"Peter? I'm going to ask you again. Do you know why you're here?" Peter looked up at the man sitting across from him and smirked. Xavier was sitting in front of him, a yellow notepad resting on his lap. He had both legs crossed, a skeptical look written across his face while his freshly pressed suit made Peter's skin crawl. The teenager shook his head, and looked down at the blood caked under his nails. He knew why he was here… he just didn't believe it. Xavier sighed loudly and wrote something on his notepad.
"Do you want to talk about it? The outburst?" Xavier asked softly, running a hand through his hair. He set the notepad on his desk and leaned forward in his chair. He eyed Peter quickly, making note that the boy still had the faint stain of blood on his temple. Peter shook his head again, picking at the scabs present on his knuckles. His head was beginning to hurt again, and all he wanted to do was crawl back into bed and sleep. He couldn't believe this was happening… again. This isn't real Peter. Peter shook his head.
"Your father requested I see you today even though our day is Thursday. He said you've been having trouble sleeping, and fitting in at your new school? He said you picked a fight with the kid next door. He's very concerned about you Peter." He said leaning forward further in his chair, placing his hand on the armrest next to Peter.
The teenager jerked away, "He shouldn't be. I'm fine." No. No, you're not fine. Peter listen to me!
"Peter when I first started seeing you a few months ago, you were convinced that all of us- you, your father, me, the boy next door, even your teacher, were, what did you call them? Extra men?"
Peter froze for a second, sucking in a harsh gaze as he raised his head to look Xavier in the eye. He shook his head again, "X-Men."
Xavier laughed softly, "Ah, yes, do forgive me. The X-Men."
Peter yanked at the loose thread at the bottom of his shirt, and chewed his bottom lip. This wasn't right. It didn't feel right. It wasn't real. It couldn't be. He wasn't crazy. He looked out the door window as an orderly pushed an old man in a wheelchair towards a small table occupied by a young girl. He shouldn't be here. He wasn't crazy. The X-Men were real.
"Would you like to talk about the X-Men?" Xavier questioned softly.
Peter shook his head absentmindedly. The young girl had a smile plastered on her face, and she got up gently, giving the man in the wheelchair a tender hug. He didn't seem to notice. He just sat there staring into an empty void. Chills ran down Peter's back as he turned back towards Xavier. Peter, you need to listen to me! Peter clenched his fists as the voice echoing in his head grew louder. Peter!
"Peter?" Xavier tapped his pen against the chair causing Peter to jerk. His eyes were wide and he sucked in another sharp breath as the voice called his name again. Peter shook his head. He ran a shaky hand through his hair, "I don't want to come here anymore."
"And why's that?" Xavier questioned, leaning back in his chair, his eyebrow arched.
"I don't belong here." Peter whispered, clenching his fists again.
Xavier wrote something else on his yellowed notepad and cleared his throat, "You don't belong here? In this institution?"
Peter nodded, "I'm not crazy. Everything I've told you isn't a lie-"
Peter, I need you to listen to me. Something is wrong! Something-
Peter groaned loudly as he shot to his feet, grabbing his head in his hands as the voice screamed loudly. His head was killing him and the voice echoing in his head wouldn't leave him alone, it was making it hard to concentrate. Peter! Please! Listen to me! We need to-
"Shut up! SHUT UP!" Peter yelled, pushing at the hands that grasped his shoulders. He looked up to Xavier standing a few inches in front of him, a worried expression plastered to his face as he tried to calm the teenager down. "Peter, Peter, it's alright, just calm-" Xavier started.
"Shut up!" Peter yelled again, pushing Xavier away again as the teenager collapsed against the uncomfortable couch behind him. "You don't believe me! No one believes me! I'm not crazy! I'm not crazy!"
…
Peter jerked awake as his stomach heaved, spewing whatever was left in his aching gut from his dried mouth. He leaned forward, coughing roughly as harsh air forced its way in his lungs. He sucked in an airless breath as he realized he couldn't breathe properly. The pounding in his head was making it hard to see straight and the heat the surrounded his aching body was suffocating. He wheezed roughly as his fingers pressed against the lock of the car door, forcing the shitty metal open quickly.
He winced loudly as his shoulder collided with white snow and shivered as the cold ice connected with the burning heat living in his skin. It's not real. It's not real. You're going crazy! His stomach tightened and twisted until he was spewing more bile from his mouth, choking as any air that had made it past his lungs, was forced out. He meshed his hands into the snow, feeling the ice press against his burning hands, grounding him to the reality he hoped was right. He took a shallow breath and tried to distract himself; the ground felt so good against his fingers. He groaned again as more bile spewed passed his lips, and closed his eyes. His arms trembled as his tired body began to shake, unable to support him any longer. He coughed, taking a deep breath and trying his best to calm the raging storm inside him.
Peter sucked in another shallow breath as his body threatened to collapse and someone gripped the back of his neck gently. He wheezed in a shaky breath, swallowing as his stomach groaned again and he opened his eyes, turning to see Erik kneeling next to him. Despite the cold that was slowly making its way up his arms, Peter felt sweat dripping down his face and he winced as warmth settled over his trembling body.
He groaned loudly as Erik pulled him upright and the snowy parking lot swam in a mass of white. His side burned viciously and Peter grit his teeth as he gripped weakly at the fiery flesh. His legs gave out beneath him and he fell against Erik, who tightened his grip around Peter's torso, causing the boy to yelp. Erik let go, looking down at the silver-haired boy with surprise and concern. Was Peter hurt?
He eased the teenager in one of the benches outside the Motel Office. He bit his lip as he cupped the boy's fevered cheek in his hand, forcing the teenager to look at him through half-shut eyes. Sweat rolled down Peter's face as bright pink emanated from his already paled face. He looked like he was having a hard time keeping his eyes open, and Erik bit his lip as he called Peter's name gently. The teenager groaned softly but other than that, he didn't respond. This wasn't good. He had gotten bad in such a short time.
"Charles?" Erik asked softly.
Something's wrong Erik. I'm not sure what, but something is very wrong.
Erik felt chills run down his spine as Charles voice echoed through his head. Charles sounded worried… and if he sounded worried, then they were in trouble. Erik shook his head gently and stood, running a shaky hair through his hair as he glanced back towards the shitty car. The blue frame looked barely passable for a car, and Erik wondered if it was worth it force Peter back in and drive the rest of the way to Manchester.
Erik, Charles said softly, the best thing we can do now is let him rest. I can't reach Peter's mind… It's like I'm being blocked. Let him rest and I'll convene with Hank.
Erik groaned inwardly but nodded as he glanced down at the weak teenager, slumped against the wooden post of the Motel. He ran a hand through the teenager's hair absentmindedly, and turned towards the office, opening the creaking door.
He let out a loud sigh as he stepped inside the tiny office, fighting the idea of finding a different Motel as he took sight of the painting covering the walls. Flowers. If there was one thing Erik Lehnsherr hated more than anything, it was fucking flowers. The tiny cramped room was decorated in a flowery catastrophe or pink, yellow and purple blotches; and the sickening scent of intoxicating flowers overpowered Erik's senses. He swallowed, fighting the sick feeling in the pit of his stomach as he pushed the silver bell sitting abandoned on the ugly counter.
An elder woman wearing glasses too big for her face appeared from behind the door. She straightened her red apron and adjusted her glasses on her frail face as she smiled warmly at Erik. Erik shivered as he pulled his wallet from his pocket, chills running down his spine as her continued to watch the elder lady shuffle towards the desk.
"One room, dearie?" The old lady said sweetly, "for you and your-?" She peered around Erik, trailing off as she spotted the silver haired boy slumped against the post outside. Erik swallowed thickly, "He's… uh… he's my son."
Erik grit his teeth as the words left his mouth, feeling like betrayal in his mouth. He pulled some cash from his wallet, throwing it on the counter, as Nina flashed in front of him. He felt a chill run down his spine again at the thought of calling Peter his son. He didn't have a son, only a daughter… had a daughter. But explaining the reason as to why he was trekking it back to God knows where in the dead of winter with a teenage boy who shared no relation to him whatsoever, was a bit of a mouthful and a long story that neither of them had time for.
She smiled sweetly and Erik bit back a sarcastic comment as she took the cash gently. She was too nice and it was agitating, sickening. "It's so lovely to see father and son road tripping through this nasty weather," She said softly as she reached behind her to grab a key off the hook. Erik rolled his eyes as he took the key from her hand, "Yeah… it was kind of a last-minute thing… unforeseeable."
Erik, Charles warned.
A smirk crossed Erik's face and he nodded towards the elder lady who disappeared behind the door again, as he stepped outside in the snowy abyss once again. He pulled his coat closer towards him and grabbed Peter's arm, puling the boy to his feet, who groaned in protest.
Peter tried walking on his own, he really did, but the ground wouldn't stop shaking and the sweatshirt that clung to his body was doing nothing to warm the ice living in his veins. He coughed loudly as Erik pressed him against something solid and he opened his eyes to a spinning hallway of bright colors.
"Peace, love and war, man," He whispered gently, wincing as the words that barely made it past his throat felt like sandpaper. Erik snorted loudly, shaking his head as he struggled to open the thin wooden door. He had one hand pressed against the kid's shoulder in case the teenager took a dive towards the floor, while his other tried to force a metal key into the slot. He grit his teeth as he failed after the fourth attempt, muttering under his breath, "Fuck this."
He pressed his fingers against the cool metal knob, relieved to hear a soft snap as the door swung open quickly. He raised an eyebrow as he glanced down at the hinges, hanging dangerously off the wooden frame. Perhaps he was a little too harsh with that.
He gripped Peter's shirt as he pulled the kid in harshly, biting his lip as the teenager stumbled, grabbing onto Erik's coat as he fell. Peter collapsed against the flowery bed, curling into a tight ball, gripping at his side as pain shot through it again. He felt gentle fingers brush his bangs back and he bit back a whimper. He cleared his throat, coughing again as he bit his lip tightly, digging his fingers into his side, waiting for the pain to pass.
Erik sighed loudly. He wasn't good in these situations. He never knew what to do. Nina was easy; all he had to do was sing to her, then she would fall asleep. He clenched his fists as he walked towards the bathroom, grabbing a washcloth off the wall, wetting it in the sink, before looking up towards the mirror in front of him.
Erik swallowed thickly as he stared at his reflection in the mirror. Tired dull eyes stared back at him, set in a lifeless face that was drained of color. He sucked in a breath as Nina's face flashed in front of him again and he gripped the sink harshly, feeing the ceramic cracking under his grip. It hurt to think of her. It hurt so fucking much! He stifled a soft sob as he let out a shallow breath, wiping at some of the tears gathering in his eyes as memories of Nina hit him in waves. He wanted her back. He would give anything to have her back. To have his kid again. To have her call him dad, if not one last time.
He pushed himself away from the mirror and leaned against the doorframe, clearing his throat, watching the teenager shift to his back on the bed. Erik shook his head softly, clearing the mirrors of Nina from his head as he inched closer towards the bed, kneeling down and pressing the wet rag against the teenagers burning forehead. He bit his lip again as Peter cracked his eyes open. Erik really wasn't good in these situations.
Erik cleared his throat awkwardly, standing even more so, and bringing a purple chair over towards the bed. He plopped down gently, contemplating whether he should get the book he had found from the car, as Peter coughed harshly.
Peter groaned and slung his arm over his eyes, trying his best to block out the harsh light that filtered through the frosted window. His head was killing him, and the light wasn't doing him any favors. At least his side wasn't burning as much, so he considered that a victory. He swallowed thickly as exhaustion washed over him and fear coursed through his body. He didn't want to fall asleep… otherwise…
Erik cleared his through again, "When was the last time you were sick kid? I thought you couldn't get sick."
Peter shrugged softly, biting his lip as heat swept over his body. Awkward silence filled the tiny room and Erik settled back in his chair, believing the teenager had fallen asleep. It made him feel sick as the silence that illuminated from the kid swept through the room with an unfamiliar eeriness. Peter yawned softly, "I was 11."
"What?" Erik responded gently, leaning forward, trying to hear what the teenager was whispering.
Peter winced, his voice hoarse, "Yeah man, I was 11. It was when I got my powers… Mom was having a BBQ in the backyard for one of the neighbors who'd just moved in. She liked doing that sort of thing, ya know? And all of us kids were downstairs in the basement playing hide-tag; it's a game like hide-n-seek except when you find the person you have to tag them before they get away, then they are in charge of finding the next person."
Peter coughed roughly, adjusting his arm, pressing it harder against his eyes, hoping to relieve some of the pressure building in his sinuses, "Anyways, I wasn't feeling all too well that day but I was gunna power through it because I'm strong like my dad… Anyhow, one of the girls tagged me, then I had to chase after her before she hid again, except my head was hurting so bad and it felt like everything around me was moving in slow motion. Next thing I know I was standing in the middle of the backyard. Man, if you could have seen the look on the neighbor's faces, all chatting having a great time then all of a sudden this kid appears out of nowhere. I thought for sure they were all gunna lose their heads."
Erik laughed softly, leaning back in his chair, running a hand through his hair. He shifted slightly so he could take his jacket off, placing it on the table next to him. Peter swallowed, "She told everyone I had mono. Next thing I know my hair turned silver and I could run anywhere I wanted… She… she used to talk about you."
Erik raised an eyebrow as peter shifted again, pulling his arm away from his face, readjusting the rag strewn across his forehead. He sighed loudly as he turned to face Erik, pain flashing across his face briefly as he shifted to his side.
"My mom use to tell me stories about you," He whispered, closing his eyes, letting his arm hang dangerously off the side of the bed, "Tell me about how she once knew a man who could bend metal."
Erik nodded, "Those must have been some scary stories."
Peter shook his head gently, "Sometimes, but mostly she glorified you. I guess you could say she had a bit of a crush…"
Erik snorted. The things I've done, he thought, If only you knew kid.
"He-" Peter broke off, sitting up suddenly, coughing, trying to clear whatever thing was trying to block his airways. He couldn't breathe, the pain in his side burned harshly and he let out a loud cry as he hunched forward, gripping his side tightly. Tears threatened to spill from his eyes as Erik shot up suddenly, pressing his hand to the teenagers back as panic coursed through his body. Peter gripped at Erik's shirt tightly as he let out another cry, curling tighter into a ball. Peter let out another cry as pain shot through his side again, "God, it- it hurts…"
Erik glanced down at teenager's hand, wrapped tightly around his midsection as Peter's body lurched forward, his mouth clenched shut. The tears that streamed down the boy's face, sent waves of concerned panic through Erik's veins as his mind screamed for Charles to tell him what to do. He pushed the boy's bangs back gently, trying his best to offer some type of comfort to the teenager, as Peter's body lurched again.
Peter let out a pained breath as he clenched his fist, feeling his nails digging into his palm, blood dripping down his hand as the fire that burned against his side began to die. He eased back towards the mattress, pressing his sweaty forehead against the while sheets, closing his eyes and concentrating on is ragged breathing as the pain that flagged his side turned to a dull ache. He coughed roughly sucking in a short breath as he wiped some of the tears that clung to his cheeks. He shook his head as Erik asked him something, not really sure if that was the correct answer, and flinched as Erik pressed his hand to his forehead.
Erik sucked in a breath as his fingers connected with a worrying heat present beneath the boy's bangs, and he grasped at the bottom of the teenager's soiled sweatshirt, pulling it up, trying to pull it over the boy's head. Peter let out a strangled cry at the sudden movement and Erik froze momentarily, "Peter. Listen to me, I need to get your shirt off. I need to see."
Peter fought weakly as Erik forced the shirt over the boy's head, pulling his other shirt over his messy curls, and Erik froze. Ice ran through his veins and Erik's heart stopped momentarily as he stared down at the greenish blue painting Peter's side. Tiny cuts littered his side in a mess of red and yellow puss, hidden beneath a giant greenish blue bruise. Erik pressed against the wound gently, stopping when Peter let out a soft cry. Erik could feel something under his skin and he felt anger flood his senses. Metal.
He glanced towards the teenager. Peter looked barely conscious. Sweat plastered to his face, and he bit his lip, staring at Erik through half-lidded eyes. Erik felt a pang of guilt wash over him; Peter looked so young. This was Erik's fault.
Peter sucked in a shallow breath, gripping the bedsheets in his hands tightly before giving Erik a small nod. Erik let out a sigh, running a soft hand through Peter's sweaty hair as he glanced back down at the angry wound decorated across Peter's abdomen. He ran a hand through his hair, and stepped away from the bed, walking towards the bathroom.
Erik stood there for a while, staring at his tired reflection in the mirror again. He gripped some towels in his hands, while old eyes stared back him. This was his fault. He should have known Peter was hurt. Whether Erik liked it or not, Peter was his responsibility… he was still a kid. Erik swallowed loudly, walking back towards the bed, sitting on the edge gently, running his hand over the hot skin as Peter winced.
The skin was inflamed, and angry looking. It was infected, which probably was from Peter's body trying to heal itself. Why wasn't Peter healing? Why hadn't he healed properly? Even a wound like this, should have only taken a few hours or at most a day to heal. But it had been 4- 4 days.
Erik shuttered as he pressed against the boy's skin again, causing him to flinch. Erik could feel every piece of metal beneath the battered flesh. They were small, but deep… and there were many of them. Memories rushed back to him as he tried to recall when this could have happened… unless he was hurt when she died…
Erik sighed, as he knelt down on the floor, placing both hands on the hot skin. He didn't want to do this. He wasn't entirely sure what he was doing… and if he did it wrong, he could kill Peter. To be completely honest the kid probably needed a doctor; hell, the kid needed Hank. But they weren't here. No one was here… not even Charles. Erik took a deep breath.
"Shit kid. This is gunna hurt." Erik said, pressing his hand gently against the speedster's side once more.
"Just do it, man." Peter said weakly, gripping the bottom of the sheets again. He swallowed the tears forming in his eyes as Erik pressed against his side. He should have told Erik, but he figured he would heal. He wasn't sure why he wasn't healing… and besides, the girl had died, so he deserved this.
"Be strong kid," Erik said, flexing his fingers, "Be strong, like your dad."
Confusion etched across Peter's face as Erik reiterated the same words Peter had said earlier. He yelped loudly as pain lit up his side, and Erik forced the metal hidden beneath Peter's flesh to move… slowly. Peter cried again, biting his bottom lip, tears pooling down the side of his face as blood oozed down his chin from where his teeth broke through skin. Erik felt a tinge of pride wash over him as Peter tried his best to stifle his cries. He didn't scream, he didn't beg, and he didn't ask to stop. Peter squirmed, his body trying to get away from the thing causing him pain, and Erik gripped the teenagers shoulder tightly under his free hand, forcing him to still. Peter sucked in a short breath, letting out a choked sob as the first metal shard protruded from the battered flesh, blood pooling down, staining the white sheets.
"Easy, easy kid, we're almost done." Erik whispered gently. He grit his teeth as Peter tried his best to be still. Erik tried to be quick but he didn't want to risk hitting any major organs. Peter might be able to heal faster than normal but Erik wasn't willing to risk any vital organs based on the fact. Especially since it seemed like the teenager was having trouble healing at the moment. Peter gripped at Erik's hand pressed against the his shoulder, willing himself to grab onto something real, to stay conscious. He bit back another cry as more metal was ripped from his body roughly.
Erik bit his lip as Peter's body stilled under his hand, and turned to glance at the kid's pale face. His eyes were closed and his breathing was shallow and ragged as Erik pulled the last metal shard from his side. He grasped the metal in his hand, throwing the bloodied shrapnel against the table and turned back to face the boy, lying silent on the bed. Blood flowed from the tiny wounds present against the boy's pale flesh, and Erik cursed inwardly at the crimson bed sheets. Their innocence now stained forever.
"Peter, you with me?" Erik said sternly. The kid's face was glistening in sweat. His hair was drenched along with his body and the kid's breathing still hadn't evened out. Erik pressed his fingers against the boy's throat, relieved to find the kid still had a pulse. He pressed the towel against the speedster's side, soaking up as much blood as he could, hoping the bleeding would stop soon. He ran a hand through the boy's hair, pressing his palm against his scorching forehead as he called for the teenager again.
"Peter!" Erik said louder this time, wiping his hands on the towel and shaking the kid's shoulder gently. Worry was beginning to course through his body as the kid laid unresponsive. He threw the towel towards the ground and shook the boy's shoulder once more. He let out a sigh as Peter groaned loudly, coughing as the world came back into view.
"T-That all you g-got, old man?" Peter shivered slightly, opening his eyes slightly, to see a blurry image of Erik. He winced, his mouth feeling dry and heavy, his body feeling weak. He closed his eyes, feeling something wet touch his forehead and flinched as something touched his raw side.
Peter opened his eyes slightly, forcing his head up slightly, to see Erik sitting on the edge of the bed, cleaning the open wound he had just created. Erik glanced up at Peter and gave him a half-hearted smile, "You did good, kid. Get some sleep."
Peter nodded as he let his head fall back on the pillow heavily, and impending darkness took over his aching burning body.
….
"Peter, would you like to talk about the X-Men?" Xavier asked softly, writing something down on his yellowed notepad. He crossed his legs, and tapped his pen against the leather chair. Peter shook his head as he watched the ink slowly leak from the black pen, dripping down Xavier's fingers. Peter glanced up at Xavier, "I don't want to come here anymore…"
Xavier nodded slowly, "Uh-huh, and why's that?"
Peter sighed loudly, running a hand through his blonde hair, "I don't belong here."
"You don't belong here? In this institution?" Xavier cocked his head slightly, a questionable look masking his tired features.
Peter nodded, "I'm not crazy. Everything I've told you isn't a lie." Peter! Peter, listen to me! Peter shook his head gently, leaning back against the chair.
"I don't believe you're crazy Peter, just ill. And I do believe that you believe that everything you've been telling me is the truth," Charles said softly.
The teenager grit his teeth, "Don't do that Professor."
"Do what?" Xavier questioned.
"Don't- just- just don't" Peter leaned forward, studying the gentle features present on Xavier's face. His face was kind and gentle, and it sent shivers down Peter's spine. This isn't real. This isn't right. Peter listen to me!
Xavier sighed, "You called me Professor. Why?"
"You know why," Peter groaned loudly. He ran a hand through his hair again. They had been through this countless times, and yet Xavier always managed to play dumb. It was agitating.
Xavier scribbled something on his notepad again, "Because I'm part of the X-Men?"
Peter shook his head, "No, you're the one that started it all. You're the one that started the X-Men. You're Professor Xavier."
"Ah, I see. Why not Doctor?" Charles asked gently, his eyebrow arched. He leaned forward, waiting for Peter's reply. Peter groaned again, agitation coursing through his body, "How should I know. When we met, you introduced yourself as Professor, not Doctor."
"Ah. How did we meet Peter?" Charles asked, running another hand through his hair.
Peter turned to looked back out the window. The old man was gone now but the girl still sat there. She was clutching a cup in her hand, and Peter assumed it was the shitty coffee they had down the hall. For an institution that thrived on crazy, you'd think at least one person would be crazy enough to make a decent cup of coffee. He exhaled loudly as he looked towards his father pacing back and forth in the hallway. He looked old and tired, worn down… it didn't help that Peter was his son… He glanced towards the office and smiled gently towards Peter, giving a small wave as the teenager turned back towards Xavier.
Xavier nodded slightly, before setting his notepad on the table next to him, and standing slowly. "Peter," He started, "I'm going to have a quick discussion with your father outside. Then you can go home, okay?"
Peter nodded as he watched Charles exit the small office. He leaned back against the leather couch and ran a hand through his hair. Charles was going to tell Erik he was getting worse; he was going to suggest Peter live here… at least his father would disagree… hopefully. Peter closed his eyes briefly as the voice echoed softly in his head, Peter! Peter! I need you to listen to me… please… you're in trouble.