Erik caught himself. As he came within spitting distance of the dilapidated building, he almost collapsed.

"You okay, there?" Jason asked, putting a steadying hand on Erik's shoulder blade.

"Yes," Erik answered without thinking, then he came back to the here and now and reiterated, "Yes. Physically, anyway. Emotionally, spiritually, I'm livid... and repulsed... and tired."

Realizing he lacked much to say on the matter, Jason just nodded and removed his hand.

I'm sorry, my children, Erik thought to himself. I failed to keep you from the very fate I promised my mother I'd never let us return to.

He turned and looked at Jason with new resolve. "Shall we?"

Jason nodded, and the two headed inside.

Five cells lined the back of the small structure in a U shape. Children were packed into all five, huddled to themselves and trying to leave as much room as possible for their fellow prisoners. The kids were dusty and dirty, but the grime failed to hide the redness and swelling from their consistent crying.

"Jesus," Jason remarked under his breath.

Erik gestured and commanded, "Those two in the back, the blonde boy and the girl he's guarding, lift the illusion on them."

Jason nodded, and the two kids recoiled as, from their points of view, Erik and Jason suddenly appeared in the middle of the building.

"Who are you?" the boy asked proactively, shifting a step in front of the girl.

A lump caught in Erik's throat as he noticed the boy was as bold as he was. "My— my name is Erik. I'm your... I'm here to..."

"Pietro," the girl said softly, tugging on the boy's tattered shirt.

"'Pietro'," Erik whispered.

The boy helped the girl stand up. She dusted herself off and looked towards Erik but was unable to meet his eyes.

"You're our father, aren't you?" she asked quietly.

A single rivulet finally escaped out of each of Erik's eyes. In his periphery, he saw Jason start to flutter his fingers. "No, no," Erik commanded without looking away from the boy and girl. "Let them see it."

"It's been 15 years, Wanda," the boy reasoned to her softly. "No one's coming for us."

"'Pietro' and 'Wanda'," Erik whispered. "Those are your names. What beautiful names." Wanda's head sunk, and Erik found his words. "I'm sorry. Yes. Yes, I am your father."

The two looked up and stared at Erik. Wanda's eyes were wide, but Pietro's were narrow.

Pietro asked out of the corner of his mouth, "How'd you know?"

Wanda answered, "He looks like you."

Pietro cleared his throat and reasserted himself. "Why now? After all this time, why now? What do you want from us?"

Erik nodded solemnly. "I don't expect you to trust me. I certainly wouldn't if the roles were reversed. But, to put it simply, I didn't know you two existed. Your mother and I didn't exactly have a long relationship."

Pietro interrupted, "Yeah, she's dead now, by the way. No thanks to you."

Erik clenched his fist and looked to the floor. "Yes. I learned of her fate when I learned of you and your sister's existence. Stoned to death... fear and hatred disguised as righteousness."

"What would you know about being feared and hated?" Wanda interjected, her eyes starting to narrow as well.

"Unfortunately, plenty." With that, Erik raised his hands out in front of him. Without being touched, the bars of all the cell doors bent apart and formed crudely rhombic openings. Some kids immediately made their escapes, while others held back, obviously afraid of potential retaliation.

"Don't be afraid, kids," Jason tried to explain gently, letting his voice be heard through the illusion. His stilted delivery and awkward smile made it evident that the tone did not come to him easily. "With my power, no one sees a thing. You're free to go." That persuaded more of them. The only ones that remained, other than Pietro and Wanda, were much younger. Jason saw the scars in their eyes, and he finally cried too. "Run. Run away, as far as you can go. Don't look back. I'll make sure they don't follow."

As the rest of the kids scattered, Erik addressed Pietro and Wanda once more. "I believe the other question was 'What do I want from you?'. The answer is simple. Join me. I'm on a mission to free mutantkind and make sure no one ever cages us again. I missed my chance to raise you, but let me train you. Let me show you how to use your powers so that you never end up here again. Let me inspire you to pay it forward, to empower other mutants to never end up here either."

"We're not interested in being your child soldiers," Pietro scoffed.

Erik nodded. "Then just let me be your father. I can never be the father of your childhood, but I can be your father for the rest of my life."

Pietro opened his mouth to unload another scathing retort, but Wanda wordlessly stepped out of the jail cell and extended her hand to Erik. "Okay," she accepted.

"Wanda?" Pietro asked.

She turned around and smiled. "It's what Mom would've wanted."

Pietro stared at his sister as he frantically searched his feelings. He wanted the mutation suppressing injection to wear off spontaneously in that moment so he could grab her and race them both out of there, run them both far away from this craziness. He couldn't help but feel like they were jumping out of the frying pan and into the fire.

"Wanda, I don't like this," he pleaded.

"I know, but trust me. As long as we're together, right?"

Pietro deflated then threw his arms around Wanda. "As long as we're together."

Scott sat in the passenger seat of a parked car, absentmindedly picking at the peeling plastic on the dashboard. He reflected, remembering being surprised that the professor could drive then feeling guilt at being surprised. Charles had tried to absolve him of that guilt, to reassure him that he was still just a boy, but he held onto the weight nonetheless.

He rubbed his eye. I can't wait for that visor to be built, he thought aloud. Assuming it works.

Hi, a new voice uttered in his mind. It was small — not in stature, but like a hunter trying not to alarm an animal. A gentle warmth emanated from the corner of his mind where the presence tried to keep itself as small as possible.

H— hello, Scott offered back.

He felt the presence giggle, then it asked, Whatcha doooin'?

I, uh... I'm just sitting here. I'm in a car. What are you up to?

Oh, I'm just sitting here, trying not to fall apart.

Oh! Is there someone I can contact? Are you safe? How—

The presence giggled again and quickly interrupted. No, it's nothing like that. I'm not suicidal. At least, I don't think I am. I'm just scared. And dejected. I'm sitting here in my home, realizing I'm going to have to leave my parents behind, three years before I was planning to.

Oh! Scott realized. Are you the girl the professor's here to see?

Yeah, the voice admitted quietly. I'm trying to hold my thoughts together, and I sensed your mind out on the street, and I sensed you were around my age, and I... I just needed someone to talk to. I'm sorry, I—

What's your name? Scott interrupted.

There was a pause, but Scott didn't feel the girl's presence leave. Jean, she finally answered.

It's nice to meet you, Jean, Scott thought, trying way too hard to be formal and courteous. He felt Jean laugh in his mind again. My name's Scott.

Thanks for letting me hang out in your mind for a little bit, Scott. Sorry I showed up unannounced.

Stay as long as you want.

Thanks. I feel safe here.

"Hank!"

Hank panicked and started fumbling to grab the rest of the books he needed and close his locker. Expectedly, he dropped everything he was holding, books fell out of his locker, and papers scattered. "Fuck," he muttered to himself, kneeling down and endeavoring to gather his things as quickly as possible. He saw a familiar pair of legs pull up beside him, and he swallowed a sigh.

Carly knelt down beside him and started helping him pick up his supplies. "You haven't been in school for days," she stated. When Hank said nothing back, she joked, "Have you been avoiding me?"

Frustrated, Hank dryly offered, "Once again, Carly, you present me with a query to which there is no good response."

She gave no reaction. "Hank, what's going on? What's with the trench coat and the bowler hat? You look like the Thing in his street clothes. Did you— did you shave your head?"

Hank knelt in silence, grabbing the rest of his things. Tears escaped the corners of his eyes.

"Are you crying? Hank, what's wrong?!" Carly insisted in a whisper.

Hank stood up, and Carly followed suit. He sniffed his tears away, shut his locker, and hung his head. "Forget about me, Carly," he ordered sullenly. "I don't want to get you mixed up in this."

Carly demanded answers as Hank hurried away, ignoring her. "Mixed up in what? Hank, get back here and talk to me! Hank!"

Hank made a beeline to the locker room. The door slammed behind him. He dropped his things on the floor and stripped naked. Through building tears, he found a shower on the far wall. He slammed it on full blast, almost breaking the handle, then crumpled to the floor and sobbed. Visions danced violently in his head like a montage on a damaged VHS tape: all the doctors in the county and its neighboring ones refusing to treat him, security dragging his father out of the lobby as his father kicked and screamed, his mother's face from below as she held him and cried silently, all the blue fur on the floor this morning as his father helped him shave.

"Who's in there?" Coach called from the entrance to the showers.

Hank tried to catch his breath enough to answer, but he couldn't. He felt a presence round the corner.

"McCoy, is that you?" Coach asked, failing to veil the panic in his voice. The kid who sat on the floor certainly resembled McCoy, but he was broader and ganglier, wrapped in layers upon layers of muscle, sporting arms as long as he was tall, and completely hairless.

All Hank could do was nod.

Coach deflated. "Oh, McCoy." He tapped his foot as he debated his next move then simply said, "See me in my office when you're ready."

Hank nodded again, and Coach departed.

John had long since abandoned trying to sit still. He paced around the living room, massaging his furrowed brow between his thumb and forefinger. Elaine maintained her composure, almost numb under the years of devastation surrounding her youngest daughter. She looked to her baby girl. Jean sat in the corner between the fireplace and front window, hugging her knees and staring off into space.

Elaine turned back to Charles. "So, we can't go with her at all?"

Charles sighed. "I suppose, theoretically, you could move to a town closer to the mansion, but the closer you move, the greater the potential danger."

"It's not that far, anyway," Jean interjected nonchalantly, breaking her silence.

All three adults in the room turned and looked at her.

"How do you know that?" John asked.

Charles smiled into himself. "You've been talking to Scott, haven't you?"

Jean grinned her affirmation but said nothing.

Charles turned back to Jean's parents. "My ward I was telling you about earlier is waiting in the car. It seems that has not stopped Jean from making his acquaintance."

"So where's the mansion?" John asked Jean bluntly.

She kept her gaze squarely out the window as she explained, "It's like Charles said, Dad: it's better if you don't know. You literally have two telepaths sitting in your living room. You think it's that implausible that a third, evil telepath could show up?"

Elaine, exercising years of practice of being married to John, picked up the conversation before he could even start to stammer. "Can we at least know how far away, Charles?"

Charles bridged his fingers and pondered. John came back to the couch and sat beside Elaine. His short temper roiled the longer Charles contemplated, but Elaine leaned into him and took his hand in hers. "Ninety minutes," Charles finally relented. "It's about ninety minutes away by car, depending on traffic, obviously."

John leaned back and wrapped his arm around Elaine, pulling her into him. After forcefully exhaling, he asked Jean, "What do you think, sweetpea? Can we handle ninety minutes?"

Jean's eyes fell to the floor. "I don't think we have much choice. If I don't go with Scott and Charles, the headaches are only going to get worse. Who knows how long until I hurt someone? And as much as I hate it, I agree with Charles. I wonder how dangerous it would be to keep you guys close."

"Jeanie, I'd fight anyone for you," John softly countered.

"I know, Dad. At the same time, you were the one who broke down in the hospital room at the mere suggestion that I could be a mutant."

John's mouth hung open.

"How did you...?" Elaine started to ask but failed to finish.

"I heard everything," Jean explained. "I didn't register it in the moment, but I have memories of it."

John stammered, "Jeanie, I—"

"It's okay, Dad. I know you don't hate me. I know you don't hate mutants." Jean put her feet on the floor and turned to look her father in the face. "But you did. Now think about society. Do you think the average person can have a change of heart as quickly as you did? I've got hard times ahead. Mutants will continue to have hard times ahead. What if I can defend myself? Better yet, what if I can help others?"

Tears started streaming halfway down her cheeks before floating away from her face, suspended as droplets midair. Charles braced himself to intervene if necessary.

Jean sniffed. "That's what Charles is offering, Dad. I mean, I am not prepared to leave you guys behind. I thought I'd get to graduate before— God, I thought I'd get to graduate."

The mugs on the coffee table started to rattle. John relaxed his grip on Elaine and started looking around, preparing a plan of action. Elaine's eyes stayed firmly fixed on Jean, a smile on her face beneath her own, silent tears.

Jean?

Jean heard Scott call out mentally.

Scott! Sorry! Sorry, I'm still here. I was just talking to the people in here.

The mugs stopped rattling. The levitating teardrops fell to the floor.

I figured as much. It had just seemed to be a while. You know, I've lived with Charles for so long, but I'm still not used to how fast telepathy is compared to talking out loud. I just... I just started to worry that you left without saying goodbye.

Jean laughed out loud. She wiped her eyes and looked back out the window.

John turned to Charles. "Seems that Scott kid is quite the guy."

Charles smiled and nodded. "He's an exceptional young man. I am similarly encouraged that he and Jean seem to be getting on so well."

John let his frown invert slightly and turned to his wife. "What do you think, hon? Are we ready to let her go?"

"No," Elaine chuckled, still staring at her baby girl. "But she can't wait for us to be ready."

John kissed the top of his wife's head then copied her gaze, admiring his baby girl and the impressive young woman she had become.

Hank slunk into the office like a bored zombie. The kid had yet to put his pseudo-disguise back on and just wore his gym clothes. His basketball shorts failed to reach his knees, and his tank top was now a crop top. He collapsed into the chair across the desk.

"Jesus, McCoy, what happened?" Coach asked.

Hank shrugged. "I whipped up a serum to suppress my x-gene long enough to fake the test and get back on the team, but I fucked up and threw my mutation into overdrive. My hair's blue now, by the way. All of it. Hence the full body Nair treatment."

Coach flopped back in his own chair, mirroring Hank's posture. "I'm sorry, son."

Hank's face shot up in genuine surprise. "What are you sorry for?"

Coach stared at his desk, unable to look Hank in the face. "If I'd just ignored the report... If I'd just shredded the goddamn thing and pretended it never existed, this might not have happened."

Hank shrugged. "I mean, maybe, but it's not like it was a real option, right? I wouldn't expect you to risk your livelihood for one kid."

Coach stood up and swiped his desk clean, knocking office supplies, picture frames, and a keyboard to the floor. "But it's never just one kid, is it? It's how this shit starts. How many kids' lives would I have ruined before the world came to its senses?"

Hank sat unfazed and let Coach reach a pause. "Respectfully, Coach, that anger should be mine. I'm grateful you realized you were just following orders and the danger that that entails, but I'm the mutant. I'm the one that's going to have to walk through this life, oscillating between being called a monster and having every accomplishment called into question. The blue hair and the gorilla stature, those are my fault, but my mutation itself is no one's fault. Perhaps I could blame chaos theory, but I digress. My mutation is simply my existence, and I have to live this life navigating how other people feel about it, whether or not I want to and whether or not that's fair."

Coach massaged his jaw while he listened. Once Hank had said his piece, Coach lingered on his feet then pulled his chair back behind him and sat down again. Acknowledging Coach's continued silence, Hank stood and started picking up what had been knocked to the floor.

"Leave it," Coach ordered. "I'll get it."

Hank nodded and left.

Outside the detainment facility, Magneto halted and turned around. "Jason, I left those bars bent. Can you go back in and clean up my mess?"

Jason nodded solemnly. "I'll catch up with you guys." He turned and reentered the building, leaving Magneto and his newfound children to themselves. Magneto turned back around and resumed his brisk retreat.

"Can he move metal like you can?" Wanda asked as she jogged a few steps to catch up. "Or is he really strong?"

"You know, in addition to his mind powers," Pietro added skeptically and sarcastically, keeping pace without effort.

Magneto grimaced, then he offered through gritted teeth, "I expect he'll cast a concentrated, localized illusion on each jail cell."

"Why didn't you just bend the bars back before we left?" Pietro insisted.

"I simply forgot," Magneto answered. "Plus, I'm anxious to get you two away from here. Forgive me."

Wanda grabbed Pietro's hand. Her face told him plainly, Let it go.

Under the veil of an elaborate illusion, unheard by those outside it, the employees of the detainment facility hunted each other in a circle. Each one saw a fellow employee as the object of their most deep-seated hatred or fear, whatever Jason could prey upon to move them to kill, and nothing else. All of them died committing murder while being murdered. All of them died at their most savage, as their worst selves, surrounded by blood and darkness.