In the Storm’s Wake (Part One)
After helping Hank in the infirmary, Rogue went to assist Jean in the med-lab. Jean had already stitched Remy’s lip and Rogue helped him to get cleaned up. After some argument they were able to get him to lie down on one of the beds. He insisted that he was fine and wanted to check on Wolverine, but Jean wanted to keep him for observation.
Although her assessment showed he had only a minor concussion and a mild ‘whip lash’ injury, she felt it was best to keep him confined to med-lab for now and to keep as much space between him and Wolverine as possible. But Remy disagreed, he felt the best thing he could do for Logan right now was to show him that he didn’t hold a grudge, to show him that he was still his friend and lend his support.
Once she'd gotten Remy settled and he fell asleep, Jean insisted that Rogue go upstairs and get some rest. She was looking a bit frazzled and Jean suspected they would all be looking the same way soon, if things didn’t start to calm down. She contacted Hank telepathically and he informed her that Wolverine was successfully sedated.
‘You sound tired, Hank. Why don’t you get some rest?’ she told him.
‘We’re all tired, Jean. Besides, I need to watch him. This sedative is something new to him, I can’t leave him unattended,’ Hank replied.
‘Ro’s not there with you?’
‘Yes, she’s here.’
‘Why don’t you let her…’
‘He’s my responsibility, Jean. He’s in my charge,’ Hank told her. They went around in circles for a few minutes and the conversation ended with Hank telling her point blank that he would not leave the infirmary until Logan came out of sedation and he was sure there were no ill effects and Jean wished him luck. Hank looked up from his desk to check on Ororo who was sound asleep in the chair next to the bed, curled up under a heavy blanket. Logan was quiet lying on the bed next to her. Dr. McCoy let out a sigh and went back to his files.
**** **** **** **** **** **** **** **** **** **** **** **** **** **** **** **** **** **** **** **** **** ****
While Logan slept sedated in the infirmary, Charles Xavier slept soundly in his bed on the second floor of the mansion. It was 9:30 in the morning and it was unusual for him to still be in bed at that time of the morning. But, his students were busy with other matters and hadn’t noticed his absence. Professor Xavier was caught deep within a dream... or what he perceived as a dream at first. As it turns out, his sleeping consciousness had tuned into another consciousness reaching out for help.
He was sitting in his chair in the center of a bright spotlight with darkness all around. He was positive he was not inside a room – the darkness was too vast, infinite. His senses told him that the darkness stretched out seemingly forever, on all sides, although he couldn’t see beyond the spot of light. As Charles tried to determine where he was he suddenly sensed that he wasn’t alone.
"Who is there?" he asked. He was not frightened because he sensed no threat, but there was definitely someone lurking beyond the light, hiding within the darkness. "Do not be frightened. Please, show yourself," he invited his unseen visitor.
No one came forward, but he could feel the air reverberate around him as the invisible watcher circled him just beyond the edge of the light. He used the vibration to keep track of the visitor’s location, but he wasn’t picking up any thoughts or feelings from the entity. If it weren’t for the physical interaction with the surrounding atmosphere he wouldn’t even know they were there. But the vibration he felt through the space between them was evidence of great strength.
"You are very powerful, my friend. Why do you hide yourself from me?" he asked silently, projecting his thoughts toward the entity. "Please come forward. I will not harm you." As Charles waited for a response, there was a sudden disturbance in the atmosphere around him and he was hit with an energy vibration that felt very much like a shock wave. Charles caught his breath and waited for it to subside. "Are you angry with me?" he asked aloud after the wave diminished. There was no response but he felt the darkness around him reverberate again as the entity circled him slowly. He turned his head to track the motion, but still he could see nothing. "Are you afraid?" he asked as the entity came around from behind him to his left. There was no answer. It continued to move until it was directly in front of him again, then it stopped. Charles strained to see through the darkness, but it was so dense that he felt as though he was surrounded by an enormous vacuum, a vacuum as impenetrable and impervious to light as a black hole in space.
Charles moved his chair forward hoping to cross through the barrier. To his dismay, the darkness receded in front of him and advanced behind him, keeping him centered within the light. ‘Alright,’ Charles realized to himself, ‘you won’t allow me to penetrate your defenses, I understand. But can you cross over to me?’
"Do you wish to communicate with me?" Charles asked the entity. The only response he got was a slight vibration that rippled the air and it made him think of a person trembling. ‘In fear or excitement?’ he wondered. It was definitely not a physical tremor, but a psychic one. "You possess great strength, my friend. I can feel your power. Won’t you please come forward? I would like to speak with you," Charles beckoned, but again received no response. "Are you able to step into the light? I really would like to talk to you." Then he heard a small voice coming from the darkness.
"I’m not supposed to talk to strangers." It was a child’s voice. Charles was awe-struck.
‘How could a child possess such power?’
"Won’t you come forward so I can see you?" he asked the child. "If we could meet then I won’t be a stranger anymore," he offered gently. Again he waited patiently but got no response. "I won’t hurt you. I promise." As Charles peered into the darkness he thought he saw movement and, seemingly without actually moving, a small boy appeared in front of him. He stood just inside the circle of light staring at Xavier with eyes full of wonder.
He had dark hair and big, blue eyes and he stood before Xavier small and frail and barefoot. He wore a white shirt and brown pants that were rolled up above his ankles and black suspenders holding them up around his small frame. Charles smiled at the boy but the child didn’t smile back.
"My name is Charles Xavier," he told the young boy, who was now scrutinizing Charles and his wheelchair from a distance. "You may call me Charles if you like." The boy looked up at him and let out a sigh. Charles was sure this young boy was a mutant child. ‘So young,’ he thought. And why hadn’t Cerebro alerted him to the boy’s activity? "What should I call you?" he asked. The boy shrugged. "Don’t you have a name?"
"Doesn’t matter," the boy answered, lowering his head with a pout.
"Why doesn’t it matter?" Charles asked.
"Ain’t got nobody to call me anyway," the boy told him and Charles frowned at that. ‘Another disposable child, just tossed away and forgotten.’
"You have no one?" he asked and the boy shook his head ‘no’. "Don’t you have a mother?"
The boy stared at him, then looked away without answering. Charles figured the child had to be about seven years old although he was small for his age. He seemed lost and scared but he was trying hard to be brave and strong. "Where is your mother, child?" Charles asked and the boy looked at the floor and shoved his hands into his pockets, but he didn’t answer. Then he saw a tear roll down the boy’s cheek. "Child, where is your family?" he asked.
"Don’t have one," the boy answered quietly. Then he swiped away the tear with the back of his hand and looked at Charles angrily, setting his jaw with indignation. "Who needs them anyway?"
"Everyone needs a family," Charles told him softly.
"What for?" he asked still sounding angry.
"We all need someone to love us… and watch out for us."
"I don’t," the boy replied stubbornly. "I don’t need nobody."
"I don’t need anybody," Charles corrected.
"You neither?" The boy asked with new wonder and Charles couldn’t help but smile.
"Where is your family?" Charles asked. The boy lowered his head again and shrugged, then began to walk slowly around the circle of light. Charles watched the small boy pacing as if in deep thought. "I could help you find them?" he offered.
"Why?" the boy asked not looking up.
"Because I want to help you," he said, watching the boy over his shoulder as he circled behind him.
"Why?"
"Because you’re alone, and no one should be alone," Charles replied.
"I don’t want them," the boy answered. "They only pretended to love me, but they never did."
"Why do you think that?"
"Because… if you love something, you don’t just throw it away."
"They threw you away?" Charles asked. The boy nodded, staring at his feet as he placed them carefully one in front of the other. "Why would they do that?"
"Because," the boy answered.
"Because why?" Charles asked.
"Just because."
"That is not a proper answer, there has to be a reason," Charles said and the boy looked up at him with a frown. Charles quickly added, "Not that there are any good reasons for turning your back on a child."
"Yes there is," the boy said softly, looking back down at his bare feet in shame.
"And what reason would that be?" Charles asked already knowing the answer. This was no ordinary human child. This child was strong enough to penetrate Charles’ thoughts, and yet he was able to keep himself hidden from Cerebro. This child was a mutant... and so powerful at such a young age.
"Because… I’m a monster," the boy finally told him.
"You are not a monster," Xavier corrected evenly.
"I am. Mama said so," the boy replied, not knowing whether to be sad or angry. "I’m different from her… and the others."
"There is nothing wrong with being different," Charles replied.
"Mama says I’m bad… evil," the boy added.
"Why would she say such a thing?"
"Cause I am a monster."
"No, my child, you are not," Charles told him calmly.
"You don’t know!" the boy replied accusingly, crossing his arms.
"Oh, I think I do," Charles replied. The boy dropped his hands to his side, staring at the professor in shock then he lowered his head and spoke quietly.
"They told you?" he asked.
"No, no one told me, but I know what you are," Charles replied.
"How do you know?" the boy asked suspiciously, lifting his head slightly to look at him.
"Because I have special gifts too, just like you."
"There’s nothing special about me. Mama says I never should’ve been born. She says I’m a abom… abomb… a-bomb-in-nation…"
"No, you are not!" Charles said heatedly, but the boy continued his thought out loud.
"…a monster that should’ve been a-bor-shun-d."
"That is not true!" Charles countered trying not to let his anger at such a thought show in front of the boy. "You are not a monster. You… are a mutant," he explained and the boy looked up at him.
"What is a mu-tant?"
"A mutant is a person who is born with special gifts. These gifts make them different from other humans. These gifts make them… special," Charles told the boy who stared at him, listening closely. "My gift lets me read other people’s thoughts."
"Really?" the boy asked, his mouth hanging open in astonishment.
"Yes."
"Can you read my thoughts?" the boy asked excitedly. Charles frowned.
"No. I tried, but… no, I cannot," he admitted and the boy frowned.
"Because I’m not a real person," he whispered sadly.
"That is not why," Charles replied. "You have great strength… and it is difficult for me to penetrate your mind. You are not telepathic, but your psi-blocks are strong," he told the boy who looked at him, apparently not understanding. "You are very much like a friend of mine," he added. "I would like it very much for you to meet him."
"Where is he?" the boy asked.
"He’s at my school."
"Are you a teacher?" the boy asked.
"Of sorts," Charles replied with a nod.
"What do you teach?" the boy asked.
"I teach mutants," Charles answered with a smile.
"Mutants?" the child asked, now showing great interest. "People like me?!"
"Yes."
"There are more?" the boy asked, his eyes wide with wonder.
"Oh yes, many more," Charles assured him.
"Can I go there too?" the boy asked with controlled excitement.
"I would like that very much," Charles told him and the boy became sullen.
"What if they don’t like me?" he asked quietly.
"They are going to love you," Charles replied with a soft smile.
"No one loves me," the boy told him sadly.
"We will love you. You will be safe with us."
The boy looked at him unsure. He cocked his head to one side as he thought about the professor’s offer. Charles watched him and knitted his brow at the familiarity of the boy’s movements, but before he could say anything the boy smiled and ran toward him. He jumped up into the professor’s lap and wrapped his tiny arms around Xavier’s neck. Charles wrapped his arms around the boy in acceptance.
"You come to see me, alright?" Charles told him. "I will be waiting for you."
"Take me with you now," the boy said, his voice muffled against the professor’s neck.
"I cannot," Charles told him, and the boy pulled away to look at him. "You have come to me in a dream," he explained. "We are both asleep. When I wake up you will be gone."
"You throwing me away?" the boy asked.
"Never," Charles assured him. "You found me once, you will find me again. When you are awake, you come to me," he told the boy.
"I can’t," the boy replied lowering his eyes and shaking his head.
"Of course you can."
"No. It won’t let me go," the boy told him. Charles frowned with concern for the boy.
"What won’t let you go?" he asked.
"The darkness," the boy answered. "It is too strong. It is stronger than me. It won’t let me go."
"What is the darkness, child?" Charles asked.
"I don’t know. It holds me, it protects me," the boy answered.
"Protects you from what?"
"Everything," the boy replied.
Even as they spoke of it, the darkness around them began to expand toward them. The boy gasped and wrapped his arms around Xavier’s neck, nearly strangling him with the desperateness of the embrace.
"Don’t let it take me!" the boy screamed. "Please! Take me with you! Please take me with you! I don’t like the darkness!"
Charles held up one hand and tried to push the darkness back but it pushed against him. The terrified child buried his face in Charles’ neck and nearly strangled him with his hold. Charles could feel the boy’s tears soaking his shirt.
"Please," Charles pleaded with the dark entity, "let him come to me. I will protect him." Charles tried to reason with it. He could sense its intentions were to protect the child but, in doing so, it also held him captive and isolated from all who would love him and guide him.
The darkness began to pull the child from his arms. The vacuum grew in strength until Charles was forced to use both arms to keep his hold on the boy. The child screamed and pleaded for Charles not to let go and his feet were elevated into the air as the darkness tried to pull him back into itself. Charles fought with all his might and the exertion caused perspiration to pour down his back. Suddenly the child was torn from his embrace and the boy screamed reaching out to Charles. The professor grabbed the child’s wrists and his chair bolted forward.
"Hold onto me, please! Don’t let me go!" the boy begged through tear-filled eyes as they stared desperately at one another. "Don’t let me go!"
"I won’t let go!" Charles tried to assure the frightened youngster, even as perspiration collected in his palms causing him to loosen his grip.
"Please don’t give up on me!" the boy screamed in terror. "I need you! Please don’t give up! Hold on tight!"
His grasp on the child’s wrists was nearly impossible to maintain as the vacuum strengthened even more. He couldn’t understand why he was sweating so much. ‘My god, I can’t hold on!’ Charles yelled inside his own mind. He looked down at his hands, hoping to will all of his strength into his fingers that were wrapped around the boy’s blood covered hands.
‘Blood?!’ Charles looked on in shock. ‘Where did all this blood come from?’ There was no way he could be causing the boy injury. Was there? Then something caught the professor’s eye, something peculiar, and he looked closer forcing himself to focus. ‘Oh my god!’ The professor’s mind screamed when he realized what was happening.
There, from the child’s own hands, were six little bone claws, each one about four inches in length and protruding from the boy’s knuckles. Charles shot his focus back to the child’s eyes and he did recognize that terror... he’d seen it before, many times.
"Logan!" Charles yelled just before the boy was ripped violently from his grasp and disappeared into the depths of his own inner darkness. "NOOO!" Charles yelled.
He was still yelling out as he awoke, with the sun gleaming through his window drenching him in bright sunlight. His heart was pounding in his chest and he was drenched in sweat. He threw the covers aside and reached for his wheelchair even as he threw on his robe. Charles understood what had happened. He hadn’t been in a dream, nor did the child visit his mind as he slept. He had been pulled out of his own psyche and thrust into Logan’s and the only one who could possibly have managed such a feat… was Logan himself.
TBC in In the Storm’s Wake, part 2
