Kevin watched his father look at him with horror, and he ran to him, wrapping his arms around him. He was bleeding now, almost as much as he was bleeding in Cerebro. He had hair now too, but he'd seen him walk, so things were different here.
"Kevin," his father said, his eyes frightened, "What are you doing here?"
He wanted to explain, he really did. The tears pouring hotly down his cheeks were the words he couldn't say, words explaining how he'd seen the blood, seen him jerk and his eyes close. He'd just wanted to tap into his mind, see if he was okay. Jean had done it before, and he knew he was stronger now than he'd been those months ago.
And now, here, in this strange, misty place, with the frighteningly pale man there, Kevin just wanted to beg his father to take them home. He was scared, more than he'd ever been since that night when he'd been the one to throw his mother across the block. That had been the night when he'd seen the man whose blood he carried in himself, however fleeting.
He clutched his pant leg, looking at him, willing him to understand. In the end, he could only speak with the words he'd told the pale man.
"You were my dad before I was your son," said Kevin, "I…I wanted that."
"Touching," the pale man said, "Well, it looks like you're not dying alone Xavier, which is kind of a shame, because I can see some real potential here."
The ground started roiling underneath them. His father grabbed onto him, keeping him in place. Kevin looked around, panicking, wondering what was going on. Something was wrong here, and his head was hurting. Was he bleeding like his father was now?
Kevin looked at the pale man, trying to understand why he was smiling. What was funny about this, about anything he was doing? It was such a familiar expression, and when it was directed at him, he could almost see pointed teeth, like a goblin from a fairy tale.
"Well, not as much as your unborn son, your real son, but, well," the man said.
His smile widened, and Kevin understood.
Why are you crying? Are you a little girl? Did I get a daughter instead of a son? Get up!
This was him, the man who had taken his mother, who wanted his brother. He'd tried to take things from them before, hurt people. Laura had bled because of this man, been separated from her parents. Emma had lost her sister. Kurt had been shot, and so had Peter, and so many things had happened.
This was Essex.
A flicker started deep within him as Essex moved closer. His father shoved him behind him, taking and blocking the first punch. Kevin watched the two, the flicker growing stronger and stronger. His eyes were becoming unfocused, although they seemed so very clear to him.
"Kevin, get out!" his father shouted.
But he couldn't. Once upon a time, he'd hid in his room from his mother, crying from the pain caused by broken ribs. He hadn't wanted her to get hurt, and if he told her what happened, what had been done to him, she'd be hurt. He'd started praying then, praying for the pain to stop, for it to be just him and his mom.
He'd been told it would be wicked to pray for bad things to happen to people, for someone to die. It was the only thing that stopped him from praying for the death of his mother's husband, for a car to run him down and leave him in even more pain than Kevin was in now. He'd hoped for it instead.
It hadn't happened. He'd been too little and weak to help his mom. He hadn't even been seven yet when she got rid of him for good, putting her own life at risk. When his powers came, he wished they'd come years earlier so he would've been able to help her.
But, as he watched his father fight, as something thick and dark built inside, he realized that they had come in time for something different. His mother could've used his help back then. She could use it now, to stop this monster from coming after his brother. His father could use it now too, and he wasn't going to fail his parents again.
Sometimes, people needed to be taught lessons, like the man in the hospital could've, should've been taught. But this wasn't about manners or rudeness. This was about something more.
"GET AWAY!" Kevin screamed.
Essex went flying. He slammed into the ground, looking at Kevin with dark, unblinking eyes. Even his father was looking at Kevin now. Exhaustion was written over his face, as was the blood and pain. No. No more. His father deserved more than this. Kevin deserved more. He was going to get a happy ending, a brother, mother, father, and no one was going to take it from him.
Especially not someone who's eyes reminded him of the man who'd kicked his ribs in.
"Well," Essex said, wiping blood from his lip, "That was unexpected-"
Kevin screamed, and black sand burst from the ground. He thought of the box that had dissolved on the table that night, of the figures in the library all those nights ago. It poured around him, warbling and shaking with his scream before it slammed into Essex, pushing him down.
It continued to pour, to swirl and flow around him. He screamed until he was hoarse, his throat and heart lost in the sound and the dry tears that scorched his cheeks. How had any of this happened? They had been happy. They could be happy again.
A hand pushed through the black sand, shoving him to the ground. He hit his head hard, and looked up into Essex's frighteningly dark eyes. He was snarling now, as terrifying as that night on the ground, fighting the urge to cry for his mother.
"You little piece of-!" Essex snarled.
His father's fist slammed into Essex's face, throwing him back. His father grabbed him by the collar, hosting him into the air.
"I told you: they're not yours to take!" Charles shouted, "You don't get to touch them!"
The second blow shoved him far away. Kevin felt arms lift him up and, for a minute he glimpsed his father's worried eyes. He managed a small smile, and his father grasped him tightly, running as the black sand continued to fly around them.
"Where…where are we going?" he managed.
"Home. I'm taking you home!"
From somewhere, he heard a scream of range. From somewhere, he could feel tendrils of pain begin to tap his mind. An earth-shattering sound was on the brink of breaking loose, of enveloping him and dragging him down with it.
But when he opened his eyes, he was in his father's lap, his sleeve still stained with the blood he'd been trying to dab away. More blood was tinging his lips, salty, like his tears. And when his father looked at him, his blue eyes weren't worried. Instead, they were relieved as he clutched him close.
And, in his mind's eye, still connected to his father's, to the strange machine that hummed around him, he saw a running figure.
Peter spotted Logan, the way his head was cocked and a frown puckered his forehead. He was a feral mutant: maybe he smelt something? It was about as likely as anything he'd come across that day, and if Logan was fast, maybe it could've helped.
As it was, he was stuck pushing the man with the metal skeleton. Peter felt like his arms were made out of water and jelly. Maybe he'd take a page out of Scott's book and pump iron a little bit more when he got back to the school.
He wanted to say that out loud, just in case someone would laugh. However, he knew no one was going to even hear. No one was going to say one thing or the other, and not just because he was going to talk too fast for them to hear.
Peter shoved Logan forward, running as fast as he could. Part of him wanted to check his watch and see how many seconds he had left, but all he had to do was look over his shoulder to see what was happening. The foundations had already begun to crack and roil underneath the strength of the explosives. Fire was starting to swirl from the foundations toward them.
He looked over at Logan, his facial expression still not changing. Peter's whole throat felt dry as he continued to run. The heat was starting to become tangible as it grew, and that meant it was very close indeed.
"I'm sorry," he managed, "I'm sorry I couldn't bring you back to Kayla, sorry I couldn't bring you to Laura. And I'm sorry to them too, because, you're kind of an asshole, but I think they really loved you. Like, tons."
He swallowed, because that wasn't the end. There were so many other people he wanted to apologize to. He wanted to apologize to the Professor for not finishing his degree. He wanted to apologize to Kurt, because Team Lightning most definitely was not going to be a thing now. Kevin needed a sorry since, well, he wasn't going to be there to toss him next time he got upset or crack a joke. His mother needed an apology too, because, despite it all, she'd always tried her best, and he'd never been easy to deal with.
Peter also wanted to apologize to his dad though, tell him he was sorry he was never going to be his son. He'd told the Professor he never wanted him to know if he died before he could tell him, and he still wanted that. His father wasn't in a place where he could lose another child so soon, especially when he'd never gotten to know them first.
But that had been his fault. He'd been the one who couldn't make the words work, the one whose tongue had been made of lead. Maybe, if their positions had been reversed, maybe his father would've claimed him by now. Maybe they would've been closer. His father would be trying to be a parent to a boy who was, in theory at least, old enough to be a parent himself, and he would try to be a son.
The heat was getting hotter, the rubber in his shoes starting to melt. Peter took a deep breath and pushed on. His sight was blurring, but he managed to grin. If he was going to die, he would die doing what he always did: grin, and run like he was on fire.
The irony that, this time, he actually would be, made his smile a little more genuine.
"Dad?" Kevin murmured, "We need to…"
He closed his eyes, pushing his mind in further.
"Kevin, what are you doing?"
"Dad, look for Peter," he said.
His father seemed to become more panicked, and Kevin pressed into his mind. It was surprisingly easy to do, and he became worried. His father's mind was always like a fortress. They needed to rest, to sleep, to something. He wanted that rest.
But then he saw Peter, Laura's father, the flames and debris. They were gaining on him, and Kevin wanted to cry, because while those flames were consuming Essex, they were going to consume Peter and Laura's father soon too. It already felt like his father was pulling him away, trying to shield him from what was coming. What could they do after all? Going into someone's mind wasn't going to help.
The flames were getting closer and closer. His fingers fisted in his father's shirt, his heart weeping any tears he still had left. He wanted to reach out, push Peter and Laura's father out of the way. Kevin's hand raised vaguely toward the image, because they shouldn't feel alone, shouldn't feel forgotten. He wanted to cover them, hold them like his father was holding him.
A curtain of black sand rose from the ground, washing over Peter and Laura's father along with the flames and concrete.