Thanks to feathered moon wings, ladygris, and hippiechick2112 for reviewing!

Something was wrong.

Scott felt it the moment he stepped into the house. The entryway felt not calm but shadowed, the very air silenced. His pulse sped up. Immediately his mind went to the most important thing, to the adoption. Had something gone wrong? It wasn't a sure thing, believing it was a sure thing had been a mistake, he should have known…

He slipped off his shoes quietly. Something was wrong and Scott knew he should think about Ororo and Alex, make sure they were okay, but first he needed to get to his room. He needed a moment to collect himself.

Needed a shower, too, and some water. Although bicycle was his primary method of transportation, an entire day and more than twenty miles was exhausting even for him. His backpack seemed to cut into his shoulders, even though it wasn't heavy.

He only made it a few feet.

"Scott?"

He paused.

"Come here, please."

That was not a request. The Professor's tone was wrong. Something bad was happening—had happened—and Scott felt an overwhelming awareness of it. His life had been once more swept out of his control.

He walked like a string puppet into the room no one could name. The living room, sitting room, parlor. Professor Xavier and Ruth were there, the expressions on their faces confirming what Scott already knew: things were bad.

He opened his mouth, but couldn't bring himself to ask.

"Have a seat."

He did, letting his backpack and shoes slide to the floor at his feet. Scott looked between Ruth and Charles, his mind running a litany of worst things. Would he have to leave? To go back to Omaha? Maybe—maybe he could stay, but just not be adopted. He could live with that. It was only a formality, right? So everything would be okay.

"This afternoon, Ruth and Alex went to pick up his car…"

The words floated over Scott, translating into meaning, into clues, as his mind worked at its peak efficiency to figure out what had happened.

Alex had been drunk. Sick. He had been drinking so much.

"Is Alex okay?" Scott interrupted.

"Alex is fine."

Throughout all of this, Ruth had been uncharacteristically silent. She had not said a word. Meanwhile Professor Xavier leaned forward and spoke in gentle tones. It was what he did to keep someone calm; Scott was familiar with that.

He believed it.

Alex was okay.

Then…

Realization shattered over him. No no no… but it was, and he knew it. A numb, cold feeling spread through his body.

"Artie."

The Professor nodded. "I'm so sorry, Scott."

Scott nodded, bobbed his head, something to do. A response when he wasn't ready to give a response.

Artie had been his first real friend. When he was still guarded with Hank, Scott found himself feeling calm with Artie. Things were simple. She was the ugly, filthy, flea-ridden thing he brought home one day hidden inside his sweater. (Hank told him not to go anywhere but to the bathroom to shower and shove his clothes in a garbage bag, then take it directly to the laundry room and wash everything. At the time, Scott did not realize how worried Hank was about fleas.)

More than that, Artie was the first time Scott didn't feel weak and under someone's control. He could care for her. It wasn't much, but for a whole new way of thinking, 'not much' is a nice introduction.

Now the feelings of connections and strength rushed out of him.

"This is my fault," Ruth volunteered. "Alex was not ready to drive, I never should have—"

"No. It's okay," Scott said. "I mean it's not—it's not okay, but it's… it is what it is." He looked between the two of them. His eyes stung, but his glasses hid the gathering tears. "Where is she?"

They traded glances.

"At the vet in town. She's being cremated."

Scott nodded. "Okay," he said. He rubbed his face like he wasn't sure if it was numb or hurting. "I'll, uh… I just need a minute to…"

He didn't know 'to what'. Luckily no one asked. The Professor told him, "Of course."

Scott picked up his backpack and his shoes and, as he tried to do earlier, made his way to his bedroom. All he could think was that he needed to be alone. It wouldn't make anything better, but he felt like he had a gaping hole in him—the least he wanted for it was privacy.

He wanted to just forget and move on, but his memories had other ideas. They flashed back to mornings waking up to a cat curled against him, the nights he slept on the floor because it was too hot for the bed and Artie made herself comfortable on his chest. The way she bit his nose to wake him up. How he had admired that cat because while it took him years to settle in, she simply arrived and decided she was home.

He was going to his room to be alone and be sad, and he genuinely would have done that—had someone not coincidentally been in the same area. Alex gave a furtive look and visibly considered ducking out of sight.

To his credit, he did not.

The brothers paused, looking at one another like strangers. Then Alex said, "It was an accident. I—"

Something about those words snapped Scott's mind in half. An accident. Everything he had done—everything he tried to do—and Alex… was careless!

Scott slammed his brother against the wall, an arm across his throat.

"No—more—accidents!"

Alex nodded. He was wide-eyed, if not scared then at least shocked by his brother's sudden change. It wasn't being shoved around. Alex had been in fights, won some and lost some, but this wasn't Scott.

"No more. No more accidents, no more drinking, no more apologies! You're going to stop skipping school, Alex. I'm going with you, from now on, every day! Because I don't trust you anymore. I can't trust my own brother, do you know what the feels like?"

There was a long, loaded silence in which Scott realized they had an audience. He had been shouting.

"Let him go." The Professor said it gently, but Scott recognized the warning tone.

He stepped back.

The look on Alex's face was difficult to read, a mix of shock and regret and, like everything in Scott's world, many tones of red. But more than anything else, he looked like raw pain. Like it was his pet gone.

"I'm sorry."

It should have been the right thing to say. More, that should have been the right way to say it. Alex genuinely regretted what he had done and it weighed on him in a way Scott should have understood—who should recognize regret more than the boy who blamed himself for every pain anyone's life?

All he could do was turn away.