Charles could not have been prouder of his students.
As Cecilia ran him forward after Hank, he surveyed the fight; and felt tears in his eyes at how well they were all doing, how competently they worked as one, how brave they were…He loved them more than life itself.
Which was why whoever had come here, wanting to take his children, was going to pay. And he was taking that helmet afterward and sending it to the bottom of the sea. Forever. No matter what Erik had to say about it.
They were only a few feet away now. Hank leapt for the face of one of the men with the machine gun, wrenching it from his hands. Cecilia followed a half second behind, beating the other with her crowbar. Charles didn't have time to fear for their lives. He wheeled himself towards the defenseless leader.
"Call off your troops," he ordered in a growl. While he had that helmet on, there was little Charles could do with his telepathy but there was much he could do to prove his point. Half the battle was fought in the mind.
"You've been defeated," he gestured to the dwindling troops. The unconscious and blessing bodies on the ground, overpowered by his family. By children. His pride for them gave him confidence. He turned back. "Soon, you'll lose anyway. Take them and go now, while you still can," he considered this a rather merciful offer. He knew what another might do in his stead, but the leader only sneered at him with contempt.
"I will never surrender, freak," a flash of lightning illuminated his face, showing mocking features twisted in a snarl of insanity. Charles's breath halted in his lungs. he could have sworn he recognized.. Matter of fact, he recognized that voice. It was just like his own. From beneath the helmet, he saw a twisted smile distort petite lips. "An Xavier," the leader continued in a deadly growl. "Never surrenders." Charles gasped aloud as another lightning flash spelled out one of his greatest nightmares.
No.
Standing in front of him was his very much alive- very much demented- father.
Kitty skidded into Charles room as the house shook with another explosion. Tears raced down her face as she ducked inside, tripping over Celia's violin, which was sitting abandoned on the floor.
She stumbled over to his dresser, and desperately jumped for the telephone chord. It waved above her, tantalizing, a few inches beyond her reach.
Kitty! Fessor called, sounding scared. Did you call Moira!?
Tears built in her eyes, and Kitty just wanted to go back to her room and cry. I can't reach it! She desperately stretched on her tippy toes, waving her hand frantically. The chord swayed mockingly. She screamed in frustration. Fessor needed her to call Moira for help!
There's a stool in the closet. Hurry Kitty! She raced towards the closet.
"Father," he gasped, stunned.
His father let out a bitter laugh. "Demon," he greeted in reply. Charles was hyperventilating, fear rushing in to replace the blood in his veins.
"How are you alive?"
"I never died." What? Charles shook his head to dispel the spell his own terror had set on him. He had to protect his family. He couldn't worry about the details of his father's miraculous reappearance now.
"Your troops are still losing. Get off my property," for this was his property now. It had been for years and he did not intend for his father to ruin his home when things were just starting to go well. The other man snorted and crossed his arms. Why was he in a suit?
"Don't be arrogant," he counseled. "After all, you know what they say," he shrugged. "Pride comes before a fall," those words made Charles's heart skip a beat, but he stopped breathing altogether when his father raised a hand ad bellowed, at the top of his lungs:
"Kill them all!" Suddenly, the ones that Charles had sworn he put to sleep suddenly popped awake like marionettes, and the ones still standing readjusted some setting on their pistols.
He heard Jean scream first. "No!" he cried as her telepathic signature vanished. She toppled to the ground, unconscious as the dart sticking out of her neck released its debilitating poison into her bloodstream.
A horrifying revelation occurred to him. They were toying with us. They did all this to lure us outside. Out in the open, where they were vulnerable. And it had worked.
"Charles, look out!" Hank was suddenly there, in a devastating reenactment of what Charles had once done for Erik, throwing his own body in front of Charles's. He saw the dart go into Hank's neck. With a groan his friend sunk to the ground, helpless.
"No, Hank!" He screamed. He swiveled around to his father. "What have you done?" he whispered, horrified.
His father shrugged. "What I have always done: avenge my son. Watch, then monster, and know that they fall because of you," Charles cried out in rage and pain as he felt the others fall, succumbing to the poisonous darts. Sean, Scott, Alex, Cassidy, Rogue, Ororo, Bobby, Warren… Until only he and Cecilia were left, surrounded by men who pointed guns at their heads.
Kitty, his last chance. Did you get it?
Her teary voice was victorious. I got it Fessor. I'm calling Moira now!
Good work, Kitty. I'm proud of you, his voice trembled even in mind-speak but he didn't care. He knew, far beyond a doubt, that whenever Erik and the others arrived…
It would already be too late.
"Then I said, but I don't have any chicken eggs!" Moira giggled slightly at the horrible joke. Michael was a very intelligent man, but he was not very good at jokes. Or, actually, he was horrible at humor period. it was almost funny enough to make up for his lack.
She sighed with content and once again looked down at the mutant below. Emma and Erik were dancing again, the two love-birds oblivious to the crowd that had begun to form around them. Azazel and Logan were flirting with some Italians. Jason was watching Raven imitate a Governor for an amused crowd and Riptide was still stealing sweets.
Everything was normal then. Suddenly, in her pocket, her phone rang. It was one of the first prototypes of its kind, given to her by a friend in the CIA. It was called a cell phone. A smaller version of what they already had. Moira despised it, but she had agreed to keep it at Charles's insistence.
"What is it?" Michael asked. Moira shrugged and pushed the answer button before pressing the device awkwardly to her ear.
"Hello?"
"Moira!" Kitty's tearful and panicked voice almost screamed. Moira jumped, startled by the desperation in her voice.
"Kitty?" She asked, surprised. "What is it? What's wrong?"S he asked.
"Bad men!" Kitty sobbed. "Bad people are here, Moira! They broke the door!" The hairs on the back of her neck stood up. Moira gripped the railing hard.
"What?"
"They're in the house! Fessor says you have to come home now! We need help!" Kitty yelled. Moira gripped Michael's arm.
"Get the others," she ordered huskily, heart skipping a beat. "And prepare the BlackBird. We have to go."
"Why? What's…?"
"Michael, the mansion is under attack. Get the others now!" He paled. Without another word, the doctor swiveled on his heel and thundered down the steps towards the X-Men, running at full tilt. She saw him run up to Erik and Emma first, pointing frantically up at Moira.
"Kitty?" Moira breathed trying to stay calm. "Kitty, listen to me. Where are you right now?" She asked.
"In Fessor's room," that explained how she had gotten the phone. There were only two in the house. One upstairs and one down. "He told me to come call you," and Charles would only call if it was a dire emergency.
"Where is the Professor?" she asked.
"He went to fight the bad people but… Ah!... Moira, hurry up!" Kitty sobbed in a panic. The others had all gathered at the bottom of the stairs. Emma looked up at Moira with a crease in her brow. Moira raced down the stairs.
"What is it?" Erik demanded when she had reached them.
"It's Kitty on the phone. She's terrified. She says Charles told her to call me and tell me that they need help. There are people in the house, dangerous," she summed up. Erik's face went stony. Raven gasped.
"Azazel…"
"I'm on it," He vanished.
"To the BlackBird, everyone," Erik ordered.
"What about the guests?" Raven asked, glancing at the ballroom full of people who would all demand to know where the prize winners were going if they suddenly saw them leave.
"I've got them handled," Emma replied, placing a finger against her forehead.
"Good. X-Men," Erik's eyes burned with urgency. "Go!"
There were too many for Charles to freeze them all at once and in his current state, he could not run. He was stuck there. Over forty men surrounded them, armed. Charles glanced back and forth as they pressed in closer, obscuring his vision. Where was Cecilia?
"Let go of me!" Cecilia was yelling, enraged as she was grabbed by two soldiers and her arms pinned behind her back. Charles had to swallow his fury. He glanced at the children lying on the ground, unmoving. His insides curdled with horror.
His father must have sensed his anguish. "Don't worry, demon," he said softly, as if comforting a child. "They'll die within the hour. And you will watch," Charles paled.
"Why are you doing this?" he gasped. Why didn't his father just kill them all, then? Why was he torturing him when he could just put a bullet in his head? The monster did not answer. Instead, he turned towards the two men who had pulled Cecilia forward to stand at his side. Charles's heart clenched as he saw his father study the woman he loved with cold eyes.
"So," he said, calmly. "You're the double-crossing harlot who sided with the demons," he said as if finally making his acquaintance with a rather famous criminal. Upon hearing the insult, Charles's mind lashed out. Several men cried out and fell; consumed by the burning fire of his rage. His father remained unaffected. Cecilia tipped her chin proudly, gray eyes flashing.
"On the contrary," she replied. Her voice was shaking, but strong. A surge of admiration raced through him. "I believe that's you, sir," his father's eyes widened, and with no hesitation, Charles saw his hand whip upwards and fly across her face with a sharp smack. She cried out.
"NO!" Charles cried desperately, very much wanting to run forward, to help. Not for the first time he cursed his legs. "Leave her alone!" His father glanced back at him. Charles hastened to distract him from Cecilia.
"An antidote," he gasped out, thinking of the children. "You have one," It was not a question. His father's eyes narrowed as he turned to face him. He crossed his arms like a military dictator.
"What makes you think that?" he asked.
Charles's mind raced. "What if one of your men accidentally got hit? You'd need an antidote or none of these men would have come with you," he had read that in the thoughts of the uncovered heads. None of them were particularly loyal to his father, and certainly did not trust him. They were only here to destroy mutants.
"What if it only works on humans?" A fallacy. Mutants were humans, just with a changed DNA.
"If it works on you, it'll work on us."
"You've become smart there, child," Charles bristled at the taunt, but sped on.
"What do you want?" he demanded.
"The same thing I've always wanted," his father glanced at Cecilia, struggling in the arms of his men. "To avenge you possessing my son!"
He saw several men glare. "We're here," a defiant one corrected. "To capture mutants for experimentation," he nudged Hank with his toe. "That poison won't kill them, not immediately anyway. It'll make them docile until we can get you all into cages," A fate just as bad as death. Charles's mind gears turned with an idea. His gut clenched in fear but his heart had already made it's decision. He glanced at Cecilia, touched the minds of his children.
I'm sorry.
"Take me," he said at once. His father looked honestly shocked.
"What?"
"Take me," Charles repeated. He nodded towards Cecilia. "Let her go. Let them all go, and give me the antidote and I will go with you willingly," he said.
"Charles, no!" Cecilia screamed.
"I don't think you quite understand. You don't have a choice," his father told him logically. Charles clenched his teeth.
"I don't think you quite understand," he growled. "I can kill every single one of your men with a squeeze of my mind," he never had before, but he knew he could. He could control people, so he could make them kill one another. As a demonstration, he latched onto the mind of the one holding Cecilia.
He ignored the screams that poured of the fighter's mouth as Charles invaded his mind and squeezed. He dropped to his knees, holding his head as he clawed at his hair, his eyes, his face. "Charles!" Cecilia gasped. You're not a killer! Was the rest of her thought. He couldn't bear to look at her.
His father was watching Charles's handiwork with curiosity. The other men shied away in terror and shock. "Well," his father said with a nod. Charles released his hold and the man fell, twitching and moaning, to the ground. "I see your point," he gave Charles an assessing look. "You can't do it to them all at once," He challenged.
Charles stared back, steadily. "Try me," he would do whatever it took to save his family. Kitty, did you call Moira?
They're on their way, fessor! She sounded as relieved as he felt.
"If we do what you want, you'll come with us willingly? You won't fight?" he could already feel how the others liked this plan. They didn't want to end up like their friend twitching on the ground.
"You have my word," Cecilia let out a sob. Charles did not look at her, could not stand it if he saw fear of him in her eyes. It would tear him apart.
"Boss…" One of his men muttered, looking to Charles's father. "He is one of the only three telepaths on earth. We could use him…" he shivered at the tone of voice. Use him for what?
It didn't matter. He had to save the children. He couldn't just sit here and let them die. "Very well," he almost sagged with relief when his father agreed. "We accept those terms, mutant. But know this: if I so much as hear a peep of protest, then I will come back," an arm reached out and yanked Cecilia's head back by her gorgeous hair. "And I will cut her throat first," Charles nodded. His heart was in his own throat.
Seeing the fear in his eyes, his father sneered and pushed Cecilia away. She tumbled to the ground. Boredily, his father tugged a small glass tube of purple liquid from his pocket and tossed it at her. "Here's the antidote," he told her emotionlessly.
She spat at his feet. She turned to Charles and he heard her pleading voice yell: "Charles, don't do this!" He finally looked at her. There were tears running down her face. A purplish bruise had begun to grow on her perfect skin. He gulped down the lump in his throat. He had done this to her.
Kitty, he called first, never losing eye contact with her even as the men jostled forward. He felt his wheelchair give a start. He allowed himself to be pushed, silently.
Yes, fessor?
You've been so brave and helpful tonight. I'm very proud of you.
Are the bad people gone? He swallowed thickly, preparing himself never to see them again.
They will be. Stay in that room and wait for Moira or the others to come get you, okay? Everything will be alright, my dear. I love you, you know that don't you? I love you all very much. He was fairly shoving the emotion at her. He felt confusion.
A silence. Then: Fessor?
Everything will be alright, Kitty, he repeated, wanting this to be the last thing she heard from him. Everything will be alright, I promise.
He rolled past Cecilia. His heart wrenched at the thought of never touching her again, never speaking to her or kissing her. She reached out, trying to stumble up. "Charles?" He gently caught hold of her psyche, pushing her towards sleep. He didn't want her to watch as they…She toppled over.
I'm sorry, he sent painfully. Help is coming. The children need that antidote, will need you. Be brave, Cecilia, and thank you for everything. I love you. More than anything. He closed his eyes as she relaxed into sleep, her mind a thrashing ocean of anguish.
A shuddering breath escaped as he gazed up at the indifferent stars through a haze of tears. He would not get to say goodbye to Raven, attend Erik's wedding, have Christmas with his family… His heart burned with despair. He hung his head and allowed the tears to dribble down his face. Shaw had not been able to do it, humans had not been able to do it, but he was finally defeated. It had all been for naught.
The only sound Charles made was that of pain when he was dumped out of his wheelchair a few feet into the thick forest around the mansion. He clenched his teeth as rough hands grabbed his arms and began to drag him towards the edge of the forest, where a plane's engines whirred.
He made not a sound when they finally knocked him out, succumbing to his fate. He no longer cared what they did to him. He had already accepted his fate, like the war prisoner that he was.