It's a Metaphor
The fun thing about moving into the X-Mansion was that Peter seldomly felt bored anymore. There was always something to do. Someone awake. Someone ready to get up to mischief. A completely new experience for an otherwise perpetually bored speedster with attention issues.
On the other hand, things moved incredibly fast, and SOMEHOW it had already been more than three years since he had last seen his father. And although he very much knew where the guy was, he hadn't managed to tell him yet. Every day it just got harder. More ridiculous and more daunting, because honestly? Every additional day would probably make the man angrier… Peter more of a disappointment… and he couldn't even really fault the guy. He'd be mad, too.
Both Raven and Ororo had stopped asking him about it now, so at least there was that. Occasionally he wished they'd pester him about it. Maybe he'd finally find the courage, if someone just MADE him. Was it the cowardly approach? Did he realize that? Was he ready to change it? No.
With his 30th birthday coming up in two days, though, Peter was seriously grappling with his family drama again. He was downright excited when the Professor's voice in his head ordered them downstairs into his study. A rare occurrence, because the man hated trying to get into Peter's mind. Why was a TOTAL mystery. Honestly.
Naturally Peter was the first to arrive, taking the room's best chair directly in front of the desk, startling the Prof, like he did most of the time.
It's the little things, Peter thought and grinned wildly at the telepath.
"Ah Peter, how has your day been so far?"
"Pretty nice. I got a crate of pears for the students, and they all seemed very happy about it. Make sure you get one, too. Before they are all gone."
"And where, pray tell, did one of my teachers get those pears?"
"From an orchard in Oregon."
The Professor breathed out through his nose as Scott, Jean, Raven and Hank walked in together, finding seats, too. That only left Ororo and Kurt, which was weird, because why would Kurt of all people be late?
There was a loud poof in front of the door and the last two X-Men hurried through, laughing.
"Is that… ice cream?", Peter stared at their hands.
"Yes.", Ororo grinned and sat down next to him.
"Why didn't you bring me any?! Hello? I always bring you stuff!"
"We did, actually.", and Kurt handed him an ice cream cone. Chocolate.
"Yay! Thanks! You are forgiven for not taking me with!"
"We didn't ask for your forgiveness, Peter."
"And still, I gave it to you. That's very magnanimous of me, Storm. Admit it."
"Oi, I wasn't..."
"Children", the Prof interrupted them. Children? Wow. He was annoyed, alright, "I have just gotten a phone call from one of Erik's people."
Oh shit.
"Is he alright?", Raven's voice was urgent.
"He's missing. Has been for three days. Apparently he was in Hamburg, Germany, picking up a family of mutants. They made it to their pickup point, he stayed back to check something out. No one has seen him since."
"Who manages to kidnap Magneto?", Hank sounded as confused as Peter felt. How, indeed.
"Please don't call him that. Not in this house.", the Professor sighed, and Peter once more realized that he really shouldn't dismiss whatever history those two had. He'd taken a front seat to their reunion after a decade apart and… whatever those two had been up to, he usually chose to ignore it. Unless Xavier threw it in his face like this.
"Why did they call us now?", Raven asked.
"Apparently Erik has a very strict 'Don't involve the X-Men in our drama'-policy, but after three days of no leads, they have decided that a mad Erik is better than a dead one."
"Is it? Really? Have they seen him mad?", Jean asked, and Peter would have laughed, if he weren't so fucking worried. His father was missing. MISSING. Hank was right. Whoever had the juice to do that, meant business.
"I tried locating him with Cerebro, but no luck so far. I'll keep trying, though."
"Like, what's the point of that thing, if everyone and their grandma can just block you?", Peter's voice sounded much harsher than he had anticipated and everyone turned to stare at him. Raven, he noticed grudgingly, looked understanding. And Ororo reached over to pat his shoulder. Great. Just great.
"That was… rude.", Xavier looked at him under raised eyebrows, "I can assure you, I am doing everything I can. One of Erik's people is already on their way, bringing every intel they have gathered. They do have contacts all around the world. If we share our information, I am sure we'll be able to find him."
"I'll go and check out Hamburg."
Peter had been training, of course. He always did. He managed to make his way to Germany in roughly a minute. Ten years ago, he would have taken hours. Nowadays? Child's play. Then he checked streets, building, airports. He checked around Hamburg. He checked everything he could think of. The man couldn't be gone. Peter STILL hadn't told him about their connection, so he didn't have the right to just check out. Peter couldn't be too late. Not again. Not this time. The man better be alright!
No luck anywhere. Damn it. So he turned and ran towards his father's hippie commune, scaring a couple of people there half to death. He didn't care.
"Anything?!", he asked the first person he could find, two men on a watchtower.
They both just stared at him in shock.
"Heeeeeeellllllloooooo.", he drew his words out, in case he had been too quick again, "Any news?"
Dude one reached for his radio, "We have Quicksilver here, asking after Erik."
Cool. Not that he had ever given them that name. But apparently he had a reputation.
"Yes. You have. Anything?"
"No, nothing.", the guy to the left told him with a heavy French accent.
"Where exactly was he taken?"
"What? Why? We sent everything we have. Have they found him?", the radio crackled.
"Bahrenfeld, Lise-Meitner-Platz."
Damn it, he'd been there.
He'd check again anyway.
"Thanks.", so he ran back.
In the end he wasn't sure how much time he had actually spend searching continental Europe. It wasn't like he could enter every house or something like that. It was more of a 'running around and hoping for luck'-thing. Well. Probably more of a 'I can't just sit still and do nothing'-thing. But he wouldn't admit that to anyone.
Really, really unwilling to make it back to the school and face failure, he decided to zick zack back over the Atlantic. He'd searched anywhere else. As dumb, stupid luck would have it, he spotted a helicopter not too far off the east coast that looked… suspicious. He would have taken some time to look, if that hadn't meant becoming familiar with the Atlantic's water, so instead he simply followed the thing's trajectory to find where it had come from… an oil rig. Mh. Nothing special there. Still. He had made it this far. Running up he reached the platform and… spotted soldiers. Soldiers? On an oil rig? No. Way. The inside very loudly screamed "secret laboratory" and it took Peter under ten seconds to find a door he couldn't immediately open. Well. Nice try, people. He ran into several offices, past heavily armed guards, and… wait. Heavily armed guards with PLASTIC weapons. Be here. Just be here. Be here, be okay. Just please, please, please.
In a lab not too far from the locked door, Peter found the treasure he'd been hoping for: a note saying 7681 taped to the underside of a desk and a set of keys. One he had seen before. Meant to unlock a Mutant Inhibitor Collar. Jackpooooot.
Finally he made his way through the door and into a tiny little room, covered in glass. Ceiling. Floor. Walls. Everything was just a giant mirror. Ooooookay. He couldn't see any cameras, but there might be some behind the glass. Still, there was nothing for it now. He left the door open a tiny bit and finally dropped to normal speed, hoping he wasn't making the biggest mistake of his life and that maybe, possibly, the professor was watching. The room's one door was closed, so he threw it open and found more mirrors… and his father sitting on the floor, chained to the wall and wearing a MIC. Bingo.
"Dude, everyone's looking for you, and you are just hanging out, mh?"
Erik's head whipped up in almost Peter-Speed. His face had bruises all over, and he looked pretty pale beneath those, but at least he seemed to be otherwise alright.
"Peter? How… how did you get here?"
"Ran. Obviously.", he rolled his eyes and pulled the key out, unlocking the collar.
"Your powers not working?"
"The chains are titanium. Not magnetic."
"Mpf.", Peter tried some of the other keys. Lucky, again.
"Let's move then."
Erik got up, looking somewhat shaky, but at least he was standing.
"You good? Do I need to carry you?"
"I'll be fine. They drew a lot of blood. And this morning I got a lumbar puncture for good measure. Don't worry. I heal quick."
"Great. Then let's get moving. I'll try to get them out of your way."
"Where are the others?"
"I don't know. Westchester?"
"What? You came alone?"
"Yeah. They are slow."
"So you what? Searched Germany all by yourself?", they walked towards the outside door. No need to alarm anyone too quickly.
"I searched Eurasia, actually. But we are on an oil rig off the coast of Canada. Been going roughly 20 hours."
"You… so you are much faster than I thought you were."
"I get faster all the time. Problem is, I can't carry you all the way to Westchester. My body is made for it. If I try that carrying you, my hand won't be enough to protect you."
"Anything that's big enough to carry us, I can use. Well…", and he looked pretty pained while admitting this: "Maybe not anything. I'm still a little… sedated."
"Great. You are useless."
"Excuse me? I'm not useless, you little brat."
"Maybe we should stay inside for a bit? Give the others a chance to come find us?", Peter thought out loud.
"That could take hours. Charles might see us, or he won't."
Peter hadn't seen many people anyway. Not inside, at least. Outside, though…
"Stay here.", he told Erik sternly, "I'm going to throw some soldiers off an oil rig. And find a phone."
"Fine. Just… fine."
So that was exactly what Peter did. Wuiiiiiii, flying soldiers! They'd probably be able to climb back up, but their weapons would be useless and anyway, he could just throw them back in.
Then he ran past Erik and into the office he had raided earlier. There was one dude he duck taped to a corner, so he'd be harder to spot. Peter reached for the phone. The professor's number didn't work. Right. Another area code for the US. Hurrrrrrrryyyyyyy.
"Xavier."
"It's Peter. Found him on an oil rig. Latitude: 53.956796 Longitude: -54.299351."
And he hung up. No time to waste, when the people here were prepared to fight Erik and the dude was a sitting duck.
Returning to Erik, he realized the man was weaker than he let on, leaning against the wall, so Peter hooked his father's arm around his shoulder and stabilized him a bit. The fact that Erik didn't protest was probably proof enough that he wasn't all there.
"Who got the drop on you anyway? Isn't that a bit embarrassing? You can control metal, man, and can fly and stuff, and you just… let yourself get kidnapped."
"When you become too big of a nuisance for too long, they'll put a lot of resources into fighting you. And they've had plenty of time with me."
They had almost made it to the one helicopter on board, when something behind them moved. Peter hadn't expected someone from inside to come outside. In the stress of being this close to his father, being hungry AND sleep-deprived, he had kinda forgotten all about the nerds inside. He also couldn't move as quickly as he normally would, while still carrying Erik. There was a sudden jolt, as Erik moved with practiced ease behind Peter, as if to shield him. No. Not 'as if'. That was exactly what he was doing. Peter sped up, but he couldn't see a bullet or anything, just a woman in a lab coat, holding one of those stupid plastic guns. He let his father's arm go, and the woman joined her comrades down below, before he returned to Erik, who was still standing exactly where Peter had left him.
"Damn, that was close. Dude, were you actually trying to protect me?"
Erik just stared at him for a second, looking slightly dazed, before he sank to his knees.
"Erik!"
Terrified, Peter went down in front of him. Blood. There was blood coming from a small hole in his father's back.
No. Oh, shit. Shit. SHIT!
Erik raised his arm and all around them, metal started flying, closing the exit they had just come from and piling up to form a wall around them. They were alone now, just them and the one open side showing the sea.
"Useless, eh?"
"I didn't say that. You did.", Erik coughed and finally slit down on his back.
"No! Your wound!"
"It's okay, Peter. Don't worry."
"Don't worry?! You were shot. Fuck!"
"It's okay. Everything is okay."
Peter rolled Erik on his side, using his trusted silver jacket to prop him up. He was pretty shit with first aid, and a bullet wound was totally not up his alley.
"You shielded me. She would have shot me."
"You came here to rescue me. I couldn't let you die.", Erik wheezed.
"Dude!"
"Stop calling me that."
"Do I put pressure on it? What do I do? You have experience, right?!"
"Peter!", Erik interrupted him, coughing up blood, "It's okay now. Really. I'm going to see my family again. I miss them. Just… it'll be alright now."
He thought he was dying. He planned on dying. No. He couldn't. He couldn't die on him. Not now. Not when he had just found him. No way!
"Hey, asshole! You are not dying today, okay? We are out in the open now. The team will find us. The jet is fast! We are going to make it, okay?
"Peter…"
"I mean it! I know you miss your family. I'm sorry, man, I really am. But you can't leave me yet, okay?! I just found you. Don't you dare! Don't you dare leave me! Not again!"
"Again?", Erik was making strange noises. His lungs. His eyes were having trouble focussing. Oh God, oh God, oh God.
"I didn't know, okay? When we met, I didn't know. And then I couldn't find you, so I didn't know what to do. And then I was too late again, and you lost your family and I didn't know what to do and… I blew it, okay? I should have told you and I didn't and that's on me. But you can't do this! Tomorrow is my birthday, okay? My thirtieth birthday. So you can't die. I won't have it. You can't leave me!"
"Peter…"
"I know I'm rambling. I don't care! Please don't leave me! Please!"
He was crying, Peter suddenly realized. He was sitting on an oil rig out in the Atlantic, pressing his jacket onto his father's back and begging him not to die.
Erik's eyes were slowly falling closed.
"I'm your son. Please, I am so sorry. I'm your son. You need to know! You're my dad. Please don't go! I know you miss them, but I need you here! Please!"
Erik's eyes opened again, still unfocused, but searching for his face.
"What?"
"I'm your son. I wanted to tell you. I didn't know how. So don't you die on me, okay! I don't need the trauma! Just hold on! Please, Dad, please!"
Nothing mattered anymore. Everything felt so far away. There was him and Erik and too much blood and… Kurt?
"Peter!", Kurt appeared next to him, "Take my hand!"
The three of them reappeared inside the jet, hovering above the rig.
"Peter? What's wrong?", Raven yelled from the pilot seat.
"He's been shot. He's… he's…"
"He lost a lot of blood.", Kurt offered, Jean appeared next to them, carrying a first aid kit.
"Hold him on the side. Like you already were, Peter!"
"Peter.", Erik wheezed, "Peter?"
"I'm here. I'm right here!"
Kurt took over holding up Erik, as Peter sat down in front of him instead.
"Look at me, Dad, please just stay with me!"
He was distantly aware of shocked noises and questions, but he didn't react. Not the point. Not important. Not right now.
Erik reached out his left hand, bloody and shaky as it was, and carefully touched Peter's face.
"My boy.", he said, his voice weak and almost inaudible, his hand fell to the floor, leaving a wet print on Peter's face.
And all Peter could say over and over again was "Please, please, please!"
Two hours later Peter was sitting on a chair down at the lab, staring at his father's face. He had flatlined once, right before they had reached Westchester. Scott had done CPR. Jean had held on to his mind… and Peter… Peter had just sat there holding Erik's hand like it was his lifeline. Maybe it was.
Kurt had teleported them out of the jet the moment they were close enough that Peter could just run his father to the lab and that's where they had been ever since.
"Peter?", the Professor appeared behind him. He stopped next to Peter, placing a hand on his right shoulder.
"How are you doing, my boy?", had Xavier ever called him anything like that before? Huh.
"Peachy."
"Hank tells me Erik is stable. You did it. You saved him."
"He took the bullet for me. It was meant for me."
"And you were there to save him."
"That's what he said, too."
"Of course it is. Because it's true. And I know the way he thinks."
"It was stupid. I got distracted. I should have seen her. Should have cleared the building. Should have done better."
"Peter… When have you last slept?"
"Doesn't matter."
"It does. Your gift is extraordinary, but even your body can't take this indefinitely. Maybe take a shower. Sleep a little. I'll sit with him."
"I'm not leaving."
"Peter…"
"I'm not leaving him."
"There is blood all over your face, my boy."
"His blood. It's his blood."
"When he wakes up and realizes I let you sit here tired, hungry and bloody, your father will throw me into the next possible volcano."
"You know?"
"It's basically all your teammates could think about. I try not to read their minds, but they were… loud."
"Ah."
"Considering that I am a telepath, there are a lot of people keeping secrets from me in my own house. Raven told me what you told her."
"Yeah. I shouldn't have. Wasn't nice to make her complicit."
"Why didn't you tell me?"
"Because you'd have made me tell him. Or you would have had to keep a secret from your friend. I already felt bad for telling Raven. No need to spread the hurt."
"Very considerate of you."
"What would you have done?"
"I'm not sure. I would have asked why you hadn't told him. I might have told you a bit about the kind of man your father is."
"And what kind of man is he?"
"He's smart. Compassionate. Surprisingly funny."
Peter laughed, "That I know. When… when we broke him out he was really nauseated and I kept on asking him questions, because I hate silence and… he didn't tell me to shut up or anything, he cracked a joke. Then you punched him in the face."
"Ah yes. Not my best moment."
"He wanted to die today."
"Pardon?"
"He said it was okay. He'd see his family again."
"And so you told him."
"Yeah."
"Another thing I know about Erik? He would kill for the people he loves. He'd die for them. And, most importantly for you, he'd stay alive for them. Hank told me Erik really put up a fight to still be here. And I'm certain that was all because of you."
Were those… tears? The Professor was crying. A little. He wheeled around the bed and took Erik's other hand, squeezing it lightly.
"I am sorry you felt that way, my friend.", he said quietly and Peter was suddenly very aware that these words weren't meant for him… that he was intruding.
Maybe he could get a shower. Food. He could easily be back in 20 minutes. His father was in good hands.
When Erik came to, he really wished he hadn't. His brain was trying to leave his body. Through his eyes.
"Aua."
"Are you in pain? Should I get Hank?"
Charles? Was that Charles?
"Erik?"
Peter. Peter was his son. Peter. That was almost all he could remember of the whole thing. Peter.
"Is he okay?"
"Peter? He is right here, my friend. Has been practically since you got here."
Carefully Erik opened one eye. That would have to be enough for a start. Peter was on his right side, sitting in a chair, with his sleeping head resting right next to Erik on the bed. Slowly Erik moved his right hand and placed it on the boy's head. Warm. He was warm. He was alright. He was there.
"You gave him quite the fright. All of us, naturally, but Peter… well."
Erik finally opened his other eye to look at Charles.
"If I hadn't been shot already, he probably would've given me a heart attack. Fair play."
"You don't get to joke about dying for at least five years now, you silly man.", he felt Charles squeeze his hand lightly.
"My best material gone, just like that." Erik coughed, pain shooting through his back.
"He is your son.", Charles' voice was full of awe, which Erik understood all too well.
"He is my son. Unless he was lying to keep me alive."
"Don't ever say that again. I don't think Peter could bear it."
"Alright. I won't.", Erik knew Charles was right anyway. But what was he supposed to do? How was he supposed to cope with this? What had he left in him, other than off-putting humor?
Slowly the whole thing was coming back. "What time is it?"
"It's… almost 6 am."
"Today is Peter's birthday. His thirtieth birthday. He told me that."
"Right you are. I think Kurt and some of the students are in the kitchen making cake."
"Good. That's good. He deserves a party."
"He told me what you did. Taking the bullet for him. Why did you?"
"He was there because of me."
"Anything else?"
Charles was talking about something specific. Erik was just too tired for this. There was no nuance to his brain.
"I did think, He's one of Charles' kids. I know what it's like to lose children. I didn't want that for you. Funny, no? How he was mine all along, too?"
"Too?", Charles sounded apprehensive and Erik wondered if he'd been wrong. Maybe Charles didn't think of all of them as his? Maybe he had said too much? Shaken the fragile balance they always maintained. God, his head hurt.
"If you have something to say, just do it, please. And possibly hand me something to drink."
"Certainly. Do you want me to move the bed up for you?"
Erik simply used his power to move the metal up and lock the mechanism in place.
"Show off."
"Water?"
"Here you go.", Charles carefully handed him a glass and although everything still hurt, Erik managed to raise his left hand and drink some. His right hand was still firmly placed on Peter's silver head. And it would probably stay there for the foreseeable future.
"You told Peter you were okay with dying, Erik."
Ah. There it was.
"I did that, yes."
"I'm sorry. I should have checked in with you. I didn't realize…"
"Charles. I'm not suicidal."
"Well, you say that…"
"I'm just tired. I'm tired of being sad."
"That doesn't reassure me."
"What exactly are you expecting from me? I live my life. I have a home. Friends. I get up every day and do my thing. I don't get drunk every night. I don't do drugs."
"That's not enough."
"It's all I have. Or it was.", he looked down at Peter again, "Maybe he'll forgive me for missing 30 years of his life. Maybe he'll have dinner with me from time to time. That's more than I dared hope for even a week ago."
"You can always stay here, you know that, right? All the students make it hard to ever even have time to be sad. And no one here is any good at chess. Your pancakes are unmatched, too. It's been more than 20 years and I still miss them."
"I don't…"
"I'm sure Peter would be really happy to have a chance to get to know you."
"Fine. I'll stay for a while. But don't think I don't know what you are doing. Using Peter."
"I think I'll be doing that quite a lot. Erik, I'm sure Peter would like you teaching. Erik, I'm sure Peter would like you cutting down that tree. Erik, I'm sure Peter would like you doing the dishes."
"Oh, shut up."
"Will you two just kiss already and be done with it?", Peter said loudly, his head still on the bed.
"Peter!"
"You can't whisper for shit. Neither of you. And you are terrible at flirting."
"We weren't… what?", Charles looked horrified, Erik didn't really care, though. Peter was alive, awake and right there.
"I used to ask myself where I get my bad luck in the romance department from. I thought it couldn't be Erik. Dude seems to be a hit with the ladies, at least. But listening to you two is painful, man."
Finally he lifted up his head, stretching with an audible crack.
"How long have you been awake?", Erik asked, expertly ignoring anything Peter was saying. Poor Charles.
"Somewhere around Chuck over there using pancakes as a metaphor for sex."
"Oh my God, Peter! Will you just STOP?!"
"Do your teachers normally talk to you like that, Charles?", Erik was genuinely curious. Maybe he had gotten everything about the X-Men wrong.
"They bloody well do NOT!"
"I'm not talking to you as my boss, though, am I? I'm talking to the man trying to be my stepfather. Apparently. You know, I heard the rumors about the both of you, of course and after the Prison Break I was like… yeah, maybe. I see it. But this… guys… seriously. Get a room. Preferably one without me in it."
Erik just laughed. He couldn't help it. Peter looked so serious, Charles looked mortified and Erik just… this was the most fun he'd had in years.
"Peter. I was not using pancakes as a metaphor for… for ANYTHING."
"No one's pancakes are enough to miss them after 20 years. And I have listened in on your lectures on literary devices."
"Erik! Stop laughing. It's not funny!"
"I disagree. Just let it go, Darling.", and he patted Charles' cheek.
"Darling?! You are both absolutely… how did I not see this before?!"
"Well, obviously you didn't want to imagine Erik with anyone else. You can ignore quite a lot, if you are in love with someone and don't want to get jealous."
"Peter, I swear to God, if you don't stop, I'll…"
"Do nothing.", Erik told him, a bit surprised by the note of danger in his voice.
"Oh, relax. He'd never really hurt me. That would make you mad. And he can't have that. You might leave."
"Peter! Will you please go and get something to eat for your father! He hasn't eaten in days!"
"Sure thing.", and Peter was gone, leaving a beet-red Charles and a still laughing Erik.
For his 30th birthday, his friends and students had gone all out. There were several cakes, banners, cookies, punch, garlands… and presents. So many presents. Storm had even made a mixtape of his favorite songs and was blasting music down the corridors. After Peter had brought Erik some food, he had spent most of his day asleep, so waking up to this was possibly the best thing ever.
"Hey, Mr. M!", Lyle, one of the younger students, walked up to him, handing him a drawing, "Happy Birthday!" and ran off again.
"What did he draw?", Kurt asked, looking over his shoulder.
"It's… me, running, look! It moves and everything!"
"Lyle's powers are so cool.", Kurt smiled, "It is good, that he embraces them, no?"
"Very. When are we having cake?!", Peter grinned at Kurt, throwing his arm around the guy.
"After we've all embarrassed you by singing loudly.", came a rather unexpected voice from behind him. The Professor had just exited the elevator, followed by Storm, who was pushing Erik in another wheelchair.
"Why are YOU out of the lab?!"
"It's your birthday."
"You were shot 24 hours ago!"
"Which is why I'm not walking."
"Are you paralyzed? Is this a thing now? You and him in matching wheelchairs?"
"No, Peter, your father is just… tired."
"I'm not tired.", Erik corrected him, "Just careful."
"Oh yes, can't let anyone think you might show weakness."
"Charles, I could have walked here. But you were hovering like a mother hen, threatening to sedate me. So I am doing this. For you. Stop being weird about it."
"I told them to just kiss and get over it. I don't think they listened.", Peter told Scott, who had appeared next to them.
"You what?!"
"Look at them!"
"I agree with Peter.", Jean sighed.
Erik and Charles kept bickering, and even some of the students were looking now.
"Is this why Erik never comes to visit? Because they are… angry Exes?", Jean asked Peter, shaking her head.
"I think so. I am a child of divorce. Twice."
Storm was staring at them over the two older men's heads, her eyes comically wide and obviously unhappy with her job.
"Maybe you made it worse by telling them to kiss. They could have been in denial. Or happy to ignore it. Now you poked the bear.", Jean considered loudly.
"It would be good, if we could just lock them in a room together.", Kurt suggested.
"A room won't do. Maybe an open field somewhere. No metal around and no one the Professor can make take them back.", Jean shrugged.
"Do we have plastic wheelchairs? Could work. I can run away fast enough."
"Guys, we are NOT kidnapping the Professor!", Scott hissed.
"It's not kidnapping. It's an intervention. I saw it on TV.", Kurt looked so proud of himself, Peter patted him on the back.
"Exactly. An intervention! Kurt knows what's up!"
"Shut it!", Hank yelled suddenly, and everyone turned to stare at him. There were students with mouths hanging open. No one spoke. No one had EVER heard Hank yell. Seen him get mad. It just didn't happen. He wasn't talking to them, though, "Both of you get a grip right now! I've HAD it. It's been what? 25 years?! 25 years of you two being insufferable! Enough is enough! Shut up! I can't fucking take it anymore!"
Silence. Absolute silence.
"Dr McCoy said fuck.", a tiny, shocked voice said somewhere in the crowd.
"Technically, he said fucking.", Peter offered.
"Don't start on me!", Hank raised his finger at him, "Peter, take Erik to get cake. Charles, you get punch. And then you just don't interact for the rest of the party."
"But…", the Professor started, earning him a stern "No!", from Hank.
"Come on then.", Peter grinned widely and took his father's wheelchair, "Let's get some cake. Kurt made it, and he is an excellent baker."
"Is that…", Erik stared at the baking tray, "Is that Donauwelle?"
"I have no idea what it is. I just know it's very good. The best thing Kurt makes! Kurt, hey, Kurt! What's the name of the cake?"
"It's Donauwelle.", Kurt appeared next to them, handing a plate to Peter and another to Erik, who was just staring at it, like he was seeing a ghost.
"Do you know it, Erik?", Peter asked, noting the man's strange expression.
"Know it… I… it… it was my mother's favorite."
"And now it's Peter's favorite, too! How nice!", Kurt smiled happily, seeming pretty unaware of what a momentous thing had just happened. He hurried off to hand out more cake, and Erik and Peter were left standing (or sitting).
Peter awkwardly managed to maneuver his father next to one of the couches and sat down.
"Are you okay?", he asked carefully. Were those tears in his father's eyes?
"What? Oh yes. I've just… I haven't eaten this in a very long time. Even… even before, we didn't have much money. And… my Mama's last birthday, my father got one of the neighbors to buy us three pieces with his money. He couldn't do it himself. We weren't… we couldn't go to the bakery anymore. I think he used our last money for it. He saved for a long while to get it. It was the present he gave her."
"Man, I… I don't know what to say. I'm sorry."
"It's nice", his father said, carefully wiping his eyes on his shirt, "To know that it's your favorite cake. That… you have that in common. You and her."
"Like a part of her is still here?", Peter asked quietly.
"Yes. Yes. A part of her is still here. With me. I used to think I was the only one… the only one who'd care. The only one, who knew this about her. Everyone else is dead, you know? My parents, all the family. Aunts, Uncles, Cousins… everyone died in those camps, Peter. And now it's not just me. It's you and me."
"I'll remember. I'll have Kurt teach me how to make Donauwelle. And maybe, one day, I'll have kids and I'll tell them. I tell them, this was your great-grandmother's favorite cake. It's why we make it. And because I love it, too."
"Maybe I'll get to make it for them.", Erik smiled, "I haven't done any baking in a while."
Carefully, Peter put his plate away. "May I?", he asked Erik and as the man nodded, he took his cake, too, before throwing himself halfway over the couch and his arms around his father. The wheelchair made it a bit tricky, so did the gunshot wound, but Peter was on a mission. He hugged his father as closely as he dared, and Erik squeezed back, holding on to him tightly.
"You are not alone. You have me.", he said and finally let go.
"That's the best present in the world. And on your birthday, too."
Peter handed his father's cake back, and together they sat, tears in their eyes and eating cake.