Once Kayla had fired the first shot, Charles had quickly left Peter's mind. He'd only been there long enough to establish who was where. He'd known where to find Essex, or at least had a good idea. The problem with trying to track another telepath was making sure that you stayed close, but not close enough for them to catch you. It was the same concept as tracking a very powerful mutant. He'd learned his lesson the hard way from fighting Nur.
But they couldn't have a telepath loose in the halls, something Erik had been very clear about and Charles had agreed with. Kayla, in particular, hadn't actually known Essex was a telepath. He'd seen the way she'd seized up when he mentioned that. After having the physical manifestation of control around her neck, to know Essex had never really needed it had frightened her.
However, he'd reassured her that he wouldn't come after her: Charles wouldn't allow it. Essex was a monster, that much was true and, if he could at all be useful, he could at least restrain him to the point where the others could do something.
He found Essex in his lab, tinkering away with a collar design, muttering to himself. Charles gathered himself as Essex straightened, frowning. Then he latched into his mind, wrestling him to the floor.
Charles was surprised with what he'd seen. After the previous debacle with Cerebro, using it to find Essex hadn't been in the cards. He had, however, expected to see the same pale, smirking man who occupied a place in some of his worst nightmares.
Instead, he saw something different. He saw a man whose hand had been stitched together, but from the bent of his fingers, Charles could tell he'd lost mobility. The left side of Essex's face was slack, but also still.
Admiring your handiwork?
The thought was bitter and loud. Charles shook off his shock and pressed in. He needed to keep him from acting, from trying to rally or escape.
You did this you know, snarled Essex pushing himself up, Back at Westchester. Not the hand: X-23's bone structure, especially its teeth, are very strong. I'll have to remember that.
He felt Essex push back, a feeling which shook him in his seat.
What was that that you did then? Essex demanded, What was that?
That, Charles snapped back, was pain.
Obviously.
The answer made Charles want to roll his eyes, but he had something much more important in front of him. Cerebro was amplifying his power now. Although Essex was oceans and continents away, it was the first time he had been able to bring Cerebro's full force to bear on the man.
Slowly, he started pushing Essex to the ground. He fought back, his powers still sharp but weaker than Charles remembered. He thought of the slackened face: paralysis from a stroke? Caused by a brain aneurysm?
Sweat began to bead on Charles's forehead. He breathed in calmly, trying to do things slow and methodical. He needed to conserve energy, do things right. If things went well, he could end it all. There would be no need to drag Essex into the part of his mind fortified like the school. He would be able to see the birth of his son in safety-
Oh, you're expecting the baby to be early? Why is that?
Charles slammed down as much as he could in Essex's mind. The man howled and Charles applied pressure, envisioning a heavily booted foot on Essex's chest. So much of Charles's life had been a prayer that cooler heads would win out, that talking would be an option.
Right now, it wasn't. Right now, the most humane method was keeping him here, pinned to the ground. Essex was still fighting him, but it was getting weaker. It truly could end tonight if everything else went well.
A ripple blasted across his mind, making him loosen his grip on Essex's mind in shock. Essex quickly occupied the empty space, pushing back.
Well, it looks like someone woke up daddy's boy, laughed Essex.
Erik clutched the side of his head, feeling a headache ripple through him. Everyone around him did so too, their brows pinched together. The sharpness of the pain was gone quickly, but the sensation that something was horribly wrong wasn't.
"The hell was that?" asked Logan.
"Dunno," said Chris, licking his lips nervously, "But I don't...I don't think it was good. Think Essex is starting to-?"
"We have someone on that," Erik said brusquely.
He touched his comm, looking around.
"Mystique?" he asked, "Did you feel that?"
"Sure did," she said, the sound of clicking keys audible, "What happened?'
"We don't know yet," Erik said, "Tell you when I find out."
He switched channels.
"Quicksilver, check in," he said.
There was no answer. An unsettling feeling spiked up inside him, and he hoped the speedster was just running so fast he couldn't hear.
"Quicksilver?" he demanded.
Still no answer. Not even static. He locked eyes with Logan for a minute.
"I'd say he's probably fine," he said, "But that's probably bullshit."
Erik grabbed his phone. He dialed Charles irritably, waiting for him to pick up. He knew Charles didn't like using the cell phone when Cerebro was powered up, but this was clearly an emergency.
The phone rang out and Erik swore. John moved a little closer.
"We gotta get goin," he said,
"You shut up," Erik said.
Erik, what's wrong?
Charles sounded strained, but Erik didn't have much time to figure out why.
Peter's missing, he said, We need to find him, but I don't know-
One...just one second. Essex is proving difficult but...yes...I think so.
Erik waited, his hand gripping the phone tightly before shoving it back into his pocket.
Three doors down and to the right. He's not, wait, I just need to-
He took off sprinting, signaling the rest to follow him. Logically, Peter being taken out of commission would mean he wouldn't be able to pick up Kayla. There would be no cover fire, and they would have to loop back to pick her up. The plan would have gaping holes they couldn't afford.
On another, much stranger level, he wasn't leaving the boy behind. No one was going to get left behind just because they didn't have the time to save them, a thought which sang of Charles. However, he remembered Peter's face on the plane, telling him with a part of his life he'd clearly rather forget just to say he hadn't been a mistake. He trusted him, for better or worse.
And then there were his own thoughts, terrified and insidious, as to who Peter was.
He's in there with some sort of...not a telepath exactly. He's doing something to him, Charles said, I'm fighting him but it's different. Whatever he is, he's strong. I need to figure out how to-
You have one minute before I reach him and kill him, said Erik.
Erik!
I'm serious! he snapped, You know I am!
Just...I need...dammit!
He knew it was too much to ask. Charles was fighting Essex, finding Peter and fighting a telepath all at once. But he'd seen Emma's mother use her mutation on enemies, had felt it himself. He knew how that felt, what kind of pain that was.
At the end of the hall, a glass door stood in between him and the room.
I have him distracted, but I can't hold them both! Charles said.
I just need a minute, Erik said, This telepath, is he near the door?
Yes, straight in front of it. Why?
Then let go when he goes blank! Three-
The door was coming close. He reached out his hand.
I can't hold them much longer!
He was almost there.
Two-
Erik!
Three!
Peter blinked, trying to find his bearings. His hand rested on the stair, a hand that was considerably less scarred, less calloused than he'd known. He frowned and flexed his fingers, putting his hand on his cheek.
He looked around him, trying to figure out what was going on, where he was. Obviously he was at his house, but he didn't know what that meant. He hadn't been on the stairs a few minutes before, he knew that much. He'd actually been in a lab, or a factory, right?
His father stormed in from the living room, and Peter stared. No, not father. That wasn't right. He was his stepfather. But...why? There was a suitcase in his hand, a backpack slung over his shoulder. He saw him turn to glare at him as he got ready to head to the door. Peter kept staring.
"What the hell are you doing?" his stepfather snapped.
"Making sure you don't take the silver when you go," Peter heard himself say, "Or any of the good records. Most of the music's shit, but there's some good stuff mixed in."
His stepfather snarled, and he knew he was going to before he did it. How did he know he was going to do it? And those words. He was sure he'd said them before once upon a time, but he also knew he'd been smirking when he said it.
"You know what? Fine," his stepfather said, "I'm done. I'm done with this stupid house, with a freak for a son-"
Szambonurek. The word came out of nowhere, and he didn't even know what it meant.
"-one who isn't even mine!"
Something inside his stomach dropped.
"Huh?" Peter asked.
"Yeah, no point pretending anymore," his stepfather said, "You know what? How about you do everyone a favor after all this is over, go to your mother, and ask her who the hell she screwed when we were engaged? Might be enlightening about how I wound up saddled with you."
Peter stared, his hands feeling less like his and more like a stranger's.
"Only reason I said I'd marry her was because I kept hoping she'd miscarry," he said, yanking the door open, "But she didn't, and she should've."
He spat on the floor.
"You were a mistake, and one I'm glad I don't have to deal with anymore," he said.
The door slammed, but Peter felt frozen in place. Part of him wanted to run after his stepfather, demand to know what he was talking about. He wanted to make sure his mom was okay after all that yelling, but he also wanted to know the truth, because that couldn't be who he was. He couldn't be that, couldn't have come from-
There was a shattering noise, and Peter jerked his head. He was lying on the concrete floor of the room near the hallway on the right side where he came in. His head felt like oatmeal, but someone was kneeling next to him, jerking him up.
Peter looked around him. The door had been busted in, hitting the man with the mismatched eyes. Glass was everywhere, but the man seemed out cold. Three people were babbling about something, but the fourth seemed to be babbling at him.
He blinked another couple of times, and his father, the one parent who had never thought of him as a mistake, was looking at him. His face was hard, concerned, and Peter managed to grin. It was expected of him.
"Heeey," he drawled.
"Are you alright?" his father asked.
"I'm good," Peter said.
"No, are you actually alright?" he demanded, "What did he do?"
Peter grabbed his father's shoulder, using it to pull himself further up.
"Just dredged up some old bullshit," he said, "Nothing new. Just...I thought he was a prisoner here, so I tried to help. I mean, I was wrong but...just..."
His father kept looking at him, and Peter cracked a genuine smile.
"I mean, what a szambonurek, am I right?" he said.
Finally, his father smiled.
"Right," he said.