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This chapter got away from me a bit. Somehow I didn't think anyone would mind.
Science can be a troublingly slow endeavor. That was something so few people understood. Hank had cultures growing and there was simply no purpose in continuing his research until he observed the cell growth rates with the recent exposures. He truly believed he was coming close… but there were long-term factors to consider, and 'coming close' in biology wasn't the same as 'coming close' to solving one's algebra homework.
So although Hank was in the lab, he was there upside down with Return of the King open in his left foot. A soft rain fell outside, which was delightfully atmospheric.
He enjoyed these late nights. As much as Hank liked Charles, Ruth, and the students, sometimes they were terribly stressful to be around. He liked his calm, quiet lab. There were questions here, but they were questions with simple answers. (They were complex scientific questions with answers that were simple to Hank.)
Yes, a nice, relaxing—Hank shook back fur to check his watch—1:43a.m. was so very called for.
"Hank!"
Nice, relaxing…
He closed the book. "Yes, Scott?"
Something was wrong, but Hank had learned to take that information with a considerable grain of salt. He had learned to take that information with a salt link to cross the desert (barring of course Ororo, who needed only her powers and not a camel). Scott had a habit of seeing everything as both his fault and catastrophic. He had nearly hyperventilated over breaking a dish once—but that was several years ago.
Nevertheless, as Hank somersaulted to the ground, he noted that Scott looked particularly distressed. He also looked particularly ready for bed with his messy hair and pajamas, but that was beside the point.
"Alex is missing," Scott blurted.
"Alex is an adult," Hank reasoned.
"No, he—okay, yes, but—Hank, please. He's not in his room and he never leaves."
"He probably went to the bathroom, or to break into the wine cellar."
"I waited—wine cellar?"
"Professor Xavier tries to block the knowledge of it from your minds—you, the other kids, and Alex—but yeah. There's a wine cellar." Hank never called Charles that to his face, but talking to a student was like talking to a two-year-old sometimes, the way a toddler genuinely believes there are people in the world named Mommy and Daddy.
"Where is it?"
Hank fiddled with his glasses nervously. He never should have said anything. "You're not supposed to know—"
Scott interrupted. If Hank had doubted Scott's seriousness before, he was certain now. "Where, Hank?"
He sighed. "An outbuilding, maybe a quarter of a mile back, uphill if you take the gate from the courtyard—" He stopped abruptly. "Come on. You'll never find it on your own." After all, no one else had—besides Alex, and Hank was certain that was because he already knew where it was.
Raven showed him.
Hank pulled on a pair of rainboots that miraculously fit him. Even before his bluification, his feet were not made for average shoes. Loafers had been bearable, tennis shoes excruciating.
"Don't you want to put on your shoes?"
Scott shook his head.
Hank wasn't going to push him. At least the kid wouldn't be wandering alone through the albeit mild rain.
Negotiating the terrain was surprisingly difficult at night and, thanks to the rain, they didn't have the moon or stars for light. Hank thought belatedly that he should have brought a flashlight, but he didn't go back. He didn't think Scott could handle that.
The wine cellar was padlocked shut.
"Could he be inside?"
Hank shook his head. "It's padlocked," he pointed out. There was no way for Alex to get inside and padlock the door. Besides, ever since Charles's period of less-than-responsible drinking, the only person with the key was Hank. "He's not here, Scott."
"Let's—let's go look for him!" Scott suggested.
"Alex is an adult," Hank replied. The rain was light, but still saturating his fur and starting to weigh it down. "He makes his own choices."
"But they're bad choices. He's—he's sad, he's not thinking—please, Hank. Please, you're the only person I can ask."
Hank slumped his shoulders. It was true that Scott's options were limited. Only Ruth and Hank could drive and the chances of Ruth agreeing to this were slim. If anything, she would have him back in bed in under four minutes—Ruth did tend to get what she wanted with the kids.
"I just… not like this."
"Please. You don't have to get out of the car, and you can park in the shadows and I'll go look."
This was a tremendously bad idea and the worst part was that Hank knew it. Nevertheless… Scott had done a lot for him. Just by seeing him for himself and not as a monster, even when that hadn't been easy, Scott had done a lot. Yes, he also asked for a lot. He needed guidance and advice and someone to listen to him, even when Hank felt way out of his depth. But he tried so hard.
Hank sighed.
He didn't have to say anything.
And the next thing he knew he was pulling into the far end of the Circle K parking lot. "You sure he'd come here?"
Scott nodded. He didn't look sure of anything. He was a disheveled kid with the questionable outfit of plaid pajama pants and a black t-shirt, damp from the rain, mud drying on his bare feet. Nonetheless, he stepped out of the car and started toward the brightly lit convenience store.
Hank sat in the car, growing increasingly aware that this was a bad idea. He was a Harvard graduate. How had he been so stupid as to think it was a good idea to send a shivering teenager to places a drunk might go in the middle of the night?
As he waited for Scott to return, he practiced what he would say. They needed to go home. They would talk to the Professor, call the police if he thought that was a good idea… but, no, Scott, would see through that. He would know that Charles couldn't possibly want to call the cops over a man in his twenties who had been missing for two hours.
Scott returned alone and dropped into the passenger seat. "I think the next place—"
"There's no 'next place'," Hank interrupted. "This has gone on long enough. Alex is old enough to make his own choices and—"
"No, he isn't! He's still a kid, why doesn't anyone see that?"
"Because he's not a kid. He's a man who acts like a kid. And I can't keep letting an actual kid look for drunks at two in the morning."
Scott glared for a moment. Hank saw him flinch. He didn't know, of course, that the memories were worst in the nighttime. They always had been. When Scott first arrived, he had nightmares he wouldn't talk about. They had quieted now, but not disappeared, only slipped into consciousness.
Scott never needed to imagine things for his nightmares. They were memories.
Then, eerily calmly, he said, "Okay."
And he stepped out of the car.
"Wait."
He didn't.
Hank swore. He didn't, usually, but the occasion called for it—because the situation had gotten somehow worse. Worse than sending a kid to look for a drunk in the rain and that belonged in the dreariest of French films.
He drove slowly, keeping pace with Scott, and rolled down the window.
"Scott, get back in the car."
Scott's only response was to walk quicker. It didn't make a difference, of course: he couldn't outpace a car.
"We'll keep looking for Alex."
No answer.
"You made your point."
Hank continued following him, somewhat unnerved by the fact that a car could trail a kid on a dim street and no one said anything. He'd seen PSAs that began this way and they didn't end well for the kid. Of course Hank would never hurt Scott, but who knew that?
After a few blocks, Scott headed past a vomiting drunk and into a bar that Hank wouldn't want to enter wearing a hazmat suit, let alone barefoot.
Scott got into the car after that.
"Ready to head home?"
Scott shook his head. "I promised my dad," he explained. "I have to find him."
Hank admitted, "I'm the last person to give advice on not taking things too literally, but if Professor Xavier asked you to help your brother, he never meant—"
"Hank? My, um, my other dad."
Hank was quiet for a moment. Then, "Okay. Where else can we look?"
"I only know two more bars." He gave an address.
Hank headed for it, although he had to ask, "How do you know about bars?"
"Sometimes I ride my bike around. It helps me think."
Hank accepted that. "If this doesn't work out—Alex can take care of himself."
"Maybe he can, but he doesn't," Scott retorted, which was difficult to argue with.
Hank parked outside the next bar. He hoped Alex was there, for Scott's sake if not Alex's. In a way, Hank resented what a child Alex had been about this. Sean was gone for all of them. What had happened, it resonated through all of them, it hurt everyone.
Alex didn't try to survive this. He let it crush him.
The back door opened and Scott poured his brother into the car. He leaned across Alex to buckle the seatbelt. Alex said something, but it was incomprehensible. Scott rolled down the window before he shut the door.
"Fresh air should sober you up. And if you need to puke, do it out the window."
He then dropped himself in the front seat.
"Thank you."
"Yeah," Hank said. He couldn't say it had been nothing. It hadn't and they both knew it.
They drove in silence for a while. The rain continued. It didn't seem like enough to soak someone, but there was Scott dripping onto the floor mats. Hank sighed and turned on the heater. Scott leaned close to it, understanding that the open window behind him would make the heater's job tough.
Alex took his big brother's advice and puked out the window.
"You talk to Professor Xavier yet?" Hank asked.
Scott seemed to shrink in his seat. "Remember when you said I'd be embarrassed?"
"Yes."
"I'm embarrassed."
He wasn't sure how to talk about this with Alex. Luckily, Alex had his head out the window like a happy dog or a sick drunk.
"Hank, he wants to adopt me."
Hank took his eyes off the road for a second. He looked from the road to Scott. And again.
"And… is that what you want?"
"I don't know. I mean—yes—he's been like a father to me. But…" Scott glanced toward the backseat to indicate his brother.
"You told me a little while after you arrived that you didn't want anything more than you wanted a forever family."
"Yeah, but…"
Alex sighed heavily as he slumped back on the seat.
"Hank, why do you hate Alex so much?"
"'Cause he's a Beast," Alex groaned.
Scott sighed. Alex wasn't helping by talking like that.
"Never mind." He had his answer.
Again, they were silent for a time. Alex's head dropped forward, his chin resting on his chest. Maybe all that booze had knocked him out. At least he wasn't being rude or violent, which often couldn't be said for him.
"What do you suppose will happen when school starts up again?" Hank asked softly.
"You mean if he goes through with it?" Scott asked, assuming Hank meant the adoption.
Hank nodded.
"I guess, for school—"
"Screw school!" Alex piped up from the backseat. "Glad I didn't go back…"
Scott sighed. "Please, Hank." He couldn't handle the arguments now. And it was unfair. He had pulled Hank out of the lab in the middle of the night to find his drunken lout of a brother. Alex had taken a swing at him when Scott found him in the bar. Of course, he was so soused it didn't take months of krav maga training to duck out of the way.
It was just too much.
But Hank was a good friend. He didn't push back. He drove the rest of the way home in silence, only commenting as he parked, "Scott."
"Yeah?"
Hank hesitated a moment. "Neep."
They both laughed—tired and wrung out, but they laughed.
"Are you okay?" Hank asked.
Scott nodded. "I'll clean up everything."
Hank started to go, then paused. "You're a good brother, Scott."
"Yeah!" Alex groaned loudly. "Good bro."
Then he threw up again.
Scott shook his head. He had to unbuckle the seatbelt, Alex didn't seem up to doing that for himself. He was mostly dead weight as Scott hauled him back to his bedroom. Briefly, he thought that he should have been more cool-headed. He should have changed the sheets and taken out the trash and laundry while Alex was gone.
He settled for dumping Alex onto the bed as gently as possible. He raided Alex's drawer for a pair of socks to pull over his muddy feet, then brought a clean sheet to tuck over Alex, as well as a mixing bowl from the kitchen.
"Alex?"
Alex groaned.
"Alex." Scott shook his shoulder. "Try to puke in the bowl, okay?"
Alex squinted. He pushed Scott's hair back and tried to take his glasses.
"Hey—don't. Alex, don't."
"You look like Dad."
Scott couldn't help but think that Alex wouldn't know. Alex didn't remember their dad.
And whose fault is that? asked the vicious voice in his head. No father would stay for a pathetic son like you.
Scott blinked rapidly, suddenly grateful his glasses hid his eyes. He wasn't crying, not for the second time in one night. He was just tired.
He wanted to take out the trash, but it had so many empty liquor bottles in it and Scott wasn't sure how to hide them. He settled for dragging Alex's laundry basket to his room; he would wash everything tomorrow.
Meanwhile, Scott had his own muddy footprints to scrub from the floor. Then he scrubbed the vomit from the car door and the inside of the car, then the mud he had tracked into the car…
By the time he was finished, his knees and shoulders ached. He was so tired the backseat of the car looked appealing. He could just lie down there and… but no. No, he had been specifically asked not to sleep in the garage.
Scott shuffled back to his bedroom.
He didn't want to—he wanted to go to Ororo's bedroom. That had never seemed acceptable, though. She came into his room sometimes, but he didn't feel comfortable doing the same.
Still, his bed looked delightfully soft and welcoming, and he had just pulled back the covers when he heard a mewl from outside.
Scott pushed open the window. "Artie!" The cat leapt inside, slightly less worse for wear than Scott himself. "Sorry about this, girl." He reached for one of Alex's dirty t-shirts to dry her and flinched when he realized he had grabbed boxers instead. Cleaning someone's vomit was one thing, but that… he shivered and reached more carefully, this time picking up an actual t-shirt.
He used it to towel the cat dry-ish. When he settled into bed, he brought Artie with him. Scott spent a few seconds lying there, feeling every ache in his body. Then the aches and consciousness melted away.
The first thing he noticed when he woke up was the cat asleep against him.