Charles looked down at the itinerary for the tenth annual genetics conference in his hands. It was very straightforward, no particular surprises. He doubted he would see anything new at the conference, but he knew it was a good way to keep his contacts open.

He leaned back in his wheelchair and looked up at the ceiling. He'd been to the inaugural conference and some small part of him wondered if it had really been that long, just where the years had gone.

The rest of him knew exactly where they had gone. They'd been poured into rebuilding his school, training up the next generation of mutants to guide their species into the twentieth century. It had been too many years since he'd been a young man earning the title of "Professor."

He'd once remarked to Alex that he was a different man now. Alex, who had just recently returned from Vietnam, had agreed, saying that man had had hair. His former student had laughed when he spoke, but he'd seen a look in his eyes that showed Charles just how much he understood.

After all, Alex was no longer the brash teen who had called Hank names. His time at the school had changed him, and Vietnam had killed what little remained of his flippant attitude towards violence. He was still too reckless and cocky for his own good, but there was a soberness there too. Charles wished it had come from another source, but he also knew it was rare everyone got what they wanted.

Taking charge of his brother had also changed Alex, although this change had been wholly for the better. Alex had been estranged from his parents when they died, but he had still been in contact with his brother. Alex had stepped forward as his guardian, shortly before Scott had manifested his powers. He'd immediately been brought to the Institute, and Alex had forged another link with the school. He'd even started teaching physical education there.

Now that Scott was seventeen, it was another reminder to Charles of all the time that had passed, all the hopes he had lost. Sometimes he'd wake up in the middle of the night, just staring at the ceiling, feeling like he was missing something.

And, of course, he was missing something, or someone. He hadn't seen Erik in years, and Charles hadn't quite decided if that was a good thing or a bad thing. The X-men had reformed, they'd had to after what had happened in Washington, but the Brotherhood had been silent for years. Erik played a long game though, and Charles wasn't foolish enough to think he'd given up.

He hadn't seen Raven since that day either. Charles wondered more about her than he did about his friend. Where had she gone after that day? Had she gone back to Erik? Was she helping him create and implement his plans even now? Charles had no way of knowing.

Of the two of them, he'd sensed the greatest potential for change from Raven. She had been so thoughtful that day in Washington, and Charles had hoped she'd come back to him. He hadn't necessarily thought it would be anything permanent, but even a visit would mean so much to him.

Instead, the years had passed and he'd heard nothing. Every time the mutant question was brought up on the news, still unresolved after so many years, he'd waited and watched, hoping to see some sign of her. Nothing.

He opened the drawer to his desk and put the itinerary in his desk. These thoughts were not conducive to a focused mind, and there was still quite a bit of work left to do before he left. Hank, his most faithful student, would be coming in in a few minutes to discuss some last minute preparations.

Just before Charles closed his desk drawer, he saw the photo of Raven he kept there. It was positioned in such a way that, every time he opened the drawer, he saw her face staring up at him.

He was glad no one else was able to see it. Hank would no doubt give him a pitying glance and Alex would say he was torturing himself. Charles didn't see it as torture though, or even as pain. It was simply a reminder that, if he was patient, and he never gave up on her, she might return to him one day in some form or another.

And, if there was one thing Charles had learned how to be in the past two decades or so, it was how to be patient.

Kurt sank down onto the cold cobblestones, his head in his hands. He wasn't sure if anyone was still chasing him anymore. He didn't hear anyone, but he wasn't foolish enough to think that meant they'd given up.

He took in a shuddering breath. He'd never been this exhausted, not even after a show. That had been fun, and his movements had been light. Now, when he ran, his feet sounded like a crashing weight on every cobblestone. His heart had thudded in time with each footstep, exhausted from doing so many teleportations in such a short amount of time. It was like his own body was trying to betray them.

His own thoughts were pressing down on him too.

Freak.

Unnatural.

Demon.

Sinner.

Monster.

They were words he'd heard all his life, muttered behind his back or spoken as a silent accusation in the eyes of his audience. There had been occasions when they'd been said straight to his face, and he'd tried not to pay them any heed. Tonight though, for the first time, he was starting to believe them.

Monster. MONSTER.

Kurt bit into his lip and bowed his head even further. His six fingers were starting to dig into his head, and he was grateful for the pain. It couldn't even begin to match the pain in his heart, but it was something. He deserved to be in pain.

He pressed his back further against the wall of the church he'd taken sanctuary behind. He couldn't go in, not with what had happened that evening. God might love all of his children, but Kurt hadn't felt like one of God's children that day. He was starting to feel alone, forsaken, punished.

A lump formed in his throat, making it difficult to breath. Kurt swallowed, wishing he could simply cry. Most of his tears had been exhausted in the past few hours. His throat felt dry and scratchy, and his eyes were burning.

The past few hours had been a blur. However, the only minutes that really mattered stuck in his head, refusing to be forgotten or erased. There was no forgetting them, and they seemed to repeat themselves, mocking him for what he had done.

His thoughts went to Stefan, the brother he'd never had. As children Stefan had been the tough one, the one who had once punched a boy for snickering at Kurt's tail. Yes, Stefan had had a temper, but Kurt had always known that he'd had a good heart. He'd always been sure Stefan meant well.

Even as a child Kurt had looked up to Stefan. He'd been six years older than him and Kurt always knew he could count on him. As for Stefan, he'd once told Kurt that he would trust him with his life. Kurt had spent so much of his early adulthood trying to make himself worthy of that honor.

And now he'd failed. He'd failed Stefan, failed himself, his God and the woman he loved. He felt another sob choke him. Amanda. Where was she? Did she know, or did she have another few hours of blissful ignorance ahead of her?

He buried his head further in his hands. Kurt had loved Amanda for as long as he could remember. As a child he had seen his affection for her as a given, like the sky being blue or the grass being green. They'd been together almost since the hour of their birth, and Kurt had assumed they would always be together in some form or another.

As he'd gotten older, and he'd matured, that deep affection had become something else. By the time he was fourteen, he'd been able to put a name to his love for her, to understand it and he dared to hope that she felt the same.

Now, at eighteen, he knew what it was that existed between them. They had only been together for a year now and, for the last few months, Kurt had thought of his life as more or less perfect. He should have known it wouldn't last.

What sin had he committed that he needed to be punished in this way? Kurt wildly sought the reason, pleaded wordlessly with God to let him know, or to make the last few hours a terrible nightmare. Neither happened in the silence behind the church though, and his body shook with tears that had long since run dry.

Footsteps reached his ears and Kurt stiffened in fear. He lifted his head, barely daring to breathe. If it was any of his pursuers he'd need to teleport. He'd need to leave the town. Kurt hadn't wanted to leave without talking to Amanda, but he didn't see how he could reach her now. Not that she would listen to him, not that anyone would listen to him. He'd seen the accusation in the mob's eyes, and he'd known it was over.

Nothing he'd been able to say had convinced them that, no, that wasn't how things had happened. And why shouldn't they believe that? He was the monster, the aberration. No one in this small neighborhood outside of West Berlin would believe anything he had to say. He should have expected nothing less.

He took another breath and prepared to teleport. He'd wait until the last minute to give himself the maximum distance between himself and his pursuer. Kurt let his hands fall from his head and hang limply by his side, preparing for what came next.

But when Amanda rounded the corner, he felt all thoughts flee his head. She looked around, her eyes wide and worried. When she spotted him Kurt thought he saw some relief creep into her features, but he didn't dare hope.

"Kurt?" she whispered.

He looked away. He didn't dare look at her after what happened. Kurt should teleport away, leave before she got too close, before he saw the accusation in her eyes too. It would be better for everyone that way.

Instead he stayed, frozen to the spot. He felt her hands slip around his cheeks, tilt his head up until he was forced to look her in the eyes. They were red and puffy, as was the rest of her face. Amanda's lower lip was red from being bitten, a habit they both shared.

"Kurt," she whispered, "Please...just..."

She swallowed and took a shuddering breath.

"Please just tell me what happened," she begged, "And don't lie. Please."

It should have been more difficult to explain, to narrate what had been the worst day of his life. Instead, the words tumbled from his lips, thick with emotion at times, dead at others. It had always seemed impossible to deny Amanda anything.

With every word he spoke, he could see Amanda crumble a little more, feel her hands shake on his cheeks. When he stopped talking, he looked for the accusation, the sorrow and betrayal he was sure he'd see reflected on her face.

Instead there was nothing but compassion and a grief that matched his own. Her arms wrapped around his shoulders, pulling him so close his face was buried in her golden hair. He felt her tears on his neck, and every part of his being trembled.

"I believe you," she whispered.

His limbs trembling, Kurt tentatively wrapped his arms around her, needing to see if she was real. And as Kurt held her, he knew that, no, he hadn't been forsaken.