There was no time to think. That was what Raven would tell herself, both at the time and after, for years after. Everything happened so fast. It wasn't a question of choice.
But Mystique knew different. Mystique, the part of her that had been steadily eclipsing the sheltered girl-woman Charles had made of her ever since Erik and Shaw and all of that exploded into their lives – she owned herself and what she did. She owned the choice that she had made: to live. To keep her child alive. To let Sean die.
That had been her first thought, as they exploded into being on the beach, into fire and blood – to find Sean. Without saying a word, she and Azazel had both broken into a dead run toward the house, toward the plume of oily smoke that belched from the punctured roof, the furnace-roar of the fire that was consuming the rickety wooden façade from the inside. They were picking their way over the perforated corpses of their comrades, cut to pieces by snipers (How many? Where?) as they fled the inferno. They found Sean at the back, helping choking, weeping survivors out of a broken window. His soot-smeared face was set in a grimace, and he barely glanced at the other two as they drew alongside, just barked:
"Missile hit. Not three minutes ago. Most everybody dead, I couldn't get them out-"
He broke off to pull a limp teenaged girl out over the window ledge, dumped her onto the ground. When she made to curl into a trembling ball, he yanked her to her feet, shook her hard. She whimpered, cradling what looked like a broken wrist. Sean bellowed into her face:
"RUN! Do you hear me? Don't group together. Split up and run, NOW!" He actually pushed her towards the line of trees, and stumbling, she disappeared. The sound of gunfire crackled after her.
Raven became aware Azazel wasn't behind her anymore. She barely had time to panic before he popped into existence again, holding a bleeding Vitae in his arms. The plant-charmer was unconscious, grey with smoke inhalation. Azazel met her eyes, gave a barely perceptible shake of his head. She turned her back, unable to watch while Azazel did what had to be done, gave the dying boy release from pain, from capture.
Sean barely seemed to notice; the young redhead's eyes had changed since she had seen him last – something had gone forever, erased by the sight of broken young bodies, by fear and rage. He ducked. Grabbed Raven's elbow and pulled her down as a line of bullets strafed what was left of the wall above their heads.
"Oh yeah, also, it's not over. They're here. Fucking marines or some shit, all in black. They must know what we are, what we can do – they haven't moved in yet. They're hoping to just pick us off from a distance. If I only had my suit-"
A blood-chilling scream came from somewhere on the upper floor. It was no cry for help – it was a sound of pure agony. Raven tried to convince herself she couldn't smell the burning flesh; her stomach lurched. Azazel, who was crouching over her, shielding her, looked up, hesitated for a moment – then touched her on the shoulder, and was gone. Raven met Sean's gaze, and they shared a moment of bewildered horror. How did this happen? She could see him register the wordless question, saw him shake his head.
"You shouldn't be here, Raven. You have to get out now-"
And that's when the enemy came round the side of the house, all black balaclavas and shouted commands in some kind of military-sounding code. That's when white-hot fear exploded in her, and she felt herself change-
The first man rounded the corner, gun cocked. He pointed it at both of them, and then shot three bullets into Sean. Raven flinched violently as the boy who had called himself Banshee rocked with the impact, and fell hard against her, fell through her violently trembling arms to the ground with a grunt.
The soldier lowered his gun, and said to Raven "What are you doing here? Get back to your unit! Have you had visual of the target?" Raven stood frozen, mouth opening and closing, eyes darting from the man with the gun to Sean's bleached, staring face. The soldier's eyes showed hesitation, narrowed in suspicion, widened in sudden realisation. He jerked up the gun, but the moment's hesitation was just long enough for Azazel to materialize behind him and put a sword through the back of his neck, jerk it out so hard the man was practically decapitated. The body fell in a messy heap on top of Sean's. He turned to her, his eyes icy, bloody blade raised.
Raven put her hands up to her mouth in horror, found it swaddled in a black balaclava. She looked down at herself, saw the black military-style fatigues, the steel capped army boots, the skin she had slipped into to protect herself – to make Sean, not herself, the first target. She shuddered violently into her skin. Azazel jumped.
"Siniy ved'ma?" He grasped her shoulders, seemed to be almost holding her up. She gazed into his face.
"We can't save them." She heard herself saying it as if the words weren't hers, as if they were coming from somewhere far away. Azazel shook his head in wordless confirmation. She stood up straight and grabbed his hand, and in the voice that contained a thousand voices, the voice she still couldn't summon at will but that she felt instinctively was her real voice, commanded him.
"Get us out of here. Now."