The night continued on without any more incidents, and everyone finally began having fun after the first drink or two. They walked from club to club, Peter and Scott getting into friendly, useless, progressively more drunken arguments along the way, like what the real lyrics to "Blinded by the Light" were, and which fictional superheroes would win in a fight, and which one of them could piss farther. By the time they stumbled upon a club dubiously named "The Rabbit Hole," everyone's sense of inhibition was rapidly disappearing.
Ororo and Jean finished off an enormous rainbow-colored margarita between them, sipping out of two straws, while Scott and Peter still somehow had the energy to argue between themselves.
"I still hate that they made Luke and Leia twins, man," said Scott, slurring a bit as he sipped his seventh beer, though no one was counting anymore.
"Why? They could be twins, you don't know," Peter said.
"Carrie Fisher is like, 20 years older than Luke Hamill!" said Scott.
"Mark Hamill," Jean corrected him, rubbing her forehead.
"Yeah, I said that," Scott replied. "There's no way I'm gonna believe they're twins. They look nothing alike. They're not even the same height!"
"There are twins that are older than each other," said Peter, with a hiccup. "I mean, taller. And they don't have to look alike, maybe they're fraternal."
"How would you know? Are you like, a twin expert?"
Ororo groaned loudly. "Why do you two argue about such stupid things? No one cares! It is only a movie!"
"It's a guy thing, Uhura, you wouldn't understand," said Peter, too drunk to realize he couldn't pronounce Storm's real name.
Before Ororo could protest, Scott suddenly spoke up. "Where's Kurt?"
Everyone looked around them at the dark, noisy club. Kurt was nowhere to be seen. He'd been quiet all night, but now no one could remember where they saw him last.
"Can you find him, Jean?" Scott asked.
"I can't use my tel... tepal..." She sighed. "I can't read minds when I'm drunk."
"Okay, okay, nobody panic," said Scott, trying to gather his thoughts and focus through his intoxication. "We'll split up to look for him, and meet back here in-"
Just then, Kurt 'ported in front of them in a puff of smoke. "Hey guys!" he grinned, his white, razor sharp teeth shining against the darkness.
"Where've you been?" Peter asked. "We were about to send out a search party."
"Oh, I was talking to this nice woman at the bar," he merrily explained. "She's very beautiful. Her name is Amanda, but she says everyone calls her Mandy." The other boys' faces slowly lit up as he continued. "She bought me some drinks, and she thinks I'm funny, so she gave me this." He held up a napkin with a phone number scribbled on it.
Scott and Peter exploded with excitement as the girls gave each other a sly smile.
"Dude! Congratulations!" yelled Scott.
Peter grabbed Kurt by the shoulders. "Do you understand what this means?"
"She... wants to talk to me more?"
"It means you're gonna score!"
Kurt's face remained blank.
"Get laid? Roll in the hay? Kurt, she wants to have sex with you!"
Kurt's eyes grew huge. His grin disappeared only for a moment as the wheels in his brain churned into overdrive. It returned even wider than before.
Ororo and Jean couldn't keep it in anymore. They began to giggle uncontrollably.
Ororo slid out of her seat, "I will start a search party for another margarita," she told Jean.
"I can't have any more, get a small one." Jean stopped laughing, and held her head in both hands with a moan.
"You all right?" Scott asked, hugging her by the shoulder. "You need some water?"
She nodded. "I've got to go to the bathroom," she muttered, scooting past him.
"Need me to hold your hair back?" he said, as she stumbled towards the ladies room. She didn't answer.
Peter smirked at him as he sipped his beer.
"What?"
He shook his head. "Nothing,"
"No, what is it?"
Peter made a whipping motion with his hand.
"I'm not whipped," said Scott, brows furrowed behind his glasses. "I just want to be nice to my girlfriend."
"Let me ask you something," said Peter, leaning back in his seat. "When she says, 'I'm hot,' do you immediately get up and turn down the air conditioning?"
"Yeah, but-"
"And when you go out to eat, she always decides where to go, doesn't she?"
Scott didn't reply. He only stared in disbelief as Peter shook his head.
"Whipped."
"You just hate Jean," said Scott. "You've always hated Jean."
"Hate is a strong word. We... have our differences."
"Why?"
"Because," said Peter, shifting in his seat, "I dunno, she's nosy. And kind of a goody two shoes, you have to admit..."
"You're wrong, man," said Scott, anger growing in his voice. "You don't know her at all."
"Whatever, dude. It's not important." Peter tapped the end of his beer bottle on the table, waiting out the uncomfortable silence until he could think of something funny to say to diffuse the situation.
Kurt stared at both of them, nervously fidgeting with his tail. "I think Jean is nice," he said, attempting to be helpful. They both stared daggers at him until he decided to teleport somewhere else for a few minutes.
Scott finally broke the silence. "You wouldn't know how to treat a girl, anyway. I'm sure they were all really impressed by your mom's basement and your Twinkie collection."
"Yeah, well all I know is that dating Jean turned you into a complete tool."
"Why, because I'm not an asshole, like you?" Scott's face was beginning to turn red.
"She puppets you around, and you can't even see the strings right in front of you," Peter scoffed, letting it all come out, whether he wanted it to or not. "You want my honest opinion? You'll be better off once she's gone, bro."
He watched Scott's hands ball up into fists. Knowing he'd stuck his foot a little too far in his mouth this time, he decided to make an evasive maneuver.
He drained his beer. "I've got to piss," he said, then sped off to the bathroom.
He didn't realize how much he actually did have to pee until he stood up. Still using his superpowers, he paused a moment at the men's restroom door, wondering if he shouldn't corner himself in a small space, just in case Scott felt like following him. He decided instead to piss in the alley somewhere. He needed a little time to figure out what to say, anyway. He couldn't pee any faster than a human; the laws of physics couldn't make liquid come out of him any quicker than it could from anyone else.
As he was plotting how to weasel out of his own mess, he barely registered a large, shady, masculine figure in the act of sneaking into the women's restroom.
Jean sat on a groaty toilet, trying to rub the blurriness out of her eyes. Every muffled beat of the bass pumping through the bathroom wall made her head hurt. It was like someone giving her skull a light whack with a mallet, and the smell of stale vomit and perfume in the bathroom didn't help. She thought it would be nice, for a change, to not hear everyone's thoughts echoing through her mind constantly, but being drunk only made her feel disconnected, as if she'd lost the use of one of her senses. She had no idea how the Professor spent 10 years without his powers, and drunk the entire time, to boot.
She pulled herself together, left her stall, and sipped some water from the sink out of her cupped hand. She caught a flicker of movement from the corner of her eye, swift and threatening, but before she could react, someone grabbed her shoulder and thrust her against a wall. Her head hit the tile, sending excruciating pain through the back of her neck.
A large stranger, face dark and blurry through Jean's intoxication, sneered at her. He held his huge arm against her chest and neck.
"Don't scream, if you know what's good for you," he whispered at her, breath pungent with alcohol.
She instinctively thrust her free elbow towards his face, but he backed away and it only grazed his nose. She lost her balance and tumbled to the floor. He took the opportunity to pin himself on top of her, crushing the breath out of her and any chance of a scream. The man wasted no time in ripping off her skirt and panties.
She opened her mouth, but nothing came out. Focusing her energy, she tried to reach wherever her power was hiding and bring it to the surface to defend herself. A terror unlike anything she'd ever known engulfed her soul, as if she were dying. It pumped through her grinding headache, blinding her, deafening her, trying to shield her from what was about to happen.
She saw her own face somehow, eyes wide, mouth open in a voiceless scream, red hair flowing onto the bathroom floor. She no longer felt the strange man's disgusting breath on the back of her neck, even though he was still there.
Jean, the Jean that was watching her own body about to be violated, was calm and sober. She knew what to do. The universe had already decided their fates. She knew she could easily make the man disappear. She could disassemble his molecules, turning him instantly to dust, but justice wouldn't come with a quick death. No. He needed to be in pain, the kind of pain he could understand. She felt Scott's mental energy seething with rage.
SCOTT, she called out to her love. She melded with his anger, becoming him for a moment, with a power made of fire and stars. In the bar, he jumped out of his seat, spilling beer all over the floor. COME, she commanded, and he ran.
Jean returned to her body, shaking with fear, still trying to scream. She heard the man panting like an animal, heard the tinkle of his belt buckle coming loose.
The door slammed open. Scott gave the man a laser blast from his eyeballs, sending him toppling off his girlfriend with his pants halfway down and a large burn down his side. Jean scrambled to her feet, unsure if what she'd just seen or thought was even real.
"Get out of here!" he yelled to her. She rushed out of the bathroom, through the bar, and into the alley, holding up her skirt with one hand.
Peter had just zipped up his fly when he saw her run out the door, disheveled and sobbing. Before they could say a word to each other, screams rang out from inside the bar, followed by the sound of shattering glass and breaking furniture.
Peter ran to the center of the dance floor, where a terrified mob had gathered, screaming and shouting at something happening in front of them. He pushed through to find Scott, face distorted in fury, kneeling over the moaning body of a badly burned man who was bleeding from every orifice in his head. Scott's fist came down on his face over and over. Each blow sent a spray of blood and saliva, and sometimes a tooth, onto the dance floor. Peter watched in terror as the man finally went limp.
The mob watched with him. No one dared bring him off of the unconscious lummox. They all stared at Scott as he slowly stood up. His knuckles dripped with blood, the man's and his own, as well. He whipped off his glasses.
Peter had only half an instant to react. He knew if he didn't move, Scott would open his eyes and unleash his full power on the man, leaving nothing but a crater where his head used to be. There was no time to talk him down.
Using his superspeed, he scooped up Scott, Jean, and the rest of the team, running them all as far away as he could manage within a split second.
Scott opened his eyes, screaming with rage, sending out a red blast of laser energy. Instead of smashing into the dance floor, it hit the Hudson River, making a spray of water explode over them all like the world's most harmless bomb.
Scott put his glasses back on and looked around, confused. He and his teammates were gathered in some kind of park. The glittering lights of Manhattan before them were surrounded by a dark oblivion of water.
"Where are we?" asked Jean, wet hair falling into her face. Kurt looked behind him and began to wander away, while Ororo stumbled over to the shore and vomited into the river.
"New Jersey," answered Peter, panting, with his hands on his knees. The alcohol was finally crashing down on him. He'd used up the last of his energy to drag them all to safety.
"Get me back there, Peter!" screamed Scott.
"You almost killed a dude!" his voice cracked as he sat on the grass and covered his face with his hands.
"He tried to rape her!"
"If I could piss faster, I would have stopped him, but-"
Scott's voice went cold. "What do you mean?"
Peter removed his hands as the full realization of what he'd just said slapped him in the face. He could have stopped Jean's attacker before he'd snuck into the bathroom. He didn't. He was too worried about pissing his pants and Scott being angry at him to prevent her from almost being raped.
Peter panicked as Scott walked towards him. He stood up, nearly falling over himself, putting his hands in front of him defensively. "How was I supposed to know what was going to happen?"
Scott began to pace like a caged animal, his jaw clenched in rage.
"You saw him. You saw him go into the bathroom. YOU SAW HIM."
Peter glanced at Jean and Ororo. Ororo looked sick while Jean stood frozen, staring between him and Scott, all emotion washed from her face.
"I didn't... bro, come on..."
Suddenly, Scott ran towards him. With both hands, he grabbed Peter by his collar and slammed him into a tree.
Ororo clumsily ran in the direction Kurt had gone.
"Don't ever call me 'bro' again," Scott growled. "You're the reason my brother is dead. Did he die because you had to piss? Did you just not feel like putting out the effort? Did you let Jean get hurt just to have the last laugh? Huh?"
Peter could see the fire of his laser eyes shining behind his glasses. Only a thin layer of ruby quartz and a flick of Scott's hand separated him from death. He couldn't tell which one of them was shaking more. Tears began to stream down Scott's cheek.
Jean walked over and put her hand on Scott's shoulder. He shrugged her off, but backed away from Peter just slightly, letting go of his jacket.
"I... I'm sorry..." Peter stuttered.
"Shut up," said Scott through his tears. "Just shut the fuck up. If I never hear another word out of your obnoxious mouth, it'll be too soon." He turned away and walked towards the shore, Jean following behind him.
Peter slid down the tree until he sat on the ground, as Scott sat down on a bench, out of earshot from Peter. Jean sat next to him, holding him close to her.
"You saved my life, Scott," she whispered to him. She wished so badly that she had her telepathic power to soothe him with. She had no idea how it had come back to her before, or if she had only imagined it. Scott didn't answer her, but eventually he buried his head in the soft curve of her neck.
"We need to go home," she said. "Let's find Kurt and Storm."
At a dive bar a few blocks away, Kurt sat with his head down on the bar in his crossed arms. He was so dizzy, he was amazed he'd even teleported this far. He couldn't deal with his teammates right now, screaming at each other for no reason. He could barely deal with himself.
The real situation had flown right over his head. He had no idea what had happened to Jean or what Scott had done. He assumed it was Peter he'd been fighting with in The Rabbit Hole. It was too dark outside, and he too drunk, to notice the blood on Scott's hands. The alcohol was starting to overwhelm him with self-pity and nausea. Why did everyone have to screw up his birthday?
At least I still have Amanda's phone number, he thought to himself. He reached in his right pocket, then his left, then both back pockets, before he realized with horror that he'd lost it. He groaned loudly and pulled at his hair. This night could not get worse.
He heard the door open behind him and felt a hand grip his shoulder. "Kurt!" said Ororo, her voice full of fear, "Scott and Peter are fighting!"
"Of course, what else is new?" he muttered, sipping someone else's left over beer on the counter. He should have known it would always get worse.
"They are going to hurt each other! You have to help!"
"Why don't you just beat them up, then?" He stumbled out of his chair, keeping himself standing by leaning on the bar. He forced down the bile trying to come up his throat. "You are good at that, ja?" he sneered.
Her eyes clouded for a moment, then went back to their normal brown color. "What is wrong with you?" Ororo shouted. "The X-Men need us and you decide to sit here feeling sorry for yourself?"
"I don't want to be an X-Man anymore!" he shouted back, surprising himself as much as her. "Why would I want to be on a team where we all just try to kill each other when one of us makes a mistake? It's like we are not even friends! Why would I..." He paused. Tears came involuntarily to his eyes, and he forced those back down, too. "Why would I want to be on a team whose leader is a liar?"
"Mystique?" she asked, glaring at him. "She is not a liar! Why would you say that?"
"She is a liar, and a coward, and you are an idiot for idolizing her!"
Storm's eyes once again grew white and rain began to fall outside. He knew he was pushing her buttons. He knew he was being cruel. He didn't care. There was power in his hateful words that he'd never used in his life.
Just then, the other X-Men walked into the bar, soaking wet. Kurt and Ororo barely noticed as they stared each other down.
"Go ahead, Storm!" he yelled, throwing up his hands and nearly tumbling over. "Strike me dead! Apocalypse would have been proud!"
The scowl slowly melted from her face, replaced by confusion and hurt. Her eyes remained white as she sat down on a chair and turned away from him.
Kurt's own words shocked him as they sunk in, forcing the anger out of him. He took no sense of shadenfreude from seeing her cry. He shook his head as his team stared at him.
"Ororo, I am so sorry." He went to her and sat down on the chair next to her. She refused to meet his eye. "I did not mean what I said. I did not mean any of those things."
"Then why did you say them?" she asked, wiping her runny nose.
He looked up at his teammates, his friends, staring at him, expecting an answer for his outburst. There was no running away, now. Jean looked at her feet, already knowing the next words he would say.
"Mystique is my mother."
The words didn't sound true, coming out of his mouth. His mother was in Germany. She made pancakes every morning for breakfast. She came to his rehearsals. She took care of him when he was sick, held him when he was little and afraid of noises in the dark. Raven had done none of those things.
Ororo stopped crying as Kurt bit his lip. "She could not even tell me herself," he continued. "The Professor did." He felt sick again and the tears flowed down the scars on his face. "I did not even know I was adopted."
Peter and Scott sat down at the table. "Jesus, Kurt..." said Scott, shaking his head.
They sat for a few minutes, stunned, in relative silence as Kurt continued to cry. Ororo put her arms around him in a wordless hug.
Jean leaned on a column, then finally adjusted her skirt, zipping it back up all the way. "Does anyone have a dime?" she asked. Peter gave her one, and she went to the payphone outside. She dialed the school's number.
"Hank, it's Jean... I know... I know it's 1 in the morning... we need a ride... please?"
The hung over, exhausted, feeble excuses for X-Men sat on the sidewalk outside of the tiny Weehawken dive bar, waiting for Hank to pick them up. It had been over an hour since Jean called the school. Every time a low flying plane zoomed by overhead, they all looked up expectantly, but none of them were the Blackbird.
A particularly low jet caught all of their attention, so much so that they all stood up, waiting for the plane to land. A car honk startled them into reality. It was Hank, driving the ugliest wood paneled, puke colored station wagon any of them had ever seen.
He honked again, rolling down the window. "Get in!" he yelled at them.
They all squeezed into the car. Scott was in the front seat, while Jean, Kurt, and Ororo barely fit into the back. Peter was forced to strap himself into the backwards facing seat behind them. Hank had taken his medicine, but it didn't help the dark circles under his eyes.
"So... why aren't we in the Blackbird right now?" asked Peter.
Hank put his elbow on the window and leaned his head in his hand. "Do you know how much jet fuel costs, Peter?" he groaned, rubbing his forehead.
He let the subject drop as Hank put the car in gear.
The city's streetlights gradually gave way to dark, winding, country roads. Jean and Scott stared out the window in silence. He put his hand behind his seat, and Jean meshed her fingers with his. Ororo's sleeping head gradually made its way to Kurt's shoulder. He didn't try to disturb her, enjoying a tiny bit of comfort, even if it was unintentional on her part.
"Guys?" said Peter, waking Ororo up. She left a little bit of drool on Kurt's jacket. "Can we agree to never get drunk together again?"
No one answered him, instead going back to staring out the windows.
It was 3:30 by the time they got back to the mansion. The moon had set hours before, leaving nothing but the stars to light their way. Everyone stumbled, exhausted, into the house and their respective bedrooms.
Everyone except Peter.
Now was as good a time as any to do something right, for a change, especially while the Professor was still asleep and clueless. Gaining a second wind, he found the coordinates Magneto had given him, left a note on his door, and ran into the morning.