Timestretch (Close Your Eyes And Count To (Mach) 5) Chapter 1: Timestretch, a x-men: the movie fanfic

AN: I've watched X-Men: Apocalypse twice now, and I had to write something about it. Specifically, about Pietro and Erik. And Wanda. Even though she doesn't appear to exist in the movie universe.

This story is alternatively titled: In Which The Author's Brain Does Not Work In A Sensical Way

Bonus info: Sensical has not yet become an "official" word in the English language, which would be why you can't use it. Nonsense is a word, therefore nonsensical can used to describe something of nonsense. However, sense has different meanings and doesn't have an adjective for something of sense. ("Sensical" is a word on the Urban Dictionary, though!)

Because that's totally the first thing you wanted to know after reading the alternative title. Obviously.

And the second thing you want to know after reading that alternative title is, of course, what the author means that her brain doesn't work in a sensical way in this story. Well, basically, this story gets confusing. It stars out chronological and logical, and then things start getting out of wack. Like, realities start getting messed up and tangle and stuff. You'll see when you get to it.

Timestretch (Close Your Eyes And Count To (Mach) 5)

Pietro "Peter" Maximoff was not well acquainted with fear.

There was not much for him to fear, because there wasn't anything that could catch him. He wasn't afraid of being caught. He wasn't afraid of the normal things people were usually afraid of. He was never afraid of death. Death couldn't touch him.

The only thing he was afraid of was letting his family down. And he'd thought he didn't even have that to fear any more, since he already had let his family down by being such a loser, still living in his mom's basement and not doing much of anything while his sisters headed off to college. He was already a disappointment, unable to stop cheating, lying, stealing, getting into trouble that he always got out of but nevertheless got into. He was already such a disappointment that he didn't think he could be more of one. His worst fear had come true, so what more was there to be afraid of?

He hadn't been afraid of Apocalypse. He was just another snail, like the rest of the world. And his face was ugly. So no, Peter hadn't been afraid of kicking the guy around like a hacky-sack or any kind of repercussions of that.

But when Apocalypse made the ground swallow his foot, Peter realized he had another fear: he was afraid of being trapped and unable to escape. And he felt true, unadulterated panic, for the first time in his long-short life.

And when Apocalypse broke his leg—in a few different places, to boot—Peter realized he had yet another fear: a fear of being forever crippled and unable to run. Ending up in a wheelchair like that Professor X guy. Fuck, that would be the worst!

He'd always, always been able to run, from everything. It had never occurred to him that there could be a time when he couldn't run.

Fuck! If he was never able to run again, then he'd probably go insane and kill himself. What was he if he couldn't run? Running was all he was, all he'd ever been. If he didn't have that, he was nothing, and he knew it.

Not that it would matter, since the ninja girl was going to kill him. And there was, not the fear of death, but the fear he'd always known: the fear of letting his family down even more than he'd ever thought to think was possible. Because if he died, then he'd really failed them in every possible way, hadn't he? His mom. His little sister. His twin. His dad, who didn't even know he was his dad. He'd failed all of them.

He closed his eyes so he wouldn't see it coming.

Except, then it never did. So apparently he got a second chance, after all.

Well, if he were able to heal from the broken bones and run again.

"I'm sorry," Professor X said, after Peter's leg had been set in its cast. "I know how hard it must be for you, to be unable to run."

"Yeah, well," Peter shrugged, trying for blasé, always blasé. "The furry blue doctor dude said that it'll heal fine and I'll be able to run again, and that since I have enhanced healing it will only take about two weeks for the bones to heal, instead of the sixteen weeks it would take a normal person." Nevermind the fact that, since Peter experienced everything faster, that two weeks would feel like at least six months.

But, whatever. He'd be able to run again, and that was all that mattered, really.

"And besides!" Peter said, grinning brightly. "I got to punch Apocalypse in the face and kick him around like a soccer ball! Who else gets to say they got to do that?!"

"Nobody," Professor X said, smiling slightly.

"Exactly!" Peter said with a smirk. "Evidence that I am the awesomest badass there is!" Fake bravado to cover up the fact that Peter felt like a total failure, having gotten caught and beaten by Apocalypse like that, and now he useless.

But Professor X didn't hear those thoughts, and so he just chuckled indulgently. "Of course," he said. "And that's why, after you're healed, I'd like to ask if you'd be interested in joining the X-Men."

Peter raised a silver eyebrow, feeling his lips curl upwards and his heart beat faster with excitement, fingers tightening on the grips of his crutches. "The X-Men, huh? That thing that Mystique was talking about where most all of the members died?"

For a moment, Professor X looked like he'd been slapped. "Well—"

"Tell me more," Peter grinned.

"Mystique told me that he's your father," Storm said, nodding up at where Magneto was hovering in the air, helping Jean put the X-Mansion or whatever it was called back together. "Are you going to tell him?"

Peter looked up at the man, feeling something in his chest tighten. "Maybe," he said. "Someday." When Erik wasn't quite so torn up over the recent loss of his wife and daughter. When Peter didn't look—and feel—like a complete and utter failure, hobbling around on crutches with a broken leg.

Storm nodded as if she understood. Peter doubted she did—she probably thought he was scared of the man or something, which he wasn't; he wasn't afraid of Magnieo's powers—he wasn't even afraid of Magneto's temper. What he was afraid of, he was loathe, and rather depressed, to admit to himself, was a fear of rejection. A fear that Magneto would reject him for being weak, useless, stupid.

And, okay, maybe he was a little bit afraid of Magneto's homicidal tendencies, if only because he was afraid that Magneto might want him to kill people and that he might feel obliged to do it even if he was just being used for Magneto's cause; or that Magneto, upon hearing about his more powerful, more intelligent, and just generally more awesome-in-every-way twin, that he would want to use her for his cause. And he could never, ever do that to Wanda, his Wanda, his twin, his other, better half who was making a normal life for herself in a way that Peter could never and would never be able to do.

And she was happy, Peter knew, because he visited her periodically to make sure. All she'd ever wanted was to be normal. That had never been a desire for Peter—nor had it ever been a possibility, what with this silver hair and ADD personality—even despite all the bullying and strange looks he'd had to put up with.

Running was his life, and he'd never want to live without his speed even despite how annoying it always was to wait for everything else to catch up. As alienating as it was, almost all of the time, he liked being faster than everyone else, being ahead.

And he didn't think he wanted to catch Erik up to speed, yet.

Still, even if Storm didn't really understand his reasoning, Peter appreciated that she thought she did and therefore didn't ask him questions and try to pry or anything. She was cool like that.

Looked like it was time to change the subject.

"Soooo," he said, looking over at her and her white mohawk, which was pretty fucking cool, actually. "You have a white mohawk. And you can fly and shoot lightning bolts at people."

"Yeah," she said.

"That's pretty cool," Peter said.

"Yeah," she agreed, smiling slightly.

"I just run really fast," Peter said, looking back at the mansion that was putting itself back together with the help of a couple powerful mutants. "Which is way more boring."

"I think it's a 'pretty cool' ability, too," Storm offered. "You got to punch Apocalypse in the face."

"Yeah," Peter agreed, grinning. "I did. You got to shoot lighting bolts at him, though."

"Yeah," Storm smiled. "It was fun." She looked over at him, tilting her head. "Did Professor X ask you to join his X-Men?"

"Yeah."

"Are you going to?"

"Hell yeah. Are you?"

"Yeah," she grinned.

Peter grinned back. "Cool."

Peter's leg had healed, and he wasn't completely useless any more, and he was back to being constantly moving and hyper and annoying instead of being stationary and irritable and annoying.

Every time he passed Erik Lensherr in the halls of the X-Mansion—fuck the school's really long name, that's what he was calling it—he couldn't help but cast his father glances. Should he tell him now? Now? Now? How long should he wait? When would Erik be ready? He'd almost opened his mouth a few times to strike up a conversation with him, and maybe tell him, but he always changed his mind at the last nanosecond and ran off before Erik had even noticed the speedster had been staring at him.

What would happen if he told Erik the truth? Everything would change; he just didn't know how. Would Erik try to recruit him to his terrorist cause? Would he butt into his life and find out about Wanda? Would he be angry? Happy? Would he even believe him?

Peter had a good thing going with the X-Men, he could feel it. And he just… didn't want to ruin that. As much as he wanted a dad, he wasn't sure he was ready for the complications it would bring to his life.

And he wasn't sure Erik was ready, either. Suddenly hearing that you fathered a couple mutants who were now twenty-seven and you hadn't been there for their entire lives and one of them had actually broken you out of the Pentagon and you'd never even realized it was your son could not be an easy thing to wrap your mind around. Especially after having recently watched your wife and daughter get killed. Erik was a snail, like the rest of the world, which meant he probably needed quite a bit of time to deal with that emotional baggage, before taking on any new emotional baggage.

Hell, it had taken Peter like an entire week to come to terms with the fact that Magneto was his father, and he was a speedster, so that was like for-fucking-ever. He'd probably spent at least a day just glancing at himself in the mirror and wondering how he'd never noticed that he had Erik's nose and harsh jawline. He wondered how he'd never noticed that Erik and Wanda had the same eyebrows, the same frown. How had he never noticed?

How had Erik never noticed, when he looked at Peter, the reflections of his own face?

Perhaps, Peter thought, it was because their dispositions were so different. Maybe Erik would have noticed if he'd seen Wanda; she had the same temper, the same emo attitude, the same seriousness and determination, in a way that Peter just didn't.

Peter was casual, cheeky, cheerful, flighty, unmotivated. They were so different, and the way Erik's gaze only ever latched onto him with annoyance made him bite his tongue and run away before he could ever make it to the first syllable of "You're kind of my father, did you know that?"

So when Erik left, Peter stood there and watched him walk away.

"Forget everything you thought you knew," Mystique said, snapping his attention away from his father. Damn, she was a badass, and even though he was kind of an idiot even he knew that not paying close attention to everything she said to you was a very, very bad idea. (Plus, she was kinda hot.)

"Forget everything you learned in school," she continued, and Peter was already fighting the urge to grin. He had to looks serious about this, damnit! But fuck, she was speaking his language. He'd never done very well at school. It had never been his thing, not like it had been Wanda's.

"Forget what your parents taught you," she said, and he didn't think that would be too hard. His mother had tried her best, he knew she had, but he was vexing and troublesome and she couldn't stop him from doing anything, could never change his mind anything, and had eventually given up.

"You're not kids anymore. You're not students." She paused for dramatic effect, and ohhh, the suspense was killing him! Speedster here, helloooo? Hurry it up!

She looked at them, eyes yellow and intense. "You're X-Men."

The words sent thrills down Peter's spine, more thrills joining them when the walls opened up and the Sentinels came out.

This, Peter thought, as he raced around the room destroying the robots with the other mutans, is what I was born for.

At the end of the session, when the other X-Men were panting, tired and exhausted, Peter could not stop laughing, because nothing had ever felt so right, before. He'd been aimless his entire life, never enough to hold his attention, keep him entertained, interested, motivated, nothing to keep him from getting bored aside from stealing.

But this? The fighting? This was the thrill he'd always gotten from stealing, only better. He was never, ever, ever giving this X-Men gig up, he decided, laughing until tears were streaking down his face.

"Hey!" Scott barked, glaring down at him with his rosequartz visor. "What's wrong with you?"

"Nothing!" Peter gasped out between hysterics. "Everything!"

"Jean?" Scott asked, looking over at the red-haired telepath. "What's wrong with him?"

"I… can't tell," Jean said, shaking her head, looking slightly miffed.

"I thought you said you knew how everyone feels," Scott accused.

"Everyone except him," Jean said, exasperated. "His thoughts are too fast, I can't make sense of them."

Scott pinched the bridge of his nose. "Great, just great. Craziest mutant on this team, and not even the telepath can tell what he's thinking. I feel great about this."

"Where have you guys been all my life?!" Peter asked, and kept laughing.

Peter was sitting on Wanda's bed as she tried on different dresses, asking him what he thought about each, which one she should wear on her date.

Her dark auburn hair flowed down her back, slightly shorter than usual since she'd curled it, and her green eyes were lined with eyeliner, eyelashes darkened with mascara, pursed lips coated in scarlet lipstick.

She didn't need any of it.

"Wanda," Peter said, smirking at her. "Sis, you look amazing in everything. You could go in sweatpants and a huge hoodie and still be the most attractive girl this guy has ever seen."

"Stop it, Pie!" she laughed, using his nickname from their childhood as she grabbed a pillow from the bed and hit him over the head with it. "That's not helping me pick out an outfit!"

He just grinned, letting her hit him with the pillow even though they both knew he could have easily dodged it."Seriously, stop fussing so much, sis," he said, stealing the pillow from her and sitting on it. "If he doesn't like you because you wore the 'wrong' outfit then he's not good enough for you, and if he breaks your heart like that then I will beat him up for you. Or leave him duct taped to his ceiling. Or steal his car and drive it into the Rhine."

"Pie!" she said, rolling her eyes. "The Rhine is a river in the Alps! You can't drive to the Alps!"

"Why not?" Peter asked innocently, blinking his dark eyes.

"Because the Alps are in Europe!"

"I could drive to Europe," Peter said.

"No, you couldn't, Pete!" she said, huffing, as she slipped out of yet another dress so she was just standing there in a bra and underwear, uncaring if her brother saw. They were siblings, after all, and they shared a room till they were fifteen and Peter was 'deported' to the basement since his kleptomania had gotten out of control. They'd seen each other naked plenty of times. "You can't drive across an ocean!"

"I can run across an ocean," Peter pointed out, sighing in exasperation as she pulled on yet another dress.

"That's different!" she said. "You can run faster than cars can drive." She twirled, then, the skirt of the scarlet dress flowing out and rippling in the air. "How does this one look?"

"Beautiful," Peter said, and he meant it, just as he'd meant it when he'd told her that all the other dresses were beautiful, too. "Okay, but what if I carried the car across the ocean?"

Wanda scoffed at him as she took the dress off and tossed it onto the floor with the others she'd already tried on. "You can' carry a car across the ocean!"

"Why not?" Peter protested.

"You're not that strong!"

"Says who?" he challenged.

Wanda just rolled her eyes at him again. "What about this one?" she asked, spinning around in a black v-neck dress that came to just above her knees. "With a red jacket and my tall black boots, the ones that go above the knees."

"Yes, Wanda, do that one," Peter said, sighing in exasperation.

Wanda snickered, taking the second pillow and hitting him over the head with it, before he grabbed that one and sat on it as well. "What? You didn't enjoy the fashion show?"

"I always enjoy your fashion shows," Peter said. "Especially when they involve silly hats."

She threw a hex at him, which, when he leapt out of the way with a yelp, unmade her bed and sent the pillows flying.

"Dude!" Peter said, crouching down behind her desk. "Chill out! What was that for?"

Wanda just smiled as she found her red fake-leather jacket and slipped it on over the black dress. "For being you."

"Not fair!"

Finding her long black boots, Wanda came and sat down next to him to pull them on, glancing at him every now and then, scrutinizing.

"What?!" he demanded. "Do I have something on my face?!" He poked at one of his cheeks, as if that would do anything.

"No," she said, shaking her head and smiling, locks of brown hair falling into her face. She glanced at him again, thoughtfully. "You just seem… happy. For once."

"Pfft!" Peter snorted, waving a hand. "I'm always happy!"

"You're not," Wanda said. "I know you better than that. You hadn't been happy since I left. But you're happy now."

It was no use trying to lie to Wanda. She always saw through him.

He shrugged. "I joined the X-Men." Reaching out, he started playing with the blue laces on one of his silver running shoes. "I like it. It feels right, y'know? Like I finally found my calling."

Leaning over, Wanda kissed his cheek, smiling as she pulled back. "I'm glad," she said.

"You should come visit me in Westchester, sometime," Peter said, dark eyes hopeful. "I think you'd like it."

"Maybe after I finish this acting job," she said, smiling reassuringly. "I'd like to visit you."

He nodded. "When does filming for the movie end?"

"Couple months," she said.

"The kids at the mansion love your movies," Peter said, smiling wryly, still playing with his shoelace. "I don't even know how to tell them that the actor they all love so much is my twin sister, so I haven't, yet. Also, figured it would make a fun surprise. They'd totally freak if you dropped by."

"Well, I couldn't disappoint my fans, now could I?" Wanda smiled at him, finishing zipping up the second boot. She spread her legs out in front of her, wiggling her toes inside the black artificial leather. "So. Have you told Magneto that he's our father yet?"

He never had been able to keep any secrets from Wanda.

"Haven't even told him that he's my father," Peter said, looking down and chewing on his lip, silver hair falling into his face. "And he doesn't even know you exist. I just… don't know how…"

Wanda took his hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze. "I understand," she said.

Peter's lips twitched. "I know you do. You always do. More than any mindreader ever could, even. I give them all headaches and/or bloody noses."

"That's what you give everyone except for me," Wanda teased, and Peter laughed. "I'm the only one who can put up with you without wanting to either kill myself or strangle you."

"Good thing, because you're probably the only person who could actually catch me to strangle me," Peter grinned.

"True," Wanda said, smiling again. She still held his hand. "And, Pie, I'm sure that the perfect opportunity will arise for you to let Magneto know. You'll know it when it happens, I'm sure of it. Just be patient, okay? The time will come."

"Yeah, patience," Pietro scoffed. "Definitely my strongsuit."

"Here, I'll let you borrow some of mine," Wanda said, pulling him into a tight hug. "Patience transference!"

"Gah! Get off me, you hag!" Peter said, flailing and trying to pull away, rather half-heartedly, before relaxing against her, head tucked under her chin. "I love you, sis."

Wanda smiled and ran her fingers through his silver hair that had caused him so much bullying and vitriol throughout his life. "Love you too, bro." She poked him in the ribs. "And don't wait so long before visiting next time!"

Quicksilver laughed and shoved her back. "Well maybe I would if you weren't so—"

"This is the real thing, guys," Mystique said, as they ducked behind the corner of a building, glancing out into the street where the Sentinels were chasing a mutant who could create ice. "This isn't the Danger Room anymore. So I need you to—Quicksilver!"

Quicksilver had disappeared, but then he was back, the icy kid under one arm and a box of kittens in the other.

Mystique leveled her gaze him.

"What?" Quicksilver asked, setting the boy on his feet and then pressing the box of kittens into the kid's hands. "The boy was about to get blasted, and the kittens were going to get smashed by falling building!"

Mystique sighed, but her blue lips twitched. "So much like your father," she muttered, before saying louder, "Alright, X-Men! Let's take these Sentinels down!"

"We're the X-Men," Peter told the ice boy, as the other X-Men ran out to engage the huge robots. "You're safe now. My name's Peter, by the way."

"B-Bobby," the boy said, looking up at him with wide eyes. "How did you—"

"I'm really fast," Peter grinned. He nodded at the box of kittens. "Hold onto them and keep them safe, okay? We're going to take the stupid robots down, and then we'll be back for you, and you can come to our awesome school for weird kids like you and me. Okay?"

Bobby had barely started nodding before Quicksilver was joining the other X-Men in taking the robots down.

And seriously, he thought, as he ran around a robot's legs, wrapping it in silver plastic, duct tape was the best.

But, he thought, as he ran onto a robot's shoulder and, jamming a piece of metal into a panel and wrenching it off, reaching in and pulling out the wires, crowbars were pretty cool, too.

"Hey Mystique!" Peter grinned as he sped into the kitchen, leaning against the counter. "What'cha doin'?"

"What does it look like I'm doing?" she asked, stirring the ingredients into the bowl.

"Making blueberry banana pancakes?" Peter said, having glanced into the bowl and then retreated back to where he'd been standing.

"How observant," Mystique said wryly.

"Woot!" Peter cried, throwing his fists into the air and prancing around the kitchen. "I love blueberry banana pancakes! You're the best, Mystique!"

"Shut up," Mystique said, lips twitching as she turned to pour the pancake mix into the pan, the batter hissing as it hit the hot surface. "Who said I was sharing any with you?"

"How could you not share any with me?" Peter asked, suddenly at her elbow, looking at her with wide, dark eyes, and a wide, bright smile. "I'm adorable!"

"You're ridiculous and annoying, maybe," Mystique snorted.

"But you looooo-oooove me," Peter sing-songed, giving a shit-eating grin.

"No such thing."

"Oh, c'mon, Mysty!" Peter said. "I'm your favorite godchild, since you haven't met my twin yet!"

"Godchild?" Mystique said flatly, raising an orange eyebrow. She flipped the pancake.

"Yeah!" Peter grinned. "If Erik knew that he was my dad, he'd totally make you my godmother!"

Mystique snorted, rolling staring at him in disbelief. "Yeah, sure," she said, voice dripping sarcasm.

"Which I guess kind of makes Kurt my bro," Peter hummed, hand on his chin.

Mystique froze.

Peter raised a silver eyebrow at her. "What, you didn't think I could tell that he's your son? I'm not going to tell anyone, but it's pretty obvious when you think about it."

"I don't know where you got that idea," Mystique said stiffly, flipping the pancake onto a plate and pouring on more batter. "But if you don't shut up now, you're not going to be getting any pancakes."

Peter zipped his lips closed, though he was still smirking.

There was a BAMF! and the stench of sulfur, and the Kurt was standing there, orange eyes latching onto the pancakes, blue lips pulling back in a grin to reveal sharp teeth. "Are you making blueberry banane pancakes?" he asked, excited.

Mystique tensed.

"Tag!" Peter cried, slapping the pointy-eared mutant on the shoulder. "You're it, dude!" and then he sped off.

"Hey!" Kurt protested. "That's not fair, I wasn't ready!" and then there was a BAMF! and the stench of sulfur again, and Mystique looked out the window to see the two mutants zipping and teleporting around, tagging each other and disturbing the other students who were hanging out on the lawn.

Mystique sighed, but she smiled, slightly, as she watched them.

PFAZZZZZZZZZZT! a beam of red shot across the grounds as Scott tried to zap them, and Kurt grabbed Peter and bamfed them out of the way.

PFAZZZZZZZZZZT! Scott tried to hit them again, and it was Peter's turn to grab Kurt and move them both out of the way, the two of them shrieking and laughing as Scott yelled at them for being immature idiots.

"Why don't you finish your homework?!" Scott shouted.

"I already did!" Peter said.

"Me too!" Kurt added.

"It's not our fault you're slow!"

PFAZZZZZZZZZZT!

Mystique was laughing so hard that she almost spilled the pancake batter.

"Let's make a deal," Peter said.

"What's that?" Mystique asked, raising an eyebrow.

"When I tell Erik he's my father, you have to tell Kurt that he's your son."

Mystique was silent.

"I think that's fair, don't you?" Peter pressed.

"And if I tell Kurt he's my son before that?" Mystique asked, quietly.

"Then I have to find Erik and tell him he's my father," Peter said. "It goes both ways!"

"Alright," Mystique said, straightening and staring him in the eyes. "It's a deal."

They shook hands.

They both knew that neither of them would be telling their family member the truth any time soon.

The X-Men were hiding in the trees, looking at the mutant testing facility they were about to break into.

Let's blow this popsicle stand, Quicksilver thought gleefully, pulling his goggles down over his eyes.

"Storm, you bring up a slow fog, don't make them too nervous, but enough to give us some cover," Cyclops said. "Quicksilver, you remove the perimeter gaurds's guns. Jean—"

"What, that's it?" Quicksilver asked, affronted, glaring at their field leader. "You don't want me to punch their lights out while I'm at it? Because I can do that, you know."

"Quicksilver—" Cyclops started, frowning.

"You always have me just removing guns and saving people!" Quicksilver hissed. "I can do so much more than that! Just because what I'm technically best at is running doesn't mean that I can't fight!"

"Quicksilver, just follow the pl—" Cyclops started, but Quicksilver was already gone. "Quicksilver!"

And then there was a pile of guns next to them, a pile of unconscious guards, and a sneering Quicksilver leaning against a tree.

"Alright, X-People," Quicksilver said, gesturing at the facility. "The rest is all yours."

"Quicksilver, we need you to save the mutants that have been tested on—" Cyclops started, and he was probably glaring, not that anybody could tell with that dorky visor on his face. Though if it were up to him, he'd probably be zapping Quicksilver with his laser eyes by now.

"The guards are all taken out," Quicksilver said dourly. "You guys shouldn't have any trouble. But, y'know, call me if you need me or anything." He was twirling a gun around his fingers, the ammunition emptied on the ground.

"We shouldn't fight amongst ourselves," Jean said.

"Quicksilver," Cyclops said, teeth gritted. "You need to follow my orders, or this isn't going to work!"

An alarm started going off, and a door in the facility opened up, Sentinels streaming out.

"See?!" Cyclops yelled, gesturing at the robots rushing towards them. "This is what happens when you don't follow the plan!"

"Your plan was shit plan!" Quicksilver yelled, suddenly standing in front of Cyclops, fists clenched. "Why are we taking orders from a sixteen-year-old kid?! Mystique's a better field leader than you could ever be!"

"I'm seventeen!" Cyclops yelled. "And Mystique was just training us, and then she left! She's not here any more! And besides, what about you?! You're, what, almost thirty now? And look at you, acting like a child!"

"I'm twenty-seven, you little fuck!" Quicksilver growled. "And—"

"GUYS!" Jean yelled, as she, Storm, Kurt, and the other X-Men started taking on the robots. "STOP FIGHTING EACH OTHER AND HELP!"

"Like you couldn't destroy all these robots yourself without even trying!" Quicksilver yelled back at her. "I'm done with this! I'm done listening to a teenage prick!"

He punched Cyclops in the nose.

And then he blew up the entire government facility, because he'd recently figured out he could cause kinetic explosions, and because the facility wasn't actually real and there were no actual mutants in there.

And then he was running to the wall of the Danger Room—not that anyone else could even find the walls in the hardlight hologram, which would turn them around in circles so they'd never reach the walls, but he could always tell which way was which due to the electromagnetic field of the Earth, kinda like a homing pigeon—and leaned against the wall, arm around his knees.

He'd vibrate through the walls—which was another cool thing he'd recently figured out that he could do, because he was awesome—but the Danger Room walls wouldn't allow that, because they were stupid, and insisted on trapping them all inside, because it wasn't a battle simulation if they could escape whenever they wanted, was it? Except that he could always escape from whatever situation he wanted to, he just usually didn't want to because staying and fighting was so much more fun.

Not when that bastard Scott was leading, though. Mystique let them all use their gifts to their fullest, and employ their own discretion in making decisions, but Scott for some reason insisted on holding them all—and especially Quicksilver—back, for some reason, and trying to control everyone and everything. It was like the Millennium Challenge of 2002; Mystique was General Paul K. Van Riper, and Scott was the leader of the American team who thought that rigid control was effective in war, when it wasn't. War was a fog, or whatever.

And after everything Quicksilver had done, did Scott and the other X-Men—aside from Mystique, of course, because she was awesome—think running was all that he was good for?!

STOP, came the Professor's voice through all their heads, and then the Danger Room was shutting down, turning back into a regular room.

When the doors started opening, Quicksilver was squeezing through the gap before anyone else had even registered what was happening.

Stay where you are, Peter, the Prof said in his head when he was halfway down the hallway. I need to talk to you.

Peter scoffed, but sat down against the wall, knees drawn up to his chest, arms resting straight on his knees, hands limp.

It took forever for the Prof to roll over to him from where he'd been in the observation room watching them fight. Geez, couldn't the guy go any faster? Peter's butt was starting to get sore, here.

"Peter," the Prof sighed, when he finally showed up.

"Took you long enough," Peter muttered, not looking up.

"You broke Scott's nose," the Prof said.

"Didn't think I hit him that hard," Peter muttered, before saying louder, "He deserved it. He sucks. I miss Mystique."

The Prof sighed again. "Peter, you're twenty-seven. Don't you think you're a little old to be acting like a child?"

"Exactly!" Peter yelled, jumping to his feet. "I'm twenty-fucking-seven! Don't you think that's a little old to be treated like a kid?! He treats me like a kid, and I'm going to act like one! None of us X-Men are kids!"

"He's new at this," the Prof said evenly. "Being leader of a team is a large responsibility. He doesn't want to be responsible for any of you getting injured."

"If he can't take responsibility for any mistakes he might make, then he's not fit to be a leader!" Peter shouted. "He needs to fucking trust us! We can't work as a team if he doesn't trust us to make adept split-second decisions and use our powers as we deem ourselves able!"

"Peter, have patience—" the Prof started.

"Patience?!" Peter shrieked. "Patience?! You try living your life at the speed I do and having patience! I've been plenty patient! Do you even know what it's like to spend your entire life feeling like a total, useless loser, to finally have something good where you've found what you're good at but then still be treated like a useless loser?! I've been told that I'm not good and can't do anything right my entire life and you expect me to be 'patient' and let that one-eyed loser treat me like I'm no good and can't do anything right?! Fighting is what I was fucking MADE for, I can feel it!"

"Peter," the Prof said, as the speedster stood there panting, fists clenched, dark eyes livid. "I can tell that you're upset, but I have no idea what you just said. You were speaking too fast."

Peter was about to spit out a Fuck you, when he happened to look behind the Prof and see Erik Lensherr standing there, watching him.

Peter froze, staring at him.

"You deal with the other students, Charles," Erik said, eyes not leaving Peter's. "I'll deal with Peter."

The Prof looked back at his 'old friend,' and they seemed to share a psychic conversation, before the Prof nodded and wheeled off towards the Danger Room.

And then it was just Quicksilver and Magneto.

Peter wanted to spit out, "What do you want, dad?!" but thought better of it and grit his mouth shut.

A split second later and he was sitting on the floor against the wall a few feet away, legs pulled up to his chest.

Erik walked over and crouched next to him. "Peter."

"What are you doing here, Mags?' Peter muttered.

"Mags?" Erik asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Short for Magneto," Peter grumbled out. "You know, like Mystique is Mysty, the Professor is Prof, Cyclops is Cyke, Nightcrawler is Crawly, Beast is Beastie—although I guess technically that's longer, but whatever—Jubilee is Juby, Iceman is Icester, Shadowcat is Kitty—which is her actual name anyway, but also whatever—Storm is 'Ro—which is actually short for Ororo, because that's her real name, and 'Storm' doesn't shorten well, and 'Stormy' is just weird—and Rogue is Sugah, because she started calling me Sugah first so I'm calling her that back, and—"

"Alright, I get it," Erik said, cutting him off.

I really want to call you Dadneto, though, Peter didn't say.

Erik put a hand on the speedster's shoulder, and Peter flinched.

"Peter," Erik said.

Pietro, Peter wanted to say. My real name is Pietro. Pietro Mateo Maximoff. My sister is Wanda Django Maximoff, and our mom is Magda Eisenhardt Maximoff. Does any of that sound familiar?

You're kind of my dad, Peter wanted to say.

"You're a very powerful mutant, Quicksilver," Erik said, and Peter felt his heart leap into his throat. He looked up at Erik with wide, surprised eyes, and Erik gave him a small smile. "I know what what that feels like, to be more powerful than anyone knows, and to be held back by peoples' limited expectations."

He squeezed Peter's shoulder. "I wish I had some better advice to give you. I'm not telling you to listen to the kid with the visor—" Peter probably shouldn't have felt so pleased that Erik remembered his name but didn't remember Scott's "—but just because you have the power to do something, like blow up an entire facility, doesn't mean that you should."

"Like just because you can lift up an entire baseball stadium and kill the President doesn't mean you should do that," Peter muttered, lips twitching. And just because my sister probably has the power to alter the entirety of reality doesn't mean that she should do that.

"...Yes," Erik said. "Exactly."

"How do you deal with that?" Peter asked, breath choking, burying his face in his knees. His voice was muffled. "How do you deal with knowing that you could kill everyone here before they had time to so much as blink, but they still treat you like you're incapable of doing anything but run away? At least you and Jeannie get people's fear and respect. Am I just that much of a joke that no one can take me seriously?"

Erik's hand tightened reassuringly around his shoulder. "It's a good idea to keep some things up your sleeve. You don't need everyone to know how dangerous you are. It's better if they don't. You don't want to be feared by everyone if you don't have to be."

"And you have to be?"

"I don't have a choice. I thought I never did."

Pietro blinked in surprise as Erik sat down next to him, leaning his head back against the wall. "Fear invites violence. Humans' fear of me killed my wife and daughter."

Peter looked at him. Something clicked. "The Prof told you, didn't he?"

"Told me what?" Erik said, straight-faced, but there might have been amusement in his blue eyes.

"That I'm your son," Pietro said.

Erik smiled slightly. "I assure you, he didn't mean to. It was quite an accident that he let it slip when he was grumbling about how much you remind him of me and how apparently the apple doesn't fall that far from the tree."

Peter snorted, letting his own head fall back against the wall. "Is that why you left, and didn't come back for so long?"

"Suddenly realizing you're a father of a twenty-seven-year-old who's a mutant and who you never recognized as your own despite having ample opportunity to is not the easiest thing to deal with," Erik said softly.

"Yeah," Peter said, "I didn't think it would be. That's part of why, after your wife and daughter died, I didn't tell you… I didn't think..."

"It's okay," Erik said. "I've had time to come to terms with it now."

Peter laughed, suddenly. "Geez, I should thank the Prof for letting it slip. I don't know if I ever would have gathered the courage to tell you myself. I had this idea in my head that it would be the reverse of that 'Luke, I am your father' seen in Star Wars, all dramatic and shit, with one us—probably me—no, wait, totally you—bleeding out from an amputated limb."

Erik chuckled softly beside him. "I would hope it wouldn't have been that bad."

"This is kinda much more anticlimatic than anything I'd been expecting," Peter said. "This is… weird."

Erik hummed. "Yes, I suppose it is."

"Did… did the Prof let it slip that..." Peter started, biting his lip.

Erik raised an eyebrow. "Did Charles let what slip?"

"That I..."

"That you like guys?"

"No!" Peter shouted, turning to star at Erik with wide eyes, only to find Erik laughing. "And like you'd have a problem with that, what with you and Charles eye-fucking each other all the time!"

"Eye-fucking? Really?" Erik asked, snorting slightly. "And I never said there's anything wrong with being gay, if you actually are."

Peter looked down. "I'm not gay. Actually, I'm asexual. There's something about the speedster physiology, I guess, but I've just never been… interested, in that kind of thing. With girls or boys."

"Okay," Erik said, looking at him thoughtfully. "But that's not what you were going to tell me, was it."

"No, it wasn't," Peter said, sighing. "I was going to ask if the Prof let it slip that I have a twin sister."

Erik's blue eyes widened. "You what?'

Peter fell back against the wall in a peal of snickers. "I guess that's a No, then."

"You have a twin sister?" Erik asked, sounding urgent, eyes desperate.

"Yeah," Peter said, smiling slightly as he looked down at his hands. "Her name is Wanda. She's the best. Her mutation isn't an obvious one, and she's always been really smart, so she went to college. Now she's an actor."

Erik looked like he'd been slapped, and Peter snickered at him. "How'd you like to meet her?"

Erik still looked stunned, but he managed to pull himself together and say, "Yes, I'd like that very much."

"Alright!" Peter said, jumping to his feet and grinning. "Close your eyes and count to five!"

And he was gone.

Erik, smiling slightly, started counting. "One—"

"Peter, have patience—" the Prof started.

"Peter," the Prof said, as the speedster stood there panting, fists clenched, dark eyes livid. "I can tell that you're upset, but I have no idea what you just said. You were speaking too fast."

Peter was about to spit out a Fuck you, but instead he ran away.

He didn't know how he ended up at the top of the International Commerce Centre in Hong Kong, or how Erik found him there, but both things happened, and Peter must have been ranting aloud to himself, because Erik seemed to know exactly what had happened.

Erik squeezed his shoulder. "If you ever get tired of it at Xavier's school..." he reached into his jacket, pulling out a card and handing it to the speedster. "That's my number. You are always free to join my Brotherhood. We could use a powerful mutant like you, and we'd treat you with the respect you deserve."

Erik stood up, looking down at him. "Oh, and Mystique misses you. I'm sure she'd be happy to have you on our side."

And then he walked away, and Peter wasn't sure whether to laugh or cry.

After thirty seconds of doing both, he slipped the card with Erik's number into his wallet and then ran around the world as many times as he could in a normal person's second.

It was 3,367 times. He counted.

"Take that, suckers," Peter gasped as he collapsed on the grass outside the X-Mansion, trembling with exhaustion, staying conscious just long enough to do the math and then say, "Running at Mach 112,524, fastest thing EVER."

Ororo yelling his name was the last thing he heard before he passed out.

Erik could feel all the metal in the Earth. All of it. It was overwhelming, thrilling. Intoxicating. It would be so easy to destroy the world, with all that metal in his command.

"You think you've lost everything," Mystique had told him. "But you haven't! You still have me. You still have Charles. You have more family than you know."

"I'm going to fight for the family I have left," she'd said.

"I'm here for my family too," said that boy with the silver hair. The one who'd broken him out of the Pentagon.

That boy was screaming now, his leg broken, and Erik thought that it was a shame; the boy's legs must have been everything to him. He was useless now.

The boy was screaming, now, and Erik wondered why he was suddenly reminded of Nina. Screaming for him.

And suddenly Mystique was there, and she was yelling at him.

"You have to save him!" she shouted, gesturing at the boy, the sword about to swing into his bared throat.

"And why do I have to do that?" Erik said.

"Because he's your son, you idiot! That's your son down there, about to get killed!"

There was a heavy sinking in Erik's stomach. Could it be…?

The sword was swinging toward the boy's throat, but the sword was metal, and metal was under Erik's control.

The boy would not die.

Peter was running around the track at the X-Mansion, jogging at a boring snail speed as he encouraged the younger kids on, when suddenly he was falling to his knees on the side of the track and vomiting into the grass.

"Peter!" Bobby shouted, running over to him, placing a cold hand on his Peter's forehead. "Peter, are you okay?!"

"Yeah, I'm okay, kid," Peter said, sitting up and offering a small grin, before doubling over and retching again.

"Peter! You need a doctor! I'll go get Hank!"

Bobby stood up and was about to ice-slide off, but Peter grabbed his wrist.

"No, don't," Peter said, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "I'm fine, I promise. Wanda's just mad again."

"What?" Bobby said, looking confused.

"Wanda," Peter said slowly. "My twin sister. We have a… psychic connection, of sorts, kinda, although it's more of a sensing emotions thing rather than reading thoughts. But whenever she gets mad, I get sick."

Bobby blinked his light brown eyes. "So, when you get mad, does she get sick?"

"No," Peter said, grinning wryly. "When I get mad, she gets more mad."

"That doesn't sound very fair," Bobby noted, brows furrowing.

"Yeah, but when I get hurt?" Peter said, grin sharpening. "She gets apoplectic." He blurred and was gone, reappearing with a plastic water bottle, taking a swig and swishing it in his mouth before spitting it out into the grass to rid his mouth of the stomach acid taste. He was still grinning, though. "Practically apocalyptic."

"WHERE IS MY BROTHER?!" Wanda was levitating above the X-Mansion where she'd torn the roof off, scarlet energy swirling around her, whipping her hair and skirt, glowing in her eyes. "WHERE IS HE?!"

"You must be Wanda," Professor X said, wheeling towards her.

"You have till the count of five," Wanda said furiously, fists clenched, scarlet energy growing. "Where. Is. My. Brother?!"

"He was kidnapped on the X-Men's last mission," Professor X said calmly. "We're working on looking for him as we speak."

Wanda swooped down, suddenly Professor X was gasping for air as he was lifted from his wheelchair by her hand around his throat.

"Professor!" Scott cried, taking off his glasses to blast Wanda with his eyes, only for the beams to refract off the energy around her, scattering through the roofless room and causing all the X-Men and students to throw themselves to the floor so as not to get hit.

Wanda's eyes were scorching scarlet, her grip around the Professor's throat tightening. "Tell. Me. Everything."

I will as soon as you put me down, Charles thought desperately at her, hoping she'd hear through all the interference her chaos energy was causing.

He was dropped roughly back to his wheelchair.

Eyes flashing, Wanda started counting. "One—"

"What happened to you?!" Ororo demanded as soon as he woke up, glaring down at him. "You disappeared for a second, and then collapsed passed out on the lawn!"

Peter groaned, pushing himself up into a sitting position. There was a tugging pain at his arm, and he turned his head to see that he was attached to an IV. Looking around, he saw that he was in a bed in the medical bay, Ororo sitting in the chair next to him and staring at him intently.

"Well?!" she demanded.

Peter grinned sheepishly, running his other arm through his hair. "Uh," he said, "I might run at my top speed around the world a few thousands times. Nothing to worry about, okay?"

Ororo slapped him. "How dare you say something like that!" she yelled, eyes glowing white.

Rain started pounding against the windows.

"You do crazy things like that, and of course we're going to worry!" she shouted.

"...Sorry?" Peter said weakly, simpering. "I didn't mean to? I didn't know you cared?"

Ororo slapped him again. "How dare you!"

"I'm sorry!" Peter cried, holding his arms up in front of his face. "I won't do it again!"

"Oh, good, you're awake," Hank said as he came in, walking over.

"Don't slap me!" Peter cried, scrambling away and falling off the bed, pulling out his IV roughly, causing it to bleed.

Hank had to force the speedster back into the bed and sit on him to hold him down while he bandaged his arm. Peter struggled against him until he fell asleep in exhaustion.

Getting off the sleeping speedster, Hank turned to narrow his eyes at Ororo. "Did you really think it was a good idea to slap him right after he woke up after running over 86 million miles because he was emotionally compromised and apparently didn't know any other way to deal with it?"

Ororo shrugged.

After Hank cleared Peter from the med bay the next day, she slapped him again.

(He let her.)

"All you're good at is running!" Scott yelled at him. "What good is that?!"

In a nanosecond there was a knife pressed up against Scott's throat.

"I dare you to say that again," Peter said, yawning.

"Should we give him general anesthesia?" doctor number one asked.

"No, there's no point," said doctor number two, picking up a scalpel. "He burns through it too fast."

Peter watched the scalpel inch towards his skin in slow motion.

Well, fuck, he thought. This is going to hurt.

Wanda was screaming before she left. Screaming at Peter. Screaming at their mom.

The twins had just turned eighteen a month ago. They'd had their powers for three years, but had been exhibiting personality symptoms related to their powers for many years previous.

Wanda's volatile moods, explosive tantrums, tendency to throw things. Peter's ADHD and kleptomania and obsession with running.

(The doctors had wanted to give Peter medication to calm him down, but Wanda had screamed at them and wouldn't let them. "You can't drug Peter! I won't let you!" she'd screamed, after Peter had tried to run away and hide.)

Peter and Wanda had always had each other's backs. Always.

("I don't want to go!" Wanda shouted, tears streaming down her face. "You can't make me!" And Peter would pick her up and run her to the next state over, where they could hang out at a park until she calmed down.)

Not anymore, though, it seemed.

She was screaming at him for being too overprotective of her, for being too needy and attention-seeking, for taking their mom's side, for lying to her.

Wanda nearly blew the door off its hinges as she left, and nearly splintered it when she slammed it. It took Peter precious seconds just to jiggle it open again.

He raced after Wanda's car, pounding on the windows, begging her to stop, please, please don't go, Wanda, please!

She blasted him with her power and left, telling him that if he tried to follow her or find her she'd kill him.

Peter lay facedown on the asphalt of the street and sobbed till he was almost run over by a car.

"Fuck, we cut his artery! He's bleeding out!"

"Stop the bleeding, if you can. We still have use for him."

"He's bleeding out too fast. There isn't anything we can do!"

"Well, at least we can perform a proper autopsy once he's dead. I've been itching to take a good look at his heart."

I'm sorry, Wanda…

Peter lay on top of the covers on his bed, still fully clothed, staring up at the ceiling.

Twenty-five, and he was still living in his mother's basement. What a loser.

He could move out, he knew. He could move anywhere.

But there wasn't anywhere he wanted to be. He didn't even want to be here, not really. He wanted to be where Wanda was.

He had no idea where Wanda was.

He didn't particularly want to be mooching off his mom for the rest of his life, but he couldn't leave. If he left, how would Wanda find him again?

So he stayed, just in case she came back. He stayed, so she'd know where to find him. He stayed, because she'd said not to look for her.

He stayed, because Wanda had been his everything, and at least here he still had the memories of her.

What a loser.

Erik could only watch in wonder as the furious Wanda tore the government testing facility apart like it was tissue paper.

Bullets couldn't touch her—not metal, not plastic. The soldiers that went against her or got in her way were disintegrated.

The power she had was incredible. Apocalypse-esque.

Neither Erik nor the X-Men had anything to do but watch as Wanda tore a tiny part of the world down to get to her brother, pulling his naked, bloodied, limp form into her arms, whispering into his hair until his wounds closed and he breathed again.

"Pietro," she was sobbing, holding him close. "Oh, Pietro, I'm so sorry, I'm so so sorry."

"Don't cry," Pietro whispered, cracking a small smile as he reached up with a trembling hand to brush the tears from her face. "I hate it when you cry."

Erik walked slowly over to his children, shoving his anger at the humans who did this to his son into the back of his mind to deal with later, crouching down next to them and putting his hand on his daughter's shoulder.

"Come on," he said softly. "Let's take Peter back to the mansion."

Wanda lifted her head to look at him, eyes glowing scarlet, and for a moment he was afraid, before the glow faded slightly, not quite gone but less murderous, and she stood, still holding her brother in her arms.

Later, Erik was ashamed of the fear he'd felt of his own daughter. The whole world would fear and hate her when they saw what she could do; she should never have to deal with that from him.

He watched as Wanda curled up in the hospital bed next to her brother, unwilling to leave him alone as he recovered. He watched as Pietro cheered her up with a story about him and Kurt pranking the younger kids, which somehow ended up with all of them pranking the professors, which somehow ended up with the invention of the game Paint-Ball Dance-Off that was now played religiously at the mansion every third Saturday of the month. Apparently they were trying to convince Charles to learn how to dance in a wheelchair so he could join them, mostly because they really wanted to get him covered in paint.

Wanda was laughing by the end of it, and Erik's lips were quirking.

He hadn't been there for Pietro or Wanda for their entire lives up to this point. But he vowed he'd be there for them now.

"Peter," Erik said, as he approached the door to exit the mansion. "Move out of the way."

"Pietro," Peter corrected, leaning against the closed door, arms crossed over his chest. "My real name is Pietro. Pietro Mateo Maximoff. My mom is Magda Eisenhardt Maximoff." He tilted his head as he watched Erik's eyes widen. "Does any of that sound familiar?"

"Magda," Erik breathed. "You mean…?"

"Yeah," Peter said. "You're kind of my dad."

"Pietro," Erik said, as if tasting the name in his mouth.

"Yeah," Peter said. "That's me."

"Pietro," Erik repeated, looking away, gaze distant. "That was one of the names Magda and I were thinking about naming Anya, if she'd been a boy."

"Yeah," Peter said.

Erik stared at him. "Pietro."

"Yeah?"

"Move out of the way."

Pietro did, and Erik left.

"—five," Erik said, opening his eyes to see an empty hallway in front of him. He raised an eyebrow. "Not as fast as you think you are, huh Peter?"

"Look behind you, old man," came Peter's amused voice, and Erik turned to see his son standing there, holding the hand of the woman who must be his daughter.

He wasn't sure what he'd expected. It's not like he'd had very long to suspect much, but he supposed he'd expected Wanda to look like Magda had when she was younger, when Erik had met her.

Wanda hardly resembled Magda, though. Erik was surprised to see much more of himself there.

But what struck him most looking at the both of them standing there, holding hands, was the contrast between them. Short, light silver hair next to long, dark auburn. Dark brown eyes next to bright green. Black jeans and shirt for both, silver jacket for one and red for the other. Running shoes for one and combat boots for the other.

"It's nice to finally meet you," Wanda said, holding out her hand. "I've heard a lot about you."

"I can say the same to the first, though not the second," Erik said, somewhat surprised at the formality of it as he shook her hand.

But then the formality was gone as Wanda turned to her brother, crinkling her brow as she asked, "What have you told him, Pete?"

Peter shrugged. "Uh, that you exist?"

"Pie!" she exclaimed.

"What?!" he defended. "I think I might have also told him that you're awesome and really smart and an actor. What was I supposed to tell him?"

"Pie?" Erik asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Childhood nickname," Peter said, shrugging. "She's the only one who can call me that without getting punched. Just like I'm the only one who can call her Witchy without getting punched."

A fist hit the air where his face had been a moment earlier.

"And that's only because you're the only one who can dodge," Wanda said wryly.

"No, it's because you looooo-oooove me," Peter sing-songed, dancing out of the way with a shit-eating grin on his face. "Because I'm awesome!"

"Not the word I'd used to describe you," Wanda said dryly, though her eyes were smiling.

Erik watched them, an odd sort of elation in his chest, a smile growing on his face that he couldn't have curbed even if he'd wanted to.

He was a father again.

He was the father of two twenty-seven-year-old twin mutants with ridiculously powerful abilities and an apparent penchant for mischief, if Pietro stealing one of Wanda's shoes of her feet and then running around with it while she through scarlet hexes at him that shook the walls when they missed was any indication.

Pietro hid behind Erik as Wanda readied another one of her hex bolts, aiming at the both of them.

Well, Erik thought wryly as he created an electromagnetic forcefield around himself and Pietro. This was going to be interesting.

"Not fair!" Wanda yelled at him. "You can't help him! Tell him to give me my shoe back!"

"Peter," Erik said, turning to level his son with a stern look. "Give your sister back her shoe."

"Spoilsport," Peter grumbled, but he was grinning as he tossed his twin the combat boot back.

Yes, Erik thought, as he watched Pietro hang onto Wanda's arm and chatter excitedly while she tried to put on her boot again. This was going to be very interesting indeed.

But he wouldn't trade this opportunity for anything in the world.

Not even world domination.

Well… maybe…

The combat boot came flying at his head as Wanda yelled and tackled her brother to the ground, tickling him mercilessly.

...Erik would think about it. In the meantime, it had been too long since he'd tickled a child.

"Mystique," Pietro said, appearing next to her.

"What, Peter," she said, clearly not in the mood.

"You have to tell Kurt he's your son," Pietro said.

She looked at him, narrowing her yellow eyes. "You told Erik that he's your father?"

"Uh-huh," Pietro said, nodding and blowing a bubblegum bubble.

"You didn't," Mystique said.

"I did," Pietro countered. "And then he stormed off in a huff. But now he knows, so now you have to let Kurt know."

"Let me know what?" Kurt asked as he entered the room, looking between them curiously. "What do I need to know?"

"Speak of the devil himself!" Pietro grinned at the German. "Mystique needs to tell you something!"

Mystique glared down at the floor.

"Hey," Pietro said, softer, coming over to lay a hand on Mystique's blue shoulder. "Do you want me to stay for the emotional support, or do you want me to leave?"

"Leave," she ground out.

"Okay," he said, patting her on the shoulder again, before suddenly he was a few feet away. "You can do it, Mystique, I believe in you!" he said loudly, grinning and giving her two thumbs-up. "And I'm going to be checking in with Kurt later to make sure he knows, so you better actually tell him!"

And then Pietro was gone.

"Tell me what?" Kurt asked again, looking at Mystique with a combination of curiosity and wariness.

Taking a deep breath, Mystique drew herself up, staring Kurt in the eyes as she said, "Kurt—"

"I'm quiting my acting job," Wanda said as she lay next to Pietro on the medical bay bed, brushing a hand through his silver hair.

"You're what?!" Pietro exclaimed, eyes shooting open as he tried to sit upright, only for her to put a hand to his chest and push him back down.

"Relax," she said severely.

Peter obediently lay back into the pillows, but his face was still pulled in worry and confusion. "Alright, I'm relaxed. So what was it you said?"

"I said," Wanda looked at him levelly, "that I'm quitting my acting job."

When he tried to sit bolt upright again, her hand was already there on his chest, keeping him down so he wouldn't hurt himself.

"What?!" he was exclaiming, dark eyes wide. "Why the hell would you do that?! You love that job! You've wanted to be an actor since you were a little kid! You're living your dream! Why would you give that up?!"

"So I can join the X-Men," Wanda said, steadily.

"What?!" Peter cried, eyes blowing impossibly wider, body straining against her hand as he tried once more to sit up, failing to do so once again. "Why would you do that?! All you've ever wanted since you got your powers was to live a normal life! You've been living a normal life, just like you've always wanted! Why the fuck would you give that up?!"

Wanda was angry now, sitting up and glaring at him. "Because there are more important things!" she yelled at him, making him cower into the pillows, trying to get away from the hand that was still pressed against his bare chest. "There are more important things in life! Like family! It's not fair for me to live a normal life when you can't. And I won't live a normal life constantly afraid that something bad will happen to you and I won't be there to stop it!"

"But sis," Peter said softly, looking very much like he'd looked as a kid when she'd yelled at someone for saying something disparaging about him that he hadn't even noticed because he'd been so used to it.

"No!" Wanda said severely, eyes flashing. "I mean this! I'm quitting my acting job, joining the X-Men and keeping your ass out of trouble. Family is more important than anything else, and we need to stick together and take care of each other." She looked over to the door. "Isn't that right, Erik?"

Blinking, Peter looked over to the door as well, to see Erik standing there in the doorway watching them. Peter hadn't even noticed him standing there.

"Dude!" Peter exclaimed, eyes wide. "How long have you been standing there, dad?"

Erik smiled slightly, eyes unreadable. "Long enough," he said to his son, before turning to his daughter. "And you're absolutely right, Wanda."

"Whoa," Peter said, looking back and forth between the two of them, who seemed to be having some kind of intense sort of staring contest thing going on. "Does that mean you're staying, Dadneto?"

Erik broke eye contact to look at his son, crossing over the room to sit on the bed next to Wanda, smiling slightly as he brushed a hand through Peter's silver hair, just as Wanda had only a few minutes before.

"Yes, my children," Erik said softly. "I'm staying."

Erik had a son.

Erik had a twenty-seven-year-old son that he'd never known about.

Erik had a twenty-seven-year-old son that he'd never know about that he'd almost watched get killed by Apocalypse.

Erik had a twenty-seven-year-old son that he'd never know about that he'd almost watched get killed by Apocalypse, who he'd been helping.

Oh, god, no. He couldn't have another child. He couldn't. He couldn't have any more family, they'd just be taken away from him again. He couldn't have a son just to lose him. He couldn't. No.

His mother and father had been taken from him because of what they all were. His first daughter had been killed because of what he was. His first wife had left him because of what he was. His second wife and second daughter had been killed because of what and who he was.

And if the people around him that he cared about didn't die, then they got injured. Like Charles. Charles had become partially paralyzed, because of him. Raven had become angry and bitter. All his other followers had been killed. He hadn't even been able to save the President, and instead he'd been locked up in the Pentagon for killing him.

Locked up in the Pentagon, where his son had broken him out.

No. He couldn't have a son. He'd just get Pietro killed, too. He couldn't get close to this boy. The only reason Pietro had lived to twenty-seven was because Erik hadn't been there to get to him killed. If Erik wanted Pietro to live, he'd have to stay away.

Oh god, he had to stay away from that kid.

It was the only way to protect him.

AN: [EDIT:] Notes on Peter's speed are in the beginning author notes of the next chapter, because I had to come back and edit this chapter to make it canon because originally my Quicksilver was way too slow, and I want to make sure that people who read the original version of this chapter aren't confused when they see his speed having changed in the second chapter.