Thanks to hippiechick2112, feathered moon wings, ladygris, ellie, and HalfSquirrel for reviewing! I hadn't thought about that before, but Alex really is a bit like DoFP Charles.

Scott did not manage to undertake his errand that first day, nor the next. Bringing Alex home had been a good first step. While his brother whimpered and puked his way through a hangover, Scott tidied up Alex's room. He did it as quietly as possible, though the junk food wrappers crinkled when he gathered the trash and the booze bottles clacked.

He had a trash can full of empty beer bottles—and some harder stuff—when he encountered Professor Xavier in the hallway. Scott looked from the alcohol bottles, to the Professor, to the floor. He didn't try to defend what he had.

"He's sick, Scott."

"He just—he's sad. Sean, he…"

Professor Xavier shook his head. "Alex and Sean were very important to me and the significance of what's happened is not lost, but your brother is more than sad."

"Please, just let him get better physically."

You let Raven get away with a lot more, Scott thought. Professor Xavier had struggled to defend Raven to the very last, like pulling teeth, up to the moment Raven threatened Ororo.

Scott wouldn't have said it out loud. He saw that Professor Xavier heard him, though—and was hurt.

Fascinating how your mere nearness seems ruinous. How everything you touch is destroyed.

He flinched. The words were familiar, Mr. Milbury's voice from the foundlings' home, and even though Scott didn't remember the day the words were said he knew they were true. Professor Xavier was the last person he wanted to hurt, but he had.

Worthless—

"Scott."

He shook his head. "Um—can we talk later, please? The smell of this stuff makes me sick."

"Of course."

So Scott took out the bottles and went back to Alex's room to dust and sweep. It wouldn't have been so terrible if Alex just slept and moaned, but the farting was beginning to feel like a personal attack and Scott hadn't known a person could scratch himself that often and not draw blood.

At least he didn't wake up often.

The following day Alex's room was clean and Scott had slept through the night with no drunks to chase after. He felt a little guilty about the resentment, but it didn't stop him spending half an hour in bed, wide awake and playing with Artie. Only when the cat lost interest did Scott get up.

He knew he owed an explanation and so, after leaving toast and water in Alex's room, Scott went to the Professor's study. Sounds were muffled by the closed door but this was clearly a phone call. Scott waited in the hall until the silence lasted 75 seconds—the call was definitely over. The he knocked.

"Come in, Scott."

Telepathy is weird, he thought—and realized that had probably been overheard also.

The response: It is a bit, isn't it? Do come in.

So he did.

Scott had no idea what Professor Xavier did all day. Obviously he did something, but Scott couldn't guess what.

"This one time," he began, "we were talking about… what are you afraid of? Laurie said spiders. And those robots, the ones that attacked us. She was really scared of those. Doug said clowns—and robots—and Ororo said… I can't remember now. She said something about pigeons, but she was making that up. I said the dark."

"I didn't know you were afraid of the dark."

"I'm not afraid of the dark. I'm afraid of Mr. Milbury. Sometimes, in the dark, I get stupid. If I can't see that he's not there, I don't believe he isn't… I know he isn't but…" Scott shrugged. It was difficult to explain: fear did not make sense. "Before I came here, I wasn't afraid of him because there was no alternative. I knew no one would ever adopt me, but I think, even more—even more than Mr. Milbury, I was afraid of wanting to be. It would never happen.

"I was afraid to see it, but that was what I wanted: for someone to want me. Keep me. They didn't have to be nice or… or love me or anything. And I'm—I wanted to say this now because you should know that what we talked about the other day, it meant a lot. Everything. I know it seems like I just forgot, I didn't forget."

While he talked, Scott had looked down, watched the edge of the desk. Even though his glasses prevented anyone from looking into his eyes, he felt that he made eye contact with others. He looked into their eyes when he spoke with them. It was only polite. Scott, for all his awkwardness, did after all have manners.

He looked up now, tense with nerves, and was surprised to see the Professor staring at him. He had a look on his face like this had genuinely hurt him.

Suddenly he shook himself, wiped his eyes, and shuffled through papers on his desk like they weren't wholly organized. "Ah—well—I understand that what happened with Alex was outside your control, of course I understand that. When he's past his… illness—which is his own fault, by the way—you need to let me handle this. I appreciate your loyalty and Alex is lucky to have you as a brother, but the other night showed just how far this has gone and it's unacceptable. Now, I don't blame anyone, but it's time I intervened."

Scott nodded. He could accept that. Someone needed to help Alex and, the truth was, Scott was out of his depth. He could clean his brother's room and do his laundry, something he hoped would make Alex feel better about his surroundings, but he didn't know how to make him stop drinking.

Sean was still dead.

"I also took his booze," he admitted.

"What did you do with it?"

Scott hesitated to answer that one.

"Hank or Ruth?"

"Hank."

Charles nodded. "Good choice. You're doing very well, Scott. There's not many people who would do what you have for Alex."

The statement embarrassed Scott, who hadn't been given any praise for most of his life. He bowed his head like he could hide from that awkward uncomfortable feeling. Pride really did require adjusting to.

"Over the past months, I've noticed an increasing willingness on your part to take responsibility for those around you. Your peers have noticed it, too, if not in so many words. They trust you. They're loyal to you."

Scott made a non-committal noise, not seeing where this was leading.

"I want you to understand that your consideration for others and generally sound judgment in a crisis are exceptional qualities. I'm proud of the way you've handled yourself. Day to day, you're still learning. That's why you're going to step aside. It's not a failing on your part."

Scott nodded. "If that's the best thing for Alex."

"You know, as your father, I really should be taking care of you, too. Not just your brother." It was a truly meant but playfully stated observation. Charles had been effectively Scott's father for nearly two years and the actual adoption process was only a formality. It still felt strange to acknowledge what had, before, been a tacit understanding.

"I'm not sure I know how to do that," Scott admitted.

"No… neither do I. But we'll figure it out."