age and she had given him a Valentine on Valentine's day, blushing. She was nice. The voice in his head sounded like…

"Help me!" he saw two people stumble from the door of the burning building.

"Where's Mindy? Where's Mindy?"

Panic and terror so intense it burned…. Charles gasped, nearly kicking his father in the side. He understood now, as he watched men race into the building with buckets of water and return a moment later with Mindy covered in ash and coughing up smoke. He understood. He wasn't hearing voices.

He was hearing thoughts.

"Mother. Father!" Joy cascaded through him. Finally, he understood. He was not hearing things from beyond, he was hearing thoughts! It was a special power, like a super hero power or something!

Charles slid down the stairs leading to the underground, pushing past people as he went His parents were already down there, hunched with the hundreds of other bodies. "Mother. Father! They aren't voices! They aren't voices!" he screamed, as he landed on the bottom step and ploughed his way through the crowd, screaming this over and over again.

"What are you talking about Charles?" he ignored he questions that others asked as they watched him go, confused, searching for his parents. He had to tell them that the doctor had been wrong. Charles was still their child. There was no devil. He was not a demon, had never been…All things could go back to normal now. They could love him again.

"Mother!" he dropped to his knees in front of her, ignoring the neighbors who had begun to mill about and listen to him, looking for entertainment besides the drab walls of the underground. She stared at him listlessly. "Mother. They aren't voices! They're thoughts!" he yelled, and when he saw she did not comprehend he looked about for his father, his father was a genius. He would understand.

The man appeared over his shoulder like a shadow. "Father!" Charles jumped to his feet and wrapped his arms around his father's waist, squeezing tightly. The elder Xavier gasped, surprised by the force of Charles's movements. "Father!" Charles cried, tears blurring his eyes. "There's no devil! They aren't voices!" His father collapsed to his knees in front of Charles, and grabbed his shoulders, eyes bright with joy.

"No more voices?" he gasped. "You don't hear them?"

Charles grinned. "No, father, it's different! They aren't devil's voices, they're thoughts. I hear people thinking!" his father went pale. Charles quickly backtracked, eager to show the new trick he had been working on. He had practiced using the minds of rats scurrying about the underground.

See! The word echoed throughout the room, in the minds of all present. A few people jumped, others cried out in fear, more gripped their heads as they looked around for the source of the sound.

See, father! I can put my thoughts in your head too! Isn't it glorious? His father was staring at him with eyes as wide as saucers. Charles wondered what was wrong. Wasn't his father happy?

"Demon! Demon!" Charles turned around in time to witness people back away, hands upraised as if they were warding off a carnivore.

They were backing away from him. He stood. "No, no, it's alright!" He called, taking a step closer. People screamed and shielded their eyes. Children ran to their mothers. Fathers stepped in front of their wives, like human shelters. "I won't hurt you! I promise!" His promise meant little; the call still went from person to person, until their collective fear became a living, breathing animal tearing at Charles's heart.

"Devil! Demon! Monster!"

When he woke up, a week later, he was in a soft bed. His face hurt with the bruises there that the crowd had inflicted. Most of his body was bandaged. He could feel his mother's mind, numbed with alcohol as she sat downstairs and drank. His father was silent, angry. They had moved from London, leaving behind the home where he had been born and the neighbors they had loved.

They had left behind everything.

Charles gazed out of the window, at the endless stretch of countryside and surf. The house was so empty and cold. America was busy and frantic. He could feel the minds pushing up against his. He ignored them, and stared out of the window. He could feel his parents grief- but most of all their anger at him.

Anger because they had lost everything. Anger because he was a devil. Anger because they could not save him and now they were all imprisoned in this place, chained by Charles's powers and their own shame.

And it was all his fault.

At thirteen, he had learned that his parents wanted little to do with him anymore. His mother drank copious amounts of alcohol. His father wandered the house like a ghost, moaning out his grief. Charles was left to his own devices, mostly pestering the maids and drawing outdoor creatures he glimpsed in the windows. He was not allowed to leave the house. He had not been outside in a year, confined to their giant and lavish prison.

Charles hated it.

He had learned not to express his opinion though. All it did was get him hit-like today. He was struggling to bandage his left shoulder with one hand when he met his first and dearest friend. Tears stung at his eyes as he used his unhurt hand to stretched backwards, gently tying the cloth around his dislocated shoulder. He did not cry aloud. He was a friend to pain by now, knew how to deal with it. Nevertheless, there was only so much one could do alone.

"Well, what do we have here?" Charles jumped and swiveled around in his seat to see a kind and friendly face studying him from the doorway. It was Josef, one of the mansion's oldest gardeners. Charles only knew that he was from Germany. And his father hated him for reasons which Charles did not completely understand.

Something about Josef being Jewish…What that had to do with anything, Charles was too dumb to know apparently. The only reason his father let him stay was because Josef's father had saved Charles's grandfather during some great war or something before Josef's father moved to Germany, and the Xavier's moved to England… Grandfather had left it in his will that Josef had a permanent home in the mansion, so he stayed against his father's will.

For that reason alone, Charles liked him.

He did not like him enough not to blush when he was caught shirtless and struggling though. He bowed his head, silent. Josef's deep brown eyes studied him wonderingly for a moment before landing on the bruises and scars he saw there. The old man did not show pity or anger, only sadness. "Oh, boy…" he breathed sympathetically. "What happened?" Charles only shook his head. He wondered that himself every day. What had changed to make the seemingly unchangeable live from his parents vanish?

It had probably been the result of a single day, which Charles regretted with every fiber of his being. "I was born," another thing too. "And the world started to burn," he added.

Josef came forward and gently took the bandages from Charles. The thirteen year old looked up, and for the first time since he was nine years old, saw true kindness in another's eyes. Charles dug at his mind, and saw images of hatred and bigotry that had no math he had ever seen.

Doors and windows painted with yellow stars, and then crushed in. The streets littered with broken glass. People screaming as they were dragged from their homes. The angry shouts of men riled to the point of killing. Grief, pain, anger. Watching as his son was taken away, knowing he would not be brought back. A single word.

Kristallnacht.

When Charles pulled away with a gasp, he realized that the world he had been exposed too was the world in which Josef had witnessed fall apart. They were causing the older man to blink hard and fast at him, his heart laid bare at Charles's feet. For the first time, Chares felt shame at his natural ability, but the emotion he saw in Josef's eyes was not one of anger. It was one of understanding. He had seen into Charles's heart as well. He took Charles's hand into his own, and understood.

They just understood.

"The world is burning," Charles told his new friend. "I'm so sorry," he felt as if everyone in the world should have been sorry. The man shook his head.

"No, dear one. The world isn't burning, it's shattering," he looked deep into Charles's eyes, into a time not so far away but very scary. "Like broken glass. I'm so sorry."

Charles knew that Josef's wife was a telepath because when he was invited into their tiny home on the very outskirts of the land (he had discovered that it was Josef who had been making him food all this time. Neither of his parents did it) she turned from her spot at the stove and pointed a wooden spoon in his direction immediately.

"Hey, you!" she snapped with the fiery tongue of a woman used to getting her way. "Stop rummaging around in people's heads," Charles, who had been doing just that, stopped in his tracks. Josef chuckled and patted him on the head.

"What? Did you think you were alone?" He asked, and happily went about to kiss this new and fiery creature on the cheek. "Be nice, Hilda," he scolded playfully as he sat down and began to rummage around in a drawer for something. Charles stared at Hilda curiously.

Can you hear me? He asked into her mind. She glared at him.

Stop rummaging into people's heads! It's rude! She repeated, right back into his head. Charles grinned like a fool, and closed the door behind him when he walked in, delighted by her tight tone.

He was finally home.

Hilda and Josef were good teachers. Now his day was full of lessons and stories. Josef demanded that he pick up his schooling again. After the school had been destroyed in London, Charles had suddenly been on his own and had re-read Shakespeare's works over a billion times by now.

So Josef gave him new books, books which he had brought from his travels all around the world. He read everything. Poetry, literature, history, science, math…. Socrates, Bacon, Dickinson, Darwin, Einstein, Owens. And Josef encouraged him, asked him his opinion on everything from the third verse of Dickinson's poem "Success," to the cellular structure of an octopus.

They would stay up all night, debating, discussing, arguing, until Hilda ended the conversation with a whiplash of biting wit which left them both laughing at their own scholarly folly. His brain sucked it up like a sponge, and his new thirst for knowledge gave him a confidence he had never felt before. He had to know more. He wanted to know everything. Josef understood Charles's excitement, despite being human he understood Charles best.

His telepathy helped. Hilda was strict. "It is about self-control," she snapped at him during their lessons, when he sat at her table and she stood at the stove, usually making him something good while she pretended to be mean. Charles enjoyed the game. "Self-control, focus," Hilda's face turned grave as she pointed the wooden spoon at him. "And reason, Charles. Always reason. It is the only way to survive the emotion," and he agreed.

He learned to wrangle with the emotions she chucked at him, soothing and smoothing them out, returning them brand new and better. He learned to speak with his mind as fluently as he spoke aloud. He learned how to translate different languages through his head. How to grab hold of the conscious and force it to his bidding… The only thing Hilda would not teach him was how to connect. He could control, but not connect.

"Touching a person's mind is one thing," she told Josef when he insisted Charles was ready. "But what he did with you? Touching the soul?" She only shook her head. "He has already seen the world burning, Josef," she would say. "I don't want him to know what the souls of this world are doing too."

At fourteen, he met a blue skinned girl named Raven.

"Take whatever you want," he told her, eager to help. He could sense her fear, her distrust. He took the emotions, and calmed them hurriedly. "We have plenty. You don't have to steal," when he saw her face brighten he smiled back.

"In fact, you never have to steal again!"

Telling Josef was not as easy as he thought it would be.

"Is he okay?" Raven shrieked when the man collapsed to the ground in a dead faint after seeing the blonde-haired pale skinned girl at Charles's side suddenly turn blue.

"He's fine," Charles promised, patting her back before rushing over to check Josef's mind for action. It was twirling with surprise, but not fear. He lived with telepaths, after all. "He likes you!" he assured Raven when she shuffled awkwardly in place.

"Are you sure, Charles? Maybe I should go," he jumped to his feet.

"No, no! Its fine, Raven. He did the same thing when I made the nanny poop in the kitchen for the first time," he admitted with a smile. Hilda had been so angry at that, and Josef had near had a heart attack. Good times. Raven took a step back, and her sharp fear of his abilities felt like a strong hit to the gut.

"You can control people?" Raven gasped, taking a step back.

"Yes," Charles said, wondering if she would find him revolting too. "But don't worry! I won't do it to you. I won't ever read your mind if you don't want me too. I promise!" she smiled, relieved.

His new sister nodded and went back to being blonde. Like his mother used to be blonde. "Okay. I trust you Charles," she told him, and he had to swallow a sudden lump in his throat when she added: "I think I'll like being your sister."

He gripped her hand. "You will. I promise."

His parents loved Raven. His mother fawned over the young girl, making Raven blush every time she did her hair or picked out her dress. Charles watched the fashion show, amused, and nodded to everything said to him.

"I like the blue one, Raven," he would tell her and they would share conspiratorial smiles. She had given him a nickname, and called him it whenever she was feeling snippy. "Charlie!" She would tease him.

His father adored Raven, calling her 'pet' left and right. Raven didn't notice that they never spoke to Charles, or that sometimes his father would sneer in his direction, eyes full of hate while Charles just stared back. He had stopped being afraid somewhere between reading the American Declaration of Independence and the story about Genghis Khan. All dictators had to fall at some point. All they were were bullies.

Charles would not be afraid of a mere bully. However he had never stopped hoping that one day his parents would realize that the devil they saw was really their son. He never stopped loving them, and hoping one day to be loved again in return. In the meantime, Hilda and Josef were his parents. They, too, adored Raven.

"I'm thinking mysterious," Hilda hummed beneath her breath as she sewed Raven a new patch for the dress she had ripped while catching toads with Charles. She followed him everywhere. They did everything together. There was not a person in the world Charles loved more than Raven. Raven watched with a content little smile. She was still pale.

Both Hilda and Josef knew what she-they-were, but after weeks of having Charles, Josef and Hilda tell her never to change into her blue form, she knew better than to let her guard slip. It scared Charles, what his father might do to Raven if he ever found out that she was… Like him. "Yeah!" Raven cried enthusiastically. "Chic, stylish, maybe flowery," she contemplated, looking at the various fabrics Hilda offered.

"Like a mid-summers day," Charles piped in.

"Shall I compare thee to the stars?" Josef added dramatically.

"We live in a house of fools and Thebans, Raven," Hilda clucked. Raven laughed. "Anyway, what am I thinking? Charles? A combination of mysterious and chic…" Hilda tapped her temple and Charles answered out loud.

"Mystique!" Raven beamed.

For a few months, it was bliss. Raven had brought happiness and a sense of family into the house. She and Charles would play hide-and-seek for hours in the endless rooms. At fifteen, he started studying to go to Oxford.

He would not admit to anyone but Josef and Raven but he missed England, and more importantly he wanted to get away, far away, from his parents. Josef helped him; gave him everything he needed. Hilda practiced the stretch of his powers. His father stopped beating him for a time, and the endless stream of love and support from his adoptive father helped heal the wounds inflicted by his biological one.

For a few months, Charles was happy.

It ended the day his father found his mother in bed with the house gardener, Henry. Charles liked Henry. He was kind and thoughtful, and he had seen him and his mother together quite a lot recently. He had thought nothing of it until one night when he had heard his father bellow with rage.

Glasses flew, voices were raised. Charles heard the sound of a gunshot. Henry scurried out quickly. Charles nearly fell out of bed in his haste to find Raven. She was in the thick of it, as usual. "No, father!" She screamed, fighting against his father in the dark halls outside of his mother's room. His father had gun pointed inside, straight at Charles's mother's heart.

"Raven, get back!" he recognized that look of rage on his father's face. He ran forward, intending to tear Raven away, but it was too late. With a roar, his father smashed the gun against Raven's face with an audible clack. She collapsed with a gasp, hands flying to her bleeding cheek.

"Father!"

"No!" Charles did not remember freezing anyone. He did, because time stopped again and his mind was rock still. He only registered falling to his knees beside his sobbing sister and taking her into his arms. "Raven, are you alright? Are you alright? Please answer me. Please don't cry," he begged, rocking her in his arms. His heart was beating so fast it hurt. He could have lost her. He could have lost everything.

"Father hit me! He hit me!" Raven wailed, eyes wide.

"He didn't mean it," Raven couldn't lose another father. Charles wouldn't let her. One had already abandoned her and he knew what that was like. Raven was happy how it was now. He would keep her happy and safe and she would know neither pain nor anger nor despair.

She would never know what it was to be like him, even if he had to break his promise; Charles would make sure of that. He was her brother. And brothers protected their sisters. Simple as that.

Charles closed his eyes, and pressed his mind against hers. He did not know that that night he had unlocked a power he had never wanted. That Charles had essentially cemented a desperate need to keep Raven at his side that would ensure he do this again and again…Whenever she saw a bruise or cut or strike that she had never been meant to see. There would be many days when Charles broke his promises.

Raven woke up in her bed, and remembered nothing.

The first time Charles left the bounds of the house, he was sixteen years old. Raven was fourteen. A mass of thoughts assaulted him the second he stepped into the summer day. He absorbed them, smoothed them, stored them for another day and breathed.

"Let's get a drink," he was one step closer to Oxford. Josef said he was past ready for college. They just needed to fake some scores.

Raven smirked. "You'll let me drink?" She asked.

"No. I'll let you watch me drink and then complain about my bad role-modeling skills. Take my arm, hmm?" She did so, grumbling about him.

"Aren't you still too young to drink, Charlie?"

"As you point out repeatedly, I look older than I am," he felt older too. Had he really only been on Earth for sixteen years? So much had changed. Henry was gone which was probably the reason that his mother was drunk all the time. His father had found a new hobby playing golf with some other men and was out of the house most of the time. The war had been over for two years now.

"True. Charles, when you go to Oxford, what am I going to do?"

He stared at her, flabbergasted. "Why, come with me of course," he said, this being obvious in his eyes. Raven shrugged and looked down.

"What if I don't want too?" Charles stopped in his tracks, and stared at her for a long moment, pondering the answer.

"Then I won't go," she looked up, surprised.

"But it is all you've ever wanted!" She cried. Charles shrugged and patted her hand, a sense of sadness wafting over him.

"All I've ever wanted is your happiness, Raven. It's you and me against the world, remember? I won't go if you aren't coming," she pouted.

"No fair. You're using yourself as collateral!" He couldn't help but smile.

"Is it working?"

"Charles!"

"It is decided then. We're going to Oxford," she shook her head.

"You're a devil, Charles Xavier," she muttered playfully tugging at his arm. Charles nearly stumbled in his walk at hearing this. It sent a pang of pain through his heart. He recovered himself quickly enough though. He was a telepath. He knew all about self-control. Nevertheless, he had to swallow several times before he could come up with a reasonable quip, and it was a half-hearted one at that.

"You aren't the first to think so."

At seventeen, his world stopped burning.

And started shattering, like broken glass.

"After the cells have split with the help of nature's own recycling system, they are able to multiply at a tremendous rate, so fast scientists think that…" It was midnight when his research was interrupted by a strong knock at his door. Charles looked up from his desk, littered with magnifying glasses, books, papers and journals. He was a Scientist in every possible way, studying cell division and genetics. He had already unlocked the reason behind mutation, now he just had to isolate why it happened and to whom. Why were he and Raven special?

"Josef?" He called, for this was really the only person who would call upon him at this hour. Raven was fast asleep, as well as his mother. The maids and servants had all gone home for the night. He had thought Josef had too. Charles stood and quickly crossed the room to the door. The only reason Josef would come see him this late at night was if something was wrong. What..?

He opened the door, and gasped. His father stood at the other side, his auburn hair graying and thinning in the front. His once healthy mustache drooped with dry strands of dirty clumps. His clothes were disheveled, fists clenched. But his eyes were clear with intelligence Charles had inherited, and also an anger which Hilda had sternly lectured out of him.

Charles moved aside hurriedly as his father pushed past him into the room. Charles gulped and closed the door, hoping that he would not wake Raven. His father had not spoken to him in years. He had not been beaten in at last two. Was his father here to finish his work of purging the devil from his son?

The elder's eyes flicked across the messy room, from the books stacked in piles in every corner to the journals and scientific equipment that covered the expensive paintings and rugs. He snarled.

"Witch-craft," Charles did not correct him. Learning was in a way witch-craft.

"Father?" He asked cautiously, trying to get a feel for the reason behind this visit from the man's mind. He found nothing but anger and…. Fear?

"Is she a demon?" Charles blinked, taken aback.

"What?" he asked. His father grabbed his arm in a steel grip that Charles knew was inescapable. Blue eyes like his own bore into Charles heatedly, a clear threat in his voice as the elder mumbled.

"Is. Raven. A. Devil?" Charles's blood went cold. He struggled to keep the mask of confusion on his face.

"Why would you think that?"

"I just saw her, boy!" his father shouted, giving Charles a painful shake. "She was in her room and I walked past to say goodnight and… She's blue, devil. She was blue and scaly and hideous," Charles would have killed another man for insulting his sister in such a way but with his father he just paled. He had seen.

He had seen.

There was no going back now. Charles tipped his chin back, swallowed. "She's still your daughter," he whispered. His father shoved him backwards. Charles gasped as he stumbled into the desk behind him.

"Ugh!" His father cried out in anguish, running hands through his hair. He started to pace back and forth, face twisted into emotional turmoil. "Oh, my girl. My girl. I've been cursed. Both of my children…" Charles thought he heard a sob. He took a step forward.

"Father," he said softly. "Father, please. I can explain," his hands scrabbled for purchase on one of his books on genetics. He started to move toward the man who had tortured him for most of his childhood, still clinging to hope for love, desperate. "It isn't what you think. You haven't lost anything," he held up the book as if it could solve problems, fix relationships, wipe the slate clean. "Me and Raven, we're mutants. Our genes are different, but that's all. It' s science, father, logic. We aren't demons. Please, let me show you…"

He should not have been surprised by the slap that made him fall against his desk. He should have expected it, and the tang of blood in his mouth was a deft reminder of his childhood. Charles looked up, hand going to his cheek. His father was glaring at him with pure hatred. The love he had held for his son was dead. Charles should have remembered that.

"Do not speak of logic to me!" his father hissed. "There is no sense in taking a man's children, devil!" he reached into his pocket. Charles saw the gleam of a gun. His eyes widened as his father jammed the safety off and stalked away.

Charles's heart was in his throat. He stood to his feet, his worst nightmares becoming a reality. "Father? What are you doing?" physically, the man was marching towards the door, gun in hand and a determined glint in his eyes. "Father!" Charles jogged to catch up with him, his voice growing more panicked. He did not want to believe it. His father loved Raven. He loved her. He would not….

"What are you doing?!" Charles grabbed his arm, jerking the gun around. He could see his intentions in his mind, fuzzy and polluted with rage and resentment. They made his heart skip beats. Not Raven… Dear Heavens above, not his sister….

"Get away from me!" The next punch that his father landed on his face made Charles see stars, but he did not relinquish his grip.

"You can't kill her," he growled, shoving his power back where it was trying to escape. Hilda had warned him again and again that his power was rare. It was the power to dominate and kill if he let it get out of control. "I won't let you! No!" They wrangled for control of the gun, father and son fighting. Charles ducked against a punch, let fly one of his own.

His knuckles bruised on his father's face, Charles swallowed the disgust slithering up his throat. He had never before hit another being. His power growled. He had to control it. He had to have self-control or all was lost. But if he allowed his father to kill Raven then all was lost for him anyway. What did he do?

His father was shaking him. Or to be precise, he was shaking the gun, trying to detach Charles's hands, yanking him back and forth, back and forth across the room until it was spinning and his legs were weak. "Demon!" A sharp slap upside the head.

"Monster!" A kick to the shins. Charles cried out.

"Devil!" more hits. "I hate you!" more kicks. "I HATE YOU!" all he had ever wanted was love, friendship, a father. His heart crumpled.

Charles collapsed to his knees in front of the doorway, body aching and heartbroken. His father was stronger than he was, Charles did not stand a chance. "Please," he gasped past the blood frothing in his mouth. "Please don't hurt her," he was begging and he knew it. He did not care. Charles looked up, tears mingling with the blood dripping down his chin.

He snatched the barrel of the gun his father had limp in his hand and pointed it directly at his head. "Kill me," he pleaded. "Kill me if you wish. Take your anger out on me. Hit me, hurt me, kill me! I don't care, but don't touch my sister," his father yanked the gun from Charles's grasp.

His eyes were wide and crazed in the night. "I should have killed you long ago," he stated darkly. "But I didn't, and now you've taken over that girl. Now she's a hideous monster," a smoldering glare. "Just like you."

Charles shook his head. "Please," he began again. "She won't change into that form again. She'll be nice and pretty just as you like. Neither of us will ever use our powers again. I promise, alright? Just spare her. I'll do anything if you spare her, please," he sat on his knees, desperate, begging, and heard Raven stir. Sleep, he commanded her instantly.

He saw his father's eyes narrow into predatory slits. The intelligence churned in his eyes. "Anything?" He inquired. Charles gulped, but nodded.

"Those Jews," Josef. Hilda. Chares went pale. His father hated them both. "I want them out of my house," he ordered.

"But where are they supposed to go?" Charles demanded instantly. "This place is all they have! And Grandfather's will! You can't… Ugh!" He grunted in pain as his father delivered a kick to his vulnerable gut.

"My father's will said I couldn't send them out," his father corrected coldly. "So you will. Send them out," his father ordered calmly. "I want them gone within the week, or I'll put a bullet into the head of everyone in this house," he was not bluffing. Charles could only nod numbly.

"Yes, sir," a broken sob as his father walked past him and out of the room calmly, his footsteps once again those of a man who was used to being obeyed because he knew the weaknesses of his enemy. He had found Charles's weakness. Charles stayed on his knees for a long time after his father left, silent tears running down his face. A mixed conglomeration of clear tears and red blood leaked unto the floor before he picked himself up and staggered to his desk. Eyes blurred, he picked up the book he had been reading and flung it across the room.

For all his knowledge, all his ability, he still did not have what it took to save his family. Charles sank into his chair and covered his face with his hands, sobbing quietly. He didn't know what to do.

"Charlie?" He gasped and looked up. Raven was in the doorway dressed in her nightclothes, staring at him with eyes wide with worry. She was blue.

"Raven!" She was lovely, gorgeous, his sister, but he snapped her name as if she were a criminal. A hideous monster. "What are you doing looking like that?" He demanded. Raven stopped in her journey across the room to him, frightened. He had never raised his voice to her before.

"W-What?" She stammered.

"For goodness sakes Raven, how many times have I told you to look normal? We can't have you wandering about blue, even at night! You'll scare the neighbors!" he shouted, and instantly hated himself for his words even if they were saving her life. Raven's eyes filled with tears.

"Oh. I… I'm sorry, Charles," She blinked, and replaced herself with pale skin and blonde hair. She hugged herself tightly, and attempted to smile. "Better?" She peeped. Charles's heart sank. He sighed and stood.

"No. No, I… Oh, Raven, I'm sorry," he breathed when she began to cry. He rushed forward to pull her into his arms. She hugged herself to him, weeping quietly and in it was that moment when Charles hated his father more than he had ever hated anyone ever before. He hated him with every fiber in his body.

"You've never yelled at me before," Raven sniffled against him. "I didn't mean to make you angry," she said. Charles stroked artificial hair and pressed a kiss to her head.

"You didn't. You never have. I'm sorry Raven. I shouldn't have snapped at you," he took her shoulders, held her an arm's length away. "You didn't make me angry, love. I'm just… Its only that…." He closed his eyes and exhaled. "It terrifies me, Raven," he finally admitted, opening his eyes to gaze sincerely into hers.

"It terrifies me to think of what people might do to you if they ever saw you in your natural form. Not everyone is like Josef and Hilda. There are horrible, cruel people out there who would kill you, Raven, and I…" his voice broke. Raven lunged and wrapped her arms around his neck.

"You understand, don't you Raven? I'm so sorry, but for now you have to do this. We both do. No one can ever know who we are, or else…" Tears ran down his face. "I can't bear the thought," she nodded against his neck.

"I understand Charlie."

The next morning, Hilda and Josef were sitting at the table when Charles snuck out to tell them. They sat together, hands intertwined when Charles opened the door to their tiny shack. Tears rolled down his face.

"Charles," Hilda smiled, gently. "We know," of course they did. Hilda was a telepath. They had probably known all night the deal he had made to save his sister. Charles walked into the house, dragging his feet with grief, and when he buckled Josef was the one to catch him beneath the arms and tenderly lower him to the ground.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry. So sorry," he gasped over and over. Josef just nodded against his head as he held Charles tightly in his arms and Hilda ran a loving hand through his hair. "I don't want too. Please believe me, I would rather he have killed me…" They shushed him. Charles clung to them both and wept.

"I'm so sorry."

Josef and Hilda went back to Germany on a warm summer day.

Charles waited outside of the new car he had bought them. Hilda and Raven were in the house, talking. Only he and Josef stood outside in the breeze. Charles inhaled.

"The war is over, and I need to start helping my people to rebuild," Josef told Charles. "Perhaps you can visit when you go to Oxford. Germany and England aren't too far away," somehow the invitation fell flat between them, as if the future had allowed them a glimpse and the glimpse they had seen countered this thought.

"Yes, maybe," Charles did not have the heart to say it aloud though. He only put his hands in his pockets and looked anywhere but at the man he was betraying. "You take care of Hilda, alright?" he implored. Josef nodded sagely.

"Take care of Raven, hear?"

Always. "Yes, sir."

Josef pressed a hand into his shoulder, hurting the bruises there. He had healed so many of Charles's bruises over the years. "And yourself, Charles. And yourself," Charles bit his bottom lip. He cried more in the past two nights than he had in his life. Everything and everyone was falling away.

"Josef?" The old man smiled, and once again Charles knew that he would be understood, even if he bungled it up like he always did. "For everything you've taught me. Everything you've done for me and my sister, I… I'll never be able to repay you," he stuttered.

Josef studied him for a long moment, his dark brown eyes luminescent in the light. They looked like orbs, swirling with time and pain… and joy.

"You can," he contradicted, softly, as he always did. "You can teach others as I've taught you Charles. The days of mutants hiding," he glanced into the house, at Raven. "Are ending. One day you will be able to walk in the sunlight, but after so long in the dark," he shook his head. "The mutants will need a leader. The humans will need a reason not to fear. Do you remember what you told me equality meant?" Charles smiled, feeling tears again.

"You and I are the same," he whispered. Josef's smile was one of unconditional love.

"Yes, son. The same. I want you to teach that lesson until it no longer needs to be taught. Until the day comes when I won't be ridiculed for loving a mutant," he smiled as Hilda exited, eyes shining. "The day when a mutant can marry a human without fear. When we can be friends. Will you do that for me, my boy?" Charles nodded.

"Anything," he promised. Josef smiled and squeezed his shoulder one last time. Charles threw his arms around Josef's neck, catching the older man off guard. Hesitantly, Josef returned the hug.

"Goodbye, father," Charles choked out. Josef kissed the side of his head.

"Goodbye son," they separated, eyes shining and hearts aching. Raven was gripping Hilda's arm in a tight lock, lips trembling.

"And remember to write every day. Let us know how you're doing. You won't forget?"

"No, darling," Hilda lied, patting Raven's hand. "I won't. Take care of our troublemaker, hmm?" She asked, walking over to Charles. She smiled, and Charles smiled back.

"I'll remember," Raven promised as she gripped Charles's arm. Her eyes were wide and sad. Charles kissed her forehead. It was for her. All for her.

Hilda… Thank you for your lessons, your time. Thank you for being a splendid teacher, Charles thought, for fear that he would not be able to speak past the lump in his throat.

Hilda pulled him into a hug. You're a good idiot, she kissed his cheek as he chuckled. They separated and Charles said goodbye to his mother. "Raven?" Josef kissed her forehead. Raven hugged him tight around the waist.

"You are gorgeous, no matter in what form. And if anyone tells you differently, tell Charles. He'll handle it," Josef winked. Raven giggled. Charles rolled his eyes and grabbed her hand, gently pulling her away. Waving, Josef stepped into the car. Hilda went into the other side, never taking her eyes from them. Slowly, the car pulled away, down the road, gaining speed until it was out of sight, leaving Charles and Raven standing alone on the yard of their prison.

Charles knew he would never see his parents again.

The first thing that Alex realized when he returned to himself was that his head hurt. It hurt especially bad when he opened his eyes and was temporarily blinded by the dull lamplight. The blindness faded as quickly s it had come. Alex groaned and shifted backward, his back ramming hard against a solid surface he assumed to be a wall. He heard similar sounds of pain as his vision cleared.

The others looked just as disorientated as he felt, their minds rapidly ejected from Charles's mind like torpedoes. Erik was blinking rapidly in the light, his entire body stiff. Hank had fallen against a wall too, and was pressing a hand to his forehead. Sean and Raven had their heads in their hands, and looked like they sort of wanted to be sick. The worst person by far however was the professor. Charles had gone a sickly shade of pale white as he leaned limply into his pillows. His forehead sparkled with perspiration. His eyes were closed, and Alex saw the remnants of tear tracks on his face. He didn't blame him.

After what he had just seen, he was surprised Charles had shown them this at all. Alex certainly would not have been brave enough. As if Erik had read his mind (ironic) the metal bender finished blinking. His eyes were grave, shocked… And admiring? Alex knew he saw some concern in his eyes when the other man glanced around to see if they were okay.

"Charles?" That was Hank, gently placing a hand on his arm. Charles opened his eyes. They were sunken in with exhaustion. He managed to smile though.

"I'm sorry," he croaked politely. "I couldn't go on," and Alex was sure there was so much more to the story. So much that Charles had done that no one had even been aware of. "Is everyone quite alright?" Charles then asked.

"Feeling like a wimp, but yeah," Sean muttered. Alex had to agree with him.

"That's one jacked up life there Charles," he stated without finesse. Charles smiled, as his eyes fluttered closed.

"Softened by my sister," he quipped. Raven was silent, studying him closely in the lamplight. There were tears in her eyes and something else. Something like… Anger? Betrayal?

Erik was the next to speak up. "Nevertheless, those were… Those were inspiring memories, Charles. Thank you," Alex felt like a moment passed between them because an ironic smile played on Charles's lips, but if it was then no one was forthcoming with the private joke.

"Raven?" Hank had noticed her sour mood too. He moved forward and gently laid a hand on her arm, his beady eyes soft with curiosity. Alex was surprised when she yanked her arm away from his grip almost violently. Erik narrowed his eyes. Sean jumped, surprised. Hank looked hurt. Charles opened his eyes, and when they landed on his sister, he frowned.

"Raven?" His voice was no more than a hoarse and painful sounding whisper. Alex wondered how much energy Charles had expended to do that. For a moment it looked as if Raven might explode or curse or throw a tantrum or something, but when a long second passed and she still hadn't done it, Alex saw her shoulders relax. With infinite benevolence, Raven leaned down to press a soft kiss to Charles's forehead.

"Get some rest, Charlie," she breathed. Then, she turned on her heel, and avoiding the gaze of everyone round, just about ran from the room. The men remaining stared after her with a sick feeling in their guts.

"Um," Sean turned his head, searching the face of everyone. "Did I miss something?"