Title : Beginnings
Author: Sarita
Email: s.riley@southampton.gov.ukPairings : Xavier, Scott, Hank
Rating : Caution - deals with adult themes , depression, suicide and attempted rape.
Notes : Movieverse. This is my take on "How it all began" with Xavier/ Scott. Also introduces Hank (note - this is Hank before one of his own experiments turns him blue !)There is a sequel that follows on from exactly where this leaves off - it is not finished yet but will be coming soon unless you all hate this and tell me so.
Archive : List archive, power of cyclops and anyone else who wants it and lets me know where its going!
Feedback welcomed !
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Charles Xavier sighed deeply and removed the Cerebro link, placing it carefully on the work station before him. He closed his eyes briefly and massaged his temples, vaguely aware of the dull ache that promised a headache yet to fully develop. Still no tangible trace of the boy he desperately sought. Oh, he could feel the boy,could "taste" the distinct flavour of the boys' mind. So full of promise and yet in such desperate peril that increased with every passing moment. Charles had never felt so helpless than in this moment of realisation that for all his enormous power - there was someone he could help, needed to help, and yet was just beyond the limits of his capabilities to find.
It had begun a mere three weeks ago. Hank McCoy had assisted him in making some adjustments to Cerebro that had resulted in radically shifting its' range. He had experimented. Searching for those telltale signs of emerging mutant power. His idea for a school was complete save one important detail. He had, as yet, no students. Jean would join him at the school of course, but she was about to begin her college education. He had tutored her in sheilding her mind from a young age at the behest of her parents, good friends of his. But Jean would not be a student as such. She would come to learn not just to shield but finally to learn to use and control her powers. She would help him as much as she could whilst pursuing her own goal to qualify as a Doctor. So he had begun his search. Young minds to whom he could offer help and where necessary protection. People who could be taught the value of humanity and more importantly, themselves. It had come as a shock, quite literally, when he had found such a mind in the midst of the maelstrom of emerging power.
Charles had been casting his mind to the far reaches of Cerebro's range when a seemingly inert mutation had become startlingly apparent. Charles had gasped and slapped the device from his head, breaking the link to stop his own senses overloading with the shock. Swiftly rebuilding his own shields he concentrated on the unique signature of that mind and once again slipped on the link. The signature still blazed clearly in the afterglow of emergence but this time he was prepared. He carefully sought the consciousness behind the power and suddenly he had an identity and circumstance to add to the signature. A young boy of maybe seventeen in a high school in Nebraska. A vague sense that it was night outside and there was a dance. High School prom maybe. The boy's mind was a whirlwind of pain, confusion, fear and... red. Everything in his perception was bathed in red and just as suddenly it went dark. Charles gradually pieced together what had happened from the boys confused mind as shock receded to be replaced by cold fear and aching grief.
The boy had been at his High School dance when his power had emerged. He had felt pain in his eyes and had gone to the bathroom. Somewhere along the line the pain had ceased and he had opened his eyes with devastating results. Some form of optical energy had been emitted and destroyed everything in its path. It suddenly became clear to Charles how he had perceived it to be night. The boy had been looking at the stars. Through what was left of the roof of the school building. He had a perception that people had been hurt, that the boy grieved for his actions , however unintentional. It had been at that point that his sense of the boys location had become deeply confused. The boy had been taken from the school but was unsure where to. He had his eyes closed, Charles realised. Charles was dependant upon the boys own sense of where he was to locate him and right now, the boy was far too distraught to focus clearly on anything even in surroundings that must have been at least vaguely familiar to him.
Charles had rushed from Cerebro to find Hank. They needed to get to the boy fast, before he could be labelled destructive and a danger to those around him. Charles knew all to well that mutants were tolerated at best even where the mutation was innocuous or not apparent to the outside world. This incident would be too big to be ignored by those who would argue mutants were dangerous. The boy was unlikely to find much in the way of help and sympathy for his own predicament in the face of others fear and prejudice. Hank had been in the middle of an experiment on mutant DNA, continuing his pursuit of discovery in that area. Charles knew Hanks' work critical to their cause, so many mutants had unstable or rapidly evolving alterations that only enhanced the prejudice they faced. Hank sought ways to stabilise the ever changing mutant genome. Hank had immediately understood the situation and , quite literally, dropped everything to drive Charles. It had taken hours to find a flight, longer still to locate the exact town from Charles recollections. Even still it was less than 24 hours later they arrived at the ruins of the high school. Within an hour they realised they were still too late. The boy had fled. Charles had listened with growing dismay to various accounts of the events following the devastation at the dance. The authorities had initially taken the boy back to his parents, foster parents actually. But they had refused to let him through the door disgusted and terrified by what their "son" had become. From captain of the high school swim team to mutant freak in the space of less than an hour.
Not knowing, perhaps not really caring, what else to do with him he had been taken to the hospital where an ignorant doctor had refused to listen when the boy had desperately told him he couldn't open his eyes, of what happened when he did. Accusing the police and boy of hysteria he had tried to force the boy to open his eyes, restraining him while he did so. The damage to that wing of the hospital was extensive, though thankfully no-one but the doctor himself had been hurt. In the confusion of that incident, while attention was focussed on the injured doctor with a crushed arm and on the plaster and brickwork raining down around them, the boy disappeared.
Very little effort was made to find him when it was discovered. Charles and Hank had scoured the town, Charles using every ounce of his talent to try to locate him. They had widened their search to outlying areas and finally caught a break when it was found a "blind kid" had hitched a ride with a trucker that evening. The trucker was found but he had let the boy out at a truck stop hours before and didn't know where he had gone from there. In defeat. They had returned to Westchester to continue the search with Cerebro. As Charles sat in front of the console three weeks later he was mindful that time was running out. The boys' thoughts had grown more chaotic as time passed. Sometimes pain overloaded his senses, sometimes a blessed numbness. Overriding it all was a growing sense of cold despair.
Charles was able to gather that the boy had headed for the coast, California. A small coastal town unimportant enough that the boy didn't even give it a name. The boy hadn't opened his eyes since the incident at the hospital, was effectively blind and thus so too was Charles Xavier. Without the boys perception of where he was to guide him, give him a reference point from which to garner his location he was lost in the astral soup of his psychic talent without a roadmap. Charles knew only that he had to find Scott Summers before it was too late.
Scott shivered and hunched deeper into the filthy blanket he huddled under. The sharp scratch of the brickwork behind his back was oddly comforting. It reminded him that the only danger he faced for the time being would come from one direction only. His life had begun to develop a pattern. Find a town, pass yourself off as blind, avoid the local street gangs as best you could and try not to be noticed so far as possible. When the local gang did find you either brazen it out or curl into a ball and hope they stopped kicking when they got bored. Scott had found that he had a pretty good talent for finding his way around with his eyes shut. He had a sense of where things were once he got his bearings. He also had a knack for taking money off the other street kids in the amusement arcades where they tended to hang out during the day. Table hockey and trick shots on the pool table for money earned him enough to eat, if not well. The downside to doing that was obvious enough. If he set the shots up he was okay, if they insisted on doing it he didn't stand a chance as he couldn't see to check they weren't cheating him. Then there was those who didn't like getting suckered by a blind kid anyway. That's when the beatings usually came. The first few times he had tried to fight back. Again, his spatial awareness helped him, but there were usually more of them than him and he'd taken a far worse beating as a result. He'd found quickly that curling into a ball and playing possum was his best defence. The hardest thing by far was keeping his eyes closed during the beatings.
Things had been harder in this town, the street gangs more violent and less prone to be amused by a blind kids tricks. He'd had to resort to begging and that drew attention. Unlike the other kids he couldn't run away when the cops appeared to move him on. Hunger was a constant companion and he had to be careful with little things like not standing too quickly for fear that dizziness would overwhelm him. He was starting to get sick too. He needed to move south toward warmer climes where his breath wouldn't steam in the air once it got dark. Too little clothing and precious little shelter from the elements was taking its toll on his body. He could only sleep in snatches for fear of being discovered, being shaken out of fitful sleep and opening his eyes. Scott coughed, his breath hitching as he fought to bring his breathing under control and not retch up the precious little food he'd eaten in the last few days. Some of the bigger towns he's drifted through had soup kitchens that had sustained him, or shelters he'd been able to take advantage of for at least one night. This town barely tolerated the homeless let alone fed them. The local cops were almost as dangerous as the roving gangs they kept an eye on.
A clatter down the alley drew Scott out of his introspection and back to reality with a start. He froze, head canted and desperately listening for a repeat of the sound or some idea of what was happening. Something or some one had knocked a trash can over. He concentrated on making himself smaller as muffled laughter reached his ears. He knew his back was to a wall and he was hidden as well as he knew how in the shadow of a dumpster, just another pile of rags and trash as far as a cursory inspection went. There were always those times people looked closer though. Scuffed footsteps drew closer and something heavy clanged against the dumpster making it shiver against his side. Slurred curses followed and then a warm, wet sensation seeped through to his shins. The laughter trailed away but still he lay still, listening. Finally sure it was safe he sat up and sniffed in disgust. A couple of drunks looking for somewhere to take a piss. Scott shivered again as the cold air stole any warmth, leaving his leg cold and clammy. He didn't care enough anymore to actually move. Finding somewhere else to sleep out the remainder of the night would take effort and risk of discovery. It just wasn't worth it.
Daylight came and Scott found a spot just outside the small coach station. Baseball cap upturned before he sat huddled against the wall. On the one hand he wanted to attract some small change, maybe enough for some coffee and a sandwich or something, on the other hand if he attracted too much attention the cops would come. Begging was definitely discouraged here - forcefully. Come lunchtime he had actually begun to feel like the day was worth getting up for. Enough loose change had bounced into his cap that he may actually be able to get by for a couple of days if he kept to himself and out of sight. He still hadn't been able to bring himself to ask people for change, preferring to just sit there and let them make their own choice. He liked to kid himself that he still had a little pride left, a little worth maybe. The blast of movement in front of him caught him off guard. He had been drifting off to sleep he realised even as he grasped the fact that someone had grabbed his cap and made a break for it. Cursing he shot to his feet, dizzy from the sudden movement and took off after the sounds before his brain caught up with how stupid that really was. The crash of the littler bin thrown down in his path was no warning at all. He tried to jump it, but it tangled his feet up anyway. He crashed to the concrete, his breath driven from him at the impact, scraping chin and arms in the process. Swearing in frustration he sat up and kicked out at where he imagined the trash to be. "Shit!" He felt hot tears behind his tightly closed lids as frustration overwhelmed him. He heard the sound of running feet and hands reaching for him. Survival instinct kicked in and he threw himself backwards on the ground, shrugging off the hands that sought him.
"Easy, lad" and older mans voice cautioned, "you took a bad fall there. I just want to be sure you're okay."
The voice sounded sincere enough but fear overrode any need for comfort however badly Scott wanted to believe he was still capable of attracting someone's care.
"I'm fine", he muttered pushing himself unsteadily to his feet.
"Sure you are, I just wanted to make sure." When Scott didn't answer the guy continued. "I've seen you around the last couple of days... uhh well, you know. That kid got all your money didn't he?"
Scott abruptly turned away and reached out to brush the wall to get his bearings. He stumbled on some loose trash before he steadied himself and moved back toward the coach station.
"wait!. You're blind aren't you?" the guy sounded a little startled.
Scott canted his head toward the man's voice but didn't stop. "Nah..", he muttered, "I wear dark glasses and trip over litter bins for fun."
He heard the guy chuckle and then hurry to catch up to him. "Sorry, I didn't mean that to come across as stupid as it sounded. I really just wanted to help. I know from what I've seen of this place that they're not too tolerant of people living on their precious streets here."
Scott snorted. "What gave you that idea." Despite his better judgement he was actually enjoying having any kind of normal conversation that didn't involve someone pushing him away verbally or otherwise.
The guy paused suddenly . "There's a cop on the corner", he said suddenly. "He looks like he's taking an interest in you."
Scott stopped sharply, his stomach churning. The last time he'd been `moved on' they hadn't been at all gentle. It'd been like one of those old movies where the bad guy was told in no uncertain terms to "get out of town before sun up".
"Do you have somewhere to go tonight, now that your money is gone?"
"What?" Scott must have looked startled and suspicious all at once.
"Look I'm not from around here either. I help run a shelter in LA where we help kids on the streets to get jobs, get a little self respect back, or just give `em a bed for the night. No strings , no demands. I'm on my way back there tomorrow. You're welcome to join me. No pressure - your choice."
The guy must have sensed Scott's hesitation, his mistrust. "I understand you have no reason to trust me" he added gently, "so why don't we start small. My car is right behind us, I'll give you a lift a couple of blocks down away from the cop and you can do what you want from there - OK?"
Scott weighed the risks swiftly. The cop was a certainty, this guy an unknown. "Two blocks," he said shortly.
"Okay, put your hand on my arm and I'll guide you to the car. You're in control here that way. You can walk away at any time."
Scott felt the car come to a halt a few minutes after pulling out from the kerb. "Like I said, two blocks. We're right outside that Starbucks by the library. You know the spot?" . Scott nodded. They sat in silence for several minutes. Scott felt pleasantly numb. The car was warm, the radio on in the background burbling on about some used car sale. Despite his misgivings and the danger he knew a stranger might represent he was unwilling to give up the contact. He was tired beyond belief of running. A corner of his mind still screamed at the unfairness he had faced over the last few weeks in particular. He'd lost his parents when he was young. When he'd been fostered he'd still felt a sense of separation. Like he was only accepted while he did well at school, made them proud of him, made himself useful or valuable to them in some way. The horror at the high school had left him fully and absolutely alone. How much worse could this guy make it. Scott wasn't sure he actually cared.
"My name's Mike" the guy offered at last. His voice sounded a little weird after the silence of the last few minutes. "The offer still stands if you want. LA I mean."
Scott shrugged. "What's in it for you?"
"We are all gods children. For every kid I get back on the right track, the better I feel about having spent my time here wisely." Scott turned his head as if to regard him, his eyebrows raised incredulously. "Yeah, okay. I know that must sound pretty `uncool' to you right now, but I'm not some kind of religious nut or anything. And I am on the level with you. Look, you can either meet me a my motel tomorrow if you want and catch a ride south or you can take advantage of me and get a hot meal, shower and sleep in a real bed for a change." He glanced over at Scott. "I'll take the couch, just in case you were worried."
Scott rubbed the bridge of his nose. The sunglasses he had swiped off a trucker a few weeks back didn't fit real well and the weird headaches he had been getting since his eyes had gone postal right there in his head made it very difficult to think straight when he was so tired. "No strings!" he stated firmly.
"You have my word." Scott's misgivings would have patted themselves on the back if only they had been able to bear witness to the smile 'Mike' flashed Scott's way. If only.
Charles tore the Cerebro link from his head. He had to hurry. He grabbed the cell phone from his pocket. "Hank. I have a location for you, it's near to where you are. He was listening to the radio so I can't be more exact than the town at this time but I'll keep trying. And Hank... you need to hurry - he's in trouble even if he doesn't know it yet."
Charles turned back to Cerebro. Thank god Hank had suggested he travel to Northern California to cut down the intercept time once they'd established the boy was heading that way. It was pure luck that he was so close. Charles prayed it was close enough. When he'd located Scott's signature and perceived the radio blast the link had been enough, the man with the boy close enough, to get a sense of the mans' mind. The thoughts had been too far away, too murky to get more than an impression but even that was enough. It was an ugly mind, overlaid with the most base emotions. His intention towards the boy dominated what little though he could discern and it was enough to drive Charles on in desperate fear for Scott. He was close enough to sense, but too far away to influence either the man or Scott. A few more minutes with Cerebro and he was back on the phone to Hank. He wasted no time. "Seaview Motel, Hank hurry!"
"Consider me there Charles, I passed it on my way into this bastion of Pleasantville".
Scott put the coffee cup down feeling light headed. He was vaguely aware of Mike talking to him in that inanely pleasant voice. "What?" he mumbled, trying to stand and staggering.
Mike pointed the remote at the TV set. "Mutants," he muttered. "Damned freaks are all we hear about these days. No room left in the world for decent people." He noticed Scott trying to steady himself against the dresser. "Oh, don't worry about that wooziness kid. It's the sedative I put in your coffee, only a mild one mind you. Don't want you passing out on me. See, the way I figure it, the way its' always worked in the past, is that you're too messed up right now to put up much resistance." He hit the volume button, the sound covering the crash as he shoved Scott up against the wall and then toward the bed. Scott's' knees hit the bed and he sprawled forward. Mike grabbed him by the scruff of the neck and scrabbled for Scott's' belt. Scott struggled violently and Mike cursed his inability to subdue the boy. He yanked Scott up and slammed him back into the wall, pulling out a pocket knife as he did so. He held the blade to Scott's throat pushing his body up tight against the boy. "You're gonna give it up for me one way or the other." he hissed. "They all do you see." He yanked at Scott's pants again.
Scott's' mind was screaming even as he struggled for breath against the forearm and blade pressed against his windpipe. * Stupid, stupid, stupid, Scott you are so fucking stupid * The adrenaline pumping through his system was finally having a positive effect and he swung his arms wildly at the bigger man without regard for the knife. He finally managed to grab the hilt of the weapon from the other man, slicing his palms and forearm in the process. Mike was spluttering incoherently, mad ravings about `useless street trash' and `ridding the world of its cancer'. With a sob of sheer desperation Scott threw all his weight forward and both he and Mike crashed to the floor. Mike went oddly still and Scott used the pause to scramble back against the wall. His hand felt warm and sticky. With a start he realised he still held the knife. Mike was still and silent, no sound even of his breathing. Scott shuffled forward and bumped into a leg. He froze then slowly ran his hand up the still form. He smelt the coppery tang of blood before he felt the wet , ragged wound in the mans' stomach. Shakily he felt for a pulse. Nothing, he couldn't feel anything. Then a beat. And another. Followed by a wet, sucking breath. Scott's' mind blanked. He was out the door , blindly feeling his way to the exit before he was even aware he was moving. He broke into a run the instant he felt fresh air, hot tears coursing down his cheeks even as he tried desperately to hold them back. Branches slapped across his face and he stumbled, slid all the way down a muddy bank before picking himself up and moving blindly through the trees until he couldn't run any further.
Hank stared at the scene before him. The man on the floor was not seriously hurt. There was a lot of blood but the wound was not life threatening. The man had passed out from shock more than anything else. Bloody, smeared handprints on the wall marked the boys exit. Hank pulled a handkerchief from his pocket wrapped the receiver as he dialled 911. Ambulance requested he turned to covering all signs of the boys involvement with this. He couldn't remove the blood but he could smear the fingerprints beyond anyone's ability to trace. The boys identity should be safe. He could find in his heart no sympathy for the man on the motel room floor. Charles has revealed the true nature of the man while Hank had sought out the Motel. His only concern now was to find the boy. He flipped open his cell. "He is on the move Charles. I can trace him as far as the parking lot but I'm not sure which way he went from here."
"Trees, he went into the trees."
"Thank you Charles, I believe I can see which way he went now. He wasn't very mindful of the damage he did to either the trees or himself. Do not worry old friend I don't think he is that far ahead."
Scott turned the bloody knife over in his hands. He could feel the shallow cuts on his palm and wrist. They stung more than hurt. His mind was blessedly calm as he felt the contours of the knife blade. The turmoil in his mind had stopped the instant he had made his decision. It didn't seem to matter where he went, people got hurt because of him. He attracted disaster where ever he went. First the school, then the hospital. Even the sicko in the motel room. Was the guy dead ? He was sure that if he wasn't already, he would be soon. For a moment there he had allowed himself to believe that someone in the world did still care about what happened to him. That maybe he meant something after all. He should have known better. First he'd lost his parents, then his brother. Genetics turned around and proclaimed him a freak and he'd lost his foster parents and his home. Now he had probably killed someone and the irony of that was that he hadn't even used his damned eyes to do it. In a fit of anger he tore his useless glasses off and hurled them away from him before slumping back down and jamming his fists into his eye sockets, sobbing quietly. When his shoulders stopped shaking he knew what he had to do. The moment of clarity was refreshing after so many weeks of uncertainty about his future. The world sure as hell didn't seem to have a place for him, so he'd solve that problem right now. After all - he had the means didn't he ?
Scott turned back to his contemplation of the knife blade. His mind slipped back into practical mode. He'd always been good at solving problems at school. What was this if not another kind of problem to solve. He'd had a friend on the swim team who's brother had been some kind of hospital worker or something. He'd always come in with some kind of gruesome tale or another. It had become something of a tradition after late night practice at the pool to try and gross each other out. He remembered one particular time where he'd recounted the tale of some girl who cut her wrists trying to commit suicide. She'd slashed them crossways. He recalled that this was wrong. Something about having to do it downwards and in a tub of water or something. He yanked his sleeve back. He didn't have a tub of water handy but couldn't see what that really had to do with it anyway. He felt along the contours of his arm. A vein, he guessed he needed to cut a vein. Taking a firm grip on the knife he gathered his composure and gritted his teeth then cut deeply. He screamed in shock. * Shit that hurt , shit * The knife fell from his hand and with another curse he sank to his knees to try to find it. His arm felt like it was on fire and everything was suddenly very slick. It smelt awful, bitter bile rising at the back of his throat. He sat back on his ass suddenly, the sensation in his legs gone. *Fuck it hurt *.
Hank burst into the small clearing as Scott sat back onto his ass. He took a fraction of a second to note the knife and the growing pool of blood about the kids thighs where his arm rested then he acted. After the scene in the motel room he'd had the presence of mind to grab his full medical kit out of his car. Looked like he was going to need it here. He frowned even as he tended to the wound. * If ever there was proof that a little knowledge was a dangerous thing * he thought to himself as he moved swiftly to stem the life leaking out before him. * He probably learnt how to do that on the bloody internet * he thought sourly.
"We'll be with you shortly Charles. The medical transfer has been approved now that his condition has been stabilised and I have a privately chartered jet standing by to get us to Westchester. Thankfully the hospital was close to the motel and they had a good store of his blood type. Of course as soon as they learned of his mutation they were glad to be rid of us."
"Has he woken up yet, Hank?"
"No. While I do not hold with sedation generally, I think it night be prudent in this case to keep him out until we arrive. Psychology is not my strong point and he will need careful handling when he awakes. I think it may take both of us to help this young man my friend. Also I'm a tad nervous about having him wake up on the jet and accidentally giving it a sunroof. I want my charter deposit back."
Charles smiled in spite of himself as he returned the receiver to its cradle. Hank could find humour in the blackest situation. That may prove helpful with Scott. Despite the situation, despite everything that had happened over the last few weeks Charles could feel hope building within him. He had a lot of work to do, not least with Scott. But he had his first student. His first chance to begin building a future. His fleeting contacts with Scott over the past few weeks had given him a sense of the inner strength the boy possessed if encouraged to grow. He was determined not to waste the opportunity he was being given.
The End.
Yes there is a sequel / second part to this tentatively titled "Hope". Unless I get hate mail from this one I'll post it in a week or so unless i get it finished sooner.