Chapter summary: Peter entertains some kids on a bus; Erik and Charles have a conversation while several states apart.
The bus would take them from Owensboro, Kentucky to Indianapolis in a journey of around three and a half hours. To Erik, who had been on far longer plane trips, train rides and bus rides in his time, three and a half hours didn't sound like much time at all. To Peter, who perceived time very differently than Erik (and Erik was still trying to work out just how much differently), the trip was stretching out into infinity with no sign of the horizon showing up any time soon.
"You didn't bring anything to do?" Erik asked, around half an hour after "Eisenhardt" and son had boarded the bus and settled in. Peter was fidgeting madly, frankly far worse than he had when he had been driving the Nova.
Peter shook his head, the ends of his hair that had come loose of his cap fluttering. "Uh-uh. Thought I'd be driving the whole way."
Erik raised an eyebrow at that, but upon remembering the comment Peter had made that first day—"Do you even have a driver's license?"—supposed there was a good reason he had thought that way. "You might try getting some sleep, then."
To this, Peter demurred as well. "Not tired."
"Then get comfortable. We're not leaving this bus before our stop, not unless the situation gets sticky."
They were going to be making their way across America hitch-hiking and taking buses. Trains had been ruled out; the reason for this was two-fold. One, if they were found out, it would be easy enough for Erik to stop a car or a bus dead in its tracks, allowing him and Peter to make their escape with ease. Not that he couldn't stop a train; it was just that it would be more difficult, more draining, and it would be more difficult to do so cleanly. Two, Peter had confided that if he was to be jumping out of the window of a moving vehicle—especially with a passenger (and one who was bigger and heavier than him, to boot)—things would go better if he could match the speed of the vehicle as soon as possible. Cars and buses were better for that than trains.
And as for why there would be no levitating, the reason for this was also two-fold. One, Erik had never levitated with a passenger before, and he suspected that even if it wasn't too much of a strain for him, it would be too conspicuous. Two, Peter was afraid of heights. Extremely afraid of heights.
Peter soon found something to do: making faces at the little girl sitting on the other side of the aisle from them in the attempt to make her laugh. Soon, he got dragged off to the back of the bus by a whole tribe, it felt like, of little boys and girls, none of whom could possibly be any older than seven. Apart from the parents of these young children glancing back occasionally on their progeny, they were soon forgotten. Peter got along quite well with young children, it seemed. Erik presumed it had something to do with having a six-year-old foster sister.
He occasionally spared a glance backwards himself, but for the most part, set himself to staring out of the window instead, watching ribbons of road and flashes of blue and white and red and black of cars pass by at high speeds. Beyond all that were the rolling hills and green trees, sporadically morphing into flatlands. Rural Indiana was much as Erik remembered it—pretty to look at, but otherwise, it didn't interest him very much.
Erik?
The first time Erik heard it, he didn't recognize the voice for what it was. He had been sleeping at odd hours and considerably less than he was used to for a few days now; as it was, he was on the edge of sleep at this moment, sinking further and further back into the fraying upholstery of the bus seat.
Erik? The next time, the prodding at his mind was more insistent, a voice at normal volume rather than a whisper.
Erik sat upright and frowned, tugging his hat lower over his head so that it concealed more of his face. He recognized that voice, knew only one person currently alive who could actually have a mental conversation with him from several states away. Charles? Erik honestly didn't know whether to feel elated or suspicious at this development. I… Realizing the direction his thoughts were taking ('I'm so glad to hear from you again.'), he paused, before instead settling on a sardonic To what do I owe this… visit?
He could almost hear Charles sigh, though whether from sadness or exasperation or simple weariness, it was impossible to say. Peter, Erik.
What about him? Erik asked cautiously, carefully clearing his mind of any excess thought about Peter. He didn't really think that Charles would do anything to the boy, but the response was automatic. At least he could put the training that Emma had insisted he and the rest undergo to good use.
I'm currently attempting to reopen the school; there's a need for it again. Which was to say that Charles was now sober again and no longer attempting to live in denial of his mutation. Good. Erik remembered Charles as he had been when they first met, confident and self-assured, and even if his tendency to behave as though being a mind-reader meant he had all the answers was a little grating, Erik would take that over the man Charles had turned into in the eleven years since they'd last seen each other any day. It had been both infuriating and horribly depressing to see that Charles had sunk to such abject levels of apathy. Peter Maximoff seemed like a good place to start, but when I attempted to pin down his location with Cerebro, he wasn't in Virginia. Imagine my surprise when I found him with you.
It was more unspoken question with dry tones than accusation, though Charles managed to match Erik's caution (If a bit more subtly). I don't recruit children, Charles. I never have. And really, the implication was rather galling.
Peter isn't really a child, Erik, however immaturely he might behave.
I would argue with you about that, Charles, if I saw any point in it. Regardless, he's quite a bit younger than anyone I would seriously consider recruiting.
Fair, Charles conceded, and in spite of himself, Erik breathed a sigh of relief. (Considering the reasons why… No. He didn't want to consider the reasons why.) So why is he with you, then?
I'm keeping an eye on him—a favor to his mother.
Really?
Erik could almost hear the roll of laughter with the word, a mix of amused and incredulous. He didn't know whether to be offended or to laugh himself at the sheer absurdity of this whole situation. It was still strange to him, from time to time, the idea that he had living children, as much as Erik might be trying to acclimate himself to it. Charles didn't see all of that, though.
Is that so difficult to believe? Erik shot back. In the back of the bus, one of the younger children shrieked with laughter. Peter joined in, his deeper voice seeming jarring after the high-pitched laughs. Erik restrained himself from turning about to look at him.
Yes, actually. You were never much for babysitting, Erik; you always left that to me or others.
There's a first time for everything, Charles.
In your case? If Charles had been sitting in the seat next to him, Erik could have easily imagined him staring at him skeptically. It's possible, I suppose, but not likely. Either you owe his mother a very large favor, or there's something else. Which is it, Erik?
…I suppose it's too much to hope for that you wouldn't be able to tell if I was lying to you.
Why would you need to lie to me? Charles asked pointedly.
Erik got the point. With everything that Emma had taught him about blocking telepaths ("Why do you think the Russians made that helmet for Shaw in the first place?"), he could push Charles out of his mind if he wished to, but honestly… He didn't. Erik didn't want to do that. In this case, it was difficult to be honest with himself, but if Erik was honest with himself, he would admit to being afraid that if he pushed Charles out now, he would never hear from him again. He didn't want that.
So instead, Erik drew a deep breath. He's my son, Charles.
For several seconds, Erik received no reply, and he began to wonder if Charles hadn't withdrawn from the conversation entirely. It wouldn't be so difficult to believe, given the circumstances. He probably would have done the same in Charles's place, with Charles's powers, withdrawn to think about what he'd just been told. But then, he heard Charles's voice in his head, this time carrying with it faint hints of the hysterical behind its flat tones. You're not joking, are you?
Erik sighed heavily. No, I'm not.
What followed was something Erik didn't have the occasion to hear often: Charles stammering. Oh, my God, Erik. I am so sorry; I had no idea…
If you are referring to the fact that you unknowingly recruited my son to help break me out of the Pentagon, thereby alerting the government to his existence and his status as a mutant, then… Just don't worry about that. He's not what I would call easily led, and I doubt that the humans could ever catch up to him, if he was to set his mind to outrunning them.
No one can run forever, Erik, Charles said sadly. Not Peter, and not you.
I've no intention of running.
No, of course not. Not even if the road leads you straight down to Hell.
You know, I left that helmet behind for a reason, but I'm having trouble remembering what that reason was at the moment. The fact that he didn't shut this conversation down right now, Erik supposed, served as proof that at some point during his time in prison, he had turned into a gigantic glutton for punishment. After all, he'd not been this way before he was imprisoned, and it might even explain why he barely even reacted to Charles decking him before he could even get out of that elevator.
Of course, Charles didn't let it drop there. I'm… actually rather curious about that, Erik. Why did you leave your helmet at the White House? It would have been easy enough for you to retrieve it, and given what… happened after it was removed, I would have thought you'd want to take it.
Ah yes, the moment when Raven had knocked Erik's helmet off his head and Charles had taken the opportunity to immediately take over his mind and make him use his powers to get a chunk of debris off of him. Something that Erik would have done on his own if Charles had just asked him.
I heard that, Erik. Charles's tone, such as it was, was noticeably tart. Forgive me for thinking you weren't going to be reasonable, considering you were trying to kill the president and his entire cabinet at the time.
He seemed to be slipping.
You wanted to know about the helmet, didn't you? It would probably be best to steer the conversation back to calmer waters. The reason I left it behind is a simple one, Charles. No more hiding.
No more hiding, Charles repeated. Not that he didn't understand what Erik meant; Erik recognized the tone Charles took to be an invitation for him to explain it himself, even from several states away.
That's right. I won't hide my face from the humans. If he was trying to go about incognito right now, it was more for Peter and Wanda's sakes than for his own (Even if Erik had known Peter for less than a week and had never even met Wanda). It wouldn't do for either of them to be associated with him, if he was captured again. I'm not afraid for them to know who I am. And I won't hide my mind from you.
In that case, please don't give me a reason to make you wish you had.
With that, Charles withdrew from the conversation, pulling his consciousness back to Westchester. Erik craned his head over his seat and stared at Peter. Still surrounded by a ring of grade-schoolers, Peter seemed to have no idea that his father had just had a mental conversation with someone who was currently in New York. Judging by his untroubled expression, it also seemed that Charles hadn't attempted to make telepathic contact with him.
Erik went back to staring out of his window at the cars and road and green hills that seemed more like hazy mirages (fuzzier the closer they were) than actual scenery. Indianapolis couldn't appear on the horizon soon enough.