Fandom X-Men Second Class IC

[Scatterbrain]

Tom couldn't wait any longer, he didn’t know how much time he had before Nightmare noticed his presence. He moved quickly, darting between sand dunes, until he reached the edge of the fence. As he prepared to rip it apart with his mutant strength, he heard a chilling laugh from behind. Turning around, he saw the shadowy figure of the executioner raised a clawed hand, and before he could react, a wave of dark energy slammed into him, wrenching him from the mindscape.

---

Tom groaned as Nightmare’s realm gave way to the reality of the Institute’s hallways. Though his skin was still wrinkled, his hair grey, strength had returned to his limbs, not the full breadth of his mutant power, but enough to move. Pulling himself upright against the wall, Tom staggered forward towards Cerebro. Whatever Nightmare was doing, it was centred there. The others would be fighting, holding the line, and as much as Tom doubted he could be of much help in his current state, he couldn’t stand by and let the monster win.

Entering Cerebro, the sounds of battle hit him first. Shouts, cries of pain, the twisting of metal and in the centre of it was the shadowy form of Charles Xavier, laughing. The sound sent Tom's blood boiling and his body responded with a surge of strength. Spotting Charles/Nightmare approaching Cerebro's main console, Tom attempted to stop him, only to find his path cut off by a sheet of ice. He turned to see Bobby, his eyes black and hands raised against him.

Tom didn't want to fight him, his mind flashing back to the vision. His baton, the bloodied face of the mutant he’d beaten and the enjoyment he’d taken from it. He clenched his fists, banishing the thought. He didn't want to hurt Bobby unless he absolutely had to. The creature controlling the professor was his enemy, not him but the young mutant didn't seem to be giving him much choice. “Bobby, listen to me...” Tom said, doing his best to keep his voice steady. “I'm not your enemy. Don’t make me do this.”

 

[lillymity]

Logan stood in the cage, shirtless and gleaming with sweat under the dim, flickering lights. His fists were clenched, bloodied knuckles flexing as he paced in the confined space. Crusher Creel loomed ahead, a hulking brute of a man with fists like sledgehammers. The crowd was a deafening roar of drunken chants and curses, the stench of booze and testosterone choking the air. Logan snarled, his teeth bared like a predator toying with prey.

"Come on, big guy," he growled, rolling his shoulders. "You gonna dance, or you just a statue?"

Creel swung first — a wild haymaker that Logan sidestepped with ease. Logan's claws itched to extend, but he held back. He was here to blow off steam, not to kill. Not yet. He ducked under another swing, then drove a fist into Creel’s ribs, the sound of cracking bone lost in the cacophony.

"Is that all you got, champ ?" Logan taunted, his voice low and guttural.

The crowd erupted as Creel charged like a bull, slamming Logan into the cage wall. The metal groaned, but Logan just grinned through the pain. He headbutted Creel with brutal force, then followed with an uppercut that sent the bigger man staggering backward.

From the edge of the chaos, a voice pierced through.

"Logan, put this man out of his misery, and I might have a gig for you!"

Logan turned his head, catching sight of Charles Xavier’s smug expression near the front row.

"Yeah, yeah," he muttered, dodging another punch. He leaped forward, planting a knee into Creel's gut before driving him to the ground. With one more devastating punch to the jaw, Creel went limp, unconscious before he hit the floor.

Logan rose to his feet, the crowd screaming, the adrenaline still pumping through his veins. He spat blood onto the mat, his eyes locking onto Charles in the front row.

Back at the Cerebro the blur of Pietro Maximoff came at him with impossible speed. Logan barely had time to register the punch that landed square on his throat, forcing him to stumble back, gasping for air. Another barrage followed — dozens of strikes to his ribs, his face, his gut — all in the blink of an eye. Logan growled through the pain, feeling the unrelenting impact of each blow.

"Fast," Logan spat, blood dripping from his lip. "But not fast enough."

When Pietro came at him again, Logan dropped low, claws slicing upward in a desperate arc. He didn’t want to hurt a fellow mutant, but Pietro was possessed by this monster. Pietro dodged the strike but not completely; the faint scent of blood in the air told Logan he'd scored a glancing hit.

"First blood," Logan muttered, pushing himself upright despite his battered body.

Pietro zipped around him again, landing more punches. Logan’s healing factor fought to keep up, but Pietro’s relentless speed was overwhelming. Another blow to the temple sent Logan reeling to the edge of the platform, barely catching himself.

But Logan wasn’t done. When Pietro moved in for another flurry, Logan roared and swung his claws in a wide arc. This time, he caught Pietro’s side, the claws tearing through fabric and flesh. That would give Logan a moment to breathe.

"You’re fast, kid," Logan said, his voice hoarse, "but speed don’t mean jack if you don’t finish the job."

Despite the pain, Logan charged forward. His claws gleamed as he drove them downward, but Pietro vanished again, a blur of motion that left Logan striking empty air.

Then the world around Logan warped — an intrusive nightmare flooding his senses. He saw faces from his past, his victims, their screams echoing in his mind. His claws faltered mid-swing, and he dropped to one knee, clutching his head.

His body trembled, his vision blurred, but he staggered forward, claws still outstretched. Even as Pietro zipped around him again, even as the nightmare intensified, Logan kept moving.

 

[Goonfire]

Bobby sat at the booth, waiting. He looked disheveled, troubled, and tired; the past 24 hours had not been kind. One moment, he was protecting his girlfriend from a bully. The next, said bully was frozen up to his knees. The next, the sheriff coaxed him to come into protective custody.

A lynching mob had followed Bobby all the way from his home to the prison. Even if he was released, they were sure to beat him bloody for attacking such a 'saintly and upstanding young man'. Now he was the troublemaker and the bully.

"I thought I had a lawyer coming. Should've brought the National Guard with the way they're carrying on," Bobby sighed. "What're you gonna do for me, Charlie? I'm in here for my own protection, they said. You don't put a guy—sorry, a 'mutie'—behind bars if you just wanna protect him."

Bobby lay there, exhausted physically and mentally. That message went out to everyone, including his father... There was no way he could show his face in Floral Park again.

Visions and suggestions layered themselves over his thoughts. Leaps of logic and outright fallacies hooked his vulnerable mind as the entity coerced him to fight the others. Surely, his so-called friends were responsible for everything that happened. They delayed him from reaching the Professor. They leaked that information as a cruel joke. THEY were the real threats!

---

"You can call me Rogue. Ev'ryone does." The moniker had a sense of familiarity and comfort by now. She had been called that, even before she ran away from home. It stuck, gave her a cool edge and a sort of mystique—no pun intended. Her white-streaked hair was worn short at this time, and when she wasn't in her field uniform—a green-on-green monstrosity Mystique had issued her—it was usually something in a goth/punk style, her dark eyeliner and lipstick adding to the frosty vibe. She didn't necessarily care for the look, but it kept most folk away, and that was what she wanted for now.

She was surprised that she didn't have to plead her case. Many before her demanded to hear the story, and even then, it felt more like she was doing so for the sport.

When asked about a tour, she rose from her seat—a nonverbal 'yes'. "This's a big mansion. Ah'm never gonna remember it all, prolly never gonna go in half these rooms." This place and most of the people here intimidated her, though she wouldn't dare admit it aloud.

Rogue recoiled as Pietro zipped past her and down the shaft. "Well, here goes nothin'," she said, lifting off the ground and floating in after him. But before she could descend, an icy chill bit her skin. She soon found herself encased in ice from the neck down and plummeting to the bottom.

The ice shattered and Rogue left a dent in the elevator roof. It was a miracle the impact hadn't shaken anything else loose, and she was lucky to have the power to shrug off such a fall. Still, she was reeling.

When she gathered her faculties and looked up, she saw him coming closer, gliding down the cable. "Bobby? Bobby, no!" A boulder was forming underneath his feet. She slid through the emergency hatch and out into the hallway just as he dropped, smashing the elevator under the weight of the ice.

Frost swept along the walls and floor; he wasn't holding back. When he emerged from the wreck, he was transformed. His body was transparent and his fingers sharp claws. Narrow spikes grew from his back and shoulders.

Rogue swiftly lunged, ramming into him. For all the force she put into the blow, she merely staggered him. "Wake up...! Bobby, snap out of it!" she demanded as the two traded blows. She cracked his cheek while he gouged her side. His face slowly healed, though, as cold vapors condensed to fill in the cracks seamlessly.

"Snap out of what? You think I'm asleep, or maybe stupid? I SEE IT NOW! YOU ALL BETRAYED ME!" He roared, the entire hallway becoming coated in shimmering white under his wrath. It proved difficult to get one's footing, and staying in one place for too long meant getting stuck in the veritable glacier forming down here.

Reality soon faded to a stark white. Both Iceman and Rogue glanced around and gasped as their vision was engulfed.

 

[Arifutonautilus]

*Juggernaut's Onslaught* an hour into the chaos



I gripped my rifle tightly, scanning the horizon from the crumbling bunker's window. Our military base, once a beacon of order, now teetered on chaos' edge. Rumors spread like wildfire: Juggernaut, the unstoppable force, marched towards us.



Suddenly, the earth shuddered. Dust devils swirled, heralding the monster's arrival. Juggernaut emerged, his iconic helmet glinting like polished steel. His massive strides devoured distance, sending tremors through the ground.



"INCOMING!" I yelled.



Artillery blasts and tank fire erupted, shredding the air. Bullets and shrapnel pelted Cains armor pinging and ricocheting in different directions as Juggernaut laughed, the sound thundering through our defenses. He bulldozed tanks as if they were building blocks in the hands of a boisterous toddler. I swear I lost my shit when I seen him hurl a 80 ton missle truck atleast five miles south of the base the men running it screamed their last breathes fading on the winds before I heard the distance explosions



"KEEP FIRING!" “FOR THE LOVE OF ALL THATS RIGHTEOUS KEEP FIRING!” our commander shouted.



But Juggernaut would not be slowed. I frowned harshly as i watched his smaller friend stand atop an overturned jeep shouting and laughing as if he was at some mad and twisted party and blasting strange heat waves from his staff



Our barracks crumbled, reduced to rubble. Panic spread as soldiers scrambled. I froze, transfixed by the unstoppable juggernaut.



His gaze locked onto our central command. "XAVIER'S FILE," he bellowed. "WHERE IS IT?"

“I SWEAR ILL KILL YOU ALL! “ILL FUCKING BURY THIS PLACE AND YOU ALL IN IT!”



Our commander, defiant, stood tall. "You'll never have it!"



“FINE BY ME! HAVE IT YOUR WAY FATBOY!”





Juggernaut's response was brutal. With a swipe, he shattered the command center's doors. Our leader disappeared within the wreckage.



I fled, joining panicked comrades. We sprinted through smoke-filled battleground staggering an stumbling holding pointlessly onto my helmet, clenched teeth and pain in my hand as I gripped my rifle helped dull the sharp edge of fear as Juggernaut tore apart the base, searching for the elusive file.



A nearby fuel depot exploded as black Tom unleashed another of those weird waves of his a huge chunk of its southern wall hit me splitting my helmet and injuring me disorienting my senses. I thought quickly, “My sister is in that command bunker…gotta get to her somehow…

Juggernaut was literally making his own path to the center bunker where highly classified information and objects were held. Doors exploded, sending shards flying. Walls crumbled, burying screams.



"Fall back!" someone yelled.



We retreated, abandoning our shattered stronghold. Four of my combat brothers grabbed me and dragged me away. I yelled defiantly, “NO WAIT MY SISTER BRO!!! TANYAAAAAAA!!! LEMME GO YOU MUTHAFUCKERS!! My buddy yelled back, “ITS OVER MAN SHES GONE!! EVERYONE THERE IS GONE!! JESUS CHRIST HES STILL GOING WHAT THE FUCK DID WE DO TO THIS GUY!”



Juggernaut's roar echoed, "I WILL FIND IT!"



As they continue to drag me through the chaos, fear made my legs feel like pasta. My head injury reminded me of just how alive I was. I let my rifle slip from my hand, mag still full, completely useless I thought as tears streamed my dirty cheeks as i saw dead brothers and sisters alike. Finally we reached one last military truck that somehow survived the personal pocket apocalypse we were in. I was tossed in like a rag doll as my brothers piled in after me. I screamed my frustration and feelings of uselessness because deep down I knew the truth was that he was right my sister was gone some how…….some way I could just feel it.



Juggernaut's relentless onslaught ensured nothing would remain hidden.



Cain not knowing where he was going since he didn’t exactly know the layout of the base veered off to a sharp left and broke through to the underground tank depot and was in the middle of taking the turret off a tank when Cyttorak’s voice boomed through his mind attacking his very core. Cain dropped the massive gun turret and paused for a brief second putting a hand over the face of his helmet.



“YESSSS CAIN!! MORE!! MORE!! DESTROY IT ALL AND DONT STOP THEREEEE! RELEASE YOURSELF TO ME COMPLETELY MY AVATAR! BLESS ME BY DESTROYING IT ALLLLLL!



Cain blasted his voice out loud,”SHUT UP! SHUT THE HELL UP YOU WEIRD…”



Cyttorak interrupted him heavily, “YOU WILL BE MINDFUL OF YOUR TONGUE AND INSOLENCE! YOU ARE MINE AND MINE ALONE! YOUR DESIRES ARE MY WILL! I HAVE GIVEN YOU ALL THAT YOU DESIRED! I AND I ALONE BEQUEATHED YOU THE POWER AND MEANS TO DESTROY YOUR BROTHER! YET YOU DENY ME AND THE NATURAL DESIGN OF MY WILL!



Frustrated and angry beyond measure at this point, Cain raised both fists and brought them down super hard on the destroyed tank in front of him rupturing the hull of the now exposed tank and burying the front of the machine 5 feet into the ground and concrete before grabbing a large part of the junked machine and hurling it through the northern reinforcement wall of the depot shattering the rock and steel and entry gate as the machine kept flying and hit the last standing guard tower, exploding the building in a fiery explosion of metal and rubble.



Realizing his misdirection Cain doubled back and took a single hand and pushed the steel and concrete wall aside shattering its center mass as the weight gave in on itself.

Cain paused for a brief moment as Tom walked up next to him. Cain looked over the half functioning command center. Tom spoke sarcastically, “ayyeee sometimes Marko…youuu are yer own enemy. Ye went to far lad. Hang on lessseehere” Tom walked to the blinking armament of computers majority of the screens were filthy from debris and cracked beyond good repair. Both Cain and Tom heard wreckage moving. Cain moved the heavy chuck of metal and concrete to reveal an injured soldier. She leaked by the mouth a steady trickle of blood but spoke strongly.



“You’re the guy that ransacked the bank to huh…*cough cough*…listen man don’t kill me…but there isn’t a file or anything like that. We just had a bit of cracked intel. Leaked from a shield double agent. We were preparing an investigation but….fuck this hurts….hey listen man….whoever this Xavier guy is…*cough cough cough* …fucking New York…don’t know where..but New York…some kinda college or something…geez…I …I…*” her hand fell from her chest and thumped the wrecked floor softly.



Cain closed his eyes. His conscious heavier than his mighty blows, he sat down just as the double riveted lock mechanisms released and he turned the helmet and removed it and placed it next to his left leg. He glanced the dead lady again, and dropped his head. “Tom I just….cover her up wilya fer cryin out loud..” “no problem lad…ya know Marko…we do what we do because we can and that’s not the problem. The problem is most times good people have to pay fer what we do buckers..” Tom kneeled beside her and covered her with a scorched American flag. Before whispering, “sweet sailing mo stoirin..” Tom stood and opened the portal. “New York it is the boyo” Cain nodded slowly, Faulkner and this lady was on his mind something fierce. Why them though?….no time now…Cains fury could not wait nor be contained. He stood grabbed his helmet and headed for the portal but not before looking back through large open area that was once an enclosed command center. He looked at all he had done as black smoke pillars licked at the clear skies. Rubble and fire was everywhere, Cain clenched his teeth as he watched field medics and teams desperately try an help what few brothers and sisters at arms that were left. In the distance he saw a lone military truck with soldiers in the back they seemed to be holding one of them back as he reached out. Gave Cain the feeling that the guy was leaving someone important and he glanced over at the lady that had just died giving Cain what he wanted in the fire place. Cain planted his helmet back in place locking in he turned and headed into the portal, gone as quickly as they came.

 

[strawberryspiral]

Running eternally in place, can make even the fastest mutant alive break a sweat. Which is something Pietro’s not used to- sweating. Feeling any sort of true exertion at all really, Wanda calls him the energizer gremlin for good reason, but this does it. Whatever hold the monster in sheep's clothing has on him, it feels almost necrotic, in nature. As if his whole body is invaded by some sort of parasite pushing him to just go, faster, and faster. Denting into the ground below him, ever running to nowhere-

Then his body jolts alive at a perilous scream. The edges of his vision begin to blur some, swirling shadows floating through the air as the Wolverine lunges for Wanda, ripping her out of the air. Both of them slam into the metallic flooring with a loud ‘BANG’ that shakes, and echoes throughout the metal dome.

Eyes widening in shock, his feet push him into action, velocity of his previous high speeds throwing him forward. A horrific squelch sounds as Logan’s sharp blades sink into her stomach.

“WANDA! NO!” White hot rage courses through his veins, heart racing, he dashes through the chaos heading straight for the savage harming her.

As he collides with the Wolverine, the beast of a man roars, a sound far more primal than any man. Every instinct in his body tells him to turn around and RUN.

But he can’t get his sister’s pitiful face out of his mind. He hadn’t hesitated, and took everything from Pietro in one foul swoop.

“Time to put the animal DOWN!” He’s barely coherent and screams between tears. She’s gone, Wanda… She’s the only person he can trust. His parents, things could change- people always do but her-

Logan, no- the monster, makes a face. His long claws stretch out wide on either side of himself as he gets ready to unleash another series of wild yet precise swipes.

Raising both balled fists, he jabs him repeatedly in the torso, and face. Barely even looking in what direction he swings, vision blurred. Not allowing himself to let up, as his sister lies still on the floor, a puddle of red seeping out from the gashes of Logan’s making.

“YOU MONSTER!” Pietro yells, pummeling his fists into Logan’s broad frame.

Dark shadows clinging to the edges of his vision begin to consume him whole, unable to see straight as the thing wearing the Professor’s skin continues to warp and feed his mind images of Wanda being ripped into shreds. All he can do is keep punching into Logan, listening to the creeks of metal, and snaps of sinewy muscles, as he pelts him with one balled fist after the other.

Logan’s speaking, his mouth moving but all Pietro can see is his sister. Wanda with her chest torn open, belly slit down the middle like prey for the slaughter. This man- no, the beast before him is beyond evil. Pietro should’ve known, from the moment he came here he was on guard. A safe haven for mutants? More like a re-education school for freaks and killers, he should’ve known it would end this way.

That no one could be trusted. He should’ve left when he got the chance. Professor X was wrong, there’s no reason to be good for goodness sake. That’s just some pipe dreams. Spoon fed wishes the Professor fed him to spare his feelings, and now Wanda’s dead! With no one to blame but himself, and all he has to show for it is tears and blood-

Pietro yelps, letting out wet gasps of pain between dry lips. There’s a sharp, burning sensation in his side that almost consumes him as he tries to right himself. An image of Logan as nothing but a red splat at the bottom of the long drop to the Cerebro’s bottom brings him pure joy, he deserves this- for Wanda, for all the people that the monster's hurt.

"You’re fast, kid," Logan said, his voice hoarse, "but speed don't mean jack if you don’t finish the job."

He leaps up, and pounces with a great swipe in Pietro’s direction that he barely manages to dodge. Fists rearing back to strike him in the center of his ips quickly behind the mutant who suddenly takes a knee. Every muscle strained and tense the person before him looks inhuman, alien. Pietro doesn’t recognize this feral monster- Logan used to be someone he thought highly of.

So why? How could he do that to Wanda? She didn’t deserve-

Pietro suddenly slows as he turns to glance in his sister’s breathless body’s direction. Still, so perfectly still, and covered in blood her guts and intestines spilling from her slit belly. Green eyes looking into the distance, at everything and nothing at all, seeing right through them. Why’s he even doing this? If Wanda’s gone, then he should be too.

That thought solidifies in his head as another chunk of meat is cut through. It releases a shocked scream from himself that it makes his voice crack. Immediately that pain begins to radiate with a very similar one to the other side of his torso. If he looks down, he might even catch a peak of his own insides gushing out.

“Asshole!” Pietro punches him right in the nose just because he can. Then starts to move so fast in time, everything looks super, super slow. Like honey off the hive, or sand in a dial.

As Wolverine pushes himself back up to his feet, grunting and growling through bared teeth. Pietro’s brows narrow dangerously and he wipes the back of his hand to clear his vision of tears. His throbbing fists pulsate from being slammed into the beast’s metal lined skeletal frame. But, he could care less at this point.

The pain is the only thing that keeps him going. He thrives in it, dwells in the depths of his hysteria, because Wanda’s not here to bring him out of it. In fact, she’ll never be there to coax him out of insanity again- so Pietro dives in head first. Throwing another flurry of endless punches while ducking and diving, weaving in and out from Logan’s reach. Moving so fast even he’s becoming dizzy and that’s still not enough, it can’t be. Won’t ever be- he did a good thing, and this is how Logan repays him?

So much for being good.

Ignoring the red hot pain that flares up in his gashed sides, he grins. Sometimes you have no choice but to contribute to chaos, to evil. Growing up surrounded by cold surgical grade steel, being prodded by needles, binded in place. Watching the world pass him by through foggy glass, like a fish in a bowl had taught him about suffering. Physical pain was better than the mental, it was a welcomed distraction to reality.

Maybe this is what he gets for doing good for goodness sake, gored to death by a beast. Pietro doesn’t even register his own movements anymore, swinging so wildly and erratically, he’s sure Logan will find some way to disembowel him eventually.


The red tidal wave of glowing magic made the interior of the Cerebro light up like neon stop signs as it met with the possessed Professor’s sharp shadows. As she shot out jagged blades of red magic, moving in great arches to resemble smaller and bigger waves of red blades cascading off another. The thing wearing Professor Xavier’s skin raised an arm, a massive cloud of wispy shadows met swirling neon red, causing bright sparks to explode through the air.

Black and red sparks pop and sizzle, Wanda has to turn and bring up a red forcefield of magic to protect herself from the blast that follows.

“How is this even possible?” The ghoulish being snarled, his mask of complete arrogance beginning to falter some.

“I SHOULD BE A GOD!”

So, he isn’t a god? Wanda finds that fact somewhat comforting.

Knowing what that thing isn’t, it brought her one step closer to finding out what in the actual hell it is at least. The interaction between their two energies- fizzling off eachother, as if whatever magic she possessed was noncohesive to the shadow being’s, is another reassuring comfort.

One that lasts just long enough for her to process her Pietro slamming his fists at hyperspeeds into Wolverine, just below them.

“Pietro! Stop, what’s wrong with you?! STOP IT!” She screams out in desperation, diving down through the air in his direction. Mind far too occupied with trying to put a stop to her brother, to notice whatever inhabits the Professor’s body, looking to Cerebro's helmet with a predator’s hungry gaze.

Before she can even reach Pietro the world starts to drain of all life. She whips around mid air, just in time to watch the thing wearing the Professor’s body reach out with thin, pale fingers. Hands clasped around the gleaming helm of Cerebro, Jean is motionless at his feet somewhere.

“No, no, NO! WHAT DO WE DO?”

All around her the world has succumbed to chaos. Pietro and Logan are locked in a match to the death, outside the doorway she can hear even more ruckus ensue. The familiar southern twang of Rogue’s voice shouts out with so much emotion, she wishes she could make out what’s being said. But she’s cut off by something else.

“YOU ALL BETRAYED ME!" A voice echoes off the metallic walls and she’s suddenly tossed to the side but a strong wind comes rushing at her like a wall of ice.

Without a second thought she gets tossed through the air, body flailing out of control. A sudden gust of wind hits her, a shower of icy flurries, and blue light shining from just beyond the entryway.

Wanda’s stuck between a rock and a hard place. Let her brother, and Logan, go at it until one of them parishes or, risk everything to stop the being that’s already managed to slip on the Cerebro. She tries to be in both places at once, reaching within herself to expel another surge of red sparks in both her brother’s and the skinwalker Professor’s direction. Eye glancing to Jean Grey who lies motionless on the platform, back again to her brother, then snapping to the all powerful being as the helmet slides into place on the Professor’s head.

Before magic even has a chance to dispel she’s overtaken by a paralyzing jolt, like electricity shooting through her nerves and causing them to fail. An immense cold begins to consume her, and the air pressure drops. She can feel it all around her, a freezing chill rippling over her skin. Her body goes motionless then tilts sideways and she begins to drop through the air. Body sinking down to the belly of the sub-basement below.

When she hits the ground it's covered in frost and snow. Robert Drake, it could only be him but why? He must be like Pietro, like the Professor, like everyone else, possessed by something ferocious and unrelenting. Anger, hatred, resentment, guilt, and regret- every negative emotion possible hangs still in the frost bitten air. She attempts to raise an arm and push herself up off the frozen floor.

Her breath comes out as barely there puffs of condensation, getting smaller, and smaller. Unable to move a muscle, every breath a labored one, she gasps for air. Watching from a distance as ice begins to crystalize her body. All colors that make up the world around her fading out into muted pastels- and then, everything goes blank.


White, endless, like a world made of light reflecting off the surface of freshly fallen snow. All around Jean is nothing, and everything- it’s a mind boggling thing to observe. A world made of everything her home- Earth isn’t. It feels like a fever dream, this can’t be real.

It can’t be.

She blinks long and hard, attempting to clear her muddled head. “This can’t be real, this can’t be happening-“

When she looks down at her hands and body, nothing feels or seems out of the ordinary. Jean still feels like herself, looks like herself, and it shocks her. Puts her into a state of panic briefly before she slowly sinks to her knees. Everything around her is real, this is real, but she doesn’t want to be. The Professor never told her about a place like this, somewhere time seems to stop- or it seems endless- or-

Jean doesn’t know anymore, she’s just confused. Lost, where did everyone go?

“Professor!” She gulps, “Professor Xavier! Are you out there?”

When all she gets back is silence and the sound of her own voice, echoing off endless white at all sides she truly begins to panic. For the briefest moment she gets a flash of Wanda’s face, color drained and brows into a creased expression of concern and fear. She shoves herself back up onto both feet, walking forward into the white space.

“Wanda!” Jean’s running now, half stumbling over her own feet.

“Rogue? Bobby! Anyone? Where are- where did everything go?!” At this point she’s doing nothing but running in circles it seems. Jean pauses for a moment, leaning over to grab both knees with trembling hands. Taking quick, rapid breaths that almost tear at the bottom of her lungs.

“C’mon, Jeannie,” A distant voice calls, and the unfamiliar yet recognizable soft tone to it brings with it a swell of emotions. “You’ve got this. Just a little longer. I ain’t going anywhere.” Logan’s whisper pierces her psyche, like a far off echo from worlds away.

She lifts her head up to look from side to side, only to be greeted with endless nothing per usual.

Could it be him? Leading her somewhere, to something more than this… This vast nothingness. Jean presses on into the deep white, a soft buzz of warmth crawling all over her skin the further she gets. She doesn’t even know how long she’s walked before a small dot of something, a tiny blur in this strange world that she clings to like a lifeline. Never letting it leave her line of sight.

Jean begins running full force towards it, propelling her body forward, and soaring forward through the air. The closer she gets the more confused she becomes, looking over the sight of a set of grand double doors free from its hinges. When she sets foot onto the smooth white ground a shiver crawls down her spine, head tilting back to look up at polished wood.

It’s the Institute's main entrance, she’s seen it one too many times to forget. Grasping tightly onto the familiar door handle she listens to the familiar creak of unoiled hinges, smiling at the fond feeling of warmth it brings. When the door swings open she’s greeted to the dorm halls. Or atleast, a muted, colorless version. All soft whites and grays, like god forgot to fill in the color scale at the drawing board of reality. When she steps through the doorway the door swings shut behind her.

Closing with a resounding, ‘THUD!’’ The door slamming, echoes down the long corridor. Doors on either side of her resembling that of the Institute’s grand halls brings her some comfort in this state of complete confusion. But, she’s still unsteady by the lack of color, by the lifeless appearance of everything around her.

“It’s the Institute but, but it’s not?” She slowly begins walking down the hall, carefully watching her surroundings. Skeptical from her recent run in with the horrific version of her mentor, that thing could be around any corner after all. But, the further she walks the more she realizes that absolutely nothing is happening. As if the world around her is waiting on her, to make a choice.

Stopping in the hall she raises two fingers to one temple, eyes squeezing shut as she tries to hone in on the others. That’s all that matters now. Finding the team, getting their heads right, and prepping for whatever they have to do to save the Professor is her number one priority at this point.

So she focuses on them, pictures the Xmen in all their glory. Corny costumes, rough around the edges, and too smart for their own good. All of them are flawed and hard headed to a fault, especially that new girl- Wanda. Jean ponders on that briefly, just a fraction of a second, but that’s all it seems to take. Opening the first door she sees in the hallway causes a sort of ripple effect.

It swings open, she steps inside, and the white around her brightens, intensifies into something so bright she has to squeeze her eyes shut. Holding them like that until, the pinks of her eyelids start to fade to black. At all sides around her a world of faded grays and whites begins to form. She finds herself sitting in the backseat of a standard sedan. In the front seats ahead of her are both Rogue and Bobby, driving down a long road lined with black snow and ice…

It had been a day of reminiscing for Bobby and Rogue. The two weren't lovers, just friends. Rogue had offered to drive; their destination was the Drake household in Long Island.

As the Jeep followed the road, the previous conversation lingered in Bobby's mind. He had built what seemed like a city of ice in the ocean while recalling how cold his father was. The man thought building sand castles and having an imagination were useless.

It’s strange, similar to an experience she’d read about in the Professor’s books about fringe psychology- remote viewing. Jean’s here, inside a memory that seems all too real, but she’s not really there. Just in spirit, or, her psyche? Connecting to some sort of consciousness she doesn’t have the brainwidth to quite understand yet. What’s even weirder than all this, is the fact that she can literally hear Bobby’s inner monologue. As if she is spectating from within a corner of his brain. It’s intrusive, beyond wrong and she feels even worse about it given the psychic message that awful being had projected worldwide for all to hear.

No one deserves to be outed like that, least of all something so personal as their identity whether that be sexuality or their status as a mutant. If she’d had the choice Jean would’ve hid her own powers the rest of her life. Hidden that part of herself, just to shield the world and herself from the potential hate that was sure to come with it being revealed.

Nobody likes a mutie, least of all one that can’t read their thoughts. She can’t imagine being outed on top of everything they’ve gone through. Bobby must have had his world absolutely rocked tonight. Who could blame him? She’s not sure she’d be able to take all of this either.

Bobby’s inner thoughts press on like a distant channel being played on the radio.

At this time, Rogue had just ended a relationship built on lies. She vented about it some on the road, and her situation weighed on Bobby. When she parked, he finally said aid it: "He's a jerk."

"Whatever's between me an' him is between me an' him," Rogue spat. His bluntness had caught her off-guard.

"Yeah, but that doesn't mean I'm not allowed to care about you," Bobby retorted. "Let's look at the facts. He hit on you and forgot to mention he has a wife?"

Rogue sighed heavily. "Ah see your point." Her face twitched; she wanted to cry. "Not too pathetic, huh?"

He placed a hand on her shoulder. "There's nothing pathetic about wanting to be loved, Rogue."

She smirked wryly. "Bobby Drake, that was almost profound."

Seeing the closeness between the two is a painful reminder of everything she’s lost. Jean’s so far gone in her despair she’s even starting to miss the sound of Pietro’s rambling chatter. The car begins too slow and Jean watches a myriad of emotions, none of them good pass over Bobby’s face.

The moment was interrupted by a blinding light. Both of them recoiled and squinted to see the shape standing on the lit-up front porch. "Are you two familiar with the concept of neighbors?" an older man's voice chastised them. "Tell me, love birds... Are you two joining us for dinner, despite the fact you're an hour late?"

"Here we go..." Bobby groaned under his breath.

———

Bobby's mother, Madeline, placed plates of delicious-smelling food on the table—mashed potatoes, corn on the cob, breadsticks... all while the argument raged between Bobby and his father William. "Is it too much to ask that you bring home a normal girl?" The latter had quickly puzzled out that Rogue was different.

The bitter tone of his father makes Jean flinch, she had no idea Bobby came from a family like this. It’s the last thing she would picture, he seemed like such a stereotypical all american kid. But, she should’ve known better, usually people with the saddest stories are the ones you’d least expect.

Logan taught her that.

The newspaper in his hand flash-froze and then crumbled in his hands. "Define 'normal girl'," Bobby demanded through gritted teeth. His fists were clenched, a wild look in his eyes. This wasn't his first time being belittled.

So, his dad did this a lot then. What a piece of work, the warm buzz from earlier seems to broil beneath her skin as she watches on. Rage begins to paint pictures of what could be, this house burned to the ground, his father begging for mercy. Jean shakes her head, trying to push those violent images from her mind.

"Don't you DARE start using those damned powers in MY house. You may pal around with your little friends at that school, but MY HOUSE will NOT be turned into—"

"A sideshow," Bobby finished for him. "Can't you at least write some new material after a year, Dad?"

She can’t help but laugh at that, Bobby had always been whitty, and had a mouth on him for sure.

"You're the one trotting the same circus here, Bobby—just a different face every time." He took on a mocking tone. "One week, she's Italian. The next week, it's Japanese. And now this one is..." His nose wrinkled in disgust as he glanced at Rogue.

“What a prick, you’re lucky to have a son like Bobby. If I was your kid I’d have mind controlled you into walking off a short pier!” Jean can feel Bobby’s rage like it’s her own at this point. Except where all he feels is cold, numb to his father, sick and tired of the same act and dance. All Jean feels is burning hate, like a lava pulsating within her blood vessels.

Bobby bolted up from his seat. "Is what? A mutant?" He started to circle around to William's side of the table. "That's what this is all about! You're just disgusted by anything that doesn't fit your narrow definition of 'normal'. Well sorry to disappoint you, Dad." With that, he threw the front door open. "I'll call you, Mom. Marie?"

———

Jean follows them back to the car, and sits through a very quiet ride. Watching the scenery pass, blurs of white snow and more gray, everything still drained of life yet able to feel every awful emotion that ebbs and sways through the air. They swing into the drive thru at a nearby fast food joint, and she watches them chow down. Bobby with pure disdain, and Rogue seemingly satisfied with the food but concerned by Bobby’s silence as he rants on in his own head.

The two had bought fast food—a flaccid alternative to a mother's cooking, and yet unspoiled by William's guff. As Bobby sat there in the passenger seat, he seethed. Next time his mother invited him to dinner—if there was a next time and if he accepted the invitation against his better judgment—he had half a mind to bring someone who would give the old man a heart attack. Maybe he'd invite Storm. Hell, why not another guy?

Bobby's thoughts lingered on the latter... A guy? Maybe he could convince Mr. Logan—the gruff biker type—to join this little game... Or maybe someone well-known like Jean-Paul Beaubier would up the shock factor! The thought of sitting before his appalled father with a man made his heart flutter. Wait...

Jean cringes, though the thought of Logan posing as a fake boyfriend does amuse her. She can see where this is going, and listening to it is a bit, well, very intrusive. So personal are these thoughts it feels illegal to be listening and yet, she can’t get enough. Afraid that if she leaves now she might never see either of them again.

Bobby considered the utter ridiculousness of such a move; was it only an act of rebellion. It had to have been just that... right? He let his mind wander a little further down the rabbit hole.

Oh boy, here it comes. Jean tenses, eyes glancing to the glinting handle of the back driver's side door. If she opened it, would it lead her back to the hallway? A door brought her into the car, maybe…

Why did he date the women he dated? Why did he bring girls like Opal Tanaka and Rogue to meet his parents? Sure, they were pretty and had great personalities, but Bobby never found himself able to commit to a long-term relationship. They couldn't go beyond 'just friends'. He didn't feel that kind of attraction to them, nor to any woman. There was that, and the wonder he felt when a man came out as gay... and the way he admired attractive men... and the fact thinking about this felt so right, despite his dad's tendency to demonize it.

It was at that moment Bobby Drake realized he was gay... and that his dad had another reason to dislike him. He turned his head away, a tear falling from his right eye.

At that she can feel her own eyes grow misty. Jean knows she couldn’t have known this would happen, but it still feels wrong. No matter how accidental, she’d broken one of the only promises she’d ever made herself.

———

"I just don't get it..."

The two had finished their meal on the beaches of Montauk. Rather than the elaborate ice structures from earlier, Bobby and Rogue packed sand into their paper cups, building a sand castle. He had composed himself, focused on the subject of his mutant genes. One step at a time...

"It's called stupidity, sugah. It ain't supposed to make sense. Skin color, religion, gender, sexuality, genes... If ya wanna hate a body bad enough, any reason'll do ya."

Sexuality... Bobby wanted to speak up, come out of the closet... but was he even sure? Perhaps if he did some research and thought hard, he would be more confident in saying for sure. Maybe later...

... But 'later' was only a month down the road, at which point it couldn't be ignored any longer.

———

Teeth biting the inside of her cheek, Jean shakes her head. Some things aren’t meant to be poked and prodded by an intrusive telepath, why had she stayed so long? Gulping her hand grabs aimlessly through the air. Trying to picture the door handle of a dorm room door, and picturing herself clasping around it tightly. It was time to leave them to their private moment, even if this is the last time they’ll meet.

At least she got to say goodbye, sort of.

Seeping through the doorway and into the hall Jean takes a couple of long strides, making some room between herself and Bobby’s hurt filled memory. Again she focuses on the X Men trying to picture their faces down to even the smallest details. Maybe if she keeps opening doors she’ll eventually find one that explains all this, or leads her somewhere other than this endless white room?

Another door opens and she finds herself in the sitting room on the main floor. The Professor sits beside Wanda, noth with their backs to her as they look out a window. Obviously having a hushed conversation, as she begins to step into the room a shear wall of red becomes visible. Blocking her from getting any farther than the doorway.

“I-It’s just these dreams! I don’t understand why they wont stop, it’s never ending. On repeat I see you, but, but you are much younger. A-and this man, no, this child, sometimes he’s grown other time she’s a kid and he’s in trouble, being poked by needles, taunted by some man in a lab coat. I just want it to stop, I already have a hard enough time with my own shit without all this other junk filling my head! What do I have to do? Get a lobotomy? I’ll do anything to make this stop,” Wanda is yelling, but seems to have caught her outburst just in time.

Devolving into a small whisper, her voice trembles as she recalls the night terrors that keep her up all night. Jena’s noticed the dark circles before, everyone has bad dreams around here. It’s not unusual for a mutant to have some baggage that keeps them tossing and turning all night. But she’s seen some pretty odd things on Wanda’s end, even for a mutant. She calls herself a witch for good reason. Comes off as naturally a little creepy roaming the halls like a zombie, but that could also just be the sleep deprivation taking its toll.

The Professor nods with understanding, “I know at times things can seem… Hopeless but, I assure you Wanda we will find your father. Once we do, I think things will start to make sense.”

“You know him? Our dad? My nightmares aren’t just messed up figments of my tortured imagination?” Wanda tilts her head to look at the Professor with wide, startled eyes.

The Professor replies, and when the words fall from his lips they sound somewhat warped.

“Your father was-” A scratching record sound rips through the air, “-passionate and cared for you but life was-” His voice cuts off with another burble of technical sounds.

The both of them fall into silence for a moment before Wanda continues on as if everything had occurred as usual. “Really? You think so?”

“Of course, I know so. We’ll find him together.” He responds in kindness.

Jean frowns, the Professor knows her dad? Looking back to the door handle still in her hand she takes a step back into the hall. Then taking a deep breath opens the door once again, watching as the very same scene play before her once again. This time pressing two fingers to her temple as she watches on, focused in on this memory. Trying to pull at the fracture pieces of warped sounds and fit them back together like a puzzle.

This time when the Professor speaks, more is revealed but still a muddle mess. “A good friend of mine-” “-with a rough hand, if he’d known everything in his power-” “-Together we can.”

That doesn’t make much sense to her either. And Jean doesn’t mind redoing this a million times if she has to, if just to hear the Professor’s voice one last time.

“Impossible odds-” “-Your father was passionate” “-Like you, he was dealt-” “In order to find you-”

“We can search for him together,” Professor ends again with a compassionate smile that she can see just the corner of.

His back still to her, she’s a little annoyed, why did Wanda get a lasting memory like this? And how was she able to manipulate the memory, keep it from Jean’s reach?

Teeth gritting she turns back to the hallway, letting the door close behind her for the final time. It’s time to stop living in the past, Jean needs to find her way out of here once and for all. That’s just the thing though, she’s not sure just how she’s supposed to do that... So, when Jean opens another random door to see the suburbia neighborhood she grew up in. It’s not much, just a farmhouse, some cracked roads, and those faded hills of what used to be green now bleach white.

There’s the neighbor’s house- an old man with way too many dogs, and she walks past the Grey family mailbox. Heading up the hill, trekking up the dusty asphalt to the main driveway of the brown trim home. Already a steady flow of anxiety begins to pulsate through her shaky hand, opening the front door with a quick exhale.

“I’m home!” Jean doesn’t know why she shouts it out like that, probably just a habit that brought her comfort at this point. Walking through the doorway only to pause midway in the living room at the sight of the Professor sitting down across from a much younger version of herself. Complete with cherubic, freckled cheeks, and crooked teeth held in place by braces covered in pink bands.

As if there’s a magnet somewhere in the room her body is dragged into place, Jean is a puppet on strings, pushed into the couch cushion roughly by fate. Chin lifts as she lands with grunt to meet the gaze of both the Professor and Amelia Vought. She knows this memory by heart, the first time she met him. Had brought along one of his closer acquaintances on staff, they’d had juice boxes. And the Professor talked about her abilities openly without judgement, unlike her parents. Opened her eyes to see that life as a mutant didn’t have to be spent wallowing in guilt and self hatred.

This is one of her best memories, now tainted by the look in the Professor’s eyes. He opens his mouth to speak, but it isn’t him. Just the black eyed monster, wearing his skin. Face emotionless, but eyes filled with gleeful mirth as he looms over her.

“Hello Jean, you have a most beautiful mind…”

Her whole body goes rigid as the nightmarish version of the Professor speaks, and then hearing her own voice but childlike is just another out of body experience all together. “I bet you say that to all the telepathic kids you scoop off the streets.”

“Well, yes, but with you I truly mean it. Read my mind, see if I’m being truthful.”

Amelia shifts in her seat, “Charles…”

“It’s fine Amelia, I trust her," Eyes like two bottomless pits meet the child version of her's.

She watches the child- herself, as features crease in concentration. “You’re being honest, for now.” Like clockwork her little head snaps to look at the hallway, her mother steadily approaching with a couple of juice boxes, with her dad at her side.

“Here Jean, dear- and for the both of you-”

Watching her mom dutifully serve guests leaves an ache in her chest that wasn’t there before. Realization that she may never see any family again coming to stark reality.

Her father’s voice is what shakes Jean out of her own head, “-I just wanna know what this place is about. What can you do for Jean? Is there a way to cure her?”

Amelia Vought’s eyes narrow dangerously, “Cure her?”

It used to make her stomach drop and face burn when he talked like that. Now her father’s words roll over her back like frigid water. Instead of sparking self hatred it leaves her empty and soaked in disappointment.

“Oh, no, no, c’mon John. Just- just let Jean take care of this! Let’s leave them to it.” She waves her dad over to the kitchen with a sigh.

“Oh, c’mon, I just wanna know there’s a solution-” Her mom successfully shoves him out into the hallway. Leaning back to flash a pitying smile to the girl sitting perfectly still on the couch.

“We’ll be in the other room if you need us sweetie.” Elaine Grey’s smile is everything but pleasant, forcing on a happy front in front of the guests.

‘Dammit John, can’t you just pretend to be supportive for once in your life? Why did I marry-’ She catches the tail end of her mother’s thoughts as she walks out.

The Grey family fought over Jean’s circumstance for a long time. Her father saw it as something foul, ungodly, and biologically incorrect. While her mother sat on the religious tree hugger side of the fence, claiming Jean had gifts given to her by god. Either way she wasn’t winning, not with two parents arguing day in and day out, all over whether their daughter was a devil or an angel.

The stress of that, the loss of Annie- her last, and only friend, it all had piled so high on her shoulders she’d forgotten what it felt like to be carefree as a kid. Taken over by guilt and paranoia, fearful of what thoughts she might read, unable to control her ever growing laundry list of abilities. Jean’s starting to wish that like every other memory from her childhood, she’d pushed this one deep into the margins of her brain to be forgotten.

The cherubic version of herself stares intently into the ink black eyes of the ghoulish Professor. “You’re like me, you hear the voices…

“Yes Jean, you and I- we’re mutants with the gift of knowing our fellow man down to their most inner subtleties. But I can do more than just turn them off, I can teach you how to control this gift we’ve been given.”

“Gift?” Jean rolls her eyes, “More like a curse if you ask me.”

The older man’s eyes soften at that, which is strange given their blackened appearance. “Yes, well, there’s negatives to every circumstance. There are mutants who suffer just as much if not more, I assure you. The question is, do we let the opinions of others push us into obscurity.” His eyes drift over to the hallway where her mother and father disappeared down, “Or rise above and put into action the life we want and deserve?”

Little Jean Grey bites down on her lower lip, jaw jutting out, as a look of determination takes over soft features. “I want to be a doctor one day, all I want is to help people.”

Amelia smiles, reaching out to squeeze the little girl’s hand, “You can, you will.”

“Yes, in that I have no doubt.” The pale, possessed Professor nods, and Jean looks into those dark eyes with longing.

If only it could’ve stayed this peaceful forever. Jean would do anything to put things back the way they’d been before, but she’s not sure she’ll ever get that chance now. So she sits in that memory, wallows in the self pity it brings, and hangs onto every word that falls from her hijacked mentor's lips.